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lexalith · 3 months ago

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HIDDEN || Choi Seung-Hyun (T.O.P)

summary: when you land an internship on the dearMoon project, you’re just trying to keep your head down, do your job, and survive under the watchful eye of your mother—the mission’s lead director. falling for someone is not part of the plan. especially not choi seunghyun. but that doesn’t stop him from wanting you. and it doesn’t stop you from letting him. you thought you could handle the consequences—you didn’t expect to lose everything else along the way.

warnings/this story contains: 18+ (reader discretion is advised). female reader. age gap (reader is 22, seunghyun is 35 and they’re very dramatic about it!). smut (oral sex m+f, p in v, public sex, unprotected sex, phone sex, praising, degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, soft dom!seunghyun, he freaky freakyyyyyy). reader has absolutely no self-preservation. seunghyun has zero restraint. secret relationship situation. fwb situation for a bit. seunghyun blocking people like it’s a hobby, as usual, and being extremely paranoid. reader’s mom being a pain in the ass and the biggest opp in this fic. crazy tension. reader is down BAD and frequently delusional. angst (miscommunication, troubled past, bickering, reader is passive-aggressive sometimes, name-calling, emotional repression, unresolved trauma, heartbreak, guilt, public exposure and fallout, timing never being right, love not being enough). seunghyun has huge trust issues and should probably work on himself. reader sacrifices way too much and deserves better. this story doesn’t have a happy ending. sorry in advance.

a/n: this is my interpretation of seunghyun. it’s totally okay if it doesn’t match the version you have in your head, but please be respectful! (or i’ll cry) this fic doesn’t sugarcoat anything, and there are moments where seunghyun is put in a bad light. if that’s not something you’re comfortable reading, it’s okay to skip this one. also: i did research (or at least i tried to), but there were moments where i simply didn’t know what the hell i was yapping about and i stand by it anyway lmaoo. this is LOOOONG (it’s a whole fic). english isn’t my first language. seunghyun’s texts are in blue, reader’s texts are in orange. reader’s dialogue is in bold.

songs: the abyss — the weeknd, lana del rey || no one noticed — the marías || champagne coast — blood orange

you remember your mother’s words clear as day: “do not approach the crew. do not talk to them unless strictly necessary. you’re an intern.” like you needed the reminder. you press your lips together, trying not to roll your eyes as you clutch the flimsy cardboard tray in your hands, ten coffees deep into a task that feels more like humiliation than help. hazelnut latte, two oat milk cappuccinos, black americano, iced matcha, double espresso, vanilla cold brew, two caramel macchiatos, and some complicated mocha monstrosity you didn’t bother memorizing—you just wrote it down and prayed for forgiveness. because god forbid you mess up the orders. this wasn’t what you signed up for. technically, you’re an intern under mission integration, shadowing one of the highest-ranking officers on the dearmoon project. realistically? you’re the designated errand girl—her errand girl. your mother’s name holds weight in every room, and you’re still stuck delivering caffeine like a professional barista.

the crew lounge is too loud. laughter bounces off the walls, layered over music and the hiss of a nearby espresso machine that makes your entire trip feel even more pointless. you hover awkwardly by the entrance, tray in hand, waiting for someone to notice you, because you’re under strict instructions not to call attention to yourself. you catch glimpses of them. the crew. the artists. the chosen ones. and then you spot him. choi seunghyun. t.o.p. he’s sitting alone near the back of the room, half-sunk into a chair with one leg crossed over the other, sunglasses on indoors. he’s scrolling through something on his phone, ignoring everyone around him. you recognize the haircut first—faint lavender under the artificial lights. it’s faded since the official crew announcement, but it still stands out in the crowd. just like he does. you’ve been intrigued by him from the start—since the very first time you saw him during a crew briefing your mom dragged you to. there’s something about him. you’ve never had a real conversation with seunghyun—just exchanged the occasional good morning or evening when you passed him in the hall, polite. but that hasn’t stopped your brain from doing what it does best… fantasizing.

sometimes, it makes you feel seventeen again. that stupid kind of crush that creeps in—the one that makes your chest tighten when you see him and has you overthinking every time you accidentally make eye contact. you’re twenty-two. you know better. and he’s—what? thirty-five? thirty-six? a world away from you in age, experience, in every possible sense. he’s lived a thousand lives. performed in front of stadiums. disappeared from the spotlight. flown halfway around the world to join a mission that’ll orbit the moon. meanwhile, you’re here, fighting off heart palpitations because he once held the elevator door for you. kinda pathetic! you know there’s no point. you’re not delusional (right?). he probably doesn’t even know your name. but that doesn’t stop your chest from doing that annoying fluttery thing every time you see him.

you shift your weight from one foot to the other. no one’s acknowledged you yet—too busy talking, laughing, moving through the room. and then someone glances over—a crew assistant, you think—and waves you in with a casual, “you can just bring them in.” you take a deep breath and step forward, gripping the tray tighter than necessary. your palms are already clammy, your heart annoyingly aware of the fact that he’s still sitting right there, probably not even noticing you. except… you feel it. his gaze. not full-on staring—he’s more subtle than that. but it’s there, following you quietly as you move through the room, delivering each cup of coffee with a forced smile and careful hands. you don’t look at him, but you can sense it—like the heat from sunlight on skin. it makes your hands shake more than they should.

you finally reach the last cup. the mocha monstrosity. no one’s claimed it yet, and you’re standing there like a glitch in the system, eyes scanning the room. you’re about to set it down on the edge of the counter and make your exit when a voice cuts through the noise. “that one’s mine.” you glance up. seunghyun’s standing a few steps away now, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, sunglasses gone and… his eyes are on you. you freeze for a beat too long. then, carefully, you pass him the cup, praying your hands aren’t shaking the way they feel like they are. he takes it with one hand, glances at the label, then back at you. “thanks,” he says, his voice low and smooth, with that same faint rasp you’ve heard in old interviews. and that sexy accent… you nod. “sure.” “i was starting to think you got lost.” “what?” there’s a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “you’ve been standing there for a while.” oh. right. you consider saying something witty, or at least normal, but all that comes out is a flat, “yeah. sorry.” smooth. very professional. he doesn’t seem bothered, though. he just hums and takes a sip of the drink. you shift the tray in your arms, suddenly too aware of how out of place you feel. you should leave. but before you can, he speaks again. “you’re the intern,” he says. and you’re surprised when he pronounces your name. “you—you know my name?” you feel so ridiculous the moment those words slip past your lips. oh, god. you want to crawl into the nearest air duct and vanish forever. “it’s in your tag,” he replies, eyes flickering to the member card you have hanging from your neck. right. of course it is. you’re wearing the stupid lanyard like a badge of shame—the word intern in big block letters. “oh. right.” your cheeks burn. “still,” he adds, after a beat, “i remembered it.” that makes it worse. or better. you can’t decide. you nod again. “your mom’s the one who runs this whole thing,” he says. you hesitate. nod. why can’t you stop nodding? “unfortunately.” “must be weird.” “what, getting coffee for people my mom outranks?” he laughs, soft and short. “i was gonna say working under her. but yeah. that too.” you smile, despite yourself. it slips out before you can catch it. “next time, you should bring one for yourself.” “hm?” “a cup of coffee.” “oh! oh, no,” you shake your head, flustered. “i—i’m working. and my mom wouldn’t allow it.” great. now you sound like a teenager whose mom still grounds her. if you didn’t want to remind him of the age gap, you’re definitely not doing a good job. he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “she doesn’t let you drink coffee?” “she doesn’t let me sit and drink coffee with the crew,” you clarify quickly, biting the inside of your cheek. “not professional. her words.” “mm.” he hums, sipping his drink. “sounds strict.” you nod, exhaling slowly. “yeah”

and then—just your luck—you hear it. the distinct click of heels and the firm, clipped tone of your mother’s voice entering the room. “can i have everyone’s attention for a quick update?” shit. you don’t even look back. instinct kicks in before you can think—before she can see you standing here, talking to one of the crew. “i—i should go,” you mumble, gripping the tray like a shield again. “duty calls.” he doesn’t stop you. just gives you the faintest nod. “see you.” you slip out of the room before your mom can scan the space and realize you were standing way too close to choi seunghyun, having a conversation with someone technically under her jurisdiction. the door clicks shut behind you, and only then do you let out the breath you’ve been holding.

that is the only exchange of words you have with seunghyun for around two more weeks. you see him around, of course. it’s hard not to. he’s always somewhere on the edge of things—quiet in briefings, off to the side during training simulations, headphones on and eyes somewhere far away. you pass each other in the halls sometimes. a quiet good morning. a nod. once, a half-smile you’re not sure was meant for you. and then—one night, you’re still at headquarters long after most people have gone home. you’ve been buried in a mess of schedule revisions—crew rotations, simulation prep, meal timings, pr appearance blocks—all things that should probably be handled by someone more qualified. but when you’d tried to point that out, your mom just handed you a list and said, “if you want to learn, start doing.” so you did. and you’re still doing it, hours later, eyes bleary from staring at spreadsheets, cross-checking calendars, rescheduling something that had already been rescheduled four times because someone didn’t check with the engineers. you’re tired. starving. and the last few edits you made are starting to blur together in your brain. you save the file. close your laptop. tell yourself you’re just taking a break. wander down the hall toward the crew lounge, hoping to steal a minute of quiet—and maybe one of the energy bars someone always stashes near the fridge.

the lights are dim, the room mostly empty. you think it’s quiet until you hear it. music. low, distant. piano or strings—you can’t tell. then you see him. seunghyun’s sitting on the floor in the far corner, back resting against the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him. hoodie on, hair messy, phone beside him playing something soft and slow, a notebook open in his lap, pen twirling in his fingers. he doesn’t notice you at first. or maybe he does and doesn’t show it. you hesitate. not because you’re not allowed here, but because it feels private. like you’ve stumbled into something you shouldn’t have. and then, without even glancing up, “you always haunt the halls at this hour?” his voice cuts gently through the quiet. casual, like he’s known you long enough to joke with you, even though he hasn’t. you blink, caught off guard. “what?” he finally looks over, eyes flicking up from the notebook resting on his knees. “you’ve got that vibe,” he says. “ghost girl with a clipboard.” you huff a quiet laugh before you can stop yourself. “i could say the same to you.” he shrugs, lips twitching. “i was here first.”

you drift toward the fridge, grabbing the nearest snack you don’t even want anymore. just something to do with your hands. you feel weirdly self-conscious under his gaze—like he’s seeing too much. he taps the end of his pen against his knee. “you can sit,” he says after a moment. “i don’t mind.” you hesitate. then cross the room and sink into the couch behind him, keeping enough space between you. you rest your head back against the cushions, listening to the soft music coming from his phone. something instrumental, slow and kind of sad. after a minute, he speaks again, “does she make you stay this late?” you glance over. “my mom?” he hums. you sigh. “she says if i want to be taken seriously, i need to prove i can handle real responsibility.” he pauses, then mutters, “like coffee runs and color-coded spreadsheets.” you let out a small laugh. “exactly.” he doesn’t smile, but there’s something in the way his shoulders relax that tells you he meant it as a joke. or maybe not a joke… maybe just the truth. “what about you?” you ask, voice quiet. “why are you here so late?” “i usually stay around for a bit after things wrap up,” he says. “didn’t check the time tonight, i guess. my bad.” you huff softly. “you say that like anyone’s going to tell you off.” he glances at you, the faintest trace of a smile in his eyes. “well, i’m sure your mom would if she thought i was distracting her intern.” you roll your eyes. “you think everything i do gets reported back to her?” “doesn’t it?” you pause. fair point. he leans his head back against the couch, then glances over at you. “so,” he starts, voice casual, “you just finished school?” “yeah. last spring.” he hums, almost like he’s filing that away. “twenty-one, then?” “twenty-two,” you correct. “hm. college?” he asks, like he’s double-checking. “or grad?” “graduated.” you pause, then add, “aerospace management.” “impressive.” you shrug. “it sounds fancier than what i actually do here. i’m still in that awkward trial period.” that makes him laugh—quiet, under his breath. “how old were you when you started? in your… path.” “eighteen. bigbang debuted in 2006. after that, things moved fast.” “you were already acting by twenty-two, right? iris?” he looks at you, a little surprised. “you’ve seen it?” “not when it aired, clearly,” you admit. “my mom did. she rewatched it a few months ago.” he raises an eyebrow, amused. “of course she did.” “she has opinions, by the way,” you add. “on your acting.” “do i want to hear them?” you laugh. “probably not.” he snorts. “i was seven when ‘iris’ came out.” “seven,” he repeats, like he needs to hear it again to believe it. he lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you were a literal child. great,” he says. “now i feel ancient.” “you are,” you tease, then immediately regret it. “i mean—not ancient, just—” “no, no, it’s fine.” he waves a hand, still grinning. “i’ll start bringing a cane with me.” you laugh, the sound slipping out easier than you expect. and he laughs too—a low, real laugh that feels more genuine than anything you’ve heard from him in before.

“do you like it?” he asks. you glance at him. “what?” “being here.” you pause, caught off guard by the question. you could lie and say it’s exciting, that you’re grateful, that you’re learning a lot. it would all be technically true. but instead—“i don’t know,” you admit. “i think i thought i’d feel more useful by now.” he nods like he gets that, but doesn’t say anything, giving you space to go on. “most days, i just run errands. print things. fix schedules that get messed up again an hour later.” you huff a laugh, dry. “i haven’t done anything that couldn’t be done by a very motivated toddler.” his mouth twitches, like he wants to laugh but doesn’t. “but you still stay late,” he says. “that’s not really optional when your mom runs the show.” seunghyun watches you for a beat. thoughtful. “you don’t talk much,” he says. you blink. “what?” “around the others,” he clarifies. “you’re always there. you just don’t say a lot.” you shrug, suddenly unsure where to look. “they don’t really notice me.” he tilts his head a little. “i noticed.” the words hit in a weird, soft way. they don’t sound like a line. they don’t even sound like he meant to say them out loud. you laugh, light and a little breathless. “well… thanks.” he nods, and the way his eyes linger on you just a little longer than usual makes your heart race.

your phone buzzes. you fish it out of your pocket, and there it is—mom. one notification. three words. where are you. you don’t even open it, you already feel the heat of the guilt radiating through the screen like she implanted a microchip in your soul at birth.“i should go. she’s probably wondering why i’m not home yet.” “you heading home?” “yeah.” you stand up, brushing invisible crumbs from your jeans because you suddenly feel like you’ve been sitting too comfortably close to him for too long. “i still have to catch the late bus.” his eyebrows lift. “the bus?” “yeah. glamorous, i know.” he checks the wall clock, then glances toward the hallway. “my driver’s out front. i can give you a ride, if you want.” you freeze for a millisecond. maybe less. long enough to process all the possible realities in which your mother finds out you accepted a ride from one of her crew members and personally launches you into orbit. “thanks, but—i can’t.” you smile, apologetic. “my mom would kill me if she found out i left with one of the crew.” “worth a shot.” your stomach does that stupid little flip again. “see you tomorrow?” you ask, indirectly declining the offer again, already taking a step toward the door. “yeah.” he leans back on the couch. “goodnight.” “goodnight.” and for the rest of the walk, all the way out of the building, through the quiet parking lot and onto the freezing bus bench, you replay the conversation in your head on a loop.

the following month is… weird. not bad-weird. just the kind of weird that makes your stomach flutter at completely inappropriate times and your brain question everything. because suddenly, choi seunghyun is around. not constantly, but enough for you to start wondering if the universe is messing with you. it starts with the coffee. he catches you yawning in the break room one morning. you mumble something about caffeine being the only thing keeping your soul tethered to your body. the next day, he’s already there when you walk in. he doesn’t say anything. just slides a cup across the counter in your direction. “you like it like that, right?” you freeze. nod. take it. try not to die. “thanks,” you manage to say, very calmly and professionally, like you’re not actively going crazy inside. “don’t mention it,” he says. and goes back to his phone like this is a normal thing he does now. then there’s the time you’re hunched over your laptop in one of the shared workspaces, surrounded by notes and three different color-coded schedules because someone decided to change the entire week’s layout again. he walks by, glances at the chaos in front of you, and casually drops a protein bar on the desk without stopping. “you skipped lunch.” you stare at it for a full minute before touching it. how did he know that? why does he know that? you do not recover. and it keeps happening. he starts asking for your help with things that don’t make sense. “what time is this briefing again?” … “you made that chart, right?” … “can you double-check this?” you’re not even on the same team half the time. but you help him, because… what else are you supposed to do? maybe you’re reading too much into it. maybe he’s just nice. maybe this is just what he’s like with everyone. maybe he sees you as a little sister or god knows what… you’re definitely overthinking it. probably.

it’s a thursday night and you’re already in bed. face washed, teeth brushed, oversized t-shirt on—officially clocked out of both your shift and your social battery. you’ve just gotten under the covers, wrapped yourself in a blanket burrito, about to turn on do not disturb when your phone buzzes. weird. no one ever texts you this late. you check it, assuming it’s one of your friends or some scheduling update from the team chat. but it’s not. unknown number.

Hey. You left this in the conference room.

photo attachment: your notebook, half-open on a table, very clearly yours.

I figured it was yours. It’s the one you always carry.

sorry, who’s this?

Seung-Hyun

Choi Seung-Hyun

your heart lurches in a way that feels unreasonable. first of all—yes, it is your notebook. and second of all—how does he have your number. you sit up a little in bed, suddenly very awake.

oh, hey. thank you :) how did you get my number?

I asked comms.

you blink. comms. like it’s not completely insane that he went out of his way to ask someone for your contact info because of a notebook. another message comes in:

Didn’t think you’d want to show up tomorrow and panic about it.

you assumed correctly! hahaha, i would’ve freaked out🥲

I’ll leave it at your desk.

Unless you want to come get it now.

your breath catches. you’re in pajamas. your hair’s a mess. your face is 50% moisturizer. you reread the message three times. he’s joking probably. but still.

i’ll survive until tomorrow. but thanks again, seriously :))

Anytime👍🏼

you think that’s it. except it’s not. because when you’re back to lying in bed, staring at your ceiling like a maniac, heart thumping for absolutely no reason, your phone buzzes again. you scramble to check it so fast you nearly drop the phone on your face.

Love the doodles in the margins.

please don’t judge my little planets…🙃

I only judged the one that looks like a sad potato hahaha

rude... jokes! that’s jupiter

Sorry, Jupiter.

Do you always stay up this late?

sometimes! usually because i’m overthinking everything i said that day or regretting the amount of caffeine i had at 4pm💔

We have that in common😅

you smile again, this slow stupid grin that refuses to leave.

You should sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long one.

okay, i will🫡 you too!

Goodnight🌙

they organize a crew hangout on a friday night. something casual, they say. the place they picked is one of those trendy, semi-industrial spots with exposed brick walls and edison bulbs hanging from long wires. there’s a giant neon sign on one wall that says something vague, and music is playing just loud enough to make you question whether or not someone said hi to you or just sneezed nearby. you’re standing at the entrance, half-rethinking your outfit choices and half-contemplating if turning around and pretending you got lost is still a viable option. you’re in jeans—the good pair that fit right every time—white sneakers that aren’t brand new but still pass as clean, and a navy blue sweater. it’s casual, but cute. very different from what you wear to work. you scan the room. there’s a crowd already gathered around one of the tall tables—people from different teams, laughing, sipping drinks, leaning in like they’re all lifelong friends. you spot your teammates near the bar—one of them waves you over, and you exhale, shoulders dropping slightly in relief as you walk toward them. “you made it!” one of the engineers grins, raising a drink. “barely,” you say with a smile. “i spent fifteen minutes arguing with myself about whether to show up.” “glad you did!” someone adds. you laugh, already relaxing. and then you hear her voice. “i didn’t know you were invited.” you turn, and of course—your mom. she’s standing there, drink in hand, eyebrows slightly raised. she’s not being openly hostile—just… mom-ing. disapproval wrapped in polite interest. she’s in her work blazer, still dressed like she just walked out of a meeting. which, knowing her, she probably did. “they extended the invite to support staff,” you say, keeping your voice neutral. “figured i’d show up.” “just remember,” she says, “this isn’t a college mixer.” you smile tightly. “noted.” she gives you one more lingering look—the kind that says i’m watching you without actually saying it—then steps away, probably to go judge someone else from the comms team.

you turn back toward your group, and before you can go to order a drink, you feel it—someone approaching. “hey,” comes that familiar low voice. you glance over. seunghyun’s standing a few feet away, drink in hand, dressed in black jeans and a slate-gray button-up. you offer a smile. “hey.” “wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he says. his gaze flicks over you for a beat—brief, subtle, but very much a look. “you look nice, by the way.” “thanks,” you manage to reply, trying to smile like your skin isn’t buzzing and you aren’t immediately aware of your mother’s presence somewhere nearby, probably developing a sixth sense for this exact interaction. “you want a drink?” he asks, nodding toward the bar. your hesitation must show, because his gaze flicks down and then back to your face. “it’s just a drink,” he says. your lips part, and for a second, all you can think is that’s easy for you to say. “uh…” your eyes flick automatically toward your mom—deep in conversation, but still there. you can feel her existence like it’s a rule you’re breaking just by thinking about accepting a free drink. “i mean, i… i don’t know if i should—my mom’s here,” you mumble, gesturing vaguely. he follows your glance, nods, then looks back at you. “we work together,” he says simply. “i’m offering you a drink, not hard drugs.” you snort, caught off guard. “okay, true.” “so?” “yeah. sure.” “what do you want?” “surprise me,” you say, voice softer than you meant. he nods once and heads for the bar.

he rests one arm on the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish mixing. lets the noise of the room bleed into the background. he could’ve talked to someone else tonight. easily. there are three girls—maybe more—who’ve been circling him since he walked in. laughing a little too loud at things he didn’t say. brushing their hands against his arm. like that assistant with red lipstick and a habit of leaning too close. he could’ve given her attention and shut off the part of his brain that keeps dragging you to the front of it. but here he is… buying you a drink. he’s not sure what the fuck he’s doing. he wraps his fingers around the glass the bartender sets down, cold against his palm. he should walk away. he should hand you your drink, nod politely, make small talk, and blend into the crowd again like nothing’s ever crossed his mind. like he didn’t clock every inch of you when you walked in—those jeans hugging your legs, the way your sweater hangs just loose enough to be soft but not enough to hide the shape of you beneath it. you’re twenty-two. and that number rattles around in his skull like something radioactive. you’re too young. too off-limits. he knows what people would say. and yet, the image of you standing there, makes his mouth dry.

he’s had easier women. older than you. confident. women who know what to do with their hands, with their mouths. one of them, barely two weeks ago, had him up against the wall of his bathroom—lipstick smeared, hand down his pants, telling him she didn’t care if he had to be back at starbase by sunrise... it was good. but he doesn’t think about her now. he thinks about you. he thinks about how soft your skin looked when he brushed past you earlier that day, and how long it would take for you to open up for someone—for him. how your voice would sound whimpering his name. how you’d taste. if you’d let him talk you through it. if you’d get flustered when he touched you. if you’d beg. and he knows it’s fucked up. it’s not just unprofessional—it’s dangerous. you’re her daughter. and again, you’re young. bright-eyed, too smart for your own good, still trying to figure yourself out young. he wonders if that’s part of it. the age difference. he wonders if some awful, hungry part of him is drawn to the soft energy you carry around like a scent. and he hates himself for even thinking it, but it doesn’t stop him. maybe it’s the worst part of him—the part that’s already ruined good things before and never learned his lesson. because this? you? you are a terrible idea.

he exhales slowly, shuts his eyes for half a second, tells himself to keep it together. then turns and walks back to you. drink in hand. you smile when he hands it to you. “thank you.” “figured you’d like it,” he says. “you seem like the type to order something sweet.” you glance down at the drink—soft pink, citrusy, chilled. “you’re not wrong,” you say, sipping. “it’s good.” he gives you a small nod. “glad.” and then he just stands there. not close, but not far either. you’re not sure what to say. or if you should say anything. there’s no reason for him to be here, talking to you. no real benefit. “this place is nicer than i thought it’d be,” you offer, trying to fill the silence. “honestly assumed it’d be a sad buffet and corporate music.” that earns a quiet laugh. “you haven’t seen the karaoke room yet.” your eyebrows lift. “karaoke room?” “mhm.” “i’m curious now.” you look away, sipping your drink. he hums, and you both fall into silence again, not uncomfortable—but not quite easy, either. you glance at him from the corner of your eye. he’s scanning the room, eyes lingering briefly on a group near the back. then he looks back at you, calm as ever. “glad you came,” he says, quietly. your throat goes dry. “yeah?” “yeah,” he nods. “it’s good to see more than the same ten faces outside the station.” right, right. that’s what he meant. you’re part of the group. just another familiar face. you take another sip of your drink, mostly just to have something to do with your hands. “what do you do when you’re not fetching reports and dodging your mom?” “like… outside of work?” he nods, lifting his glass. “assuming you’re legally allowed to have a life.” you snort. “that’s debatable.” he hums like he figured. “i write sometimes,” you say. “i hang out with my friends and i read when i have time.” he lets out a quiet laugh. “so you’re secretly a writer.” “no, i’m a disaster with a notes app.” he chuckles. “what kind of stuff do you write?” you hesitate. “honestly? mostly like… like romance novels.” why does saying that out loud make you feel stupid? you try to advert the attention, asking, “what about you? what do you do in your free time?” “paint,” he answers. “listen to music... make music. i also train at home. and sleep, when the universe allows.” “i feel like your sleep schedule is fucked up.” “that’s generous. it’s dead.” you laugh again, softer this time.

you’re mid-conversation—finally relaxed enough to enjoy the drink he brought you, answering some question he asked about your music taste—when you hear her voice. “sweetheart, there you are.” you turn and see her weaving through the crowd toward you. your mom. her smile is tight, practiced. she glances at seunghyun, and it immediately softens by about 40%. classic. “hello, seunghyun,” she says, calm and professional, like she didn’t spend all of last week sighing at you for mixing up launch logs. “i didn’t realize you two were chatting.” you force a smile. “yeah, we were just talking.” “mm.” she nods, then turns her attention fully to you. “can i borrow you for a moment? someone from comms had a question about the event schedule, and i thought you could walk them through your edits.” your drink is still halfway to your lips. your stomach sinks. “…sure,” you say, already stepping back. she glances once—just once—at the glass in your hand. “you’re drinking?” it’s not judgmental. just… pointed. “it’s one drink.” she hums again—noncommittal, but loaded. “i’ll be right there,” you mutter, and you turn to seunghyun with a tight smile. “thanks for the drink. i’ll… see you around.” he nods once. “yeah. of course.”

seunghyun has realized that it’s impossible to talk to you when your mother is around. so he stops trying to talk to you when she’s near. what’s the point? but that doesn’t stop him from finding other ways. he texts you more now. nothing inappropriate. just little things, one message every couple of days. something about a malfunctioning printer, or a meeting that could’ve been an email. but then it doesn’t stop. he texts you at weird hours—never too late, but always just late enough that you know it’s deliberate. the kind of times where you’d normally be scrolling aimlessly or lying on your bed staring at the ceiling. and you find yourself answering. every time.

You still at Starbase?

leaving now :) are you?

No, I left a while ago.

oh okay, need anything?

Nothing important.

How was your day?☀️

good! not too busy :)) yours?

Good. I didn’t see you.

oh, so that’s why it was good?😭😭💀💀help

No! No, no. Sorry, I should’ve written that differently🤦‍♂️I didn’t mean it like that.

ik, i was joking! :)

Ohh😅😂 hahaha

i was with the engineers today, on the other side of the building. we had an issue with monday’s schedule

Ah, it’s alright👍🏼

you wanted to see me?

I did🙂

hahaha i’ll be back with my team tomorrow :)

Good🫰🏼

I’m going to sleep. You should too.

Good night🌙

good night!

it keeps happening. you’re finally home, still in your work clothes, hair a mess from the wind and your brain fried from trying to stay alert during seven hours of logistical chaos. they had you shadowing part of a field integration check today—some outdoor systems test with one of the ground teams, all wires and temp sensors and someone yelling over a radio every five minutes. you spent most of it holding a clipboard and pretending you weren’t fucking freezing. now, you’re on your bed, one shoe off, jacket still on, face buried in your pillow, debating whether or not you have the energy to shower. your phone buzzes somewhere near your hip. you reach for it without looking, an instant smile on your face when you see it’s seunghyun.

Hi. I didn’t see you today.

hey! :) ik, i was outside doing checks. how are you?

Good😄 You?

i’m fine!! but very very tired, i think i’ll be going to sleep a bit earlier today

Yes, you should rest.

you too tho, don’t you have a test tomorrow?

We have a systems failure simulation.

ik i scheduled it… whoops

Hahaha, I know😉

you’re gonna do great tho :)

You think so?

of course! will you let me know how it goes?

You won’t be there?

no, i have to help the integration team tomorrow

we’re reviewing hardware compatibility for one of the supply modules, helpme😭

it’s gonna take all day probably :(

Ohhh busy girl.

hahaha could say the same about you! no but it’s only this week! then i’ll be back to making coffee lol, you’ll see🥲

They should hire you! I’ll text you after the test🙂

yayyyy okay!!

Also, I’m hosting a small dinner on saturday night. Just some of the team. Would you like to come?

oh!! yes, i’d love to :)) thanks for inviting me!🩷

Of course. It’ll be relaxed.

do you want me to bring anything?

No need, just yourself.

okay :) i’ll be there

I’ll send you the address tomorrow. I’m glad you’re coming🫰🏼

saturday night rolls around. and for once, the universe is on your side: your mom can’t go. apparently, she made plans to have dinner with friends she hadn’t seen in ‘literal decades’ (her words), and when you’d asked if she was still planning to stop by the dinner at seunghyun’s afterward, she just said, “i’ll be too tired. and you shouldn’t stay there for too long.” you nodded. smiled. pretended like your entire nervous system didn’t do a backflip of pure relief. because going to his place—his place, as in choi seunghyun’s penthouse—is already enough of a mental minefield. the last thing you need is your mother there, hovering in the corner like a threat in heels. you change clothes three times before settling on something that doesn’t make you want to implode: a light denim skirt that hits mid-thigh and your favorite white knit sweater—the one that tucks in just right at the waist. so now you’re alone in your room, standing in front of your mirror, staring at yourself. you remember reading the list when it was first announced—devin, the photographer from ireland. yemi a.d., the creative director. karim, the documentarian. steve, tim, rhiannon, t.o.p… it felt surreal even then. and now you’ve been invited to dinner with them. by t.o.p himself. which is… funny. and terrifying. and funny again. you’ve spoken to devin maybe twice. yemi once. tim nodded at you in the hallway last week—crazy. you’ve seen these people every day for months, and seunghyun is the only one you actually talk to. you try not to think about how you’ll be the only intern there, too.

the elevator is glass-walled and completely silent, which only makes it worse. you stare at your reflection in the metal trim, fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater like that’ll somehow distract you from the fact that you’re currently ascending to choi seunghyun’s penthouse like this is a normal saturday. your stomach is tight. it doesn’t help that the building itself is beautiful—cool, polished, expensive in the quiet, intimidating way. you try not to think about how weird this is. how out of place you’ll feel the second those elevator doors open. how this is his home. his actual space. where he lives and sleeps and keeps things like toothpaste. where he probably masturbates as well—okay, pause. you need to calm down.

the elevator dings softly. top floor. and then the doors slide open—he’s already there, leaning casually against the wall across from the elevator. he’s in a dark sweater—deep navy with a subtle pattern stitched through it, something geometric and barely noticeable unless you’re looking closely (which you immediately are). the beige cargo pants are a surprise, cuffed just above a pair of sleek black sneakers that definitely weren’t cheap. “hi,” he says. you smile, a little shy. “hi.” his eyes scan you for a second—he doesn’t say anything about how you look, but his gaze lingers a little longer than necessary. “you found it okay?” he asks, stepping forward. you nod. “yeah. almost rang the wrong apartment though.” you joke and he chuckles. “i was waiting for you.” he steps aside, gently motioning for you to come in. you do.

the place is beautiful. of course it is. it’s not flashy—just quiet luxury, the kind of space that whispers money without needing to shout. clean lines, warm lighting, furniture that’s probably custom-built and doesn’t squeak when you sit on it. paintings line the walls and they all have the same effect: making you feel like you’ve just stepped into a gallery instead of someone’s home. one abstract piece near the hallway practically buzzes with color. another—something monochrome and moody—hangs over a sideboard with crystal decanters and tiny, absurdly aesthetic glass cups. your eyes move across the walls slowly, taking it all in. “did you bring all this from korea?” you ask, voice soft. he glances over at you. “not all of it,” he says. “but most. the ones i didn’t want to leave behind.” you nod, eyes still drifting. “i would’ve assumed they came with the penthouse.” he smiles faintly. “no. this place was nearly empty when i moved in. i just… filled it the way i wanted.” you hum quietly. “well, you’ve got taste.” “i’d hope so,” he says. “i spent enough time hunting half of this down.” he gestures down the hallway. “they’re in the living room. come on. i’ll walk you in.” you follow him, your footsteps almost too loud on the hardwood floors. you can hear voices now—someone laughing, music playing softly from somewhere, a low hum of conversation that means you’re the last one here. “are they gonna think it’s weird?” you ask quietly. “who?” “everyone. that i’m here.” he pauses mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. “do you think it’s weird?” you open your mouth, then close it again. “i don’t know. maybe a little.” he turns fully to face you now, the soft murmur of the living room fading into the background. “why?” you hesitate, eyes flicking to the floor for a second. “because i’m… the intern. and i’m young.” his gaze moves over your face like he’s trying to decide something. “you’re not that young,” he says eventually. “i’m twenty-two.” “i know.” you can hear your own heartbeat. “and you’re…” you trail off. “thirty-five,” he finishes for you. you nod once, small. “right.” there’s a pause. his eyes are still on you. you can feel the weight of them on your skin, like the room’s gotten warmer, like the sweater you’re wearing is suddenly too much. then he tilts his head a little. “does that bother you?” you swallow. you want to say no. you want to say yes, obviously, look at me losing my mind over a man who’s over ten years older than me and worldwide famous. but instead, you just look up at him and say, “should it?” he doesn’t answer right away. and maybe that’s the answer. “come on,” he says, gently, gesturing to the living room with his head. and you follow.

the night goes better than you expect. you recognize more faces than you thought you would—some of your own teammates are there, including two engineers from your floor who wave when they see you. everyone’s friendly and no one makes you feel out of place. good! you’re fine. you’re actually more than fine. no one questions your presence. no one even raises an eyebrow. and somehow, being invited has turned you into someone people want to talk to.

the lights are dim, the music soft, and the wine is doing that thing where it goes straight to your legs. you’re perched on a low couch with a drink in one hand and a tiny, overpriced-looking tart in the other, nodding along as one of your teammates goes on about a recent systems bug with the attitude of someone who has clearly had three beers and no fear. you’ve been careful not to drink too much—just enough to keep your nerves dull around the edges.

seunghyun is across the room—but every time your eyes drift to him, he’s already looking at you. the first time it happens, you think: oh, okay. coincidence. the second time, you think: he’s probably making sure i’m okay and having a good time… that’s so kind of him! but by the third glance—the one where your eyes catch across the room and he doesn’t look away—you have to admit it. at least to yourself… oh, wait. is he checking me out…? then, immediately—no, he isn’t. you’re reading into it. how could he be interested in a twenty-two year old? are you crazy? calm down, girl. drink water. he’s older than you, what are you even thinking? he would never.

he is, in fact, checking you out. there’s no noble excuse left. he’s barely registered half the conversation happening beside him because your legs are in his line of sight and he’s somehow forgotten how to be normal about it. that skirt should be illegal. it rides just high enough when you shift in your seat and that has him clenching his jaw and thinking about pacing his own hallway. he should be mingling, engaging in conversation. pretending he’s not entirely too aware of the curve of your thigh and the way you tuck your hair behind your ear like you’re not absolutely wrecking his concentration. god. he’s being so fucking obvious.

the dinner hang out winds down slowly. guests begin to trickle out of seunghyun’s penthouse, leaving behind the comfortable hum of a gathering well-enjoyed. you wave at people as they leave, sipping the last of your drink. at some point, it’s just you, seunghyun, and tim dodd, who’s perched near the window talking about… what was he talking about? you’re not entirely sure. the wine has worn off just enough to make you aware of how warm your cheeks are again. tim finishes whatever story he was telling, laughs at his own joke (you love that for him), then glances at his phone. “alright,” he says, standing up with a slight groan. “if i don’t leave now, i’ll end up sleeping on your couch, and nobody wants that.” seunghyun chuckles, following him to the door. “thanks for coming.” tim waves at you on his way out. “you’ve got a good energy,” he says, vaguely. “i like your vibe.” “thanks!” you say with a smile. and then—it’s just you and seunghyun. you look around. the apartment is dimmer now, the music is still playing. he turns toward you. “you heading out too?” he asks, voice soft. you blink. “oh. um—no. i was gonna stay a bit. help you clean up?” he tilts his head, brow lifting slightly. “you don’t have to do that.” “i know, but i want to.” you shift your weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at your shoes, suddenly uncertain again. “unless…” you say, trying to sound casual, “you’d rather be alone or something. i don’t want to overstay—” “you’re not,” he cuts in. you glance up and his eyes hold yours. “you can stay,” he says. “i don’t mind.” you nod, cheeks warming. “okay. cool.” cool? you internally scream. COOL? girl...

he turns, and you trail after him into the kitchen, the two of you slipping into the leftover mess together. you start picking up glasses from the table while he stacks empty bottles near the sink. the music is still going, and the hum of the fridge fills in the blanks between clinks of glass and footsteps on hardwood. you grab a plate and start stacking it with a few stray forks. he’s at the sink now, already rinsing out the wine glasses, sleeves rolled. focused. you’re halfway through wiping down the counter when he speaks. “did you have fun?” “hm?” he looks over, mouth tugging into a smile. “tonight. did you enjoy it?” “yeah,” you say. “i did. surprisingly.” his brow lifts slightly. “surprisingly?” you shrug, smiling a little. “i thought i’d be a lot more out of place. or awkward.” your shoulders bump lightly when you try to move past him. “sorry,” you mutter. he steps back slightly. “don’t worry.” then, after a pause, he says, “you didn’t seem out of place.” “well, thank you for lying!” you laugh softly. “i’m not,” he says, rinsing a glass. “you were fine.” you glance over at him. and, because you’re feeling a little bold, you test the waters. “you looked over at me a few times.” he doesn’t deny it. he pauses mid-motion, glass still in hand, and you catch the way he swallows before he sets it down and reaches for the towel to dry it off. “i was checking to see if you were okay.” “and?” he finally looks at you, eyes a little softer now. “you looked like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.” you shouldn’t be affected by that. it’s a nice thing to say. but it lands low in your stomach anyway. you swallow, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing to him—how the counter behind you keeps you from stepping back, and how there’s barely space between your bodies. “so you’ve been observing me, huh?” you huff a laugh. “it’s hard not to.” is he flirting? no, he isn’t. he isn’t, right? wait… maybe he is. you laugh, not sure what to do with yourself anymore. “is that a compliment?” “depends,” he says, glancing over again. “do you want it to be?” you open your mouth but he cuts in before you can speak. “mind if i smoke?” “oh. no, no. i mean… sure go ahead, it’s your house.”

he chuckles as he steps away from the sink. he opens a drawer near where you stand and pulls out a new pack of cigarettes. a lighter, a soft click, and then he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, cigarette between his fingers, exhaling slow. he watches you for a beat, then lifts the pack slightly in your direction. “want one?” you snort. “what part of me gives off cigarette energy?” he laughs softly. “you’re right.” he watches the smoke rise before he looks at you again. “your mom would kill me for this,” he says, not sounding all that sorry. “for offering me a cigarette?” “for letting you stay this long.” you lean against the counter, arms folded. “i’m off work, technically.” he raises a brow. “and,” you add, “i don’t think my mom gets to control what i do after 8 p.m.” he exhales a short laugh through his nose, dragging once more from the cigarette. “that’s a dangerous thing to say out loud.” “she can’t ground me anymore.” he glances sideways at you, something soft playing at the edge of his expression. “still,” he says, tapping ash into the ashtray, “feels like you’re using your after-hours freedom on something pretty boring.” “helping clean up your house is peak thrill-seeking, what do you mean?” he really laughs at that—head tilted slightly back, cigarette between two fingers, the kind of laugh that sounds like it surprised even him. you grin, pleased with yourself, but try not to make a big deal out of it.

the conversation between you and seunghyun flows like you’ve known each other forever. it’s weird. because how is it this easy? how did you go from awkwardly handing him coffee to laughing on his couch with a full glass of wine like you hang out all the time? the cleaning is fully abandoned now. dishes? what dishes? he’s funny, you learn. genuinely funny. kind of loud when he wants to be, in a way that catches you off guard—like you weren’t expecting him to throw his head back and laugh that hard at your story about your first week at starbase. when you were nervously trying to make a good impression and walked into what you thought was an empty conference room, only to find it occupied by the entire senior staff. in your panic to exit gracefully, you somehow managed to walk straight into the glass door. you don’t remember what hurt more—your nose or your pride. there’s something about the way he tells his own stories, too—animated, but not performative. relaxed. he talks with his hands. he smiles while he speaks, like whatever he’s remembering is still happening somewhere in the back of his mind. and maybe it’s the wine—because there’s definitely a slow warmth in your chest and your cheeks—but you’re pretty sure that’s not all of it. he doesn’t look buzzed. no flushed cheeks, no stumbling over words. which means… he’s just comfortable. with you. and if he’s comfortable, then maybe you’re not imagining the way he keeps leaning a little closer when he talks. or how his eyes linger when you laugh. or how he hasn’t checked the time once.

you take another sip of wine just as he starts talking about high school—and it’s not some lighthearted, nostalgic ‘back in the day’ story. no. he jumps straight into it with a half-laugh and a “i was the kind of kid teachers warned other kids about,” like he’s letting you in on a private joke. except it doesn’t really sound funny. he talks about how he didn’t care about school. at all. how he’d hang around with the other so-called ‘problem kids,’ the ones who were always skipping class or standing too long in the halls. he shrugs when he mentions getting kicked out. glosses over it like it’s not worth unpacking. “i transferred a few times,” he says, casual. “got really good at packing.” he makes it sound like he’s joking, but his hand tightens slightly around the wine glass when he says it, and you notice that. every now and then, he’ll drop something heavier—like how he hated the way adults looked at kids like him, like they were broken parts to be thrown out. but he never lingers. he moves past it fast. throws in a sarcastic comment, changes the subject slightly, makes fun of himself. you get the sense that he’s had this script for a while now—polished just enough that it doesn’t sound like a cry for help. and yet, it still kind of is. you think: he’s been through more than he lets on. but you don’t say anything.

he leans back a little, swirling what’s left of his wine like he’s mulling something over. then he glances sideways at you, eyebrow raised, voice light. “what about you?” he says. “since, you know… high school wasn’t that long ago for you.” you make a face. “wow. age shaming now?” he grins. “i’m just saying. and if i remember correctly, you shamed me for mine first. called me ancient.” “hey!” you laugh. “you called yourself ancient, i just agreed!” he laughs and you roll your eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. “i was… i was one of the good kids.” he raises both eyebrows. “good? how good?” “like… sat in the front row, color-coded notes, cried when i got a b+ kind of good.” he tilts his head, deeply impressed. but he jokes, “wow. so… the annoying type.” you snort. “don’t act like that’s not exactly the kind of person you would’ve copied homework from.” “yeah,” he admits, smirking into his glass. “but i would’ve made fun of you for it first. kept you humble.” “you would’ve bullied me?” he grins. “no, of course not. i’d have sat behind you, tapped your chair with my pen until you snapped, and then made you feel bad about yelling at me.” “oh my god, you’re that guy.” “absolutely.” you stare at him, and he’s trying so hard to keep a straight face, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitching. you’re still smiling. your cheeks hurt a little. “i’m joking,” he says “you were probably the kid i’d avoid in high school.” you raise your brows. “why? because i did my homework?” “because you would’ve made me feel like i was already behind.” you smile, even though your heart stutters a little. “and you would’ve scared the hell out of me.” “yeah?” he leans his elbow on the back of the couch, turning slightly toward you. “why’s that?” you gesture vaguely at him. “the whole… mysterious brooding hot guy thing.” did you just call him hot? yeah, you did. the wine’s starting to do its magic. he laughs, and it makes you laugh, too. “i was not hot in high school.” “i don’t believe you,” you say immediately, grinning over the rim of your glass. “you definitely pulled. probably had girls lining up for you in the hallway.” he snorts. “no. i had terrible eating habits. no confidence. zero social skills. girls didn’t want anything to do with me.” you stare at him, unconvinced. “and yet…” he smirks, doesn’t look at you when he says it. “my first girlfriend was five years older.” your jaw drops. “what?” “yeah.” “okay, so you say you weren’t pulling, but you’re out here dating older women?” he laughs, loud and unfiltered, and you have to bite back your own. you shake your head, grinning. “so much for not being hot.” he shrugs. “maybe she just felt bad for me.” “sure. she was just doing charity work.” he chuckles again, a little quieter this time, gaze drifting back to his glass.

a beat of silence stretches between you. you finish the last sip of your wine and lean forward to set the glass down on the small table in front of the couch, suddenly very aware of how warm your cheeks are. then, like he’s been thinking about it for a minute, he asks, “have you ever dated older guys?”your brain lags. like—hello? your heart skips in that very specific, very annoying way it does when something sounds innocent but feels… not. because the way he says it isn’t just curiosity. it’s something else. you glance at him, trying to read his expression, but he’s still looking at his glass. like maybe he didn’t mean for it to come out that way. or maybe he did, and just doesn’t want to make it worse by looking at you while your soul leaves your body. you clear your throat, trying to play it cool. “um… a few. like, two years older. max.” your mouth moves before your brain can stop it. “why?” that gets him to glance over. the corner of his mouth twitches. “just curious.” you tilt your head slightly, studying him for a beat. “have you dated younger?” his lips twitch like he was expecting the question. like he knew it was coming the second he asked you. “yeah.” “how much younger?” he shrugs, swirling what’s left in his glass before finishing it. “a few years.” “define a few.” “less than six.” you hum, swirling your own glass now. “so… younger, but not that young.” “young enough.” your lips twitch. “you mean not as young as me.” if it wasn’t obvious before that you had a crush on him, it is now! wow, good job! his mouth lifts at the corner—like he hears the shift in your tone. like he notices that you didn’t say it as a joke. “no,” he says, quiet. “not as young as you.” it hangs there, weirdly loud.

you’re immediately aware of how quiet the room has gotten. or maybe it’s just your brain going absolutely still, like it’s buffering. like it’s realizing, a little too late, that yes, you did just say that. and yes, he definitely caught it. you let out a weak laugh—your go-to defense. “well,” you mumble, looking anywhere but at him, “guess i’m out of the running then.” he hums, low in his throat. “who said that?” you freeze. okay. that didn’t sound like a joke. not entirely. you turn your head slowly, and he’s already looking at you—one eyebrow slightly raised, that tiny not-quite-a-smile playing on his lips like he knows exactly what he just did to you. “are you flirting with me right now?” “depends,” he says, leaning back just slightly. “would it be a problem if i was?” you open your mouth. close it. open it again. “i mean—yes. no. maybe. i don’t know.” you groan. “don’t ask me complicated questions when i’ve had wine.” he laughs again, softer this time, and that only makes it worse because it’s so genuine. like he’s enjoying watching you scramble. you shift slightly. “i’m thirteen years younger than you, you know?” it’s barely above a whisper, but it lands like a confession. there’s a pause. he doesn’t laugh this time. “yeah,” he says, just as quiet. “i know.” you nod, like that settles it. it doesn’t. seunghyun runs a hand through his white hair, like he’s trying to scrub the thought from his head. “you don’t have to remind me.” “someone should,” you say, attempting to lighten the moment, but your voice wavers, betraying you. “in case you forgot.” “i didn’t forget.” his voice is lower now. “i haven’t forgotten once.” “then maybe you should,” you murmur. “i’ve tried.” his eyes drop to your lips—long enough to make your pulse pick up. enough that your breath falters slightly in your chest. “it’d be easier,” you say, quieter now, like speaking any louder might break whatever this is turning into. “so much easier,” he agrees, voice rougher than before as he leans closer. your knees are brushing, and he doesn’t move. his hand’s on the couch cushion now, just beside your thigh. the space between your faces is shrinking, inch by inch, like neither of you’s quite aware you’re moving. “this is a bad idea,” he says, barely above a whisper, like he’s trying to convince himself. “the worst,” you breathe. but your voice cracks halfway through it, and he hears it. you know he does, because that’s when his gaze flickers to your eyes, then back to your lips. again. he lets out a breathy laugh. “so we agree.” you nod. “we agree.” but your faces are so close now, you can feel the warmth of his breath. his hand brushes your jaw first—light, like he’s still giving you time to pull away. and when you don’t—when your lips part and your breath catches—he kisses you.

he kisses you like he’s been holding back for weeks. because he has. all teeth and lips and breathless noise as his mouth slants over yours, deeper, hungrier. your hand fists in the fabric of his sweater almost instantly, anchoring yourself, because your whole body jolts with it—like every nerve’s been waiting for this exact thing. he groans into your mouth, low and rough, and the sound shoots straight through you. he kisses you like he’s angry about it—about wanting you this much, about how good it feels to finally stop pretending. you gasp when his knee pushes between yours, nudging your thighs apart just enough to press in closer. his weight follows, shifting over you until you’re half beneath him and your back hits the cushions. your skirt rides up with the movement, denim bunching at your hips, and his hand trails down over the exposed skin of your thigh like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. he breaks the kiss just long enough to look down at you, breathing hard. his eyes are blown wide, mouth slightly parted, and there’s a kind of stunned silence between you—like neither of you can believe you let it get this far. like you’re both trying to decide if you care. you don’t. he leans in again, mouth catching yours in another kiss, slower this time but no less intense. your hands slide up beneath his sweater, fingers grazing over the heat of his skin, and his breath stutters as he presses closer—hips against yours. his thumb brushes over the inside of your thigh, inching higher, dragging fire along your nerves with every soft pass. you arch slightly into him, and that’s all it takes—his hand glides up, knuckles grazing the edge of your underwear.

you don’t even hear it at first—the vibration somewhere near your head, buried in the couch cushions, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears. but then the buzzing cuts through again, insistent. you break the kiss, breathless, dazed, lips swollen. “wait—my phone…” he shifts off of you just enough for you to reach back, fumbling between the cushions until you find it. and there it is. your mom’s name glowing across the screen. “shit,” you whisper, sitting up fast. your skirt’s bunched up your thighs, his sweater is crooked, your heartbeat is in the stratosphere. “it’s my mom.” he straightens up too, running a hand through his hair, as you swipe to answer. “hello?” “where are you?” she asks. “it’s four in the morning.” you blink. “wait—it’s what?” you glance at the time. 4:02 am. you shoot seunghyun a wide-eyed look, which he returns with a raised brow and a small, almost apologetic shrug. “i’m—i’m sorry,” you say quickly into the phone, trying to stand and fix your clothes at the same time. “i lost track of time. i’m fine. i’ll head home now.” “we’ll talk tomorrow,” she says, clipped. “get home safe.” the line goes dead. your hands are shaky as you smooth down your skirt, still very aware of how flustered you must look—and how recently his mouth was on yours. “i—i have to go,” you say, still catching your breath. “she’s gonna kill me.” seunghyun lifts an eyebrow, mouth twitching. “didn’t you say your mom doesn’t control what you do past 8 p.m.?” “yeah, well. that rule apparently doesn’t apply when i disappear until four in the morning.” he chuckles under his breath. “sorry,” you say, voice small. “i didn’t mean to just—run off like this.” he shakes his head. “don’t be sorry.” “i’ll call a cab—” “don’t,” he says, already pulling his own phone from his pocket. “i’ll call my driver. he’s on standby.” you hesitate. “at 4 a.m? you really don’t have to—” “i’d rather not end the night worrying if you made it home okay.” “…okay.”

you wake up at 12:47 p.m. the next day. sunday. your pillow is on the floor, your phone’s tangled in your sheets, and you’re still wearing last night’s eyeliner, which has now officially migrated to your left eyebrow. cute. you stare at the ceiling for a beat, blinking. okay, okay… last night wasn’t a dream. you kissed seunghyun. no—you made out with him. on his couch. he was on top of you. there was hand placement. breathy sounds. you exhale, then sit up straight, remembering your jacket. your favorite one, the denim one with the little patch on the sleeve… you left it at his place. you groan softly, flopping back against the pillows. of course you did. it was on the couch, folded beside you at some point, probably got shoved aside when he—when you—yeah. you reach for your phone, already smiling like an idiot, fingers tapping open your messages. you type out:

hey! :) morning, i hope you slept well, i think i left my jacket at your place lol

and hit send. the message bubble appears. green. what? you stare. flip your phone face down like that’s going to fix something. what the hell…? did he block you? no, it can’t be. why would he? you open instagram, heart rate slowly climbing, and search his profile. user not found. you blink. refresh. nothing... blocked. oh wow. okay. cool cool cool. almost fucked you on his couch yesterday and now he’s blocked you everywhere. totally normal adult behavior! you flop back on your bed, phone on your chest, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer an explanation. is he stupid? like genuinely? because there is no point in blocking you if he still has to see your face every day at starbase. like… hello? you didn’t meet on tinder, you work in the same goddamn building. what’s the plan here, exactly? pretend you don’t exist? nod politely while you hand him his schedule and just never acknowledge the fact that his hands were up your skirt? sure. yeah. seems sustainable. you open the old message thread, scroll through a bit. you groan. you swipe out of messages. close instagram. reopen messages again. you sigh dramatically and throw your phone across the bed. why did he do it? he literally kissed you the night before. wait… did he block you because you didn’t sleep with him? what the fuck is his issue? you’re angry now.

so of course, when monday comes, you wake up before your alarm. not because you’re well-rested. you’re not, you barely slept. your brain spent the whole night playing an endless loop of what the fuck was that and how dare he and was i actually that bad of a kisser? followed by a mental rewatch of the kiss from five different angles, followed by another loop of seriously, what the actual fuck is wrong with him. you get out of bed like a woman on a mission. shower, skincare, outfit—everything is crisp. you look like someone who wouldn’t even know what a block button is because you’ve never been rejected in your life. you get to the station early. normally, someone from your team will poke their head into your desk area and ask, “hey, can you grab coffee for the crew again?” and you’ll sigh and nod and go along with it because—well, intern. but not today. today, before anyone even opens their mouth, you’re already on your feet. you don’t even need the order list. you know the order list. you’ve practically tattooed it to your brain.

when you walk into the crew room, he’s already there, scrolling through his phone. you straighten your shoulders and walk in. a few people notice you, offer lazy smiles and tired thank-yous as you pass out coffees like usual. like your entire ego hasn’t just been crushed and set on fire by the man currently pretending very hard not to see you. you make your rounds and, last but absolutely not least—seunghyun. he doesn’t look up when you stop in front of him. just keeps scrolling, like the light of his phone is more interesting. coward. you smile. and very, very gently—you tilt the cup. just enough for a soft splash of coffee to spill right onto his thigh. he jerks slightly. eyes snap up. “shibal—” “oh my god!” you gasp, completely fake, already reaching for tissues from the center table. “i am so sorry.” you’re not. you immediately bend over and start dabbing at the spot on his pants like your life depends on it. “hey—” he shifts in his seat, trying to back away, but you keep pressing the tissues to his leg, overly focused. “i’m really, really sorry—“ “stop. seriously, it’s fine.” “no, i feel awful,” you say, voice still sugary sweet. “these pants must be expensive.” you hope they are, just out of spite. “stop. now.” “just let me—” he curses in his mother tongue before he grabs your wrist—not hard, but enough to make you pause—and leans in slightly. no one else is paying attention. the crew is too busy chatting, arguing about something across the room. “what the hell are you doing?” he mutters, jaw tight. you blink up at him, innocent. “helping.” “helping,” he repeats under his breath, eyes narrowing. “mhm.” you press the napkin to the damp spot on his pants one more time before finally pulling back and tossing the now coffee-stained tissue into the trash. “by the way,” you add, “did you find my jacket? i left it at your place, i texted you about it yesterday. or at least, i tried to. but then i realized you blocked me… crazy! if you could bring it tomorrow, that’d be great! i really liked that one.” “can you not do that?” “do what?” he exhales through his nose like he’s trying very hard not to lose his temper in front of a room full of people. “this,” he says, voice still quiet. “right now.” you blink, all faux confusion and polite concern. “sorry, you’ll have to be more specific.” he lowers his voice even more. “we can talk later.”

you wonder what his perception of ‘later’ is, because a week has gone by and he still hasn’t talked to you. great. seven entire business days of nothing. he hasn’t given you your jacket back either which, frankly, is insulting. because that was a nice jacket. and you’re starting to think he’s keeping it on purpose. like a hostage. probably folded in his closet next to his designer sweaters. but that’s not all. he’s not staying late at the station anymore—not like he used to. no more mysterious 10 p.m. coffee breaks or pretend meetings that just happened to line up with yours. no more loitering by your desk asking you questions he already knows the answer to. no. he’s been the first to leave every day, like he’s allergic to your existence. like he’s on a tight schedule now that doesn’t include pretending you didn’t almost hook up in his stupid penthouse. and you—you’re overthinking everything more than you should. but what did you expect, really? he’s him. choi fucking seunghyun. a literal celebrity. he’s stadium-filling, broke-the-internet-level famous. and you’re you. a twenty-two-year-old intern with an overused tote bag and anxiety. he’s probably entertaining another girl by now. someone older. someone hotter. someone who’s currently giving him the sloppiest head imaginable while you spiral alone on your mattress floor-camping because you’re too sad to do laundry.

it’s just a briefing. that’s what you tell yourself when you walk into the small mission room with your tablet tucked under your arm, already scrolling through the latest schedule revision. it’s just a technical review—twenty, thirty minutes, tops. you’ve done dozens of these. what’s not fine is that it’s just you, one guy from systems, and seunghyun. and seunghyun’s the one who asked for this. specifically requested someone from the integration team walk him through the final verifications on the updated protocol for emergency launch procedures—redundancy checks, automated override responses, eva lockdown sequencing. stuff he’s already been briefed on before. twice. but sure. you’re the intern, you show up when asked. you sit at the far end of the table and pull up the files. the systems engineer arrives a minute later and nods to you. “he should be here in a sec,” he says, setting down his tablet. you nod, trying to stay focused. and then the door opens. seunghyun walks in like he didn’t ruin your entire week, barely glancing at you, taking the seat across the table. the systems guy starts walking you both through the revised plans—delays in the pressure stabilization sequence, last-minute adjustments to the backup thruster commands. you’re expected to confirm how the integration team’s handling the adjusted timeline. what redundancy tests are still running. whether everything will be clean by launch. and then—halfway through discussing the comms systems auto-failover—the systems engineer’s phone buzzes. he checks it. grimaces. “sorry,” he mutters, getting up. “i’ve got to take this—it’s about the diagnostic we kicked off this morning. i’ll be right back.” and just like that, you’re alone with seunghyun.

“i have your jacket,” he says after a beat of uncomfortable silence. you scoff. “oh wow. an entire week later. should i thank you for the honor?” his lips press into a thin line. “i’m sorry.” you stare at him for a second, deadpan. “for the jacket? or for blocking me after making out with me?” “for all of it.” “why’d you do it?” you press. “because i didn’t sleep with you? because—” “no,” he cuts in quickly, offended. “of course not. it wasn’t that.” you cross your arms, waiting. “you’re… young,” he says finally. “and i’ve been through too much shit.” you roll your eyes. “please.” “i’m serious.” “what are you—” “you know what happened,” he cuts in. “everyone does.” and you do. the articles. the headlines. the trial. the overdosing. the netizen comments that called him a disgrace. the years of silence and exile that followed. “i’ve been dragged through every headline in korea,” he adds. “and people still follow me around, waiting for me to fuck up again. i thought—i thought it’d be better. for you. for me.” he rubs a hand across his jaw. “you think anyone would let me get involved with someone like you? twenty-two? i’d be dragged again. you’d be dragged with me. i can’t afford that.” “why? famous men date younger girls all the time and—” “and how many of them are hated by their entire country?” you shake your head, not even angry now—just tired. “then you shouldn’t have kissed me.” he looks at you for a long time. “i know.” silence. you look down at your hands. “you didn’t even talk to me. i just woke up the next day and… poof, gone.” “i know. i panicked.” “did you think i wouldn’t notice?” “i knew you would. but i—” the door creaks open again. “alright, sorry about that,” the systems engineer says, walking back in. “they’re pushing the diagnostics briefing to wednesday, so we’re good to move forward here.” you and seunghyun both sit a little straighter, shifting back into neutral, like flipping a switch. “where were we?” the engineer asks, tapping his tablet.

the day was long. the lights over your desk flick off with a soft click, and you rub your eyes as the screen fades to black. everything’s packed—tablet in your bag, notes tucked under your arm, keycard clipped to your sweater. your body’s tired in that slow, heavy way it always is after too many hours spent double-checking timelines no one will remember until something goes wrong. you grab your keys and head for the door, already thinking about what leftovers you’re going to microwave for dinner—your phone buzzes. you check it, thumb swiping without thinking—until your brain catches up with what you’re looking at.

Hi. Like I said earlier, I’ve got your jacket. Driver’s outside the main gate for a few more mins.

you freeze in the middle of the hallway. oh. okay, so he unblocked you. you consider ignoring it. letting it rot in his backseat for eternity. but… it’s your favorite jacket. and, well, fine. maybe part of you wants to see him again. just for a second. so you head for the front gate. his car’s there—same sleek, black, low-key pretentious sedan, parked like it’s never known a traffic ticket in its life. you spot him through the tinted window before you’re even close. and of course, he sees you coming. as you approach, the back door swings open from the inside. you stop just outside the door. “you could’ve just left it with your driver,” you say. “didn’t want to.” “fine. then give it to me.” a pause. he hesitates. your eyes narrow. “don’t tell me you forgot it.” “i don’t have it with me.” “are you serious?” you scoff. “i needed to talk to you,” he says. you laugh. like actually laugh. “oh, that’s rich. now you want to talk?” you shake your head. “we talked this morning,” you remind him. “not like that,” he says quietly. “and what exactly is that supposed to mean?” he doesn’t answer immediately. just glances toward the front seat. and that’s when you realize: the driver’s still there, eyes locked straight ahead, hands resting on the wheel. he hasn’t moved, but he’s absolutely listening. you and seunghyun both know it. so when he turns back to you, voice lower now, and says, “somewhere private,” it lands different. you exhale. your hand tightens around the strap of your bag, glancing around before sliding in the backseat.

the ride is silent. but it doesn’t feel silent. you’re sitting close—closer than necessary—and his stupid long legs are taking up all the damn space. one of his knees brushes against yours and your skin burns with the contact, like your body hasn’t moved on from last week. you shift slightly, glancing at him. god. he’s so fine. so fine it makes you mad. ugh and his lips were so soft against yours… his hand was so warm… his weight, the way he—nope. enough. you shake your head like that’ll do anything to stop the thoughts. you try to focus on anything else. the road. the seatbelt indentation on your thigh… you should have a little more dignity. you really should. but honestly? you are mentally restraining yourself from throwing yourself at him and kissing him again right there in the damn car.

apparently you have more self-control than seunghyun. because the moment you both step into his penthouse, finally alone, he kisses you. you barely register the sound of the door shutting before he’s turning to you—hand already finding your waist, and then suddenly his mouth is on yours. your brain trips over itself, trying to catch up with what the fuck is happening. your hands are still clutched around your bag, your body stiff, too surprised to do anything but stand there like you’ve just been struck by lightning. because—what? but then his fingers tighten at your side, warm through your clothes. his lips part slightly against yours, like he’s about to pull away, and that snaps you out of it. you drop your bag to the floor and your hands find the back of his neck, pulling him closer as you kiss him back. the second your lips move with his, it’s like something clicks into place. he groans quietly against your mouth, and then he’s moving—walking you backwards through the foyer like he doesn’t care where you end up, as long as he can keep touching you. your back hits the wall and his body follow, pressing against yours. his mouth moves with yours, hungry and rough now. he shifts again, slotting a thigh between yours, and your back arches—body chasing the pressure before your brain can even catch up. his hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing beneath your chin as he tilts your face to kiss you harder. deeper. and for a moment, you let him. you let yourself fall into it. but then you pull back. your heart is racing, lips swollen as your hands find his chest. you hold him there, a few inches away, eyebrows furrowed. “what are—” you whisper, breathless. “what are you doing?” his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, mouth parted like he wants to dive right back in. but he stills, hands lingering on your waist. your eyes flick up to meet his. “you said you couldn’t do this. that i’m too young, and it would ruin you, and—” “i know what i said,” he interrupts. “i shouldn’t want you. but i do.” he means it.

it lives in his gut, coils low in his spine, this itch he’s never been able to fully kill. this need for things he knows damn well he shouldn’t touch. the more off-limits something is, the more his body seems to reach for it. the more it feels like gravity. he knows this. he’s aware of this. his therapist would probably applaud him for the insight. but apparently, all that self-awareness still hasn’t translated into impulse control. because you’re standing in front of him right now with your lips parted and your eyes searching his, like you don’t fully understand the war happening inside his head—and instead of backing away, instead of doing the decent, adult, responsible thing… he wants to kiss you again. worse than that—he wants to ruin you. he wants to have you, in every way he’s not supposed to. and then he wants to go back in time and erase the part of him that thinks like that.

you shift your weight, heartbeat loud in your ears. he’s watching you like he’s looking for a sign—some kind of clear answer written on your face that’ll make it easier to do the right thing. but there’s never been anything easy about this. “so… so what do we do?” you ask. “if we do this…” his voice drops even lower. “you’ll need to sign an nda.” you exhale, a half-laugh slipping out. “jesus. an nda?” “i know how that sounds—” “like you don’t trust me?” “it’s not about trust,” he says sharply, then softens. “it’s about protection. mine, mostly.” you watch him. he looks like he’s been thinking about this for a long time. like he’s been trying to talk himself out of it and just lost the argument. “this—” he gestures between you two. “this can’t come back to me.” he says. “i got involved with the wrong girl once and it ruined my life… i can’t let that happen again.” you swallow, throat dry. “so you want me to sign something that says i won’t tell anyone we slept together.” “yeah. that’s what i want.”

you should say no. the thought floats to the surface like a stubborn bubble, persistent even through the thick fog of heat in your chest. you should say no and leave with what little pride you’ve got left. you might be young but you’re not naive, you’ve seen how this kind of thing plays out—older man, younger girl, too many power imbalances to count, and a whole minefield of feelings that only one of you will have to deal with afterward. it doesn’t end well. and still—there’s this stupid part of you that wants to say yes anyway. because you’ve spent the last few months orbiting this man like a fucking satellite (ironically enough) and now he wants you. and he’s handing you the terms of your own undoing like he’s done the math and decided you’re worth the risk only if you’re kept quiet about it. one of the most beautiful men in the industry—hell, in the entire world—wants you. maybe not for the right reasons. maybe not in the way you’ve dreamed about late at night, face buried in your pillow, replaying every brush of his hand. but still. he wants you. and you’re just a girl, after all. a girl with a big fat crush, the kind that makes you feel a little sick and a little stupid. do it for the plot, says the voice in your head. because you could get something out of this too, right? probably good sex—great sex, even—with a man people would kill to even breathe next to. so, inevitably… you exhale, feeling the weight of the moment settle over your shoulders before finally looking up at him. “okay. i’ll sign it.”

your hand hovers over the first page for a second too long—long enough to register the bold, all-caps title: NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT — PERSONAL RELATIONS. you skim the rest, though it’s all the usual corporate-sounding nonsense dressed up in legalese: ‘i, the undersigned, agree to refrain from discussing, disclosing, hinting at, or vaguely subtweeting any private or intimate interactions with choi seunghyun […] including, but not limited to, verbal exchanges, physical contact, romantic entanglements, and/or sexual activities, whether in person or via social media, messaging apps, podcasts […]’ there’s even a clause about not sharing screenshots. of course there is. your fingers tighten around the pen. and in one neat, traitorous motion, you sign your name at the bottom like you’re checking into a hotel. and that’s how you end up in his bed. half of your body naked, top forgotten somewhere on the wooden floor, jeans tugged halfway down your thighs before he got impatient and shoved them the rest of the way off. his mouth is on your right breast, closing around your nipple, sucking gently as his teeth graze the sensitive peak. your bare back arches off the bed, pressing more of your breast against his mouth. the sight of him is amazing, there’s something powerful about having an older man sucking on your tits like a damn baby. you almost laugh at the thought—till you feel his knee nudge between yours, parting them, and your breath catches.

he leans over you, bracing himself with one hand pressed into the mattress near your head, the other slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, and the look on his face is pure hunger. his fingers find your clit and you can feel him smile against your skin before pulling away from your breast. “can you feel it, hm? can you feel how wet you are for me already?” he asks. his fingers move slow on purpose, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make you twitch. and the way you moan for him damn… it goes straight to his cock. he tells himself to go slow, to be careful. but it’s getting harder by the second. “you’ve been waiting for this ever since you saw me, haven’t you?” he murmurs. you’re barely holding yourself together—pussy dripping, hips rolling into his touch, every nerve frayed—but somehow you manage to smirk, just a little. “you should say that to yourself,” you whisper, biting back a moan. “you’re the one who’s been waiting.” seunghyun chuckles. because you’re right, he has been waiting. and you’re so cocky and smug in your wrecked little state… soaked and trembling under his hands, still mouthing off like you’ve got the upper hand. he fucking loves it. “you’re a fucking brat,” he mutters. his fingers don’t slow. they speed up. like he’s punishing you for opening that pretty little mouth and pushing his buttons. your back arches. your thighs start to shake. “mhm,” you pant. “and you love it.” “oh, i do. trust me.” he leans in, lips barely brushing your ear as he murmurs, “but what would your mom think if she saw you like this, though?” you freeze for half a second and seunghyun smiles. “all needy for me. squirming under my fingers. begging for someone almost twice your age to fuck you stupid.” and then he plunges his fingers deep, curling them hard, dragging them against that spot inside you that makes your whole body jerk. “fuck! s-seunghyun!—” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open like you can’t keep anything in anymore. he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, filthy and desperate. it’s the first time you’ve said it like that. his thumb finds your clit again, circling tight and fast, and you’re already so close it’s pathetic—hips bucking up into his hand, fingers clawing at the sheets like you need something to anchor you. “you like that?” he murmurs, watching you. “knowing how wrong this is? knowing she trusts me and here you are, letting me finger you like a little slut in my bed?” you moan so loud you’re pretty sure the neighbors heard, your entire body clenching, everything snapping.

he fucking feels it—how close you are, how your walls flutter around his fingers like they don’t want to let him go. he wants to make you cum on them, then again on his cock, then maybe once more just because he can. “yeah,” he smirks. “you like that.” you nod, frantic, breath catching on every stroke of his fingers. your thighs are shaking now, walls clenching around his fingers, hips stuttering like you can’t decide whether to push against his hand or pull away from how intense it is. he drags his mouth across your cheek, your jaw, your neck—biting down when you moan again. “so fucking desperate,” he murmurs against your skin. “look at you. you wanna cum for me, baby?” you nod again, breathless. “please—” “yeah?” he thrusts his fingers harder, faster. “shit! please! p-please, seunghyun!” “cum for me, pretty girl.” and you do. your whole body seizes under him—back arching, mouth falling open around a ragged moan that sounds like his name but doesn’t come out fully formed. your thighs clamp tight around his wrist, your cunt pulses around his fingers, wet and hot and so fucking tight he almost loses it just watching you. he slows his hand, finally easing you down, then pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth sucking them clean. “you taste so good,” he says.

you’re still catching your breath, chest rising and falling in uneven waves, your body limp and spent against his sheets. his hand smooths over your stomach, up your chest, until he wraps it gently around your throat—not rough (yet…) he leans down, lips barely an inch from yours. “you think i’m done with you?” you blink up at him, still hazy, still trying to come down. but you already know the answer. you feel the answer, actually—pressed against your hip, hard and aching under the fabric of his black jeans. he shifts his hips just enough for you to feel it clearer, grinding against your skin like punctuation. “i’m still dressed,” he whispers. “haven’t even taken my fucking belt off.” you smirk. “then what the fuck are you waiting for?” he lets out a low, humorless laugh, then pulls back to look down at you, his eyes dark. “careful,” he mutters, voice rough now. hoarse. “you keep talking like that, and i’m not gonna be gentle.” “i don’t want you to be.” fucking hell... you want it rough? you’re gonna get it. “i’m gonna fuck you now,” he says. “and you’re gonna take it, all of it, like the good girl i know you are.”

his hand moves to his belt. “eyes on me,” he says. the sharp clink of his belt buckle makes your breath hitch. he’s watching you—eyes locked on your face, like he’ll know if you even think about looking away. your heart pounds. you can’t look anywhere else even if you tried. he unthreads the belt slow, letting it drag through the loops of his jeans with a quiet, deliberate sound. he drops it onto the floor without looking. your eyes follow his hands, the way they move to his waistband. the way he undoes the button, then lowers the zipper. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he leans in, kisses you again, rougher this time. his hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he pulls back to look at you while he pushes his pants and briefs down just far enough to free his cock. and fuck, he’s thick, hard, and leaking at the tip. seunghyun catches your gaze when your eyes flick down and smirks. lord jesus. your mouth parts like you might say something but nothing comes out. “you can take it,” he mutters. “you’re gonna take every inch for me, yeah?” you nod as he puts a condom on, then he strokes himself twice, just to line up—guiding the thick head to your entrance, dragging it through your slick folds. you whimper at the feeling, legs falling open again, hips lifting. “fuck me,” you beg, voice desperate. “please.” his hand grips your thigh, and then he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch, filling you so much you forget how to breathe. his jaw clenches. his brow furrows. seunghyun lets out a broken sound as your cunt pulls him in, hot and tight. “fuck,” he gasps. “you feel—shit! you f-feel better than i even imagined.” and he did imagine it. way too many times. late at night, hand wrapped around his cock, thinking about this exact moment—your legs around him and your pussy swallowing him whole.

he stays still for a second, buried to the hilt, breathing hard through his nose like he’s fighting for his life. “jesus christ,” he mutters,“you’re so tight… so fucking warm—” you whimper underneath him, fingers scrambling across his back, nails digging into the soft fabric of his shirt. “move,” you breathe. “please, seunghyun, move.” his hips pull back an inch. maybe two. then he pushes back in slow, dragging every inch through you until you’re arching off the bed with a broken moan. and that’s it. because after that first thrust, he loses the last bit of control he was holding onto. he starts fucking you hard and deep—so hard the headboard starts knocking against the wall. your body jolts with every thrust, your mouth open, eyes glassy, completely ruined beneath him. “that what you wanted?” he pants, pulling back to slam into you again. “you wanted—fuck!—you wanted me to fuck you like this? huh?” you nod frantically, but it’s not enough, he wants to hear you say it. “answer,” he snaps, thrusting even harder. “say it, baby.” “y-yes!” you gasp, voice needy. “wanted this—mmmh!—wanted this so m-much.” he groans like he’s in pain, dropping his head to your chest, mouth latching onto the curve of your breast, sucking a bruise into your skin. your hands tangle in his hair, your legs wrap tighter around him, and the sound of his balls slapping fast against your ass fills the room. seunghyun’s gripping your hips, pulling you toward him with every thrust, burying himself so deep you swear you can feel him up in your stomach.

he’s been fucking you for what feels like forever, like he’s trying to carve the shape of his cock into your body. he shifts your legs higher around his waist, changes the angle, and fuck, you feel it deeper, rougher, somehow even better. he groans when your pussy clamps down around him, and slams into you harder, more desperate now. he’s soaked in sweat, drenched. his forehead is dripping, beads sliding down his temple, catching on the curve of his neck. even his shirt—still on, clinging to him like a second skin—is plastered to his back and chest, soaked through. you don’t know why he hasn’t taken the damn thing off. either way, he looks wrecked, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. your skin’s slick with sweat too, voice hoarse from moaning his name, and your thighs are already trembling. you’re going to cum again. and judging by the way his mouth drops open, his thrusts growing erratic—so is he. his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, circling it fast, in time with his thrusts. “that’s it,” he says. “be my good little s-slut. cum—cum all over my cock. show me… show me how good this pussy gets, baby. i know you want to.” “fuck—s-seunghyun!” you cry out, unable to say anything else. and as your back arches off the mattress, mind going white with it, the one absurd thought that flashes through your head is: well, the nda’s paying off! he thrusts through it, chasing his own high now, gritting his teeth as your walls milk his cock so tight he sees stars.

he made you cum three times that day. because, yes, he still had enough stamina to go for a second round after that one! and somehow, he’d been even filthier the second time. you hadn’t expected it to be like that. you figured it’d be good—obviously. it’s choi seunghyun. but this was something else. you thought this would be a one time thing, just to shake the tension off. you know… sign the nda, fuck it out, move on… but no. it starts with text messages. the next morning, you’re back at the station, pretending to focus on your intern checklist, sipping coffee with trembling hands and sore thighs, when your phone buzzes.

Nice skirt.

you like it?

I do. Very much.

i’m glad ;)

Still sore?

a little

Poor you😉

you shouldn’t be texting me at these hours yk? we’re working, sir!!!

I know.

But I was thinking about how tight you were and I couldn’t resist. Sorry.

liar… you’re not sorry lmao

Not even a little.

You looked so good when you walked past me earlier, I almost stopped you.

almost?

Wasn’t sure if you could take it again.

aw, so thoughtful of you, always looking out for my wellbeing!

Someone has to! You looked wobbly on the stairs🙂

shut up, you’re not funny

I think I am.

sigh… sigh, sigh, sigh… sassy men apocalypse

Where are you?

third floor, why? :)

Because I’m on my way.

um, i’m working👎

You won’t be in about two minutes.

you’re crazy, old man

And you’re probably already wet under that little skirt. Could slide in so easily.

well… guilty ;) five minutes is all i have, take it or leave it

Oh, I’ll take it.

hurry up then😚

and just like that, you find yourself standing, pressed up between the wall and his chest, as he fucks you—skirt shoved up around your waist, panties pushed to the side and his fingers digging into your ass to keep you in place while your body rocks with every thrust. you don’t even make it to five minutes. he makes you cum in three.

it becomes a habit. and before you realize it, months have passed. you’ve lost count of how many times it’s happened—bent over the bathroom sink at the launch site before a morning briefing, your lanyard still around your neck, trying not to make a sound while seunghyun fucks you from behind with his hand over your mouth, whispering, “you better keep quiet. door’s not even locked.” … tucked between rows of astronaut suits in the integration lab storage, pressed up against a shelf while he hikes your dress up and fingers you—the sound of your wetness obscene in the quiet, sterile room … perched on the edge of a conference table after hours, legs spread, his mouth between your thighs while your laptop is still open next to you, some unfinished spreadsheet glowing on the screen—your ankles over his shoulders, his tongue circling your clit, making you moan … riding him in your desk chair during a remote call with your mom—his boss—on speaker. she’s going over deadlines. you’re pretending to listen while his cock’s buried inside you and his hand is wrapped around your throat, whispering, “don’t let it show, baby. be good.” … underneath that same desk, the office dimly lit, his fingers tangled in your hair while you take him down your throat—slow, because he told you to … pressed up against the window of his penthouse with the city glittering behind you, knees weak and breath fogging the glass as he fucks you from behind, one hand over your mouth just in case the neighbors can hear how loud you get when he hits that spot … even through the phone, he finds ways to get to you—one hand on the phone, the other between your legs, moaning into the quiet while he talks you through it “rub your clit, baby. slow. i want you begging by the time you cum.” and then, “wish i was there to watch you. you’d be so loud for me, right baby?”

you’ve learned a lot about seunghyun during these months. and let’s just say—he’s not the easiest person to deal with. he has his moments. days where he completely shuts down, needs space, and disappears for hours without saying a word, leaving you on read even when you’ve asked him something important, something that required an answer. at first, it drove you a little crazy (you’re not gonna lie) but eventually you learned to stop expecting him to be someone he’s not. you tell yourself it’s fine, that it’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything, that he doesn’t owe you an explanation. you remind yourself that he’s older and usually a lot busier than you, that he probably has a million other things to think about, and that you’re just… there. just a part of his life he visits when he wants to. not the center of it. and yeah, that stings a little sometimes, but you get it. you understand him. you want to give him his space, even when it makes your chest feel weird and tight for a bit. you won’t deny it—you’ve done your research. let’s not call it stalking because that feels a little too accusatory (it is stalking 100%) , but you’ve definitely looked into him more than is strictly necessary for someone you’re not officially dating. you knew stuff about him before, of course, but now it’s different. there’s this aching need to figure him out, like if you just look hard enough, pay close enough attention, you’ll finally understand what’s going on in that beautifully fucked-up head of his. so, yeah! you’ve watched all the interviews, the documentaries, the films and shows and guest appearances. you’ve read every article, even the ones that feel like they were written by a fan with too much time and zero critical thinking skills. you’ve stayed up at night scrolling through reddit threads like a lunatic, trying to connect dots that probably aren’t even there. he doesn’t know about this, obviously, and he never will, because you’re pretty sure he’d block your number for stalker behavior real fast. which is fair. but honestly? you’re doing it with good intentions. you’re not trying to be creepy, you’re just trying to get him. decode him. understand how someone like him works. and more importantly, where the hell you fit into all of it. but eventually you realize it’s kind of pointless. because the seunghyun you see when you’re alone with him doesn’t match any of the versions of him you find online. the public version of him feels like a character he plays—perfectly curated.

you don’t really realize when it stops being about sex. maybe it stopped being only about sex when you started spending full weekends at his penthouse, lying to your mom about crashing at a friend’s place while you were actually curled up on his couch—only when he was in the mood for cuddling, of course—watching movies or playing board games while his unreleased tracks played in the background. sometimes he’ll play you something he’s working on and sit quietly beside you, waiting for your reaction. and when you tell him it’s beautiful—because it always is—he just shrugs and says, “it’s not done yet.” but there’s something in the way he says it. something that sounds a lot like thank you. he never says why he shows you, he just does. or maybe it was when he started buying you things out of nowhere. thoughtful things. unnecessary things. like that matching silk pajama set he picked up ‘for sleepovers’ so you’d have something to leave at his place—never mind the fact that matching with his own wasn’t required and he absolutely could’ve gotten you something completely different. or the shoes you’d been eyeing for weeks but didn’t buy because they were way too expensive, and then suddenly they just… showed up. in your size. in his hands. and now you have to explain to your mom how a broke intern magically afforded designer footwear. there was the cartier bracelet. the van cleef earrings. both of which you now casually refer to as ‘dupes’ because the truth would raise more than a few eyebrows. he’s even emptied a drawer in his bedroom just so you can put your things when you stay over. he pays for your manicures too. picks the design himself. says it’s to “decorate the hand that’s going to wrap around my dick.” which is… charming?

maybe it stopped being just sex when you got sick and he took care of you for three days straight. made you hot meals, brought you medicine, insisted you sleep in his bed instead of going home. the food was mostly inedible—he’s a terrible cook—but you were too congested to taste anything anyway, so it worked out. maybe it was how he started saving things for you. a piece of cake from a crew celebration you missed, a keychain from a trip, a book he thought you’d like… or when he let you see him on his worst days—the ones where he barely talks, where he gets lost in his own head, where the silence feels heavy. the days he doesn’t touch you at all, just lets you sit there next to him on the couch in quiet solidarity (and sometimes snapping at you for no reason as well…). or maybe it was when he started taking you out. quietly, of course. always in private rooms, always through back entrances, always with that underlying sense of this can’t be seen. but still. that has to mean something, right? or when he looks at you when you’re lying next to him after sex, with your hair messy and his hand resting on your bare stomach like he forgot to move it. those are the moments that make your chest ache. because it’s in those looks, that you start to realize he might actually feel something for you.

everything kinda solidifies when he takes you on vacation to barbados. you tell your mom you’re taking a break for your mental health, which isn’t technically a lie, but also not… the whole truth. her reaction is immediate and skeptical. “you’re off this week?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “isn’t that when the rest of the crew is off too?” you pause. try to remember the script you came up with two days ago. “yeah,” you say, nodding way too fast. “thought it’d be smart to, like… rest at the same time.” she stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. eventually, after enough vague hand gestures and forced yawns about how ‘burnt out’ you’ve been, she buys it. saying, “well, good luck with whatever mess you get yourself into. i’ll be too busy working.” rude, as usual. you throw in something about needing to be alone and she backs off, probably thinking you’re going through a breakup you’ve failed to mention. which is ironic. but let her believe that. it’s easier than explaining the reality. you don’t tell her that you’ll be on a beach in barbados, drinking overpriced cocktails out of a coconut while choi seunghyun rubs sunscreen on your back and pretends not to look at your ass every five seconds. the trip itself is… surreal. private flight, of course. he’s casual about it, in a way that makes you feel casual, until you’re halfway across the world and he’s feeding you bites of tropical fruit on a balcony with the ocean stretched out behind him. you stay in a beachfront villa with a private pool and views that look like they were pulled off a screensaver. you spend the days doing absolutely nothing. you paddleboard, laugh too much, make questionable bets over mini-golf, drink things with too many garnishes, get sunburned, sneak kisses when no one’s watching, and fuck like it’s a limited-time offer and neither of you plans on wasting a single second.

but even here, you have to be careful. no photos, no being seen in the wrong place at the wrong time. when you go out to explore—because you’re in barbados and you should at least try to act like tourists—he dresses like he’s on the run from interpol. sunglasses, a mask, and a cap pulled low enough to practically blind him. long sleeves too, because apparently discretion is more important than not passing out from heatstroke. you walk through the historic streets of speightstown, visiting art galleries and tiny bookstores, and he’s dripping sweat but pretending everything is fine. you offer him water and he refuses out of pride. and when you point out that he’s two degrees away from spontaneous combustion, he tells you to keep walking. you go to harrison’s cave and take one of those little trams underground, and he keeps his head down the entire time like the rock formations might recognize him. you tour animal flower cave, stand at the edge of the cliffs while the wind tries to rip your hat off, and he holds your hand the entire time. you take photos of the view, but not of him. you stop at a roadside stand to try fish cakes and roasted breadfruit, and he stands awkwardly behind you like your very tall, very sweaty security guard, occasionally pulling you back by the waist when someone walks too close. he complains about the heat once—just once—and immediately tries to pretend he didn’t. you don’t let it go for the rest of the day.

on your second to last night in barbados, there’s a local festival happening near the beach—a community event with food stalls, live music, people dancing barefoot in the sand, and fireworks scheduled after sunset. the kind of thing tourists stumble into and locals grow up loving. you hear about it from the bartender while ordering two margaritas, and you’re already smiling halfway through the conversation, already imagining how nice it would be to go. seunghyun isn’t thrilled. you bring it up while the sun’s still low in the sky, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with damp hair (that he had dyed black just before the trip) and a towel around his neck. you mention the fireworks, the food, how it’s walking distance from the villa, and he barely looks up. “crowds,” he says. “we can stay in the back,” you offer, trying not to sound too hopeful. “just to watch the fireworks. it won’t be that busy.” he lifts an eyebrow. “it’s a festival. it’ll be busy.” “okay, but you’ll be in a mask and a hat and sunglasses like usual. no one’s going to recognize you.” he exhales, leans back on his hands, and watches you for a moment. he knows there’s no real point in arguing with you once you’ve got an idea stuck in your head. “you really want to go?” he asks eventually. you nod without hesitating. “yeah. i want to see fireworks with you.” he closes his eyes for a second like he’s pretending to weigh the pros and cons, and you stand there watching him with that little smile you know he hates because it means you’re about to do something mildly manipulative and very effective. “please?” you say, voice soft and teasing as you step closer, hands sliding up his bare back. “i really want to go,” you say, voice soft, lips brushing the side of his neck, your body pressed against his. “but if you need extra motivation…” your hand drifts to his front, dragging slow over his waistband, and you feel the way his breath catches even though he doesn’t move. “let me suck your dick,” you whisper. his jaw flexes. you let your nails scrape lightly along the front of his briefs, just enough pressure to make him grunt. “you’re bribing me with head?” “well… yeah. is it working?” he doesn’t need to reply. you can feel the way his cock is already hard beneath the thin fabric. he’s trying so hard to keep it together. and you love watching him try. you press a kiss to his jaw, just below it. your mouth trails down his neck. “c’mon, old man…” you tease, laughing softly against his skin. “i’ll let you fuck my throat, if that’s what you want.” he swallows hard, still pretending to think it over like he has any self-control left at all. so you press your hand between his legs, palm firm, rubbing over the bulge in slow, lazy strokes that make his breath catch again. “you’re lucky i’m weak.” “i know.”

and you do. because a few minutes later, you’re on your knees with his cock deep in your throat, spit slicking your chin, eyes watery, mascara smudged, and he’s fucking into your mouth—both hands tangled in your hair, hips snapping forward in rough, desperate thrusts that make your throat burn and your cunt throb all at once. he’s cursing under his breath, looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe this is real, like the sight of you gagging around him is too good to be true, praising you through gritted teeth. “fuck, just like that! f-fuck yeah, baby, you’re s-so fucking good.” you moan around him, choking on the sound, tears slipping down your cheeks. his rhythm stutters and he groans, deep and ragged, coming hard down your throat while your lips stay wrapped tight around him, swallowing like a good fucking girl, not stopping until he finally pulls back, panting.

you really must have been good, because even though you’ve already given him what he wanted and already got him to agree, he doesn’t let you leave it there. instead, he pulls you up with both hands and tosses you onto the bed with zero ceremony, and says,“now spread your fucking legs. i’m not going anywhere ‘til i taste this pussy.” before you can say a word, he’s got your legs over his shoulders, your panties peeled off and discarded somewhere on the floor, and his mouth on your pussy like he’s starving for it—tongue dragging through your folds, lips wrapping around your clit, hands gripping your thighs, holding them open, keeping you still while he devours you like it’s his goddamn mission. his tongue moves in slow circles before flattening out and licking up every drop of slick dripping down your cunt. your fingers dig into his hair, your hips grinding against his face on instinct, and he just lets you, groaning like your desperation only makes him more focused. he doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, moaning, cumming all over his tongue—soaking his mouth, your thighs shaking against his grip.

seunghyun was right. it is crowded. way too many people, too much noise, too many phones in the air, and someone’s already spilled something sticky near his shoe. it’s hot, and the humidity has turned the inside of his shirt into a damn sauna. he wants to complain. he really, really does. but your fingers are laced through his, and your eyes are glowing like you’ve been waiting for this exact night your entire life. you look so cute he bites his tongue and toughs it out for you. “come on, we have to find a good spot!” you say over your shoulder, tugging his hand. “somewhere we can actually see when the fireworks start!” he nods, even though the idea of standing still in the middle of all this chaos isn’t exactly appealing. you don’t seem to care. you’re on a mission—darting between couples and vendors and wide-eyed kids with glowing bracelets, scanning the shoreline for the perfect stretch of beach. and all he can do is follow.

you find a spot eventually—a quiet stretch of sand tucked behind a cluster of food stalls, far enough from the main crowd that it feels almost private. it’s not perfect, but you can see the sky, and the ocean’s just close enough that the waves drown out the worst of the noise. you sit first, legs curled in the sand, already scanning the sky for the best angles. seunghyun doesn’t sit right away. he’s hovering beside you, looking over his shoulder like he’s waiting for someone to yell hey, aren’t you— followed by his full government name. “that lady keeps staring at me. i think she recognized me,” he mutters under his breath. you’re sipping some sugary drink out of a plastic cup, legs stretched across the sand, completely unbothered. “what lady?” he tilts his chin discreetly toward a woman near a vendor cart, halfway through a beer, holding a paper tray of something fried. “red shirt.” you squint. “she isn’t staring at you, she’s just drunk, seunghyun.” “i’m serious.” “so am i.” he doesn’t look convinced. he adjusts his cap, shifts his weight like he’s about to go and relocate for the third time. “hey,” you say softly, tugging his hand. he glances down. “breathe. you’re fine. she’s probably just wondering why there’s a six-foot-tall man wearing sunglasses at night, and a surgical mask on a tropical island.” he glares at you through his sunglasses. you smile at him. “or maybe she just thinks you’re hot. which is very true,” you add. he exhales a short laugh, looks away like he’s trying not to let your words soothe him—but they do. you pat the spot next to you and eventually, after one more suspicious glance toward the woman, he sits. his hand stays close to yours in the sand, fingertips brushing like he’s grounding himself without meaning to.

the first firework goes off—bright and loud, lighting up the sky in a burst of silver and blue. you gasp, eyes lighting up instantly as you look up, totally transfixed. he doesn’t look at the sky. he looks at you. and in that second, nothing else matters. everything fades into background noise, swallowed up by the sound of your laughter and the glow of your face, painted gold and blue and violet as the fireworks burst in waves above you, lighting you up in flickers like someone’s holding a candle behind stained glass. you’re looking up at the sky, mouth parted slightly, eyes wide and full of something he hasn’t let himself feel in a long time—something soft and open and painfully alive—and all he can do is stare at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

it should be nothing. just a warm night on an island, tucked far enough from the rest of the world that he convinced himself he could keep this thing between you light and quiet, separate from the parts of himself that are still recovering. but here you are, smiling like you’re in love with the whole damn sky, your knee touching his in the sand, your fingers brushing his hand… and something in his chest pulls tight. he knows that feeling. he’s felt it before. and he thought—genuinely believed—that he’d buried it. years ago. deep enough that it couldn’t crawl its way back to the surface. but now it’s here again, rising like it never left, like it’s been waiting quietly in the corners of his ribs for the right person to walk in and shake everything loose. and it’s you. you, with your bad jokes and your ability to make him feel safe in a body that’s spent years trying not to be seen. you, with your stubbornness and your quiet kindness and the way you make space for him without asking for anything in return. you, who never demanded more, who never pushed, who kept letting this be whatever it needed to be—even when it started turning into something else entirely. he thought this was just sex. but now, he realizes he’s been wrong. he feels it in the way his chest won’t stop aching, in the way his throat feels tight even though he hasn’t said a word, in the way he wants to reach out and touch your face, like it would help him understand how he ended up feeling this much for someone he didn’t mean to let in like that. he didn’t think he could do this again. didn’t think he’d ever want to. but he does. he wants this. you. and that truth settles into him so quietly, so completely, it almost scares him.

the next day is quiet. you’re both at the villa, sun-drunk and still soft from the night before, lounging on the deck after falling asleep tangled together with sand in your hair. he’s lying on a lounger in swim trunks, sunglasses on, head tilted back toward the sun. you’re beside him in one of his shirts and a bikini bottom, legs stretched out, knees up. lazily flipping through a book you haven’t actually read a word of in the last thirty minutes. not when he looks like that. you pretend to be focused, but really, you’re watching him. the line of his jaw. the rise and fall of his chest. the way he licks a drop of condensation off his lip like he doesn’t know you’re dying a little bit every time he moves. you don’t say anything for a while. it’s easy not to. the breeze is warm, the air smells like salt, and your skin is buzzing from too much sun and too many feelings you’re pretending not to feel. but eventually, the question slips out. a question that’s been annoying you since the second you woke up, you say, “so. how many girls have you brought here?” he doesn’t even look up. “what?” “here,” you repeat. “or vacations in general. just wondering.” he snorts. “you’re not wondering. you’re overthinking.” he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head and turns to face you more fully, propping himself up on one elbow. “why do you want to know?” you shrug. “i’m just curious.” “curious? you sound insecure.” “oh, wow. okay.” “you asked.” “i was being chill.” “you were being nosy,” he retorts. “and weirdly passive-aggressive about it.” you scoff, grabbing your drink and taking a long sip just to avoid responding. he lets the silence hang there a moment, then shifts in his chair. “if you want to know something, just ask,” he says. “i’m not gonna lie to you. but i’m also not going to play into this kind of shit—i’m too old for it.” you glare at him over your glass. “what kind of shit?” he shrugs, like it’s obvious. “you know exactly what i mean.” he pauses, then adds, “and no. i haven’t brought anyone on vacation before. or done this—whatever this is—with anyone else.” “really?” he raises a brow. “you think i fly across the world to sneak around with girls i don’t give a fuck about?” you blink. the words hit, but it’s not even that. it’s the tone. the way he says it like you’re being ridiculous, like the whole conversation is beneath him, like your feelings are something he doesn’t have the patience for. and maybe you were being a little insecure. maybe you were poking at something just to see how much it could hold. but still—he didn’t have to talk to you like that. he didn’t have to say it like he was teaching you a lesson you should’ve already learned. “okay,” you mutter, setting your glass down a little too firmly. he glances over, confused. “what?” you stand up, brushing sand off your thighs, heart pounding in that specific, bitter way it does when you’ve just been embarrassed by someone you didn’t think had the power to embarrass you. “nothing. forget it.” “hey—“ “you don’t have to be such a dick about it, seunghyun,” you say, grabbing your towel and turning toward the villa. he sits up straighter. “i wasn’t—” “you called me insecure like i’m some fucking child.” you don’t wait for a response. you just go across the deck, then through the open doors. you don’t slam them, but you think about it.

he doesn’t move right away. just sits there, staring at the space where you’d been, your glass still sitting half-full next to his, the door swinging shut behind you like punctuation. and for a second, he lets himself wonder if maybe he should just stay out here, give you space, let it cool off—because that’s what he usually does when things get tense. but no, he stands. mutters a quiet fuck under his breath, runs a hand through his hair, and follows you inside. he’s not even sure what he’s going to say. you’re in the bedroom, standing by the window with your arms crossed and your back to him, stiff and silent. you don’t turn when he walks in, but you know he’s there—he can see the way your shoulders shift slightly, like you’re bracing for something. “i was an asshole,” he says finally. “i shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” you don’t answer, and he deserves that silence. he does. but he keeps going anyway, slowly stepping closer. “you asked me something that clearly mattered to you, and i got defensive.” he exhales through his nose, drags a hand down his face. “i wasn’t trying to call you insecure, i didn’t mean it like that—i really didn’t. but it came out like shit.” “yeah,” you mutter, voice tight. “it did.” “i don’t know—i don’t know how to do this,” he says. “but i care about you. and maybe that’s why i handled it the way i did, because it freaks me out how fast this has turned into something i don’t want to fuck up.” you turn then. eyes sharp, but softer around the edges now. “then why do you talk to me like i don’t matter the second you get uncomfortable?” that one lands. because it’s true. “i don’t mean to,” he says, quieter now. “i just don’t always know how to be close to someone without pushing them first. but you didn’t deserve that. and i know that. i’m sorry.” you exhale. some of the tension in your shoulders starts to slip away. you turn to look at him. “it’s okay.” “you asked if i’d brought anyone else on vacation before,” he says. “and the answer’s no. just you.” he’s standing here, scratching at the back of his neck, trying to decide if he should leave it at the apology or say the thing that’s been sitting in the back of his head for weeks now, annoying the hell out of him every time you smile at him from across the room. “i’ve been thinking,” he says finally. “for a while now.” you glance up at him, hesitant. “about what?” he shifts his weight, like the floor just got a little less stable. “about us. this thing. whatever we’re doing.” he pauses, shrugs a little. “i mean—we’re basically together already. it just doesn’t have a label. i’m not—i’m not saying we go public or start holding hands in front of the press,” he adds quickly. “i just mean… i’d like it if you were mine. officially.” he scratches at his jaw. “i want to call you my girlfriend.” he looks at you for a beat. he’s being honest, laying it down so you know where he stands. “but only if you want that too.” and then, after a second, with a slight smirk, “we’ve been fake-honeymooning in barbados all week. figured it’s only fair to start calling you that.” you blink at him once, then again, like you’re double-checking he actually said what you think he said. but he’s not messing with you. and you smile—wider than you mean to—because suddenly your whole chest feels warm and buzzy. “yeah,” you say, and it comes out lighter than expected. a little breathless. “of course.” his brows lift slightly. “yeah?” “don’t act surprised,” you say. “you’ve had me in a chokehold for months.”

when you get back from barbados, everything feels stupidly perfect for a while. you’re still technically sneaking around, still careful at work, still lying to your mom when you sleep over—but something has shifted. the label’s there now. and every night ends the same: you in his bed, wrapped in one of his shirts, brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror like this has been your life for years. you’re in that stage where everything feels light. it’s easy… until it isn’t. he gets the call on a thursday. his phone buzzes and he frowns down at it, stands up from the table like the name alone has changed the air in the room. you’re in the kitchen, making tea, half-listening to him talk to someone on the phone with his usual flat tone, saying, “yeah,” and “right,” and “i’ll think about it”. until he hangs up and stands there for a beat too long, hand still on the counter, like he’s processing something in real time. “that was my agent,” he says eventually. “they offered me something.” “yeah?” “squid game season 2.” you actually laugh at first. like a full, surprised laugh, because what the fuck? “wait, seriously? like—the squid game?” he nods once, slowly, like he’s still not sure if this is something to be excited about. “yes. well, they didn’t technically offer it, but hwang donghyuk asked for me. wants me to read for it.” “who?” “the director. he brought me up first. said he thinks i’d get it… they want me to play one of the new players.” and at first, you’re thrilled. you react like any reasonable person would—with excitement and some very high-pitched noise you don’t entirely recognize as your own. your face lights up without you even meaning to. “that’s insane! seunghyun, that’s huge!” “mhm,” he says. and that’s when you realize—he’s not smiling. you step closer, watching him carefully now. “what’s the role?” he hesitates for a second, then exhales through his nose. “player 230. he’s a rapper who uses drugs to cope with the pressure of the games.” you immediately understand why he isn’t excited. the character is like a version of himself he’s worked hard to bury. and now someone’s offering to pay him to resurrect it. you don’t know what to say to that, not right away. the excitement dips, replaced by something heavier. “i don’t know,” he continues, rubbing a hand over his face. “it’s a lot. and kind of close to… everything. i don’t know if i can do it. i mean, i can. obviously. but i don’t know if i should.”

he’s quiet about it for the rest of the day, and you let him be. he’s never been the type to talk in circles about something he hasn’t decided on yet. but later that night, while you’re lying next to him, scrolling through your phone and trying to pretend like you’re not waiting for him to bring it up again, you finally just say it: “you’d be good in it.” he doesn’t look at you, just exhales. “that’s not the problem.” “i know,” you say. “but still. you’d be good in it.” he’s silent for a long time after that. then: “it’d be weird, though. playing someone that close. putting it on camera.” “yeah,” you say softly. “but maybe that’s exactly why it should be you.” he finally turns his head, looking at you like he’s trying to read between your words. “maybe this is the kind of thing that means more coming from someone who’s been through it. maybe the story hits harder that way.” he doesn’t say anything. “i’m not saying it won’t suck,” you continue. “it might. it might dig things up. but you’re not that person anymore, hyun. you’re not who you were. and that’s the difference.” he sighs. “it’s not just about playing the part. it’s about how people would look at me after. what they’ll think it means.” you tilt your head. “who cares what they think it means? you know what it means. yeah, okay, people might talk. but you’ve survived worse than people talking.” his eyes soften. he reaches for your hand and you smile at the gesture. “i think you should do it,” you say gently before snuggling closer to him and kissing his temple. “and if you get the role, i think it’ll be hard. but i also think it’ll be worth it.” he doesn’t reply right away. doesn’t make a decision in that moment. but he’s still holding your hand that night while he falls asleep. and the next morning, he sends his agent a text. he says yes, that he’ll audition.

and he gets the part! of course he does. even if he pretends like he’s not sure until the last second, even if he downplays it when the call comes through, you can tell he’s proud. maybe a little scared, but still proud. and you’re proud too, probably more than him. but then reality sets in... filming starts soon. and not just anywhere—in korea. for weeks at a time, sometimes more. meanwhile, you’re in texas, working twelve-hour days at starbase (sometimes even more), still technically an intern, but somehow also the one trusted with way too much responsibility. it’s all hands on deck all the time, and now those hands are going to be in different countries. no one tells you how to handle long-distance when you’re trying to keep the relationship a secret.

no one prepares you for the part where you’re up at 3am reading over crew schedules while texting him between takes, or how weird it feels to miss someone who’s not even in the same timezone. and just to make things even more complicated, they assign you—of all people—the task of helping coordinate his travel between texas and seoul. you know the mission schedule better than anyone, you’ve worked on his time blocks before. but now? you’re suddenly the one making sure his launch prep rehearsals don’t overlap with overnight shoots, the one counting rest days and memorizing airport codes and praying he doesn’t fall asleep mid-sim because he just flew halfway across the world on four hours of sleep and two cups of convenience store coffee. the hard work pays off because, finally, after all these months of being an intern… they give you the job! but you’re tired. not just physically, but in that low, dull way that creeps in when you miss someone constantly but don’t have the space to say it out loud.

he doesn’t make it harder. he texts. he calls. he sends stupid pictures from set—one of his costume—with his freshly dyed purple hair and painted nails—one of him holding a boom mic like he’s about to switch careers, one of him giving you the finger when you ask if he’s drinking enough water. he’s trying. he wants to be present, even if most days all he can offer is a photo and a few words. and at first you don’t complain when you go days without hearing his voice, because this is what it means to support someone who’s chasing something big. but some days you can feel the space between you like a real thing. like distance has weight.

hey, baby :) long day?

seen 10:08 PM

i’ll take that as a yes. still on set? hope you’re surviving! miss you xx

Yeah, just wrapped. Heading back now. Miss you too❤️

don’t forget to eat something

and drink water, your skin was looking a little tragic in that last selfie💔

Lol, thanks.

was that sarcasm or are you genuinely thankful for my skincare critique

u r still hot asfff old man😼

i want youuu baddddd

seen 12:11 AM

everything okay? did i upset you?

Everything’s fine. Sorry, baby. I’m tired.

oh, okay :) get some rest then 🩷 mwah

Will do, goodnight for you🌙😘

then, another day:

Hi, baby❤️

How are you?

oh hey. nice to see you finally remembered you have a gf!

it’s been four days

I know.

you left me on read

I know.

I needed time for myself.

i get that you needed time for yourself, and i do give you space when you need it. but like… you gotta remember there are people who actually worry about you now

it’s not like when you were still here in texas 24/7

this is a relationship. it comes with a little responsibility

I know what a relationship is.

doesn’t seem like it! :)

a quick “hey i’m gonna be off for a few days” would’ve been fine

but you didn’t even tell me you landed, seunghyun

I forgot, I was jetlagged.

Sorry.

right

Don’t do that.

what?

Reply to me with one word texts.

well, i’m upset, what do you want me to do?

you disappear, then come back like nothing

you’re not the only one who’s tired, yk

I never said you weren’t.

no, but you act like i’m just supposed to be okay with this, like i’m not working my ass off to keep things together on both ends

I know how much you’re doing.

You think I don’t feel guilty about it?

I didn’t ask you to take that on.

wow, okay! 🥰

That’s not how i meant it.

And stop being passive aggressive. You know I hate that shit.

I’m just saying this is hard for me too.

It’s not easy here. 👍🏼

dw, i can tell! i’ll let you get some sleep

Don’t leave like this, let’s talk.

Can I call you?

Hello?

Why are you leaving me on read?

isn’t it almost 4am for you?

Yes.

you need to sleep, you’ve got filming in a few hours

Can we speak on the phone? Just five minutes.

fine, call me

you always manage to get through the little bumps in your relationship. sometimes it’s a few tired texts exchanged after hours of silence—just one of you reaching out with a soft hey, and suddenly you’re back on the same page like nothing happened. other times it’s more stubborn—one of you waiting for the other to fold first, and the distance feels so thick it starts to ache in your chest. more often than not, it’s you who folds, who decides it’s not worth the pride, not when you love him this much. but sometimes it’s him. calling you in the middle of the night with a voice so low and quiet it makes you want to cry. showing up in your city like he couldn’t wait one more day. saying things like, “i don’t like when we’re not okay.” you always find your way back. and when you do—when you finally see him again after too long—everything else falls away. your body remembers before your brain does. you’re wet the second he gets his hands on you, soaked and pulsing with need, and he doesn’t even try to tease. he gets your panties off and buries his face between your legs like it’s the only thing he came home for. tongue slow at first, groaning against you when you grab his hair and roll your hips up into his mouth. he eats you like he missed the taste, like he could live off it—tongue flicking over your clit just right, fingers deep inside you, curling in that spot until your legs are shaking and your stomach’s pulling tight and you’re begging without realizing you’re saying anything at all. he makes you cum once like that, and then barely gives you a chance to recover before he’s flipping you over and fucking you from behind, one hand gripping your hip, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades, keeping you still while he thrusts into you hard and fast, like he’s trying to make up for lost time in every stroke. saying things like “this pussy missed me, huh?” and “gonna fuck you so good you won’t forget it next time i’m gone.” and you moan, loud, because you did miss it. you missed him.

and over time, the distance starts to change the way you touch each other. it’s more desperate, greedy, something tangled up in the fear of losing each other. he fucks you like he’s trying to make the memory last through the days he can’t have you, and you take him like his cock is the only thing that’s going to keep you sane until he’s back again. and when he finally comes back—he’s only home for three days, exhausted from shooting, eyes heavy and voice low from lack of sleep—you don’t even wait to get fully undressed. you crawl into his lap like you’ve been waiting your whole life to sit there again, straddle him on the couch with his hoodie still clinging to your body and nothing but a pair of thin cotton panties underneath. you kiss him as you start grinding against him through your underwear, his cock already hard under you and your breath catching in your throat from how badly you want it, how long you’ve wanted it, how long you’ve been aching just to be this close again. he’s sitting back on the couch, legs spread, hair still damp from the shower, and you’re only half-dressed, no bra, your panties already soaked through, already sticking to your folds from how wet you are just from kissing him. “you’re dripping,” he says when he runs his fingers over the fabric, already thinking about how he’s going to fuck it out of you. “so desperate. what’d you do while i was gone, baby? rub that needy pussy on your pillow and pretend it was me?” “mhm,” you answer. you reach down and push his sweats down just enough to free his dick, hard and flushed and leaking at the tip, and when he reaches for the bag beside the couch—hand going for the condoms—you grab his wrist and shake your head, eyes locked on his. he pauses, squints at you like he’s trying to read your expression in the low light. “are you sure?” you nod. “i want all of it.” he still hesitates. not because he doesn’t want it, but because he does—so badly he looks like it’s physically hurting him to hold back. “you let me fuck you raw, i’m not gonna be nice,” he says, almost a warning. “you’ll be lucky if you can walk tomorrow.” “good,” you say, already pulling your panties to the side, already lining him up beneath you with one hand, the other braced on his chest, your heart racing so fast it feels like it’s in your throat. he mutters a curse in his mother tongue as you sink down onto him, inch by inch, your cunt stretching around him, the feeling so intense it knocks the breath out of both of you—he grabs your hips, digs his nails in, head falling back for a second as he groans through his teeth, like he’s trying to keep from losing it too fast.

you start moving slowly at first, just rocking your hips, getting used to how full you feel, how bare it is. but it doesn’t take long before your thighs start burning as you fuck yourself down harder, faster, bouncing in his lap. he lets you ride him like that, mouth parted, chest rising fast, until his hands suddenly grab your jaw, fingers slipping into your mouth as he tilts your face down toward him, voice low and breathless and mean. “missed me that much, baby?” he mutters, breathless. “f-fuck, you’re so—mmhhh—you’re so cock-hungry you just wanted me in, wanted to be fucked raw like a filthy little slut.” you moan around his fingers, nodding, eyes glazed, body trembling as you grind down harder, chasing it. he laughs under his breath. “yeah? i—i missed you too, baby—shit!—jerking off to the sound of your voice in my head every night. fuck, you don’t even know.” you fuck him harder and faster, your moans turning to whines as your orgasm builds sharp and fast in your gut, the angle just right, the pressure unbearable, his cock hitting so deep inside you it makes your vision blur. “you gonna come on my cock like this?” he growls, hands bruising into your ass cheeks as he fucks up into you, matching your rhythm now. “gonna soak me like a good fucking girl?” “yes! y-yes, fuck, please—” you reach your orgasm on top of him, legs shaking, pussy clenching around him so tight he moans loud into your neck and spills into you without warning. neither of you stops moving, dragging it out until the overstimulation makes your thighs twitch and your body go limp against him.

the panic sets in the next morning. there’s a moment when you’re brushing your teeth, catching a glimpse of the lovebite on your collarbone, the bruises blooming around your hips, thinking, yeah, we fucked the hell out of each other. slay! but then, somewhere between breakfast and pretending you’re both going to be productive that day, it creeps in—the realization that not a single precaution was taken. the panic turns real enough that he sends his assistant out for a plan b while you sit on his couch. and by the end of the week, you’re on the pill.

being seunghyun’s girlfriend is fun. more fun than you ever expected it to be. sometimes kind of lonely, sure—but still, fun. he’s got this thing that makes it impossible to be bored around him. he’s funny, without trying too hard. playful in a way that makes you forget he’s in his thirties. sometimes he feels like a kid in a man’s body. sometimes he feels like a man who never got the chance to be a kid. either way, he keeps you laughing—even when you’re annoyed. of course, dating someone like him means learning how to live in the quiet margins of his life. it means celebrating holidays off-schedule, showing affection in private, keeping entire parts of your life off social media like they don’t even exist. it means deleting photos, not tagging locations, smiling politely when someone asks if you’re seeing anyone and pretending your phone isn’t buzzing in your pocket with a text from him... he misses your birthday. you don’t blame him—he’s on set, exhausted and overcommitted and two plane rides away—but it still stings a little when you wake up alone. the time difference doesn’t help, and the day feels heavier than you expect it to. he sends a gift, of course—his assistant drops it off at your door. and a big bouquet of flowers—dramatic, over-the-top, the kind that takes up half the kitchen table and makes your mom narrow her eyes when she comes home with a bag of pastries and that look she gets when she knows something isn’t adding up. you lie, say it’s from an old college friend. a girl, obviously. she raises a brow, hums a little, doesn’t push, but you can tell she doesn’t fully buy it. the card tucked in the bouquet doesn’t help either: not signed, just a ‘Happy birthday, pretty girl. Wish I was there to see your face. I miss you.’

his birthday is better. he flies you to seoul. you land late, tired and a little anxious, and he’s waiting outside baggage claim in a surgical mask and a hoodie pulled so low you can barely see his eyes—until you get close enough, and then it’s unmistakable, the way he lights up when he sees you, like you’re the only thing that’s gone right all week. he doesn’t tell anyone you’re there. or—more accurately—he tells almost no one. his driver picks you up, takes the long way around to his house, and when you ask what the plan is, he shrugs like the whole point is that there isn’t one. for the next twenty-four hours, you do nothing but nap, eat, have sex, and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist. the next night, he takes you to dinner—not just the two of you this time. it’s private enough that he doesn’t flinch every time the door opens. a few of his closest friends are already there when you arrive. he introduces you like he’s been practicing the line all day—“this is my friend,” and nothing else. everyone else pretends not to notice how he never stops looking at you. they’re kind. smart enough to read between the lines and respectful enough not to push. you eat too much. laugh until your face hurts. drink exactly one glass of wine before realizing that staying sober is your best shot at not saying anything incriminating. and he’s just happy to be out with people he trusts.

you don’t spend new year’s together. it would’ve raised too many questions, started the kind of speculation that neither of you can afford. so you agree that this one will have to be split. he’s in seoul for a last-minute event, while you’re in texas, at a friend’s party you almost bailed on, counting down with people who don’t know that the person you actually want to spend it with is already fourteen hours into the new year. your phone buzzed around 10 a.m.—midnight his time—and it was a photo. blurry, overexposed, too close to his face, with a gold paper hat tilted on his head and the world’s most unimpressed expression. under it, a caption: Happy 2024, baby😊😍❤️Pretend I kissed you. And pretend I don’t look drunk. I miss you so much.

you laughed in the middle of the kitchen, toast in hand, your mom asking what’s so funny while you shook your head and said “nothing” a little too fast. he’s asleep by the time it’s your midnight—completely dead to the world, probably unaware that you’ve just made your way through a countdown with a group of half-drunken twenty-somethings and an aggressive spotify playlist. you check your phone at 12:01, just in case. nothing. not that you expected anything. still, you open his message again and read it twice before sliding your phone face-down and letting the rest of the party blur around you.

and then, before you know it, a whole year has passed. you hit your one year anniversary on a tuesday. he books the rooftop of a small bar tucked between buildings in a part of brownsville neither of you frequents, somewhere out of sight. he’s in all black and his cologne clings to him—the one you like most—when he leans in to kiss your cheek. the food is good but secondary; the real focus is seunghyun, across the table, glass in hand, eyes soft when they settle on you as he tells you how filming is almost done, how he’s completely drained but still thinking about you all the time, how he can’t wait to come back and finally give you all of his time, all of his attention, without splitting himself in twenty directions. you tell him how things are going back at starbase—how it’s quieter when he’s not around. you mention, offhand, how your friends have started trying to set you up with someone they know, how they’re convinced you’ve been single for too long, how you’re growing tired of making excuses, of declining invites you never wanted in the first place. you say it lightly, like it’s funny, but you hope it lands like a question. how long are we going to keep hiding? but he doesn’t take the bait (or maybe he just ignores it). he hums in response, pours you more wine, and says something about how good you look in this lighting.

you didn’t think it would bother you—not at first, anyway. when it all started, sneaking around and pretending not to exist in each other’s lives in public was exciting. and sure, fine, it was kind of hot for a while—private, protected, untouched by the noise and the press and the people who would try to make it into something it’s not. but now it’s been over a year, and it starts feeling like a question that no one’s answering. because you were fine with keeping it quiet while it was still fragile and new, while neither of you really knew what it was yet—but you do now. you know what it is. you know how you feel. and you thought he did too. so the longer it stays secret, the more your brain starts doing that thing it always does—overthink. maybe he’s just private. fine. maybe he’s protecting you. okay. maybe he’s just used to hiding things because of who he is and how long he’s been doing it, and he doesn’t realize how much it’s started to chip away at you, how sometimes it makes you feel like a placeholder. or maybe—and this is the one that keeps you up at night even though you hate how dramatic it sounds—maybe he’s keeping it secret because he doesn’t see it the way you do. you try not to think like that. you really do. and most days you’re fine. but some others you aren’t.

it happens on a warm night in brownsville, the kind of humid texas evening where the air feels heavy even after sunset, like the heat’s still clinging to the sidewalks and the inside of your clothes. you’d gone out to dinner. it was good, all of it—better than good, actually. he was in a rare mood: relaxed, talkative, the kind of version of him you don’t always get when he’s coming off back-to-back flights or prepping for his next shoot. you’d call it a perfect night, if you didn’t know what was coming. you’re halfway down the sidewalk, walking back toward the car—his usual driver, waiting for you both—when you suddenly stop and frown. “shit,” you mutter. “i forgot my purse.” he pauses with you, already reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. “want me to get it?” you shake your head. “no, it’s fine. i’ll be fast.” seunghyun nods, gestures toward the car. “okay, babe. i’ll be right here.” you head back inside. the hostess smiles and hands you the purse before you even ask—she remembers you. you thank her, fingers already digging through the front pocket to make sure your keys are still there, your lip balm, your phone. nothing’s missing. everything’s fine. when you step outside again, seunghyun’s exactly where you left him—leaned against the side of the car, cigarette lit, the tip glowing soft in the dark. his eyes flick up when he sees you, and he gives a lazy half-smile around the smoke. “got it,” you say as you approach, holding the purse up by the strap like proof. before he can reply, you hear a voice just off to the left. “um, excuse me?” you both turn, and that’s when you see them—two girls, maybe early twenties, standing a few feet away with nervous smiles and hesitant body language, like they’re not totally sure if they’re allowed to be doing this but can’t not try. “sorry,” one of them says, smiling. “we just—are you choi seunghyun? t.o.p?” his posture shifts slightly—that thing he does when he flips into professional mode. he straightens, pushes off the car, tucks the cigarette behind his back like it never happened. “yeah,” he says, calm and quiet. “hi.” “can we take a picture with you, please? we’re big fans.” he smiles, polite. “yes, of course.” you take a slow breath, fingers tightening around your purse strap. one of the girls lights up, already pulling her phone out of her back pocket and turning to you. “would you mind taking a photo of us?” you blink, then nod, already reaching for the phone without even thinking about it. “sure.”

you take the photo—three, just in case—frame them up neatly, make sure the lighting’s okay, that no one’s blinking, that he’s centered between them. one of them leans in close, her arm sliding gently around his back like she’s not totally sure if she’s allowed to touch him, but not stopping herself either. the other rests a hand lightly on his chest. you snap the photos quickly, then hand the phone back with a polite smile and a soft “here you go.” they both look at the screen, whisper something excited to each other, and then, almost simultaneously, step forward and hug him. not just a side squeeze either—full, arms-around-the-shoulders hugs like they’ve been waiting years for this moment. he lets them, offers a small, tense chuckle, one hand patting a shoulder. “i was really sad when you left big bang last year,” one of them says softly as she pulls back, and that’s the only moment he shifts. you see it though—the faint tightening of his jaw, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. he handles it well, nods once, expression neutral and calm, like this is just another thing he’s learned to fold up and put away. “thank you,” he says. “i appreciate that.” the girls are still hovering, soft smiles still plastered on their faces, that little sparkle of disbelief in their eyes like they can’t believe they just ran into him in a parking lot. one of them glances at you again, and this time she squints slightly, like she’s only just started to register that you’re not just some girl walking past—that you were standing with him. “wait—are you a fan too?” she asks. you open your mouth, not totally sure what you’re going to say, but he beats you to it. “yeah, she had just asked for a picture,” he says, light and easy, flashing a quick smile in your direction. “right?” you smile back, because what else can you do? you play along. “yeah, right.” one of the girls brightens immediately. “we can take it for you, if you want,” she offers, the purest kind of fan energy pulsing from her like she genuinely thinks she’s doing you a favor. “here—give me your phone.” you hesitate. you open your mouth to say no, to brush it off with something polite, but she’s already waiting, and her friend is nodding like they’re gifting you this golden moment. “okay,” you say, voice thinner than you want it to be as you hand her your phone. “sure. thank you.”

and then you’re standing beside him. like a stranger. he shifts slightly, angles his body toward you the way he always does when someone’s got a camera pointed at him, easy and practiced and distant. your breath hitches, just a little. “okay—one, two, three,” the girl says, and the shutter clicks. you smile like it doesn’t feel like your heart just gave a quiet, tired lurch in your chest. when they hand you the phone back, you murmur a thank you, eyes already flicking down to the screen before they’ve even turned away. and there it is. the first photo of you and seunghyun that anyone has ever taken. the only one. and it hits you harder than you expect, the weight of that. you’re standing side by side, the two of you framed perfectly in the center, golden light spilling from a nearby lamppost. there’s a careful few inches between you, no warmth. and that’s what crushes you. the fact that this is it. this is all you have. a full year, a whole relationship, and the only image that exists of you two together is one where he pretended you were just another fan. it doesn’t even look like you know each other. you’re starting to hate this. you want to be able to post a picture with him, you want to tell your friends the truth when they ask who you’ve been seeing. you want to kiss him on the sidewalk, you want him to say you’re his girlfriend when someone asks who you are. you want to be acknowledged. and you hate that this is the thing that’s undoing you—not a fight, not some betrayal—but a photo. a dumb, fucking photo that should’ve been something sweet to keep. but instead, it’s just another reminder of how invisible you’ve had to become in order to stay his.

you slide into the car after the girls finally walk away, your heart still beating too fast, your phone still warm in your palm. the air inside is cooler than outside, the ac humming low. he gets in beside you a second later, door shutting with a soft thud, and he doesn’t look at you. he just runs a hand through his hair, exhales, taps twice on the window, and the driver pulls out. the silence stretches, thick and oddly loud despite the hum of the engine. you’re still staring at the picture—your mouth curved in a tight, forced smile. then, without looking at you, he says, “you should probably delete that.” you blink slowly, thumb hovering just over the screen, and then tilt the phone slightly in his direction. “why?” you ask, tone deliberately flat. “it’s a nice picture.” you don’t even like it. he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, just a flicker of irritation behind it. “you know why.” you shrug, playing dumb. “i mean, it’s not that bad. we’re coworkers after all. and i think i look okay. you look great too, it’s cute.” you can feel his patience shift. “don’t do that.” “do what?” you ask, your voice all sugar. “i just want to keep a perfectly good picture of my favorite idol.” “this isn’t funny,” he says with that clipped sort of frustration he uses when he thinks you’re being unreasonable. you glance over. “who said i was joking?” he doesn’t respond at first—he just shakes his head slightly, jaw tight. you know that look. you’ve learned to recognize all of them by now. “you knew this is what it had to be,” he mutters eventually, as if that justifies anything. “i know—i know i’m supposed to stay quiet and off to the side. i’m really good at it, aren’t i?” you let out a little laugh that doesn’t sound like one. “i didn’t even flinch when you told those girls i was just a fan. really selling it.” he glances at you then, and there’s something in his expression that looks almost like guilt, but he still says, “i had to say something.” “yeah, you had to. god forbid they see you standing next to me and start making assumptions.” his eyes narrow, and you can feel the irritation radiating off him now. “don’t make it sound like i’m ashamed of you.” “aren’t you, though?” the words come out before you can soften them, too sharp to take back. “because that’s what it feels like.” he sighs, rubs a hand over his face like he’s trying to ground himself. “you knew what this was when we started.” “yeah, i did,” you say. “i just didn’t think it would still feel like this after a year.” “feel like what?” he snaps, his voice a little too loud in the tight space of the car. “like we have to be careful with something that could ruin both of us?” “ruin you, you mean.” “you think this is easy for me? you think i like this?” “no. i think you like me, until someone’s watching.” he shakes his head. “jesus christ, you’re being—” “what?” you cut him off. “dramatic? needy?” your chest feels tight now, your throat hot. “you’re thirty-six, right? maybe don’t fuck a twenty-three-year-old if you don’t want someone who actually gives a shit about being hidden.” low blow. “that’s not what this is,” he says through his teeth. “don’t fucking reduce it to that.” you don’t back down. “then what is it, seunghyun? because from where i’m sitting, it looks a lot like i’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to be seen with.”

he leans back like he’s trying to give himself space, but there’s nowhere to go in the car, and his jaw is tight again, his hands clenched in his lap. “this is exactly why i didn’t want to get involved. because you’d start asking for shit i can’t give.” oh! your stomach drops, but you don’t let it show. you nod slowly, like that’s all the confirmation you needed. “right,” you murmur, voice going cold. “thanks for clearing that up.” “fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “baby, that’s not what i meant—” “no, you did,” you say, staring straight ahead now, your voice steady but low, like you’re holding something in your mouth you don’t trust yourself to swallow. “you did.” there’s a beat of silence—you’re waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. so you keep going. “you asked me to be your girlfriend, seunghyun. back in barbados. don’t act like this was all me pushing for more. you made it official. you said you wanted that. you said it was already that, we were just putting a name on it.” he exhales, like the memory is inconvenient now. “and i meant it.” “really? because it doesn’t feel like it. it feels like i’m asking for too much.” “because you are,” he snaps, defensive, like he’s been holding it in for too long. “you think i can just post a photo or walk around holding your hand and people will clap for us? i’m not some rising star with a clean slate. half the world fucking hates me. they’ve hated me for years.”

you let the weight of his words sit for a second. he’s right. you know that. but still. “i understand,” you say, finally, and your voice is quieter now. “i do. i get why you’re scared. i get that you’ve been through shit i’ll probably never fully understand. but what i don’t get is how long you think this is supposed to go on.” he doesn’t answer. “because people hate you? okay. they’ve hated you. and maybe they always will. but does that mean you’re just gonna live like this forever? hiding? pretending the people you care about don’t exist? because that’s not protection, hyun. that’s punishment. and i’m the one getting punished for something i didn’t even do.” “this isn’t about punishment.” “no? then what is it? i’ve lied for you. i’ve kept quiet. i’ve kept my distance. but how much longer do you expect me to do this for?” he shakes his head, like you’re missing the point, like you’re being young and idealistic and selfish—which only pisses you off more. “you think it’s that simple?” he says, voice tight. “you think i can just undo everything that comes with who i am, and suddenly be the kind of boyfriend you want?” his hands flex against his knees, the exhaustion starting to bleed into every edge of his voice. “i’m too old for this.” again with that. you blink. “for what, exactly?” “for this kind of drama,” he mutters. “for tiptoeing around your feelings every time reality kicks in. i can’t do what you want me do to, alright? not when things are finally starting to get better.” “so what? i’m just supposed to stay quiet forever? wait for the perfect moment that’s never gonna come?” he shrugs helplessly, and that’s somehow worse than anything else. “i don’t know. maybe.” you laugh. not because it’s funny, but because it’s so fucking sad that this is where you are—a year in, and he still doesn’t see a version of this where you’re allowed to exist beside him. “you’re not too old,” you say, bitterly now, the hurt curling up and turning sour in your throat. “you’re just too scared. and that… that’s fucking sad, hyun.”

the next morning is thick with silence—no texts, no calls, not even a half-hearted meme sent as a peace offering like he sometimes does when he wants to pretend everything’s fine without saying so. you barely slept, but you still wake up with that stiff ache behind your eyes, like your body’s been carrying tension in places you didn’t realize until now. you check your phone out of habit, even though you know better, and sure enough—nothing from him. you don’t reach out. not because you’re trying to punish him or be dramatic, but because you genuinely don’t know what you’d say. and you’re tired of being the one who keeps swallowing things to keep the peace. you go through your day like you’re wearing someone else’s skin. everything feels a little off. you make your coffee, stare blankly at your laptop, reply to some emails, ignore your mom when she complains about how long you took in the shower, scroll through instagram and tiktok, read a little… it’s just past noon when your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with his name.

Hi. Are you busy?

no, why? what’s up?

I don’t like when we’re like this

me neither

I could’ve handled things better last night. I’m sorry.

I was tense because they mentioned Big Bang.

ik, it’s okay, i’m sorry too

i just wanted you to hear me

I did. And I understand.

I just need time. I’m not ready for anything public.

okay

Okay?

i just want you to answer something honestly

no bullshit

Of course.

do you see yourself with me in a few years? like, really with me. not hiding.

Yes, I do. But not right now.

i didn’t say right now, i said in a few years

I know, I know.

Yes.

okay, i just needed to know that

because i can wait, but i can’t wait for something that’s never going to happen

I know.

And I wouldn’t ask you to.

I need you to trust me.

i trust you

Thank you, baby.

I want to see you❤️ I’m leaving again tomorrow.

ik ;( i’m gonna miss you

I’m gonna miss you too, baby.

I’m sending my driver to pick you up now🫰🏼

Is that okay?

yeah okay :)🩷

you don’t plan on having sex the moment you walk through the door, but that’s exactly what ends up happening. you barely register the way he pulls you in, or how you end up stumbling backward into the bedroom with your fingers tugging at his shirt and his hands already under yours, hungry and fast and careful all at once, like he’s not sure if he wants to fuck you or apologize again first. everything moves quickly but also somehow slow, too—both of you half-undressed by the time you reach the bed and he’s pushing you gently onto your back. he eats you out, fucks you slow at first, then faster, then slow again when your thighs start shaking too much. he tells you to look at him while he’s inside you, and you do, because you want him to see what he does to you, want him to see all of it. it’s the best sex you’ve had in your entire relationship, like your bodies are just trying to make up for every hour you spent apart thinking maybe this was the one fight you wouldn’t come back from. and when you cum the second time with his name on your lips, he says it. so close to your skin you almost think you imagined it. “i love you.”

the words are there, hanging heavy in the space between your chests. and for a second, you freeze—not because you’re surprised that he feels it, but because you’re surprised he said it. because he’s never said it before. not in a year. not in the hundreds of times you thought he might. and you never asked, never wanted to make him say something he wasn’t ready for, never wanted it to come from pressure or guilt or some awkward moment where he’d choke on the words and resent you for dragging them out of him. but now, he’s the one who says it first, and you know he means it because his whole body softens after, like he’s been holding that one sentence under his tongue for months and it finally slipped out without permission. you don’t say anything right away. you just run your fingers through his damp purple hair, press a kiss to his sweaty temple, breathe him in like you always do when you’re trying not to fall apart. and then, when your voice works again, you say it back—because god, it’s about time. you stay wrapped up in each other for a while after, skin warm and sticky, his heartbeat finally slowing under your palm, and even though your legs are shaking and you’re ninety percent sure you’ve pulled a muscle somewhere in your back, you don’t move. you just lie there and let it sink in.

for a while, everything is soft and steady, like the storm passed and left something gentler behind. you’re texting constantly, calling when your time zones line up. seunghyun tells you he loves you more often now—carefully, like he’s still getting used to how the words feel in his mouth—but he says it. and you never ask for more than he can give, and he never pushes you away like he used to. things are good… until they’re not (again). you’re the first person in your department to see it. a short, painfully bland email flagged high priority, buried under a dozen others in your inbox. ‘effective immediately, the dearmoon project has been suspended indefinitely. this decision comes in response to the ongoing uncertainty surrounding the starship launch schedule. a full internal briefing is being prepared. please do not share or discuss this information outside of your team until official communication is released. yusaku maezawa will be arriving on-site to meet with the full crew and key personnel later this week. further details to follow.’ your stomach sinks before your brain fully processes it. you read it twice, three times. you’re still sitting at your desk when the rest of the notifications start going out—emails, alerts, whispers down the hall. someone walks past your office a few minutes later with their phone pressed to their ear, saying, “wait—what do you mean canceled?” and that’s when you know it’s real. you stand up so fast your chair scrapes the floor, heart racing as you leave your desk, phone already in your hand. seunghyun picks up on the fourth ring, groggy. he must’ve been sleeping. “hey, princess,” he mumbles, voice thick. “everything okay?” “no,” you say, stepping outside into the texas heat, the sun suddenly feeling way too bright. “i just got an internal notice. the project’s being suspended.” he goes quiet. you press your fingers to your temple, still pacing. “they haven’t told the crew yet. they’re about to send out an official statement. everyone’s gonna know in like… an hour.” “wait—what—what do you mean suspended?” he’s more awake now. “like, paused? or—” “they didn’t say. just ‘indefinitely.’” you pause. “and maezawa’s flying in. he wants to meet with everyone in person. full crew meeting this weekend. they want everyone present.” “fuck,” he mutters. “you need to come back.” “i will,” he says. “well—i don’t know. i’ll see what i can do. i’ll try to be there.” “it’s important.” “i know, baby.” and then it’s quiet again, just your breathing in your ears, your mind spinning faster than your mouth can keep up. you don’t know what this means. not for the mission, not for your job, not for him. but you know it means change.

the meeting is held two days after the news drop. maezawa makes a short speech, all polished disappointment and regretful phrasing, and everyone listens in stunned silence, trying to decide whether to be shocked or just pissed off. seunghyun sits near the back, arms crossed, and from a distance he looks perfectly composed—cool, like this isn’t affecting him at all—but the second you’re alone again, he starts pacing and muttering under his breath about how “they could’ve at least fucking consulted us,” and “we wasted over a year prepping for this.” your mom takes the news like a soldier. she’s reassigned to another high-level project at starbase almost immediately, and to your surprise (and slight guilt), so are you: a new position on a systems coordination team for satellite payloads, which isn’t exactly your dream, but it’s solid and most importantly, it means you still have a job. seunghyun, though, has nothing left in texas. the mission’s over, and there’s no real reason for him to stay. the filming of squid game isn’t even done yet—he’s still got a month left of production in seoul—and he’s already talking about moving back permanently, which makes sense: the job’s done, texas was temporary, and korea is home. and you get it, but that doesn’t stop the rising panic in your chest when you hear him say it out loud, when the quiet reality starts to hit that this thing you’ve been holding together with duct tape is about to hit a wall you can’t ignore.

for a few days you walk around half-waiting for the breakup. but the breakup never comes. you spend the weekend in this weird kind of limbo—your body curled into his at night, his fingers on your skin, both of you pretending nothing’s changing even though everything clearly is. he tells you the night before he’s set to fly back to korea, mid-conversation, somewhere between talking about the mess at starbase and the fact that he forgot to pack his chargers again, which would be funny if your heart wasn’t already thudding unevenly from the way he’s been moving around you all day—like someone tying up invisible loose ends. you’re sitting on the edge of his bed putting some lotion on, and then he says it: “you should come with me.” and for a second, you don’t register it—your brain catches on the words but doesn’t fully process the shape of them, doesn’t quite believe that this is how he’s choosing to say something that might completely change your life. so you just blink at him, and when you ask “what?” it’s not because you didn’t hear him—it’s because you want to give him a second to take it back, but he doesn’t back down. he just shrugs a little, like it’s a logical next step instead of the emotional earthquake it is, and says, “come to seoul. you know i’m moving back after filming. there’s nothing left for me here. and if we keep doing this—this long distance thing, we’re gonna lose it. i can feel it already. and i don’t want to.” and you don’t know what to say to that, because you do want to be with him, you do, but this isn’t just moving in together, this is leaving behind your job, your family, your friends, the small, carefully-built life you spent the last two years crawling toward… and he says it so simply, like it’s the only thing that makes sense, like your entire world is something he expects you to pack neatly into a suitcase because love is supposed to be enough. and maybe it is. maybe it will be. but right now, you just sit there in the too-quiet space between you, wondering how long you can keep pretending that loving seunghyun doesn’t sometimes feel like choosing between him and the rest of your life.

but you still choose him. not right away. not without three nights of overthinking yourself into a stomachache, but eventually, after the noise settles and your heart stops trying to talk over your brain, you come to the same quiet answer you’ve always known was waiting underneath: it’s him. it’s always him. when the moment comes, you tell him through text, typed out at 2:14 a.m. while you’re lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, your phone burning a little in your hand.

i’ll move in with you :)

you stare at it for a full minute before you hit send, reread it twice after it delivers, and then immediately toss your phone onto the other side of the bed like that’ll somehow undo the life-altering choice you just made in a single text. you pick it up when you get a notification with his reply.

What?

Really?😊❤️

yessiiir!

i love you, old man

I love you, princess🌙❤️

I’m very happy🫰🏼

And I miss you a lot

i miss you too

but i’m kinda scared tho, ngl 💔

he calls you immediately, and you can hear the relief in his voice—the way he breathes out like he didn’t realize he was holding his breath until now. he just says “we’ll figure it out, baby. i can’t wait to have you here with me. i love you.”

the next part is harder. telling your mom feels like walking into a trap you know you built yourself. she’s on the couch when you bring it up, sipping tea and scrolling through some mission status reports even though she swears she’s not a workaholic, and you’re sitting across from her rehearsing the opening line in your head like you’re about to confess a felony. “so…” you clear your throat “i’m moving to korea.” you say it as casually as you can, all breezy and upbeat, like you’re announcing a vacation and not the start of a new life, and she freezes for half a second before she looks up, squinting like she misheard you. “you—you’re what?” and then you launch into the half-truth you’ve been crafting all week—about how ever since you and seunghyun became friends, you’ve learned so much about the culture, the language, the food, how you’ve never really traveled and this feels like the right time, how it’s temporary (you stress that part because that woman is terrifying sometimes), and how you’ve already looked into a possible internal transfer through the company’s international partnership program, which is technically not a lie if you squint hard enough. she nods slowly, lips tight. “well, if this is what you want…” she says. and you just smile. “it is.”

she sees it coming before you say a word. she knows you—knows the way you over-explain when you’re trying to lie, the way your voice lifts a little too high when you’re avoiding something. your mom’s suspected it for months. you always got defensive when seunghyun came up in conversation. you started wearing nicer things to work. you checked your phone like something important was always waiting for you, but never shared what. and she knew the way he looked at you—amused in that vaguely inappropriate way that men look at girls they think they’ve figured out. and now here you are, talking about new chapters and traveling and getting out of your comfort zone, and she’s supposed to sit there and smile like she doesn’t know exactly what—or who—you’re chasing. of course she let you speak, nodded and even smiled a little because she’s polite like that. but inside, she’s already decided: you’re full of shit. and worse, you think she’s stupid enough to believe you. you forget who you’re talking to! she didn’t raise you to be this naive. she didn’t spend her career climbing to the top of one of the most competitive aerospace programs in the world just to watch you throw it all away for a man. a man she’s sat across from in meetings. a man who smiled at her, shook her hand, called her ma’am, while fucking her daughter behind her back. so when you go to bed that night, she opens your laptop with intention. she’s not pretending it’s about concern anymore, she wants to find proof. something she can use. she starts with your photos, then your notes, then she checks the messages, searches his name. and it doesn’t take long. because of course you saved everything. she scrolls through the texts. ‘i’ll move in with you :)’ … ‘I love you, princess🌙❤️’ … ‘call me when you’re free plss i miss you, old man ;(( wanna see your stupid face’ … ‘Happy birthday, baby. You’re everything. Wish I could be there.🫰🏼But you should be getting something soon. Check your front door.’ … ‘still can’t walk right, thanks!👎’ … ‘You’ve got no idea how many nights I’ve fallen asleep hard just thinking about your mouth. You make me so horny, baby.’ … ‘you looked so good on that meeting, i wanted to crawl under the table🩷’ … ‘Got the flights to Barbados!😎🙂Private villa too.’ … ‘thank u for flying me to seoul!!! :))) i feel so spoiled it’s actually embarrassing, help. and i don’t think i’ve thanked u enough😭 also ur friends are v nice! but one of them def knows we’re fucking lol’ … ‘Happy one year anniversary❤️😘 You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.’ … ‘thinking bout you! :) i hope filming is going okay, baby’

she wants to puke. her stomach turns, not from shock but from how deep the lie runs. not weeks. not months. a full year. a year of lying to her face building this entire parallel life. a year of her daughter playing house with a man almost twice her age and absolutely old enough to know better. and now you’re about to leave the country for him. abandon everything for someone who not only kept you hidden, but encouraged you to throw it all away, too. her jaw clenches. her fingers twitch. and for a moment she just stares at the screen, the glowing proof of how completely you’ve betrayed her—and for what? for him? and this is the part that really pisses her off—not the secret itself, but how convinced you are that this is some grand, defiant kind of love. like you’re the main character in a sweeping drama and not a twenty-three-year-old girl following a man halfway across the world because he made you feel special in the dark. like you didn’t have every opportunity right here. like she didn’t set you up for something better. you’re throwing away your future for someone who doesn’t even claim you in public. and she can’t decide what stings more—your stupidity, or his nerve. she sits there for a long time, long enough for the screen to go black, and then she closes the laptop, folds her hands in her lap, and starts thinking. because if you’re not going to stop yourself, she will.

your gate is loud, full of crying toddlers and rolling suitcases and the dull voice of the airline agent calling boarding groups over a crackling speaker, but none of it really sinks in—you’re in that pre-flight fog, headphones on, phone half-charged, texting seunghyun stupid things about how you better be greeted with food and a kiss when you land. he hasn’t replied yet, but you figure he’s busy, maybe still on set or in traffic, so you scroll a little and sip your coffee. and that’s when your phone buzzes—his name lighting up your lock screen, followed by something that makes your stomach dip like you’ve just missed a step.

What the fuck is this?

at first, you think maybe it’s about a message you sent. maybe a text that didn’t land the way you thought—but when you unlock your phone, you see the link. you tap it. and it’s immediate—the headline slaps you in the face before the page even finishes loading: “FORMER BIG BANG MEMBER CHOI SEUNGHYUN (T.O.P) REPORTEDLY DATING 23-YEAR-OLD—SOURCE SAYS YEAR-LONG RELATIONSHIP BEGAN DURING DEARMOON PROJECT” your mouth goes dry as you scroll, and even though the wi-fi keeps lagging and the article loads in patches, it’s enough to make your stomach twist, because they have your face. full front-facing, well-lit, smiling in a selfie you posted to your story months ago, wearing the silk pajama set seunghyun also owns because he bought both. and now it’s a side-by-side comparison, captioned something like ‘coincidence?’ with a screenshot of his pajama from that live he did. there are other photos too—zoomed-in shots of your jewelry, the cartier bracelet he gave you for your birthday that you thought looked subtle enough to pass as a dupe, a blurry reflection of your silhouette in a window that someone must’ve enhanced within an inch of its pixels, because it sure as hell wasn’t that obvious when he posted it. they know about barbados, the villa, the timing of your ‘week off,’ the flights, the seoul trip you told no one about. they’re questioning how you can afford your clothes, your nails, your jewelry, as if the only possible explanation is that you’re getting fully sponsored by a thirty-six-year-old man. and your heart starts racing, because how the fuck do they know this? how do they have dates? how do they have details?

i don’t know

You don’t know?

i don’t

where’s this even coming from???

You tell me.

what

you think i did this????

wtf

i’m literally at the gate right now, i board in like 10 minutes

Then how the fuck do they know where we went? What we did?

i don’t know????????

They know things only you could’ve told someone.

are you serious rn, seunghyun??

i didn’t leak anything

and i didn’t talk to anyone

Then explain it to me.

hello???? what’s not clicking?? i can’t explain something i didn’t do

i don’t know how this happened, but it wasn’t me

Then how the fuck does the internet know shit only you and I knew?

i’m fucking telling you!!!! I DON’T KNOOOOW DUDEEEE

Quit the attitude.

so stop accusing me, thanks!

you should quit the attitude too btw

it wasn’t me

i would never do that to you, seunghyun

you know that

That’s not good enough right now.

and what do you want me to say??

i’m standing at the gate shaking and you’re being a fucking asshole to me for no reason

like i haven’t been lying to everyone i love for you

And now it’s all out there.

they’re boarding, i have to go

please don’t make up your mind about me before i even get there

please

wait until i land and we’ll talk properly, okay?

i love you, baby

you’re there in the plane, phone in hand, face burning like you’ve been physically exposed, like someone reached through your screen and dragged your relationship out into the open with a pair of dirty hands, and there’s nothing you can do. you land in seoul fifteen hours later, eyes sore from sleeping in short bursts, your heart beating faster with every slow step off the plane. immigration feels endless. baggage claim feels worse. you check your phone the second you get signal back—nothing from him. not a single message. just the same conversation frozen where you left it. your eyes drag across every face until you spot his driver standing off to the side, holding that same discreet little sign like he always does. you force a smile, greet the driver with a soft hello and a bow, and wheel your suitcase to the car without asking too many questions. it’s not until you’re inside—seatbelt clicked, door shut—that you finally ask. “where’s seunghyun?” he always comes with the driver to pick you up. always. the driver glances at you in the mirror. “he said he had work. asked me to bring you straight to his place.” you nod like it doesn’t sting. you stare out the window the entire ride, trying not to think too much about the way your hands won’t stop fidgeting in your lap. because if he didn’t come to pick you up, then maybe he’s still angry.

you’re standing in front of his door when it starts to hit you, when the weight of the last twenty-four hours finally settles fully into your chest. you press the buzzer once, gently, even though you know he’s expecting you. you stand still for another full minute, maybe more, breathing slow and shallow, trying to keep your hands from shaking. and just as your stomach starts to twist with the awful, embarrassing thought that he might not answer at all—that he might actually leave you standing there like punishment—the door finally opens. he’s dressed down—sweatpants and a t-shirt, purple hair slightly messy. he doesn’t even gesture for you to come in but you step inside anyway. the silence between you is thick enough to bite through as the door shuts behind you with a soft click. you step into him without thinking, arms slipping around his waist in a soft, searching hug, and after a long second, he wraps his arms around you too, but it’s not the kind of hug you’ve missed—it’s stiff, like he’s already somewhere else in his head; you tilt your face up and kiss him anyway, just a small press of your lips to his, hoping it’ll soften something between you, but when he kisses you back it feels automatic, and when you pull away, your heart already knows what your brain hasn’t caught up to yet—he’s not very happy to see you. “i thought you were coming with the driver,” you say after a few seconds, voice small. “i missed you, you know?” he doesn’t answer, just turns and starts walking toward the living room, voice low and empty as he throws over his shoulder, “how was the flight?” you stare at the back of his head for a beat, then follow. “fine,” you say. “long.” he hums in response—the kind of sound you’d expect from a stranger you’re making small talk with, not the man who once kissed every inch of your body and whispered how much he loved you against your skin.

he sits down on the couch without looking at you, elbows on his knees, head bowed slightly like he’s trying to collect himself or maybe just avoid the sight of you, and you hover there for a moment in the, unsure if you’re supposed to follow. when you finally sit, the distance between you feels bigger than the flight. you sit in silence for longer than you want to admit, glancing over at him, waiting for him to express what he’s feeling. but he doesn’t. so you speak, soft, like you’re testing the waters. “are you okay?” he doesn’t meet your eyes, just says, “what do you think?” you let out a quiet breath, more to steady yourself than anything, and for a moment you think about saying something gentle, but there’s already a wall between you, so instead you shift slightly where you sit, eyes still on him. “i didn’t do it.” he exhales through his nose, sharp, the kind of sound that’s halfway between disbelief and exhaustion. “someone did.” “yeah. but not me.” he doesn’t reply at first, gaze fixed on the floor like it might open up and hand him the answer he’s looking for. and then—“i don’t believe that.” the words hit like a slap. because he says them so plainly… like they’re just a fact. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. you’ve played this moment out in your head—him being angry, confused, upset—but never once did you imagine he’d look you in the eye and just… choose not to believe you. “you don’t believe me?” you say, and your voice breaks a little on the last word. “you wanted this to be public months ago. so maybe you got tired of waiting.” oh! the fucking nerve this man has to say that like you haven’t bent yourself backward for over a year to protect him, to protect this. “what—are you fucking serious? you really think i leaked our entire relationship?” “i don’t know what to think anymore.” he shrugs. “you wanted to stop hiding. now you don’t have to.” you laugh, because it’s so fucking absurd that it’s either that or scream. “wow. that’s where we’re at? i move to a whole new country for you, lie to my own mother for you, rearrange my entire fucking life to be with you, and the second something goes wrong, you act like i’m out here trying to fuck you over? for what? why would i do that?”

he shakes his head, voice rising now. “i don’t fucking know! maybe you wanted to stop lying, maybe you thought it would make things easier if it was just—out there. i don’t know, okay? i don’t know!” your mouth drops open, stunned, because it’s like he’s rewriting your entire history in real time, erasing every quiet sacrifice you made to protect him, every time you swallowed a question or smiled through the ache of being invisible. “really? this is fucking unbelievable, hyun! you—you’re being unbelievable.” “i told you why i couldn’t give you what you wanted yet,” he continues, angrier than you’ve seen him in a long time. “i told you from the beginning—i warned you what it would be like, what i could handle.” “no,” you say, pointing at him now. “what you said was that you couldn’t make it public yet. yet, as in not now, not never, and i respected that! i waited, i stayed quiet, i made myself small for you, and you—” your throat tightens suddenly, your chest rising and falling too fast. “you really think i’d burn all of that down on purpose? after everything?” “i don’t know what to think, okay? i’m freaking the fuck out, this was supposed to be private! and now the whole fucking world is talking about it, picking it apart, dissecting you, dissecting me, tying it back to all the shit i’ve tried to put behind me—” “and somehow that’s my fault?” you cut in. “you think i wanted that? you think i wanted to be the girl everyone’s calling a gold digger and a hooker? you think this is what i wanted?”

he starts pacing the room, back and forth across the same stretch of hardwood like if he just keeps moving the problem will solve itself, like he can walk the discomfort out of his body. and maybe that’s why you say it—like a fragile idea you’re not even sure you believe in yet, something you’re still trying to convince yourself could be true. “maybe this doesn’t have to be the end of the world,” you say, and your voice isn’t angry anymore, it’s tired, worn down to the bone. “maybe this is the worst way it could’ve happened, yeah. but now that it has—now that people know—maybe it’s… i don’t know. maybe it’s a chance to stop hiding. to just—to be normal.” you look at him, hoping to see even a flicker of something—anything that might tell you he hears what you’re actually saying. but instead, his expression twists into something unfamiliar, and he lets out a breathy laugh with no humor in it. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” your stomach tightens. “this is good news to you?” he asks. “this whole thing worked out exactly how you wanted, right?” “what?” you say, blinking. “no—i didn’t say—” but he’s not listening anymore. his hands fly up in frustration as he mutters something sharp under his breath in korean—words you can’t catch but don’t need to, because you know that tone, you know that edge in his voice, and you know when he’s cursing. “hey—don’t do that!” he doesn’t stop pacing. “hyun, don’t fucking do that! don’t start speaking korean to me!” he scoffs, bitter, and then another string of angry words slip out like a reflex, too quick for your brain to untangle but not quick enough to miss the way they’re aimed at you, even if not directly. “stop it! stop—seunghyun! i can’t fucking understand you!” nope. he continues. and now he’s doing it on purpose, which only makes your eyes water. “fuck off!” you snap, taking a step forward now. “speak to me in english, asshole! stop talking around me like i’m not in the fucking room!” that gets him to turn. “i’m not—” “yes! yes, you are!” you shoot back, fury crackling now. “you do this every time you don’t want me to know what the fuck you’re saying, every time you’re pissed but too much of a coward to say it to my damn face.” “don’t call me a coward,” he snaps. “then stop hiding behind a language you know i don’t fucking understand! i’m not fucking stupid, i know what cursing sounds like!”

your voice breaks, and suddenly the tears are there—blurring your vision before you can even try to blink them back. you press your palms to your eyes, cursing under your breath, trying to stop it, but it’s too late. “i didn’t do this,” you whisper, sobbing. “i didn’t fucking do this. stop—stop treating me like this.” his face shifts the moment the sob hits your throat, the sound of it cracking something in him. he exhales and steps forward instinctively. “fuck—” he mutters, under his breath now, softer. “don’t cry, baby. please don’t cry.” his hand hovers near your arm but doesn’t land. like he knows he lost the right to touch you somewhere back in the middle of this mess. “i’m sorry. i didn’t want to hurt you. i don’t want to see you like this.” but the apology is heavy with something else—the anger still buzzing under his skin like a second heartbeat. he runs a hand down his face, eyes closing for a second. “but you have to understand,” he continues. “i can’t shake the feeling that someone let it out. and i don’t know who else it could’ve been.” “you still think it was me,” you say quietly. “even now? after all of this?” “i don’t know what to think. i want to believe you. i do. but it’s a fucking mess. i’m asking you to understand what this is doing to me,” he says, desperate now, voice cracking under the weight of everything he hasn’t said. “i love you. i’m scared. and i’m fucking angry, too. and i don’t know where to put it, and—” he cuts himself off, eyes shining. seunghyun exhales hard, the kind of breath that drags through his whole body, and when he finally speaks again, his voice is quieter—it’s the voice he uses when he’s already made up his mind about something painful. “i think we need space,” he says. “everything’s out of control right now, and this… whatever this is between us, it’s not helping.”

your heart kicks hard against your chest. “what are you saying?” “i just think—i think maybe we need to take a step back. figure things out separately.” “are you—are you breaking up with me?” you ask. he looks at you. and the way he hesitates tells you everything. you take a step back, the tears coming back. “oh my god. oh my fucking god, seunghyun.” you turn away from him, hands trembling, wiping at your face like that’ll somehow help you get a grip on yourself. he takes a few steps toward you, stops, then sighs. “you don’t get it,” he says, his tone clipped. “this couldn’t have come at a worse time.” you spin back toward him. “worse time for what?” he gestures vaguely, like the answer should be obvious. “for everything! squid game 2 is airing in december. i’m already walking into it with a target on my back because of the character i’m playing, and now this shit—now they’ve got a real-life scandal to feed off of too.” “wow. okay.” he keeps going. “you don’t understand the pressure. i’ve worked so hard to get back to this point—to even have this kind of opportunity again. and now the timing’s fucked.” “you think i don’t understand pressure?” you snap. “i gave up everything to be here with you! everything! and you’re standing there acting like i’m a fucking stain on your reputation instead of your fucking girlfriend.” “don’t twist this.” “i’m not twisting anything!” your voice breaks again, high and hoarse. “i’m reacting to the fact that you’ve made it very clear what matters most to you right now, and it’s not me.” “you don’t understand what this show means. it’s—this is a second chance. and i’ve worked too fucking hard to have it fall apart because of—” “because of me?” you scoff. “you were never going to take it, hyun! remember? you were terrified of playing that character, of opening that part of yourself, and i’m the one who talked you into it. i told you it would be worth it. i told you to go for it even though it scared you, and now you’re throwing it back at me like i’ve fucked your career!” “because this is my name on the line!” you cross your arms, eyes stinging again, furious at the way his voice is getting louder, harder, like you’re the unreasonable one here. “i’m trying to protect my future! and you’re acting like i’ve just kicked your puppy.” “don’t talk to me like that!” “then stop acting like a fucking child!”

your jaw drops. he sees it—how much that lands—and he hesitates for a second, like maybe he regrets it. but not enough to take it back. “i gave up everything for you, you asshole. and you still talk to me like i’m some immature little girl who doesn’t get how the world works.” “because you don’t!” he snaps. “excuse me?” “you don’t get what this means, what it costs to have a life like mine.” “i do get it. don’t act like i haven’t been right there—next to you—for over a fucking year, hyun! i’ve seen what it costs, i’ve seen how this life eats you alive some days. i’ve held you when you couldn’t sleep, i wiped away your damn tears. i’ve stayed quiet, i’ve kept secrets, i’ve swallowed so much shit just to protect you—and you think i don’t get it? seriously? i’ve fucking lived it, seunghyun!” “you think that’s the same?” he fires back, eyes narrowing. “you being there when shit got hard—you think that means you understand it? you’re twenty-three. you haven’t lived through what i have. you’ve barely started your life. this—it’s different for you.” you let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “oh, so now it’s about my age?” “that’s not what i—” “no, go ahead. keep talking. because it’s fucking hilarious. you didn’t care about my age when you were fucking me raw and cumming inside of me.” his jaw tightens. “don’t.” “don’t what? don’t remind you? because i fucking remember all of it. every time you’ve called me baby, every time you’ve said you missed me, every time you’ve begged me to ride you because i was so tight you couldn’t think straight—was i too young then?” “stop it,” he growls. “that’s not what this is.” “isn’t it?” you demand, eyes burning. “you’re the one who told me none of that shit mattered. and now you’re flipping it, practically calling me stupid, acting like it’s all too complicated for me to understand. because you’re terrified people are gonna call you what you’ve already been calling yourself in your own fucking head.” he stares at you for a second, eyes narrowed. “and what the fuck do you think that is?” “that you’re sick,” you say. “that you—that you’re fucked in the head. you’ve been punishing yourself for years, hyun, and you cling to that. it gives you an excuse to push people away so they don’t have to see who you really are.” “you think i want to be like this?!” he shouts. “i think you don’t know how to be anything else!” oh, that hurt. that hurt a lot. he takes a step back, like the words physically knock him off balance, tears pooling in this eyes. “you act like if you don’t preempt the world’s hate, it’ll swallow you whole, so you push people away before they get the chance. you make me the villain before anyone else can. and now you’re so deep in your own fucking shame—in your own guilt and paranoia—you’d rather believe i betrayed you than consider the fact that i love you. because i do. i love you so fucking much it hurts. so if you wanna break up with me, then fine, hyun. do it. because i’m fucking tired.”

it hurts to say it. because some part of you still wants him to stop you, to reach for you, to take back everything he’s said and cry in your arms and tell you he doesn’t mean it, that he’s just scared and tired and overwhelmed and that he still wants this, wants you. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t speak at first. just stands there, breathing hard, blinking like he’s trying to see through what you just said. he heard every word but can’t seem to hold onto any of them, can’t figure out where to begin or how to stop this thing from crashing down. “i love you too,” he says. “but you don’t trust me. you don’t believe—” “but i do love you. you know i do.” your heart aches. “then why are you doing this?” “because i don’t think i know how to love you the way you want to be loved, the way you deserve. i thought i did—i wanted to. but i can’t. and i think if we keep going, things will only get worse.” “so that’s it?” you say, your voice shaky. “you’d rather let me go than figure it out together?” “no. it’s not that simple. don’t make it sound like i want this, because i don’t.” you blink through the sting in your eyes. you’re crying, but you’re not sure when it started. “but you do want this, hyun. you’re the one ending it.” “because i think it’s the right thing to do,” he says, frustrated. “right for who?” he doesn’t answer. “right for who, hyun?” you repeat. “because it’s sure as hell not fucking right for me.” “for both of us.” you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “don’t lie, you’re doing this for you.” his eyes flick up to yours, and they’re tired. “i’ve spent years trying to put my life back together. trying to build a life that doesn’t make me want to kill myself. and this—” he gestures vaguely. “this is setting it off again. you need to understand that.” “i would’ve stood next to you through it,” you say. “if you’d let me.” “i know,” he says. “but i can’t—i can’t do it. i can’t do this.” he pauses. then adds quietly, “i’ll book you a hotel. i’ll pay for everything. you don’t have to go back to texas right away, but you shouldn’t stay here… i’m sorry.” and he’s already pulling out his phone, not meeting your eyes. and you nod, even though everything inside you is screaming.

he’s quick to block you. you find out the next morning, still laying on the hotel bed he booked for you, surrounded by pristine sheets. and maybe you shouldn’t be surprised—after all, he ended it—but it still makes you cry for two hours straight. you stay in seoul for a few more days. not because you want to, but because the idea of rushing home feels worse. the suite is beautiful and you barely leave it. you eat toast and drink water and lie on your side for hours, just staring, letting the weight of everything press down on you until it feels hard to move. and you cry. you cry a lot. still shocked by how quickly things ended. how he decided to throw away a year of love in a single night and left you with nothing but a suitcase and the memory of the way he looked when he said i love you and i can’t do this in the same breath. a few days later, it starts showing up on your feed—not from him directly, of course, but through tiktoks and screenshots, fan accounts posting cropped images of his comment section under a recent photo, where someone asked if the rumors were true and he replied: ‘Don’t believe everything you read.’ another asks if he was really in a year-long relationship with a younger girl, and he writes, ‘Stop spreading this bullshit.’ and the story he posts hours later—plain white text on black background—feels like a final punch to the gut: ‘No, I’m not dating anyone and I haven’t been dating anyone. Please stop spreading misinformation. Recent rumors circulating online are false.’ just like that.

still, you wait for him to come back to you. to apologize, to tell you how much he missed and needed you. but as the days stretch into weeks and the weeks become months, you stop expecting to hear from him, even though some small, traitorous part of you still hopes. you never find out what your mother did—you imagine a hundred different versions, each one worse than the last, but the truth never surfaces. and then squid game 2 comes out. it’s everywhere almost immediately—clips spreading faster than you can scroll, his face showing up everywhere. and people love him. they love the character, the performance, the way he fits into the story. you’re happy for him, genuinely, even when it aches, because you remember how scared he was to take the role, how close he came to walking away from it entirely, how he almost let the past win. you even think about reaching out. more than once, actually. with something like: hey, sorry to bother… i’ve seen the show, you did amazing! congrats, seunghyun. i’m really proud of you. you type it out a few times, stare at the words on your screen and then you remember—you’re still blocked.

and when the spotlight swings to him, it finds you too. people start digging as soon as the rumor of you and him being together resurfaces. they pick apart your face, your clothes, your age… and the comments aren’t just invasive—they’re cruel in the way that strangers can be when they’ve convinced themselves you deserve it. so you make your accounts private. and when that doesn’t work, you start deleting. one by one, until there’s nothing left to find. that’s when it hits you—even now, even after the breakup, you’re still reacting to him. it’s his silence, his shame, his decision to pretend you never happened that pushed you into hiding, and suddenly it feels like maybe you never really left the relationship at all—just shifted into some sad, invisible version of it where you’re still being shaped by the parts of him you don’t even have access to anymore. and you ask yourself, more than once, if i’d known it would end like this, would i still have done it? would i still have loved him? and you want to say no. you wish you could say no. but the truth is, you don’t know. you’re not sure you ever will.

pls don’t hate me for this😔💀 anyway… if you got this far ily!💗🥹

taglist: @kaerasti49 @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy

part 2 is now posted!

#choi seunghyun #seunghyun x reader #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p fanfic #t.o.p x reader #t.o.p x you #bigbang x reader #top bigbang #top x reader #bigbang #thanos squid game #big bang #thanos smut #smut

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jungkoode · 14 days ago

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OUT OF LINE | 01

“gominola”

"Some people are immune to charm, allergic to arrogance, and completely uninterested in your particular brand of expensive chaos. Today you meet one of them."

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↦author's note : Okay. Okay. I really went and did it with this one. And I regret absolutely nothing. First of all. Just had to make that clear up front. No apologies will be issued at this time, thank you for your concern. Second of all—and this one's been cracking me up for days—I've been texting Vani like "I'm so sorry. I fear this is my Wattpad fic." Because... it is. Like, it really is. I've gone full ✨she's unimpressed, he's cocky✨ and I need you all to understand: I am aware. I see the trope. I live the trope. And I embrace the trope. This is not innovative. It's not genre-defying. It is what it is, and I'm standing ten toes down in it. Sometimes life sucks and you deserve to indulge in a fuckboy right-back getting stonewalled by a girl in a hoodie and a death glare. Guilty pleasures are called pleasures for a reason. Let me live. That said... this is still a Kiki fic. So yeah, it's Wattpad-coded, but it's also packed with trauma, psychological complexity, and enough repressed emotion to make a therapist cry. Because I can't write fluff. I can't write people who fall in love cleanly. I can only write emotional warfare and painfully specific coping mechanisms. So if you're looking at Taehyung like "he's insufferable," just know that's the point. He is! He's also deeply lonely, emotionally stunted, and addicted to being wanted because he thinks admiration equals worth. (Spoiler: it doesn't.) And her—god. She is not here for the male ego parade. She's grown up in Spain, she's grieving, she's displaced, and she has zero energy for Real Madrid's locker room of dopamine-deficient mascots. That hoodie isn't just a hoodie. It's distance. It's defiance. It's a tether to a home she was pulled from too fast, and a warning sign to anyone trying to get too close. Don't get me started on the symbolism because this will get way too long. Vani knows firsthand. Now. Leo? Oh, Leo. He's the Real Madrid maknae and a walking cautionary tale. He wants to belong so badly he'll mirror whatever's around him. Which, unfortunately for him, is Taehyung and Marco. He's twenty. Impressionable. Already being warped by the dynamic of party-first, care-later. I love him. I want to save him. I might not. Also, let's talk about Jesús—because I had to sneak that conversation in. Chapter 1 is heavy on Taehyung's POV, which means you get all his projection and testosterone-induced decisions and derailed internal monologue. But the dad scene was non-negotiable. I needed you to see her from the inside. The quiet way she's holding herself together with routines, ferrets, gominolas, and the desperate need for control. She's not cold. She's scorched. And her dad? He's trying. He's trying so hard. And maybe that's the saddest part of all. Also—linguistics side note because I'm annoying—I very intentionally wrote her dialogue with Jesús in Spanish (with translations) because I will die on the hill of language realism. It would make zero sense for them to speak English to each other at home. She's grown up in Spain. Her dad's Spanish. That's their intimacy language. Meanwhile, the Real Madrid players default to English—the club is international, and not everyone speaks Spanish fluently (Taehyung included). So yes. In this fic, she's the one speaking a different language. And yes. He's going to learn. Because nobody does language kink intimacy like I do. 🫦 So yes. He's awful. Intentionally. Aggressively. Satirically. This is not a "he's so cool because he's toxic" situation. This is "I am raw-dogging you his character flaws on a silver platter so you can watch him fumble in real time." Let's all unpack that together. Anyway. Welcome to Out of Line. Vani's Between the Lines sister story. My trauma-coded cliché monster. My ode to messy boys and girls who pretend they're fine until they implode. Please buckle your seatbelts. Hold each other's hands. Consider investing in therapy. I know I am.

The new physio better be hot.

That's the first coherent thought Taehyung has after forty-five minutes of mindless drills. Not that he's complaining about the mindless part—muscle memory's doing all the work while his brain checks out, cataloguing last night's blonde (Marta? Maria? Started with an M, ended with her screaming his name, details irrelevant).

The September sun's brutal on the pitch, turning the grass into a furnace, and Coach keeps barking orders like they haven't run this same formation a thousand times.

"Fucking hell," Marco grunts beside him, bent over with his hands on his knees. "If I have to do one more suicide drill, I'm actually going to commit one."

Leo laughs—that nervous kind of laugh he does when he's not sure if Marco's joking. Kid's still too green, still thinks there's some magic formula to fitting in. Taehyung remembers being twenty and giving a shit about what the older players thought. Now he's twenty-four and the only opinion that matters is his own.

And right now, his opinion is that training's boring as fuck.

"New physio starts today," Leo offers, like that's supposed to make the sweat stop pooling in uncomfortable places. "Jesús something. From Barcelona."

So… A man. Boring.

Marco spits on the grass. "Great. We now got a Barça prick to tell us we're stretching wrong."

Taehyung's about to add his own commentary—something about how Barcelona's medical staff couldn't fix their players' egos, let alone their hamstrings—when movement in the bleachers catches his eye.

Hello.

There's someone up there. Female someone, from the shape. Not unusual—girlfriends, agents, journalists, they all hover around the complex like expensive flies.

But this one's different.

This one's got nose in a book (okay, miss 'not like other girls'), completely ignoring the show on the pitch.

And that's…

Interesting.

He shifts his stance, trying to get a better angle without being obvious about it. Hair pulled back, oversized university hoodie despite the heat, legs crossed at the ankle. Can't see your face from here, but the way you're sitting—spine straight, pen moving across the page in quick, efficient strokes—suggests you're not here for the view.

Which is fucking absurd, honestly.

He's shirtless. Marco's shirtless. Hell, half the team's shirtless, and you're more invested in whatever's on that page than twenty-two professional athletes in peak physical condition.

"Oi." Marco's elbow catches him in the ribs. "You checking out the competition or planning to actually train today?"

"Who's that?"

He doesn't point—he's not twelve—but tilts his head toward the bleachers.

Marco squints, then grins. That specific grin that means he's already mapping out his approach strategy.

"Oh shit. That's the new physio's daughter."

So a man—with a daughter.

The information slots into place like a puzzle piece.

Barcelona physio. Daughter in tow. Probably forced to tag along while daddy gets settled into his new job, bored out of your mind, killing time with—he squints—whatever the fuck that textbook is.

"Dibs," Marco says automatically.

"You can't call dibs on people," Leo protests, still adorably convinced that ethics apply to their world.

"Watch me." Marco's already running a hand through his hair, activating what he calls 'the panty-dropper smile,' which Taehyung's seen work on models, actresses, that prosecutor who definitely should've known better. "I give her two days before she's begging for a private tour of the facilities."

Taehyung watches you turn a page, pen tapping against your bottom lip. The gesture is unconscious, academic, completely unaware of the attention you're drawing.

Something about it makes his mouth quirk up.

"Hundred euros says she doesn't even give you her number."

"You're on." Marco's already moving, that swagger in his step that says he's never met a woman who didn't eventually cave. "Watch and learn, boys."

But Taehyung's not interested in watching Marco crash and burn. He's already moving, cutting his friend off with the kind of casual interception that works just as well off the pitch as on it.

Marco's protests fade into background noise—something about fair play and bro code and other shit that stops mattering the second Taehyung gets a clear view of your face.

You're pretty.

Not Instagram pretty, not 'done up for the cameras' pretty. Just… pretty. The kind of face that probably looks the same at 6 AM as it does at midnight. No makeup that he can see, just skin and eyes and a mouth that's currently frowning at whatever you're reading.

He leans against the barrier separating the pitch from the stands, letting his weight settle into the metal. Close enough now to smell something sweet—not perfume, something else. Candy, maybe. The artificial cherry kind kids eat.

You don't look up.

He's standing three feet away, shirtless and sweaty and radiating that post-workout testosterone that usually has women tripping over themselves, and you don't even glance his way.

What the fuck.

He raises an eyebrow, even though you're not looking to see it.

Clears his throat.

Nada.

You make another note in the margin of your textbook, and he catches a glimpse of the page—medical terminology, diagrams that look like someone exploded a knee joint and tried to map the debris.

A physio's daughter studying what looks like physio stuff. Following in daddy's footsteps. Cute.

He waves a hand in front of your face. Not aggressive, just enough movement to break your concentration.

And finally—finally—you look up.

Your eyes are darker than expected, the kind that turns black when annoyed.

Which, judging by the expression on your face, is exactly what you are right now.

He smirks. Can't help it. It's automatic at this point, the expression that says 'yeah, I'm that guy, you're welcome.'

"Hey."

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Then go back to your book.

What.

"Studying?" He tries again, because maybe you're one of those delayed reaction types.

Maybe the neural pathways from eyes to brain to mouth need a second to fire up.

Nothing.

He glances at the textbook again.

The words swim in front of him—Spanish, mostly, medical Spanish at that. His comprehension tops out at ordering beer and asking where the bathroom is. Carmen tried to teach him once, spent hours conjugating verbs while naked in his bed, but all he remembers is that 'cama' means bed and 'más' means more.

"I guess you already know my name."

He leans harder against the barrier, angling his body to block the worst of the sun from your page.

See? Thoughtful.

"But it's Kim. Taehyung. First name Taehyung."

You raise your eyes from the textbook. Slow, like it's costing you effort. The look you give him is so flat it could resurface a parking lot.

"And I should care because…?"

It's not quite a question because you clearly don't expect an answer. Or want one. You're already turning back to your book, dismissing him as efficiently as a referee's whistle.

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

"Tae!" Marco's voice cuts across the pitch. "Coach wants us back!"

But Taehyung's still processing. Still standing there like an idiot while you scribble another note in that incomprehensible textbook.

You've got a red pen now, underlining something like nothing else matters in the world—not even him.

That makes him frown.

The barrier digs into his forearms but he doesn't move. Can't quite figure out why you're not looking.

You're just… sitting there. Ignoring him. Like he's furniture.

Sweaty, expensive furniture that you have zero interest in purchasing.

"Taehyung!" Marco again, louder this time. "Unless you want extra laps—"

Right. Training. The thing he's paid millions to do.

He pushes off the barrier, but not before catching one last detail—a small bag of those candies peeking out from your hoodie pocket.

"Any day now, princess," Marco calls, and that gets a laugh from the others.

Taehyung flips him off, and he knows, technically, the smart thing would be to walk away. Get back to training. Forget about the physio's daughter who clearly has better things to do than stroke his ego.

But Taehyung's never been particularly smart about these things.

"You know," he says, loud enough to make sure you hear him, "most people at least pretend to be interested when someone introduces themselves."

Your pen stops moving. Just for a second. Then continues its path across the page.

"Most people," you say without looking up, "introduce themselves when there's a reason to."

It's so casual, so dismissive, that it takes him a second to realize you've just called him irrelevant to your existence.

Him. Taehyung Kim. Real Madrid's starting right-back. A hundred and thirty-six million Instagram followers. Face of three luxury brands and that unfortunate cologne campaign his agent swears was artistic.

Irrelevant.

"Taehyung, I swear to god—"

"I'm coming!" He shouts back at Marco, then his eyes move back to you.

He glances at your hoodie pocket again, at the candy, sweet-shaped things you're chewing.

"What's that?"

You look up slowly, like you're completely done with this, and he kind of likes the little groove appearing between your eyebrows.

"What's what?"

He nods at the small red jellybean thingy between your fingers.

"That."

"It's called gominola," you say, flat as concrete, like you're explaining colors to a toddler.

Gominola. Spanish word.

He's heard it before, maybe, but Spanish flows past him like water most days.

"Right." He nods like he totally knew that. "Gominola."

You're already deep in your textbook again, like the last two minutes didn't happen. Like he didn't happen.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting salt and something sour. When he finally turns back to the pitch, Marco's wearing that shit-eating grin that means he watched the whole thing.

"So," his friend says as Taehyung jogs back to formation. "How's that hundred euros looking?"

"Shut up."

"No, really. I want to know what kind of flowers to send to your funeral. Roses? Lilies? Something that says 'here lies Taehyung Kim, murdered by a girl who didn't give a fuck'?"

Leo's trying not to laugh and failing. Even Diego looks amused from his spot near the goal, and Diego hasn't been amused by anything since 2018.

"She's playing hard to get," Taehyung says, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long drink.

The sun's turned brutal while he was standing there like an idiot, and his shoulders are probably fried.

"Right." Marco stretches the word into three syllables. "And I'm playing hard to get with Scarlett Johansson."

"Different game entirely."

Taehyung caps the bottle, eyes drifting back to the bleachers. You're highlighting something now, yellow marker moving in precise lines.

"Trust me."

"Oh, this is gonna be good." Marco's practically bouncing on his toes. "Taehyung Kim, rejected by the physio's daughter who'd rather read about—what was that, tendons?—than talk to him."

"I wasn't rejected."

"You literally just stood there while she acted like you didn't exist."

"She was just busy."

"That's what we're calling it?"

Taehyung grins, and it's the one that usually makes Marco nervous. The one that appears right before he does something spectacularly stupid and somehow makes it work.

"I'm calling it round one."

Because here's the thing—he's been bored. Genuinely, mind-numbingly bored.

Same training, same parties, same faces in his bed.

Madrid's full of women who know his name before he opens his mouth, who laugh at jokes that aren't funny and pretend to be fascinated by stories they've already heard from three other players.

But you? You looked at him like he was blocking your light.

So he spends the rest of training with one eye on the bleachers, and you don't look up once, not even when Leo completely botches a penalty kick and Marco screams creative Italian profanity at the sky.

You just keep reading, occasionally popping one of those gominolas into your mouth, completely absorbed in a world that has nothing to do with the spectacle fifty feet away.

By the time Coach calls it, the sun's turned the pitch into a sauna and everyone's dragging.

Taehyung grabs his shirt from the bench, pulling it on while trying to look like he's not watching you pack up your things.

You move like you have all the time in the world—book into bag, pens into case, everything in its place.

Then you're walking down the bleachers, taking the steps two at a time like you've got somewhere better to be.

"So what's the plan?" Marco appears at his shoulder, following his line of sight. "Flowers? Jewelry? Groveling?"

"Don't need a plan."

"Everyone needs a plan."

"No," Taehyung corrects, watching you disappear through the exit without a backward glance. "Everyone else needs a plan."

Marco laughs, but it's the kind that suggests he thinks Taehyung's lost it.

"She didn't even tell you her name."

True.

But he noticed the way your fingers tapped against the book when you were thinking.

Noticed the three different colors of highlighter in your bag, organized by size.

Noticed how you bite your lip on the left side when concentrating, leaving the faintest indent in the pink.

Details.

The kind that matter when you're mapping out a challenge.

"She will," he says, and means it.

Because Taehyung Kim doesn't do rejection.

He does persistence, charm and strategy wrapped in a smile.

And you, with your medical textbooks and gummies and complete inability to give a fuck about his existence?

Oh. You're gonna be fun.

Nube’s stealing your socks again.

You watch her drag the pink cotton across the hardwood floor of your bedroom, tiny paws working overtime to claim her prize.

She’s gotten bold since the move—probably stress-induced kleptomania.

Can’t blame her. You’ve been stress-eating pikotas like they’re a food group.

"That’s my good pair," you tell her, but she’s already disappeared under the bed with her treasure.

Hari’s less ambitious in his criminal endeavors. He’s sprawled across your stomach like a furry hot water bottle, occasionally chittering when you stop petting him. The sound vibrates against your ribs—small, warm, alive.

Better than the silence that fills this house most days.

Your phone’s face-down on the nightstand because checking it leads to Barcelona rabbit holes, and Barcelona rabbit holes lead to wondering what Dani had for breakfast or whether Jungkook’s figured out how to use the coffee machine without flooding the kitchen.

Pointless thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.

The knock on your door is soft, tentative. Dad’s signature.

Mom used to say he knocked like he was apologizing for existing.

"¿Sí?" (Yeah?)

"¿Puedo pasar?" (Can I come in?)

Hari perks up at your father’s voice, whiskers twitching. Traitor. You scoop him up anyway, settling him against your shoulder before nodding toward the door.

"Adelante." (Come in)

Dad enters like he’s entering a crime scene—careful, observant, ready to back out if needed. His hair’s still damp from the shower, smelling like that medicinal soap he uses. The scent of competence and sterile environments, you figure.

"¿Cómo van los estudios?" (How’s the studying going?) He settles into the chair by your desk, the one that’s supposed to be for studying but mostly holds laundry you’re too lazy to put away.

"Bien." (Good) You scratch behind Hari’s ears, feel him melt against your palm. "La anatomía es anatomía. Da igual si estás en Barcelona o en Marte." (Anatomy’s anatomy. Doesn’t matter if you’re in Barcelona or Mars)

He smiles at that, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Never does anymore.

Not since the move.

Not since Mom.

"Bien. Eso está bien." (Good. That’s good.) His fingers drum against his thigh—nervous habit he developed after Mom died. "Oye, sé que este cambio ha sido… difícil. Para los dos." (Listen, I know this change has been… difficult. For both of us.)

Here we go. The conversation you’ve been avoiding for three weeks. The one where he apologizes for taking the job, for moving you from everything familiar, for choosing survival over sentiment.

"Papá—" (Dad—)

"No, escúchame." (No, listen to me.) He leans forward, elbows on knees. The posture of a man confessing sins. "Sé que no querías irte de Barcelona. Sé que esto te parece una traición." (I know you didn’t want to leave Barcelona. I know this feels like betrayal.)

Betrayal’s too strong a word. Abandonment fits better.

But you don’t say that because he already carries enough guilt for both of you.

"No pasa nada." (It’s fine.)

"Sí que pasa." (It’s not fine.) His voice gains edge, that firmness he uses with players who claim they’re not injured when they’re obviously limping. "Pero era necesario. Y a lo mejor… a lo mejor es bueno. Cambio de aires. Nuevas perspectivas." (But it was necessary. And maybe… maybe it’s good. Change of air. New perspectives.)

New perspectives. Right. Because what you really needed was exposure to Madrid’s particular brand of arrogance and entitlement.

Hari shifts against your shoulder, tiny claws pricking through your shirt.

Even he’s unconvinced.

"¿Y los jugadores?" (And the players?) The question comes out careful, as if he were asking about your opinion on the weather rather than your thoughts on his new colleagues. "¿Qué te parecen?" (What do you think of them?)

You consider lying. Consider diplomacy. Consider all the ways you could soften the truth to make it easier for him to swallow.

Instead, you shrug.

"Pues qué voy a pensar, papá. Son gilipollas." (What would I think, dad? They’re jerks.)

He barks out a laugh—sharp, surprised. The first genuine one you’ve heard from him since you got here.

"Joder, hija." But he’s grinning now, shaking his head. "No te cortes." (Shit, sweetie. Tell me how you really feel.)

"Me has preguntado." (You asked.)

"Es verdad." (That’s true.) He sobers slightly. "¿Todos?" (All of them?)

You think about it. Really think about it.

Xavi seems decent enough—quiet, professional, treats staff like humans rather than furniture. Diego’s got that aggressive competence thing going on, but he’s respectful. Even Marco, for all his obvious fuckboy tendencies, at least has the decency to say please when he wants extra ice.

Then there’s… him.

Taehyung.

With his lazy smirks and designer everything and complete inability to understand that the world doesn’t revolve around his stupid abs.

"La mayoría." (Most of them.) The admission feels like charity. "Algunos son simplemente… más gilipollas que otros." (Some are just… bigger jerks than others.)

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand. Face still down, but the vibration makes both you and Hari jump slightly.

Ignore it.

It’s probably Instagram telling you Dani posted another story, or your university group chat discussing assignment due dates, or some other notification designed to pull you back into a world you’re trying to navigate without drowning.

It buzzes again.

"¿No vas a mirar?" (Won’t check?)

"No es nada." (It’s nothing.)

But your dad’s looking at you with that expression. The one that says he knows you better than you know yourself, and lying to him is like lying to a mirror.

You flip the phone over.

@𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐨: BOMBAZO: 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚎 𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚝, ¿𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚟𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚓𝚊? 𝙻𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚊́𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 (BOMBSHELL: BarcaBarbie and Blake Scott, new couple? The pictures that confirm the romance)

The thumbnail is grainy, paparazzi-quality garbage, but unmistakably them. Blake’s hand around Barbie’s waist, pulling her close. Her face is hidden by her hair, falling between them and the camera.

They’re close. Too close.

The kind of close that could be a kiss or could be an almost-kiss or could be nothing at all, but the angle makes it impossible to tell and that’s exactly what sells magazines.

You stare at the screen longer than necessary. Feel something twist in your chest that you refuse to name.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not longing. It’s just… surprise.

Because Blake is a Barcelona player, and Barbie is Dani’s sister—and the implications are already enough without you having to explicitly connect the dots.

Your thumb hovers over Dani’s contact. The urge to text him hits like muscle memory—does he know about this? how’s he taking it? is he okay?—but then your heart does that thing. That stupid, treacherous thing where it speeds up just thinking about typing his name.

Because he has a girlfriend now.

Carla. Sweet, pretty Carla who met him with a press badge slung around her neck and a voice recorder in hand. Who writes match reports and profile pieces that are perfect and looks genuinely happy in her soft-filtered couple photos.

Of course he would fall for her.

Of course she’s the kind of girl who gets the story and the guy.

Carla who never had to compete with a dead woman’s memory or a teenage crush that should have died years ago.

You swallow the impulse. Bury it under three layers of rationalization and practical thinking.

Instead, you open Jungkook’s chat.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍? 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙱𝚊𝚛?

You wait 2 seconds max before the response makes its way through the chat. Well, of fucking course. It’s no secret Jungkook's always been surgically attached to his phone.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚜

Relief floods your system before you can stop it.

Which is stupid.

Why should you care if Barbie and Blake are together? It’s not like their relationship status affects your life in Madrid.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒? 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

The response comes quick. Too quick. Like he’s trying to move past the topic before you can dig deeper.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍?

And there it is. The subject change.

Jungkook’s always been good at reading minefields and stepping around them.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚍?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚘𝚘𝚏

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, because…

You could tell him about Taehyung. About the smirk and the shameless showing off and the way he looked genuinely confused when you didn’t fall over yourself to talk to him.

But that would require admitting you noticed him at all.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛? 🤔

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚜

Despite everything, you smile.

Because he’s not wrong.

Barcelona players at least have the decency to look good while being insufferable.

"¿Todo bien?" (All good?) Your dad’s voice pulls you back to the room, to Hari’s warm weight against your shoulder, to the conversation you abandoned to spiral over Barcelona gossip.

"Sí. Solo… amigos siendo amigos." (Yeah. Just… Friends being friends.)

"¿Amigos de Barcelona?" (Barcelona friends?)

The question lands heavier than it should.

Because yes, Barcelona friends. The ones you left behind.

The ones who are moving on and coupling up and living their lives while you’re stuck in Madrid petting ferrets and avoiding eye contact with shirtless footballers.

"Sí." (Yes.)

He nods, understanding more than you wish he did.

"Está bien echarlos de menos. Es normal." (It’s okay to miss them. It’s normal.)

"Lo sé." (I know.)

"Y está bien… hacer nuevos amigos aquí. Aunque sean gilipollas." (And it’s okay to… to make new friends here. Even if they’re jerks.)

You look at him then, see the worry lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders carry tension like a physical weight.

He’s trying so hard to make this work. To make this place feel like home instead of just a house where you happen to sleep.

It’s not fair to him, to make it feel like it’s all his fault.

"Tal vez algunos sean menos gilipollas que otros," you concede. (Maybe some are lesser jerks than others.)

He smiles. "Sí, tal vez." (Yeah, maybe.)

Your phone buzzes again.

More Barcelona updates, probably.

More reminders of the life you’re not living anymore.

You let it buzz.

Because right now, in this sterile Madrid bedroom with your stress-thieving ferrets and your guilt-ridden father, you’re exactly where you need to be. Even if it feels like exile.

Even if every instinct tells you that Madrid players are trouble, and certain shirtless right-backs are the worst kind of trouble.

Even if your heart still does stupid things when you think about blue and red jerseys and boys who used to treat you like family.

"¿Cena?" (Dinner?) Your dad stands, stretching joints that probably ache from years of fixing other people’s bodies. "Estaba pensando en pedir de ese sitio argentino de la calle." (I was thinking of ordering from that argentinian place down the street.)

"¿El de las empanadas?" (The one with the empanadas?)

"Ese mismo." (The very one.)

Hari chirps at the mention of food, because ferrets are basically tiny, furry garbage disposals with boundary issues.

"Vale. Pero mañana cocinas tú. Esto de la comida a domicilio se está poniendo caro." (Okay. But you’re cooking tomorrow. This takeout thing is getting expensive.)

"Trato hecho." (Deal.) He pauses at the door, hand on the frame. "Y cielo…" (And sweetheart…)

"¿Qué?" (What?)

"Dale una oportunidad a Madrid. Solo… una pequeñita." (Give Madrid a chance. Just… a small one.)

You scratch Hari’s head, feel him purr against your palm. Outside your window, the sun’s setting over a city that still feels foreign, painting everything in shades of gold and possibility.

"Ya veremos." (We’ll see.)

It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no either.

And for now, that’s enough.

Twenty-two minutes and she hasn't cum yet.

Not that he's counting. Except he is, because Marco's got a thousand euros riding on twenty minutes max, and Taehyung doesn't lose bets. Especially not when the evidence is currently wrapped around his cock, lips stretched wide, dark eyes looking up at him through thick lashes like she knows exactly what she's doing to him.

Fuck.

Her tongue does this thing—this swirl around the head that makes his thighs tense—and he threads his fingers through her curls. Not pulling. Guiding. There's a difference, and he's not an amateur. The curls are soft, springy, wrapping around his fingers like they belong there.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Screen lights up with Marco's name and some emoji combination that probably means he's balls deep in his own conquest downstairs.

Good for him. Great. Love that for him. Now fuck off.

He swipes at the notification with his free hand, types back without looking. Whatever he sends, it's probably not words. Doesn't matter. Marco speaks fluent 'leave me the fuck alone' by now.

She hums around him and his hips jerk. Shit. He tosses the phone somewhere—bed, floor, shadow realm, who gives a fuck—and gets his other hand in her hair. Both hands now, cradling her head like she's precious cargo. Which she is. Absolutely fucking is when she's doing that thing with her tongue again.

"That's it," he breathes, helping her with shallow thrusts.

Nothing too deep. He's not trying to choke her. Not unless she asks, and even then—

The phone buzzes again.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He ignores it. Focuses on the wet heat, the way her nails dig into his thighs when he hits the back of her throat.

She's good at this. Really good.

Like, 'might actually get her number after this' good. The kind of good that makes him forget about—

Another buzz. Another. The screen keeps lighting up like a fucking disco.

She pulls off with an obscene pop, lips swollen and shiny.

"Popular tonight?"

"Always am."

He guides her back down before she can respond, and she goes willingly. Eager, even. Takes him deeper this time, nose almost touching his pelvis, and he has to close his eyes.

Close, close, close—

The orgasm hits like a penalty kick to the gut. He spills down her throat with a grunt that's probably too loud for a hotel room with thin walls, but that's what they get for booking cheap venues for these sponsor parties.

He wipes it away with his thumb (gentle, see? he's a gentleman), and she catches his wrist, sucks the digit clean.

Yeah. Definitely round two with this one.

The phone starts actually ringing this time. Marco's ringtone—some reggaeton bullshit that makes him want to throw the device out the window.

"You need to get that?"

She's already climbing onto his lap, straddling his thighs like she owns them. Her dress rode up during the festivities, bunched around her waist.

No underwear. Smart girl.

"Nah."

He grabs her hips, pulls her closer. She's warm and soft and smells like coconut oil and that floral perfume every girl in Spain seems to own.

"Got better things to do."

She grins, reaching between them to wrap her fingers around his cock. Still sensitive, but already showing interest again. Twenty-four years old and blessed with the recovery time of a teenager.

Thank fuck for good genetics.

"Another round already?" She strokes him slowly, base to tip, twisting her wrist on the upstroke.

He smirks up at her, lazy and satisfied. She's gorgeous like this—dark skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, curls wild from his hands, lips still swollen.

The belly dancing show earlier didn't do her justice. All that hip movement on stage was just advertising for this, for the way she rolls her body like water.

"Hmm." He nips at her shoulder, tastes salt and coconut. "Think you can handle it?"

She laughs, breathy and confident, already reaching for the condoms on the nightstand. His mouth finds her shoulder, teeth grazing the skin as she rolls the latex down his half-hard cock. Already getting there. Give him two minutes and—

The phone buzzes again. Then again. Then—

"Jesus fucking Christ." He snatches it up, ready to block Marco's number permanently.

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝙲𝙾𝙳𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

She's positioning herself over him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other guiding him to her entrance. Wet. Ready.

Twenty-three minutes and counting, but who's keeping track?

"Ignore it," he mutters, tossing the phone aside again.

His hands find her waist, her lower back, steadying her as she sinks down.

Tight. Fuck, she's tight. Or maybe he's just bigger than her usual.

Either way, the way she gasps and digs her nails into his shoulders suggests this is working for both of them.

"Fuck," she breathes, bottoming out. "You're—"

"I know." He rolls his hips up, cutting off whatever compliment she was about to give.

Doesn't need to hear it. Knows exactly what he's working with.

She starts moving, slow at first, finding her rhythm. He lets her set the pace initially, hands roaming her back, her ass, her thighs. Cataloging reactions.

She likes it when he grips her hips. Loves it when he scrapes his teeth across her nipple.

Mental notes. He's nothing if not a student of the game.

The phone won't stop buzzing.

Fuck Marco, fuck Carlos and fuck the universe, honestly.

Change of plans.

"Gotta make it quick."

He grabs her hips, flips them in one smooth motion. Her back hits the mattress with a soft gasp, legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Better angle anyway.

He braces one forearm next to her head, uses the other hand to push her thigh back toward the mattress. Opens her up just right. Deep. The way he likes it.

"Oh fuck—"

She arches under him as he starts moving. None of that gentle buildup shit. They're twenty-four minutes in and he's got places to be, apparently.

He finds his rhythm quick. Hard, deep thrusts that have her gasping with each one. The headboard's probably banging against the wall but that's what happens when you book the cheap rooms for overflow guests.

Should've sprung for the suite.

One of his hands slides between them, finds her clit. Circles it with his thumb in time with his thrusts.

"Come on," he mutters against her neck. "Come on, come on, come on—"

She's close. Can feel it in the way her pussy flutters around him, the way her breathing goes ragged. Her nails rake down his back, probably leaving marks his physio will question tomorrow.

Whatever. Battle scars.

"Tae—" She can't even finish his name, too busy falling apart underneath him. Her whole body goes taut, cunt clenching around him like a vice.

Twenty-five minutes.

He'll tell Marco nineteen.

He fucks her through it, chasing his own release. Three more thrusts and he's done, spilling into the condom with a groan that's mostly relief.

Mission accomplished. Everybody wins.

No time to bask in it. He pulls out, ties off the condom, and makes the perfect throw into the trash can across the room.

Three points. Still got it.

"I gotta—"

"Yeah, I figured," she says, already reaching for her dress.

No hurt feelings, no "will I see you again?" Just a woman who got what she came for and seems pretty satisfied with the transaction.

He loves Madrid.

He's dressed in record time. Shirt half buttoned but who's checking? Shoes untied. Wallet, phone, keycard. The holy trinity of hasty exits.

The elevator ride down is a lesson in personal grooming. He tries to fix his hair in the mirror, gives up. Checks his phone instead.

Fifteen texts from Marco. Three from Carlos. One from his brother asking if he's seen the news.

What news?

The elevator dings at the lobby and Xavi's right there, still in his training kit because he's Xavi and probably sleeps in it.

"Bro." His teammate's eyes go wide. "Carlos is pissed. Like, nuclear pissed."

"Yeah, I got that from the fifty fucking texts." He's already moving toward the conference room Carlos commandeered for these lectures. "What's his problem now?"

"Check your Instagram."

"What?"

"Just check it."

He pulls up the app while walking.

A ferret account pops up on his discovery page first—weird? Then he checks his last IG story—mirror selfie, hair slightly wet at the tips after showering, navy sweater, gold and white make-shift belt around the loops as a wink to his team—has blown up.

Then his notifications, DMs…

@𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞: 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚘𝚘

Taehyung flicks his eyes upwards, seeing the story attached in the group chat he has with Marco and Leo in their private accounts.

Some girl from the party, video of him in the background. He's clearly drunk, clearly has his hands on C-something's ass, and clearly doesn't give a fuck who sees.

But that's not the worst part.

The worst part is the red lipstick mark on his neck that's visible in HD clarity. The same one he's sporting right now. The same one that makes it very fucking obvious what he's been doing while Carlos texts and calls and slowly loses his mind.

He swipes at his neck, fingers coming away red.

"Fuck's sake."

"Yeah, it's not looking too good, disappearing from your own sponsor event to—" Xavi gestures vaguely at Taehyung's everything. "—whatever this is?"

"It's called having a good time." He spots the hotel bar, makes a beeline. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

"I have a good time. With my fiancée. Singular. Who I've been with for eight years."

"Boring."

"Stable."

"Same thing."

Marco appears from nowhere, blonde still attached to his arm like a designer handbag. His best friend takes one look at him and whistles low.

"You're fucked."

"Thanks for the insight." He nods at Marco's companion. "Mind if I borrow him?"

She pouts but detaches, wobbling away on heels that should require a license to operate. Marco watches her go with the satisfied expression of a man who's had a very good night.

"Isabella know about your extracurriculars?" Taehyung asks, still trying to rub the lipstick off his neck.

"Isabella knows what Isabella needs to know." Marco produces a tissue from somewhere—the man's always prepared. "Here. You look like you got mauled by a Sephora display."

"Fuck off."

"I'm serious. Carlos is going to have an aneurysm. Something about brand image and Nike and I stopped listening after he mentioned lawyers."

Great. Fantastic. Another lecture about representing the club and thinking about his future and all that shit that goes in one ear and out the other.

He's twenty-four, not forty. If he can't fuck random chicks at hotel parties, what's the point of being famous?

"How bad?"

"Scale of one to ten?" Marco grins. "Fifteen. He used your full name. Twice."

Shit.

"Did you at least win the bet?"

Taehyung grins. "Nineteen minutes."

"Bullshit."

"You don't know how to count."

"I have a fucking engineering degree."

"From where, clown college?"

The conference room door is closed but he can hear Carlos pacing inside, the aggressive click of designer shoes on marble.

Taehyung takes a breath, straightens his collar, and tries to look less like he just railed someone into a mattress.

"Good luck," Marco says, already backing away.

"Fuck you."

"Love you too, princess."

He pushes open the door to find Carlos mid-rant on his phone. His manager—all 5'9" of stress and designer suits—spins around and actually growls.

"Finally! Do you have any idea—" Carlos stops, takes in his appearance, and closes his eyes like he's praying for patience. "Is that lipstick?"

"No?"

"Kim Taehyung, I swear to God—"

"Okay, yes, but—"

"Sit. Down."

He sits. Carlos continues pacing, phone clutched like a weapon.

"Do you know what I've been doing for the past hour? Damage control. Do you know why? Because my client—my professional footballer client who makes seven figures a month—decided to get filmed grabbing ass at a party where half of Madrid's press was in attendance."

"It's not that bad—"

"Nike called." Carlos cuts him off. "They're concerned about your 'brand alignment.' Do you know what that means?"

"That they're uptight?"

"It means," Carlos says slowly, like he's explaining to a child, "that they pay you three and a half million euros a year to be a role model, not Madrid's most notorious fuckboy."

Fuckboy seems harsh. He prefers 'socially active'.

"I'll do an apology post," he offers. "Something about focusing on football and growth or whatever."

"No, you won't. Because that admits wrongdoing. We're going with 'private moment taken out of context.' Maria is drafting it now."

Of course she is. Carlos has contingencies for his contingencies.

"Fine. Can I go?"

"We're not done." Carlos finally stops pacing, fixing him with that look that means a PowerPoint presentation is coming. "This is the third incident this month. The referee thing, the Instagram live disaster, and now this."

"The referee deserved it."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is the point?" He's getting irritated now, the post-orgasm calm evaporating. "I'm not breaking any laws. I'm not missing training. I'm playing the best football of my career—"

"The point," Carlos interrupts, "is that you're one scandal away from losing everything. Nike, TAG Heuer, the Korean skincare deal—they all have morality clauses. And you keep pushing boundaries like you're trying to find the limit."

He doesn't respond to that. Mainly because it's true.

"I need you to be smarter," Carlos continues, voice softer now. "I know you're young. I know you're having fun. But this isn't sustainable."

"Noted."

"I'm serious, Taehyung."

"So am I." He stands, ready to end this conversation. "I'll be more careful. Scout's honor."

Carlos doesn't look convinced, but he waves him off with a sigh that's more a cry for help than anything.

"Go. And for God's sake, wash your neck. You look like a crime scene."

He escapes before Carlos can launch into lecture phase two.

The hotel bar's still going strong—Madrid doesn't sleep, just shifts into different versions of awake.

He needs something to wash down the taste of Carlos's disappointment. Not whiskey though—that’s what old men drink when their wives leave them.

Vodka and tonic. Clean. Sharp. Doesn't linger.

The bartender's already pouring before he reaches the counter. Benefits of being recognized everywhere—people anticipate your needs, or at least pretend to.

He knocks back half of it in one go, ice cracking against his teeth.

There's a brunette at the end of the bar. Legs for days, red dress that he bets would look amazingly good on the floor of his bedroom.

She's been tracking him since he walked in—he can feel it without looking, the weight of female attention.

He's already mentally prepping—three minutes of conversation, five if she plays hard to get… His place or hers? Hers, probably. Easier to leave when—

"Tae!"

For fuck's sake.

Leo stumbles out of the elevator looking like someone killed his puppy. No, worse—like someone killed his puppy and posted it on TikTok. The kid's got his phone clutched in both hands, that specific brand of panic that only comes from relationship drama.

Why. Why can't the universe let him get his dick wet in peace? Just once. Just one fucking night without—

"Bro, I need your help." Leo shoves his phone in Taehyung's face. "Sofia saw—there was this brunette—someone posted—"

Instagram story. Leo with his tongue down some brunette's throat, hand up her skirt, zero subtlety. 47 views and counting.

He takes another sip of vodka, holds up a finger to the red dress at the bar—one second—and turns to Leo with what he hopes passes for sympathy.

"Breathe."

"I can't breathe! She posted a story. There's a hand. On her thigh. In a car. A man's hand!"

Leo shoves his phone in Taehyung’s face again.

Instagram story. Some girl’s thigh in a car, masculine hand placement that’s definitely not Leo’s. Caption: upgrade season 💋

"Okay."

"It's not okay! And the girl from tonight, she wants breakfast. Breakfast, Tae. Like, together. In public. She's talking about some place that does açaí bowls."

Christ. Açaí bowls. The official food of women who think one hookup equals a relationship contract.

"And Sofia's probably with that guy right now, and if she finds out I'm getting breakfast with—"

"You're not getting breakfast with anyone." He smiles to the brunette with gritted teeth. "Rule one: never do breakfast."

"But I already said—"

"Rule two: your word means nothing after 2 AM."

"That's fucked up."

"That's reality."

The brunette’s definitely listening now.

Great. Nothing kills the mood like babysitting a teammate through his first real fuckboy crisis.

He catches her eye, mouths "work emergency" with an apologetic shrug. She smiles. Understanding. Patient.

Fuck, she’s perfect, and he’s stuck playing guidance counselor to Spain’s most panicked midfielder.

The bartender slides him a fresh drink. Stronger pour this time. Bless.

"Where is she?"

"Room 412. She wants to leave at nine for this place in Malasaña that apparently has the best—"

"Stop." He's getting a headache. Or maybe that's just the vodka hitting an empty stomach. "You're going to go up there—"

"I can't, man. I can't face her. What if she cries?"

Jesus. Was he ever this young? This fucking soft?

"She texts asking where I am every five minutes." Leo shows him the screen—twelve messages, escalating from casual to concerned to the early stages of psycho. "What do I say?"

He looks at Leo—really looks at him. Sees himself at twenty, before he learned that feelings are just chemicals and breakfast is just carbs.

Before he figured out that the only way to win is to always play defense.

"Give me your room key."

"What?"

"Your key. I'll handle it."

"You'll—how?"

"Just trust me." He stands, checks his reflection in the bar mirror. Lipstick's gone but he still looks freshly fucked. Perfect. "What's her name?"

"Natalia."

Of course it is. It's always Natalia or Valentina or some other name that sounds like a telenovela character.

"You owe me." He grabs Leo's shoulders, makes sure the kid's paying attention. "You owe me so fucking big."

"Anything, man. Anything."

"In five minutes, you go wait in the lobby. And try to look heartbroken."

They need Marco. Marco’s good at this shit—turning disasters into comedy, making women laugh when they should be throwing drinks.

So he texts him.

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚋𝚊𝚛. 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏, 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙. 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: …𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚍?

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚜. 𝟸 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜

Marco appears exactly 4 minutes later (see, he can’t count for shit)—shirt half-buttoned, hair suggesting recent activities.

He takes one look at Leo’s face and laughs.

"Breakfast? Really?"

"Her name’s Natalia," Leo defends weakly.

"They’re all named Natalia." Marco claps him on the shoulder. "Alright, wait in the lobby. Look heartbroken."

"That’s exactly what Taehyung said."

Marco lifts his eyebrows and then smiles at him.

"Great minds think alike."

Room 412 is four floors up.

They take the stairs because Marco insists—‘builds character’—but really it’s to workshop the lie.

By the third floor, they’ve got it sorted.

"Family emergency," Marco’s saying, taking the steps two at a time. "Classic. Timeless. Nobody questions sick grandmothers."

"Too heavy." He’s already winded. When was the last time he took stairs? "She’ll want to comfort him. Send flowers or some shit."

"Work emergency?"

"At 5 AM?"

"Good point." Marco pauses at the landing, finger to his lips like he’s contemplating world peace. "Ex-girlfriend."

"That’s what I was thinking."

"Specifically, ex-girlfriend in the lobby with new boyfriend. Leo sees them, gets emotional, can’t possibly do breakfast while having a mental breakdown."

Sometimes he forgets why he keeps Marco around, but then shit like this happens, and it all makes sense.

The knock on 412 is soft, nothing about it screams ‘your hookup sent his boys to break your heart.’

She answers in a hotel robe, hair already curled for this breakfast that’s never happening. Of course she’s exactly what he pictured—pretty in that forgettable way, hopeful in that dangerous way.

"Leo?"

Her face falls when she sees them.

"Where’s Leo?"

"Downstairs." Marco’s got his concerned friend face on. Oscar-worthy. "Having a bit of a moment."

"A moment?"

"His ex." Taehyung leans against the doorframe, lets exhaustion sell the story. "She’s here. With her new guy. Showed up right as we were leaving and just… yeah."

"Oh." Her expression shifts from confusion to sympathy.

Incredible, how women always want to fix broken men.

"Oh god, is he okay?"

"He’s…" Marco glances at him, perfect comedic timing. "Processing."

"He wanted to come up himself," Taehyung adds, "but he’s not really in a state to see anyone. You know how it is. First love and all that."

She nods like this makes perfect sense. Like Leo—sweet, fumbling Leo—is the type to have dramatic ex-girlfriend encounters at 5 AM.

Though, considering the whole Sofia bullshit, that might not be too far-fetched.

"Should I go down? Talk to him?"

"No." Too quick. Marco softens it with a sympathetic head tilt. "He’s embarrassed. Grown man crying in a hotel lobby isn’t exactly his finest moment."

"Tell him…" She’s twisting the belt of her robe, searching for words. "Tell him I understand. And last night was really special."

Special. What a powerful word. One that turns hookups into expectations.

"We’ll make sure he gets the message," Marco promises, already backing away. "So sorry about this."

They maintain the bullshit until the elevator doors close.

Then Marco breaks, laughing so hard he has to brace himself against the wall.

"Did you see her face? ‘Last night was special.’" He wipes his eyes. "Fucking hell, Leo really stepped in it."

"He owes us."

"He owes us his firstborn. His kidney. His—" Marco stops. "Is that brunette from the bar still down there?"

"Probably." He checks his phone. 5:23 AM. The night’s officially crossed into morning, that grey area where bad decisions start looking like destiny. "Why?"

"Because you’ve got that look."

"What look?"

"The ‘I’m going to salvage this night if it kills me’ look."

Is he that predictable?

Don’t answer that.

The lobby’s thinned out—just the diehards and the professionals now. Leo’s slumped on a couch, still clutching his phone.

"Natalia?" Leo jumps up when he sees them.

"Sorted," Marco says. "Told her you’re emotionally compromised. She sends her understanding."

"You’re both lifesavers." Leo looks between them like they’ve just cured cancer. "I don’t know how to thank—"

"Learn from this." He claps Leo on the shoulder, harder than necessary. "Next time, no names. No promises. And definitely no fucking breakfast."

"But what if I actually like—"

"Then you’re in the wrong profession."

He can see the exact moment Leo’s moral compass realigns. The kid straightens up, nods like he’s just learned something profound.

Another one corrupted. Madrid’s finest at work.

"Thanks, guys. I mean it."

"Don’t thank us." Marco’s already eyeing the exit. "Thank Sofia for posting that thigh pic. Girl did you a favor."

Leo’s face falls. "Shit. Sofia."

"Tomorrow’s problem," Taehyung says firmly. "Tonight, you go home. Alone. Post nothing. Like nothing. Become invisible."

"But—"

"Go." He sighs. "Now."

Leo goes. Thank fuck. One crisis managed, one brunette to salvage—

She’s gone.

The barstool’s empty except for lipstick traces on her glass. When the fuck did she leave? He was watching her the whole—

No. He was playing mentor to Madrid’s most incompetent Romeo.

"Brutal." Marco murmurs at his shoulder. "She was hot too."

"There’ll be others."

"Always are." Marco stretches, joints popping. "I’m out. Got a hot thing waiting who thinks I’m getting ice."

"It’s been thirty minutes."

"I’m a very thorough ice-getter." He winks and disappears, leaving Taehyung alone with the growing certainty that tonight’s cursed.

But he’s Kim fucking Taehyung. He doesn’t accept defeat.

He spots her immediately—the blonde from earlier? No. Different blonde. Taller. Legs for days in a silver dress that catches light like a disco ball.

She’s typing on her phone, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

He doesn’t think. Just moves.

"Lost?"

She looks up. Blue eyes, the kind that photograph well. Her smile’s immediate, recognition flooding her features.

"Just waiting for my Uber." American accent. Of course.

They always love the accent combo—Korean face, Spanish lifestyle, English to make promises he won’t keep.

"Cancel it."

"Bold assumption."

"Safe bet." He leans against the pillar beside her, close enough to smell her perfume. That floral thing again. "Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be?"

She studies him for a long moment. He knows what she sees—designer clothes, professional athlete build, trouble written in every line. Her thumb hovers over her phone screen.

"I don’t even know your name."

Lie. She knows exactly who he is.

But he plays along because that’s part of it. The dance. The pretense that this is spontaneous rather than inevitable.

"Taehyung."

"Sarah." She cancels the Uber. "So what now?"

"Now?" He grins, the one that usually seals deals. "Now we get better drinks than whatever shit they were serving upstairs."

By 7 AM, he’s learned three things: Sarah’s flexible, she’s got a tongue piercing, and she looks fantastic in his sheets.

He’s also confirmed what he already knew—he’s still the best at this. Even when the universe tries to keep him in line, he finds a way.

She’s tracing patterns on his chest, already talking about breakfast, when he deploys the usual.

"Early training. Coach will kill me if I’m late."

"On a Sunday?"

"Every day during season." He kisses her forehead. Gentle. Final. "I’ll call you."

He won’t. They both know it.

But she gets dressed anyway, calls her own Uber, leaves with the kind of dignity that makes him almost respect her.

The sun’s coming up, painting his bedroom gold.

Two hours until he has to be human again. Two hours to sleep off whatever tonight was.

He’s already drifting when his phone buzzes.

𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨🍗: 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨🍗: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚜?

He doesn’t respond. Leo will figure it out. Or he won’t.

Either way, that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight—this morning—whatever the fuck this is—he’s done.

Won a black girl, played mentor, lost a brunette, found a blonde, maintained his record.

The universe tried to knock him off his game and failed.

Because he’s Kim Taehyung.

And he’s simply the best at everything.

next | index

—taglist @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap @jeontae @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex @minniejim @btstrology @vialattea00 @curse-of-art @mellyyyyyyx @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @dltyum @dailynnt @sashakittyct @bjoriis @hemmosfear @bettytta @impossiblecopoaffire @ilikekpop-c @yuyu0y11 @amarawayne @haru-jiminn @calmyourtitts7 @sstass

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asxgard · 4 months ago

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Companionship | pt. 3

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: A few moments where Michael is finally honest and a few where he is not.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: y’all are so lovely!! I’m so glad that you guys are enjoying this as much as I am lol Thank you for all the likes, comments, and reblogs!! and shoutout to all my new followers, like omg hi💜

I caved and posted to AO3 with a f!oc so I could explore a character more in depth without imposing too much on the reader, so if you’re interested: AO3 Companionship

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, death mentioned (a patient), Robby still trying to bottle up his feelings, alcohol

not beta read

that damn smile

The days passed slowly considering how busy they had been. Between projects, homework, the office, and your half-assed chores, you were beat. That Friday morning was uneventful, a foggy start where you ran from your two classes, hoping it wouldn’t rain. You regretted not signing up for online classes, foolishly thinking being present would make you more productive. Maybe it did, but you longed to be home. As selfish as the thought was, you missed the time when you worked from home.

A weird thing happened around lunchtime: you were sitting at you desk with a homemade sandwich, lunchtime ticking away far too quickly. Your phone rang, and half expecting a scam call, you were surprised to find Michael’s name lighting up your screen.

You swallowed a bite of your sandwich before answering, “Hello?”

“Hello, hi.” His warm voice greeted her.

“I’m sorry. Did I forget we had a call right now?”

“No, no.” He suddenly sounded awkward again. “I, uh, I only have a few minutes, but I was hoping we could talk tonight? My shift should end at 7, but they never end on time.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You said without thinking about it. “Usually you text me.”

A moment of silence passed. “I usually don’t have time to check my phone, and I just wanted to make sure you could talk tonight. You know, make sure you had a decent amount of notice. I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped, clearing your throat, “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

In his silence, you picked up on the array of beeps that grew louder on his end.

“I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you tonight? 8:30, maybe?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “That works.”

“Good, uh, okay. Yeah. Talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later.”

—

In a rare lull of the Emergency Department, he had had his phone out before he had even thought about it, stepping into the staff lounge, and clicking on your contact. Usually it was a quick text sent in between patients, but then the phone had been ringing, your voice on the other end.

Michael stared at your contact after the call ended for a long moment, the chaos around him that had been quiet while talking to you slowly becoming louder and louder. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket and ignoring the feeling churning around his stomach, he jumped back into it. Dana had been the one to alert him of a car crash incoming, and he hoped she had not caught him staring at his phone.

Despite the fact that his shifts usually blurred together with how quickly they seemed to go, this one had seemed to slam on the brakes. It was no less busy than normal, but each minute ticked away like an hour, driving him mad.

It was a relief when Jack Abbot walked into the ED to take over. Not wanting to seem too off, Dr. Robby lingered, helping out with a few more critical patients before Jack finally shooed him out.

His watch read 7:39 when he collected his things from behind the charge desk.

Part of him really wanted to open up to you — the anonymity was tempting, but so was your voice — but the other part hated being so vulnerable. Not talking about it had worked out pretty well so far, but it left his chest feeling so tight and made his nights nearly always restless. Or maybe it was the grief. Or the stress. Or the loneliness.

Maybe not so much the loneliness anymore, Michael thought to himself.

Michael walked into his apartment and discarded his backpack by the door, along with his shoes. His entire body sagged, exhaustion running through his system. He realized how hungry he was and knew there was not much in his apartment to eat.

Before he knew it, it was 8:31, making his heart jump. Reaching for his phone, his finger hovered above the call button before he took a deep breath and pressed it.

You answered after two rings, ever reliable, “Hi.”

His lips turned upwards at the sound of you. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

He digested the question. From your handful of calls, it seemed to be your way of judging if he wanted to talk or just listen.

“It wasn’t a bad shift,” passed his lips before he had the chance to think about it. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad or stressed about it.” You said, not missing a beat.

“I lost a patient.” He told you. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

You went silent on the other end and guilt ate away his insides. It wasn’t about this patient in particular, or how he lost them, not really. Sure, that weighed on his mind, but nothing compared to Adamson, or the pandemic.

Despite the fact he didn’t want to talk about it, he kept going, “There was nothing we could do. I tried—we—”

“It’s not your fault.”

That struck down his spine, making him sputter. Maybe he was looking for a reason it was, maybe it wasn’t about this patient at all. He had a hard time distinguishing sometimes.

“I’m sure if you could’ve saved them, you would’ve.” You told him, and everything around him was completely silent. “I won’t pretend to understand the weight you carry, or how hard that has to be, but I know you did everything you could. You’re a good man, Michael, and god forbid anything were to happen to me, I know I’d be lucky to have a doctor like you.”

You said it like it was nothing, like the weight of your words did not scoop up the weight on his shoulders and carry it for just a moment. For a single minute, he felt okay. Then, the thoughts crept back in: but you don’t know me.

But maybe I want you to. He shook that thought off just as quickly as it came.

“I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“What?”

What? echoed in his own head, and he quickly started rambling, “You know, maybe talk in person. Might be nice. Only if that’s okay with you? We don’t have to, I—”

The weight of it burned heavily in his mind, churning his stomach. Would you want more money for that? Would you just consider it your weekly talk? Would you—

“That would be nice.”

His racing mind screeched to a halt. “It would?”

“Yeah, did you have a place in mind?”

Fuck! “...no.”

“Well, dealer’s choice.” You told him, your tone light like you were smiling again.

He sat on that for a minute. Did he take you somewhere fancy? Someplace miles away to ensure no one caught you? He still wanted to make sure you stayed far away from his professional life, and he certainly did not want to answer any questions if anyone he knew saw you.

“There’s this Italian place just outside the city. I’ve been meaning to go back.”

“Italian sounds good, actually.”

He smiled.

—

This isn’t a date. This isn’t a date you repeated to yourself over and over again, trying to quiet the anxiety raging through your system. You weren’t all that surprised when he had asked to meet in person, it had been part of the conversation at the cafe. Phone calls had just been easier for him to fit into his schedule up until this point. Or maybe it was easier for him to talk when it wasn’t face-to-face.

According to Google, the Italian restaurant was more of an upscale place, which led to your anxiety on what to wear. Their menu was on the expensive side when you browsed their website. You felt guilt rise in your chest, knowing he was going to be paying.

How the hell did Erin do it? Let those men spoil her with things much more expensive than a nice Italian restaurant with zero feelings of owing them?

Erin’s arrangements are different, you told yourself, sighing deeply through your nose. This is still well in line with what we agreed to. So why on earth were you overthinking it?

Staring into your closet, you weighed your options. There was the knee-length navy blue dress you had worn to the interview for your job, or the pretty black dress that complimented your figure that you wore to graduation, or your most recent splurge: a dress in your favorite color with a flowy skirt. It wasn’t fancy by any stretch, but you certainly would not wear it out for a casual night either.

It seemed like a happy medium between something modest and something you would wear out with your friends.

After fixing your hair, you started your ‘get ready for a night out’ routine. Your mind wandered to what he would wear; would he dress up? Simple shirt and slacks? Would he wear cologne, or—

This isn’t a date, you reminded yourself, why does it matter?

Taking a long look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes took in your appearance. The dress was flattering in all the right ways. You took a breath, smoothing out the dress.

You took your purse from the table by the door, putting on your black heels and light jacket before walking out the door. You left early, stuck between wanting to be early and not wanting to be there first.

The drive did little to soothe your nerves, traffic proving to be as frustrating as usual. You tried to coach yourself through it. This was two acquaintances getting dinner, nothing more, looking to simply talk. Your standards were not high — he would either want to talk or listen, and you had plenty you could still tell him about your week. This was just going to be like a phone call…just in person.

When you pulled up to the venue, you parked your car and sat there — anxiety eating you up. You debated waiting a little longer, eyes flickering to the time: 6:25. Biting your lip, you gathered your purse, tucking your phone away before getting out of the car.

Michael was waiting for you once you reached the lobby, greeting you with a warm smile. You drank in the sight of him in the dim lighting of the restaurant, your cheeks heating. He was wearing brown chinos, a soft grey-blue sweater and a blazer — and your heart nearly stopped just looking at him.

The host walked you both to your table. As you walked past, you took notice of several of the other women, noting you were not overdressed and relief washed through you. Your table was tucked away near a corner of the restaurant, next to a window.

When you were seated, you looked over at Michael across from you and smiled. The lines on his face were softer in this lighting, but he was remarkably handsome regardless, with his lips in a soft smile.

“How—”

“I—”

You both laughed, before Michael gestured for you to start.

“How are you?” You asked, figuring it was as good a place as any to start.

“I’m okay,” he told you, but it looked like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “Uh, how was your day?”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, so used to hearing it on the other end of a phone call. It did so many things in person.

You sipped the ice water in front of you. “I’m well, thank you.”

“How’s that fraud project going?”

You smiled, finding it nice that he remembered some of your ramblings. You had wondered how much he actually listened to vs just needing a voice on the other end of his call.

“It’s going really well, actually. I’ve been really enjoying the course.”

“Good, that’s good.”

The waiter came by to take your drink order, and Michael surprised you by allowing you to order for both of you.

“I’ll have whatever the lady is having.” Michael said, turning his attention back to you.

“Do you like reds?” You asked, deciding wine would be the safest bet, shoving away the thoughts of him not liking wine at all.

He gave a simple nod, and you turned back to the waiter to order a simple pinot noir for each of you. You waited for any sign from him that you had made the wrong choice, but he was sitting happy as could be across from you. You looked down at the menu, weighing your options. You could try to be cheap and order something simple, or forget about the price next to the dishes and allow yourself to be spoiled.

“Tell me about your day.” He said.

That felt as easy as breathing, “I slept in, a rarity for me, but then I got caught up on studying. Between that and some of my reports, that ate up most of my day. My laptop is on the fritz, but as long as it’s plugged in, it’s been fine. Not an impossible work around, but thankfully I didn’t really need to be anywhere with it today. I bring it to classes with me sometimes, but hand-written notes are just as reliable, though they sometimes just look like chicken scratch.” You chuckled.

“Oh, please,” he laughed, “I bet yours are worlds better than mine. There’s a stereotype about doctors' handwriting for a reason.”

“At least I’m the only one who needs to read mine.” Smiling, you continued, “Why’s it so bad anyways? Is legibility an offense to you, or something?”

“The name of the game is speed, unfortunately. I’m so busy I’m lucky to sit down at all. Charting on the computer helps, but those physical files are not going anywhere.” He laughed. “You get used to it.”

You continued like that, jesting and enjoying the company of each other. The waiter came back to take the food order, Michael settling on a pasta ragu — you quickly glanced at the price of his item and found your second choice was just below how expensive his was. It made you feel better when you ordered it.

When dinner came, you settled back into small talk, trading conversation about the cooling temperature and the most recent Penguins game. After taking a sip of wine and placing it back on the table, you let your left hand rest next to the glass. Absentmindedly, you brushed your fingers softly against his, his hand beside his own wine glass. Your mind halted, your eyes taking in your hands touching — his fingers were warm beneath yours.

There was a clang! of his fork hitting his plate and your hand quickly retreated from the tabletop back into your lap with a jolt. Your eyes looked up, catching his flustered face, and anxiety invaded your stomach.

You swallowed, “Did you want to talk about your day? Or work, perhaps?”

He blinked at you, before clearing his throat lightly into his fist and grabbing his fork again. His eyebrows furrowed inward, but he was silent as he slowly chewed his food.

“Yeah,” he started, finally meeting your eyes. “I finally got some pesky chores done around the house that I’ve been putting off.”

With each word he spoke, he sounded like he was avoiding anything with substance. You accepted it regardless, mildly frustrated that he had a hard time opening up — but who were you to demand any more from him?

Taking in your raised eyebrow, he sighed, “I’m not good at this, I’m sorry.”

Blinking several times, “Why are you apologizing? You’ve no need to. I’m enjoying our conversation. I’m just ensuring I don’t talk your ear off.”

His lips flicked up, “Definitely not.”

You laughed, “Good.”

After several more bites between them, Michael sipped his wine, “Actually, I would like to be honest.” A long sigh escaped his nose while he avoided eye contact. “My job is…my job is stressful. I used to think I was good at compartmentalizing, but...” He shook his head, shrugging, “I don’t know. It’s been tough lately.”

You waited, watching him.

“You know, most days, it’s just trying to keep our heads above water. Some days there’s hope…others…” He was shaking his head again, taking a careful sip of his wine. His eyes looked far away, his face scrunched together.

Your thoughts flickered back to the other day when he had mentioned losing a patient and your heart ached. He was struggling to carry the weight of all of it, what possibly could you say to make it better?

You sat like that for several minutes in tense silence. You kept overanalyzing what to say, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

He suffered a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been nice to talk to someone outside of that environment, you know? To talk about anything else, or listen to you talk about your days, even when I don’t say anything.”

A tiny smile graced your face, “I’m glad I can do that for you. I’m glad I haven’t been boring you.”

He exhaled, lips turning upwards, “Not at all. I’ve enjoyed our conversations.”

“I have too.”

You held each other’s gaze for a long moment, before the waiter came by to offer dessert. Your gaze lingered on Michael’s face before you glanced down at the dessert menu. You thought perhaps dessert was too much, so you went to say “I think I’m just too full.” but Michael beat you to it.

“Make it two of whatever she wants.” He was grinning again, mood slightly lifted, watching you with an amused glint to his eye.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but did not question it, quickly deciding on one of the options.

Dessert came with coffee, decaf for him, and lighter conversation. As the night wound down, you found you wished the night had been longer, enjoying his company. You wondered if you would be seeing more of him in person after this. You hoped so.

He paid the bill without allowing you to even glance at it, which after a few seconds of thought, you were thankful for. You knew it was not likely to be an outlandish amount, but you were glad to not have a number in your head to overthink.

Getting up from the table, you walked close together, arms brushing until you made the split second decision to grab hold of his arm. To avoid bumping into any tables or other patrons, of course. He had not been expecting it, by the way he glanced at you, but you kept your eyes forward. He didn’t say anything. Once back in the lobby, you loosened your hold, but he did not let you go.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You walked in the direction of your car, anxiety bubbling back up. This was usually the bit where your past dates tried — or succeeded — in kissing you. This isn’t a date this isn’t a date this isn’t a date, echoed loud in your head. Did you hug him? Just say goodbye?

“This is me.” You said awkwardly, stopping in front of your car.

He nodded his head, turning to look at you again.

“I’ll—”

“I—”

You smiled at each other, and you gestured for him to go first.

“This was…nice. Thank you.”

“Thank you, I had a good time.”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Have a good night, Michael.”

“You too.” He said, turning to go, before turning quickly on his feet. “Let me know when you get home safe, yeah?”

Opening your car door, you looked back at him and grinned, “Yeah, I will.”

Offering a final smile before you got into your car, Michael walked in the opposite direction.

The drive home was much better than the drive to the restaurant. You felt warm on the inside, going over the dinner in your head again and again. You smiled the entire drive.

Walking into your apartment, you set your things down before pulling out your phone and pulling up Michael’s contact.

Home safe :)

[ Next ]

want to join the taglist? shoot me a message!

Companionship Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @cannonindeez @gabsgabsvaz

All Dr. Robby content: @cherriready

that damn dinner scene gave me trouble for some reason — sorry it took awhile!

Also?? Hozier’s Too Sweet is so Companionship coded

#michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch/you #michael robinavitch/reader #the pitt #the pitt x reader #companionship series #asxgard writes #dr robby x reader #dr robby

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7-deadly-cats · 3 months ago

Text

killing me softly | 12

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

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

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

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, ruthie being a bitch, rafe showing signs of jealousy & protectiveness, also rafe making suggestive comments & sexual jokes, virginity mention, reader slowly learning how to handle rafe, slight overthinking/anxiety, chat pics containing cursed images lol

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ unfortunately, cara had totally forgotten that her mom's 50th birthday was on friday—the same day as kelce’s party. still, you insisted she shouldn’t cancel just for you. in art class, rafe surprised you with his effort for your project, and the dynamic between you had shifted into something more teasing. you were pretty sure he was actually flirting with you this time—on purpose. later in physics, topper texted to ask if you needed a ride on friday. apparently, cara had mentioned it to him. you agreed.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 4.4k+

✿ A / N ✿ i had sm fun with this one even though it feels kinda rushed and floppy BUT i can't wait to write the party and i didn't wanna drag on the pre-party stuff for another part. hope you guys enjoy it though and holy shit, i'm so scared of what will happen next bc i don't know yet either. lmk what you think of this one <3

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // T H U R S D A Y

Thursday morning had completely thrown you off your game again.

First, Cara's sudden announcement that she'd totally forgotten her mom's 50th birthday being on Friday; then Rafe (honestly, you could just end the sentence there), who had looked unfairly hot in that stupid cap of his and there was the way he had flirted with you (yes, we’re staying delusional); and finally Topper, asking if you needed a ride on Friday night (which made zero sense because you lived like two seconds from Kelce's house—but hey, who cares, as long as you didn’t have to show up to the party alone).

At least the afternoon spared you from more stress.

Well, that kind of stress anyway.

After school, Cara had driven you home and stayed for lunch with your dad. Afterward, the two of you disappeared into your room to (A) pick an outfit for tomorrow night—because no way were you dealing with that stress last-minute—and (B) because you’d asked her to hang out so you wouldn’t spiral alone with your thoughts because MR CAMERON HAD GIVEN YOU ENOUGH MATERIAL FOR A WHOLE OVERTHINKING SESSION HOLY SHIT.

And (C), she was your bestie. Obviously you loved hanging out with her anyway.

“—and then you pair it with some cute brown western boots, like full cottagecore farm princess vibes, and Rafe’s gonna be like ‘Yee fucking haw, bitch,’” Cara concluded, holding up a cream-colored dress she had pulled out of your closet—one you didn’t even know you owned.

You sat on the edge of your bed, knees pulled up, raising an amused eyebrow. “You do realize no one at that party is gonna be wearing anything even remotely like that. I don’t want a spotlight on me.”

Cara frowned and threw the dress onto the already overflowing chair. “Girl, the biggest spotlight is already on you—and it starts with an R and ends with afe Cameron. So, use the damn stage while it’s still lit.”

“Jesus, save the metaphors for Ms. Langford,” you replied, laughing.

“Hey, if I wanna flex my literary devices, let me.”

You just grinned at her and flopped back on the bed with a groan. “Ugh, it’s all so... messy and annoying and just... why can’t he just say if he’s interested or not? That would make things a whole lot easier. But nooo, it’s this weird maybe-flirting-but-also-not thing—like, what even is that?!”

“Men,” Cara replied simply.

You frowned. “That doesn’t help.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe he’s thinking the same thing?” The mattress dipped as Cara sat down beside you. “Maybe he doesn’t give more obvious signals because he doesn’t know how to read yours. I mean, do you even give him any?”

As if Rafe ever overthought like that. His brain was pure 'in-the-moment' mode. He wasn’t like you, running through every possible scenario in your head at all times.

“Well, I don’t know,” you said, eyebrows scrunched.

Then you suddenly sat up, meeting Cara’s gaze with a little smirk. “I flustered him yesterday. Or... I think I did.”

“WHAT?” Cara’s brows shot up. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

You laughed. “I was so dead tired yesterday, I completely forgot.”

“WELL TELL ME NOW HOLY SHIT.”

“Okay, okay.” You shifted into a cross-legged seat. “It probably just made him uncomfortable but I kinda went on one of my little rambles again. Told him I appreciated how he doesn’t make a big deal out of stuff—like when I’m awkward or mess up. And then I don’t know... he just went quiet for a few seconds. Almost stunned? He had this look—caught off guard but also lowkey touched? Like he hadn’t expected it...? Ugh, I don’t even know.” You laughed nervously. “He probably just thought I was having a weird episode. He already thinks I’m mentally unstable anyway.”

Cara just stared at you, brows raised, mouth slightly open. Then she shook her head, holding up her hands in a slow, dramatic woah-woah-woah-woah gesture. “Holy fucking shit. I—WOW. I don’t even know what to—GIRL. YOU FLUSTERED RAFE CAMERON.”

You smiled sheepishly. “Yeah but—”

“NO BUTS. Oh my god, do you even—like, ahhhh.” Cara jumped off the bed and brushed a blonde strand out of her face. “I wish I’d seen that. I mean, goddamn, WHAT. I haven’t even seen you two interact yet!”

She frowned dramatically and shook her head again. “Okay, screw my mom. Well—no, I am going to her birthday. BUT. Oh my god. OH MY GOD. Y/N. We’re both so dumb.” She held her hands up like she’d just had a full-on divine revelation. “Kelce’s party isn’t gonna end at midnight. Let’s be real, it’ll probably start properly around then. So I’ll just come by after my mom’s thing. I HAVE to see you two together.”

Oh.

That actually didn’t sound like a bad idea and—wow, how had your brain thought of every possible scenario except that one? Like??? What was the point of overthinking if not for this kind of thing??

You smiled, cheeks warm. "I’m not sure Rafe sees it that way. Him and I spending the party together, I mean."

That would be... oh god no that would be—WHEW—like, that would 100% mean he actually liked you in some way.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, JUST IMAGINE.

AND DIDN’T HE EVEN SAY HE WANTED TO BE YOUR WINGMAN???? PROJECT-PARTNER-ZONED BUT STILL!!!

“If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass,” Cara said, scrunching up her nose. "Dude literally invited you. He better make damn sure you have a good night."

You know what? YES. Like, who invites someone and then just ghosts them? The bare minimum would include a conversation, right? …Or two or four, maybe more hihihi.

God, you just wanted to hug Cara. You’d been freaking the hell out about this crazy-ass party, and in less than two hours she’d somehow made you look forward to tomorrow night.

You nodded amused. “Assuming I’m the only one he invited—sure.”

Cara frowned and waved it off. “Then he’s for the streets anyway.” She tilted her head with a mischievous grin. “And Topper’s still an option. He’s not bad-looking, he’s sweet, sure his mom’s a helicopter parent and—”

“I’m not becoming Ms. Thornton.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Still think you and Barry—”

“No.”

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W E E K O N E // F R I D A Y

“No?” Rafe raised a brow, clearly amused, as he zipped up his backpack. “Why not?”

You, on the other hand, grimaced, your cheeks burning hot, and prayed that half the econ class hadn’t just overheard Rafe asking if he should bring condoms for you tonight for when some dude would get you laid (his words).

But THANK THE UNIVERSE, most people seemed too busy packing up to head to their next class.

(And yes, you had sat next to him again because... IT JUST HAPPENED, OKAY.)

“Because…” God, why did he always put you in these situations? “I don’t plan on…” HOW DO YOU EVEN PHRASE THIS?

“Fucking?”

THIS GUY.

Staring straight ahead, you kept shoving your things into your bag. Now even your neck was on fire. “Yeah,” you finally muttered through clenched teeth.

Rafe let out a quiet, amused breath. “You scared ‘cause it’d be your first time?”

OKAY NOPE. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??!!

It was bad enough your entire aura apparently screamed "VIRGIN" loud enough for him to notice—he had to bring it up IN SCHOOL in a FULL CLASSROOM?

You met his cocky smile with a dead-ass frown. “You scared to ever think for a second before opening your mouth?”

And whether that pissed him off or not, you honestly didn’t care in that moment.

Rafe had a whole personality spectrum going on but this asshole side of his? Yeah, not it. And just because you were—unfortunately—down bad for this boy, did not mean you had to take whatever came out of his pretty damn mouth.

But Rafe just smirked crookedly and slung his backpack over one shoulder (yeah, dude, we see your biceps flexing). “Keep that attitude for tonight. I'm sure there's a guy who's into that.”

BRO.

But before you could come up with something to throw back, a fake-ass-smiling girl popped up next to your desk, her glossy white Prada bag (girl this is a school, be fr) hanging perfectly on her shoulder. Her bestie Gracie stood right behind her with the same plastic smile glued on.

Ruthie’s big eyes fluttered right at Rafe as she said, “I’m assuming Topper’s playing taxi tonight again.”

Your stomach dropped. What the hell did she mean by that? LIKE WHAT? Topper had NOT mentioned Ruthie joining his ride.

Rafe gave a barely noticeable shake of his head, lips in a hard line. “Not for you.”

Ruthie tilted her head with a smile. “Did he tell you that?”

“I’m telling you now.”

You’d never heard Rafe sound so calm. It was... unsettling. You weren’t even the one he was talking to and it still gave you a weird feeling.

And that made it worse—because you felt so out of place here.

Ruthie’s brows twitched. Then, for a split second, her dark eyes locked onto yours—and seriously, she visibly looked you up and down before turning back to Rafe. “Is your new girlfriend coming too?”

AYO WHAT.

NONONONO DON’T BLUSH DON’T BLUSH DON’T BLUSH.

fuck.

Rafe let out a scoff, scratching his chin with narrowed eyes. "Come on, Ruthie. Fuck off. Go annoy someone who gives a shit."

Oh boy. She was lucky she wasn’t a guy because everything about Rafe screamed he was one second away from punching someone.

Ruthie’s lips pulled into that same fake-ass smile, and this time she addressed you directly. “Y/N Y/L/N, right? Funny how we’ve never spoken, even though you’ve been here as long as everyone else.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, face all fake-innocent. “Anyway, I hope it’s not gonna be another one of those parties where some girl ends up crying ‘cause she got ditched by a guy. Always so sad to look at.”

This fucking bitch.

Cara definitely would’ve slapped her for that.

And you know what? You were still pissed at Rafe from earlier, and this? Nope.

You just smiled politely and swung your bag over your shoulder, voice friendly. “Sorry to hear that. Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Three funny things happened in that exact moment: Ruthie’s raised brows, Gracie throwing her a not-so-subtle side-eye of agreement, and fucking Rafe letting out a clearly amused breath.

And Miss wannabe-netflix-meangirl-whatever did not like that one bit.

She was just opening her mouth again when Rafe cut her off, waving her off with a hand. “Jesus, enough already. Listening to you whine gives me a fucking headache.”

And that... actually wrapped up that little interaction.

“She’s such a fucking annoying bitch,” Rafe said as he walked beside you through the hallway.

Which—uh yeah—was kinda funny, because you had History next and he wasn’t even in your class and—

Never mind. Kelce and Topper were in your class. He was probably just tagging along to see them.

You didn’t have enough brainpower to think that far ahead anyway, since you were walking so close together you had to focus not to bump into him like a total clumsy idiot.

“I think she watched Mean Girls too many times as a kid and decided to make that her whole personality,” you muttered.

Still lowkey overwhelmed by everything that had just happened but also… a little amused by how it all played out.

Rafe chuckled again and you could feel his gaze on you. “You really should talk back to her more often. Might actually get her to shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything bad,” you said, briefly meeting his smirk. Which was technically true but sure, okay—your line could be interpreted as a soft dig. Oops.

“Shit, did you see her face? That was some ‘I’m ending you tonight’ type shit.”

Even though he sounded entertained, you still felt a little uneasy. Because yeah—Ruthie was a shady bitch. Everyone knew it. And she was always the first to start gossip and stuff spread fast on Figure 8—even if it wasn’t true.

“What? You scared of her?”

You blinked, meeting his eyes again. “What? No.”

“You suck at lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Sure.”

A frown crept onto your face. “It’s not like she’s gonna actually start a fight or anything.”

Then again... there probably was a reason “ruthless” and “Ruthie” shared the same root letters.

“Dunno,” Rafe shrugged. “I’ve seen her swing at another girl with an empty beer bottle before.”

Your head snapped to him, brows raised. “Now you’re lying.”

No way that was true. How had no one talked about that?

Rafe raised his hands innocently, still amused. “It's true. At some little beach party she threw last year. No clue what they were fighting about but the crazy bitch just swung at the other chick with an empty beer bottle. It was fucking wild”

Honestly, what shocked you more was that Rafe had been at a Ruthie party to begin with.

And before you could stop yourself, you heard yourself asking: “Why’d you even go to her party?”

OH GOD. That came out way too dry for something that was supposed to be a casual, joking question. FUUUUUCK.

Someone please shoot me now.

Rafe seemed slightly surprised by the question too, his brows lifting just a bit.

UGHHHH.

Then he just shrugged, eyes on the staircase ahead. “Had her annoying friend on my ass at that time but the free drinks made that crazy-ass party kinda tolerable.”

Oh.

Something tugged deep in your chest.

You remembered now—for like a week or so, Rafe had had a thing with Ruthie’s bestie, Gracie Malone. And the thought of them, how Ruthie and Gracie probably saw you now as just another one of his temporary girls... and not knowing if Gracie had maybe really caught feelings for him...

Yeah, that made you a little nervous about tonight.

Not knowing what to say, you just nodded, gripping your bag strap tighter. A somewhat forced smile on your lips. “Fair.”

Rafe just let out a soft chuckle and—OH MY GOD OMG OMG—softly bumped his shoulder into yours as you climbed the stairs.

OH. MY. GOD.

It was something totally normal. Happens all the time when people walk side by side—no intention, definitely not. No, you’d just taken a dumb step and ended up too close to him, and then he was the one who brushed against you with his next step, but—

GIRL STAY CALM.

“Yeah, so if you don’t wanna end up with half a beer bottle lodged in your brain, you should maybe hire yourself a bodyguard for tonight,” Rafe joked, turning the corner with you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, sensing an opportunity in what he'd said—something that even YOU could use as a basis for—

“Why, you volunteering?”

And there it was, out in the open—HOLY FUCKING SHIT AHHHHHHHHH.

Your heart launched into a full-on death sprint and every single nerve in your body started buzzing under your skin. And then you felt uneasy because he probably thought that was just some awkward, pathetic attempt at flirting, WHICH IT WAS, and he was SUPPOSED TO somehow get the hint that you liked him but—

A boyish chuckle escaped his lips and he raised his brows in disbelief. “You want me to play Prince Charming for you?”

Heat crept up your neck but you just smiled awkwardly. “You just looked like you’d really love to deck her one.”

“Oh, you think I like hitting girls now?”

“Girls no. Furies, yes.”

GIRL.

Rafe just laughed, an honest sound that sent a warm feeling spreading through your chest. “Shit, I think you're the one who’s gonna deck her tonight.”

Great. Your horrible attempt at flirting had ended in… whatever this was.

“Ayo, Rafe!”

Kelce’s loud-ass voice echoed down half the hallway. He and Topper were already standing outside the history classroom with the rest of your class, waiting for Mr. Davis to arrive.

You braced yourself for your fight or flight to kick in—But… it didn’t. Which was weird. WHY THE HELL NOT?

Rafe dapped up Kelce and Topper, and you just stood there like some NPC waiting to be addressed, unsure of what to do. Leave? Stay? SAY HELLO?

“Yo, Y/N, Rafe already told us he’d be bringing a date tonight,” Kelce said, eyeing you with a grin full of shining white teeth. “You excited?”

NEVERMIND, FIGHT OR FLIGHT ACTIVATED.

AND WHAT??? NO WAY RAFE HAD CALLED YOU HIS FUCKING DATE. Definitely just Kelce bullshitting.

“Dude,” Topper said with a scoff.

Your cheeks burning, you just let out an awkward chuckle.

“You made Ruthie shut up,” Rafe said, eyebrows raised unimpressed. “This bastard should be easy.”

Such a great friend.

“Ayo, what.” Kelce raised his brows, looking at Rafe and nodding toward you. “How come we didn’t adopt her sooner?”

DUUUUUDE.

And your face just hit a new level of heat.

Though it was kinda cute how Kelce and Topper were looking at you right now like two dumb little boys in awe.

You just smiled sheepishly and shook your head slightly. “I didn’t really shut her up.”

“You basically called her a crybaby,” Rafe countered (Kelce gasped) and turned to Topper with furrowed brows. “She wanted you to play her taxi again.”

Topper shrugged. “I got two seats left.”

OH. Now that was interesting. Could Topper Thornton actually… tolerate Ruthie?

You weren’t sure if he was just extremely polite and somehow blind to her mean girl energy, or if he was so aggressively nice it looped back around to ass-kissing, OR—and this was the worst possible option—he actually had a thing for fucking Ruthie Whitmore.

Kelce clicked his tongue. “Shii, Top, since when are you into evil chicks?”

Rafe, on the other hand...

“The fuck do you mean two seats?” His brow twitched, lips curling into an irritated smile. “Who’s the other bastard you bringing?”

...

Okay, um...

Topper hadn't told him.

Aka you were the bastard.

Topper eyed him irritated, his thumb pointing toward you for a second. “I’m picking up Y/N first, then I’ll swing by for you. Thought I'd told you yesterday.”

"You didn't." There was a shift in Rafe’s whole posture.

Subtle, wouldn’t even be noticeable unless you were used to reading people’s body language closely. His chin lifted a bit, shoulders squared, and his gaze sharpened just slightly.

You felt it the second his eyes landed on you. The intensity in his stare sent a damn shiver down your spine.

He looked like he might kill someone right now.

But why? Didn’t he want you to go with him? Was this too much for him? Too territorial? Some random chick from school being picked up by his friend for a party you could’ve easily walked to?

“I hope that’s not a problem,” you said, giving a smile that came out way more uncertain than you intended.

It’s not a problem and if he makes it out to be one then the fuck?

But his look made it very clear: it was a problem.

And the air between the four of you had suddenly thickened with this really uncomfortable tension, all of it directed squarely at you.

“Outta the way, outta the way.”

Mr. Davis. THANK GOD.

The middle-aged teacher, arms full of books and a giant bag slung over his shoulder, clumsily made his way through the group of students in front of the classroom, trying to unlock the door with his free hand.

“You better hurry, dude,” Kelce said to Rafe, tone sing-songy. “Jones won’t be happy if you’re late.”

Rafe just scoffed, an annoyed glint in his eyes. "Don't piss me off."

With one last unreadable glance at Topper, he turned and walked off toward his class.

And now that you were left alone with the other two, it was like everyone silently agreed that they were very grateful for Kelce’s well-timed distraction.

“He’s pissed,” Kelce commented.

Topper raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

“I wonder why,” Kelce added with a cocky grin aimed straight at you. Then he headed into the classroom like he hadn’t just dropped a mini bomb.

Great. Just great.

Topper sighed and turned to you but you beat him to it: “It’s fine, I can walk. It’s honestly--”

“No, no, it’s all good,” he interrupted, his voice calm and reassuring. “It's my fault. I thought I'd told him yesterday and he's probably more pissed about Ruthie having approached him than this." He gave you a friendly smile. "Don't worry, I’ll talk to him later.”

You raised your eyebrows slightly. Why the hell did Topper need to check in with Rafe about picking you up anyway? Sure, Rafe was kinda the alpha in their little trio or whatever, but seriously? That was a bit much.

Still, it was none of your business and your brain already had enough material to spiral over. And if Topper said it wasn’t about you, then it wasn’t about you, right?

Ha. Ha.

So you just nodded, gave him a polite smile, and said, “Okay.” Then you followed him into the classroom, trying not to fall into a pre-party panic during the next two hours.

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EXTRA SCENE containing the convo with Rafe and Topper + a little Rafe POV.

-> i strongly recommend to read this

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You set your phone on your desk and ran your hands down your face.

Rafe Cameron, ladies and gentlemen.

Ugh, seriously, you didn’t even know, like, THIS GUY.

He messed you up so bad and turned your brain so upside down, it was nearly impossible to even start thinking about him. It was like his whole existence caused a short-circuit in your brain.

Which was crazy—and also kind of a paradox—because he made you spiral so much it almost looped back into nothing, like a vacuum that reset your thoughts.

… and somehow, that was kind of soothing.

Especially, because you’d somehow reached a dynamic in which you weren’t really afraid of saying the wrong thing or pissing him off. And that was mostly thanks to him, because during your little argument the other day, he had made it very clear that he did NOT want you second-guessing his mood or overexplaining things just in case he misunderstood them.

That was really hard for you but your positive-thinking-slash-delusion system had been a big help—plus the fact that Rafe didn’t dwell on things or embarrassing moments. Most of the time, at least.

Okay, the whole Apple Pencil thing was an exception, and the way he kept making suggestive comments that flustered you, and--

Okay, he did dwell on things.

But he did it in such a... skillful way, it didn’t feel like he was mocking you, more like playfully teasing you.

And part of you kind of believed (more like wanted to believe) he did it to get you out of your head. Even if he just enjoyed putting you in awkward situations, him short-circuiting your brain was a nice side effect.

You leaned back in your chair and looked up at the ceiling.

Then there was the whole thing with Topper...

Why had he offered to give you a ride yesterday if today he suddenly decided he’d rather drive Ruthie around? Especially when Rafe was also supposed to be picked up by him—and it just seemed so out of character for Rafe to back down because of Ruthie.

Especially since Topper had said he’d work things out with him. Had it really gotten so bad between them that Rafe would rather drive himself than let Topper give him a ride?

That made zero sense in any universe.

Or could it maybe be...?

You scrunched up your face and shook your head. No, that would be insane.

And yet...

God, you didn’t even dare say the thought out loud in your own head because it made you feel like you were putting too much importance on yourself. Like some hopelessly in-love naive girl from a crappy early 2000s high school rom-com.

GIRL, IT’S OKAY, IT’S YOUR OWN HEAD LIKE??? NO ONE’S LISTENING WHAT THE FUCK.

Okay, okay—could it be that Topper texting me and making plans behind Rafe's back, actually made him... jealous? IS THAT WHY HE WAS ACTING SO WEIRD TODAY IN SCHOOL AFTER HE FOUND OUT??? AND THEN HIM ASKING ME IF I HAD A CRUSH ON TOPPER??????

HOLY SHIT.

SO DID HE WANT TO PICK ME UP INSTEAD OF TOPPER DOING SO???

EWMJKDNGHXJNHFZCDDMHCUNGFKSHMSDFVHNFDAICHDFS.

You leaned forward and buried your face in your lap with your eyes squeezed shut. Absolutely secondhand embarrassed from yourself.

I’M FUCKING INSANE. LIKE HE IS RIGHT, I’M CRAZY.

A knock on the door made you jump and sit up straight.

“Yeah?”

Your mom poked her head into the room, her eyes briefly scanning the mess of clothes all over your floor you hadn’t cleaned up since yesterday. A smile on her face. “Everything okay?”

You nodded awkwardly. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I’m heading into town, wanna join? I wanted to look for a dress for Veronika’s party tonight.”

Ohhh right. Your mom was also going to the birthday of Cara's mom.

And honestly, that sounded perfect—there were still six freaking hours until 9 PM. No way you were able to spend that time alone without losing your mind.

And hey, maybe you’d even find a better outfit for later.

A smile crossed your face. “Sure, I’ll just get changed real quick.”

“Great. I’m waiting downstairs.” With that, your mom closed the door behind her.

Okay.

The buzzing in your nerves wasn’t here yet. Which was weird. But a lot could change in six hours, and worst of all: Rafe’s moods fluctuated like crazy.

It was basically a gamble trying to guess what mood he’d be in when he picked you up later.

And how he’d act at the party—that was a whole other level. And not even your fucking overthinking brain dared to make predictions about that...

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EXTRA SCENE wheezie showing rafe how to use reaction pics

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

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this story is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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tomahachi12 · 9 months ago

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Meet the Doormans!

see I'm working on AU stuff lol

still no name for it though, but I'll figure that out eventually

Info about them down belooooow

Cyn "Cynthia" Swapped with - Uzi Age - 18 She was 6 years old when her mom died and the trauma from the event caused her to shut down and stop talking. She learned sign language from Noah so she could communicate. For anyone else that doesn't understand her, she'll either use text on her visor or a projected text box. She doesn't interact with anyone and prefers to keep to herself, the only one she really opens up to is her brother. He's the only one who can call her by her actual name, she'll ignore everyone else. Inherited her solver from her mom, which activated after her mom's passing. She's scared of Khan.

Noah Swapped with - No one! Rewritten for story Age 25 7 years older than Cyn. He was 13 when his mom died. No one knows why he's so tall. He took care of Cyn after their mother died. He learned sign language and taught it to Cyn. He's a member of the Worker Defense Force. Loves doing anything! boi stop hiding your pain and get help He wants his dad's approval, not only for himself, but for his sister as well. Does not have the Solver at least not yet

Khan Swapped with - No one! Rewritten for story. Leader of the Worker Defense Force and Outpost 3. Very stoic and closed off, especially after Alice died. After his wife died, he completely threw himself into his work, neglecting nearly everything else (including his kids ): ) Because of Cyn's strong resemblance to Alice, he can't bear to even look at her. He killed his wife.

Alice Swapped with - Nori Huge fukin nerd. Western movies were her favorite. Her pet-name for Khan was "Sheriff" She loved to play "dress up" especially with her kids. She was still part of the Solver Experiments, but did not cause the implosion, that was still Nori's doing. She had pretty bad Solver Moment when it took her over and she slaughtered an entire apartment block. She couldn't stop herself and begged Khan to kill her. She was 33 when she died.

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occamstfs · 10 months ago

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Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all.

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace.

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake.

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself.

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning.

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault. Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right?

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it.

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him.

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates.

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord.

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate.

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model.

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow.

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

#male tf #racial change #mental change #masculinization #hair growth #muscle tf #reality change #cultural change #male transformation

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yeostinys · 9 months ago

Text

Cry For Me (Sequel)

Pairing: DomCEO!Hongjoong x SubSecretary!Reader

Genre: Smut 18+, Angst, light fluff

Notes: Dacryphilia (y/n is a major cry baby), mentions of cheating (don’t do it yall, this is just fiction), Unprotected sex (please wrap it up, don’t do this irl), oral sex (f & m receiving), masturbation, explicit language.

Word Count: 15k

Authors note: This is pure horny imagination and in NO WAY, reflects on the characters in real life! If you do not like this type of content pls ignore or block me.

Pt. 1 | Pt. 3 (surpriseeeeee)

———————————————————————

You awoke to the bright morning sun streaming through the curtains of an unfamiliar room, its warmth illuminating the space in soft golden hues. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, and when they did, you noticed the serene figure beside you—Hongjoong, peacefully asleep, his dark hair tousled and his lips slightly parted. His arms draped possessively over your waist, anchoring you to the bed. A rush of memories from the night before flooded your mind, igniting sensations that sent a thrill down your spine: the electric brush of his fingers against your skin, the roughness of his lips capturing yours, and the way he had filled you so perfectly.

Turning your gaze, you caught sight of the clock on the nightstand.

7:30 AM.

Your work shift starts soon. However, your boss who should be waiting for you in the office… is next to you, in his bed.

You stared up at the ceiling, lost in contemplation. Thoughts spiraled in your mind, revisiting the recent choices that had brought you to this moment. Your relationship with Siwoo had been stagnant, filled with a heaviness that had begun to suffocate you. You couldn’t ignore the truth any longer: you wanted to explore whatever was blossoming between you and Hongjoong. But the boundaries of professionalism loomed large, a constant reminder of the risks you were about to take.

After sending that weighty text message to Siwoo last night—declaring your choice to end things—you had shut your phone off, unwilling to hear his response. Besides, you were too occupied being entangled with Hongjoong on his massive plush bed. Now, as you lay there, a part of you hesitated, fearing the truth that awaited in those unread messages.

With a quiet sigh, you turned your gaze back to Hongjoong, letting your thoughts drift to the perfect features of his face. Your heart tightened at the memory of his confession, the vulnerability he had shown you last night. You couldn't deny the growing affection blossoming within you. Deep down, you felt certain that Hongjoong truly cared for you, and the thought sent warmth coursing through your veins. You wanted to care for him, too.

You tried to carefully move yourself from his embrace. But just as you began to shift, his hand shot out, gripping your arm gently yet firmly. You gasped, surprised by his sudden awareness.

“Where are you going?” His morning voice was raspy. He cracked open one eye, peering at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Oh—back to my place…” you stammered, your cheeks flushing under his gaze. “I have work in an hour…”

Hongjoong’s grip tightened as he tugged you closer, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hm, you just slept with your boss, and you’re still trying to be on time. How cute,” he teased, the glint in his eye making your heart race even faster.

Your embarrassment mingled with a rush of excitement, a chaotic blend of fear and exhilaration flooding your senses.

“I—It’s just… you have an important meeting today to finalize a project… sir…” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Hongjoong let out a heavy sigh, the sound filled with a mix of frustration and understanding. He shifted, his body hovering over yours, his presence both comforting and overwhelming.

“Y/N, I know last night was unexpected, but please don’t act like nothing happened,” he said softly, his gaze searching your face for any sign of clarity.

You felt a rush of warmth flood your cheeks, unsure how to respond. Nodding seemed like the safest option, even as your heart thudded painfully in your chest. Confusion tangled with a yearning to voice your concerns, but the words eluded you.

“Let’s go. Let me get ready, and then I’ll take you to your house. We can head to work together,” Hongjoong suggested, shifting away and rising from the bed. The sight of him slipping on a pair of boxers stirred a mix of emotions inside you—desire, worry, uncertainty.

“Hongjoong… won’t it look suspicious if we arrive at work together?” You pulled the sheets around your waist, as you sat up. The question lingered in the air, a nagging worry that tugged at your thoughts.

He turned around to face you. His hands resting on his hips as he looks at your figure.

“Is that really what you’re worried about?” he asked, his voice a blend of amusement and sincerity. He walks back to you and sits on the mattress.

“You’re my secretary, Y/N,” he continued, his tone softening slightly. “If you’re worried, we can say we had an early meeting.” He leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead in a gentle kiss that sent a wave of warmth surging through you, deepening the conflict brewing within.

“You don’t have to worry about what anyone says. If anyone tries to talk about us, or if they say anything about you, I’ll handle it. I can just fire them,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your cheek, each word a promise that lingered in the air.

“Hongjoong, that’s not…” The weight of reality pressed down on you, and suddenly, emotions surged like a tidal wave, overwhelming and intense. Tears spilled down your cheeks, their warmth shocking you as they traced paths down your skin.

“Hey…” His voice softened, a mix of surprise and concern lacing his words. “Baby. Talk to me. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He cradled your cheeks, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that fell.

“I want to be with you, Hongjoong… I just feel like I’ve crossed a line, like I’ve broken our professionalism,” you confessed, your voice trembling, each word laced with the weight of your turmoil.

“Y/N, I was the one who broke those boundaries,” he replied, lifting your chin so that your eyes met his. “I took that risk and chose to pursue you.” His gaze bore into yours, earnest and unwavering.

“I think I may have acted too hastily last night,” you softly say, the admission tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “I need time.”

“Time for what, baby?” Hongjoong’s voice dropped to a whisper, concern etched across his features as his heart clenched at your words.

“To fix my situation… Siwoo will probably want an explanation after I left him over text…” you murmured, feeling the weight of your choices settle heavily upon you. Hongjoong’s expression shifted, determination mixed with something deeper as he absorbed your words.

“Y/N, he doesn’t need an explanation—” Hongjoong began, but he stopped himself, recognizing the urgency in your eyes. He dropped his hands from your face, respecting your need for space.

“Hongjoong… I know he doesn’t. But I just can’t handle it that way. I want to do this right—for my own sake,” you said, struggling to project confidence even as your heart trembled.

“I want to be with you, Hongjoong. Just let me figure this out first. When I’m ready, I promise I’ll come to you… please?” The sincerity in your plea hung in the air, thick with unspoken promises and lingering desires.

Hongjoong took a moment to absorb your words, his heart heavy with understanding. It was one of the many reasons he fell for you—your morals, your commitment to doing what felt right. A part of him scolded himself for putting you in this position, for effortlessly having you succumbed to his advances, leading you to break your own morals. Yet, another part of him reveled in the power he held over you, a power that felt intoxicating, even as he recognized the gravity of your emotions.

The way you had responded to him, almost as if he could mold you to fit his desires. But the weight of that power was a double-edged sword, and he felt the sharpness of it cut deep. He knew that despite his influence, the power you held over him was immeasurable. It was your strength, your conviction, that grounded him and made him strive to be better. In that moment of clarity, he realized that he wanted to support you, to stand by your side as you navigated your feelings and decisions. He would never want to jeopardize the morals you held dear. No, he wanted to be the reason you felt empowered, not the reason you felt conflicted. The dynamic between you was complex, a delicate balance of power and vulnerability.

Hongjoong understood that while he could push boundaries, it was ultimately your choices that mattered most. He longed for a connection that honored both of your strengths, one built on mutual respect and love. And as he sat there contemplating, he made a silent vow to always cherish and protect the heart of the woman he adored.

“If he hurts you, I will kill him,” Hongjoong whispered, his voice low and intense as he leaned in to kiss you deeply. When he pulled away, he brushed away a lingering tear with a gentle finger, his gaze unwavering.

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling deep within you, grounding you amid the chaos.

“Let me get ready,” he said, rising from the bed and walking toward the door, the moment hanging heavy with unspoken feelings. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the promise of what was yet to come.

———

Arriving at your apartment, you unbuckle the seatbelt in Hongjoong’s car, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension. You turn to him, your heart racing slightly.

“You can come inside if you want…” you offer. A soft smile spreads across Hongjoong’s face as he nods. Together you make your way to your front door, the atmosphere quiet and contemplative.

“I’m going to shower real quick. Please make yourself comfortable,” you say softly, a hint of nervousness in your tone.

“Of course,” he replies, his smile warm as he watches you disappear into the bathroom.

Left alone, Hongjoong takes a moment to explore your space. He glances around, taking in the photos that line the walls—memories frozen in time, each image a glimpse into your life. His eyes fall on a particular picture of you and Siwoo, both smiling widely, captured in a moment of joy. A scoff escapes him; the image feels like a reminder of a life you were ready to leave behind. Hongjoong’s jaw tightens as he rolls his eyes, a deep breath escaping his lips. He knows the complexity of this situation, the emotional fallout from your two-year relationship weighing heavily on both of you. He sighs softly, you made him feel things he hadn’t anticipated, he wants you all to himself. But he knew he had to be patient, to respect the delicate balance of your emotions.

After your shower, you change into fitted slacks and a sleek black buttoned blouse. You quickly do your regular routine of getting ready for the day, not wanting to make Hongjoong wait any longer. As you reach for your phone, the screen lights up with notifications, and your stomach sinks. Fifty missed alerts from Siwoo stare back at you, an overwhelming wave of dread washing over. You can’t bring yourself to open them, so you quickly shove your phone into your purse.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you make your way to find Hongjoong. “I’m ready,” you announce, and he rises from the couch.

“Let’s go,” he says, with a soft smile.

——

Inside the car, the air was thick with tension, broken only by the relentless vibrations of your phone. Each buzz felt like a persistent reminder of the chaos you were trying to escape.

“Y/N, you should to respond to him,” Hongjoong said, his voice low and authoritative as he kept his eyes fixed on the road. There was an edge to his tone that made it clear he wasn’t asking.

You turned to him, taken aback by the intensity in his gaze.

“Or at least see what he wants. The constant buzzing is getting on my nerves,” he added, a teasing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, but there was an undercurrent of impatience that betrayed his facade.

Feeling a heat rise in your cheeks, you muttered an apology and reached for your phone, heart racing. The screen illuminated your notifications, messages that you were too afraid to read fully. You hesitated, the anxiety coiling tighter in your chest, and ultimately decided against opening them in front of Hongjoong. Instead, you switched your phone to sleep mode, the screen darkening as you tried to suppress the turmoil within.

“What did he say?” Hongjoong’s tone remained steady as he parked the car.

“Ah, nothing,” you replied. You forced a smile, though it felt fragile, ready to shatter under the weight of his scrutiny.

Hongjoong’s eyebrow arched, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. He didn’t want to pry, but he couldn’t help but be bothered by the way he felt about this situation. You were vulnerable, and that stirred something possessive in him. He wanted to shield you from Siwoo and anyone else who dared to threaten your peace. That selfish part of him yearned for you—wanting you to be his, wholly and completely.

As the silence stretched between you, he realized he was wrestling with his own desires. It was a delicate balance: the urge to be there for you and the fear of pushing too hard, of making you feel rushed or pressured. He could live with the selfishness, as long as it meant you remained in his life. But for the sake of you. He tries to calm himself down. And with that, you two exit the car, making your way up to the building.

———

You tried to navigate the busy day as normally as possible, accompanying Hongjoong to his meetings, organizing his schedule, and tackling the last-minute tasks that piled up on your desk. With each passing hour, you appreciated the way he mirrored your efforts, striving to keep things as routine as he could. It was clear that he genuinely wanted you to feel comfortable, that he respected your choices, even as the weight of your situation lingered between you.

During a brief moment of respite, you found yourself lingering in the coffee room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee swirling around you as you stared at your phone. Finally, after much hesitation, you decided to confront the flood of messages from Siwoo. Anxiety tightened its grip on your chest as you opened the thread.

Siwoo:

- What do you mean you want to break up?

- You can’t just leave like that without an explanation.

- Do you know who you’re dealing with?

- After everything I have done for you, this is really low of you.

- Answer my calls, Y/N.

- Where are you?

The list went on, each message a reminder of the turmoil you were trying to escape. A sudden wave of emotion washed over you, threatening to spill over as you fought to hold back tears. You didn’t want to make a scene, not here, not now. Taking a deep breath, you inhaled slowly, releasing it in a heavy sigh that echoed your internal struggle.

With shaky fingers, you finally mustered the courage to respond.

Y/N: Can we meet after my shift? I get off early today.

You hesitated, the thought of confronting Siwoo in person filling you with dread. You didn’t want to hash this out over the phone, not when everything felt so raw. Almost instantly, your phone buzzed with his reply.

Siwoo: That’s fine. But what took you so long to reply? I’ve been trying to reach you.

Y/N: Sorry, I had a long day yesterday and fell asleep.

A pang of guilt shot through you as you typed the words, a familiar shame settling in your stomach. But it felt necessary; a protective barrier between you and the storm that was Siwoo’s jealousy. You knew that he had a tendency toward aggression when provoked, and you wanted to avoid igniting that fury. Deep down, you understood that your choice to be unfaithful had been wrong. Yet, it felt equally wrong to ignore how Siwoo had broken your trust long before you ever crossed that line.

As you placed your phone back on the counter, the gravity of your situation pressed heavily against your chest.

As you make your way back to your desk, the weight of the afternoon’s distractions clings to you. You try to immerse yourself in work, pouring over spreadsheets and memos, but your mind is a relentless storm, swirling with thoughts that refuse to be silenced.

“Y/N?” The soft, familiar voice breaks through your reverie. You look up to find Hongjoong standing before you, an easy confidence in his stance that sets your heart racing. The mere sight of him sends a rush of warmth to your cheeks. You can’t help but wish you could just leap into his arms and escape the world outside.

“Yes, Sir?” you respond, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

“I have a few files I need you to look over. Please follow me to my office,” he says, his tone calm yet inviting. You nod, swallowing the fluttering excitement in your chest, and fall in step behind him as he leads you down the hallway to his office.

Once inside, he strides to his desk and powers up his computer. The soft hum of machinery fills the room as he pulls out his chair and gestures for you to sit. Your brow furrows in confusion.

“You want me to sit in your chair, sir?” you ask, surprised.

“Yes, Y/N. Just so you can clearly see the concerns I have,” he chuckles lightly, his laughter sending a thrill through you. You hesitate, then shift into his chair, acutely aware of his presence behind you.

Hongjoong leans closer, his arm brushing against your shoulder as he maneuvers the cursor on the screen. “So this right here needs some adjustment…” he explains, his eyes focused intently on the monitor. You try to absorb his words, but the closeness of him—a solid warmth behind you—makes it difficult to concentrate.

Desperately shaking off your swirling thoughts, you force your gaze back to the screen. Hongjoong continues to highlight various aspects of the files, his voice steady and authoritative. You can’t help but look at him, captivated by how he maintains his professionalism despite the tension that lingers in the air between you. His features are striking—his nose perfectly sculpted, skin flawless, and lips plush and inviting.

Caught in the moment, you lean in, a sudden impulse driving you, and press your lips against his. The kiss is deep and electric, a bold confession that silences him mid-sentence. As you pull away, realization crashes over you, and your eyes widen in shock. Hongjoong mirrors your surprise

shock and amusement flickering in his eyes.

“S—sorry…” you stammer, heat flooding your face as you quickly turn your gaze away, mortified by your impulsive action.

“God, Y/N, don’t make this harder for me,” Hongjoong replies, a smirk creeping across his lips. He closes his eyes briefly, as if to collect himself, then spins the chair around so you’re facing him directly. You feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment, and you instinctively try to hide your face in your hands.

“Hey, look at me,” he says softly, his voice low and steady. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze. He’s watching you with a soft smirk, though there’s a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes—a mixture of amusement and longing.

“Don’t tease me like that, or I will deal with Siwoo myself,” he adds, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful demeanor. Your stomach twists at the mention of Siwoo, a lingering source of tension between you two.

“I’m sorry…” you murmur, feeling the weight of the situation settle heavily on your shoulders. You glance down, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

“Hongjoong…” you say softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness of the room. The weight of the moment hangs in the air, charged with the unspoken feelings swirling between you.

“Hm?” he hums, glancing over at you, his expression curious, almost playful.

You take a moment, searching for the right words to express the confusion that has been gnawing at you. “I don’t know why you make me do these types of things I don’t normally do…” Your voice trails off, the vulnerability of your admission leaving you feeling exposed.

A soft chuckle escapes him, and you feel a flutter in your stomach at the sound. “What do you mean, baby?” he asks, his smirk is soft as he takes in the sight of your flustered face, the way your cheeks flush with color.

You look down, suddenly shy under his gaze, but you force yourself to continue. “You… make me do impulsive things without even telling me to. I don’t know why,” you finally admit, your heart racing as the words leave your lips.

His eyes darken slightly as he licks his lips, a lingering gaze settling on your mouth. “You and me both, baby,” he replies, his tone low and teasing, but with an edge of sincerity that makes your pulse quicken.

Before you can process his words, Hongjoong leans down, closing the space between you with a magnetic pull. His lips capture yours once again, warm and inviting, a gentle urgency igniting within you. The kiss deepens, erasing any lingering doubts as you melt into him, surrendering to the moment.

Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the connection—the world outside fading away until it’s just the two of you, caught in a cocoon of shared desires and unspoken understanding. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, anchoring you as you lean into him, your heart racing with every brush of his lips against yours. Hongjoong slowly pulls away from you and curses softly.

“Fuck, I need to stop…” He chuckles, his breath against your skin sends a shiver throughout your body.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper.

“Stop apologizing Y/N” Hongjoong replied sternly, but softly. You stare at Hongjoong, the silence between you thick with unspoken emotions, a sense of awe lingering in the air. Time seems to stretch as you both take in the moment, each heartbeat echoing the connection that has just sparked.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door pulls you back to reality. You jump slightly, the interruption breaking the fragile tension that had enveloped you. Your heart races as you spring up from the seat. Hongjoong shifts to sit on the edge of his desk, his expression a blend of casual confidence and intrigue.

You take a steadying breath and approach the door, determined to regain your composure. As you open it, you’re met by a colleague from the project department, his demeanor serious yet slightly flustered.

“Sorry to interrupt, Sir,” he says, glancing between you and Hongjoong. “But these are the files you wanted me to fix.” He hands you a USB drive, the weight of it feeling heavy in your palm.

You accept it, nodding as he bows slightly before retreating down the hallway. Turning back to Hongjoong, you raise an eyebrow, unable to mask your disbelief. “You already assigned someone to fix the files?”

Hongjoong’s lips curl into a smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief as he leans back against the desk. “Oh, I guess I forgot…” he replies, his tone casual but the underlying tension unmistakable.

You look at him confused. “Right,” you retort, your voice laced with sarcasm as you walk back toward him, the USB drive clenched tightly in your hand.

“Here you go, sir,” you say, handing it over to him. “I’ll be getting back to work then.” You say and quickly make your way back to your desk.

———

The hours slipped by quicker than you anticipated. The workday had been a blur, each minute slipping into the next as if the world was rushing around you. An uncomfortable knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach at the thought of meeting Siwoo later. You had been dreading this, though you couldn’t exactly say why. But now that the time was nearing, that familiar wave of dread hit you full force.

You grabbed your bag, shoving your things into it with quick, distracted movements. As you headed toward the exit, your pulse quickened. You tried to shake off the uneasy feeling clenching your chest, hoping some fresh air would help.

But hhen you stepped outside, you felt even more suffocated. Siwoo was standing just outside the entrance, leaning against the wall. His posture was rigid, his jaw tight. He looked like he’d been waiting for a while.

The sight of him made your heart drop into your stomach. You didn’t expected him to show up at your workplace but here he is, standing there like he had something on his mind. Something heavy.

“S—Siwoo… you didn’t have to come all the way here,” you stammered, taking a hesitant step toward him. The words barely made it past your lips, thick with the anxiety you couldn’t shake. He straightened, his eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that made your heart race.

“Why do you want to break up, Y/N?” His voice was loud, almost demanding, and the question hung between you like a cold wind. “I couldn’t wait anymore. I came here to get my answer.”

His words hit you like a punch. You hadn’t expected this. Not now, not like this. He looked... disheveled, like he hadn’t slept. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his hair was messier than usual—something was off. And it wasn’t just his appearance. The tension in his posture made your stomach tighten with a mix of unease and fear.

You blinked, struggling to find the right words. “Siwoo… Can we talk somewhere else? Not here, not in front of my work…” Your voice wavered, almost pleading, hoping he would agree to move somewhere more private. You didn’t want to have this conversation in such a public place, not with the heavy weight of his accusation in the air.

He didn’t answer at first, just stood there, staring at you. Then, with a sharp nod, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward his car.

You winced at the sudden pressure. The force of his grip was too strong, too fast, and it startled you. You barely had time to react before you were being dragged along. Anxiety shot through you as you followed him to the car, your heart pounding in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the pain from his grip or the sudden fear of what was about to happen, but you felt your whole body tense.

Once you were in the car, Siwoo slammed the door behind you, his actions quick and almost frantic. The engine roared to life, and without another word, he sped off. His driving was reckless, faster than the speed limit, the car jerking over the road as he ignored any sign of caution. You could feel your stomach churn, the sick feeling intensifying as he weaved in and out of traffic, his eyes focused straight ahead, his face expressionless.

The air in the car felt heavy, suffocating. You wanted to say something, to ask him what was going on, but the words seemed to die in your throat. You were scared to speak, scared that something would happen if you did. The tension between you was unbearable, and your mind raced, thinking about everything you hadn’t said yet.

Finally, he pulled into a parking lot. You didn’t even need to look around to recognize the café. It was one of your favorite spots, the place you two had come to so often when things were good. Back when your relationship had felt easy, full of lighthearted conversations and laughter. Now, the place seemed like a cruel reminder of what had changed.

You followed him into the quiet almost empty café, your steps heavy, your mind already bracing for the worst. The two of you sat in silence for a while, the only sound between you the faint hum of conversation from other patrons. It was so quiet you could hear the tick of the clock on the wall.

Finally, the silence was broken by Siwoo’s voice. “So, are you going to tell me why you want to break up?” His tone was sharp, his eyes cold and calculating.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your shaking hands. “Siwoo, I don’t want to be with you anymore. I’ve fallen out of love,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The words felt like a confession, like you were admitting some deep, unbearable truth. You looked down at your fingers, suddenly feeling the weight of everything that had been building between you. The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, before you spoke again. “We haven’t been on a real date in months. And when we do spend time together, it’s like you’re not really there. You’re distracted, distant.” Your voice trembled with emotion.

Siwoo’s expression darkened. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned forward, his voice hard. “Is that it? That’s your reason, Y/N?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s not just that. It’s everything. You’re always too busy, and when we are together, it feels like you’re... somewhere else. I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “You think that’s all there is to it? You know how busy I am.” His voice was laced with annoyance. “I’ve been working so hard, and you’re sitting here complaining about flowers and dates.”

You blinked, hurt flashing across your face. “You don’t get it, do you, Siwoo? You can’t just throw flowers at me and expect everything to be okay. I needed more than that. I needed you to be present. I needed you to care about me, but I realized that wasn’t a priority for you”

He stared at you, disbelief flickering in his eyes. “You’re just going to throw everything away over that?”

“Yes. I can’t do this anymore. I know what I want and need, and it’s not this.” You were shaking now, the frustration boiling over. “I’ve tried to make it work. I’ve tried to understand why you’re distant, but nothing ever changes. And you know what? I don’t even think it matters anymore.”

Siwoo’s eyes flashed, his expression turning angry, defensive. “So that’s it? You’re leaving me because of that?” He stood up suddenly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “You’ve never cared this much before. There must be another reason why you’re leaving.”

You were silent for a moment, then looked him straight in the eyes. “I know you’ve been cheating on me” you said calmly, emotionlessly.

Siwoo’s face went blank, then a flicker of shock crossed his features before he recovered. “What are you talking about?” His voice was strained, disbelieving.

“You’ve been cheating on me, Siwoo. I don’t know with who, but I know.”

His expression faltered, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the man he used to be—the one who had once cared for you. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by anger and denial. “You’re crazy,” he spat, his voice sharp, eyes narrowing. “You don’t know anything.”

“You’ve stood me up, you’ve ignored me, you’ve been on your phone more than you’ve been with me. You’ve made excuses, and you’ve disappeared for hours, and I’m not stupid, Siwoo. I know what’s been going on.”

He didn’t answer right away, his chest heaving with frustration. You stood up, your legs shaking but resolute. “I’m done, Siwoo. We’re over. Don’t contact me again.”

You turned and walked away from the table, not looking back. The door to the café closed behind you with a sharp click, and you stepped into the cool evening air. A taxi pulled up, and you climbed inside, finally feeling like you could breathe again.

———

Inside the café, Siwoo sat motionless, staring at the empty space where you’d just been. Anger churned in his chest. How had this happened? How had you figured it out? He’d always thought you were too naive, too dependent on him to see what he was doing. But now you knew, and it pissed him off. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling inside him.

With a sudden burst of irritation, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. The voice on the other end was soft and sweet. "Hello? Professor Siwoo?"

"Hey, honey," he said, his voice suddenly calm, as if the rage he’d felt only moments before had vanished. "I’m a bit stressed. Can I see you?"

"Of course, you can, sir. I’ll be waiting for you."

He let out a long sigh, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. After a moment’s pause, he ended the call and drove back to campus.

In his office, a young woman walked in, her face carrying that familiar smug expression. “Oh, Professor Siwoo... Did you not want to see your boring girlfriend again?” She said it with a playful edge, stepping toward him and placing her hands on his chest.

Siwoo didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened, and he muttered under his breath, “She pissed me off today. I needed to see your pretty face.”

The woman giggled, slipping her arms around his waist. "I hope she keeps pissing you off. You get so rough when you’re upset." She leaned in closer, and Siwoo grunted, running a hand down her neck.

“I’m so sad this is my last semester with you sir” she whispered, her voice low, her hands drifting over him. “Promise me, you’ll still let me visit you professor?”

Siwoo’s face remained cold, his expression unreadable. He pulled her closer, but his mind was far from the moment. All he could think about was you, and how you had the audacity to confront him. How you knew. Siwoo stood motionless in the dimly lit room, his gaze fixed on the woman before him. She had dropped to her knees in front of him, her movements hurried, almost desperate, as she unfastened his belt and pulled down his pants. The soft rustling of fabric was the only sound that broke the heavy silence between them. He watched, detached, as she began to work with a practiced ease, her hands swift and efficient. But Siwoo's mind was far from the scene before him. His thoughts, unbidden and unwanted, drifted back to you. How could he not think of you? It was maddening, the way your face lingered in his mind like an echo, always there, always reminding him of the things he didn't want to admit. His fists clenched at his sides as frustration churned inside him.

Why should he care? He could have anyone, couldn't he? Women like this, easy and available, were nothing to him. But it wasn't her that occupied his thoughts. It was you. He thought to himself you probably got too confident after getting that stupid job as a secretary. Making more money than him, feeling a superiority over him. That’s probably why you left so easily. Siwoo was angry. But his thoughts pulled away once he finished on the woman. Groaning, he pulled her up and pushed her towards the door.

“What!? That’s it?! What the hell?!” The woman exclaims in frustration.

“Get the hell out” Siwoo pushes her out the door and shuts it behind him. Fuming with anger at the thought of you.

———

You stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that echoed in the stillness of the space. A wave of exhaustion washed over you, each muscle in your body slumping as if they were weights pulling you down. You’d finally done it; you’d told Siwoo that it was over. The relief coursed through you like a warm current, yet it was quickly shadowed by an unsettling anxiety that gnawed at your insides for reasons you couldn’t quite grasp.

What lingered in the back of your mind was the image of Hongjoong. All you wanted was to see him, to feel the comfort of his presence wrap around you like a soft blanket. Being with him was different from anything you had known before—a connection that felt deeper, more genuine. It was as if he had unlocked a part of your heart that you didn’t even know existed. But that exhilaration was tempered by caution; you recognized the need to pause, to breathe, and to reflect before rushing into something new.

Determined to take care of yourself, you kicked off your shoes and sank into the familiar embrace of your sofa. The cushions molded around you, a sanctuary from the turmoil outside. You closed your eyes, letting the silence envelop you, drawing a deep breath as you mentally shifted into self-care mode. Tonight was for you. You would indulge in a long, soothing shower, perhaps light a candle or two, and lose yourself in a book or your favorite music. Your life outside could wait; right now, it was all about reclaiming your peace and preparing your heart for whatever came next.

For the next few hours, you surrender yourself to the soothing embrace of rest and relaxation. The long, warm shower you took had been a necessity, the steam enveloping you like a comforting blanket, washing away the remnants of the day’s stress. Now, as you settle into your soft, inviting bed, the sheets cradle you like a gentle cocoon, promising solace and peace.

You close your eyes, willing your body to unwind and drift off into the blissful realm of sleep. Yet, despite your efforts, your mind refuses to cooperate. Instead of the quiet darkness you seek, thoughts of Hongjoong begin to swirl within you, vibrant and insistent.

His killer smirk, soft but stern voice, his intoxicating touch on yours... You toss and turn, trying to shake off the warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him.

Each time you attempt to close your eyes, visions of his face fill the void, making it impossible to find peace. You think of his confidence, the way he carries himself with an effortless charm that draws everyone in. Frustrated, you turn onto your side, pulling the blanket closer as if it might shield you from the feelings that are threatening to overwhelm you. But the more you resist, the stronger the pull becomes, leaving you craving him. All of him.

You remember the feeling of his fingers moving inside you. His warm soft lips devouring you. And the way he called your name so effortlessly… A wave of warmth filled between your legs as you began to think of him. You curse to yourself for having such lewd thoughts. But you couldn’t help yourself, that night he showed you something you never knew you could experience. And gosh do you wish you can feel that ecstasy again. Unconsciously, your hand began to move towards the heat between your legs. You let yourself envelop in the touch of yourself as you begin to think of the only man you want. Hongjoong.

You began to draw circles on your clit as you think of his strong hands instead of yours. You bite your lip trying to suppress a moan, remembering the smug look on his face as he looked at you in awe. You slip your fingers into your wet, warm entrance slowly.

“Fuck… Hongjoong~” You quietly moan. Your mind gets flooded with Hongjoong’s hard cock when he was fucking you. He filled you up so good and hit all the right spots effortlessly. You wish it was him touching you right now instead of yourself. You wish he was here holding you and telling you dirty, degrading, yet loving words.

As your pace began to speed up, tears slipped from your eyes. The sudden remembrance of Hongjoong being possessive and only wanting your tears for himself sent you over the edge. Your body filled with an overwhelming of amount of pleasure.

“A-ahh H-hongjoong~~” You squeeze your breasts and release loud moan a you come undone on your own fingers. You lay there trying to catch your breath as you slowly remove your fingers. You feel dirty about the fact you just got off on the mere thought of Hongjoong. You quickly clean yourself up before dropping back down on the soft cushion. You sigh and close your eyes… Finally, the drowsiness casts over your body. Your eyes began to go heavy from the orgasm you just had, and soon you fall asleep into a deep slumber… still thinking about Hongjoong.

———

The following morning, you arrive at the office feeling a sense of renewal that had eluded you in the past few days. With Siwoo officially out of your life, there’s an undeniable spark of curiosity about what could develop between you and Hongjoong. You’ve thought about it all night, and now, armed with a daily iced Americano for him, you stride confidently toward his office.

Setting the cup on his desk, you can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling a flutter of anticipation. Glancing at the agenda in your hands, you mentally prepare for the day ahead before retreating back to your desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” you hear the familiar greeting echo around the office. You look up from your computer to find him standing by the entrance, offering a gentle smile to the staff. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel encouraged to engage.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim—” you say, your voice steady, but he doesn’t even glance in your direction. Instead, his gaze is fixed on his watch, and he interrupts you with an air of urgency.

“Miss Y/N, cancel the meeting with the marketing department at 1 PM. I have an interview to attend instead.” With that, he strides into his office, the door closing with a quiet finality that leaves you bewildered.

Confusion settles in as you take your seat once more. You quickly type out a cancellation email to the marketing team, but your mind races with questions. What could possibly be bothering him? Why hadn’t he even looked at you? You exhale softly, staring at the screen, trying to shake off the unease.

Moments later, a response arrives in your inbox—a request from the head manager of the marketing team to reschedule. You glance at Hongjoong’s closed door, feeling a pang of uncertainty. He hadn’t mentioned any rescheduling… Driven by a mixture of concern and determination, you rise from your chair, notebook in hand.

You knock softly on the door, waiting for a response.

“Come in,” his voice calls out, calm yet authoritative. You open the door and step inside, closing it gently behind you. Hongjoong is hunched over his computer, typing with an intensity that makes you feel almost invisible. Your heart sinks at his apparent disregard.

“Uhm, Sir, the marketing team is asking for a rescheduled time for the meeting you wanted to cancel.” You speak clearly, hoping to draw his attention.

“Tell them I don’t want to see them for a while. They need to fix their ideas. It’s pointless for me to attend a meeting when they can’t do anything right,” he replies, his tone tinged with frustration. His eyes remain glued to the screen, leaving you feeling dismissed.

“Yes, Sir…” you murmur, jotting down his words. As you begin to turn to leave, an impulse makes you hesitate and look back at him.

“Ah, Sir,” you say, fiddling nervously with your pen. His indifference stings, yet you press on. “Shall I accompany you to the interview? I could take notes or—”

“No need.” he cuts you off, the word clipped and final. A sharp pang strikes your heart, disappointment crashing over you.

“Alright then, Sir. I will get back to work…” you reply softly, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air as you turn away, your thoughts swirling with questions and lingering hopes.

You immerse yourself in your morning tasks, trying to push aside the troubling thoughts about Hongjoong’s sudden dismissiveness. Why had he been so cold? You remind yourself that it might be for the best—not rushing into something new with him right after Siwoo. After all, you need time to heal.

As the hours tick by, the flood of questions from the marketing team overwhelms you. Hongjoong hasn’t provided any clear answers, leaving you to craft professional, half-hearted apologies while encouraging them to resolve their issues independently. Frustration simmers beneath your surface, and you find yourself stretching in your chair, letting out a sigh that feels too loud in the otherwise quiet office.

“Hi, I have a meeting with Mr. Kim today at 1 PM.” A soft voice pulls you back to the present. You look up to see a young woman standing in front of your desk, she holds a confident aura. She looks to be in college, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Ah, yes. His office is right there,” you reply, offering her a reassuring smile. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” You begin to dial his office phone, gesturing for her to take a seat.

“Please, take a seat,” you add, keeping your tone warm despite the weight on your mind.

“Mr. Kim, your interview with—” you glance back at the young lady, uncertain of her name.

“Lee Haeun,” she supplies quickly.

“—with Lee Haeun is here,” you finish, relaying the message into the phone. Hongjoong’s voice crackles back with a brief instruction to let her in, and you hang up, rising from your seat.

“Right this way, Haeun,” you say, leading her to Hongjoong’s office. You open the door and usher her inside.

“Hello, Mr. Kim. Thank you so much for having me,” Haeun says, bowing slightly, her nerves palpable.

“My pleasure. Let’s start the interview. Miss Y/N, you may leave,” Hongjoong replies, his voice smooth but his attention solely on Haeun. He glances at you for just a moment, a fleeting look that sends your heart racing, before turning back to the applicant with a smile.

Your stomach churns at the sight. Why are you feeling this way? You chastise yourself internally. This is just work. He’s likely trying to maintain professionalism, to keep things strictly business. Still, the pang of confusion is hard to shake as you retreat back to your desk, your mind swirling with questions and a twinge of hurt. The door closes behind you, and the distance feels more pronounced than ever.

———

Hongjoong sits at his desk, the faint sound of tapping keys fading into the background as he pulls out his notepad. The room is filled with an air of anticipation, and across from him, Lee Haeun shifts nervously in her chair. Her hands clasp tightly in her lap, betraying her anxiety despite the confident smile she tries to maintain.

“Okay, Lee Haeun,” he begins, his eyes flicking to the application laid out before him. “It says here you’re applying to be part of the marketing team?”

“Yes, sir,” Haeun replies, her voice steadying as she leans slightly forward. “I’m majoring in business marketing right now, and I will be graduating in two years.”

“Which college do you attend?” Hongjoong asks, looking up from the paper, his brow slightly furrowing in curiosity.

“I attend the University located downtown, sir,” she responds, a bright smile lighting up her face. Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, noting the irony of her choice; it’s the same university where Siwoo teaches. The thought lingers in his mind, but he quickly shoves it aside.

As the interview progresses, Hongjoong asks her all the necessary questions. Haeun responds thoughtfully, showcasing her diligence and genuine enthusiasm for the field. Hongjoong finds himself impressed; she speaks with a clarity that reflects her passion.

After what feels like a thorough exchange, Hongjoong leans back in his chair, folding his arms as he assesses her. “Well, your qualifications look promising for our marketing team,” he says, standing up and gesturing toward her. “However, I will be discussing final decisions with my team. We will contact you either later today or within the next week to let you know if you got the job.”

Haeun’s face lights up with gratitude. “Of course, thank you, Mr. Kim,” she replies, bowing as she stands up and exits Hongjoong’s office.

———

You look up as the door to Hongjoong's office swings open, revealing Haeun stepping out with confidence and a radiant smile.

“How did the interview go?” you ask, genuinely curious with a soft smile.

Haeun turns, her grin stretching wider, lighting up her features. “I think it went well! I should hear back in a few days about whether I got the job.”

“I hope for the best!” you reply, waving her off with a supportive smile as she walks away, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

You glance at the clock on your desk; it’s your hour break. A wave of relief washes over you as you stretch your arms above your head, letting out a small sigh. The thought of free time is a welcome escape from the monotony of the day. However, your gaze drifts back to Hongjoong’s office door, and a nagging thought surfaces. Should you go talk to him? You’ve noticed that he seems a bit off lately, maybe there’s something bothering him.

Rising from your desk, you make your way to his office, the soft click of your heels against the floor breaking the silence. With a gentle knock, you call out, “Sir?”

“Come in” Hongjoong replies, his voice calm.

You open the door and step inside, finding him engrossed in his files. He looks up, finally making eye contact with you, his gaze steady and penetrating.

“Can I help you, Miss Y/N?” he asks, his tone neutral.

You close the door behind you and take a few steps toward his desk. “Sir… Is everything alright?” Your voice is soft, tinged with concern.

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his expression. “Everything is fine, Miss Y/N. Why do you ask?” He crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair, exuding an air of relaxed authority.

“Uhm… I just noticed you’ve seemed a bit distant lately, sir…” You trail off, glancing down at the polished floor, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

“How so?” he leans back in his chair with his arms crossed, his interest piqued.

You take a breath, trying to steady your nerves. “You… seem dismissive of me, sir. I apologize if I did something wrong.” You look back up at him, worry etched on your face.

Hongjoong scoffs lightly as he rises from his chair. “I didn’t say you did anything wrong, Miss Y/N.” He takes a step closer, and you feel your heart quicken. The space between you feels charged, and you hold your breath as he approaches.

He walks past you, and for a moment, you think he’s heading for the door. Instead, he turns the lock, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet office. Your heart races at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

With a slow turn, he faces you, his demeanor shifting as he loosens the tie around his neck and makes his way towards you. You begin to step back, your body bumping into his desk. You’re against the cold wood, as you look up towards him. Hongjoong slightly hovers over you and smirks.

“Did you talk to the marketing team?” he asks, his voice smooth but direct. You blink, momentarily taken aback by his unexpected question.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, your voice small.

He hums in acknowledgment, his expression contemplative. “I might hire that new girl, Lee Haeun. She’s smart and seems very organized. The office has been slacking lately.” His words hang in the air, and a sense of panic begins to stir within you. What position was Haeun applying for? Was Hongjoong considering replacing you? The thoughts swirl in your mind, each more alarming than the last.

“I—I’m sorry, sir. If I haven’t been at my best, it wasn’t my intention to slack off. I—“ Panic takes hold, and tears spring to your eyes as the words spill out in a rush, your voice trembling. Hongjoong's soft chuckle cuts through your anxiety, leaving you confused.

“Oh baby, do you really think I’m going to replace you?” He steps closer, his hands cupping your face as he wipes away your tears with his thumb, his touch gentle and reassuring. You can’t help but notice the way his lips curl slightly as he studies your face, his eyes lingering on your pretty watered eyes, and tear-streaked cheeks.

“No one can replace you,” he whispers, and the sincerity of his words washes over you like a balm, soothing the ache in your heart. The flutter in your chest begins to chase away the heaviness of your worries as you look up at him, your breaths coming more steadily.

“Did you talk to Siwoo?” he asks quietly, a hint of concern slipping into his tone.

“I did,” you nod, meeting his gaze. “I talked to him yesterday. We’re over.” The words hang heavy between you, but before you can fully grasp the reality of it, Hongjoong’s lips capture yours, urgent and insistent.

His kiss deepens, and you find yourself melting against him, your heart racing in response to the electricity sparking between you.

“Good,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm, before he pulls you back into a kiss that steals your breath away once more. The kiss becomes sloppy, the way his tongue laps over your lips over and over. You invite him in, enveloping all of him in you. Your arms are wrapped over his neck as the kiss deepens. Hongjoong softly bites your bottom lip and in response you whimper. Making Hongjoong chuckle.

“Fuck, is it bad that I want to take you right here?” Hongjoong confesses as he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.

“We can’t…” you whisper, slightly thrilled but scared at the thought of getting caught.

“I know…” Hongjoong’s hands drop from your face and wraps around your waist. Hongjoong’s warmth enveloped you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, the gentle press of his opened mouth kisses sending shivers down your spine. Each touch igniting a flutter in your heart. You gasp at the sensation of his tongue against your skin.

His hands tightened around your waist, a comforting grip that made you feel cherished. With a hefty sigh, he snuggled even closer, his body molding against yours as if he were seeking solace in your presence. Time seemed to stand still, and for a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered. Your fingers instinctively rose to his hair, brushing through the soft strands that felt like silk beneath your touch.

“Are you okay, Hongjoong?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with concern. He responded with another tender kiss on your neck, savoring the closeness before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“I wasn’t ignoring you this morning because I was mad or upset with you,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours for understanding. There was a vulnerability in his tone that tugged at your heartstrings. “I was frustrated with the marketing team. They haven’t been performing well, and the Exhibition is in a little over a month, that’s why I had that sudden interview.”

You watched as he spoke, his expression earnest and sincere. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease as he opened up.“I’m sorry if I worried you,” he continued, his thumbs brushing lightly over your hip, the fabric of your shirt soft against your skin. His touch was tender, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for assuming the worst,” you replied, offering him a soft smile that you hoped conveyed your understanding. The bond between you felt stronger in that moment, forged through shared concerns and open communication.

Hongjoong’s face softened at your response, and he leaned in closer, the playful glimmer in his eyes returning.

“After work, let me take you out on a proper date,” he suggested, his smile infectious. You couldn’t help but nod enthusiastically, a thrill of excitement coursing through you at the thought of spending more time together.

He chuckled softly at your eagerness, the sound wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Leaning in, he planted another sweet kiss on your lips, leaving you breathless. It was a promise of the evening to come, and as you leaned into him, you knew that this moment was just the beginning of something beautiful.

———

As the sun decreased in the sky, You found yourself glancing at the clock over and over, each tick amplifying the racing of your heart. The promised date with Hongjoong makes you anxious is a good way. This will be the first time you’ll see him outside the sterile confines of the office, and anticipation coiled in your stomach like a tightly wound spring. Despite spending the last two years as his secretary, you realized you hardly knew him. The past few days gave you a sneak peak into what he’s like as a lover and your heart fluttered at the thought of it.

You sat at your desk, watching as your colleagues began to trickle out of the office, their laughter and chatter fading into the distance. The clock ticked down the final minutes of the workday, and a flutter of anticipation danced in your stomach. You quickly pulled out your compact mirror, its surface reflecting the soft light of the room. With steady hands, you began touching up your makeup, reapplying lip balm and smoothing down a few unruly strands of hair that had escaped your carefully styled look.

Once you were satisfied, you turned to your desk, gathering your belongings with a sense of urgency. As you packed away your notebook and pens, you felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves.

Just then, as if he could sense your eagerness, Hongjoong emerged from his office, his briefcase in hand. He paused for a moment, his gaze finding yours, and a soft smile broke across his face. The sight of him made your heart skip a beat, and you instinctively returned the smile, rising from your seat as if drawn by an invisible force.

“Are you ready?” he asked, approaching you with a casual confidence that made you feel both at ease and electrified. You nodded, your voice momentarily lost in the whirlwind of your thoughts.

Without hesitation, he reached out, taking your bag from your hand. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine as he swung the strap over his shoulder with an effortless grace.

“Let’s go,” he said, giving you a playful wink that made your cheeks flush. With a mix of eagerness and trepidation, you fell into step behind him, as you both make your way to his car.

———

Hongjoong took you to a charming local restaurant that felt like a hidden gem, its exterior adorned with hand-painted signs and warm lighting. The cozy atmosphere, with wooden accents and family photos lining the walls, was a stark contrast to the upscale dining spots you had expected him to choose. Yet, as you stepped inside, you felt an unexpected warmth wash over you. It was clear that he wanted to make this evening about comfort and connection, rather than extravagance, and that thought made your heart swell.

“This is one of my favorite restaurants,” he said casually, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “My parents always took my brother and me here as kids.” The way he spoke about it brought a smile to your face; the small detail felt intimate, revealing a side of him that was endearing and genuine.

As you settled into a booth, the scent of savory dishes wafted around you, making your mouth water. You glanced over the menu, excitement bubbling within you. “What do you recommend?” you asked, turning to him with a bright smile.

Hongjoong looked thoughtful, scanning the menu. “Hmm, their beef short ribs are really good, and their tofu soup is delicious,” he suggested as his eyes scanned through the menu.

“I trust you to order,” you replied, a soft giggle escaping your lips. He raised an eyebrow at you in surprise.

“Don’t be shy now, Y/N,” he chuckled, the sound warm and inviting.

“I’m not! I trust your judgment since you’ve been here many times. I want to have what you get,” you insisted, your sincerity reflected in your gaze. He laughed softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, and nodded in agreement.

Minutes passed, and one by one, a delightful array of side dishes and main entrees began to fill the table. Hongjoong wasn’t exaggerating; each bite was like a comforting embrace, reminiscent of home-cooked meals.

As the evening deepened, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You talked about everything from childhood memories to current events, laughter punctuating your exchanges. With every shared story and knowing glance, you felt yourself falling harder for him.

As you took your last few bites, savoring the rich flavors of the meal, you caught Hongjoong’s gaze. He was watching you with an affectionate smile, clearly admiring how much you were enjoying the food.

“Are you ready, baby?” he asked, leaning back against the booth with a relaxed yet attentive demeanor. You looked up at him, cheeks stuffed with food, and nodded eagerly. His chuckle echoed softly in the cozy space, a sound that made your heart flutter as he waved over the server to settle the tab.

After the bill was paid, you both decided to take a stroll through the nearby park before he dropped you off at home. The quiet night wrapped around you like a warm blanket, the stars twinkling overhead as you walked hand in hand. The soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet punctuated the serene atmosphere, and you felt a sense of peace envelop you.

“Y/N?” Hongjoong called softly, breaking the comfortable silence. You turned to look up at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. “Hm?” you hummed in response.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze still fixed ahead. “What did Siwoo say when you ended things?” His voice was gentle, but you could sense the undercurrent of concern. You felt your lips thin into a line as memories of that difficult conversation flooded back. You couldn’t blame him for being curious—he was the one who helped you realize Siwoo was being unfaithful.

“He was upset and angry…” you replied softly, your voice steady but lacking the weight of sadness. You turned your gaze forward, lost in thought. “He tried to gaslight me, making it seem like I was leaving him over stupid reasons.” You rolled your eyes at the memory. “But once I told him I knew he was cheating, his whole demeanor shifted. He didn’t admit to it, but I could see the guilt written all over his face.”

You glanced at Hongjoong, whose expression remained thoughtful as he listened intently. “After that, I just left. I told him we were done and to not contact me again.” You stopped in your tracks, the sudden halt causing Hongjoong to turn and look at you.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, concern flickering in your eyes. He smiled reassuringly and nodded.

“I’m more than okay, baby,” he said, ruffling your hair in a playful yet endearing gesture. “But if he ever bothers you again, please let me know, okay?” His sincerity made you feel safe, and you nodded in response.

“Let’s go home. It’s getting late,” Hongjoong suggested, feeling the weight of the day begin to settle. As you resumed walking, hand in hand, a warm sense of hope filled the air between you, chasing away any lingering shadows of the past.

———

For the next month, being with Hongjoong felt like living in a dream. Each day, you found yourself eagerly anticipating the moments you would share together, both in and out of the office. Despite his dominant and authoritative demeanor during work hours (and in bed), he revealed a softer side to you—a side that was attentive, caring, and incredibly endearing. Those little gestures, like the way he would brush a stray hair behind your ear or how his eyes would light up when you shared a laugh, made you feel cherished.

Your initial worries about the complexities of a relationship between worker and boss faded away. Hongjoong had a natural ability to keep his professional and personal lives separate, making it clear that he understood the boundaries of his position.

The two of you seamlessly balanced your work and personal lives, slipping effortlessly from professional colleagues to romantic partners. You’d share knowing glances during meetings and subtle touches when no one was looking. Those stolen moments turned mundane workdays into something special. Yet, it wasn’t without its slip-ups. There were instances when the chemistry between you became too overwhelming to ignore, leading you both to steal away into his office for passionate make-out sessions, and heated quickies.

Each time it happened, it felt both exhilarating and dangerous, as if you were living on the edge of a thrilling secret. The thrill of being discovered added an electric tension to those encounters, heightening the rush of intimacy that had blossomed between you.

———

“H—Hongjoong, not here~” you giggled, your voice a playful whisper as his lips brushed softly against your neck. The gentle kiss sent a flutter through you, warmth radiating from the point of contact.

“Shh,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling your skin, igniting an electric thrill that danced along your neck.

You were tucked away in one of the meeting rooms on the second floor of the building. Just moments ago, you had accompanied him to a meeting with the marketing team. The atmosphere had been charged with creativity and collaboration, and everything had gone off without a hitch. Hongjoong was in a better mood about the marketing team once he hired that new girl, everything seemed at place.

Once the last of the team members left and the door securely closed, the mood shifted entirely. Hongjoong pounced on you as soon as the coast was clear.

“Let’s be quick,” he teased, his voice low and conspiratorial. You felt your heart race as he leaned in, capturing your neck again with his wet kisses. Each touch was warm with an underlying intensity that made your pulse quicken. You leaned into him, caught off guard by the warmth and familiarity of his embrace. The world outside faded into a distant hum as you focused solely on him.

“But what if someone walks in?” you asked, a hint of laughter lacing your words, though you secretly delighted in the thrill of being together in such a private moment.

“Let them,” he replied, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. His confidence was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Hongjoong swiftly lifts you onto the table and hikes up your skirt. His hands massage your soft thighs, sending a shiver down your spine.

“How about I just help my baby out for now yeah?” Hongjoong whispers on your lips before planting a gentle kiss. You’re confused at his suggestion. Help out you?

And within an instant, Hongjoong is on his knees. He leaves a kiss on your soft thighs and runs his hands over your legs.

“Try not to be loud baby.” Hongjoong hooks his finger under your panties and moves it to the side. Without hesitation, he begins to lap his tongue over your clit.

You gasp at the warm feeling of his tongue. Your hand shot towards your mouth as you try to muffle your moans. Hongjoong holds onto your thigh to keep you from squirming. His lips move skillfully on your pussy, devouring every part of you. You can feel the tip of his perfect nose rub against you, creating more pleasurable friction. The sounds of your wet cunt mixed with you trying to catch your breath makes Hongjoong grow harder in his pants.

“Cum for me baby,” Hongjoong mumbles as he encourages you while picking up his pace. Your hands instinctively moves towards his hair, pulling him closer as you move your hips against his mouth.

“F—fuck Hongjoong… I’m so close” You whisper a whine.

“Yeah? Cum on my face, baby” Hongjoong groans, lapping his tongue over and over. Hongjoong’s free hand quickly shoots up to cover your mouth, knowing your orgasm was close. Hongjoong sucks on your clit, and in an instant you come undone on his mouth. As you shake under his touch, he slurps every drop of you, making you moan muffled curses against his hand as you ride out your high.

Once you calm down, Hongjoong releases his grip on your mouth. He stands up on his feet a smirks at you. He licked his lips and wipes his mouth.

“Atta girl” He growls a chuckle. Hongjoong leans in and kisses you, giving you a direct taste of yourself, a wet string connected between your mouth and his. You moan at the lewd motive. Hongjoong quickly leans over to grab a few tissues and begins cleaning you.

“Let’s get back to work…” Hongjoong smirks at your flushed face as he pulls you off the table. You adjust your skirt and clear your throat, while Hongjoong fixes his tousled hair.

You trailed behind Hongjoong, your legs feeling slightly unsteady beneath you. The hallway was blissfully empty, allowing the two of you to slip away from the meeting room without raising any suspicions.

“Thank you for your hard work, Miss Y/N,” he said, flashing you a charming smile accompanied by a playful wink that sent your heart racing.

“My pleasure, s-sir,” you stammered, bowing your head slightly as you watched him walk away, his confident stride taking him in the opposite direction from where you were headed. You turned and made your way toward the elevator, your cheeks still flushed from the encounter.

As you waited for the elevator doors to open, you tapped your heels against the floor, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin. When the silver doors slid apart with a soft whoosh, you stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. The elevator began its ascent, and an awkward silence enveloped you.

Suddenly, a voice broke through your thoughts. “Ah, hold the door for me, please!” You jolted, quickly extending your hand to keep the door from closing. A new familiar figure rushed in just in time—Lee Haeun, the newest addition to the marketing team.

“Thank you so much, Miss Y/N!” Haeun gasped, a bright smile spreading across her face as she caught her breath, bowing slightly.

“It’s no problem, Miss Lee,” you replied, returning her smile and clasping your hands around the clipboard you held. The elevator settled into a quiet hum, the tension from moments before gradually fading.

“Ah, I know I’m still new here…” Haeun broke the silence, turning to you with an earnest expression. “I’m just trying to get to know everyone better,” she continued, her smile warm and inviting.

“Don’t hesitate to speak to me, Haeun! I know it can be hard adjusting to a new work environment,” you encouraged, genuinely hoping to ease her transition.

“Thank you~” Haeun beamed, giving a small bow once more. “I hope, I’m not crossing any professional boundaries here, but I’m curious…” Haeun begins, you look at her piqued in interest, “Is Mr. Kim seeing anyone? I mean he’s just so young and handsome…” She sighs and smiles, “And he’s always working. So it just makes me wonder you know?” Haeun giggles, a slightly irritable ringing echoes in the elevator.

“Ah~ I’m not sure Miss Lee. I don’t know too much” You force a smile at her. She responds in an aspirated “Ahh” as she nods. Silence floods the super… slow… elevator once again.

“I’m in my last year of college, so I’m really grateful to have this job opportunity so early on even though I don’t have my degree just yet!” Haeun says unexpectedly with enthusiasm and confidence.

“Oh wow! That’s amazing. Which university do you attend?” you ask, turning towards her trying to be respectful.

“I attend the university downtown!” she replied, her enthusiasm infectious. You fought to maintain your composure at the mention of the familiar institution, annoyance swirling within you.

“Impressive! That’s a great school,” you said, managing a tight smile as you turned back to face the elevator doors.

“Yeah! My Marketing Professor, Park Siwoo, was the best,” Haeun said, a dreamy expression crossing her face as she looked down, lost in thought. Your breath caught at the name, and you nodded, forcing a smile as you cursed silently at the elevator’s sluggish pace. Why was it taking so long? The walls felt closer now, and you could almost sense the weight of memories you’ve forgotten pressing in on you.

*Ding.*

The elevator chimed softly, and Haeun turned to you, her expression bright.

“This is my floor. It was nice talking to you, Miss Y/N.” She gave a polite bow, and you instinctively mirrored her gesture, a warm smile on your face despite the lingering unease within you.

As the doors began to slide shut, you watched Haeun step out, her figure quickly disappearing into the bustling office beyond. The elevator felt suddenly empty, a cocoon of silence wrapping around you. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unwelcome thoughts that had surfaced during your conversation.

It must just be a coincidence, you told yourself firmly. After all, Park Siwoo isn’t relevant anymore—a distant echo of a time you have already forgotten. What mattered now was the present, and the happiness you had found with Hongjoong.

———

The exhibition was only a week away, and the atmosphere in the conference room buzzed with a mix of urgency and anticipation. Hongjoong stood at the front, radiating a sense of authority that commanded attention. His gaze swept across the room, ensuring each team member felt the weight of his words.

“I need everyone to be on their A game,” he said, his tone firm yet focused. “We have no room for mistakes. Each department should know their responsibilities for the next few days. If you’re unsure, consult your department manager. For serious questions, reach out to Miss Y/N—don’t come to me.” He paused for a moment, allowing the gravity of his instructions to settle in. “Understood?”

A chorus of enthusiastic “Yeses” filled the expansive hall, reverberating like a well-rehearsed symphony. You sat at the front corner, diligently taking notes and keeping track of the time, mentally organizing tasks as Hongjoong spoke.

“That is all then. You are all excused,” he concluded, nodding slightly. The room erupted into movement as colleagues rose from their seats, and you swiftly jotted down the final points before beginning to tidy the files spread across the table.

Just then, a soft, melodic voice broke through the chatter. “Ah, Mr. Kim~” You looked up to see Haeun approaching, her smile bright and inviting.

“Yes, Miss Lee?” Hongjoong responded, turning his attention to her, his demeanor shifting slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

“I know this might be last minute,” she said, leaning closer with an air of excitement. She pulled out her notebook, flipping it open to reveal her ideas. The distance between you and them felt substantial, making it difficult to hear their exchange.

As Hongjoong took the notebook from her, you noticed their fingers brush—a fleeting touch that ignited a flicker of annoyance within you. You turned your gaze away, but something compelled you to look back. Hongjoong placed the notebook on the table, his focus narrowing, clearly invested in their discussion.

Their mouths moved in animated conversation, and then Haeun giggled, her laughter ringing like a bell. Your irritation surged as she playfully brushed her hand against his arm. Hongjoong returned her smile, and your heart sank. Unconsciously, you rolled your eyes, gathering your belongings in an effort to quell the jealousy creeping into your chest.

Finally, Haeun bowed slightly, her smile lingering as she exited the room, leaving you and Hongjoong alone in the spacious conference hall. The echoes of Haeun’s laughter faded, replaced by an uncomfortable silence that settled heavily between you. Your heart raced, caught in a tangle of confusion and unspoken feelings as you tried to maintain your professionalism.

Rising from your seat, you felt a flutter of anticipation as you caught sight of Hongjoong making his way toward you. His footsteps were purposeful, echoing softly in the now-empty conference room. When he finally stopped in front of you, a spark of awe lit up his features, and he offered you a warm, gentle smile.

But instead of feeling buoyed by his gaze, a small frown creased your lips. You quickly turned your face away, an unwelcome surge of tears threatening to spill over. You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to hold them back.

“W—we should go,” you said softly, attempting to step past him. However, Hongjoong sensed your mood immediately. His hands found your shoulders, gently but firmly anchoring you in place. He let out a loud sigh, his expression morphing into a playful smirk that only deepened your frown.

Hongjoong chuckled, his hands moving to cup your cheeks, his touch warm and grounding. “Why are you pouting? Hm?” he teased, his voice light yet sincere. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, instead focusing on the floor, the weight of your emotions making it hard to speak.

“Y/N, if you don’t answer me now, I won’t be able to fix it,” he said, his tone shifting to something softer, yet still laced with determination. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your skin, and you felt the warmth seep through you, yet it didn’t fully chase away the storm brewing inside.

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “Haeun… has been so touchy with you…” You paused, your heart racing. “Like, every chance she gets when she sees you, she’s so close, touching your arms, giggling with that annoying voice of hers. It’s so obvious she likes you.” You mumbled the last part, just loud enough for Hongjoong to hear, but it felt like a confession that hung heavily between you.

His brow arched in amusement, a playful grin forming on his lips as he took in your words. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the hint of jealousy you couldn’t quite mask. “I’m serious, Joong… it’s not funny,” you insisted, your gaze dropping back to your feet as fresh tears threatened to spill.

“Oh baby~” Hongjoong cooed, lifting your chin with a tender touch, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. Leaning closer, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, igniting a warmth that coursed through you. “You’re overthinking,” he murmured against your lips, punctuating his words with another gentle peck. “I’m all yours,” he whispered again, another soft kiss, drawing you in closer. “And…” he continued, leaning in once more, “you’re all mine…”

With that, he deepened the kiss, enveloping you in a warmth that pushed away the lingering doubts. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you in that moment, the connection between you both undeniable and intoxicating.

You couldn’t help that one single tear drop from your eyes as Hongjoong continued to kiss your lips. His thumb swiftly wipes the tear and smirks against your lips,

“Going to cry for me, baby?” He teases between the now heated make-out. You whimper against him and he chuckles. Finally pulling away, a bridge of saliva connects your lips,

“Fuck~ we need to stop” Hongjoong whispers, his hands still cupping your face. “C—come over tonight?” You quietly suggest. Earning a wide grin from Hongjoong.

“Naughty girl…” Hongjoong groans softly and releases his hold on you. He looks at you in awe and nods

“I’ll see you later” He winks at you and you blush, before you both make your way back up the top floor to finish up work in anticipation to make the day go by faster.

———

You stumble back into the door as Hongjoong attacks your lips. Eagerly kissing you as if he hasn’t tasted you in years.

“J—Joong let me open the door” You giggle against his lips. Your house keys jingle from your hand thats gripped by Hongjoong’s. He swiftly takes the keys away from you, mouth still on yours. He quickly unlocks the door and you are both pushed inside. Hongjoong kicks the door closed behind him and locks it.

In an instant you drop your bags and Hongjoong effortlessly lifts you off the floor. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck, as you continue drowning in his kisses. He carries you to the comfort of your bedroom. Your body softly drops onto the mattress and Hongjoong interlocks with your hands above your head. He leans into your neck and takes a whiff of your scent, sending a shiver down your spine. He releases a sigh as he opens mouth to leave warm, wet kisses all over your neck. You moan at the sensation.

“Are you going to be my good girl tonight baby?” Hongjoong whispers in your ear.

“Y-yes” you whimper in response.

“Yes what?” he groans and takes your earlobe between his teeth

“Yes Hongjoong” You moan.

“I love it when you moan my name” Hongjoong says in a teasing tone. His hands release from yours and make their way to your blouse. He skillfully unbuttons your shirt and whips it open, revealing your bra covered breasts. He leans down to kiss the exposed areas. You whimper at the seemingly slow pace he’s going. You want to feel all of him already, but he’s clearly taking his time with you on purpose.

Your hands reach up towards his tie and you begin to loosen it up, earning a chuckle from Hongjoong. You finally pull the tie off his neck, and begin to work on his buttons.

“Someone’s eager?” Hongjoong smirks as he watches you hastily unbutton his black shirt and attempt to push the fabric off. Hongjoong chuckles at you and leans back to rest on his knees as he tugs the rest of his shirt off. You prop yourself up and reach towards his arms, admiring his hidden tattoo. You desperately kiss him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, making you two fall back onto the mattress.

“Don’t be a brat Y/N” Hongjoong mumbles against your lips and pulls away. He stands up, off the bed and pulls your legs to bring you towards him. He begins removing the rest of your clothes one by one leaving you only in your beige lacy panties. Hongjoong starts to unbuckle his belt, you lean up to watch him in awe. His eyes remained on yours.

Instinctively, you move forward, dropping yourself on your knees onto the floor. You rest against the side of the bed for support as Hongjoong steps towards you. He takes off his pants and grabs a hold of the back of your head. He caresses it for a brief moment before pulling you closer to his clothed dick. You open your mouth and began rubbing your face on the soft warm fabric that hugged his hard cock.

“Fuck… you’re such a dirty girl” Hongjoong hisses at the sight of you. Your hands move to pull his briefs down and his hard cock springs out. Without hesitation, you take the tip of his cock into your mouth. You swirl a few circles with your tongue before popping your mouth off. You stick out your tongue, lick from the base of his cock and back up to his tip. Hongjoong moans at the feeling of your warm tongue. You repeat the motion a few times before taking all of him into your tiny mouth.

Both of Hongjoong’s hands grab a hold on your face. You gawk your head up and down taking him deeper at a slow but steady pace. Hongjoong can’t seem to get enough of you as he steps forward while holding onto your face, making your neck lean into the mattress. You relax a bit before Hongjoong begins to fuck your mouth. He moves his own hips at a faster pace as he fucks your mouth, head into the mattress. You moan at his sudden roughness. Your moans send a vibration through Hongjoong, making him pick up his pace. He constantly hits the back of your throat causing you to cough. Hongjoong pulls away from your messy slobbery mouth and groans in temptation.

“Up” he demands in one word, and in an instant, you’re up on your feet. Hongjoong lays down on your bed and props himself up at the headboard. He taps his lap, signaling you to ride him. Without another word, you crawl towards him on the mattress. He bites his lip at the sight of you. You straddle your legs over his lap and hold onto his shoulders.

“Put it in baby” Hongjoong softly says, getting impatient as well. You sink down onto his dick and release a loud moan. Hongjoong groans and wraps his arms around you.

“F—fuck Hongjoong~” you whimper as you take time to adjust yourself. Hongjoong’s hand carefully rubs your back as you remain still.

“Still can’t handle me yet baby?” Hongjoong chuckles and moves his hips forward.

“Ah~ Joong” you moan and hold onto him tighter. “It’s alright baby. move for me” Hongjoong whispers. Your eyes started to well up. Tears piercing the corners of your eyes.

Your hips began rocking against Hongjoong’s at a slow pace. His cock hits your g-spot over and over as you move your hips forward. Hongjoong’s hands caress your hips and tightens his grip.

“Hold onto me baby” Hongjoong whispers. You lean forward and hold onto his shoulders. He begins to thrust his hips upwards, deepening his feel into your wet pussy. You yelp at the painful pleasure.

Your tears fall from your eyes as his pace picked up.

“You feel good baby?” Hongjoong moans in your ear. “Y—yess Hongjoong” You manage to whimper out.

“Fuck you make me feel so good Y/N” Hongjoong growls and smacks your ass. You begin bouncing on his cock moving at your own pace. Your breast jiggle at each bounce, causing Hongjoong to reach towards them and take one into his mouth.

You’re a moaning mess on his cock, you feel yourself so close to coming and Hongjoong notices.

“Cum baby, don’t hold back” He groans and takes over the pace, he holds onto your waist and you scream in pleasure, your orgasm washing over you. Your tears keep flowing down and Hongjoong chuckles as your fucked out expression.

Hongjoong cups your flushed cheeks and kisses your forehead. He looks into your glossy teary eyes and smirks,

“I’m not done with you baby” He leans your bodies forward and drops you down onto the mattress.

“Turn around” He demands. You’re a panting mess as you flip over on all fours. Hongjoong pulls your ass towards his crotch and pushes your head down. You moan at the sudden movement.

He smacks your butt and grips onto to it.

“H—hongjoong~” You gasp, pushing your ass back against his body. He chuckles at your eagerness.

“Yeah baby?” He coos, fondling your ass with his hands.

“F—fuck me please” You whine into the mattress. “You want to cum again baby?” Hongjoong leans down to kiss your soft arched back. All you can do is hum in response.

“I can’t hear you” He teases, rubbing his cock on your clit. You whine at the overwhelming stimulation.

“Yes please I—I want to cum again” You moan in eagerness. Without hesitation, Hongjoong enters you, hitting your g spot with ease at this new angle.

“Want to cum on you again Joong” You whimper into the soft sheets.

“F-fuck you’re already going to make me cum baby” Hongjoong moans picking up his pace.

Hongjoong’s hand reaches over to your hair and he grips onto the soft strands. He applies a gentle pressure, pushing your face deeper into the mattress. He fucks you deeper, earning a loud yelp from you. His roughness sends a wave of pleasure through your body, your tears can’t help but keep flowing down as he fucks you senseless. You grip onto the sheets as his thrust becomes sloppier.

“Cum with me baby” Hongjoong grunts holding onto both of your hips.

“Y-yess, so close” you whimper moving your hips with his.

“F-Fuck, fuck baby” Hongjoong moans loudly at the sight of your ass bouncing against his cock. Your pussy tightens at his voice, coming on his hard dick, you hit your second orgasm.

Hongjoong quickly pulls out and pumps his shaft on your soft ass. He releases a loud grunt as his warm milky cum splatters onto your back and ass. You moan at the feeling.

“Goddamn baby” Hongjoong moans and rubs his cum all over your butt.

“H—hongjoong” you whine and shake your hips in protest. He chuckles at your gesture and playfully smacks your butt.

“I’ll clean you right now baby” Hongjoong moves off the bed and grabs a damp rag from your bathroom.

After cleaning you, Hongjoong flips you over and pulls you to his chest. He peppers your face with kisses and you giggle at the gentle feeling.

“You’re all mine baby” Hongjoong whispers kissing your forehead. Slowly you feel your eyes go heavy, your body tired out from the hot steamy session. The sound of Hongjoong’s steady breathing mixed with yours draws you both into a deep sleep, holding onto each other.

SURPRISE SURPRISE THERES A TRILOGY!

Read Part 3 Right Here 😏

Author’s commentary: I am so so sorry for the delay on posting the sequel. I wanted to finish the Trilogy to post up right away at the same time😝. I really hope yall enjoy this. Don’t forget to to follow me for more. Feel free to scream in my comment and ask box🤭

#ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez writing #yeostinywrites #hongjoong smut #hongjoong #hongjoong hard thoughts #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong x reader #hongjoongcryforme

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ducksido · 2 months ago

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If you don’t mind could you do TWST with a disabled yuu? Examples like yuu having a prosthetic leg or is hard of hearing? I think it’s an interesting concept but if you don’t want to do it that’s okay.

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle is extremely formal and almost a bit stiff around you. Not because of your disability, but because he overthinks how to address it "properly."

He learns quickly that you don’t want to be babied — and that you’ve already lived with your disability long before NRC.

If you have a prosthetic leg, he’ll initially hover when you walk long distances, offering help but eventually respecting your pace.

If you’re hard of hearing, he makes sure to always face you when speaking and uses very clear enunciation. He even quietly studies basic sign language.

After his overblot, Riddle becomes softer. He admires your ability to stand your ground, despite judgment from others—something he himself struggled with under his mother’s rule.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona doesn’t treat you any differently, which you actually appreciate.

If you have a prosthetic leg, he just shrugs. “Doesn’t slow you down in a fight. So what?”

If you’re hard of hearing, he gets a little annoyed when he forgets and talks while turned away—then mutters a quiet “sorry” and repeats himself.

After his overblot, he asks you what your magic-less strength is. He means it.

You end up having very deep, quiet conversations sprawled out under the sun, and he listens to your experiences with a look of real thoughtfulness. He sees you as strong in a way that no Spelldrive trophy could show.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is fascinated and a little panicked at first. He doesn’t want to offend you but is also deeply curious.

If you have a prosthetic, he offers to customize it magically—“For aesthetics, of course! Think—pearl inlays or water-resistant mechanisms?”

If you’re hard of hearing, he gets flustered when you miss parts of a deal pitch and ends up giving you a written contract instead.

After the overblot, he confides in you about his own insecurities. Your ability to walk into a magic-heavy world and still thrive makes him respect you deeply.

He starts checking in with you often, but always tries to play it off like he’s just “running numbers.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil notices your disability immediately but doesn't mention it until you do.

He’s very subtle about offering help — making things more accessible without making a show of it.

You once caught him adjusting the hallway rugs to make them easier for you to walk over.

If you’re hard of hearing, he’s great at non-verbal communication already. He adapts fast.

After the overblot, he starts confiding in you. He sees how you handle people who underestimate you and relates more than you know.

You’re one of the only people he doesn’t feel pressured to impress or outshine.

Vil Schoenheit

If you have a prosthetic, Vil sees you as elegance in motion. He admires how you carry yourself.

If you’re hard of hearing, he ensures all dorm meetings are clear, enunciated, and even scripted if needed.

Vil refuses to let anyone treat you like you're fragile. “Grace comes from how you rise, not what you were given.”

After his overblot, he starts bringing you to self-esteem workshops. Not as a project—but as someone whose presence inspires others.

He often subtly boosts your confidence, calling attention to how stunning or commanding your presence is.

Idia Shroud

At first, Idia hides from you entirely. But then he reads up on your disability online and starts DMing you helpful tips or resources.

If you have a prosthetic, he starts designing game mods to include similar features. You once caught him making a full cyberpunk-style design based on your prosthetic.

If you’re hard of hearing, he offers a magical communication tablet that works like a real-time text screen.

After his overblot, you’re one of the only people he can talk to. You both understand what it’s like to be seen as “different” or “othered.”

He actually builds you assistive tech "just for fun"—but really it's his way of saying he cares.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is extremely respectful. He comes from an old-fashioned place, so he asks many questions—but always with sincere interest.

If you have a prosthetic, he compares you to ancient warriors. “In Briar Valley, such courage would be sung for centuries.”

If you’re hard of hearing, he begins learning sign language with Lilia and ensures you’re always facing him when he speaks.

After his overblot, he tells you you’re a “beacon of resilience.” He says this without romanticizing your disability—he truly honors your strength.

He insists on walking with you at night, never rushing, as you speak about what it’s like to stand tall in a world that tries to shrink you.

#twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #twst yuu #twst headcanons

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envyi5envious · 2 months ago

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RESEARCH.. JUST RESEARCH.

࿐ — 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 : YANDERE (Red Robin) Tim Drake x GN Reader. 𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 : He was scribbling in a notebook, and you wondered what he was writing. 𝙒𝙊𝙍𝘿𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏 : 1.7k. 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 : Dark. Obsessive tendencies and stalking. 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 : English isn’t my first language. I don't know why this took so long. Enjoy ♡

Class had just begun, and the familiar sound of shuffling papers and low murmurs filled the air. You had recently been transferred to AP Computer Science by your mother’s request. The teacher was discussing data analysis. They turned to the whiteboard, where they had written several bullet points. “First, we need to understand data collection.”

“This is where we gather information from various sources. It’s essential to choose reliable methods. Can anyone provide an example?” A young man raised his hand, mainly focused on the notebook on his desk.

“Yes, Drake.” The teacher replied as they leaned their backside against their desk. “We could use sensors or databases.”, “Correct. Well done.” After a few minutes, you tuned out the sound of their voice. Mainly focused on taking down the notes written on the board. Your ears perked up at the mention of an assignment. The teacher’s gaze swept across the room, lingering on a few students. “Next week, you’ll begin to work on a project analyzing a dataset of your choice. You will be required to pick your own partners this week so you have the weekend to prepare.”

The students responded with a few quiet hums and the teacher ended the class like that. The room was mainly silent besides the few people speaking to ask other students to be their partners. Assuming since you were new you wouldn’t get picked, you stood up to talk to one of your random classmates only to be met by a chest slamming into your nose.

“Shit-”

You heard a familiar voice say, their hands reaching out to secure you before you fell. “Are you alright?” They asked. Once your vision cleared, you realized why it was familiar. It was the same guy that answered the teacher. “Drake?” Your mutter came out before you could stop it, he let out a dry chuckle. “Tim, actually. Drake’s my family name.” He corrected. “Sorry about that. I was just coming to ask you if you wanted to be partners since I noticed you were new.” What a coincidence, you were about to do the same thing. “Oh, well I’m lucky then. We can meet at the Gotham library later, like 5PM-ish?” You weren’t sure if he’d be okay with giving his number off to a complete stranger.

He hummed for a second, thinking if he was busy around that time. Then he nodded his head as confirmation. “It’s a date. Talk to you later, (L/N).” He said before leaving the class, phone in his hands as he typed away like crazy. You could literally hear the sound of his thumbs touching the screen from that far away. Sighing, you sat back into your desk. You decide to try finishing your homework early today so you could focus on planning for the project. You even texted your mom not to pick you up since you would be meeting with Tim later. When you were done, you stood up to go for a walk to the cafeteria. Maybe you could get some coffee to stay awake. All AP classes were no joke, you were a little annoyed at your mom for forcing you to go to them so suddenly. While you were smart, you weren’t exactly a fan of school. You just did what you had to do to pass and that’s all. So when you found out you would have to be learning more because of your ‘potential’ you got rightfully pissed. It didn’t matter though. Once you were in AP, you can’t get out of it unless your parents signed for it (which your mother clearly isn’t budging on) or you flunk. And you weren’t about to fail Senior year just to get out of harder classes. Once you reached it, the room was mainly empty as most people went home. But the worker was still there until school closing time. There were groups still there, most likely waiting for their rides. You decided to order a croissant with ice coffee, making your way to an empty table to eat. You pulled out one of your notebooks to get to planning ideas.

—

The Sun had already set in Gotham due to the amount of buildings surrounding the city causing the car Tim was in to be fully dark, the only source of light was that of the laptop on his lap. The image broadcasted was that of the cafeteria’s cameras directed at you. You were writing notes with one hand and eating a pastry with the other. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He had one of his notebooks beside him, taking notes when he noticed any quirks of yours. Like how you would subconsciously bite your nails or pick at your skin when you were stressed and the food you ordered. Then he took a look at what you were writing. At first he thought you were still working on ideas for the project. But as he kept reading, he realized that it seemed to be more of a fantasy novel. “Hm.. If I can just.. There we go.” He mutters to himself as he managed to zoom close enough to the book’s cover to see that it was a novel. ‘The Whispers of the Assassin.’ Quite the title. He searches the book online to have it delivered to the manor as soon as possible. “The Whispers of the Assassin follows Elara, a skilled assassin haunted by her past. Tasked with eliminating a crime lord responsible for her family's down.. Okay, I’ll read it later.” Tim thought to himself that he could suggest using this novel as a dataset, might help you be more interested to work with him on the project.

He’ll decide once he reads the book himself, for now, it’s best not to bring it up. When he realized the time was close to 5PM, Tim moved to the driver’s seat of his car to reach the library before you did. He would be a cover story that he was there the whole time.

—

When you finally reached the library, you found Tim scribbling notes in the same notebook he was using during class.When he heard your footsteps, he closed the book before you could get too close. Placing it back into his bag, he pulled out a tablet. “Hey.” He gave you a small smile. “Hey back.” You sat on the other side of the table, pulling out your own notes. “I wrote a few ideas on what we could use as a dataset and the methods. You can tell me which ones you find interesting.” You slid the papers to him, letting him read everything. “Hmm.. Good. The ideas, I mean. Here, we could use a novel. What novels do you like?”

“Well, I was reading a novel recently about a book called ‘The Whispers of the Assassin.’ It’s really good, you should read it. But I thought maybe we could use that.” Great minds think alike. You saw him typing away at his comically large tablet, he skimmed through the summary. He didn’t answer right away, almost like he was absorbed in the story.

But eventually he directed his face back to you. “Interesting. I’ll buy it later.” He tapped his index finger, eyes slightly unfocused. Before he stopped abruptly. “Since we’re basically done planning, there’s not much to do here.” He chuckles, turning to face his attention to one of the windows. “What do you like about the book?” His gaze wasn’t on you but he was still talking to you. “Well.. I like the main character, Elara. She’s a total badass. Her family died because of this mob boss and she goes after him to avenge her family. She honestly reminds me of Batman.” You could see him try to stop himself from cracking a smile from that. “Yeah, now I have to read it. I’ve had an obsession with Batman since I was a kid.” That explains the huge bat logo on his shirt. “Oh, so you’re a superhero nerd?” He nodded his head, smiling.

“Oh, shit. I completely forgot to tell you my name. It’s (Y/N).” You instinctively reached your hand out for him to shake and he surprisingly shook it as soon as you held it out. “That’s a pretty name.” He mused on it for a second before freeing your hand from his grip. “What else do you like to do?” The single sentence led to a conversation for a few hours before you left for your respective homes.

—

“Young master Tim, a delivery has arrived in your name.” Alfred’s voice could be heard through the door as he insisted on repeatedly knocking till Tim answered. “Thank you, Alfred.” He was about to close the door but the older man blocked the way with the tip of his foot. “I’m sorry to be a bother but Master Bruce has been concerned with your amount of screen time.”

Tim sighed slightly, he couldn’t help but be annoyed at the fact that they were taking time out of his busy schedule just to worry over nothing. “I can guarantee you both that I am fine. Just been busy with projects. AP classes are kind of kicking my ass right now. Thanks again.” He took the package from him without another word, pushing the man’s foot with his own. He quickly closed the door before he could be berated with even more of their concerns.

His room was clean but definitely not organized. Wires and computers were everywhere, books filled to the brim with the most minute of details about you. He made his way back to his bed, closing his laptop and pulling out his phone and earphones. He put the small buds in his ears, playing ‘8 HOURS OF BROWN NOISE’ as he began reading the novel. Four hours later, he had already finished it. Though, he had trained his mind to be able to handle large amounts of information in short periods. While the book most definitely had its flaws, it wasn’t bad. Now, just to finish the project so he can spend more time with you.

☆ 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩. ©◞✶ envyi5envious

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pod-together · 2 months ago

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Pod-together is a fandom fest where writers and podficcers create together—the writer creating text specifically intended for audio, and the podficcer creating the audio. If that sounds fun to you, sign-ups are open until June 14th! You can find instructions to sign up, rules, and FAQ at the dreamwidth site linked in our bio.

Sign-ups come in two flavors. If you would like the mods to match you with someone with similar fandom interests, sign up for Matchmaker Sign-Ups. If you would like to sign up with a partner, we also have Group Sign-Ups.

Writing is due July 27th, and podfic is due August 24th. The minimum length for pod-together projects is 1000 words or 10 minutes of audio.

This is our 15th year running this challenge, and participants usually have a ton of fun and create amazing stuff, with everything from the typical style of fannish stories to submissions with filk, poetry, found footage/audio drama, sound effects, massive multi-voice collaborations, immersive soundscapes, playable games, and multiple languages.

If you’re on the fence and have questions, or want to try to scout a group before signing up, we have a section of our Discord open just for that. You can find a link to the Discord in the sign-up post on our dreamwidth!

Visit the Dreamwidth linked in our bio for more details!

#fanfic #podfic #multifandom #fandom fest #all fandoms welcome

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forsaken-headcanons · 6 days ago

Note

Hey hello hi!! I see the askbox is open after an eternity/j

I have a lot of headcannons that are a bit scattered so I'm sosososo very sorry for the length and chaotic nature of this ask 😭 (doesn't help this is my first submission either) Anyways-

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- Shedletsky teases/bothers all the survivors in various ways that he knows will make them react in some way (no malicious intent, just light hearted fun)

- Adding to above Shedletsky bothers and teases Builderman a ton, and Builderman has gotten so used to it he just responds with something equally absurd or silly in a deadpan way

- Builderman is just tired. I can imagine he has been working himself to the bone trying to figure out a way to get home or break out of the Spectre's realm so everyone can go home

- Chance is a Mama's boy. No further explanation needed.

- Noob has severe arachnophobia, to the point he can't stand the thought of a spider. They WILL tweak out

- 1337 accidentally responds to drills, Shedletsky found that out and now abuses it when he wants to bother him

- Shedletsky avian/winged truther, he has wings and will refuse to believe otherwise /j

- Elliot is Italian-American, getting his Italian roots from his dad and his mother was American

- Elliot looks a lot like his mother :]

- Taph was given bells so he can get people's attention when he is wanting to sign and they aren't looking at him (they tie around the wrists like bracelets)

- Builderman says "language" anytime someone curses, he can tolerate 'damn's and 'hell's but he doesn't like the overly colorful words

- Two Time has been caught carving the spawn symbol into the wooden furniture. on multiple occasions. They inadvertently give the survivors splinters by doing this.

- 1337 can project his voice very well

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Those are some more "major" headcannons I have,, plus I have a Builderman hc/angst, it's a lil lengthy because I need to explain my thoughts so apologies 😭

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TW- Death mentions and pain sensitivity(?)

The basics? Builderman dying for the first time and the absolute horror that comes with it

Because I imagine Builderman having a very high pain tolerance/detatchment to feeling pre-forsaken due to his admin/godly status. With the Spectre stripping him of his power, he is completely vulnerable. Sensitive almost

And he is terrified, the feeling so wrong to him. It's overwhelming.

And it comes with the realization of how far he was detached from the robloxian people, how he was so far removed from sensations that they felt on a regular basis.

You could hit your arm and wince at it, be fine.

But for Builderman it's like someone was electrocuting him.

bonus points of Shedletsky being there to comfort him, I can imagine Shed getting forsaken before BM. And Shed most likely has more experience with the feelings due to sword fighting and all that

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I'm so sorry for the wall of text and it being a little everywhere, I'm so tired rn and have been waiting for a bit for the askbox to open, I'm sorry 😭

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Sincerely,

- 💐ColorWheel🛞 Anon

(if the name is available ofc)

shed you absolute menace 😭

oh god wait you're so right about the builderman one... what is pain to a being unused to its qualms? a mighty being reduced to a quivering mess after its first death– it's almost laughable. throws rocks at him. EAT SHIT /lovingly

#forsaken headcanons #forsaken #forsaken roblox #roblox forsaken #tw death mention #not too sure if there's a tag for pain sensitivity #💐colorwheel🛞 anon #shedletsky forsaken #builderman forsaken #chance forsaken #noob forsaken #guest 1337 forsaken #elliot forsaken #taph forsaken #two time forsaken #mod c00lkidd‼️‼️

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nightingale-fic-recs · 7 months ago

Text

Some things can only be cultivated under pretenses [Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader]

Summary: You were eight years old again, hiding from Satoru's parents in his treehouse. "Then you can marry me, silly!" You sat bolt upright. "Marry me!"

Author's Notes: My first ever anime/manga fic, 17.1K words of fake dating/friends to lovers/idiots to lovers that no one asked for!! The fic practically wrote itself. If you’re reading, I hope you enjoy it! Being an American, my knowledge of Japanese language and culture is quite slim. The Japanese honorifics and nicknames I’ve used are meant to be affectionate, but I realize that the relationships themselves may have quite an American slant. I did my best, but if you notice anything off or out of line, please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Jujutsu Kaisen

Warnings/tags: non-cursed AU, best friend! Satoru Gojo, fake marriage, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, fluff, angst, VERY suggestive content, language, minor character death(s) (past, mentioned), mention of (medical) drug usage, spoilers for/references to episodes 25-29/chapters 65-79, not beta’d!

You’re half asleep in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window when you hear a key turn in the door. Groggily, you sit up and rub your eyes, picking up your phone.

“Babe? You home?”

You’ve got a missed text from Satoru that probably explains his otherwise unannounced arrival at your apartment.

“In here,” you call, yawning. His snowy head pokes through the doorway and, despite the wide grin plastered on his face, you can tell something is wrong.

“Sorry to wake you. Are you hungry? I brought ramen.” He’s disappeared into your kitchen but, despite this fabulous announcement, he comes right back around the corner to throw himself dramatically onto the opposite corner of your couch.

Something is definitely wrong.

“Satoru?” You lean forward to touch his elbow, but he throws the arm over his eyes. He mutters something you don’t quite catch. “Say again?”

“It’s finally happened!” he shouts, though the sound is muffled by the hands he’s moved to cover his face. The same hands fly up as his head flies back, long legs kicking up to land on your coffee table with a loud bang. He turns to you with a wild, sarcastic smile. “My parents want me married, and by the end of the year. Or else I forfeit any rights to the family business, the house, my apartment, everything else.”

“Oh, Toru,” you breathe. You feel your heart lodge in the back of your throat before dropping to the ground with a dull thump. He shrugs, not meeting your gaze.

“It doesn’t matter. I can sign over The Amanai Project to Nanami, go back to the Jujutsu Corporation…” But his voice trails off against his will and you’re already shaking your head.

He’d started at the Jujutsu Corporation, a private security company, straight out of university. It’d been good for him- structure and discipline, and a new best friend you’d spent years convincing yourself you weren’t jealous of. You and Satoru hadn’t lost touch, but there were huge gaps in your days where he should have been. Until that new best friend called you from the hospital after a job gone wrong.

Satoru had been hurt, badly. Multiple stab wounds, vicious and tearing. He still had scars from shoulder to hip, and a small one on his forehead from the butt of a gun.

Suguru hadn’t seen it happen; he’d watched their charge die. A bullet to the brain. Quick and clean, unlike the shooter. Satoru had sliced him up before collapsing in a pool of his own blood.

When he woke up, he was different.

You’d worried you’d lost him for good, for different reasons than the wounds, for months. Barely eating, hardly sleeping, withdrawn and absent. Suguru told you that at the girl’s funeral, carrying Riko Amanai’s corpse, Satoru had asked why they didn’t kill the whole family who’d ordered the execution.

Suguru had disappeared not long after, and despite getting your best friend back, you still didn’t quite know why. You didn’t want to bring it up.

You shuddered, remembering how… hollow Satoru had been after the entire incident. Your other friends had wanted you to drop him, offended for your sake that he’d let your friendship slide in the first place, but you’d remained steadfast. Long nights spent holding him, stroking his hair; long days of pulling him gently up to walk, of coaxing him to eat when he had no interest in it; even stripping him down to his boxers to shoulder him into his ridiculously fancy shower, washing his hair in your bathing suit until he halfheartedly pushed you out to wash himself.

He’d been a shell, until he hadn’t. You’d shown up after work, armed with takeout and romcoms, and he’d been gone. You’d panicked, calling Suguru, who didn’t pick up, calling the housekeeper his mother had hired in an effort to keep you away, nearly breaking down and calling his mother. Then he’d barrelled through the door, smiling wide enough to showcase those tiny dimples, gushing about the non-profit he was going to start and the teenagers who’d inspired it.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“You could lose The Amanai Project.”

He nodded slowly, not meeting your horrified stare.

“That’s why I’d go back to Juju-”

“No,” you hissed. You weren’t prepared for the hopeless look he turned on you. He loved The Amanai Project, he loved the teenagers he worked with. He reached forward, clutching both of your hands in his tightly.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” he pleaded. And then you were eight years old again, hiding from Satoru’s parents in his treehouse.

“They said.”

“Grown-ups always say.”

“What if they make me?”

“They can’t make you!”

He looked at you, much too seriously for an eight year old.

“They made my dad marry my mom. They’ll make me marry someone, too. And then what am I supposed to do?” He crossed his arms, pouting, and grumbled “Don’t wanna get married.”

You grabbed his little hand with your own, beaming with all of the sincerity and cleverness of a child.

“Then you can marry me, silly.”

You sat bolt upright.

“Marry me!” you half-shouted. At Satoru’s flinch back, you apologized softly and lowered your voice. “Marry me,” you repeated. You leaned forward, excitement brewing at the ingenuity of such a simple plan. “We can get married for however long it takes to cement your place in the family business and then get a divorce.” You squeezed his hands. “Whaddya say?”

Satoru spluttered a bit, pulling his hands back to run them through his hair- a nervous habit you hadn’t seen him make since childhood. “Babe, you shouldn’t- we can’t just- I can’t ask you to-”

“You’re not asking me for anything, I offered! Besides, think of all the fun we could have. It’d be just like our sleepovers from when we were kids.” A strange look had crossed Satoru’s face, hesitation and something like pain. You sat a little straighter, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “U-unless you don’t want to, of course. I just, I thought-”

“It’s a good idea,” he interrupted. He was focused on your hands, intertwined now in your lap. He spoke slowly, measured and thoughtful. “I just don’t want… you know how my parents can be. And what if…” He grimaced. “What if you find someone you want to be with? I don’t want to stand in your way.”

You waved this off airily. “Oh, Toru, you’ll always be part of my life. If I find someone, they’ll just have to accept the situation. Besides, there’s no reason I can’t see someone else, so long as I’m careful. It’s not like we’ll really be married.”

Satoru stood abruptly, pacing to the other side of the room, one hand raised to his chin. He stood, silent, for a long moment. You opened your mouth to say something to fill the suddenly charged space between you, but then he spoke.

“Let me think about it.” And then in a blink, he was gone, takeout forgotten on your countertop, leaving you to blink in the void created by his absence.

——————————————————————

The silence lasted about as long as you’d expected it would. Satoru came crashing into your apartment bright and early the next morning, singing your name. You groaned, rolling over to pick up your phone. 6:48.

You were going to kill him.

“Satoru Gojo!” you yelled, pulling the covers over your head. You heard him skip down the hallway and into your room. If he noticed that you’d used his full name, it didn’t deter him a bit. He flung himself down beside you, dragging you onto his chest, blankets and all.

“My future wife!” he crooned, kissing your covered cheek. “How did you sleep?”

“It’s not even seven.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You fumbled the blankets off your head, baring your face to the weak sunlight coming in through the open window. “How am I supposed to know how I slept when it’s so early?” You rubbed at your eyes while Satoru laughed heartily, making himself comfortable on your mountain of pillows. You paused. “Did you say future wife?”

His smile widened as he sat up, shifting you from your live body pillow. “Well, yeah. That is if the offer still stands.” He twisted himself off the bed to kneel on the floor, turning you to face him all in one smooth motion. Now he held up a small, black velvet box, which he opened the moment he had your full attention.

A stunning engagement ring glittered up at you, catching all of the light in the room and beaming it upward through the diamond in the center.

You blanched.

“Satoru, what is this? This must have cost a fortune-”

“Easy,” he chuckled, setting the box aside to slide the ring onto your left hand. A perfect fit. “If we’re gonna be married, we’re gonna have to put on a good show. Starting with a beautiful ring worthy of the most beautiful woman in the world.” You hadn’t said a word, dumbstruck as you gazed down at your hand. Satoru spoke more softly now. “What do you think?”

“I think you picked my dream ring,” you breathed. He beamed up at you.

“So does that mean yes?”

“What?” You looked at him sharply, at the hopeful expression he’d turned up to you. “Of course yes, you dork. Remember that this was my idea?”

Satoru launched himself up, bearing you backward onto the bed with his arms around you. “Yay!” he squealed, and then he was kissing your cheek and nuzzling the side of your neck. “I promise to be a good husband,” he mumbled.

You laughed, somewhat breathless. “I wasn’t worried about it.”

You felt his smile curl up against your neck while he squeezed you impossibly tighter. “You were right, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

You were gasping now, struggling to breathe beneath his weight and in his tight grip. “Toru, can’t breathe.”

He let you go with a soft “oops”, shimmying over to lay beside you with his head propped up on one hand. His eyes shone with something you couldn’t quite place, lips curled in a gentle smile as his cerulean gaze trailed lazily over your face. He finally settled on your eyes, sharing the tranquil moment with you before leaping up.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” He careened out of your room and down the hall into your kitchen, returning a moment later with a sly grin. “Close your eyes,” he sing-songed.

“Close m-?”

“Close ‘em, woman!”

With a dramatic sigh, you did. If you hadn’t felt the slight dip in your mattress, you might not have known he’d come back until you felt his hand trace your knee lightly. “Open,” he whispered.

Your vision was flooded with white and green; Satoru held out a colossal bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus, tied with a fat black ribbon.

Your jaw dropped.

Satoru straightened in pleasure. “See, I told you I’d be a good husband!” he crowed.

You swatted at him playfully before taking the roses out of his hands. “Satoru, you know I don’t need all this.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “I have never, never seen any boyfriend spoil you before. I think it’s time someone did.”

You snorted. “You’re gonna ruin me for all other men if you keep it up.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked pleased by that. But before you could analyze the thought, he reached a hand out to you.

“My lady.”

You laughed out loud, but took the proffered hand and slid out of bed, letting him lead you down the hall. You felt your jaw drop again when you stepped into the kitchen to see a silver tray laid out on your tiny dining table, laden with pastries and fresh fruit and a steaming pot of coffee.

“Consider me ruined,” you mumbled, beelining for the coffee to the sound of Satoru’s raucous laughter. You smiled to yourself, and over your shoulder at him.

This would be fun.

——————————————————————

Reality set in slowly over the course of the next few days, for both of you.

Satoru’s parents were furious, as expected, but enough to call you directly, which was not. After all, they had always refused to acknowledge your existence, as though hoping you might disappear entirely if they ignored you for long enough.

“We know that you’ve always had a bit of trouble staying away, dear, but we had never quite expected this, this…”

“Devotion, ma’am?”

“Parasitic behavior from you!”

Ouch.

“I assure you, Gojo-sama, I’m not marrying your son for money. As you know, we’ve always been close. I’ve always loved him.” All true, as you’d agreed the story should be. The only lie in it lay in the implication of one, tiny word.

If anyone was close enough to spot it, it certainly wouldn’t be his parents.

All the same, his mother groaned and his father scoffed in the background. The elder Gojo’s voice was muffled by distance when he said “Of course she has, but I’d expected Satoru, at least, to outgrow it by now.”

What?

You weren’t given an opportunity to question it, though. Satoru’s mother dismissed you, something about “being in touch” soon. Whatever that meant.

You sat for several long moments, puzzling over that last comment. Outgrow what? His parents couldn’t possibly mean that he’d been in love with you, you would have known. Certainly, you’d had a crush on Satoru for years- your first and most long-standing crush, at that. That must be what they meant. He must’ve had a childhood infatuation, as well. Nothing more.

You shook yourself, content to be back on solid footing, and dialed Satoru’s number by heart. He picked up on the third ring, yelling to one of the teenagers he was training, before greeting you warmly. When you relayed the conversation with his parents, minus that strange comment from his father, you could feel the waves of rage rolling off him through the phone.

“They called you a parasite!?” he shouted, and you heard his students drop their voices to whispers.

“Parasitic, not a parasite.”

“Oh, don’t you bullshit semantics with me,” he seethed. “How dare they, who do they think they are to talk to you that way? I won’t stand for this. They owe you an apology.” You tried to cut in, to reassure him that you were less bothered than you were, in truth, but his tirade went on without any sign of stopping. You could hear him put his phone down, still swearing and half-shouting to himself. You heard something that sounded suspiciously like wood cracking, heard him pick up his phone again, heard the bell on the gym door opening.

“Satoru!” you shouted.

“What!?” he shouted back. You waited patiently as he drew in a deep breath. More calmly, he repeated himself. “What?”

“Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

He was angry enough to sputter, his usual cool, smooth speech long-gone. “They can’t talk to you that way! You’re going to be my wife!”

“Fake wife,” you muttered, half amused and half touched by the vehemence of his outburst.

“That doesn’t matter. You’ve been my best friend forever. It has to stop!”

You sighed. “You know that they’ll only think I’m a whiny, sniveling leech if you say anything.” He was silent, and you could tell from the steady hum of traffic that he’d finally stopped walking. “Go back to your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” The reply was automatic, an old joke between the two of you about his students. You heard him start walking again, and a moment later, the bell on the door jingled again.

You heard the students perk up, clamoring and calling to him.

“Gojo! Is everything okay?” Yuji Itadori, a selfless orphan with reflexes almost as sharp as Satoru’s. Quick to protect anyone and everyone around him. Heart of gold, worn proudly on his sleeve for all to see.

“Where do you think you’re going? Were you just going to leave us here?” Nobara Kugisaki, a spitfire girl who masked every insecurity with arrogance to rival Satoru’s, though she hadn’t mastered his admirable level of control.

“What crawled up your ass?” Megumi Fushiguro. You didn’t like to pick favorites, but you couldn’t pretend you didn’t hold a special fondness for him. Unflappable, unshakable. Level-headed and calculating. He reminded you of Satoru the most. Maybe that’s why you liked him best.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, the gym would collapse without me in it. Get back to work.” There he was, all smooth edges and silken confidence. Like nothing ever happened. To you, he grumbled, “This isn’t over.”

Once upon a time, you’d believed that nothing could get under his skin. In all your years of friendship, you’d never seen him lose his temper until after the incident. Even since, it was a rare occurrence, but you’d quickly learned how to reel him back. You breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Not over, but over for now.

——————————————————————

One thing you hadn’t put much thought into was telling your parents. They reacted about as you’d expected, though- thrilled to be welcoming their bonus child to the family in an official capacity, “after all these years”.

“Oh, hime, how wonderful! He’s such a sweet boy. I’ll come dress shopping with you!”

Your heart twinged with guilt. Your mother would be heartbroken when you inevitably divorced a year or two down the road.

“Maybe we should tell them,” mused Satoru. He tilted his head back to look up from your lap. “What are the chances that they’ll ever talk to my parents? Or tell anyone else? They can keep a secret.”

You shook your head slowly, focused on a point somewhere past where your fingers threaded through his soft hair. “I think they’d be more heartbroken to hear that we aren’t really in love.”

When Satoru didn’t say anything, you looked down at him. He was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t read, eyes darkening to a rich turquoise. He’d reached up to loop his hand loosely around your wrist without you noticing, stroking the sensitive skin over your pulse. Something about the look in his eyes had you suddenly incapable of thinking of anything but his father’s strange statement.

“I’d expected Satoru, at least, to outgrow it by now.”

You swallowed, hard, scrambling for some way to ask without making everything incredibly awkward. You knew you were just friends. Hearing him say it would settle it once and for all.

“Right,” Satoru drawled. He sat up, rising from the couch. “Better to tell them marriage just wasn’t what we thought.”

Somehow, somewhere, you’d made a wrong turn in this conversation. You weren’t sure what had happened, but something wasn’t right. You were getting to your feet when Satoru turned in the doorway, smirking with that wild spark in his ridiculously blue eyes.

“You probably shouldn’t say it to your parents, but you can tell anyone else who asks that I couldn’t keep up with your appetite.” His smile only widened when you tilted your head in confusion. “Sexually.”

Your mouth dropped open on a gasp of his name, blood flooding your cheeks. His laughter was pealing off your hallway walls by the time you thought to throw the cushion in your hands. It bounced harmlessly off the wall, falling lightly to the floor.

You sprinted down the hallway, raining your fists down on Satoru’s turned back as he laughed, before jumping up and locking one arm around his neck. You used the other to ruffle his hair as he instinctively took hold of your thighs, giving you just enough height to lean over his shoulder and bite the lobe of his ear gently.

You were the one laughing uncontrollably, now, but you didn’t miss his sharp intake of breath or the way he tensed within your hold. Interesting. You tucked that away with every intention of examining it later.

“That’s it!” His voice was slightly hoarse as he spun, racing across the hall to your living room. You shrieked as he wheeled this way and that, his strong grip the only thing keeping you secured to his back. He turned and abruptly released his hold on you, sending you tumbling back onto your couch in a cacophony of giggles.

He turned a smug smile on you. “And with that, no dinner for wifey.”

You let out an indignant squawk, scrambling down the hall after him. Despite his threats, he was spoon-feeding you miso soup within minutes, smiling wide as you stuck out your tongue.

“I’m not telling anyone that,” you muttered.

Satoru nodded sagely. “You’re right, can’t go tarnishing my reputation.”

You let out a loud, undignified guffaw of laughter. “Reputation? You?”

Satoru pulled back indignantly. “You think I don’t have a reputation?” You leveled him with your blankest stare, but he stared right back, one eyebrow quirked up. You found yourself crumbling first, suddenly unsure of yourself. “You have a reputation?”

That broke his stoicism. He cracked a wide grin, looking down to stir his dinner. “Nah, just wanted to watch you squirm.” You both smiled, shoving each other playfully from across the table.

“I’m sure there have been… people though, right?”

Satoru’s head snapped up, eyes almost comically wide in some combination of shock and… nerves?

“What?” he rasped. You caught him with a mouthful of miso – he was probably trying not to choke.

“I mean I’m sure there have been girls, or boys…” you trailed off at the puzzled expression he wore. But now that you’d thought about it, you’d never seen him with anyone, not since high school.

“How did you know I’m bi?”

Not the question you’d been expecting.

“Satoru,” you deadpanned. “Do you remember when you got caught kissing Yoshio Kiyama under the bleachers in sixth grade?”

A faint blush rose in his pale cheeks. “Oh, right.”

“Yeah, genius, I’m the one who found you?” You started laughing, memories of your eleven year-old self bubbling to the surface. “I remember I was so disappointed, but then you asked out Akiko Hoshino for the school dance and I-” You stopped speaking abruptly, horrified at your partial admission, and prayed to the gods that Satoru wouldn’t notice.

Of course where the gods were concerned, Satoru would always find favor.

You swore you could see his ears perk up. “Disappointed, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to say that,” you mumbled.

“Oh no no, you’re not getting out of this one.” He stood, coming around to your side of the table and pulling you up. Then he sat in your chair, dragging you unceremoniously down onto his lap. “Disappointed why?”

You threw your hands up in exasperation, turning your face away. “Because I had a crush on you, Satoru! We were eleven years old and I had a crush and I thought you only liked boys and so I was disappointed that I wouldn’t have a chance with you. But then you asked out Akiko Hoshino, so then I knew that you liked boys and girls.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And then you pined away for me for the month that I dated Akiko, right?” he crooned, obviously delighted.

You scoffed, but felt your throat closing slightly. “No, then I got over you.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “That fast, huh?”

“Yeah, it was pretty quick.”

He released you in favor of clapping his hands to his heart, head thrown back.

“My darling wife, you wound me so!” he cried. You laughed, tapping your ring finger.

“That’s fiancé to you, I’m not your wife yet.”

He sat back up, grinning. “Soon enough.” His cerulean eyes glittered in a way that sparked something deep inside you, excitement and anticipation lighting in your veins.

“Two,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Two what?”

“Two people.” He reached up to smooth a stray hair from your face, a gesture so tender that your breath caught. “One boy, one girl. And now, you.”

“Well, sort of.” You meant to be teasing, but it came out shakier than you meant. What was happening to you?

And there was that unreadable expression, paired with the slightest of smiles. “Yeah, sort of.”

——————————————————————

“I don’t think you’re supposed to get to see the dress.”

Satoru whines from the other end of the phone. “Why nooot? I’m paying for it, aren’t I?”

Despite your mother’s wish to come dress shopping with you, she’d been unable to make the journey. Despite his protests, she couldn’t bear to leave your father alone. He needed her too much after his accident; slow and unsteady on his best days, bedridden on his worst. So you’d settled on FaceTime instead. Now the four of you were on a call together- you, your parents, and Satoru- as you made your way down the busy Tokyo street to your car.

“You know I don’t actually have the dress with me, right?” you said wryly. Satoru’s confused outburst blended with your mother‘s tinkling laughter, tugging at the little girl deep under your skin. You felt your lips curve up in an involuntary smile.

“Patience, bocchan. You’ll see her on your wedding day.”

“That’s so far, though!” whined Satoru.

“It’s only another month, my dear! So eager.” You heard your father chuckling in the background, making some muffled statement about your parents’ traditional, long engagement. Your mother murmured something sweet back to him, but when she spoke into the phone again, her voice was filled with mischief. “Are you sure you’re not pregnant, hime?”

“M-mother!” you sputtered. On the other end, Satoru howled with laughter. All the same, he composed himself much more quickly than you.

“Okan, no. That would be impossible. I’ve been a perfect gentleman! Besides, we’re not even living together.

“Oh!” Your mother seemed genuinely surprised. “Well no, I suppose neither of you have said that you are. I see that I simply assumed…”

“Actually, we haven’t discussed the living situation yet.” You leapt on the opportunity to change the subject, still trying to get your breathing under control. For some reason you couldn’t quite pin down, your mother‘s joke had left your heart racing long after the shock should’ve worn off.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make either of you uncomfortable, we’re just so exc-”

You and Satoru cut her off simultaneously, talking over each other to assure her that she hadn’t.

“We’ll just move into your place, right babe?”

You stopped walking. “Satoru, why would we move into my shitty apartment when yours is twice the size?”

“Because your place is so much cozier!”

Then there was an almighty crash and Satoru began swearing. A moment later, after making his apologies to your mother, he was saying he loved you and hanging up. Your heart raced a bit, even as you giggled with your mother over “his kids”.

As you walked up to your car, you heard your father ask for a glass of water. “Oh, dear, look at the time. I’m sorry my darling, but I need to go. I have to leave now if I want to get to the bank before it closes, and then I have to go to the shops, and then I have to make dinner…”

You smiled to yourself, sliding behind the wheel of your beaten old sedan. “Have a good night, mama. I’ll talk to you soon.”

You turned the key in the ignition and looked at your watch. Satoru’s class would be ending soon. You could spend that time doing errands, washing your car, or even tidying up your apartment. But you felt lazy and lightweight and you hadn’t seen the kids in some time.

With a smile, you drove to the juice shop you and Satoru liked, ordering the too-sweet strawberry smoothie he loved and something new for yourself to try. After only a second’s hesitation, you picked out an assortment of treats, putting everything on Satoru’s card. Today, for the kids, you’d let him spoil you.

Arms filled with sweets and smoothies, you managed to get from the shop to your car and your car to The Amanai Project. The gym was housed in a metal and concrete building on the border of one of the poorer neighborhoods in the city. Posters advertising free self-defense classes, public safety seminars, and charity races papered the windows beside a much more understated plaque offering pro bono legal counsel for kids victimized by violent crime.

Every time you came here, you couldn’t squelch the feeling of your heart growing several sizes. You were just trying to decide how best to manage the door when it swung open. Kento Nanami, Satoru’s somewhat business partner and the lawyer offering his services, held it wide and nodded a greeting as you shimmied through.

“Thanks, Nanami. How are you?”

“I’d be better if I didn’t have to deal with that crazy man,” he grumbled, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “I hear congratulations are in order, though.”

Startled, you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “O-oh, yes, thank you so much!”

He nodded again, turning to step through the doorway, but paused. “You’re good for him, and you’ll be good for each other.” With that, he turned again and left you staring at the swinging door. That was as much a speech as you’d ever heard out of Nanami, but you didn’t have time to digest it.

Kugisaki shrieked your name, abandoning her training to race across the room to you. Her squeals drew the attention of everyone else in the room, too. Itadori looked up from where he stood patching a hole in the wall, dropping the putty knife he was wielding into a can of spackle, and made to run toward you before Satoru’s sharp voice cut him off.

“Itadori!”

“Aww, Gojo, I’ll fix it in a second!”

You giggled at the interaction. Clearly, the source of the sound Satoru had hung up for.

Fushiguro nodded politely at you from his place in the ring, taking advantage of your arrival to gulp down a bottle of water.

And then there was the man himself, lifting the blindfold he used when he sparred- “to help him hone his senses”. His eyes looked bluer than ever against the black and white contrast of material and hair. He smiled when he saw you, looking surprised but immeasurably pleased.

Then Kugisaki was shoveling everything out of your arms, extending her hands to grasp yours. “Let’s see this ring!”

At that, Itadori did drop the putty knife, tuning Satoru’s warnings out with admirable success. Even Fushiguro sauntered over, hands tucked into his pockets, to lean down. You locked eyes with Satoru, cheeks warming under the kids’ attention.

Kugisaki and Itadori took turns bouncing on the balls of their feet, shrieking, alternating between hugging you and each other. Fushiguro studied the ring and then turned back to the ring, tossing a genuinely impressed “Nice job, Gojo” over his shoulder. Satoru sidled up to you, snaking an arm around your waist to draw you close enough that he could kiss your cheek.

He was still smiling at you when Itadori shouted. “Hey Gojo, what was that? You gotta kiss her for real!”

Satoru whirled. “What!?”

“Yeah, kiss her for real!” squealed Kugisaki. She and Itadori swatted at each other in excitement, eyes glued to you and Satoru.

He pointed menacingly at them both. “You little pervs-”

“You can’t shut up about her all day, and now that she’s here you won’t even kiss her?” You laughed at the deadpan stare Fushiguro gave his teacher, highly amused by the entire ordeal.

With a rush of boldness, you grasped Satoru’s collar, turning him to face you, and pulled him down to your mouth. A bolt of electricity shot through you when your lips touched, and if Satoru’s muffled gasp was any indication, he wasn’t unaffected either. The kiss was brief, a slide of lips that was over much too soon, and then you were releasing him. You heard Kugisaki squealing, a loud clap as Itadori and Fushiguro high-fived each other, their thrilled chatter; it all faded to the background as you looked at Satoru.

Eyes half-lidded, color high in his cheeks, he seemed unable to catch his breath. He stood, still bent to your height, staring at your lips. You felt heat rising in your own cheeks, boldness entirely dissipated as you wondered whether you’d crossed some line or other. His tongue darted out to swipe his lips. The tittering in the background was quickly dying. You’d expected Satoru to have some ready quip, to turn and showboat for his students. It was becoming increasingly obvious that you’d have to be the one to act.

Thinking fast, you reached over to the counter where Kugisaki had dumped the haul you’d brought, fumbling a smoothie into Satoru’s frozen hands. You pasted a smile on and patted his cheek, turning to the collection of treats.

“Alright, you hooligans, I brought something for you. Courtesy of Gojo Sensei.”

The boisterous sounds of teenagers started up just as quickly as they’d stopped, with Itadori and Kugisaki fighting over who got first pick of the sweets. Fushiguro waited patiently for the other two to dispense with their theatrics, picking up a sweet roll with a quiet word of thanks. You waved it off as you raised your smoothie to your lips, flinching when you tasted how overwhelmingly sweet it was. You turned to find Satoru standing behind you, holding out your smoothie. Besides a slight dusting of pink across the tops of his cheeks, he seemed entirely composed again.

“Sorry,” you murmured, trading cups with him.

He quirked an eyebrow at you as he raised his smoothie to his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he licked the side of his straw, finally drawing it into his mouth. He took several long swallows, holding your gaze unwaveringly as he did. Something about the action seemed intimate, provocative, and it was heating your insides. What on earth was happening to you?

“Oh, please.” His voice was lower than usual, husky. “Don’t be.”

——————————————————————

For once, you wound up at Satoru’s apartment. He’d walked you to your car, only half a lot away from his, only to find that it wouldn’t start. Why drive across town to your place, only to need a ride back in the morning to meet the tow truck, when you could simply stay the night with him? You had your laptop, there was no reason you couldn’t work from his home office the next day while he was away at family business meetings.

As he unlocked the front door, you tried to remember the last time you’d been here, rather than having him over to your shabby, cramped shoebox. You never could quite put your finger on why, but he loved your place. Cozy, he’d called it. And you guessed it was, in comparison.

He flipped on the light, the sound echoing down the hall, and stepped over the threshold, gesturing for you to step inside. You toed off your shoes, padding through the house to the kitchen. Satoru followed, stripping off his jacket and the blindfold he’d been wearing like a headband.

“I don’t think there’s much in the fridge, but we can order takeout. You remember where the menus are?”

“Of course.” You opened the right-most drawer in the island, withdrawing a stack of takeout menus with a grin.

Satoru grinned right back. “Order whatever you want, pick something good for me. I’m going to take a shower real quick.” You hummed as he dropped his wallet on the counter, thumbing through the worn pages before you.

When Satoru had first moved into this apartment, his mother had hired a maid and a chef. Only the best for her precious son, you thought wryly. Satoru hadn’t been having it. He’d been polite to them, of course, but kept an impeccable house with nothing for the maid to clean, and ordered takeout every night, leaving the chef’s meals untouched in the refrigerator before insisting she take them home herself. When his mother had shown up to scold him, he’d listened patiently to her lecture and then promptly changed the locks.

You grinned at the memory, but it was short-lived. Your thoughts drifted to the time after he’d come home from the hospital, silent and uninterested in food, keeping a clean house, or anything else. His mother had hired a housekeeper again, insisting that your presence was unnecessary. In spite of her cold words and colder attitude, you’d stuck around, trying to get Satoru to take an interest in… anything.

He’d lost so much weight in those months.

You shook yourself out of your spiraling thoughts. Whatever had prompted him, he’d bought the gym for The Amanai Project, sent the housekeeper home with her next month’s pay, a bouquet of flowers, and his thanks, and changed the locks all in one day.

His mother had been furious.

That thought made you smile, despite yourself.

You heard the shower start, picked a menu at random, and called the number. You ordered enough sushi to feed a small army- an assortment of maki and uramaki rolls, nigiri, sashimi, miso soup, and two servings of deep-fried bananas- and smiled when you opened Satoru’s wallet to a picture of the two of you.

You made a circuit of the apartment while you waited. It looked just like it had the last time you’d been here, neat and bare. You walked into the home office, the only room with any personality, and smied at the photos scattered over the walls and shelves. You and Satoru as children, as teenagers at prom together, beaming together on the day you’d both graduated university; photos of him standing with his parents and grandparents, more serious than you were used to seeing him; and then, another photo, tucked behind several others. You stopped to pick it up.

Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru sat in a line, all beaming at the camera. Satoru’s arm reached around Shoko’s back, hand resting on Suguru’s shoulder. You could hardly see his eyes behind the dark glasses he wore, but you thought his eyes might’ve been on Suguru.

You swallowed back a painful lump in your throat. You’d lied when you said your crush on Satoru had been over quickly. It had lasted well into your teenage years, only abating when you assumed Suguru had taken your place as his best friend. Tall, handsome, charming Suguru with his smooth voice, soft smile, and never putting up with Satoru’s shit. That was until he disappeared, right when Satoru became a shell.

You knew the events were related, but you’d never found the courage to ask. Now, looking at this photo, you wondered what had happened to him. You wondered what had happened to Shoko, too. You knew she and Satoru still spoke from time to time, but they’d been closer before. Jealousy pricked at your heart before you stomped it ruthlessly out.

It had been a silly crush, nothing more. You were best friends. That was everything you wanted, everything you needed, and more than you could say for the other two.

You scolded yourself for being uncharitable, returning the picture frame to its place on the shelf before stalking from the office to Satoru’s bedroom.

The bed was perfectly made, unrumpled and unslept in. You realized with a jolt that the last time you’d been in his bedroom had been during those awful months, two years ago. You scowled lightly, turning back to the living room, and noticed for the first time that the larger couch looked slightly rumpled, with a throw blanket haphazardly hanging from the back- the only item out of place in the whole apartment.

In the bathroom, the tap turned off. You darted out of the bedroom, opting to sit at the kitchen island, watching the city lights from the picture window. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes before you could feel Satoru behind you, even though you hadn’t heard him approach.

When you turned, he was smiling softly at you.

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?”

You knew you’d shocked him by the smile he flipped up. “Whaaat? No, of course no-”

“Toru.”

He glares at you, but doesn’t answer. He’s saved by the doorbell, which he bolts to answer.

You let out a breath, turning to the fridge to get drinks. You pull out two bottles of tea, along with a glass and a container of honey for Satoru. He’s laying out your feast, eyes pointedly on the food.

You decide not to push the issue. For now.

“I left some clothes for you in the bathroom,” he says.

“Thank you,” you hum. “I’ll shower as soon as we’re done here.”

He hums in return, mouth already filled with food, then swallows. “Sorry about the kids,” he says.

You grin. “Sorry for rocking your world.”

A strange look passes over his features, and when he speaks, you get the feeling that he’s not saying what he had intended to. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re not that good.” The words drip with his customary, good-natured arrogance, complete with the full-blown smirk you’ve only ever seen on him. He winks, making you laugh, but there’s some tiny part of you that’s oddly wounded by this.

He’s returned his focus to his meal, but then he looks up at you from under his stark, white lashes. His voice is softer, more sincere when he speaks again.

“We should practice.”

And for a moment, the absurdity of the statement is so intense that you can’t, won’t understand him.

“Practice what?”

“Kissing.” He says it so calmly, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to say.

You choke on your tea.

“We should practice kissing,” you drone back.

Satoru throws his hands in the air. “Exactly! I’m glad you agree.” When you continue to stare, he chuckles, going back to his food. “I think the gig would be up if something like that happened in front of our wedding guests.”

And after a moment’s contemplation, you have to admit that he’s right. You hadn’t considered the way you’d appear to onlookers. Years and years of close friendship had you comfortable with each other, in each others’ space, and you knew you’d look genuine to anyone close enough to see you, because your affection for each other was genuine. You and Satoru had always been touchy- leaning on each other or holding hands, arms around each other or brushing when you walked or talked. Physical closeness was natural to you both.

But kissing each other was not natural, you told yourself. Even as your mind unhelpfully reminded you that it had felt quite natural to lean up and press your lips to his. You blinked away the memory, pasting on a smile to hide your unease at the way your heartbeat sped.

“Oh yeah, I’d expected a smoother recovery from you,” you teased. “What did the kids have to say about that?”

He grumbled something that sounded distinctly like “lovesick fool”, but when you asked for Satoru to repeat himself, he said “They said it was so cool.”

You giggled. “It’s ‘cause they’ve never seen anyone shut you up.”

He lay a hand against his heart. “It’s because they never believe me when I say the ladies love me. Victory has never tasted so sweet.” You laughed, Satoru smiled, and what little tension had managed to build dissipated.

You stood to stretch. “I’ll make us breakfast tomorrow if you do the dishes.”

Satoru scoffed. “I have a perfectly good dishwasher, and we both know I’ll be up way before you.”

You stuck your tongue out, earning you a snicker. “I’m going to shower.” Satoru waved you off, stuffing the last of his deep-fried bananas into his mouth as he brushed off his hands. You padded into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and stripped off your clothes once the door shut behind you. Stepping into the shower, you let the scalding water soothe your muscles as your mind kicked into overdrive.

Practice kissing Satoru Gojo. Something pooled low in your belly, something hungry and molten.

You knew, logically, that having the friendship with him that you do put you in a position most girls would be wildly envious of. You’d always known that, even if it hadn’t affected you. So why is it affecting you now?

You knew, logically, that Satoru is insanely attractive. You’d seen it firsthand countless times over the years. Any time you’d go out together, you could feel jealous stares on you, even if Satoru never noticed. It used to make you feel somewhat smug, and somewhat guilty, as though your presence could keep away the girl he was meant to have. You would tease him, shamelessly mocking the fluttering lashes and starry eyes turned his way. So why did you feel so starry-eyed yourself?

You knew, logically, that this was a good and smart plan. His parents would be looking for any sign that this marriage was less than what it seemed, and it was wise to cover your bases. You just had to think about it intellectually. Just had to remember that it was all part of the trick.

Dressing in his boxers and sweats and a shirt two sizes too big, you step into his bedroom to see him reclining on the bed, face flushed and chest heaving, and all wisdom deserts you.

His eyes are closed. He’s got one muscled arm propped behind his head, while the long fingers of his other hand stroke that damn blindfold thoughtfully. He turns and pierces you with that blue gaze, eyes darker than usual, and inclines his head slightly as he takes in a deep breath. His eyes rake you from head to toe, taking in the way you swim in his clothes. You pad toward the bed, crawling over the expanse of it until you lay next to him, hands laced nervously over your stomach.

He sits up to place the blindfold on the nightstand, then rolls so that he’s hovering over you. “Shall we?” he murmurs. His voice is velvet, soft and rough, and intellectual thought becomes more difficult as you try to remember the last time you kissed anyone before today.

You nod. It feels stiff, and you hope that he doesn’t notice. Hell, of course he notices. You hope that he can’t see why you’re so uptight, and do your best to tuck away your racing thoughts so that you can’t examine them either.

He raises his free hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek, touch so feather-soft that you could’ve almost imagined it. You don’t know which of you moved first, but you’re inexplicably closer to each other now, noses nearly touching. Satoru’s warm, sweet breath ghosts over your lips. His luminescent eyes scan your face, searching for… what? you wonder breathlessly.

It’s an agonizingly long moment in which your traitorous brain chants kisshimkisshimkisshim.

“Relax,” he whispers, and you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

His lips brush yours, lighter than his fingertips on your jaw. Then again, with the barest hint of pressure. You’ve only just begun, but your heart is already pounding. Satoru kisses you a third time and the trick is all but forgotten.

He moves his lips slowly, carefully against yours. You exercise every last ounce of restraint to move as slowly, as carefully as he does. Gentle as this is, your lungs are burning for air by the time he pulls back, only far enough so that you can both gulp down the warm air between you. He shifts so that his body partially covers yours before descending again. This time, in addition to the soft pressure, his tongue slides delicately over your bottom lip.

Forgetting yourself, you grip the front of his t-shirt, dragging him down so suddenly that he grunts, mouth parting to allow your tongue to explore. You run it along the back of his teeth, the inside of his bottom lip, sliding it against his as he presses into your mouth for his turn.

His tongue is slow, gentle, as he maps the inside of your mouth. The hand that’s not propping him up is on your neck now, thumb across the front of your throat, caressing the flesh there. You begin to lose patience, unable to grasp how unaffected he is by this when you’re so close to abandoning your dignity for more, more, more.

With as much self-control as you can muster, you slide one hand around his side under his shirt. His breath catches. Your hands must be cold. You use your grip on his shirt and his waist to pull until he loses his balance, body pressed against you for one short, blissful moment. Your eyes shoot open, meeting a roiling ocean as your hips meet and you feel something hard against your inner thigh. Wait, is he…?

He lifts himself so that he hovers over you, body too far away now for you to confirm what you thought you felt. He kisses you several times in quick succession, lighter than before, as he holds himself up over you. You wonder if you’re imagining the quiver in his limbs; you must be.

Then he pulls back with a crazed smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. His cheeks flame and his blown pupils snap with something you don’t have a name for.

“Well that was much better,” he says. Then you blink and he’s up, sitting on the side of the bed for just a second before standing up. He walks out of the room and you’re left reeling, lifting a hand to your swollen lips.

What just happened?

Anxiety is beginning to build before he’s back in the doorway with a glass of water in hand. He hits the lightswitch before coming in, hiding himself from your searching eyes in the gloom, backlit by the lamp in the living room.

“Here,” he says, handing you the glass. You sit up and take it from his hands, draining the whole thing to wash the addictive taste of him out of your mouth enough to concentrate. It hardly works.

He’s halfway across the room before you realize it, and you find panic flooding your chest again.

“Wait!” you call. He stops, turning so that you can just make out his profile in the dark.

You feel tongue-tied. Against your will, you remember the way you felt at eleven, at fourteen, at sixteen, unable to speak or move or breathe around him, so in awe of his presence.

This would be a really, really bad time for those feelings to resurface.

But you can’t seem to stop them.

“What?” You must have been quiet for too long, because his voice is tinged with worry.

You scramble for any coherent thought.

“Where are you going?”

You see him raise a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous gesture startlingly like one the boy from your scrambled thoughts makes.

“The couch. I figured you could sleep in the bed, and I-”

“You should stay,” you cut off. After what had just happened, after knowing what it felt like to kiss him, if you’d put any thought into anything else first, you’d have never gotten the words out.

But you couldn't think. Not now, not with the taste of him on your tongue. Regardless of your mounting fear and his being the source, you couldn’t bear for him to be away from you. Not now.

Satoru didn’t say anything. He stood frozen, and again, you began to wonder whether some invisible boundary had been crossed.

Maybe this was why friends didn’t kiss each other.

Shame and nerves choked you. You shouldn’t have touched him, shouldn’t have embarrassed him like that. Of course it was natural for his thoughts to wander, it certainly had nothing to do with you. A natural response, nothing mo-

“Okay.”

You let out a breath and the pounding in your ears subsided. He left the room, returning after flipping off the light in the living room, and lowered himself gently into the bed. He stretched out on his back, hands at his sides, and you lowered yourself to the cushions with yours tucked to your chest.

The silence was deafening. You weren’t used to it, banter flowing easily from both sides for all your lives.

You turned abruptly, unable to bear it any longer.

“Toru, what happened? With Suguru? And with Shoko?”

He sucked in a breath from his place across the bed. You worried again, as was becoming too common, that you shouldn’t have spoken. He didn’t speak for so long that you thought he wouldn't answer you, and then you started to worry that he’d call off the whole fake wedding or, worse, your whole friendship.

You’d never asked, too afraid of sending him spiralling off the precipice and losing him entirely. But you were so off-balance from the raging storm of your emotions that you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Amanai died.”

You counted several beats before speaking. “I know that part,” you said softly. “Suguru was with her when she was shot, right?”

A long pause. “Yeah.”

“And you were outside.”

“Yeah.”

“Satoru, it wasn’t your fault.”

“We were arrogant.” There was self-loathing dripping from the words. “We shouldn't have assumed the estate would be safe ground.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. This had been a mistake. Damn your curiosity, you should never have dredged this up.

“I wanted… I killed that guy, the shooter.” You’d known, but the jolt that went through you reminded you that he’d never actually said it out loud. Not to you. “And I wanted to kill the whole group of them, that whole family that ordered the execution. Everyone who stood there, applauding that a fifteen year-old girl was dead. And I would have snapped and done it if Suguru hadn’t stopped me.”

Your heart constricted painfully. Suguru had said, but you hadn’t realized it had been so serious. Satoru let out a long sigh. Subconsciously, you reached out to loop your fingers through his. He squeezed gently.

“Remember the week after the funeral, that day I left you here? When Shoko called?” You nodded. You’d handed him the phone when Shoko asked, watching wordlessly as he stalked out, and then sat in his apartment, drowning in terror until he’d walked back through the door, silent as when he’d left. He turned to you now. Even in the dark, you could make out the faint gleam of his eyes. “Sorry for scaring you, back then,” he whispered. You reached your other hand out to lay it on his chest.

He took in another deep breath. “Suguru went out on a job. He was supposed to bring some guy in for questioning.” You waited with bated breath for him to say the words you didn’t want to hear. “He killed him.”

You sat up, peering down through the darkness. “What?”

“He killed him. Told the board that it was self-defense, but Shoko and I knew it wasn’t. He confessed it to her, and she told me.” You sat in stunned silence. This was so much worse than you’d imagined it could be.

“And you?” Satoru said nothing. Dread pricked your spine. “You… you wanted to…”

“I didn’t, though.” He’d tensed, as though he expected you to draw away at any moment. “Shoko had already built a case against him when she called me. She just needed a confession. So I got it. Even if I thought that it wasn’t fair.”

You scooted the tiniest bit closer. “Not fair?”

Satoru looked at you out of the corner of his eye, seeming to consider his next words. “That he found the absolution he denied me.”

You considered that. “Did you ever find it?” you finally asked. “Absolution?”

He seemed to hold his breath. “I think so,” he said softly. You nodded, and for long minutes, you each sat lost in thought under the cover of darkness. Then, when sleep pressed you down, you closed the last distance between you to lay your head on his chest. You felt Satoru start before carefully wrapping an arm around you. And maybe you were already dreaming, but you thought you felt him press a gentle kiss to your temple.

You wondered again if you were dreaming when you woke, warm and comfortable. You blinked yourself awake, squinting at the clock across the room. Too early. You flopped your head back down and then froze when the arm around your waist pulled you back against a feverish body.

Satoru.

You raised your head, blinking at the clock again in disbelief. Satoru was always up at the crack of dawn. 7:45 was not late, but most days he’d already be out and about. Carefully, so as not to wake him, you turned your head. His brilliant white hair flopped over his eyes, making him look vulnerable. Young, so like the little boy you’d said you’d marry all those years ago.

You smiled at the memory and rested your head back on your pillow. You looked at the clock. 7:46. You’d let him sleep until 8:00. You began to snuggle backward and froze.

You could feel Satoru’s length pressed against the curve of your butt. For one, heartstopping moment, you let yourself melt back. Then you were berating yourself.

He was asleep, nothing more. No man woke up in bed with any girl without a hard-on and it had nothing to do with you.

The moment you broke contact, that arm tightened again, drawing you back more firmly. You muffled a groan, letting your eyes slide shut.

A really, really bad time for those feelings to resurface again, you thought dryly, heart speeding against your ribcage. You glanced up. 7:47.

You couldn’t lay here like this for thirteen minutes. You’d just have to slide out from his grasp and hope you didn’t wake him.

Just before you moved though, Satoru breathed in deeply. His arms tightened around you again, one hand lowering to your hip to press you back against him. You held your breath as he nuzzled the side of your neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. He curled further around you, molding your body against his. It made you feel weak. “What time is it?”

You turned to the clock again, cheeks burning. “7:48.”

“Shit!” Satoru flew up, making it from the far side of the bed to the bathroom in one fluid motion. The door slammed and you stared at it for a moment before you started to giggle. Well, so much for breakfast.

It’s 7:51 when the bathroom door flies open to reveal Satoru in all his shirtless glory, muscles rippling as he tears through his closet, toothbrush clenched between his teeth. Then it’s back to the bathroom, door not quite shut, and you have to make yourself turn away from the sliver of pale skin you can see through the crack. You hear him spit, then the door swings open again. 7:53. He’s fumbling the last few buttons on his shirt, long legs carrying him to the mirror in the corner.

“Sorry, babe, I have an errand I have to run before the meeting this morning.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning his head side to side, and then spins and walks toward you. “Tow company will be here to pick you up at nine.” He bends down, planting his hands on either side of your shoulders, and kisses you passionately before sprinting out the door. “Call me if they give you any trouble!”

The front door slams, and seven minutes after waking up, the whirlwind that is your best friend storms out the front door. You raise a hand unconsciously to your lips.

What in the world?

By the time you manage to haul yourself out of bed, after an already eventful morning, you’ve convinced yourself that this is simply more practice. Building habits, as it were, so as not to raise suspicion when you inevitably end up out with his family, out with friends.

It makes perfect sense.

You brush your teeth and get dressed, in the same clothes you wore here yesterday, and open your laptop to get a little work done before the tow company picks you up. Just as Satoru said they would, they ring the bell at nine sharp. You stuff your laptop into your bag, locking the door with your spare key, and follow the driver to his truck.

You make polite small-talk with the driver- mostly about your crappy car- for the short drive to the tow yard, thanking him as he holds the door open for you. When you turn toward the office, he stops you.

“Oh, miss, I have your key right here.”

He hands you a key that certainly isn’t yours. You look from it to him.

“This isn’t my key.”

The driver scratches the back of his neck, pointing across the lot. “Well, according to Mr. Gojo, it is.”

You turn to see a shiny new coupe with a massive red bow on the hood. You blink at it, then turn back to the driver. “Where’s my car?”

He shifts his weight nervously. “I don’t rightly know, miss. Mr. Gojo called yesterday and said not to worry about it. Said he’d be dropping off a new one- nothing but the best for his fiancée. Came by this morning, handed me the key himself.”

You turn back to the car in stunned silence.

“I can see about getting your old car back, miss…”

“No, thank you.” You turned to smile at the driver. “I can take it up with my fiancé.”

The driver nodded, shuffling off to the office in the center of the lot at great speed. You walked over to your new ill-gotten vehicle, circling it slowly. This was a huge gift.

You let yourself into the driver’s seat, reveling in the luxury of a vehicle younger than yourself, let alone one of such caliber. Then, calmly, you dialed Satoru’s number.

The phone rang twice, and then he picked up with a joyous “Love of my life!”

You sucked down a breath, and then roared into the phone. “GOJO!”

——————————————————————

The final weeks until the wedding are so busy that you hardly have time to think about the day itself, but they’re a raging success.

You and Satoru go apartment hunting, despite your protests, and end up with a penthouse apartment with an office, a guest room, and more space than you know how to decorate. He hires a moving company to pack your humble, cozy apartment and his sleek one, refusing to hear any protests about keeping your lease.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to get you out of that shithole for years. You really think I’m letting this opportunity pass me by?” You grumble about making rent and he tugs you close with an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Rent, as if. Consider it repayment for going along with all this.”

You don’t bother pointing out that “all this” was your idea in the first place; you know it would be useless.

Your parents fly in the week of the wedding and insist on taking you and Satoru out for dinner “one last time before the big day” as thanks for Satoru’s generosity in putting them up in “such a lovely hotel”.

You go to your final fitting and your dress is perfect, curving and flowing in all the right places. Your mother cries, and that sets you to crying too.

Satoru kisses you, more than once. He kisses you first thing every morning when you emerge from his room, kisses you each time you pass each other over the course of the days, kisses you last thing at night before making himself comfortable on the couch. You have to force yourself not to ask him to stay in the bed with you, afraid of what you might do if he agrees.

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real.

Shoko comes to town, determined not to miss the big event despite the space that’s opened up between her and Satoru. Seeing them together, you realize that it probably never opened at all. It’s Suguru’s space; a tiny, infinite rift between them. You can see how bittersweet the reunion is, for both of them, and find yourself hoping that it won’t be the last time they meet. Hoping that they can both heal until they can really be friends again.

You have an incredibly tense dinner with Satoru’s parents, made all the more stressful by the agreement to do everything to sell them on the idea that you’re hopelessly in love with each other. At dinner, you hold hands through every course, constantly looking at each other with syrupy smiles and fluttering lashes. When you retire to the restaurant’s overpriced lounge for drinks, Satoru pulls you down into his lap, holding you firmly in place the entire time. He only has one drink, but he gets noticeably more handsy as the contents of his glass disappear.

You ruffle his hair affectionately, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

Only the fact that his parents are sitting feet away stops you from asking whether there’s something in his pocket, or whether he’s just happy to see you. “Lightweight,” you breathe instead, trying not to move too much lest he notice his body’s reaction and push you away. He giggles, dragging you forward to plant a sloppy kiss on your mouth. You allow yourself to relish the moment, embracing the longing you’ve begun to feel. For his parents’ benefit, you tell yourself. You’re only doing your part to sell the lie.

You can practically feel the steam coming from his mother’s ears.

Standing on Satoru’s balcony the night before the wedding, he levels you with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen from him. “Are you sure about this?”

You think back on the past months, comparing them to all the years before. What had even changed, besides the fact that now, you were friends who sometimes kissed? Who sometimes came dangerously close to feeling each other up? What had changed, besides the fact that now, you were almost certain that you’d never moved past your feelings for him?

You forced yourself to relax and smile. “I’m sure.”

Satoru took your hands in his, turning you to face him. “You’re giving up a lot for me.”

That made you laugh. You looked up, pleased to see the curve of amusement on his lips. “What am I giving up? It’s not like I’d be spending my time with anyone else. Besides, you’ve bought me a beautiful ring, a gorgeous dress, and a brand new car. I think I’m actually gonna come out of this pretty far ahead.”

“Don’t forget the penthouse,” he teased, and your smile dropped to a deadpan.

“Satoru, we’ve discussed the penthouse.” He waved this off. “I’m not keeping it!” you protested.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” He grinned down at you, breeze lifting his hair from his forehead. Without meaning to, you reached up to smooth it back, thumb running over the scar over his eyebrow. He cleared his throat, growing somber. “This time tomorrow, we’re going to be married.”

You let your fingertips drift down his cheek, allowing yourself just one more private moment of weakness before your heart ended up on display tomorrow for everyone to see. Hopefully, everyone but him. You nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. For all his sweetness, you’d seldom seen the tenderness he bent on you in the smile he offered. His eyes were liquid, soft as ever, when he raised your hand to his lips.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he murmured, and you agreed, if only to escape before his attention caused you to crumble.

——————————————————————

The wedding day itself is surreal, and it passes in a blur. You wake in Satoru’s bedroom with a bouquet of roses on the bedside, along with a note in his bold writing.

“To the best friend I’ve ever had, thank you for putting up with my shit and having my back. We both know that I’m a treasure. I only hope you know that you are, too. You deserve the world, and I will lay it at your feet. On this, our wedding day, I alone am the honored one.”

The note is signed with a flourish of his name. You smile as you raise it to your lips, taking in the faint scent of his cologne. You are the honored one on this day. You lay the note next to your bra, fully intent on keeping it close, and then you hit the ground running.

You shower and brush your teeth and after that, it’s out the door to the waiting car to be driven to the vast Gojo estate. Despite spending time here as a child, the place is still incredibly intimidating with its marble arches and sprawling gardens. You feel your heartbeat speed as you see the decorations- fairy lights and tulle, vines and roses, black silk ribbons and eucalyptus branches.

It’s more beautiful than you could have imagined.

You make your way to the guest house and sit through an hour of hair and makeup, laughing with your mother about all the childish shenanigans you and Satoru have gotten up to over the years, and calm your anxious hands and stomach by sampling the hors d’oeuvres arranged prettily on silver platters.

Your father sits in the corner, eyes shining with pride and unshed tears. He’s got a cocktail of painkillers ready to go; nothing will keep him from walking with his little girl today.

You would feel guilty if Satoru weren’t already such a fixture in all of your lives. You only hope that your parents won’t be too hurt when this is all over.

It’s only once your parents step out so that you can change into your gown that Satoru’s mother visits you.

“Tell me, my dear, must we really continue this charade?”

You feel your heart prick with ice. “I assure you, Gojo-sama, that there is no charade,” you lie smoothly. “I love your son.” Just enough honesty to ring true.

Her glare is frozen. “I will give you six million yen if you walk out of here and away from my son.”

You raise your chin in defiance. “No.”

“Seven million.”

“You cannot buy me, no matter the price.”

“Ten million yen.”

Your ire has been steadily rising since she stepped into the room. Now, it eclipses your anxiety like a crashing wave. You lean forward, well into her space, and feel a mean thrill when she leans away from you. Your voice is cold. “I do not care what you think of me. But it’s clear that you have no concept of your son’s worth.” You tilt your head, summoning the haughtiest tone you’ve ever used. “You dishonor him.” His mother reels back, scowling.

“You don’t deserve my son,” she sneers.

You laugh at that. “I agree. Yet somehow, he’s decided otherwise.”

She peers down her nose at you. You expect another round of vitriol, but to your surprise, she turns on her heel to leave. Round one, you.

You blow out your breath, shake your hands, and straighten your shoulders. Within a few minutes, your parents are back and then it’s smooth sailing again.

Right up until you and your father hobble to the door to walk to the ceremony.

Your father starts to sniffle. You turn and realize that he’s tearing up, putting on his bravest face and doing his utmost not to blubber.

“Oh, papa,” you murmur. You turn to take his face in your hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, hime.” He reaches a hand up to your face, carefully avoiding your hair and touching lightly so as not to smear your makeup. “I am just so happy. Your mother and I used to talk about what a wonderful life you and Satoru would build together and now it’s finally beginning.”

The shock nearly knocks you off your feet. “You… what?”

He sniffles, patting your cheek and lowering his head to compose himself. “You make an old man proud. There’s no one else I’d rather give you away to.”

You move your mouth, but can’t form any words.

And then, it’s time. The great door creaks open and you tilt your head down to hide your expression. You take a few deep, steadying breaths before raising your head… and promptly losing them.

The lawn is surprisingly empty, though you suppose his parents planned it that way. Regardless, every face fades as you set eyes on Satoru.

Satoru, the best and oldest friend you’ve ever had.

Satoru, who’s always been in your corner, no matter what.

Satoru, who looks devastatingly handsome in black and white, with a boutonniere of one, single rose almost the same color as his eyes. Almost, but not quite. Satoru, whose eyes are wider than ever, staring slack-jawed as you make your way toward him down the aisle, moving slowly for your fathers’ sake. Satoru, whose hands drop from where they’d been fiddling with his cuffs.

Satoru, who looks at you with such longing that you nearly collapse.

Your heart stops, and then sprints to make up for lost time.

This day is going to kill you.

You know that your face is bearing every emotion, that nothing is hidden in this instant.

And it’s nothing compared to the way he looks at you.

It’s all an act, you remind yourself. Tears spring to your eyes. All an act, but every person in this room is eating it up. Including you. When did he get so good at acting?

The corner of his lip curls in an awestruck smile and you’re a goner.

Who were you kidding?

You let the tears stream, grateful at least that they would lend authenticity to the performance. And for the first time, you feel your heart sink.

You’re just as in love with Satoru Gojo now as you had been at eleven years old.

You’d been a fool to think you’d get out of this unscathed.

Over the course of your mental collapse, Satoru’s smile widens until you can just make out the tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth that only ever show themselves when he’s at his happiest.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You just have to remember that it’s all for show.

You force yourself to smile.

And know instantly that you’ve made a mistake.

You had to be twenty paces or more away, but those dimples disappeared the moment your lips spread.

No one else would ever notice, but you did.

Because no one else would ever notice, but he had.

Those cyan eyes narrowed fractionally and you knew that he could tell that something was off. You could see the anxiety surfacing as you got close.

To feel so seen…

You pursed your lips, just by a hairs’ breadth, and Satoru’s face relaxed. The silent conversation you had in those last few steps did wonders to ease your nerves, and you could tell that it did the same for him. Between one heartbeat and the next, your father was kissing your cheek, placing your hand firmly in Satoru’s outstretched one.

You couldn’t hear a word anyone said- not your father, not the priest, not even Satoru. You blinked rapidly, finally locking eyes with your fiancé.

“Baby? Are you okay?” he whispered, and you could tell from the slight strain in his voice that he was repeating the question.

You squeezed his hands. “I’m okay,” you whispered back. You let yourself fall into your role, embracing the fantasy. You felt nearly giddy. “Let’s get married.”

And oh, there was that smile again, canyon-wide and dimpled just for you. “Let’s.”

You could hardly concentrate enough to repeat your vows, too caught up in the way Satoru’s eyes sparkled, locked onto you. Too mesmerized by the way his mouth moved to truly hear what he said. Before your head could catch up with the feelings speeding through your heart, Satoru was wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you firmly to his chest. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his smile.

“Hi, wifey.” And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You couldn’t stop your hands coming up to cradle his face; couldn’t stop your mad smile when he bent you back nearly parallel to the ground; couldn’t stop the shudder that ran down your spine at the soft moan he let out when you ran your tongue along the seam of his lips. They parted, allowing you to lick along the inside of his lip before you bit down softly.

Only the applause from your guests covered the animalistic growl that tore itself from his throat.

You felt a heady thrill at your apparent power and giggled. After a heated moment and a shaky breath, so did Satoru. He straightened, pulling you up with him, and raised your joined hands overhead for all to see.

Mr. and Mrs. Satoru Gojo.

——————————————————————

For being largely made up of Satoru’s colleagues and the elder Gojo’s business acquaintances, your guests were incredibly gracious. Every person seemed to want to personally convey their best wishes; a happy marriage, good fortunes, continued health. You and Satoru thanked each person in turn, holding hands all the while.

And each time someone new came to express their pleasure, you felt your mind and heart crack just a bit more under the weight of the lie.

“We’re almost done,” he murmured against your ear. You’d finally made your way to the dance floor, taking solace in the security and solitude of Satoru’s arms. You nodded, cheek rubbing against his chest. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded again. “Just counting down the minutes until we can go home.”

He chuckled, drawing you closer. “Well, tell you what, then. Let me go say goodnight to my parents and then we can leave, okay?” You smiled up at him, grateful.

“That sounds wonderful, husband.”

He grinned at you with a childish sort of glee. “Glad to hear it, wife.” He leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and then spun you away from himself. “I’ll meet you by the altar in a few minutes?”

You smiled over your shoulder, turning to survey the crowd. Your parents had left an hour ago with profuse apologies; your father’s medication was wearing off and he was going to need to be off his feet, quickly. You waved and smiled at the few friends of Satoru’s you knew- Kento Nanami, Yu Haibara, Utahime Iori, Kiyotaka Ijichi- and waded through the crowd of celebrating people.

Satoru had asked whether it bothered you that none of your friends had come. The truth was that when life got busy and your friends stopped reaching out, when no one could accept how much time and emotion you put into Satoru after the incident, you’d let most of those friendships slide. Why should you beg for anyone’s attention when the only person whose attention you truly craved centered on you to begin with?

You’d never regretted that conviction, never even questioned it. Not even today.

You made rounds to the tables that gestured you over for long minutes before excusing yourself, breaking for the altar. You were passing an alcove when you heard Shoko’s voice, and you felt yourself perk up. You hadn’t had a chance to thank her for coming, and you wanted to make sure that you didn’t miss the opportunity to talk to her. Even if you didn’t feel the need to have a lot of friends, it would be refreshing to have a girl friend again- and she’d been important to Satoru, once. You wanted to make sure that she knew her presence was more than welcome in your lives.

It was only once you reached the garden wall that you realized she didn’t sound happy.

Then you heard Satoru’s voice.

“I just really don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of this!”

“Because, Satoru! I understand that you care for her, but I really think you’re making the biggest mistake of your life!”

“Then let me make it!” Satoru roared, and the words had you breaking out into a cold sweat.

They couldn’t mean…?

He seemed to remember where they were and lowered his voice. “Then let me make it. If it’s such a huge mistake, you’ll be the first to know, alright? I’ll call you myself. ‘Shoko, you were right, I never should have married her.’ Is that what you want to hear?”

Your hands flew to cover your mouth, but they weren’t quick enough to muffle the pained sound that escaped you. You darted to put your back to the bower leading into their little section of the garden, praying to all the gods that you hadn’t been heard. For once, despite Satoru’s involvement, they listened.

Shoko sighed. “No, Satoru, it’s not. I just want you to be happy. I just don’t think you’re-”

You raised your hands to cover your ears and bolted away. You didn’t care how childish it was, you couldn’t bear to hear another word. You ran, heels catching small rocks and roots as you held your breath in an effort not to cry. If the tears fell, your face would puff up and your makeup would be ruined. There would be questions. You couldn’t deal with questions, especially not now.

You tucked yourself into the greenhouse and sucked down mouthfuls of cool air, staring straight at the ceiling. That was supposed to help, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t stay here for too long. You had to get control of yourself, and quickly. You tried desperately to conjure up any happy memories that didn’t involve Satoru and came up woefully short.

Maybe you needed some friends of your own, after all.

You breathed in, held, released. Breathed in, held, released. You repeated this until your hands stopped shaking, and then did it five more times for good measure. You straightened your shoulders. Then you walked back out into the throng. Head held high, smile firmly in place, you strode to the altar, catching sight of Satoru as he stepped out of the shade of a tree and into view.

Your breath caught in your throat. He was so beautiful. He beamed when he saw you, looking a touch deflated, but irritation all but vanished. You knew by the subtle shift of his eyebrows, though, that your own smile wasn’t fooling him.

——————————————————————

The ride back to your new penthouse was blessedly short, and blessedly quiet. With a driver from his parents’ staff, neither of you dared to say a word of meaning, settling on holding hands and whispering to each other about dinner and movies and sleep instead. When the car stopped, Satoru was out in a flash to open your door, handing you out like some Victorian lady. No matter how confused you felt, it made your mouth twitch up in a smile.

He led you through the apartment lobby and into the private elevator to your new home, even holding the door open for the driver following with a cart of wedding gifts. You clutched his hand the whole ride up, gluing yourself to his side even if you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. You could feel the worried glances he shot your direction when the driver wasn’t looking, though.

As soon as the elevator door opened, he was sweeping you up into his arms, striding purposefully across the short hall to your front door. You let yourself laugh as he managed to fish the keys out of his pocket without letting you slide so much as an inch, and swooned dramatically as he kicked in the door. He kissed you again and you felt your heart clench painfully. Then he turned to the driver, thanking him for his service and advising that he leave, lest he see something he’d rather not.

You’d never seen someone excuse themselves so quickly.

You both paused once the door clicked shut, waiting for the chime of the elevator, and then Satoru lowered you gently to the floor. You turned quickly, practically running into the living room. You began unfastening your jewelry, anything to keep your hands and eyes busy.

“Sweetheart?” He was worried. You knew better than to try to hide from him, but you’d hoped you could have even a moment longer to collect your thoughts. The drive here hadn’t been nearly long enough. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He was halfway across the room already. You knew that if he touched you, you’d lose your nerve.

“What did Shoko mean by ‘the biggest mistake of your life’?” The words were out before you could think better of them.

Abruptly, his footsteps stopped. The silence was deafening. With shaking hands, you laid your wedding jewelry on the coffee table, steeling yourself for whatever answer Satoru gave you.

You turned to face him and found him looking ashen and sick.

He swallowed hard.

“You heard that?”

Somehow, you’d expected something different. A denial, an indignant retort, even a joke. You scoffed in disbelief, only it didn’t sound much like a scoff. It sounded like a sob.

Satoru took two steps forward before stopping at your raised hand.

“Listen, I can explain.”

“Explain what, Gojo?” A look of profound hurt crossed his face at your use of his family name, but you couldn’t… You had to put some distance between you. You didn’t want to believe that there was any truth to the words, but you knew now that there had to be.

“You didn’t even argue with her! ‘The worst mistake of your life’?” He flinched then, finally breaking eye contact to look across the room past you. You choked on your tears, voice coming out harsh around the growing lump in your throat. “I know you never wanted to be married, but I-I thought I was helping you. I thought you wouldn’t care since it was only temporary. I thought you said this would be fun! You never told me you were having second thoughts!”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he said softly. “Shoko thinks I’m making a mistake because… because I’ve been in love with you since we were children.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was reeling back, breathing ragged as his hands went to his hair, as though maybe he’d never said the words aloud. As though maybe he’d never admitted them to himself. You nearly staggered backward, too. “Please, sweetheart, just let me explain. I swear, I-”

“You’re in love with me?” you whispered. Your heart raced, hope lighting your veins aflame. Tears had been building since the conversation started. They began to run down your cheeks now, and you saw Satoru move as though he was going to come to you, to do anything to make them stop, before forcing himself to stand still. He’d always hated to see you cry.

He clenched his fists. His eyes slid shut, and the pain evident on his face was so great that you flashed, for a moment, to him waking up in that hospital bed; bindings around his wounds and tubing in his arms, oxygen mask on his face, waking so slowly, so grievously wounded that he’d asked you if he was dead.

“I would never,” he began slowly, “have made you stay.” He let that sink in before continuing, so softly that you could barely hear him. “I thought…” His voice trailed off as he sank to his knees, almost as though the words had sapped him of the strength to bear his own weight.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I tried so hard not to feel the way I felt. I know you never felt the same about me.”

Just like that, all of the pieces clicked into place. Every blank expression at every stupid joke or offhanded comment you’d made about your inevitable divorce; every flash of doubt, of disappointment in his eyes when you brought up that it was only a fake marriage; the way he’d answered Shoko, as if it hurt him to say the words; the fury he’d felt toward his parents; even the way he’d detached himself from you when your kisses had been too heated. He’d been afraid.

You began to shake your head.

Shoko thought he was making a mistake because she thought you didn’t love him.

Because Satoru thought you didn’t love him.

He hadn’t stopped talking while your world crumbled around you.

“I thought that this was it, my chance for a little piece of all my dreams. I thought that I could have you by my side, just for a little while, that I could kiss you just once, and that it could carry me through the rest of my life.”

Your mind was spinning in a thousand directions, including a hysterical amusement. “You kissed me a lot more than once,” you whispered, a near-automated response borne of your shared sense of humor.

Satoru let out a strangled noise. “I was selfish.” You opened your mouth to protest, to deny it, to say that you didn’t mean it like that- to tell him you loved him. But he barreled on, voice strained.

“When you said you’d had a crush on me all those years ago, I thought ‘what if I could make her fall in love with me?’ I thought ‘this could be the rest of my life.’ And then you kissed me in the gym, and I knew that I had to try something, anything, everything. I knew that I…” He sucked in a deep breath and let out a breathless, awful, self-loathing laugh. “I thought that I couldn’t survive on just one kiss.”

He hung his head, burying his face in his hands. “Shoko knew the moment that she saw us together that I’d never told you how I felt. She figured it out so fast, I didn’t even get a chance to deny it.”

You’d unconsciously moved closer as he’d spoken. You threaded your fingers lightly through his hair and the air went out of him. He folded forward, hands coming to rest on either side of your feet.

“Please, baby, please forgive me. Shoko was right, it was unfair. It was so unfair to you. I’m so sorry.”

You tilted his head back to look up at you. He let you do it with a sharp intake of breath, gazing up at you with so much feeling that it nearly swept you off your feet.

“Please, sweetheart, say something. Anything,” he pleaded. He’d leaned forward to wrap his hands around the backs of your knees, drawing you closer to him. “Please.”

You had never in your life, ever heard Satoru beg for anything. Your heart galloped in your chest.

“You weren’t unfair,” you whispered. You opened your mouth to say more, but he was already stuttering out more apologies as if you hadn’t spoken. If he was experiencing anything like the roaring in your ears, he probably hadn’t heard you.

“Please, please, forgive me. I’ll do anything. We can get an annulment tomorrow if you want, to hell with my parents. Just please, let me make it right. I’ll never say another word about this, not one.” He pressed his face further into your thighs, murmuring against the fabric. “I can’t be without you. I would die without you.”

Everything in your chest constricted violently.

Of course, Satoru had a penchant for wild dramatics, making insane exaggerations out of anything and everything. A papercut was a mortal wound, a stubbed toe a shattered leg; a few degrees too warm and it was the seventh circle of hell, a few degrees too cool and it was the ninth; a runny nose might as well be a terminal illness, and boredom was just as serious.

This was not one of those exaggerations.

You didn’t want to think about a life without him, couldn’t dream of it, not even in your worst nightmares. Separating the two of you from each other was impossible, in any circumstance, in any world.

You knelt down, slotting your legs with Satoru’s, and tugged him forward by his hair. Your breaths mingled in the infinite, infinitesimal space between you, before you kissed him. The groan he let out was that of a wounded animal- pleading, haunted, and full of despair- as his hands rose to your cheeks. You could feel his restraint in the way his hands held you from coming any closer, in the way he barely moved his slack mouth, letting you kiss him.

“Please,” he whispered again, and you could hear his heart breaking on the word. “Please don’t leave me. You can’t say goodbye to me. Not like this.”

“You idiot,” you whispered. Slowly, between kisses, you murmured, “Don’t you know I’ve been in love with you since the day we met?” Against all odds, Satoru pulled back from you, holding your face away from his between shaking hands.

“Say it again,” he whispered, voice shot.

“I’ve been in love with you-” And then, he’s kissing you, and there’s nothing restrained about it, and you realize just how much he must have been holding back when he’d kissed you before.

This isn’t his stunned inaction from the kiss in the gym; not the gentle exploration of your practice kissing, where it should have been obvious that he meant to memorize the way it felt; not the giddy, showy kiss from the altar and certainly not the chaste, PG kisses you’d shared throughout the reception.

No. This kiss was all-consuming, desperate. Like Satoru meant to devour you, and maybe he did. He lapped at the inside of your lips, moaning softly. His long fingers roved over your body, pulling you closer until you gasped, and even that seemed to be not enough.

He let out an impatient noise, low in the back of his throat, before dragging you forward and up in one fluid motion. His hands gripped you with near-bruising force, pulling you by your knees to wrap your legs around him, and then your back hit the cool glass wall of your penthouse with a dull thud.

You half gasped, half giggled through Satoru’s apologies, muffled by the incessant slide of his lips on yours. His lean, hard body pressed fully along yours, moving against you almost of its own accord. You could feel the thundering of his heart against your chest. With his hips pinning yours to the wall, he lifted one hand from its place at your waist to grip the back of your neck.

Your hands finally, after all of the shock and movement of what was probably only the last 20 or so seconds, landed in his hair to tangle in the snowy strands. Satoru keened into your mouth, pressing even harder against you, a vibrating mass of wiry muscle and lanky elegance. You dropped one hand to squeeze at his bicep and wondered how you had ever ignored how hot your best friend was.

The hand on the back of your neck tightened, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, allowing Satoru to stroke your tongue with his, gentle and searching and urgent all at once. The hand at your waist pulled you relentlessly forward, molding your bodies together, and you squeezed your legs to keep his hips locked against yours.

Satoru was murmuring against your lips, against the sensitive skin of your throat, against the shell of your ear, hot breath lighting your skin on fire where it touched. You caught only snatches of what he was saying, a litany of praise and pleading.

“I love you, I love you, I want you, I need you, stay with me, don’t leave me, let me please you, my wife, my wife, my perfect wife.”

Your head thumped against the wall as you tilted it back, granting him access to leave a trail of sloppy kisses from your mouth to your ear, down your throat to your collarbone, across the sheer material of your wedding gown to bite softly at your shoulder.

“Marry me,” he groaned.

You couldn’t help the airy giggle that bubbled up. “I already did.”

“Marry me for real,” he whined, breathless.

“Yes. Of course, yes.” “Yes,” he hissed, finally shifting away from your poor living room wall with you in his arms. He stumbled down the hallway, drunk on you, toward your marital bedroom, unable to stop kissing you. “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I don’t even know who I am without loving you. If I’m even a person without loving you.”

“I was so afraid that you didn’t love me the way I loved you that I spent years trying to convince myself that I didn’t love you, but I never could,” you confessed, words rushing out, and Satoru let out a sob against your throat.

“I could never not love you,” he groaned. “Never in a million years, not in any life. I have wanted you…”

He bit the sentence off, stumbling as his knees hit the bed. He lowered you reverently to the plush duvet with an arm braced above your head, kisses slowing and softening as he stroked your cheek. “I’ve always wanted to marry you,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted you for so…” He trailed off, trembling as your hands slid up beneath his shirt to trace the lithe muscles of his back, and nuzzled behind your ear. He moaned brokenly. “Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he whispered. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

You traced your hands down his sides, revelling as he panted in your ear. You raised your knees to stroke his thighs, his hips, before wrapping your legs slowly, deliberately around his slim waist, locking your heels at the small of his back. He took a great, shuddering breath, instinctively bending toward you when you raised your hands to shuck off his tuxedo jacket. Your fingers danced up to unbutton his vest before moving to his shirt, torturously slowly. You forced yourself to take your time, forced yourself not to yank and hope that the buttons would fly off like in some cheesy rom-com.

By the time you finished, you almost worried that Satoru would shake apart above you. He looked absolutely ruined; jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut, a euphoric pain painted across every feature. You let your eyes rove his beautiful body, tracing scars with sight and touch alike until you reached the waistband of his trousers. All of the breath went out of him in a loud whoosh, and he dropped the hand stroking your face to the mattress to stop himself from crushing you. His eyes snapped open, a brilliant, dark turquoise nearly eclipsed by shimmering black. His mouth hung open, lust and love and disbelief warring as he frantically searched your face.

You crooked a tiny smile at him, and then leaned up until your lips brushed his. “I don’t want to stop.” He whined, surging forward to kiss you, grinding his hips down to yours with delicious pressure. “I think… we’ve waited… long enough,” you panted between kisses.

Oftentimes, Satoru couldn’t shut up. You’d been friends for so long that his incessant chatter ceased to phase you in the slightest. But you’d never heard him talk so much.

Any time his smart mouth wasn’t occupied with you, it was running. He alternated between babbling praise and incoherent adoration and begging you, though for what, you couldn’t be sure, since he was, by his own distraught admissions, getting everything he’d ever wanted, dreamed of, hoped for, waited for. He couldn’t seem to stop, and it stoked your ego in ways you’d never known you’d wanted, never imagined could turn you on so much.

And despite his obvious anguish, despite the delicious agony it took to exert his control, despite fifteen or more years of never daring to hope, or perhaps because of that, he put you first just like he always did, following only once he was satisfied that you had been, too.

——————————————————————

It hadn’t been the wedding night you’d expected- as far from traditional as it was from the plan- but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, no matter how it had come about.

In the watery sunlight, you rolled to face your husband. Husband. He loosened his grip to let you, hand coming to rest on your bare hip as you settled to face him. His eyes bored into yours, sharp and bright as a storm.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he replied, and the low rumble of his voice sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine and straight between your aching thighs.

You reached up, carding your hands through his hair, and marvelled at the way his eyes fluttered closed. He was like putty beneath your touch. He turned to kiss your palm, drawing your hand down to cover his heart. He stared at you intensely.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he murmured.

You raised one eyebrow in amusement. “That’d be some dream.”

“Best dream of my life.” He pulled you flush against him, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue across your teeth, morning breath be damned. “Be better if it never ended.” He kissed from the corner of your mouth across your jaw, to that sensitive spot behind your ear. “Be best if it wasn’t a dream at all.”

You gripped his neck, pulling him closer, drowning in him. “It’s not a dream,” you whispered.

“Thank goodness,” he groaned. He rolled over to pin you to the bed, hands coming up to lace his fingers with yours. “I am so in love with you.” He traced your rings with one finger, lips spreading in a sleepy, adoring smile. “My beautiful wife.”

You giggled, face splitting in an uncontrollable smile, and leaned up to kiss him. “And I am so in love with you.” Another kiss as you stroked his ring in return. “My handsome husband.” And if the curve of his lips against your jaw and the movement of his body against yours was anything to go by, you were about to be shown how in love with you he was all over again.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

#nightingale writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x fem! reader #gojo x reader #gojo x fem! reader #best friend! satoru gojo #best freind! gojo #friends to lovers #idiots to lovers #fake marriage

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cinnamoonblue · 7 months ago

Text

Troublemaker

ONE SHOT - Portgas D Ace/Reader (female)

DESCRIPTION: Modern AU | High School - smut, fluff, slight angst

SUMMARY: You are known around school as quite the rebellious girl, who makes more of her statements by wearing high knee stockings which are against the school dress code. He is the new guy in school who always sits on the back of the class and every time he puts his glasses on you find it him extremely adorable. The problem is that he doesn't seem to want to socialize with anyone and you don't know how to approach him until one lucky day you get to become his project partner.

WARNINGS: english is not my first language, explicit language, explicit sexual content, NSFW, mentions of bullying, mentions of cannabis/weed, mentions of violence, mentions of death, lost of a parent, both characters as 19 years old, oral sex (f! receiving), nipple play (f! receiving), slight aggression, use of condom (as you should!!!), hints of depression, old-mindset and views teachers, MDNI

WORD COUNT: 20,5K

✰ MASTERLIST ✰

NOTE: Thank you all for your patience ♡ I hope you enjoy this little modern au story of high school Ace and Reader. I want to point out that I HAVE NEVER EVER BEFORE WRITTEN A SMUT so please keep this in mind once you reach this point of the story. It was my first time so please bear with me as it was cringe and very challenging to write at the same time, but anyway haha. I hope that it is not that bad. Enjoy ♡

another thing to add - this one shot is a special one for my girl @3rtxaa as if it wasn’t for one of her posts of how she images real life Ace, the idea of it would have never been born, ly girly ♡ ♡ ♡

!ALSO PLEASE IF SOMEONE KNOW WHO IS THE ARTIST BEHIND THIS FANART OF ACE IN THE BANNER LET ME KNOW SO I CAN CREDIT THEM!

Autum is just around the corner, and it is time to get back to school. You can’t wait for this school year to finish and be done with high school once and for all. It is not like you have had the worst experiences in the past four years, but you are ready for something new and mostly to leave the pretentious school your parents have signed you in. You are desperate for something new and exciting. Your town isn’t small, quite the opposite, but you still want to move and live somewhere else after you graduate this year.

Parking your car in the parking lot of your school you let out a long sigh. ‘Same faces, same cases’ you thought to yourself. Grabbing your big bag full of text and notebooks, which you must now leave in your locker, from the back seat of your car, you hopped off and shut the door. After locking the car, you start making your way to school. Pulling your skirt down as you feel it raising up, you sigh annoyed once again. You have always hated school uniforms, and how unfair it is that girls must always wear skirts and the boys pants like you are in the 60s. At least the colors of it aren’t so bad – a dark royal blue with a blazer in the same color and a white shirt under it. You are always wearing over the knee stockings under it and not a full set of stockings, which has caused you troubles a few times. Some old-school teachers found this quite inappropriate, and it goes against the school dress code, but this hasn’t stopped you from wearing them again and again.

The school is known for being one of the most prestigious in town. And while you can disagree with how true this is, your parents’ biggest pride is that their daughter gets to study there. Which you never get because they are very laid-back parents who support you and your rebellious nature. You have wanted to move to a different one many times, but you never voiced it as you don’t want to disappoint them. But now it doesn’t matter as all you need to do is push through the next nine months. Taking a step inside the old but well-maintained building you make your way to your locker. Putting the code in the padlock you have, you unlocked it and quickly emptied your heavy bag in it. Before you close it, you pull your phone to check what class you are having first so you can grab the textbook you need.

“Literature.” Someone says behind you. You recognize the voice immediately and turn around.

“Thank you, I would be lost without you.” You reply as you wrap your arms around your best friend Robin. Pulling away from the hug you grab your literature textbook and close your locker as you and Robin start walking towards your class. You have been friends since the beginning of high school, from the first day of school you two click immediately. Since then, you have been unseparated, she is like the sister you have never got to get. This was the first summer where you both didn’t have enough time because of work to hang out every day but it was worth it as now you have enough saved money to spend on whatever your heart desired.

“How are you doing today, excited for the last first day of high school?” She giggles as she sees you expression.

“You better help me get through this year, because if we don’t go to the same university, I’m offing myself.” You joke with her, even though there is a bit of truth in what you say. Even if you both want to study for different programs you have made an agreement that you will still be at the same university. You aren’t one of the most social people to begin with despite your bubbly nature, so being in a totally new environment without your best friend will be like a living hell for you.

“Of course you will get through it, you have me after all.” She smiles and nudges your side as you enter your literature class. There aren’t many people here yet, but your eyes draft to the back of the room. On the last single desk is sitting a guy who you have never seen before. You and Robin take your seats in the middle of the room next to each other. Turning your head back you take another look at the guy over your shoulder. With one hand on the desk and the other on the windowsill with his body leaning on the back of the chair and manspreading his legs he looks quite tall. His dark raven black hair with messy curls falling freely around his frowned face which is turned to the window so you can only observe his side profile. His nose is straight, and his lips are full and somehow so alluring to your attention. Another thing that catches your attention is his freckles which thanks to the lighting you are able to notice even though he is two rows behind you. Turning your head slowly to Robin, who is scrolling on her phone, you nudge her with your elbow.

“Hey, Rob. Who is this guy on the back of the class?” You lean closer to her and whisper so only she can hear you. She raises her head from her phone and looks at the back of the class, squinting her eyes so she can take a better look at the guy.

“No, idea. Maybe he is the new guy. I heard some people from our year talking about having a new classmate.” Robin turns back to you with a shrug.

“I didn’t know we are having a new classmate.”

“Me, too. I found out today when I came, so it must be him.” She says and turns her attention back to her phone. You can’t stop but take another look at him. His position hasn’t changed but the moment you look at him, his eyes move and lock with yours. His stare is pierced, your eyes widen from embarrassment and quickly look away. Even for the ten seconds that you were able to see his face, he was handsome. You can’t remember the last time when a guy has had your interest so quickly by just his looks, but this one seems to have this effect on you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the loud annoying laughter by no other but your least favorite person to exists in this school – Isuka. Rolling your eyes once you see her, you open your notebook and start drawing some doodles just so you don’t need to look at her. Taking her seat right next to you she brushes her ginger hair with the back of her hand and smirks.

“Hey, (Y/N). Robin.” She says and her dumb protégés – Lyla and Nora laugh along with her. You just side-eye her and say nothing. “I missed you, two. Especially you (Y/N), how were working as a lifeguard at the kid’s pool this summer? Did my daddy pay you good?” Isuka made fun of you in her typical arrogant tone with a fake smile on her face.

“He obviously didn’t pay good enough the nannies you had growing up.” You finally look at her and give her the same fake smile she is giving you. You have known Isuka since the start of high school and since day one she picked on you for whatever reason. It isn’t some kind of rivalry, sometimes her comments are pure bullying, but you have never let her affect you. The only time she almost got under your skin was when you caught her with your so-called ex-boyfriend making out by the pool at the graduation’s party a few months ago. You didn’t care so much about him and what he did as much as with whom he did it. But this is in the past now, you are more than glad that you don’t have to deal with this guy anymore, but still every time you think of it your blood boils only because of the disrespect this guy has caused you.

“Hm, be careful there, do I need to remind you who Derek choose?” She crosses her arms over her chest as she tries to irritate you more. Instead, you laugh out loud – does she really think that a guy like Derek is the prize?

“Isuka, if you think a guy like Derek is the goal, then I really pity you from the bottom of my heart.” You coo with face sympathy for her which leaves her mouth open. Robin starts giggling next to you. Isuka frowns with her eyebrows ready to say something, but the teacher comes in and the whole class goes silent. You haven’t noticed that everyone has arrived until now.

“You got her good this time.” Robin leans closer to you and whispers.

“I’m so sick and tired of this spoiled bitch.” You whine quietly only for Robin to hear you. She only nods with her head as the teacher starts to speak.

“As you all are aware, this year is the most important for you all, especially given the fact that one of your major exams is on English and literature. If I haven’t been strict enough with you till now, then this year will be totally different.” You can’t stop yourself from snorting and whispering to Robin while the teacher continues with her ‘welcome back’ speech.

“Yeah, it’s not like she has ever been nice to us at least once. Old wanna be Barbie.” Both you and Robin shared a quite laugher, but it is quickly interrupted by your teacher.

“Did I say something funny Miss (Y/L/N)?” The sixty something woman, with long thin blond hair and badly done makeup for her age looks stern at you as she waits for your response. “Care to share with the class?”

“I think I will keep this one for myself, Mrs. Kenet.” You half shrug with one shoulder while giving her a smile. The teacher only gives you a warning look before continuing.

“I don’t want to waste more time in meaningless talks so before we start, please the new student, stand up and introduce yourself.” Mrs. Kenet gestures to the guy in the back to stand and introduce himself with her face unpleased as always. Everyone turns their heads to the black-haired guy waiting for him to stand up. You are carefully observing him as he clears his throat and stands up.

“My name is Ace and I’m the new student, obviously.” His voice is low and raspy but still deep. Now as he stands up you are able to take a better look at him – his shirt isn’t properly tuck in his pants as the school demands and its sleeves are rolled which is another thing some teachers might complain about. Also, the tie that the guys are demanded to wear tightly around their necks is very loose which is going to cause him to receive a comment from our teacher immediately as she is one of the demanding ones. You move your eyes to where your teacher is standing, and you can see her already frowning over her book with all the students’ names in it.

“Mr. Portgas haven’t you read the schools guidebook about the dress code?” She asks as she shoots him with a very judgmental look.

“I did.” Ace replies, putting his hands in his pockets and shrugging as he doesn’t see the problem with his outfit. In his eyes he has done everything as it says in the stupid seventy-page school guidelines book he received two weeks ago, and his mom made sure he reads it. He is wearing the stupid school uniform and the suffocating tie around his neck, what more this old hag wants from him.

“I will ask once Mr. Portgas – tuck your shirt, roll down your sleeves and fix your tie.” Mrs. Kenet straitens her posture and crosses her arms over her chest as she starts taping with her finger on her forearm waiting for Ace to do what he is told. He bites the insides of his cheeks and clenches his jaw as he tries to not cause himself problems from the first day and the first class in the new school. After all he has promised his mother that he would behave… as much as he can. Rolling his sleeves down and tucking the front of the shirt in his pants he keeps his eyes on the old hag which is now on his list with teachers he will not stand. Fixing the tie last, he gives her a ‘are you happy now’ look to which Mrs. Kenet nods and lets him sit back down. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her, Ace unintentionally looks at you and your eyes lock once again. Why are you staring at him again? Does he have something on his face?

He overheard your interaction with the bratty girl earlier and thought it was funny. Though, he can’t help but notice that you are somewhat troublemaker yourself. The interaction with the bratty girl and then the teacher, you are not one of the amenable ones. On top of it, you checking him out doesn’t go unnoticed either. But Ace is planning to stay out of trouble this year, mainly because he has promised his mother, who had to move to entirely new city just because her son got expelled from his previous school for bad behavior. Still, he can’t move his eyes from (Y/N), if he catches your name correctly. As last time, you are the one who breaks the eye contact first and turns your attention to whatever the teacher is talking about. His eyes stay on you a little longer and draft lower on your body. White knee stockings with a little bow on the side – this isn’t very ‘dress code’ friendly, you should definitely get scold for this. ‘Troublemaker’ he thinks to himself as he opens his notebook and starts writing whatever Mrs. Kenet is writing on the board.

Squinting his eyes to see better, Ace sighs as it is pointless to do so, so he pulls his glasses case from his backpack and places them on the bridge of his nose. He hates them but lenses irritate his eyes way too much, so he must suffer with the glasses. The class finishes in forty minutes so the moment the bell rings Ace is one of the first students to get up and leave. You are getting up from your chair when you feel someone bumping into you accidentally.

“Shit, sorry.” The deep low voice behind you says. You don’t have much time to react as Ace, if you remember correctly his name, is already leaving the room. You follow him with your eyes as he leaves the room – he is definitely something, but what exactly you can’t pinpoint yet. But he is cute, especially with glasses on. He doesn’t give off the nerd vibe but there is this thing about him that tells you he is the type which prefers to be by themselves.

“Easy there.” You hear a mocking voice behind you. You turn around to meet with Isuka’s insolent smile. “I saw you eyeing the new guy, but if you think you have a chance with a guy like him, I really pity you from the bottom of my heart.” She repeats the exact same words you’ve told her earlier. Instead of giving her the satisfaction of offending you in any type of way, you just eye her from the top to bottom and snort out laughter. This causes her to stomp with her foot on the floor like a toddler. You and Robin are grabbing your stuffs to leave the room when Isuka’s annoying voice fills up the space. “Mrs. Kenet, (Y/N) is wearing again unappropriated stockings to school.” Isuka points her finger at you. Mrs. Kenet’s voice echoes through the room as she calls out your name.

“Miss (Y/L/N), how many times you must be told that these revealing cloths are prohibited in school.” Her whole face frowns and gets red from anger. “Don’t you have any dignity for yourself, after all this is a prestige school not some strip club.” She screams in your face. You glance at Isuka who is passing by you with her entourage while giving you dirty looks. “Listen, when I’m talking to you Miss (Y/L/N).”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Kenet, but in my defense, they are quite high and not revealing.” It is pointless to even try to defend yourself, as Mrs. Kenet won’t take your word for anything as she doesn’t like you in general; not only because you never listen and continue to wear your high knee stockings but because you always have something to say in your defense.

“I think you are begging for detention from the first day Miss (Y/L/N).” You are about to protest against her words when you feel Robin tugging you on the arm. Turning your head to her you see the way she is begging you to not get in trouble from the first day, so you just sigh. Lowering your head you murmured under your breath an apology. “I didn’t hear you Miss.”

“I said, I’m sorry and that I will go and change my stockings.”

“If I see you around the corridors today and you are still with these you will be staying after classes, you understand.” Her voice was stern and cold as aways.

“Yes, Mrs. Kenet I understand.” You reply and she lets you and Robin finally go as the bell for your next class rings. Walking as fast as possible, so you are not late for your next class, you are fuming. “This bitch Isuka if she didn’t say shit the old hag wasn’t going to notice anything.”

“I know, but also aren’t you tired of getting detentions for the same thing over and over again?” Robin is keeping your tempo as the biology classroom is on the other wing of the big school building so you two must cross almost half the school to reach it.

“Which side are you on?” You look at her with disbelief even though you know she has a point.

“Of course, yours. But getting detention every time about the same thing should ring some bell in your mind.” She giggles next to you as you make your way to the classroom. Walking in the room just a second before the second bell goes off to indicate that the class starts, the only desk available for you and Robin to take is the one in the front row. Both of you groan as you hate sitting in the front row, but you have no choice as your teacher walks into class and tells you to sit down. Before you sit down you see Isuka sitting next to the new guy, who seems pretty uninterested in the surroundings around him.

Ace notices you, looking in his direction before you sit down at your desk. He also notices the way your face grimaces when you and your friend realize you have to take the front row desk, but he does understand your reaction as he will never be caught sitting in any other row but the last. Ace is the loner guy in school as he never finds anyone interesting enough to hang around with in school. All the friends he has are either from his basketball club or friends he has from his childhood; with classmates he never gets along with, so after ninth grade he has stopped even trying to befriend anyone from his school. Now on top of it, as an even bigger punishment his mom has made him go to this snobby school, which if it isn’t for his high grades Ace would never have been accepted, especially with his record of bad behavior on school grounds. But they did and now he is stuck here. On top of it the bratty annoying girl sat down with him without even bothering to ask if she could or not. But it doesn’t matter now it is not like he is paying her any attention no matter how hard she tries, all her questions are either met with a hum or a nod from him. She should get the hint.

****

Before you know it the first last day of high school is finished and you and Robin made your way to your car. The weather is still nice and warm outside even with the typical Autum breeze.

“Any plans for tonight?” You ask Robin once you both enter your car. She shakes her head and yawns.

“No, I’m actually extremely tired I just want to go home and sleep until tomorrow morning.” She says while putting on her seatbelt on. You do the same as her before you start the car and drive to her home. “By the way, Isuka wasn’t the only one who noticed you checking out the new guy.” Robin’s playful voice gets you flushing as you try biting on your lips to stop the smile that is slowly growing on your face. “Oh, are you crushing on him?” Her voice rises a bit as she sees how you are trying your best to hide your smile.

“No, no Rob, nothing like this.” You shake your head with your eyes focusing on the road. “He is cute, but crushing is too much, I just saw him today and we haven’t even talked yet.”

“Yes, he is kind of cute.” Robin agrees with you, but you throw her a quick surprised glance.

“Kind of? He is super cute, especially when he put those glasses on.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you have a thing for nerds.�� Your friend is quick to tease you.

“I doubt that he is a nerd, an outsider yes, but a nerd no.” You respond while parking in front of Robin’s house, she lives very close to school, so it usually takes no more than fifteen minutes’ drive or even less if there is no traffic.

“How did you come with the conclusion that he is an outsider?” Robin asks with surprise in her eyes as she barely paid any attention to the guy today.

“He didn’t spoke or try to interact with anyone today, and at the same time he didn’t seem to be the shy nervous type, you know?” You tell your observations of the guy to your friend, and she is more than impressed, this is not a typical behavior from you.

“Girl, when did you manage to observe this much of the guy?” Robin turns on her seat and waits for your response as she can’t believe what she is hearing.

“Oh, come on. I’m just very observative.” You try to brush it off, but Robin is not buying it.

“Sure, whatever you say.” She smirks and opens the door hopping off the car. “You know, now I’m quite interested in where this last year of high school will lead us.” Your friend raises playfully her eyebrows, and you laugh at her.

“Robin, I said he is cute, not that I’m interested in him.”

“Yet. Plus, I didn’t say anything about the guy, but you just did.” She winks at you as she closes the door without giving you the chance to response.

********

“Ma, I’m home.” Ace screams once he enters his home. Taking his shoes and jacket off he walks into the new apartment his mom rented when they moved to the new city. Ace hasn’t gotten used to the place yet, but it was because of him and his behavior as to why they had to move in first place.

“I’m in the kitchen, honey.” His mom calls for him from the kitchen which is also where they are having their dining aera as well. Entering the room Ace spots his mother next to the kitchen counter chopping some vegetables as something is boiling in the pot on the stove. When she sees her son entering the room her smile grows. “How was the first day? Please tell me you made some friends.” She looks at her son with pleading eyes as she knows how close off Ace likes to be and how he barely let anyone get close to him. “Also -” She points with the knife in her hands towards her cheek, indicating to her son to give her a kiss. Ace rolls his eyes but gives his mom a little peck on the cheek. “Now tell me about school.” His mom, Rouge encourages him. She is one of those people who is always with a smile on their face, her whole existence is screaming warmth and calmness. But this smile can easily go away the moment she enters ‘mama bear’ mode or when Ace really… really pisses her of which in the past two years since his father died, he has been doing more frequently than he intended to.

Taking a seat in one of the highchairs on the other side of the kitchen counter Ace just grunts with a shrug of his shoulders. Nothing interesting happened today. All he wants is for these nine months to go by as quickly as possible. Rouge snaps her fingers in front of her son’s face taking him out of his trance.

“Nothing interesting mom. School, what else to say.” He grabs one of the uncut chili peppers and takes a bite of it.

“Oh, Ace. Come on, it’s a new school. Did you not meet anyone interesting? How are the teachers? Something.” His mom nags him. Sometimes she misses her son’s bright side. Not like Ace was very open with people when his dad was alive, but he was always energetic around his parents. Rouge knows how much his dad’s death affects her son, but she prays every day and night for the day when her boy will be back to his old bubbly self at least around her and his closes friends and family. Nowadays the best she is getting is five to six sentences from him and the rest is grunts and hums.

“Well, there is this old hag literature teacher that is pain in the ass, but other than this nothing, mom.” He grabs another chili pepper as they are his favorite. “What are you making tonight?”

“Chili beans and ground beef. And before you say anything I did buy with only ten percent fat, okay. I don’t want another lecture on proteins and fats.” She points with the knife in her hand at him warningly and jokingly. Ace snots out a laugh and shakes his head, reaching for another chili pepper but his mom slaps his hand away. “Stop, there will be nothing left if you continue eating them like apples. Now, tell me more about school, come on. Okay one bad teacher, you will survive her. How about the classmates?” She asks as she takes the cutting board with the veggies and walks to the stove where the pot is, adding them to it. Ace starts playing with his fingers as he props his elbows on the counter and thinks for a second about his classmates. The guys are mostly rich spoiled brats, and the girls are no different. Well, one catches his interest, but he doesn’t plan to share this part with his mom at all.

“Rich spoiled kids, ma. Is there anything more to be said?” He raises his brow at his mom who rolls her eyes at him.

“Stop acting like you are some poor ghetto guy.” Her late husband has made sure that there is enough for both her and their son to have a good and stable future before he passes away. They aren’t the richest out there, but with what Roger has left, just her job alone covers all their bills and needs, so all the money will go for Ace’s education in university.

“I’m not mom. I’m just stating the facts.” Seeing that his mom is in a good mood Ace decides to test his luck. “By the way… it would be very nice if I can have my car keys back… you know as it would be way easier to go to school.” His mom’s laughter fills up the space once she hears her son’s lame attempt to get his car back. After getting expelled from his old high school, Rouge has taken away his car keys as she knew that this would make her son behave at least until he gets them back.

“I told you, depends how you behave you might have them back in six months.” She leans with her hands on the countertop and smiles at her son. As much as he looks like her, he has his dad’s dark eyes and hair which make him the perfect mixture of them both. “But good try Ace, you still have like what four or three months left… if you behave.” Rouge reaches with her hand and ruffles Ace’s dark messy curls. Ace pulls his head away from his mother’s hand and gets up from the chair.

“When is this going to be done?” He points with his eyes towards the pot on the stove.

“Max an hour, I think.” The only response Rouge receives is a grunt from her son before he makes his way to his room. “Oh, Ace… what am I going to do with you?” It pains her heart to see him like this, but his destructive behavior needs to get under control.

Rogue still remembers the phone call from the police station she received one Tuesday afternoon. Not only had her son got into another fight on the school property but on top of it he had broken some classmate of his arm. But that wasn’t the reason Ace was locked up by the police. He was also high on weed at school, and when someone from his class called the police on him, they found two blunts in his wallet, so he got cuffed immediately. On top of it, the family of the kid wanted to start a case against Ace, but with a lot of pleading from Rouge side, she managed to convinced them not to open the case. Instead, Rouge paid for the kid’s expenses during his recovery. And with a lot of connections and Roger’s best friend, Reyleigh – Rogue succeeded to safe her son’s criminal and school record, but she wasn’t planning on letting him go easy from this situation.

The whole summer Ace was working on two jobs so he could pay back his mom’s expenses on lawyers, the medical bills on the guy’s arm he broke, and he had to go to evening classes every Monday and Thursday so he could graduate eleventh grade. Not only this, but every month since then, Rouge has been making Ace take a drug test. If she finds out one more time that he is taking anything drug related he will be out of the house even if it would hurt her more than him. She doesn’t want to see her son destroying his future.

Entering his room and closing the door behind him Ace starts to take off the annoying school uniform. Changing to more comfortable clothes he lays on his bed and just stares at the ceiling. He misses his old town and friends. Even there he hasn’t been the most social person, especially in school, but still he had his friends, while here he has none. He has his mom, but it is not the same. And this new pretentious school is killing him, and it only has been a day since he has started. But he will have to push it through, after all he doesn’t want to see his mom’s disappointed face ever again. He might be everything else, but Ace isn’t stupid, he knows that his behavior is not only hurting him but his mother too. Because of this he must fix his ways of living not only for his sake, but also for the sake of the people who care for him.

Without realizing it, his mind drifts to you – the girl with the white knee length stockings. He can’t deny that he finds you attractive, but he isn’t planning on messing around with any girls any time soon and especially one from his class. You are some kind of a rebel because all day he hasn’t seen another girl with knee stockings like yours, all the other girls are wearing normal ones that cover every inch of their legs. It is either this or you are desperate for male attention, but something is telling him that you aren’t the type to care who gives you attention and who doesn’t. But his first impression of you is clear – ‘troublemaker’ and he doesn’t need troubles right now.

After some time scrolling on his phone Ace hears his mom calling from the kitchen. He gets up and goes to see what the fuzz is about.

“What, ma?” He asks as he enters the kitchen.

“Please, put the plates on the table. The meal is done, it just needs to chill down a bit and I need to make a phone call.” She washes her hands and dries them on the towel hung on the kitchen cabinet under the sink. Ace just nods and starts preparing the table for him and his mom.

********

It has been almost two months since school has started again and it is killing you. All you want is to be done with this particular school, but just seven more months left. The subjects feel harder this year than the last and you usually don’t have any problem studying but this year is taking a tool on you, and you have barely started. Walking into biology class early in the morning knowing that Robin is sick at home today isn’t very pleasant. She always lets you know earlier when she is not coming to school due to sickness or whatever reason as she knows how much you hate being in classes without her. But today you decide to go anyway, as you have biology, literature and PE, which means you are having three classes with Ace, which means that today might not be so bad even without Robin next to you.

Your little attraction from day one turned into full crush almost a month ago. Which is funny because you and Ace have never spoken, but you can’t help but feel attracted to him. To be honest, Ace doesn’t speak with anyone, his voice can only be heard if the teachers ask him something or if they have something to tell him about the way his uniform is not worn right. The only thing that you are aware of so far that you have in common with him.

Walking into the room most of your classmates are already there. Scanning the room your eyes land on Ace. As always, he has his headphones on while having his hands on the desk, with one elbow raise and his head prop on the palm of his hand. Taking a deep breath in you start walking towards the desk in the middle of the middle row and sit there. With Robin being gone for the day, you are going to be sitting alone so you put your bag on the chair next to you. Taking your notebook and pen out you start fidgeting with the pen between your fingers waiting for your teacher to come.

Slightly turning your head to the side, you glance at Ace. His messy hair falling freely around his face as always and his glasses already placed on his face, he looks adorable. Yes, your crush so far is based only on his lucks, but the rare times you have heard him talk, he is smart and yes, he is also cocky, but not like the rest of the boys in your class. There is some kind of a charm in his cockiness. Just before he turns his head in your direction you look away quickly.

His lips twitch for a second as he has caught you staring at him again. Ace is used at this point with your staring. It even starts making him wonder if you have a crush on him or something. You are not very easy to read so Ace isn’t sure a hundred percent if he is right about it or not. Slowly he runs his eyes down on your body and licks his lower lip. You are quite bold today, not only are you with knee-length stockings again, but on top of it they are dark red mesh material, so he is able to take a very good look at your legs. Are you aware of what these things are doing to still teenage boys… to him?

Just when his imagination is about to start working on the things he wants to do in between your thighs while you wear these red stockings, he hears the most annoying voice to exist, even over his headphones being on max volume.

“Morning Ace, it’s always so nice to spend biology with you.” Isuka’s voice rings in his ear as annoying as his first alarm in the morning. Ace doesn’t even bother to look at her. Since the first day at school, she has been sitting with him every biology class. He has tried many things: putting his bag on the chair where she is supposed to sit hoping she gets the hint that she isn’t welcome sitting with him, then sitting at another desk just so leaves him alone but still no success. One time he made sure to be the first one in class just so he could hide the fucking chair but sadly someone got sick that day, so she sat with him again. Thankfully it is only biology he has to sit with her. The teacher finally walks in, and the class is starting so Ace takes off his headphones and puts them back in his backpack.

“Students.” Mr. Bellman clapped with his hands as a warm smile is placed on his face as aways. He is one of the few, to not say only teacher in this school that is actually nice and understanding towards his students. “Before the Christmas break next month you all will be divided into pairs and do a project together.”

“Are we paired with whoever we want or you are going to pair us?” Ask a classmate of yours.

“Thank you for the question, Mr. Dawson. In fact, I have written all your names on a piece of paper and put them in a bowl.” He pulls out two glass bowls filled with small pieces of paper. “Those of you sitting on the left will be the one picking a note with the names of your partner and on those of you sitting on the right will be picking from the bowl with the topic of your projects.” After he explains you groan and quickly move to sit on the left side. You don’t care what topic you will get if you will be lucky enough to get Robin’s name out of the bowl. “Everyone understands? Okay, perfect. I will come to you now first with the names.”

Your turn finally comes, and Robin’s name hasn’t been picked yet so hopefully you will get her. With a warm smile Mr. Bellman encourages you to pick a piece of paper, and you do. You start laughing as you unwrap it and see your own name written on it.

“Well, Mr. Bellman I guess I’m either doing it by myself or I can choose with whom to work with.” You joke with him to which he laughs but shakes his head.

“I know you are hoping to pick Miss Nico as your partner Miss (Y/L/N), but with risk for you to hate me, please take another note.” You click with your tongue when your teacher tells you this. Mr. Bellman has gotten to know you very well over the span of the four years he has been your teacher, and he knows that you and Robin always go as a pair. Putting your hand once again in the bowl you drag another piece of paper. Unwrapping the small piece of paper your heart skips a beat once you read the name. “Mr. Portgas D Ace, how nice.” The teacher announces loudly as he looks at Ace’s direction.

Hearing his name being called Ace raises his head from his notebook. He looks at where Mr. Bellman is standing, and he is right next to you. ‘Nice’ Ace thinks to himself. You aren’t a bad option for a project partner especially when it comes to biology, you are pretty good from what Ace has seen of you so far in class. He only nods with his head as the teacher wrote you down as partners.

You on the other hand don’t know how to process the fact that you will be working with Ace for the next one month. You know he is smart and surprisingly he is one of the top students in class, but even if he isn’t the smartest it wouldn’t have mattered as this isn’t why you are concerned. It is the fact that you have a stupid little crush on him and spending time with him outside school might cause your stupid little crush to grow. Your thoughts are interrupted by Mr. Bellman’s voice.

“Okay, everyone has a partner, right? Now is time to pick your topics, now remember those on the right are picking them.”

Going around the room again Mr. Bellman skips you this time as it is Ace turn to pick your topic as he is sitting on the right side of the desk. Reaching with his hand Ace picks a piece of paper and unwraps it. Clearing his throat before he speaks, he looks at you.

“Causes of Narcolepsy and Insomnia.” He says with his deep raspy voice. In response you nod as you have turned to face him when he was picking it. Turning back around you write it down on your notebook, so you don’t forget. Before you have turned around you see the nasty look Isuka is giving you, but you pay her no attention. You are aware of her own crush for Ace, but it is obvious that it isn’t mutual.

After everyone get their topics, Mr. Bellman starts to explain how the project can be made and as long as it is submitted by the second week of December it should be fine for everyone. The class finishes on time and everyone starts to gather their stuffs. It takes you a moment to start putting your stuffs back as now you must speak to Ace no matter what. But by the time you turn around to see if he is still in the classroom he is nowhere to be found. With a sigh you get up and start making your way to your locker to grab your physics textbook and then make your way to the classroom. You won’t be seeing Ace until after lunch when you have your literature class and then PE, which means you have enough time to think of how to approach him. Or he might approach you, after all it is not only your project.

****

Lunch break comes and you made your way fast to your locker again. Deciding to skip on lunch today you grab your literature books and head straight to the classroom. You are the first one there as everyone is out for lunch now. Taking your usual seat in the middle row you pull out your phone and start texting Robin.

‘Rob.... I have a good and bad news...’

‘If it is about the biology project I already know as Nora has already texted me about it... so I suppose this is the bad news... now tell me the good’ She is quick with her reply. Not only this but you just realise that you have totally forgotten to pay attention to who got Robin’s name. Poor Robin, she must work with one of Isuka’s annoying friends for the project.

‘Girl I’m so sorry... yeah about the good news... guess who is my project partner :3’

‘No way :O ... is it Portgas?’ Of course, Robin gets it right from the first guess. You happily squeak and tap with your feet excitedly on the floor.

‘YES ROB IT IS HIM IN FACT CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?’

‘If I knew that the only day of me missing school would lead to this I would have gotten sick earlier xD have you two spoken about it?’

‘Not yet, but I have the next two classes with him as you know... so I plan to speak with him about it.’ You have already come with a plan, and it is super simple – he walks into the room, sits on his desk and you go speak with him, how hard it would be?

Well, it appears to be harder than you have expectedas he is late for class, but he comes eventually. After being scold from Mrs. Kenets he goes and sit on his usual spot – the last desk next to the window. After the class is done you miss your chance again as he is the first one to leave. But it is okay, you still have PE together you can speak with him then.

You aren’t very surprised when you can’t catch him to speak with during PE, too. It is the only class where he kind of interacts with people and it is the guys who he interacts with only when they play basketball. He plays very well, you have observed him many times, but you are not surprised after all he is tall, and he obviously works out, so this only adds to his looks. You even have a theory that he might be practicing basketball outside school, but you are not a hundred percent sure about this. You on the other hand try to join the girls and some of the guys who are playing volleyball, but it gets boring quickly.

Now you are just sitting on the benches, with your elbows on your knees and your head prop the palms of your hands, observing Ace and waiting for the perfect moment to speak with him about your project.

“Staring to much aren’t we?” Taking a deep breath in, you side-glanced the person who just sits next to you.

“What do you want Isuka?” You turn your head to the side to look at her with blank stare.

“I want to change partners for the project.” She crosses her arms across her chest and her tone from mocking turns to demanding. A makeshift puff of laugher escapes your lips as you look at her in disbelief.

“You heard Mr. Bellman we can’t do this, and I won’t do this for you especially.” It is not because Ace is your project partner, it actually doesn’t matter who it would have been, you will never do a favour for Isuka. Ever.

“You can have your friend Robin, and I get Ace what a better deal than this?” She continues to nag.

“You are not even the one paired with her, the fuck is you on about? And I told you I’m not changing partners for your pleasure especially.” You turn your head back to where the boys are playing basketball.

“Look at me when I speak to you.” Isuka hisses and pulls you by the hand causing you to look at her.

“Touch me one more time and I will sweep the floor with your hair.” You snap at her as you stand up. Verbally she can say whatever you never really care, but this right now is crossing any lines.

“Calm down loser you don’t want to get in trouble.” She also gets up and now you are on the same level facing each other. “Ace also wants to change so we can be together.”

“Do you even believe yourself when you said this out loud?” You snort and turn around to walk away. You can hear Isuka walking after you, but you chose to ignore her.

Passing by the guys playing basketball you don’t see Isuka going to one of them – Jack, the popular rich and extremely arrogant jerk in school. She whispers something in his ear and his arrogant laugher fills up the space. The guys have stopped the game as he is the one holding the ball and waiting for him to get back to it. Ace is standing with arms crossed across his chest while carefully observing the scene just a few steps away from them.

He saw you passing by a little annoyed by Isuka, who was following after you. Her bullying, if he can call it this, towards you haven’t been unnoticed by him, but it is always her put back on her place by you. Maybe this is the case again. But it isn’t. Just as Jack is raising his hand ready to aim at you, with his arrogant smile on while his face is turned to Isuka’s, it takes Ace three stapes to get to Jack and take the ball away from his hands.

“The fuck man?” Jack turns to him with disbelief in his eyes. “I was just about to have some fun.” He came closer to Ace bumping his chest with his, to which Ace snorts as he puts the ball between them keeping Jack’s body away from his. They are almost the same high, but Ace is still slightly taller than him.

“Since when hitting girls is considered fun Jack?” Ace raises one brow at him waiting for his response.

“Didn’t know you can talk this much Portgas?” Jack mockingly says to which Ace only replies with an arrogant smirk. After all Jack isn’t the only one who thinks he can act all cocky and mighty.

“I usually don’t waste my time speaking with people like you.” This struck a nerve in Jack as he hears Ace says this and goes to pinch him, but Ace is quick to dodge it. The teacher is quick to see what is going on and runs to the boys screaming at them. Taking a step back Ace laughs at Jack’s face. “Try faster next time, Jack.” With that he ignores the teacher who is trying to scold the boys but none of them is listening to them. Before heading to the changing rooms Ace gives Isuka a disgraceful look. It is clear to Ace that she has talked Jack into doing this, which is very low even for her.

You on the other hand have missed the entire show. Now as you have changed back to your school uniform and adjusting the straps holding your red stockings you curse yourself as you accidently made a hole on the side of the left stocking. Remembering that you have a clear nail polish in your locker you grab your bag and leave the changing rooms.

Standing in front of your locker and opening it you also put back some of the notebooks and textbooks you are carrying with yourself during the day. Most of the students are already leaving as the last bell of the day has rung like five minutes ago. As you are about to close your locker you haven’t paid attention to your surrounding, someone has leaned on by the lockers next to you, so when you hear their voice, you get startled.

“Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. (Y/N), right?” Turning around you are met with no other but Ace. With your eyes widen you swallow hard as you nod. “So, we are project partners now.” He says and you nod again.

“Uh, yeah. Actually, I was trying to get a hold of you the whole day.” You chuckle and try to straiten your posture. You open and close your mouth as you aren’t sure exactly what to say and Ace isn’t very helpful as he doesn’t say much himself. “Like... you know... I was wondering things like when should we start, where should we meet... you know ha-ha... project things.” You grab on your left elbow with your right hand as you try very hard to hide the fact how nervous you are around him.

Putting his hands in his pockets Ace can see how nervous you got out of nowhere. He swears this isn’t the same confident girl he has observed around school. But then again, he has seen you only with your black-haired friend which he always forgets the name of. Maybe you are only confident and bubbly only around people you know and that is why you only hang up with her.

“Which day after school works with you? The sooner we start the better.” Ace says and you nod agreeing with him.

“Any day works with me honestly.” You give him a small smile and wait for his response as he seems to think about when it will be best for him.

“How about Friday?”

“Sure, Friday works fine with me as well. Should we go to the library?”

“Yea, the library is fine. Then see you on Friday.” With this he pushes himself of the lockers and walks away. He isn’t arrogant, but he isn’t very friendly as well, so you are starting to worry how smoothly this project will go. But now that you have seen him up so close, you are totally sweep off your feet. This boy is unbelievably handsome.

‘Please, don’t have a girlfriend.’ You think to yourself, a thought that has crossed your mind million of times now. You have tried everything, but you can’t find him on any social media and as he doesn’t speak to anyone in school you have no idea if Ace is single or not. All you can do is prey that he is single, because boy your heart will be broken if he is taken and extremely jealous of his girlfriend.

*****

Friday comes fast and before you know it you are done with your classes for the day. You will be lying if you say that you are not nervous and excited at the same time now that you are about to spend the next few hours working with Ace on the project. On the other hand, Robin hasn’t stopped messing with you today as you have put extra effort in the way you look today. With your makeup and hair done nicely and your uniform being precisely ironed like never before, paired with dark blue knee stockings matching your uniform you looked gorgeous today. Even Robin herself commented how you will make him crush on you a hundred percent after your study session.

“Okay, how do I look? How do I smell?” You have dragged your best friend in the bathroom with you as you want to make sure that you are a hundred percent looking your best.

“Oh my God, (Y/N). Calm down, he is just a guy.” Robin is still in disbelief in the way you are acting when it comes to Ace. Sure, he is cute, even if he isn’t her type she doesn’t deny that the guy is good looking, but you have never been like this over a guy before.

“I know, I know.” You say in a desperate tone. Yes, you are super attracted to him and his looks but expect from this you don’t know anything about him, and you are hoping that with this project you will be able to get to know him. “I... I just want to... how to say it Rob... if he finds me somehow attractive then, of course only if he is single, maybe he might be up for a date or something.” Lowering your head and looking at your sneakers you feel Robin wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into a hug.

“(Y/N), if this guy is not on his knees for you after today, then he needs to change his glasses.” You both laugh as you pull away from the hug. “Okay now show me which lip glosses you have taken with you?” You eagerly pull out the two lip glosses you have taken with you in the morning as you can’t decide which one will look better. Taking a good look at them, Robin points with her finger to the cherry coloured one. “I think this will make your lips pop more.”

“Thank you. I was also thinking of the cherry one.” You put the other one back in your bag and start applying the cherry one on your lips. Smacking your lips once you are done you turn to Robin. “What do you think?”

“I think that I’m jealous of Portgas.” Hearing her comment you burst of laughing.

“Uh, I love you, Robin. You are the best friend I could have ever ask for.” You pull her for another hug, but she taps you on the shoulders to let go.

“Come on, he is probably waiting for you. And don’t forget to call me once you are done.”

****

Ace has been sitting on one of the old desks in the library for the past fifteen minutes now. He should have asked for your number. What if you can’t make it today? He has seen you around school earlier today, but still. Or what if you are here but can’t find him? He is definitely getting your number today. Not for any other reason, just so he can have some kind of contact with you while you do the project together.

“Hey, sorry for being late.” His eyes immediately shot at you as you stand on the side of the desk next to him. You smile at him as you pull the chair to sit. “Don’t tell me you have been waiting for me for a long time?” Your eyes are filled with guild and Ace is just staring.

‘Shit, she looks even prettier today.’ He can’t help but think to himself. Ace can’t deny that he has found you attractive since day one, but he hasn’t been in a relationship ever. Which is strange that the thoughts of relationship are crossing his mind since he doesn’t want one. He does have his fair share with girls from time to time but nothing more. Not only this but whatever you have put on your lips today are making them even more plump and desirable. If he can just pull you closer and kiss you right now he would. Calling him out by his name you take him out of his trance.

“Sorry? What were you saying?” He clears his throat as his voice comes out a little bit raspier then usual.

“I asked if you waited for me for too long?” You let a small giggle at his confused expression. To your surprise Ace let out a little chuckle himself. This is the first time ever you hear any form of laugher from him and you swear something bloomed in your stomach.

“Nah, I didn’t. Actually, you need to give me your number, so we have some kind of communication through out the project.” Your eagerly nod as you see him pulling his phone and handing it to you so you can put your number in. You quickly type it with your name as well and give back the phone to him. “Nice, thanks.” He says and puts the phone back in his back pocket.

“How do we start now? I see you have taken some books already.” You reach and take one of the books and observe it. It is about neurobiology, which your topic for ‘Causes of Narcolepsy and Insomnia’ is based on.

“Yea, well we can do bigger research on insomnia as I have a narcolepsy myself so you can leave all that part to me.” He runs his hand on the nape of his neck a little uncomfortable.

“Oh, no please. I want the work to be equal for both of us.” You are quick to protest and surprise to hear that he has narcolepsy himself, he hasn’t showed any signs in school, but again from sharing just three classes together you don’t know much about him. “Also, I didn’t know you have narcolepsy. I know it is not easy living with one as my little cousin also has it.” You smile at him as you understand a bit how he must feel dealing with this on the daily basis.

Raising his brows in surprise as he hasn’t met anyone so far in his life who has it or have a person close to them struggling with it, Ace is a little taken aback and not sure how to response to this.

“Ya, it does sucks sometimes.” Is all he manages to response with. “In that case should we get to work?” With a nod from you, you both start to discuss how you can manage your project and the topics for it.

Time goes by fast and before you know it, it has already been two hours. During those two hours it is mostly you who breaks the silence with suggesting ideas or double checking with him if you should include a certain information in. Deciding to take a quick break from gathering information and writing it down, you decide to be bold and ask him more personal questions in the meantime, if you can call them this, so you can get to know him a little.

“So, um Ace...” You start unsure if he wants to talk or not, but when he hums and looks at you in response so you take this as a yes – he might be up for a small talk after all. “What made you choose this school?”

Unsure how to response to this question without mentioning that he has been expelled from his previous high school he gives you the most logical answer ever.

“My mom, you?” Short and clear as ever, but at least he asks you as well.

“My parents.” You roll your eyes, if it isn’t for them you would want to attend another not so strict and pretensions school.

“Why the eyeroll?” He takes his glasses of and puts them on the side. The switch in his charm with and without them is indescribable – with them on he gives this persona of a little introvert and unbothered guy, who is also extremely adorable; without them he gives and has the vide of the cocky cool guy with a bad boy vibe who with just one look will get you on your knees. Shaking you head of you try to focus yourself back into the small conversation.

“I don’t know if you have noticed but this school is quite pretentious.” You whisper like there are many people around you, moving your eyes side to side pointing out your surroundings. A puff of makeshift laugher escapes Ace’s lips as he nods his head.

“Yea, same. Can’t stand this place and its rules.” He leans on the back of the chair and loosen up the tie around his neck.

“Tell me about it, I already had three detentions.” You huff. Rasing one of his brows questionably to why and how you have gotten detention, three times on top of it. Even he hasn’t gotten one, yet. “Because of the stockings.” You scrunch your face with a smile and Ace chuckles at you.

“Why don’t you just wear the same ones as the other girls?” No matter how cool Ace wants to play it, this question has been on his mind for a long time. It is only you in the whole school who allows herself to wear something that is considered inappropriate.

“I really hate stockings, I don’t even like these ones, but God I would rather get detention than getting to the principal’s office ever again.” Your whole body shivers from the memories of it.

“What they send you to the principal just because of some socks?” Ace snort, he can’t believe how ridicules this school’s rules are.

“No, I was sent to him because I came to school without any – just me and my bare legs, and in my defence, it was the end of May and outside was almost thirty degrees.”

“Oh, fuck this school.” Ace laughs in disbelief as he runs both of his hands through his hair messing it even more.

“There is more to the story.” You say and he looks at you like you are kidding. “Don’t look at me like this, I’m not joking. They called my parents and bear with me now – they had to listen to the principle going on and on about how unappropriated their daughter behaviour is because of this, and how she is promoting sexual behaviour in the school’s property dressed like that.”

“What a troublemaker you are (Y/N).” Ace clicks with his tongue as he laughs once he hears your story.

“The biggest one, don’t forget.” You point with your finger at him correcting his mistake as he raises his hands in the air like you have pointed a gun at him.

“How did your parents react?”

“They are super cool. I wasn’t grounded or anything like it, but they begged me only to never come to school again with bare legs.” Both of you share a light laughter before silence takes over you. “Should we continue?” You are the one to break it once again.

“Nah, I think we did enough for today. What are your plans next Wednesday after school, we can meet again?” Your eyes widen from excitement as you eagerly, too eagerly for your liking nod your head. “Cool, then until next Wednesday.” He says as he gets up and takes his stuff. “Troublemaker.” He chuckles at you over his shoulders and leaves.

****

Wednesday turns to next Friday, and next Friday turns to see you again on Monday and for the next three weeks you and Ace are meeting at least two times per week to work on your project even thought you do twenty percent working and the rest is you two talking and getting to know each other. To your surprise Ace is quite talkative when he wants to be. The more time you two spend together the more you get to know him, and the more is your crush on him growing.

One time you gain the courage and very subtilty you asked if he has a girlfriend to which he answered no, and you felt like all the powers, gods and goddesses, whatever is out there was with you that day. Not only that he is handsome with amazing personality, but he is also single. The two things you must be careful about now are: one trying to not get in the friendzone and two if he likes you – you don’t want it to be just sex, you want it to be more than this.

During school, every time you bump at each other in the hallways you are always greeting him, and he always nods at you or mumbles hello back. Of course, this got you a few unpleasant stares from a few girls around school. One time at literature class when he was the one to stop by your desk and talk with you, you noticed Isuka choking on her water and if it was possible in real life, she was going to have steam of smoke coming out of her ears out of jealousy.

The only sad part of it all is that you two are pretty much done with your project, only a few more details are left but it won’t take you more than two hours to finish it. As you are laying on your bed with your notebooks spread across on it, your phone vibrates. You grab it and your eyes sparkle with excitement once you see who the message is from.

‘Tomorrow same place at the same time?’

‘Of course ^.^’

Not wasting even a second later you dial Robins number. The moment she does you are quick to speak.

“Should I tell him that I like him?” You blurt out.

“If you feel like it – yes.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me back? That way things will be awkward till the rest of the year, and I don’t want it to be this way.” You bite on the cuticle of your nails as you stand up from your bed and start to walk back and forth in your room.

“I think he does.” Robin says with a reassuring voice over the phone.

“I think you are feeding my delusions.”

“Girl, calm down. From what you’ve told me and I’ve seen from you interacting I think he might be into you as well, plus you’ve said he that he is a pretty chill guy, so even if he doesn’t, I’m sure that it won’t be very awkward after it.” She starts to laugh as she can only imagine you going around in a circle around your room, and she isn’t wrong.

“You are right, after all the worst he can say is what? That he is not into me and… and…” Your mind goes spiraling with thoughts of what could be the worst thing Ace might say to cut you off.

“And the world will keep spinning now calm down and worry tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes, you are right. See you tomorrow, Rob.”

“See you tomorrow… troublemaker.” She laughs and cuts the line immediately knowing how to tease you. You have mentioned to her how from time-to-time Ace calls you ‘troublemaker’. Falling on your back on your bed you just stare at the ceiling – what is the worst that can happen tomorrow?

****

Walking home after his basketball practice, Ace can’t help but think of you. In the past three weeks you two have been talking a lot. He enjoys it more than he wants to admit to himself. On top of it, your beauty is like a bonus to your personality – not only you are smart and funny, but you are also mischievous and spontaneous. And he likes this about you a lot. You are the type of person who is down for anything, especially judging by the stories you have told him about yourself. You are also quite charming and cute when you have this sparkle of mischief in your eyes. Yes, you are a troublemaker, but not the type who looks for troubles on purpose, it is more like a rebellious troublemaker. You will stand behind your words and believes no matter what and not only does he finds this extremely attractive but he also respects it.

Unlocking the front door of his home and walking in he is greeted by the voice of his mom. Entering the living room, he sees her sitting on the couch drinking tea, as her long ginger hair is falling freely on her back and shoulders.

“How was practice, honey?” She asks with a big smile on her face as she takes a sip of her tea and then place it on the coffee table.

“Ma, stop calling me pet names like this.” He grunts as he takes a seat on the couch next to her with one arm prop at the back of the sofa. “And it went good and very, very tiring. We ran a lot today.” Ace tells her as he is stretching his legs with a hiss from the soreness.

“I can definitely smell this.” She replies sarcastically as she punches her nose and waves her hand at her face messing around with her son.

“Oh, shut up mom. I showered there and I will go shower again in a minute.” Ace laughs and moves closer to her as he raises his hands in the air making his mom fake a gag from her son’s sweat.

“You are the same pain in the ass as your dad.” She raises her voice acting like she is irritated but in fact she is not, she is having quite the fun with her son right now. Poking him on the sides where she knows that he is ticklish, she laughs when he groans and gets up from the couch.

“Well, I don’t come from the neighbor. You choose my dad not me.” He jokes with her as he reaches and takes her tea mug and chugs it down.

“Did you just drink all my tea?” Rouge’s eyes widen as she sees the smug smirk placed on her son’s face.

“Your stinky son is thirsty, sorry ma.” Ace lets out a boyish laugh as she reaches to playfully smack his forearm but misses. Grabbing his gym back from the floor he makes his way to the bathroom but before this he stops at the door and looks at his mom. “Mom, do I really stink?”

“No, Ace you don’t. I’m just messing with you.” She looks at her son lovingly as he nods his head. Sometimes he is such a dork, especially recently. But Rouge doesn’t mind it. In the past almost two weeks and so her son is somehow more talkative, more open. Something he hasn’t been in a long time, and something is telling Rouge that there is a girl involved in this, and she can’t wait to tease her son about it, but not now. For now, she is just enjoying having a little bit of her son’s old self back. But once she has the opportunity, she will definitely tease him about it, especially after he has mentioned briefly that he is doing a project for biology class with a girl and Ace never talks about girls of any kind with his mom.

After taking a shower and going to his room Ace grabs his phone as he sits on his bed and texts you. Tomorrow you are finishing your project and as much as he wants to be done with it, he is not that excited to be done with your little meetings after school. But you might continue to spend time with each other from time to time, after all you have a few shared classes together.

His thoughts are interrupted by his phone vibrating with a message from you as a little smile twitch on his lips. Laying on his bare back on the bed he looks up at the ceiling with thoughts filled with you. Maybe he does have a little crush on you, but this is not what he needs right now. After all you are a troublemaker, and it seems like troubles love to follow him.

****

Walking into school Ace feels a little weird today as a lot of people are staring weirdly at him. Usually, he doesn’t pay attention to people staring at him, but it is something in their eyes that it is like a judgment. He makes his way into the school sport hall as his first class for the day is PE. Leaving his gym bag in one of the lockers in the changing room as he came to school with his gym clothes, Ace made his way to the sport field. Entering the closed space field, he notices everyone staring and whispering in his direction. ‘What the fuck?’ he thinks to himself.

“Portgas.” He hears his name being called by no one but Jack himself. “Do you carry a blunt or two with yourself or we should call the police in case you lie.” Jack screams across the field and everyone laughs.

You and Robin have just entered the sport hall from the back entrance and are still dressed in your uniforms as you have some time before the class starts to change to your gym clothes. What confuses you both is seeing everyone laughing.

“Hey, Vanessa.” You call one of the girls with whom you speak from time to time in class. “Why is everyone laughing.”

“Oh my God, girls you must see this.” She says and pulls her phone up playing a video. The video is of a guy who is being held by the police as he is curing loudly and fighting them as they try to cuff him. “Jack sent this to the entire class, and well half of the school as well.”

“(Y/N) is this Ace?” Robin looks at you with frown brows. You are about to call her out but then you see the face of the guy, it is Ace. What is going on? Looking up from the phone screen you see Ace and the rest of the class laughing at him. Without giving it a second thought you run to him. You hear Robin calling after you, but you pay her no mind.

“Ace.” You call out once you are close enough to him. He just side glance you and doesn’t say anything. “I… um… there is this video going around… you getting cuffed by the police… are… are you okay Ace?”

“Do you know who spread it?” He asks you in a calm voice. Too calm for your liking.

“Vanessa told me that Jack sent it to half the school.” You quietly reply.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” He says without looking at you and starts to make his way towards Jack with his fists clenched. Realizing what he is planning to do you are quick to stand in front of him and stop him by placing your hands on his chest.

“Ace don’t.” You give him a pleading look.

“Yes, Ace don’t. Listen to your little girlfriend.” Jack calls out loudly again but this time with mocking voice of a little girl. Laughter fills again the whole sport hall. Clenching his jaw tight Ace pushes off your hands and starts to make his way towards Jack again but you are not going to let this happen.

“Ace, please listen to me for just a second.” You stand in front of him again.

“Fuck off, (Y/N). This is between me and this motherfucker.” He snaps at you as he moves to the side but so do you as you aren’t letting him take another step.

“I know, but this is what he wants and Ace this won’t end with detention.” You know better than him how this school’s rules work. Especially when it comes to students like Jack with rich parents. Ace is going to be out the second he lays his hands on him. “As much as I want to see Jack’s face being punched, I don’t want you to get kicked out for a such thing.” After saying this Ace finally looks at you. his eyes and his whole face full of rage.

“Damn you (Y/N) and this whole school.” He spats at you before turning back and storming off the sport hall.

“Won’t you run after you boyfriend (Y/N)?” Jack says again with a mocking voice. Turning in his direction you just smile at him and start walking towards him. “You know if your attitude wasn’t so unpleasant you would make a very good girlfriend with a face like yours.” He smirks as you stand in front of him. Smiling at him and before he has the time to react, you spit in his face and walk away to find Ace. “You little bitch. Wait until I catch you.” Jack screams full of rage after you as his buddies gather around him trying to hold him still as he wants to run after you.

“(Y/N) you animal.” Isuka screams after you but you just raise your hand and show her the middle finger. Before you leave the sport hall Robin catches up with you.

“Girl, this will cause you some trouble you know?” She walks along you as you are looking everywhere trying to find Ace.

“I will worry about this later. I need to find Ace.”

“Oh my, you are a lost case. Do you really like him this much? Is he really worth the trouble?” She stops you by holding you by the shoulder and you look at her seriously.

“Yes, Robin. I do like him this much, and he is worth the trouble. Now please let me go so I can look for him.” Inhaling and exhaling deep she lets go of your arm.

“I can help you at least.” She pleads but you shake your head.

“Thank you, but I think it’s better it I do it alone.” Before you run away you look at her. “By the way will you cover for me for the rest of the day?”

“You don’t even need to ask me this.” Shaking her head with a smile she sends you off to look for Ace.

You look everywhere – the school hallways in both wings in all three floors, the cafeteria, the main floor by the entrance and now you are making your way to the library. For the almost four weeks you have spent together and the three months since school started you are a hundred percent sure that whatever the reason behind why he has been arrested isn’t something that will change your opinion about him. You know a little bit more about Ace now and one thing he is not is being a bad person. From what you have seen in the video it had happened in a school property and the best they can arrest you for is if you have been with drugs to school. Ace doesn’t seem like the guy who does hard drugs so you are a hundred percent sure that it might have been for weed. But even if it is for something more serious you don’t care much because you trust your intuition, which tells you that he has a valid reason and explanation to the story behind the video.

As you run towards the library you spot him walking out of the school. The moment you take a step to turn in his direction you feel a drop of rain on your face. ‘Grate now all we need is rain.’ You think to yourself as you fasten your pace to catch up with him.

“Ace, please wait.” You call after him to which he looks over his shoulder with still anger written all over his face.

“Go back to school (Y/N).” His voice is still harsh but not as much as when he has told you to fuck off in the sport hall.

“I can’t go back to school. Please, it’s about to be pouring rain. I-I can drive you home or whenever you are goi-” Ace turns to you with an angry expression – his brows drew together with his jaw clenched. He opens his mouth to say something and in this exact moment rain stars to fall from the sky like crazy. Both of you get soaked in a matter of seconds – him with his long sleeve compress black t-shirt and basketball shorts and you in your now soaked school uniform.

“Go back to school (Y/N) and just continue with your day.” He rolls his eyes and turns around as he starts to walk away from you.

“Ace, I can’t go back to school and continue with my day because... I... well I did something...” This makes Ace stop his track and looks at you. As if he couldn’t look even more hotter than before now with all his clothes soaked from the rain and his black hair wet from it you could faint from the sight of him on the spot.

“What did you do (Y/N)?” His voice got even deeper. Ace is standing and watching you looking at your feet and arms behind your back just like a little kid who has done a mischief and now is guilty about it. Not only this but your white shirt is now stuck to your body from the rain Ace can clearly see the bright red bra under it, which is matching with the stockings you are wearing today, making it very hard for him to focus on just your face alone. Lifting your head and giving him big doe eyes look, with your mascara smudged a bit from the rain, anger isn’t the only thing he is feeling right now.

“I-I spat Jack in the face.” You look away now ashamed of what you have done even if he deserved it.

“You what?” Ace takes a step towards you. He can’t believe you have done this and the trouble you will get into for it. “Why did you do this?” His mind is running wild. Why would you do such thing? You won’t be getting away with just a detention after school.

“Because he tried to make fun of you.” Wrapping your arms around yourself you tired to shield from the cold rain and his pierced gaze.

“I can stand form myself (Y/N), I don’t need some girl to do it for me. Thank you, now everyone thinks I’m a coward and a pussy on top of it.” Running his hands over his wet locks Ace shuts his eyes and tries to take some deep breaths.

“A-Ace I-I didn’t mean to cause you harm. I-I just... I-I wasn’t thinking... I-”

“Just shut up.” Opening his eyes and seeing how your own eyes are filled with guilt and shame he curses himself. “I’m mad right now, okay? I don’t want to be an ass toward you, but damn it, why you are such a troublemaker all the damn time.” This isn’t a question, this is a statement. Why are you going headfirst aways? Why did you even go to such extreme just because some asshole tied to get on his nerves. Seeing how you are shivering from the cold Ace exhales deeply and grabs you by the arm firmly but also gentle at the same time. “Where is your car?” He asks you as you start walking towards the parking lot.

“There is the little red one.” You point with your finger towards the small Toyota Aygo parked in the middle of the parking.

“What is with your obsession with the red colour?” Ace huffs as you reach your car and waits for you to unlock it.

“I didn’t choose the car nor the colour of it. And red is not my favourite colour.” You say with a little pout as you unlock the car and both of you get in. Ace has to adjust the seat as he is a bit too tall for your car.

“Yea, bet.” He scoffs with a roll of his eyes.

“Where should I drive to?”

“My place.” Ace replies dryly. Brushing your wet hair from your face you nod and start the car.

****

The car ride is silent. The only time you and Ace exchange any type of words is when you ask him for direction. These twenty minutes to his place felt like an eternity to you. ‘Good job (Y/N), now you messed up any chance to have something with him.’ You are thinking to yourself. There is no chance that things will recover easily now that you have put both you and Ace in this situation. Parking the car in front of the building where he lives you don’t dare to look at him.

Unbuttoning his seatbelt Ace looks at you with one brow raised. Why are you not turning off the car?

“Aren’t you coming?” Hearing the question from him you finally dare to look at him.

“Uh... I... do you want me to come? I-I don’t want to bother your mom or something.” This and you also haven’t expected to receive such an invitation from him.

“Yea, come if you want. My mother is not home anyway.” He is still a bit pissed at you, but he also sees you trembling as you both are still soaking wet from the rain. Last thing Ace wants is for you to get sick because of him.

Hesitating for a moment you slowly nod your head and turn off the car. Unbuttoning your seatbelt, you and Ace both go out of it. The rain is still pouring but none of you hurries up to get inside. You are quietly following him as you enter the building and get in the elevator. Ace press the third floor on it and in the meantime, you look at yourself in the mirror. You notice that you look like a mess – with your hair and cloths all wet and your makeup ruined you feel like a clown right now. On top of it you notice that your bra is seen from under your shirt, and you can feel the embarrassment taking over your features again.

The ding of the elevator indicates that you reached his floor, and you wait for him to go out first so you can follow. Searching for his keys in the side pocket of his gym bag Ace pulls them up and unlocks the door. Opening the door, he nods at you to get in first. Taking a step in and taking off your boots you take a quick look around the place. It looks very neat and cozy, the walls are a very nice light cream nude colour.

“We can go to my room.” Ace says as he starts walking toward it and you go after him. While passing the living room you notice that there are a lot of paintings on the walls of flowers. Looking at you over his shoulder Ace notices you observing them. “It’s my mom’s hobby. Painting flowers is her new obsession.” He explains while holding the door to his room open waiting for you to get in.

“She pains very nice, they are beautiful.” You say as you look from under your lashes at him as you pass to enter his room. The room is quite messy, but you are not surprised or judgy as yours is not better condition than his. Some of the walls have basketball players on them and the walls are paint in a nice spruce blue colour. Next to his window is a big desk with his computer on it and by the looks of it he is also a gamer boy.

“You game a lot?” You ask trying to break the uncomfortable silence that has taken over again and also to calm yourself down because the realisation that you are in his room, in his apartment soaking wet just hits you.

“Yea, you can say this.” His reply is dry but unbeknown to you Ace is feeling just as awkward as you are right now. What was he thinking inviting you over? Especially with you looking like this right now, which causes his mind to run wild with the things he wants to do to you.

“Is that LeBron?” You point at one of the posters hanged on the walls to which he scrunches his nose and shakes his head.

“It’s Koby, um... it’s written with big letters on it.” He points back at the poster, and you awkwardly chuckle at your obvious mistake.

“Sorry, guess I need to check my eyes.” You let out a giggle as you try to lighten up the mood. Ace doesn’t share the giggle with you and at this point you are running out of ideas to how to make the situation less awkward. Chills run all over you and you wrap your arms around you to which Ace clears his throat.

“I can give you some clothes to change to, um... give me a sec and sit on the bed or something you don’t need to stand up.”

“It’s okay I don’t want to wet your bed or something.” You try to brush his offer off, but he just points with his eyes towards the bed so you just nod. Going to his wardrobe he starts to look for something that can fit you as well, but all his cloths will be too big on you. Finding some old basketball shorts and a baggy t-shirt he grabs them, ‘they should fit her’ he thinks to himself. Turning around and seeing you sitting crossed leg on his bed so innocently looking at him at the same time with guilt written all over your face, gets his pulse raising. Taking a few steps and standing in front of you, with a little bit of a distance, he hands you the clothes. You mouth a thank you and reach with your hand to take them.

“Why did you stop me from punching his face but not yourself from spiting on it? You realise that now you are the one in trouble not me?” Giving you the clothes he sits right next to you on the bed. This time his voice is calm, there is no trace of anger in it. Ace wants to genuinely know why you put yourself in this situation.

Trying to collect yourself you don’t know how to response to this question without making things between you two worse. How do you tell him that you like him so much that the fact that a guy like Jack trying to make some kind of fun of him makes your blood boil. How do you tell Ace in a first place that you like him?

“I-I told you Ace... I just... just don’t like people like Jack making fun of others.” You uncross your legs and put the clothes to the side as you start playing with your fingers nervously.

“I get this part without you needing to repeat yourself. But you came and told me to drop it only for you to go and do the same thing is not very smart.” Ace turns his head to face you, but you refuse to look at him. “(Y/N) look at me.” His words are demanding but his voice is not, instead it is softer and somehow pleading. Still, you refuse to look at him as you are afraid if you do so you won’t be able to resist the urge to just scream at his face that you have feelings for him. Ace curses under his breath and places two of his finger under your chin making you look at him. “I didn’t and I don’t care what any person in this fucking school will or already is thinking of me or the video they saw. In a few months none of these people will matter. And I have been wanting to punch Jack’s face in a long time and if it wasn’t for you, I was going to do it. But why did you have to get involved?” Ace is trying his best to get an answer from you but all he gets is widen from fear eyes and you biting on your lip to a point where he thinks blood will come out soon. With a sigh he drops the hand that holds your chin on the bed next to your thigh, his shoulders slumping a bit as he doesn’t know what do to or say to make you to tell him the truth behind your actions. “I’m not mad at you, I’m more concerned about what will happen to you now. I don’t want you to get expelled from school because of me.”

“They won’t expel me, I will get in trouble, but they won’t expel me for it, so don’t worry.” Your voice is quiet as you try to reassure Ace that he shouldn’t be worried about you. But the fact that he is concern about you is filling your belly with butterflies.

“This doesn’t answer my question (Y/N).” He says propping his elbows on his knees and resting his head in the palms of his hands.

“I-I can’t Ace.” You whisper.

“You can’t tell me? Why?” He straitens his posture again and looks at you in disbelief. “Why are you shy out of nowhere? Where is the confident rebellious girl that I know, now? You left her at school or something?” He is right. This isn’t like you. But you just can’t bring yourself to tell him, afraid of his rejection. You could feel your heart beating faster with every passing second.

“I- Ace... I- I... I did it because... because...” The words are on the tip of your tongue but saying them aloud is harder than you expected. Especially now with your eyes locked, the more you look into his deep dark eyes the more you are afraid of them rejecting you. “Because... Ace...”

“Just say it for fuck’s sake.” He snaps and at the same time you shut your eyes closed and blurt it out.

“Because I like you.” Silence filles the room. With your chest raising and falling fast you don’t dare to look at Ace, while he is trying to process what he just heard. Did he heard you right, you like him? Like you have a crush on him?

“Wh-what do you mean you like me?” His eyes widen from the shock and voice filled with confusion if you dare to open your eyes you will see his cheeks covered in blush as he still can’t believe what he has just heard. Not being able to take any more embarrassment for today you jump on your feet ready to run but Ace catches you just on time as you are about to open the door. Turning you around to face him and grabbing both of your wrists in his hands he pins you against the door with his body. “You can’t tell me you like me only to run away a second later.” He grunts as his face leans closer to yours. “How long?”

“Ace please...” You whisper pleadingly. Your legs are getting weak and your mind is getting foggy from having him towering over you. Not to mention the heat that forms in between your legs from the way you can feel his body on you.

“No. Answer. Now.” His voice goes lower and deeper sending chills on your body. “How long?” He repeats his question as he squeezes on your wrists but not in a painful way but in a very gentle yet demanding one. Looking away from his eyes he clicks with his tongue. “No, look me in the eyes.” Cursing under your nose you do as he tells you too. “Good girl. Now answer.”

“Since we start school.” You mumble quietly almost making it impossible for him to hear you.

“Louder (Y/N).” He presses his body on you entirely with one leg in between yours causing you to bite on your lip so hard just so you can supress the moan that almost has slipped your lips.

“Since we started school, okay? I had a crush on you since day one and... and then I started to like you... that’s... that’s why I-I...” You can’t finish your sentence as Ace crashes his lips with yours. It takes you a second to realise what has happened but the moment you do you return the kiss immediately. His kiss and his lips are better than you have imagined them - soft and full, you are a hundred percent sure you have never kissed a guy with such nice lips before. And the way he kisses you with passion and desire you are about to melt in his hands. Releasing your wrist and wrapping his arms around your waist you are fast to wrap yours around his neck.

“Jump.” Ace whispers against your lips and he doesn’t need to tell you twice. With one little bounce he catches you in his steady arms and lifts you. Wrapping your legs around his torso he continues to kiss you as this time his tongue licks your lower lips asking you to open your mouth. Parting your lips Ace wastes no time slipping his tongue inside your mouth. Electric currents are running over your body the moment he deepens the kiss. His tongue gliding with yours feels so warm and sweet. The taste of the kiss is a mixture of mint and the candy you and Robin shared earlier before classes.

Walking to the bed with you in his arms Ace places you gently in the middle of it as he hovers over your body without breaking the kiss. Now like this you have a better access to his body, you run one of your hands through his messy soft dark locks and the other over his hard defined with muscles back. Breaking the kiss to take the needed air both of you have forgotten that you need, Ace looks at you with half lidded eyes as he licks his lips which now are puffier from the kissing.

“You want this as well, right?” He sounds a little out of breath as his face comes closer to your ready to kiss your sweet puffy lips again, but also to make sure that you both are on the same page with where this is going. You can’t find your voice so all you can do is nod your head and pull him for another kiss. This time you don’t supress the moan that wants to escape your lips when you feel his hand grabbing and squeezing your thighs as he slides them under your skirt.

Feeling the soft skin of your thighs and hearing your sweet alluring moan, Ace feels his dick twitching in his shorts. Removing his hands from under your skirt he finds the zipper of it and unzips it. Pulling away from the kiss and you, he gives you a few slaps on the side of your right thigh to lift your hips so he can take off your skirt. Doing as you are being told he takes it off fast and sighs with pleasure at the view in front of him as he parts your legs.

“You sure red is not your favourite colour?” He smirks as he teases you over your red lace panties which now are drenched from your wetness. “Come on, I have only kissed you, not even properly touch you yet and you are this desperate for me?” Ace licks his lips not moving his eyes away from your covered pussy.

“You are not the one to talk.” You are quick to tease him back as his hardened bulge is being quite visibly defined in his basketball shorts.

“I’m not even fully hard yet.” He smirks from satisfaction seeing your pupils dilate. Hovering over you once again Ace kisses you again but only for his lips to travel to your jawline down to your neck. Him kissing and nipping your neck, while his hands are running up and down your thighs, feels like you are levitating. Finding your sweet spot on your neck, Ace gives it a lick and then sucks on it causing you to jerk your body upwards from the pleasure and goosebumps he has just caused you, but he is fast to hold you firm under him with his hands and body. “Stay put.” He whispers in your ear as he bites on the soft part of it causing you to whine under him.

Running your hands down on his biceps you realise that he has way too many clothes, and it’s time for him to get rid from some of it. Reaching with your hands down to his torso you find the ends of his compress shirt and start lifting it. Knowing what your intensions are, Ace helps you with removing the shirt as he throws it somewhere across the room. You feel your pussy throbs from the sight of him shirtless. His chest is defined and muscular and so are his abs which get your mouth running dry. You run both of your hands over it, feeling his warm and soft skin under your fingertips, you bite on your lower lip as you notice a tattoo on his left arm, which you have never seen before.

“Enjoying the view?” He chuckles as his hands reach for the buttons of your shirt and start unbuttoning them one by one. Propping yourself on your elbows, you help him take it off. Reaching to unclip your bra Ace is quick to stop you. “No, this can stay. Red looks good on you.” His voice has gone raspier and he gently pushes you to lay back on the bed again. Pressing you once again on the matters he dips his head in the crook of your neck and slowly trails his lips down to the valley of your chest. With his hands now on both of your breasts he cups them and squeezes gently.

While he is busy kissing the skin around them and massaging them you are exploring the expanse of his back and shoulders. Reaching the waistband of his basketball shorts and determined to take them down, you get distracted as you feel Ace pushing one side of your bra lower and wrapping his lips around your harden nipple. Your hands move to his hair instantly as you push him closer to your chest. He doesn’t let your other breast feel left out as his thumb and index finger are switching between soft and hard pinches making you whine in pleasure.

“Ace please.” You beg him as you can feel the pool of arouser that has formed in between your legs. Rasing your hips a bit so you can get a bit of friction to his harden bulge he pins you down again with his body making it impossible for you to move. Letting go of your nipple with his lips and looking up at you he shakes his head. His dark brown eyes are now filled with lust as does his mind.

“Do you know how long you have been teasing me with these stockings you come to school and your innocent glances at me all the time?” He asks you while rolling his hips on top of you with a hiss. Your eyes widen with surprise as you heard that he has caught you staring at him all the time in school. “What you think I haven’t notice?” Ace laughs mockingly at you. “You think I haven’t notice you getting all dolled up for our first meeting for the project or these beautiful thighs since day one?” He teases you with his low deep voice as he stars traveling down with his lips on your body.

Moving his hands and placing them at the back of your knees Ace raises them and places your legs on his shoulders leaving you entirely exposed to him. Running his fingers on your stockings up to where your thighs are exposed, he lets out a sigh full of satisfaction. Your soft and beautiful thighs which have been driving him crazy for months, now are finally in his hands and the things he has been planning to do to them are about to come true.

With one hand caressing your left thigh, he starts slowly placing a trail of kisses on the inner side of the right one. As he gets close to now your drenched lace panties, he bites softly on your softest part of your inner thigh causing you to jerk closer to him as you can’t stand his teasing anymore.

“Ace please... please touch me.” You are so desperate for his touch that a single tear falls from your left eye.

“Sh, patience.” He is quick to hush you as he turns his attention now to your left thigh and does the exact same thing all over again but this time with his kisses are slopier. Not only the waistband around his basketball short is getting tighter but so are his boxers. It takes all his willpower to withhold himself from taking them down and fuck you aggressive on his bed, but before he does this, he must taste your pussy.

Gripping on the side of your hips a bit to harsh but not on purpose, Ace drags your lower body even closer to his face and finally he is able to inhale the sweet smell from your soaked pussy. Kissing your pussy lips over the fabric of your panties, a whisper leaves your mouth. Tracing the outline of your lips with the tip of his nose, Ace stops at your covered entrance and kisses it, causing his lips to get wet from your dripping pussy. Licking his lips and taseting how sweet your cunt is, he can’t help but moan himself. Holding you still firm in his arms with legs propped on his shoulders, he reaches with his right index to move aside your panties.

“Oh God you are so beautiful.” His voice comes out as a whine of pleasure as he finally uncovers you and he can see your coated from arousal pussy. You can’t help but clench your cunt around nothing as his comment makes you squeeze your thighs from desire. “Ye baby, make this pussy throbs again.” Ace being pussydrunk by the sight in front of him, can’t move his eyes from your cunt as he is in an awe. You do as he has told you and another moan leaves his lips. The view of your wet pussy leaking with your arousal almost made him finish on the spot.

Not wasting a second more Ace buries his face in your wet folds. Taking one long lick from the entrance to your puffed clit your whole body shakes. Cleaning all the sweet juices off he is now entirely focused on your clit. Sucking and licking the bundle of nerves Ace gets you twisting and turning under him. A sudden impactful slap causes tingling sensation on your ass cheek. A mixture of pleasurable pain and surprice leaves your lips.

“Stay still.” Is the only thing Ace tells you as he looks at you with a hungry look in his eyes and lips still on your pussy. “Or you won’t finish.”

Inhaling deep as he goes back to eating you out you are now entirely up to his mercy. You can no longer move or squeeze your hips afraid that he might deny you your orgasm. Sucking harshly on your clit, he extremely gently bites on it which caused you a feeling of pleasurable pain that you have never felt before, he slowly moves his tongue to your entrance. Plunging his tongue in your entrance he starts to slowly tongue fuck you which causes your eyes to roll from pleasure. Taking a better hold of you with his left arm Ace reaches with his right hand and places his thumb on your clit and start to run circles around it. With his tongue fucking you and his finger playing with your clit you feel the pleasure building in your lower stomach. Gripping the bedsheets under you in a tight grip your hips start to shake. It takes one stronger push on your clit from Ace’s finger to get you crying out his name as your orgasm hits you like the truck.

Ace rolls his eyes from pleasure the moment he feels you clenching your pussy around his tongue as your sweet cum covers his tongue. Not even bothering to stop until he licks the last drop from you Ace doesn’t move an inch from your pussy.

“Ace, Ace please... please I’m too sensitive... Ace...” You try to make him stop but all the air has left your lungs and you feel dizzy under him. With one last long lick and a kiss placed on top of your clit Ace finally pulls his head away from between your thighs. Taking your legs off from his shoulders he lays them spread on the bed. Coming closer and hovering over you he brushes the hair from your face and kisses your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips as now he is slowly kissing you as his lips and chin are covered in your pussy’s juices.

“You taste so sweet, baby. I can get addicted to the taste of you.” He whispers as he pulls from the kiss. With half lidded eyes and still recovering from the aftermath of your orgasm you cup his face in your hands and pull him for another kiss. Relaxing his body on top of yours, you can feel his dick twitching in his pants. Sliding one hand in between your bodies you trace the harden bulge with your hand and squeeze it causing Ace to hiss from pleasure. Breaking the kiss again you both looking into each others’ eyes.

“I think your shorts needs to be taken off.” You swallow hard as you gently massage his hard member.

“Yea, I think so too.” Sitting on his knees again Ace pulls down his shorts along with his boxers freeing his harden cock. Your thighs clench at the sight of it. His cock is not only big, but it is also thick and vainly. Precum is already leaking from his redden tip as he runs his hand up and down his shaft. Moving to stand from his bed he takes the shorts and the boxers off entirely and kicks them on the floor. He reaches to his nightstand and open the last drawer taking a condom from it. Ripping it open with his teeth he slides the condom on his length and hopes back on bed, nesting himself between your legs. “Are you ready? Relaxed?” He hovers over you and looks at your eyes to see if there is any sign of hesitation in them.

“I am Ace.” You breath out as you adjust your body more comfortably on the pillows behind you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders pulling him closer to you.

“You are not a...” He awkwardly scrunches his face as even though he is sure you are not a virgin, he rather be safe then sorry.

“Uh, no... I... I have done it a few times.” You chuckle a little shy and also finding it adorable that he is so mindful about your comfort as well. Nodding he spreads your legs open a little more with one hand as he runs the tip of his dick up and down from your clit to your entrance.

“Relax and enjoy then.” He says as he kisses your lips once more and positions his tip on your entrance. You bite on his lower lip as with a little push he entrances you slowly. The feeling of burn is taking over your core because of his size and seeing this, Ace gives you some time to adjust to it. Clenching around him he hisses from pleasure which instinctively makes him trust in you. A moan of pleasure escapes your parted lips, and this gives Ace the sign to go.

Rocking his hips slowly but steady in and out of you, Ace has propped himself on his elbows on both of your sides and is looking down on where your bodies are connected. Trying to muffle your whines and moans by kissing along his neck and shoulders, your hands are exploring his chest and back as you can’t get enough of the feeling of his soft skin on yours.

Increasing his tempo as he feels you relaxing more under him Ace grabs your legs again and place them on his shoulders, raising your lower back in the air as he grabs a pillow and places it under it. Now standing steady on his knees, he has put you both in a better position where you can feel him better and deeper in your gummy walls, hitting the sweet spot causing you pleasure all over your body. Now focused on your breasts bouncing with every hard thrust he reaches with his hands and pinches your hard nipples causing you to arch your back from pleasure. Clenching and unclenching your pussy from pleasure around him, your moans mixed with his grunts fill up the room.

“Shit, if you continue to squeeze this tight I... shit...” He lets out a moan as you squeeze on more time your pussy around his dick. Grunting, Ace puts down your left leg and turns your body to the side as he keeps your right leg up. In this position, hitting your walls sideways you can’t help but roll your eyes from pleasure. You can feel the burning sensation in your lower stomach forming once again indicating you that you are close.

Seeing you arching your back and rolling your eyes, with fists clenching around the bedsheets a cocky smile spreads across his face. Ace feels like he has never seen something sexier than you right now - your puffy swollen lips parted and your boobs bouncing up and down with every trust his dick makes deep into you.

“Ace, I’m goin...” A muffle cry leaves your lips, making it unable for you to finish your sentence as your whole-body jerks and shakes around Ace as you milk down his dick. The squeezing of your pussy as you climax on him, makes it feel tighter for him and Ace can feel that he is about to cum soon. With the feeling of your warm gummy walls hugging tight his dick he trusts now harder in you than before. The sounds of your skin slapping and the hot air of sex that has taken over the room makes him roll his own eyes and with one last thrust he shoots his head back and a loud groan leaves his lips as he cums with his dick buried deep in you.

With both of you trying to catch your breaths, Ace pulls out after a minute from you but before he gets from the bed he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. Grabbing his boxers before he leaves the room, he tells you that he will be back in a moment to which you only nod as you are still recovering from your high. Coming back after a minute in the room with his boxers on, he carries a wet towel with him.

“You don’t need to do all this I can do it myself.” You protest but Ace shushes you as he sits on the bed next to you and gently cleans the mess between your legs.

“I clean after myself, plus you said you don’t want to wet my bed, right?” He chuckles as he messes up with you. Hiding your face with the palms of your hands you laugh at his comment.

After he made sure that you are good and alright, Ace helps you to put some cloths on and both of you get under the covers of his bed. He is leaned on the headboard as one of his hands is placed over your shoulders with your head on his chest. Runing circles on his chest with your fingers you move your head a bit to take a better look at him.

“Um, Ace?” You quietly call for his attention and he focus it on you. “Can I ask why were you arrested?” You aren’t sure if this is the best moment to ask this, but it is worth the shot. Ace hums and takes a deep breath before he answers.

“I was getting in school fights a lot and one day I broke a guy’s arm from my class. But this is not why they cuffed me, it was because I was high and had weed with me.” He explains short and clear. “I got kicked out and with a lot of connections and thanks to my grades, my mom managed to get me into the shit of school we go now.” Saying this he looks down on you and chuckles sarcastically. “You still like me now?”

“The question is do you like me?” You are still scared of the answer as having sex with you don’t equal mutual feelings.

“About this...” Ace takes a deep breath in and can’t help but laughs as he sees your face going blank from fear. “How do you feel about a date this Friday?” He gives you a charming smile and you are finally able to breath again.

“As long as I don’t get grounded after today, it is a yes.” You smile at him as you would love to go on a date with him.

“Then this should give you your answer.” He kisses the top of your head as you snuggle closer to him.

****

You two have fallen asleep when Ace suddenly jerks awake as he hears something falling in the kitchen. Looking around his room is dark which means you two have taken quite the long nap. Moving you aside a bit as he gets up to check what made the noise. Putting a t-shirt and a pair of shorts to cover his body, Ace leaves the room fast as he doesn’t want to wake you up.

Getting in the kitchen he is met with his mom stern but also warm gaze.

“Care to explain why you left school early today?” Rogue asks her son as she is preparing dinner. Ace blushes as he realises now that his mother is home there is no way possible that he can sneaks you out nor that she hasn’t notice the pair of girly boots by the entrance of her home.

“Uh, yes ma. But you know... I kinda have someone over.” He awkwardly scratches the nape of his neck. Rogue can’t help but laugh as she sees Ace whole face getting flushed.

“Mm, I kind of already figured this out.” She half shrugs with her brings her focus again on the cutting board. “Is she your girlfriend?” Taking a glance at her son again she giggles as he is struggling with finding the right words to describe the situation.

“Soon to be... maybe... yea something like this.” Ace murmurs avoiding looking at his mother.

“Well, then she should definitely stay for dinner, don’t you think?” Rouge puts the knife down and smiles at Ace. This is new. She has never met any girl Ace has liked or let alone catching him with one at their home, so she is more than excited to finally meet a girl who her son is interested in.

“I will ask her if she wants to.” Ace says as he turns to walk back to his room.

“Is she the girl you are paired with for biology?” Rouge calls after Ace before he leaves the room to which he response with his thumbs up without looking back at her. A big knowing smile placed on her face. She knew it. She knew that his recent behaviour is caused because of a girl. And she can’t wait to meet her and thanks her for bringing her son’s sparkle back.

END NOTE: This is the first smut ever that I write so please I need a feedback if it was good or not. I really hope that you have enjoyed this one shot as I really tried to build the characters and their characteristics + behavior in the best way possible giving the fact that this won't be a series. Also I hope that you have enjoy the little interactions between Ace and his mother Rouge as I feel like he would be such a mama's boy but not in the awful unhealthy obsessed way, but in the very healthy mother-son relationship. Anyway I won't be yapping more - if you liked this short story feel free to like, comment, reblog or inbox me ♡ And as aways thank you for reading my works ♡

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