#so I had to get a ticket and didn’t get to work on my other session and it had to be deleted after all that work I spent on it last week

[yeonmuse]

HC ━━ MY GIRLFRIENDS A CHEATER 𓈒

ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs 𓂃 your boyfriends reaction to finding out you’re going to see another idol

۶ৎ ) boyfriend enha ──── ot7 x fem! fluff established relationship, - ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ nais library ❜┊˚͙۪۪̥◌

nais notes: day two of writing silly little drabbles until my motivation to write big fics returns to me

LHS

“Baby I need your help.” you call out to your boyfriend as you view your backside from your bathroom mirror. you had laced up your corset as far as it could go but tight was simply not tight enough, especially knowing it would loosen the moment you tried to tie it on your own.

heeseung eventually appears in your shared bathroom, a headset around his neck, as per usual he’d been playing games with his free time away from work. “baby did you call?”

“I did I need your help, can you tighten this please.” heeseung takes a moment to eye you and your outfit as if finally realizing you were all dressed up like you are meant to be going somewhere— somewhere without him. his brows furrowed together as he slips behind you, tightening the laces until you yourself had no room to breathe before tying into two perfect loops.

“you look pretty, where are you going?” he complements, placing a loving kiss on the exposed skin of your back before taking in your appearance in the mirror.

“txt fansign event.” at the mention of his sunbaes his face immediately turns sour, like he’d just heard something that made his stomach turn.

“hold on.” you stare at him a confused look on your face as he pulls off his headphones and dials a number on his phone before bringing it to his ear.

“heeseung who are you calling-” before you could further question you heard the other line click then you heard a facial voice on the other line.

“Yeah soobin, can you have your staff let me through your event today?” your eyes widen at your boyfriends request, this was meant to be your away time and your moment to finally have your pocas and albums signed and he’d decided to impose.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll owe you one. alright thanks.” you stood there blinking as he hang up the phone before shooting you a cheeky smile.

“Looks like we’re going together princess.” he places a cheek on your kiss before heading for the closet for what you assumed was to get changed.

“lee heeseung! did you just invite yourself to my fansign!?” you yell at him from your place in the bathroom, still in complete shock that that had happened.

“our fansign, ill be damned if i let choi soobin and choi yeonjun hold your hand without my supervision.” you let out a laugh in disbelief before staring at yourself in the mirror trying to come to grasp with the fact that your boyfriend’s jealously caused him call his sunbae just so you weren’t going to this event alone.

PJS

you had been in the bathroom putting on your makeup when you felt two arms snake around your waist from behind followed by a string of kisses on your neck.

“you look beautiful baby, are you going out today?” he asks, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent— a scent he’d grown to love on you because it always made you smell so irresistible.

“mhm! i got tickets to see andteam tonight so im getting ready early.” you could feel him stiffen at the mention of his brother group.

“I’m sorry you’re going where?”

“andteam concert?” your brows furrow in confusion, it slightly irritates him the way you look at him so innocently, as if you didn’t just tell him you were going to see another group that wasn’t him and his members.

“no.” he responds in short, his arms tightening around you and his face burrying deeper into your neck. “Huh? What did you mean no.”

“I don’t want you to go, can’t you just stay home with me? I’ll play for you, you always like when i play guitar and I’ve been working on some new songs stay with me and listen?”

“Park jongseong are you jealous?” you can’t hide the smile on your face as you turn to look at him, his expression giving away his feelings the moment your eyes are set upon his.

“and if i am? will you stay home?” he asks, fingers tracing circles on your waist as he held you close to him.

“hm let me think about it…” you gave a mock thinking expression before a smile curls into your lips. “nope still going, you’ll just have to go without me for the day.” you tease before turning back towards the mirror to do the finishing touches on your makeup.

“you enjoy watching me lose my mind a little too much” he comments, not missing the laugh that spills from your lips.

“I think you’ll survive me going to a concert that isn’t yours just this once.” he groans in response, his expression having gone from annoyed to sulky in mere seconds but you can’t help but laugh at how cute it was.

SJY

“baby did you want to watch a movie tonight? we can order some takeout like always or go out and get snacks if you’d prefer that.” jake storms into your shared bedroom with the energy of a golden retriever, tearing your attention away from your phone and a gallery full of pre concert photos. as he spots you sat on the bed all dolled up as if you had been preparing to leave his brows scrunch together.

“wait are we going out? did i forget about a date or something. Fuck i didn’t forget about an anniversary or anything right?” he panics, not giving you much time to respond before he’d already been coming up with forgotten dates he’d only made up in his head.

“jakey relax, you didn’t forget any dates or anniversaries you can breathe. I’m getting ready for a p1 concert.” the words fell from your ears to jakes like a confession of sin.

“Oh- i didn’t ever think my girlfriend would turn out like this.” he responds, making your brows furrow in confusion.

“jake what are you talking about?”

“my girlfriends a cheater.” he responds, making you shake your head at his dramatics.

“jake I’m just going to enjoy the concert with some friends, its not like I’m going there expecting to makeout with Keeho or Jiung.” his eyes widen and he falls face first onto the bed as if he had just been struck in the heart.

“She wants to makeout with other men.” he mumbles, his words muffled by his face having been smooshed against the covers. shaking your head at him you give his butt a playful smack making him jump up.

“sim jaeyun, can you please pull it together I’m just going to enjoy the music not find an entire new boyfriend.”

“what if you go and you like their performance better than ours.” he questions, a pout on his lips at the mere thought of losing you to another idol.

“you’ll always be my number one, since iland i knew you’d be mine and no one else, you’ve always had my heart even before your debut so stop sulking and stop making up all these fake scenarios in your head. I’m not going to get stolen.” your words seemed to do the trick, wiping the pout from his face and putting a smile on it as he looks up at you while resting his face against your stomach.

“alright i believe you, but dont scream too loud for them, dont want them to get a big head and think that you like them better.” you can’t help but laugh, nor could you hide the amused expression on your face at his words

“right right.” you giggle as he pulls you down onto the bed engulfing you in a hug.

PSH

when sunghoon heard the words “ateez fansign” spill from your lips he immediately laughs assuming it had to be some sort of joke or prank you’d been pulling on him. you blink at him, figuring your boyfriend had officially lost his marbles and when he sees that you aren’t laughing along with him it clicks that you weren’t just telling some joke you were being serious. the smile is wiped from his face within seconds.

“You’re telling me you paid to go look into the eyes of another man when you have me at home? yeah hell no, I’m coming with.”

“i don’t- sunghoon what am I gonna do carry you in my bag? What do you mean you’re coming with me? I already paid to go alone.” you respond, stuffing your phone in your purse. every word just fell upon deaf ears, the idea of you traveling just to do high touch and talk to other idols made annoyance flare up within him.

“I don’t care I’m going. i need to make sure they aren’t looking at you too deeply or being too touchy. matter of fact I’ll sit next to you if i have to.” a breathy laugh of disbelief comes spilling from your lips at your boyfriends active jealousy.

“hoon you know you can’t just invite yourself to a fansign, you know how they work.” you tell him, but he immediately counters your words with his own

“I’m familiar with a few of the members, ill make sure i get in.” he responds, not an ounce of playfulness in his tone which meant your fate had already been sealed and he was most definitely coming with.

“Don’t you think you’re being just a little dramatic?” you ask, a question which he ignores as he heads straight from the closet. “park sunghoon are you ignoring me?”

“call it what you want, my girlfriend wants to go out and be perceived by other men that aren’t me, I’m not allowing it to fly on my watch.”

KSN

“I’m prettier, why would you want to ever look at anyone else?” those are the first words that leave his mouth when he finds out you’re attending another idols fansign event.

“But you’re my boyfriend i get to go to every concert, i want to experience them at least once.” sunoo immediately side eyes you before returning his attention to his phone.

“you’re really going to watch someone else? who else could you possibly be happy looking at when you have me at home?” he questions, mindlessly scrolling through weverse and answering every few questions.

“but their concerts look fun-“

“So what you’re saying is youre being swayed by them ? You have a handsome boyfriend that can sing, dance, dress nice, give you everything you want and you’re being swayed? Yeah hate it, don’t like it at all.” he responds, shaking his head and tossing his phone off to the side, you roll your eyes in response. The two of you were often like this, petty banter between the two of you over the smallest things or exchanging dirty looks with one another when it came to little petty discussions, but it made your relationship all the more entertaining.

“too bad I’m going, yujin calls to me.” you respond teasingly, knowing you’d be met with an mean eyeroll in response.

“whatever, yujin isn’t the one that takes you shopping, and buys you food or sings to only you in a crowd full of people.”

“you don’t know that he might.” you respond annoyingly, scrunching up your nose at him.

“doesnt matter, i know either way you’re coming home to me.” he shrugs it off, making your lips firm into a defeated pout.

YJW

“so how do I look, i have two hours until the souncheck and I’ve already changed my makeup three times?” you ask, stepping in front of your boyfriend and giving him a spin so that he could see your outfit in its entirety. his gaze shifts down to the poca holder on your waist that now housed a photocard that surely wasn’t his. His face immediately scrunches up in distaste and his lips press into a thin line. you watch as he pulls out his phone assuming he’s preparing to take photos of you like always when you showed off your concert outfits, but instead he brings the phone to his ear.

“won?” your lips poke out and your brows frown in confusion

“hold on I’m calling the members.” he says sitting up in his spot on the couch but it doesn’t make you any less confused.

“why are you calling the members?” you ask, confusion evident in your voice.

“they need to know you’re betraying us, and cheating on me all in one night.” he responds, and you shake your head making your way over to him to hang up the phone.

“yang jungwon can you stop being dramatic for five seconds to tell your girlfriend she looks pretty.” you scold him, watching as his face screws in distaste.

“You’re going to see another man in concert when your man is in enhypen? tell jaehyun to call you pretty since you have him on your hip instead of me.” he responds making you roll your eyes at the petty response.

“jungwon you’re acting like I’m actually cheating.” you respond shaking your head at him and his face immediately scrunches up.

“you may as well you’re going to see his souncheck, concert, and he’s on your hip.” jungwon responds with a huff, puffing his bangs from in front of his face out of frustration, he was obviously jealous.

“you’re such an idiot.” you respond, plopping down into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. “I still love enhypen, i still love the members and i certainly still love you and let’s not forget YOURE my boyfriend not myungjae.”

he eventually sighs and gives in wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you closer as you shower him with kisses “if you come home with any fancams, don’t be shocked they’re gone from your phone tomorrow.” he warns, earning a giggle from you.

NMR

niki knew you well enough to now that whenever he walked into your bedroom and found an outfit laid out all pretty on the bed that it was concert day. the only problem with that today was that it was his day off and they had no concerts scheduled any time soon. his eyes shift to the poca resting at the side of your outfit. the poca holder he got for you now holding the photocard of an andteam member.

you just been stepping out of the shower by the time he left your room, only to find that your entire outfit and your poca was gone, not at all where you left it. your face contorts in confusion as you searched everywhere for it, thinking maybe you thought you put it out when in reality it had still been in the closet but no luck.

“niki?” you trudged down the hall with padded footsteps, towel wrapped snug around your body as you made your way into the living room where niki sat on the couch scrolling through his phone as if he hadn’t heard you call him.

“niki did you take my concert fit?” you question him, watching the way he shifts in his seat while scrolling through his phone.

“you mean the one that was on the bed? i put it somewhere you can’t find it.” he responds, a satisfied grin on his face as he finally looks up from his phone.

“what? why? niki i have to leave in three hours, i really don’t have time to play around right now and theres probably people already lining up.” you complain making him shrug his shoulders. “guess you can’t go then.”

“niki, are you seriously doing this right now?” you huff crossing your arms over your chest.

“no outfit, no concert. guess you’re staying home with me.” he crosses his arms over his chest and sits back in his seat, the annoyed look on your face giving him all the satisfaction he needed.

“nishimura riki if you don’t give me my outfit back i will walk out that door with this towel on.” you threaten, your hand on your showing you meant business. you and niki both knew that it was a threat you’d go through with. the smile was immediately wiped from his face upon hearing your threat.

“not funny yn.”

“oh but it’ll be real funny seeing you trying to stop me from getting out that door with nothing but this towel.” you retort, making him scoff and finally get up from the couch.

“you piss me off.” he responds, making his way over to the hallway closet and grabbing your concert outfit from a box sitting on the top shelf. he hands it off to you with a distasteful look on his face.

“thank you.” you respond with a cheeky grin, placing a kiss on his cheek before disappearing into your shared bedroom to finally make use of the time you had left

PERM TAGLIST: @sol3chu @addictedtohobi @heartheejake @gweoriz @annybah @iarainha @nishimura-mimura @gweoriz @deaddcrow @bbangbies @kimuranirisi @wonzzziezzzz @dazeymazey11 @stayar1 @neogotmysam @starsmew @taystarr @icatpjs @sunshisthings @hwang-hynjin @joneborder @izzyy-stuff @claumbeju @bubblytaetae @imzhouxinyu @firstclassjaylee @i-am-not-dal @luvjichang @lveegsoi @soobundle1009 @juliejulesjule @zoe1love @mymayaship @miirtilosazuis @cursedcursives @yourgirlyoi @riribelle @rikchic @laya18 @lakoya @jaysguitarstring @vampjakey @melodisic @kiwicup @baybayyy @matchacake2 @wontechno @sannieflix @pookalicious-hq

[saeamy]

IT'S NOT FINE

itoshi rin x reader

summary ۫ ꣑ৎ rin remembers you again, and you never stopped watching content: happy ending, a little angst pt 2 to this fic wc: 1.6k a/n: pt 2 to my rin fic, hope you enjoy it :) also i'm really slow with writing so i apologise for that! and i'm sorry if this is buns xx also i m bad at titles...

you don’t know why you never blocked his name the way he did with your number. you could never move on from something you also never had.

you and rin never put a name on your relationship. more than friends, it was clear, but never dating. together, a couple. in reality, you didn’t care what you were to rin, as long as you were with him it was enough.

but deep down you yearned to be his special someone. someone he could turn to whenever things got too much. which you were to a certain extent. you managed to somehow slink past the walls rin meticulously built, which only hardened after sae left, after he left their dream behind.

-

it’s been almost 2 years. you’ve tried letting go of that fruitless hope that rin will come back to you. yet every time your phone pinged with a message, a tiny flicker inside you hoped it would be rin and it would always be quickly deflated every time it wasn’t.

it was also time for the world cup again soon. you were sure the former blue lock team was training and preparing, to bring japan to complete victory this time. and this time they will bring the cup. as a matter of fact, japan was the host country this year.

you were debating whether you should go or not. you haven’t been to a game since… since you saw japan lose. and you haven’t seen rin since his departure to spain. and going to a game means undoubtedly seeing itoshi rin as there was no question he was going to be playing for japan again.

maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go to a game..? i mean, it’s not like rin will notice you or anything. he used to, but before isn’t now. you let out a sigh as you arrive to the beach.

well, tickets to world cup would be crazy expensive right now and they’re probably out of stock already.

-

you were right obviously. tickets were insanely priced. you’d have to sell your soul and 2 others to get shitty seats. it’s fine however, you have a perfectly working television!

you’ll do the same thing every regular household does. snacks, some drinks, the ac on full blast and your feet tucked under the blanket on the couch.

the lights were dimmed, bucket of microwave popcorn that was half burnt, and in true football fashion, a cold beer. the game was being broadcast live. the countries were all giving their 110%, it was tense from the very first match.

of course (and thankfully) japan had made it past the preliminary rounds, and were playing in the quarterfinals as of now. and they were tearing the field apart.

there was no question they’ll win this game too. they were destroying everything in their field of vision, especially rin… a goal. and then another. then another one scored by isagi. not even a minute left on the clock. japan had qualified for the semifinals.

-

your parents insisted you come over to see the semifinals at their house instead of at your dorm. how you’re friends with rin and how you shouldn’t watch this important game all alone! of course they don’t know what happened between you two. all they know is that rin went to play in spain with sae.

they think you still talk to him, still his friend. your mum used to ask you why you aren’t dating yet, still sometime does. “you’re both mature, you can handle long distance.” you never said anything in return.

-

the semis. everyone was already on the edge of their seat at the previous games. now you could hear everyone’s jaw clenching, fists white knuckled on the couch. japan will make it and win this year.

the last u20 world cup was the closest they’d gotten. the finals. this year japan will be victorious. the country was certain.

a couple beers and some party snacks lay open on the coffee table, your family sitting down watching the game in earnest. the game progresses, giving it their all as per usual, egos completely taking over.

a goal by isagi yoichi. a goal from the opposing team. they were constantly neck to neck. barou scores. 5 minutes left. 2-2.

and rin itoshi appears like some sort of saviour and scores the final goal. you think the tv almost vibrates off the little table from the sheer volume of the cheers and screams. your dad and his friend standing up yelling.

the u20 japan have once more made it to the finals.

-

these grocery bags were heavy, but your fridge was due for a restock. especially for the finals. you needed something to munch on for the 90 minutes. the 90 minutes that’ll have you on the verge of shitting yourself.

hmm…what’s that? there was something in your mailbox. a thick envelope. you grab it and toss it in the bag. you kick the door open, closing it behind you as you slam the bags on the table.

probably some bill or junk, you think. you tear it open and your jaw locks in place. a ticket. a ticket to the cup finals. was this real?

…yep. it was. you’ve been enough to rin’s games to know the differences between a fake and a real. a vip ticket too, with a typed note. ‘we’re gonna win this time. be there.’

no return address, no potential handwriting you can recognise. well, you weren’t gonna turn down free tickets now were you?

-

it was the first time you were seeing rin again. not close up, but close enough. a tiny thought in the corner of your brain wondered whether he would notice you. you shut it down quick.

you were jittery, as if you were playing on that field. you had the best view in house, seeing everything that went down on the field. your hand was trying hard not to crush your drink from the sheer nerves.

the game started.

your mind was jet focused on rin. you have no clue who scored the goals, no idea who had the ball unless it was in rin’s possession. you didn’t even notice the 90 minutes had almost gone by. they were tied you think. you glanced at the score. yeah, tied 1-1.

rin had the ball again. his eyes quickly dart around, and you swear they landed on you, just for a second. and the ball was kicked hard.

and your eyes didn’t leave rin for one second. not even when he scored the winning goal. it’s like the world was frozen around you, your vision was a tunnel and rin was at the end of it.

you barely cared nor noticed that japan had won the u20 world cup, because all you could think and focus on was rin.

-

you left. your eyes were all blurry, tears clouding your vision. you wanted to keep it together. but it was hard seeing him, even if you hadn’t even talked, even if he probably didn’t even see you.

you were outside the stadium when you felt a tug on your upper arm, gasping as you pull back. “what the fu- rin?”

rin itoshi was standing in front of you. hair soaking wet, jacket not even zipped properly. he didn’t say anything. not until you were ready to force yourself to turn away.

“i’m sorry.”

the words caused you to stop in your tracks. they were the first words he had said to you in 2 years. your mouth opened and closed comically before you burst into sobs.

rin froze, unsure of what to do. “i… i shouldn’t have… i was an asshole.” “fuck you rin itoshi.” you couldn’t even look at him. would he see just how much you missed and wanted him from the way your figure shook?

“you leave to spain with a day’s notice and block me. never contacting me for 2 years. and i should have forgotten about you but i couldn’t rin so fuck you! i should hate you but…” your words trail into more helpless sobs.

“you’re right. you should hate me. but please don’t. i want to make it right. i’m sorry, i was stupid.” rin missed you. truly he did. but he knew what he did was shitty anyways. he should have talked to you earlier. but he waited 2 years instead. 2 years that he could have spent talking to you but were wasted due to his own ego.

“i’m really glad you came.” he pulls you into an awkward hug, and you don’t pull back. instead you sob into his jacket, clutching the fabric again. “if i say i love you, will you leave me again…?”

rin’s hands held you slightly tighter. “no. i won’t leave. not without telling you, at least. and talking to you everyday…”

“that’s fine. i’m fine with that. congrats on the world cup rin. and thanks for the tickets.”

”… what tickets?” “the vips… you sent a note saying you’ll win?” “i didn’t send anything.”

oh. you had assumed that rin had sent you those tickets this moment. maybe it was him thinking that he’ll get to see you in some grand gesture or something. oh well, whatever. that didn’t matter right now.

“i’m gonna go pick up my stuff really quick. wait for me ok?” then he presses his face to your hair. what he says isn’t meant to be heard, but you do anyway. “i… i love you.”

you try to keep your face neutral, but the smile that is threatening to split your face makes it hard to do so. “okay. i’ll see you later. congrats again rin!”

-

inside the stadium, rin picks up everything up, ready to head out. there was a different aura to him. the kind of energy not like the one he had after winning the world cup. but different. better almost.

“you’re welcome rin.” isagi says on the way out, teasingly, almost like he knows something that rin doesn’t.

rin raises a brow “what fo- oh.” but isagi was already out, leaving rin alone.

© saeamy 2025 - do not repost, translate, copy or modify my works on any other platform!

[cristobalsifuentes]

Would love to see any h/c sfw rabbot story. Either with an illness or injury. Love when those boys are soft for each other and are forced to let down their guards to be taken care of.

thank you so much for the prompt! i didn't get super gritty with it but i hope you enjoy <3

robby/abbot (rabbot), hurt - sfw

Robby blinked. Hard. He often did when he saw Dr. John Shen doing just about anything in between saving lives. Tonight, though, his mere presence was jarring enough on its own as he nodded at Robby, orange Dunkin’ straw tucked comfortably between his lips.

“Hey.”

“Hi, John,” Robby greeted in kind, hesitant, looking at Shen over the top of his black-rimmed glasses while he charted. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but I was expecting one Dr. Jack Abbot this evening.”

“Yeahhh,” Shen sighed, shaking his head forlornly. “He called me this morning to see if I could cover. Seemed…bacterial.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. Guy never calls out. Must be coming out both ends,” Shen shrugged casually. Robby pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded slowly. “Hey, do you want my extra ticket to the Mac and Cheese Festival? It’s next weekend.”

Robby took two buses to Jack’s condo complex. 

He had a key to Jack’s place. Jack insisted they swap a while back - before Robby ever kissed him, before Jack ever dragged Robby into bed by his belt loop. Something about two depressed old bastards with no one else to look after them anymore. 

Robby heard water running elsewhere inside when he stepped into Jack’s place. He toed off his New Balances by the door and made his way to Jack’s bedroom, where he arrived just in time to startle the shit out of Jack as he exited his en suite bathroom.

“Jesus, Robby,” Jack groaned, making a beeline back to his bed, “You’d make a great serial killer.” Even from across the dimly-lit room, Robby could tell Jack’s face was pale and sweaty. He was shaky on his crutches. He leaned them against his nightstand and got into bed slowly - like it hurt.

“So,” Robby started. Jack closed his eyes and prepared for the lecture of the century. “What’s your differential diagnosis, Dr. Abbot?” Robby was slow to remove his zip-up jacket and slower to remove his scrub top as Jack weakly rambled about his symptoms and the deduction he had made about his condition: listeriosis. Food poisoning. “I told you not to eat that brie.” Robby spoke softly as he draped himself across the width of Jack’s bed. It was no use, though. Jack would eat fancy cheese off of the floor during a late summer heatwave if given the opportunity. Robby lounged with his head on Jack’s side of the bed, then propped himself up and reached for Jack’s stump with both hands. 

“Come on. You don’t have to do that.” 

Robby looked up at Jack through thick lashes, expression soft and fond despite a tinge of exasperation. Robby had just worked with his hands for twelve hours - lifting patients, putting in chest tubes, muscling gurneys into trauma bays. Against all odds, all he wanted to do was touch Jack.

“You said aches and chills, right?” Robby whispered. “You’re swollen.” He pressed his thumbs into Jack’s scarred, tender skin below the knee. Jack exhaled heavily and let his eyes slip closed. “And warm.”

“Fever’s breaking. Probably. I’m okay.”

“Jack,” Robby started, voice more achingly forgiving than Jack was sure he deserved. “I’m going to ask you this one time.” Robby massaged his way up Jack’s leg, all the way to the hem of his gray lounge shorts at mid-thigh. Jack looked away but didn’t protest. “Why did I find out about my boyfriend’s grave illness from John Shen?”

Jack's jaw tensed and he tongued at the inside of his cheek. He forgot that the boyfriend card was fair game now. Finally wrangling a relationship-defining label out of Robby Robinavitch a few weeks prior after months of what could only be described as full-on dating was already working against Jack.

“He’s a good doctor.” Robby faceplanted into the mattress at that, then pulled his head up to kiss along Jack’s scars.

“Jack.” Jack looked away again and shrugged a shoulder, his leg twitching involuntarily under Robby’s attention.

“It aches, man,” Jack lamented, voice strained and eyes wet. Above all else, Jack looked exhausted. He had been carting himself around on crutches all day on top of pulling himself up from the bathroom floor half a dozen times. “Even the fucking…part that’s not there.” Robby frowned deeply. “Nothing anyone can do about that.”

Robby would have given anything for that not to be true, but Jack was right. Robby couldn’t stop the phantom pain, couldn’t stop the unknowable ache that plagued Jack every once in a while. The two of them had decades of medical experience between them yet were rendered absolutely useless by the lingering side effects of Jack’s amputation. Robby would make sure that they laugh about it at some point before drifting off for the night, though.

“You know…” Robby started a while later, after four more trips to the bathroom for Jack (aided by the use of his wheelchair, which Robby pulled from the depths of Jack’s closet), a change of sweaty bed sheets, and a reluctant dinner of bone broth and crackers, “I would really like to know when you’re sick, Jack.” Jack hummed non-comittally. “I could even be the very first person you tell. I would really love that, actually.” 

“I don’t need you taking care of me,” Jack grumbled. His cheek was firmly smushed against Robby’s chest. They had just made it through an entire episode of House Hunters International without incident and Jack remained wrapped in Robby’s sturdy arms. Robby looked down at Jack, took in his unkempt curls, his drooping eyelids, and the pout of his lips, and had to bite back a laugh. Okay, tough guy.

“I know. But I like to.” Robby gently scratched his nails up and down Jack’s arm. “And if you think I could sleep in my own bed at night knowing that you’re over here dealing with a medical crisis by yourself, I’m starting to think this might be a parasitic brain infection rather than food poisoning.”

“Mm. It’d explain a lot,” Jack yawned.

“Worms in your brain? Yeah, I think it would.”

[corrieander]

Don’t Make It Weird

In my continuing saga of writing 1 fanfic for each fandom I get invested in, I’m in my Superman feels! I really enjoyed Rachel Brosnahan as Lois. Check out my prequel story for the new movie! (Link at the bottom)

***

Lois realized his identity before anyone—the first day Clark Kent showed up at the Planet.

She didn’t know what to do with the information. She could break the story, of course, but she didn’t have much evidence. Just her own rock solid knowledge that Kent was also Superman.

Most things are on a spectrum—like autism, musicality, and ticklishness—and also, more apropos to her dilemma, facial recognition. On the far end of that spectrum there were people with actual faceblindess, “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat” people. But on the other end of that spectrum you had people like Lois.

She had more than a knack for faces, she had a gift. Perhaps needless to say, it was very useful for a reporter to have a perfect recall of faces. She’d been particularly proud of the time she’d nailed one of the president’s crowd of interns—a young man later referred to as “mediocre to the point of invisibility”—as a member of an obscure Austrian terrorist group that she’d once scrolled past on an Interpol list. For that bit of recall (and reporting) she gained early press access until the end of that administration.

Anyway, all to say, if Lois saw a face, she remembered that face. And glasses and a bumbling manner weren’t going to get in her way.

She hadn’t interacted with Superman very much by the time Clark got hired—just that one rescue when he stopped the runaway train. It was the Ocean Avenue Elevated, and Lois didn’t even normally ride it. Superman had stopped it, of course, and come inside briefly to make sure everyone was okay. And—yeah, she had kinda followed him back out onto the (crumpled) pavement, asking rapid fire questions. He’d answered a couple, sorta laughed, and then flew away.

Then Clark showed up a few weeks later and Lois looked around at her busy, hard-working, intelligent coworkers—and realized no one saw it but her.

Obviously investigation had to happen. Surreptitiously. Clark might seem like an all-American sweetheart of a guy, and Superman might seem to have a moral code, but Lois was very much in the “absolute power corrupts absolutely” camp of thought, and she was—dubious. If he was really so powerful, what was he doing for himself? What were his vices? How did he indulge? Nobody seemed to know, and that turned her from dubious to highly and emphatically suspicious.

Everybody had their weaknesses. Ice cream or expensive purses, lottery tickets or fast cars… Poor or rich, powerful or pitiful, everybody had their indulgences that got them through the day.

It was just that rich and/or powerful men tended to act out in equally rich and/or powerful ways—and usually if it was a secret, it was that much worse. People didn’t hide their Ferraris or their trophy wives or their fancy watches. They hid things like abuse, addiction, or perversion.

Yes, she was cynical, so sue her. She’d been a successful reporter since she was twenty-four, and she was sure Superman had secrets, and they couldn’t all be adorable dogs.

Another thing on a spectrum, in Lois’s opinion, was compartmentalization. She was less of a savant at this, but she did try to keep her Superman thoughts locked down around Clark. Ugh, he appeared to be such a nice guy! If she treated him with the wary, this-person-is-dangerous reserve she truly felt for the enigmatic (alien?) metahuman, it would be wildly obvious she knew what was up.

So she tried to treat him as he wanted to be treated—a sort of trippy version of the Golden Rule—which was to treat him as an inexperienced new-hire from Kansas.

It was a weird kind of dualism to know he could crush her desk into the wall when he brought her coffee, or that when he pretended to stub his toe, he might’ve dented the concrete. At least in that last situation, her lack of sympathy had come off as impatience, not inside knowledge.

“Ow, that really hurt,” he mumbled, but loud enough for her to hear.

“Walk it off, Kent, you’ll be fine.”

“You’re not the most empathetic person in the world,” he said with a smile.

“Eh, teachers and salespeople have to be empathetic, reporters don’t.”

He hobbled along as if he’d really bruised his foot. “You don’t think a human interest story should be informed by—human interest?”

She’d laughed a little too loud at this, but shook her head. “I prefer my writing to cut, not comfort. I guess I’ll leave the human interest stuff to you.” She only barely refrained from emphasizing the word human.

She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he didn’t show any obvious vices. He didn’t even smoke, let alone smell like weed or anything stronger. As far as she could tell, he didn’t drink either. The few after-hours work events he’d come to, he drank Sprite, of all strange and inoffensive (but weirdly offensive) things. If she didn’t know he was an alien, she’d think he was LDS.

He didn’t begin dating anyone at the Planet, which was another possible motivation she’d considered. He was friendly and sort of accidentally flirted with people at times—wow, he was good at the awkward cover persona—but nothing illicit. The Planet employed a number of young college and even occasionally high-school aged interns, and he didn’t so much as blink at them. (Yes, she was cynical, as previously noted.)

If anything, he seemed most comfortable with her, and she was frankly impressed with her own outstanding performance acting normal. (On the spectrum of vanity, Lois was perhaps a tad left of center—although she preferred the term priderather than arrogance.)

After the first six weeks, a lesser woman would’ve given in and declared his employment at the Planet inexplicable, but Lois was not a lesser woman.

“Why here?” she asked Clark one morning as they rode the elevator up. She felt a little stiff riding in an enclosed box with a man who could fly. “Why did you apply to the Planet instead of say, the Times or Tribune?”

“How do you know I didn’t apply everywhere? Maybe the Planet is the only paper that called me back.”

That wasn’t true. Lois had called in some favors with friends to check. He hadn’t applied to any major paper but this one. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit to that much searching. “Did you?”

“Nah,” he admitted. “I wanted this one. If I’d gotten rejected I guess I would’ve tried elsewhere.”

“I suppose you got lucky then. Obviously working with me is a huge bonus.”

He smiled at her just before the doors opened, so genuine and happy his eyes almost changed color. “I certainly think so.”

So, like, what was his deal? As (unabashedly) proud as she was, she didn’t really think it was her. Even if— okay, even if—Cat was convinced he liked her.

It had to be the information, she decided. A newsroom was a good place for breaking news, obviously, and if you were a demigod of some sort who could change news in a heartbeat… But that didn’t entirely check out. He must have incredible hearing or something, because at least half the time, Clark disappeared right before something happened, not right after.

It just made no sense. When he covered sports or celebrity marriages or elections, he was covering a culture that wasn’t his own. What was the point? He was a good writer, actually, but what was in it for him?

Her research indicated he really had grown up in Kansas. Did he need the money? Because if so, he could get a better paying job. He could be a super-fast accountant, or a tax lawyer, or a professional athlete—if he tamped the superpowers down a bit.

“Are you all right, Lois?” he asked as they sat across from each other on the train to New York. She had a lead on a dirty politician, and she wanted to visit a certain hotel in New York tonight to see if they could get a good picture or a quote of her guy with his very sus business partner. She’d been a little shocked that Superman volunteered to go with her. What if something happened in Metropolis? She supposed he could get there pretty fast. She’d take 60/40 odds he would ditch her tonight.

“Lois?” he repeated.

“Huh, what?” Ugh, she’d broken her compartmentalization rule and was speculating about Superman while sitting with Clark. 

“So articulate.”

“Watch it, Smallville.”

“It’s just that you’re staring at me—which you know, might normally make my day—”  How did he blush on command like that? “But you also kinda look like you’re about to dissect a fetal pig.”

Lois laughed. “That’s—evocative. Points for unexpected metaphor.”

He grinned. “I am a writer.”

“Yeah. How’d that happen? Did you always like to write?”

“Not in school, no. But I was always mentally composing letters. How would I describe this? How could I convey what that felt like?”

“Who were you writing to?” She picked at her cuticle to avoid showing her intense interest.

“My p—imaginary friends, I guess.”

Yeah, he definitely almost said something else. Parents? Patron? Pen pal? “Who were your imaginary friends? Mine were ants.”

He looked delighted. “Ants?”

“Er, yeah. There were two, they were about eighteen inches tall, and they wore clothes but they were—yeah, definitely ants. What about you?”

“Well, I grew up on a farm, so I had real animals and insects, didn’t need to imagine them. Sometimes I imagined a—brother.”

“That’s right—you’re an only child. Big brother or little brother?”

“Big.”

“Somebody to fight off your bullies?”

“Something like that. Maybe just somebody that knew what was going on, who could show me what to do.”

Hmm. Lois created a new item on her mental tab for Superman’s vulnerabilities. “I’m an only child, too. Supposedly that makes us more independent and mature. Also, perfectionists.”

“I’m not a perfectionist.”

“Aren’t you?” Maybe that was his whole savior schtick—a rampant perfectionism about the world that he was still trying to achieve. Darn, that kinda made her feel bad for him.

“I’m not,” he repeated. “Getting things done is messy. The more worthwhile a job—the messier. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done. What’s that Churchill quote? ‘Perfectionism is the enemy of progress.’”

She really wanted to ask if she could quote him on this, Superman’s Philosophy: Progress is Messy. There was a whole article to be written here.

“You’re staring again.”

“Sorry. I’m tired.”

“It’s okay. Gives me a good excuse to stare back at you.”

Lois raised startled eyes back to his. He wasn’t usually so blatantly flirty with her. Or with anyone. “I know for a fact I’ve barely showered or slept in three days, and if I have any color in my face it’s probably ketchup from the hotdog I ate on the way to the station.”

“So?”

“So… I don’t know. Don’t be weird.” Don’t lie, she wanted to say. I know you have an ulterior motive for working at the Planet, and for working with me. Just tell me the truth. But she wasn’t ready to say all that. At some point, when she had enough to write the expose of the century, she would.

“You can sleep,” he said. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“Yeah, I might.”

“And—you do actually have a little ketchup next to your mouth—“

“Shut up, Smallville.”

But he leaned forward and suddenly Superman was gently rubbing her face with a tissue. Lois froze as his fingers brushed against her lips. “There.”

He swiped one more time, for good measure, and his blue eyes flicked over her face—clearly approving what he saw. In fact, they lingered just a moment too long on her mouth. His eyes dilated a little and he leaned back, tossing the tissue in the tiny trash slot next to the seat.

Lois didn’t know what to do with her face or her hands. She knew what guys looked like when they wanted something and—he did. He wanted her. She knew he gave off that awkward crush vibe to others, but she hadn’t really believed it until now.

“I’m just gonna go over my notes for the Luthor article.” He pulled his laptop out onto his lap. “Get some rest if you want.”

Marking one of the less courageous moments of her life, Lois closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cold window. She was just not prepared to deal with this. 

***

“Hey Lois, wake up.” Clark gently kicked her foot, and Lois woke with a jerk. "Hey, sorry, I just wanted to give you a two-minute warning.”

“Right. Thanks.” She had something soft tucked between her head and the window. It was one of those neck pillows you could buy at the station. It said, I  Heart Metropolis. “Is this yours?”

“Yeah, you looked like you were getting a major crick in your neck.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He stuffed it back in his messenger bag. She hadn’t seen it before. Did he buy it for this trip? For her? She shook her head on her spiraling thoughts and realized he really was right about her neck. It gave an ominously loud click and didn’t want to turn back the other way. “Oh—ow.” She tilted her head tentatively. “Ugh.”

The train was coming to a halt, and they both swayed in their seats as the breaks engaged and it stopped. Lois groaned again as she got her bag

“Can I— May I?” Clark asked, nodding toward her neck. His brow was furrowed, like he was genuinely concerned about her and her stupid stiff neck.

“Sure. I never turn down free—ohh.” He was rubbing the kinks out of her neck, and it was all she could do to hold back a truly inappropriate sound. His hands were warm—really warm, did he run hot?—and they were somehow gentle on her skin while being firm on her muscles. His fingers kneaded just below her skull, softly around the vertebrae in her neck and to the top of her shoulders. It was—possibly—the most perfect sensation she’d ever felt on her head or neck. Or maybe anything. Her head dropped forward of its own accord, and he worked back up.

“Oh my gosh.” She tried to return her tone to professionality. “If you ever need a better paying job, you could make a killing as a massage therapist.” She forced herself to straighten after a moment and put her bag on her shoulder.

Did his hand tremble slightly as he pushed his glasses up? “Maybe I missed my calling.”

“Uh. Yeah. You did.” She rolled her head experimentally and her neck was loose and almost pain-free. “You have magic hands.”

He laughed, and Lois rolled her eyes. “Yes, I heard what I said. Don’t make it weird.”

***

Except it… was weird. She was suddenly aware that he wasn’t using his pseudo crush on her as a cover for something else, like to avoid rejecting Cat or someone else who might guess his secrets. He was—unless there was some reason for subterfuge that she couldn’t guess—really into her.

Which was flattering sure, but also a little unnerving. In fact, if he’d suddenly gotten interested that one time that he stopped the train—and then found out where she worked—and then adjusted his resume— and then applied there in order to work with her—

Well, there were a lot of steps to that plan and they kind of had a stalker vibe if you repeated them in the wrong tone of voice.

Was—was she the indulgence in this job? Despite her very healthy self-esteem (as previously noted), this seemed strange.

She put it aside as they staked out the lobby of the hotel. After 10, the concierge had tried to oust them in a genteel, posh way, but Clark had spun a story about his uncle, the Oklahoma oil tycoon, who was supposed to meet them and another friend, but gosh darn it, they didn’t know where he’d got to…

And Clark did it all so innocently and so well that Lois half-believed him. Their story was still holding when her mark and his (actual, corporeal) friend exited together. Even better, there were two beautiful women with them—not their wives—and Lois got several fantastic shots as they all got off the elevator looking very chummy.

“Senator Thompson,” Lois called. “Is it true that Mr. Grande is a major donor this year?”

The senator looked around at her, his thick gray-blonde hair like a helmet. “Who’s that? I’m not taking questions—”

“Is it true that you’ve promised Mr. Grande exclusive contracts with Metropolis Metro Hospital in return for campaign funds? Despite the current malpractice lawsuits against him and his company?”

Mr. Grande was flushed and unsurprisingly defensive. “Hey, those lawsuits are bogus, and what I do with my own money is my own business.”

“Would you describe yourself and the Senator as close friends?”

“I can be friends with who I want to be friends with,” he said belligerently.

“You certainly can,” Lois agreed. “How long have you been close friends?”

“Don’t talk to her,” Senator Thompson said, “It’s that b- from the Planet.”

Clark stepped up next to her. “Would you care to confirm you used a campaign finance account to pay for these hotel rooms?”

“I don’t have to answer your questions,” the Senator said…

***

[skywalker-swift]

WORK FUCKING SUCKS

[fingertipsmp3]

Guys I actually had such a nice work day today

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[madamechrissy]

Do I wanna know?

Pairings: Yandere Gojo x Fem reader

Summary: Satoru Gojo knows as soon as he sees you, he'll do anything to have you, but first? He needs you to need him. Ignoring his friendly offer to let you stay with him to save up for a better place, you soon find yourself kicked out by your landlord, and moving in with Satoru. Every thing seems like it's bringing you to need Satoru more and more... yet he doesn't make a move on you, and soon you start putting things together... is Satoru a stalker?? 9k word count

CW - There are SO MANY lol here we go- gaslighting, manipulation, possessive behavior, stalking, Satoru is so Yandere, teasing and tension, explicit sex, rough sex, face smacking, choking, breed kink, videoing without consent, oral sex (both receiving) trying to baby trap mentions of cum, dirty talk (he calls you a slut a lott lol) and misogyny. SATORU BEING PSYCHO but sexy. It's toxic- Based on this drabble

Comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoy this one! Thank you for 4k followers omg!!!

You’re not sure how you came to be so close to Satoru Gojo so quickly.

It was as if everywhere you were, he popped up in some way, at first you all met at your work, you were a bartender for a pretty elite club, and Satoru came in along with a few of his CEO friends for drinks once. He had tipped you insanely well, this gorgeous man with shocking white hair, and the most intense blue eyes you’ve seen, you couldn’t even describe the color they were.

Satoru Gojo was rich, handsome, friendly, funny, you couldn’t understand why he even asked for your number. You’re a beautiful girl, but he seemed like the kind of man that had women come to him, but not just that, he’s humble and sweet. He messaged you that night even, hoping you got home safe after your shift, and then asking if you’d like to hang out.

When you pictured hanging out, you honestly pictured maybe a date, or something intimate, but it was just coffee the first time, and he asked real questions about you. The next time you all went to a concert he had tickets for, and you had invited him into your apartment when he’d dropped you off, offering a drink to him.

That’s when Satoru saw your shitty little apartment.

He scoffed, walking around while you went to grab two beers, earning a view of your ass that had him shifting himself in his pants, but he was so upset then, he knew where you lived from the outside, he’d watched you plenty, but this? It’s a teeny one bedroom nothing, surely he could treat you much better than that, you deserved a penthouse, his penthouse.

He’d been watching you since that night weeks ago, he could not get his eyes off you, you took his breath away when his eyes had shifted up your body in that slutty bartending outfit. God he can’t wait until you’re not allowed to wear that anywhere, until you’re all his, and oh he knows you want him, he sees the desire in your dilated eyes, how your lips part when you look at him.

But not just yet.

Satoru can’t just fuck you, no you need to be his and you need to stay his, never, ever leaving him, and to do that he needs you begging for him. He needs there to be no other ideas in that pretty head of yours, so he decides to be your ‘friend’. Even when you step a little closer, lowering your lashes, eyes drinking him in when you take a sip from your bottle.

Beer? You should have top shelf champagne.

Satoru can do that for you.

“Thank you so much for tonight, Satoru.” You say softly, a hand trailing up his chest then, he tilts his head, blue eyes assessing you hungrily.

“Why live here?”

You blink now. “Well, it’s cheap and safe?”

“Don’t you make good money?”

“Um… yeah but I have student loans out the ass for my failed creative writing degree.” You roll your eyes and sigh, earning his chuckle.

“Failed? Didn’t pass?”

“No, I did but it’s useless I guess now. I should’ve gone into medical and been a little smarter, but I didn’t listen.”

“Is it your passion?” You nod then, with a little smile.

Satoru can make it happen, surely.

“You could always stay with me.” You cough then, you all barely know each other. “I have a huge place, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I could never impose like that. Don’t feel so sorry, Satoru, I swear I’m good here.” You lean in now, Satoru leans down, big hand caressing your face, tilting your chin up, his look so intense you can’t breathe. Breaths come in quick pants as your gaze hits his plush, glossy lips, imagining them everywhere.

“It’s an open offer, if anything happens. I’ll be…” He smirks a bit, leaning even closer, so close you taste the sweetness of his cool breath. “All gentlemanly and everything.”

“Would you be?” He chuckles now, lips just an inch from yours, your chest is rising and falling, heart thudding at just what his touch does. “What if I don’t want you to be one right now?”

“What’re you asking, sweets?”

“I…” The phone rings now, you clear your throat, realizing you were about to beg this almost stranger to fuck you.

What’s wrong with you!?

“I am sorry, let me see who it is.” Satoru smiles good naturedly, but you don’t see the glare from behind you, as he scowls at the phone, seeing another man’s name. You text him that you’re busy quickly, earning a little relief for him.

“Boyfriend?” You whirl around now, eyes narrowing a bit.

“No, um… ex boyfriend. We were together for years though, even in college, so we keep in touch sometimes.”

Satoru’s jaw sets, and something… changes then, confusing you a bit, as he sets his drink down. “Who broke up with who?”

“Um, he did.” Your cheeks heat up now under his scrutiny. “I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about my ex though.”

Oh, he does.

He wants your attention all on him, and not a bit of that should be for your ex, who didn’t even want you!? How could anyone not want you? Your gorgeous face that fucks his dreams up, your perfect body like you’re built just for him, how sweet you are, and those damn eyes of yours. He can’t wait to see them fucked out, to see you drooling.

Can’t wait to make sure you never text this man again.

“Is something wrong?” You ask now, he smirks, brightening his face so you don’t figure out all his thoughts.

“Nah, sweets, just curious who’d break up with you.” His casual words hit hard, as he brushes your hair back now, leaning in again and you think maybe he’ll kiss you finally, but he just stares at you, holding your face with strong hands.

So strong he could really crush you if he wants, you feel so small in his presence, so overwhelming. Then he brushes his lips up and against your cheek, your eyes flutter shut, your body throbbing with need, but he pulls away after the little kiss on your face, those blue eyes glittering now, he grins all bright and beautiful, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I’m off now, enjoy your night, huh?” You blink a bit at that, wondering then, is something not to his liking about you? You’re studying yourself in the mirror after he left, picking yourself apart.

Your makeup is perfect still, your outfit is sexy, you look really good, and you’d damn near been begging for him silently. Maybe he wasn’t interested? Then why did he look at you like that? You sigh now, washing your face and getting down to just your bra and panties, picking back up the phone and finally writing your ex back, then seeing a text from Satoru.

Satoru: Had fun, sweets. Good night.

You: I had fun too… you didn’t have to leave so early.

Satoru smirks, still in his car, watching your silhouette from behind your curtains, gently walking back and forth, he glares when he realizes you are likely naked or damn close to it. He is going to have to teach you some lessons, it seems, because you are already trying to show the world what’s his.

Or will be.

Satoru: It was getting late, did you want me to stay?

You: Maybe I did. Thank you for tonight though.

Satoru: No problem, love.

Love… that does something to you, Satoru does something to you, when your head hits the bed and you’re staring up at the ceiling. Your ex texts you again, but this time you ignore it, thoughts whirling, you still feel the touch to your cheek, having fucked you up more than even being intimate with someone.

Satoru Gojo, who was he really?

*****

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” Satoru knows what’s wrong, he is all sweet hugs and rubbing your back though when you are at his place the next week, sobbing against his chest.

“I’m so sorry… I… My landlord just kicked me out!? And I did nothing wrong, she said she’s renting it for triple to someone? I was past my lease, but shit.” Satoru smiles, but you don’t see it, buried against his strong chest as he strokes your hair softly, pleased that you came to him.

You’re such a good girl.

“Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. Shh.” He’s consoling you so sweetly, you pull back, seeing his concerned gaze as you blink away tears, swiping at your cheeks.

“I can’t afford three times the rent? Satoru I… I make decent enough money, if I could just pay you for a room until I find somewhere? I-”

“Nonsense.” He cuts you off, and your stomach flutters when he’s brushing a hand across your back, palm pressing into the fabric of your dress, like it’s burning you with a touch. “You stay here for free, save up money, yeah?”

“I can’t do that, I have to pay you something. It’s already a huge imposition-”

“Have you seen this place? It’s not shit to have you here, won’t cost me anything anyway.” You have seen it, his insane penthouse with a view that’s fucking ridiculous. It’s spotless, only the finest everything all over, you know Satoru’s very wealthy as a CEO but he screams old money too.

“I would feel terrible. Could I cook, pick up?”

“I have cleaners. Cooking though… yeah, you good at it?”

You smile tremulously, wiping your eyes again. “I’m so good! I also could give the best neck massages after work?”

“Now that sounds perfect. It’s a deal then, stay as long as you need, but cook yummy things. As for a massage, we’ll see if you’re good as you say.”

“Swear, they’re magic! Oh goodness, I have to get to my shift soon, ugh… is there a way you could help me get my things? I’ll just leave the furniture, it’s old, I can buy new shit.”

“Absolutely.”

You hug him tightly, kissing his cheek then, he tenses at it, at the brush of your lips, at the curves of your body against him. Fuck he can’t wait to make you his.

“Satoru Gojo, you're amazing.” He chuckles then.

“I know.”

*****

Living with Satoru Gojo, who walks around shirtless is… difficult. Your tummy clenches, mouth gulping the first time you see him, his chiseled perfect body, all dewy after a shower. Towel slung across his neck, sauntering over to you with that smirk of his, so casual as you’re in the kitchen chopping up veggies, he brushes his fingertips across your back, driving you insane.

Shivers slink down your spine when he leans over you, breath against your neck, you damn near arch back into him as he murmurs in your ear. “Looks yummy.”

Fuck.

You take a shaky breath, hands trembling as you then nick yourself with the knife, you wince then. “Ow, shit!”

“Lemme see.” He takes your hand gently, peering at the drop of crimson that pushes out in droplets then, the way he takes your hand even is too much.

Weeks of living together, walking around in arguably almost nothing in front of him, and he hasn’t hit on you, despite his eyes devouring you, like they’re touching you. No he’d smile and lazily trail his gaze, maybe brush against you in the kitchen, give you a hug after work, you’d rub his neck just so and he’d grip your wrists, smiling up at you, to the point you’re losing control.

All you can think of is him.

Satoru loves it that way, too, he loves hearing you murmur his name in your sleep, he’s got cameras all over, especially in your room, and he can even hear you on them. Your little whines of pleasure, he’d see how your hands would move under your blankets, as you stayed as quiet as can be, but he heard your whimpers, your sweet little moans.

He strokes his cock every night watching you, listening, waiting.

He needs you to really need him.

“Just a little nick, I’m fine.” You assure him, then your mouth drops as he takes your finger, sucking it into his mouth.

He’s sucking on your damn finger, hot wet mouth and the lewd images destroying the fragile hold you have on your sanity, snowy lashes lowered as he presses his tongue up on your fingertip, putting pressure. You stand there quiet, but then there’s a little sound that escapes your throat, a little whine, and when he pulls back he smiles knowingly.

He licks his lips, a drop of blood on them, tilting his head as he releases your finger now. “Better?”

“Um… y-yes. Thank you, Satoru.” You manage to speak somehow, your voice hoarse, you clear your throat then. “Clumsy.”

“Mind somewhere?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Another week goes by, Satoru watches you every chance he gets, when he’s at work he watches you on his phone, he’s got a tracker in yours, for your safety you know, when something concerns him. Your daily trips were work, maybe the store, and a couple times a week the gym. But you’re somewhere he’s never seen you at, and it concerns him then.

Where are you?

He zooms in on the location.

Someone’s house?

Satoru’s jaw tightens then, and when you’re home that night, you notice he’s not friendly, or sweet, or talkative. He barely responds as you try to engage with him, and when you go to rub his neck, he stops your hands with an icy glare. “What’s… did I upset you?”

“How could you upset me?” He stands up, looming so tall, you shrink back just a bit, the backs of your legs hitting the fancy grey couch, until you’re sitting in it, and Satoru’s arms are on either side of you. “How could you, sweets, hmm?”

“I… I don’t know? Um…” Your mouth goes dry when he gets on his knees, spreading your thighs, your breaths coming quicker, pussy throbbing around nothing, thinking of him, feeling his long slender fingers on your skin. “Satoru?”

“You’re a perfect girl, aren’t you? A good girl?” Your hips shift, his eyes dart down, smiling as he peeks under your skirt now, a wet spot forming on your panties, he can’t wait to finally taste you, when you’re good of course.

“Good girl? I… don’t know.” Your hands are at your side, his face is right against yours again, your thighs on either side of his body, pressing into him.

“What’d you get up to today?” He asks, all casual like he doesn’t know, as he assesses your body for marks, bites, hickeys. Your body belongs to him, even if you don’t know it just yet. He finds none, making him just a little less furious, but now he feels the plush of your thighs in his grip, picturing shoving them against your chest.

You’d look so sexy in a mating press, wouldn’t you?

“I um… went to grab dinner, then I gave some shit to my ex that I had left from the apartment.” Satoru exhales in relief.

“Oh yeah? I could’ve helped you, love.”

“No, it’s awkward. I was holding onto it, I decided to just let it go, he didn’t choose me, you know?”

“Who wouldn’t choose you?” You lean forward, his eyes dart to your breasts, as a strap slips over your shoulder.

“Satoru, you're too good to me, and why? How have I come to deserve you in my life?” He exhales, adjusting the strap with two fingers, brushing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps, he watches your nipples perk up under your tank top, furious that anyone has ever seen them.

“Is that all? You gave him his shit?” He tries to hide his anger, his jealousy.

“That’s all.” You answer, and he stands again, leaving you wanting and empty when he’s not touching you.

“Should have asked me to help. I’m calling it a night, yeah?” You manage a little nod, he tilts your chin up as he stands over you, your body reacting so violently you’re shaking damn near, unable to stop the reaction. He smiles knowingly, leaving you then, and you glare at his strong, perfect back as he walks off, giving you a little look before going to his room.

Satoru knew you saw him somehow? You can swear it. Are you freaking out for no reason? Surely he didn’t care what you did, he maybe just wanted to make sure you were okay, maybe he could sense you were stressed somehow?

Then why is there this gnawing feeling?

*****

The next day you’re trying to get to work, and your car won’t turn over. You curse it out, it’s old sure but it’s strong and has a good engine. Satoru had already offered to give you one of his cars, saying you could pay him back later, as if you could ever afford a Mercedes Benz. You’d turned him down of course, and now he’s standing in his insanely huge parking garage, right out the side of your window.

You open the door, sighing as you get out of the car. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, ugh!”

“It’s an ancient relic?”

“Hey!” You playfully shove him, laughing then. “It is, I guess. But I don’t know why it won’t start?”

“I’ll have my mechanic check it, he’ll love this archeology.”

“Satoru!” You’re laughing so hard then, god he always makes you laugh, you wish he’d make you moan but you throw those thoughts far back.

“I’m kidding, sweets, kinda.” He narrows those blue eyes, his jaw tensing just a bit then as he assesses your car.

Couldn’t be because he took out your catalytic converter.

“Hmm, maybe a dead battery or alternator went out?” Satoru looks at you amusedly, you’re cute, knowing something about cars. But he needs you to stop worrying about things like that.

“For now, I’ll take you to work, yeah?” You exhale, nodding then.

“Thank you so much, Satoru, you’re so sweet to me.” You say later, as he drops you off at work, top down, grinning with those Gucci shades hiding those baby blues, some of the girls from the bar are out front, they start giggling when they see the two of you.

“He’s so hot!?” One of your friends loudly whispers.

“Shh, I know!” Gojo hears you though, grinning as he swipes a hand through his snowy locks.

“Hello, ladies.” He says, getting out then to come open your door, earning the swoons of everyone. You smile gratefully at him.

“Thank you, Gojo.”

“No worries, tell me when to pick you up, mmkay?” You nod then, he gives you a little kiss on the head, and your friends make no secret of how fine they think he is.

“Is he your man?” Your other friend asks, you shake your head then, while Satoru gets back in the car. “Bitch, why?”

“Is he single?” Your other friend asks.

Something makes you sick then, thinking of seeing Satoru with other women, and surely it would happen soon, yeah? He’s gorgeous and can get who he wants, and he hasn’t yet shown he wants you. You peek back at him as he is starting back up his car, looking at your friend again.

“He’s single.” Satoru wants to laugh at you. He’s not single, you’re his already,  you just haven’t gotten where he needs you.

“Why not date him?”

“He’s not interested. Drop it.” You hiss, waving at Satoru, he tilts his glasses down then, the unreal eyes behind the snowy lashes drinking you in.

“Have a good day, sweets.” He leaves a bunch of giggling, whispering friends and heat on your cheeks when he drives off, grin glinting in the setting sun, because now he knows just where you are.

*****

After two more weeks of living with Satoru, you’re at about a month with him, and despite the endless little brushes against your skin, the little touches while you cook, the hugs and pecks on your cheeks, he never makes a move. You moan just a little louder at night thinking of him, wondering then when you’d see him in the morning why he looked so tired.

You’re wondering about lots of things.

“Satoru, do you date?” You ask one day, and he looks at you lazily, trailing up and down your body the way he does, the way that makes you ache with longing.

“Do I date? I haven’t in a while, why?”

“You’re so… you?” He snorts then.

“What’s that mean?”

“Like, gorgeous? Smart and sweet? Rich? How do you not date?”

“When I get with someone it’ll be permanent, there won’t be any dating or fucking around, so I guess I’m kind of picky about it. Why? Would it make you jealous if I brought a girl over?”

Yes, yes it would.

“Oh, no, I’m cool with whatever. It’s your place, I just live here.” Satoru leans you against the counter then, barring you with strong arms, his thigh brushing between yours, he feels it then, the heat that builds as you shift your hips just a bit, eyes darting up to his.

“Wouldn’t mind if I fucked someone right here? Ya sure?”

“It’s your place.” You manage weakly again, watching thin nostrils flare, his pupils blown out as you shift again, and he feels your hot pussy against his thigh, your hands slipping up his shirt slowly. “You like to fuck, Satoru?”

He blinks now, shifting his thigh, tilting his head as he studies you. “You’re asking if I like to fuck?” You nod, just barely, and one of his hands slips down your side, his cock throbbing under his jeans, thinking about devouring your pussy right on the kitchen counter. He already has tasted you off those panties he stole, he imagines it’s even sweeter from the source. “Do you?”

Your cheeks flush, eyes lowering nervously, Satoru tilts your chin up, making you look right at him. “I didn’t like it much, no, but… I like to…”

“Play with your pussy?” You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips once more, waiting for him to break, but he acts casual as he’s ruining what’s left of your addled mind. “You brought it up, don’t be shy.”

“Yes, I like to. Do you… play with…”

“Slutty questions.” He smirks now, backing up, you look in horror as you realize you’ve left a damn wet spot on his thigh, but he brushes it with his thumb leisurely, lapping it off his tongue, leaving you with your mouth open. “Mmm. Have a good night, pretty.”

You’re shaking when you get to your room, literally dying over him, knowing he’s in the next room but won’t come near you is torture, but for him it’s fun. He’s watching you pace around your room avidly, damn near chuckling when you strip off your clothes so quickly, flopping on the bed and covering your face with your hands, pressing your knees together.

He’ll make you feel better soon, don’t worry.

But then, you pick up your phone, earning his glare that of course you can’t see, he picks up his other phone now, the one that shows him every message and call you make. Some guy has been trying to ask you out for a couple weeks, but you’d ignored him, like a good girl. Now, however… you’re texting him back!?

That just won’t do.

He’s so absorbed in staring at your messages, as you smile just a bit, wondering if there was a way to get under Gojo’s cool exterior.

Maybe a date with someone?

******

You’re dressed in some slinky outfit, it hugs your body just right, hitting about mid thigh, a black lacy little number. You step out of your room, his mouth drops open when he sees you, too much of your smooth skin revealed, your breasts on display for everyone who would see, you smile up at him all pretty and do a little spin as he grips his hands into fists.

He wants to rip that dress the fuck off you, bury his cock inside your pretty little cunt and fuck you hard, fuck you so hard you sob those eyelashes off, so hard your perfect hair is a tangled goddamn mess. Teach you that you’re his and only his, that you belong to him, have you cum so hard you can’t form anymore thoughts of ever leaving in your pretty head.

He can’t even speak when you nervously ask, “How do I look?”

How do you look? You look like you need your ass beat, your clit overstimulated to the point you beg him to stop, look like you need to get that pretty neck choked out by his big hands. And that little smile on your face, like you know just what you’re doing to him? Satoru’s teeth click together, jaw tensing now while he sits there on the desk chair looking at you.

“You look gorgeous. But then you always do.” You blush at that, lashes lowering at the praise. “But why so dressed up? Going out with… friends?”

You know he knows.

You hear it in his voice, in how tense it gets. You smile then, shaking your head, lacing your fingers together in front of you as you feel those blue eyes touching your skin. “No, I’m going on a date.”

Satoru’s little facade breaks for just a moment, he can’t keep it up just now, and it’s like you know, you’re being this little brat and not his sweet little thing right now. He can’t wait to fuck the attitude out of you, as hard as it’s making him. “Oh? A date, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while you know.” You step up to him just a bit, smiling so pretty, devious little brat. “A while.”

“A while.” He repeats, voice hoarse, before realizing you’re trying to play him, aren’t you? “Since?”

“Since anything. This guy seems super nice, maybe he’ll… think I’m hot, you know? Be attracted too? We’ll see.”

“Who wouldn’t want you? That’s stupid.” He huffs.

“Oh, is it? Well I’m not everyone’s type, you know?” You blink those damn lashes at him, he raises a brow. “So we’ll see. But don’t wait up for me, hmm?”

“Don’t you need a ride?” He asks, as you head towards the door, grabbing your little purse now.

“Oh no, he’s going to come get me, don’t worry.” Satoru’s hand stops yours on the knob, hard body pressed against your back, your breath catches, quickening now, watching the veins raise on his hand, as it covers yours completely. “Something wrong, Satoru?”

“Just wanna make sure you’re safe, you should let me take you.”

“Don’t even impose yourself, I’ll be fine.” You turn and look up at him, his plush lips just a breath from yours. “Everything okay?”

“Of course it is, you can text me if you need me to get you though, okay?” You exhale now, slightly dejected.

You want him to say he doesn’t want you to go, fuck you want him to grab you and keep you here, he makes you feel so fucking toxic, the insane thoughts making your mind whirl, your tummy coil with desire. One of his hands grips your hip, and you feel his length against your back, your eyes shut as you grip the door knob so hard it hurts.

“I asked you something, sweets.” His grip tightens, you open your eyes again, looking up at him.

“Of course, Satoru.”

“Have fun then.” He is back to being a bright, happy Gojo, blue eyes glittering, letting you go when you ache for him to drag you against him. “Be safe, yeah? Creeps everywhere, stalkers even.”

He’s following you in his car as soon as you take off in this asshole’s car, he tracks your location and finds you’re at some restaurant, he sees you then, up front at a table shivering a bit in your slutty dress. Part of him thinks, that’s just what you get, but another part thinks, fuck this dude for not giving you his jacket, Satoru sizes him up with a flick of his eyes, fists clenching the steering wheel.

You keep peering at your phone, you don’t look like you’re really having fun, what are you playing at? Are you trying to make him insane, trying to make him more jealous than he already was? He was jealous anyone even fucking saw you altogether, he thinks how good it would be to breed you constantly, to keep you knocked up with his babies, stay at home for only his eyes to see.

The thoughts drive him insane, as does seeing this dude’s hand on your bare thigh now, thighs for him to touch, he is so furious he almost blows his cover, taking several breaths as he prepares to rip this dude’s hands off. How dare anyone touch you!? And then he gets it, your text.

Satoru, I’m so sorry, but are you busy?

Satoru exhales in relief, leaning his head back on the driver’s seat, brushing his hand across his face.

Having fun on your date?

Satoru is being petty but he can’t help it, he sees your cute little glare as you poke on your phone, and his hand slips higher up your leg.

Not really. I’ll be fine though, sorry.

Satoru panics now.

What’s wrong?

He watches as you type.

I feel really uncomfortable, could you please come get me? I’m so sorry to put you out like this…

Satoru comes right out of the car, walking across the street now, and your eyes widen in shock, lips parting as he saunters up, grinning and holding out a hand. “Hey pretty, wanna get out of here?”

“Excuse me!?” The man sputters, but you giggle, Satoru wonders if you’re the crazy one here, him or you?

“I’d love to.” You put your little hand in his, following him to his car then, when Satoru slides in however he cups your face, grip tight on you, his eyes glaring and fucking furious. “How’d you get here in ten seconds? Instant transmission like Goku?”

“You’re such a brat.” He mutters, glaring now as you grin, one hand in your hair, pulling, making you cry out, a sound that makes Satoru’s cock leak precum, just from the sound of you. “You did this it piss me off, hmm?”

“Why would you be mad, Toru?” You put a hand on his thigh now, leaning forward, showing more and more of your breasts. “You don’t even want me like that, haven’t you made it clear?”

He starts laughing now, he’s feral, manic in his insane laugh, pulling your hair even harder. “I don’t huh? Then tell me what the fuck this is?”

Satoru takes your hand putting it over his clothed cock now, you whimper feeling him for the first time, hard for you, his breaths coming faster and faster as you go to stroke him, earning his own throaty moan. “Are you jealous?”

“No, because he’s not shit, and you’re mine anyway.”

“How am I yours!? Don’t even kiss me. Don’t even-”

Satoru yanks you to him, slamming his lips on yours then, devouring your mouth, tongue swiping in every inch of it, swirling as he loses his fragile sense of control. You taste so good, you feel so good, he’s wanted you for so long, he’s brutal with his lips, with his teeth, with how he grips your chin so fucking tight. You’re falling apart for him, then, when he yanks back.

His breath is hot on your lips, his hand slipping between your thighs then, you can’t stop the cry that escapes your lips, when he finds you over your panties, soaking wet for him. “This for me, or for him?”

“Stupid- ah!” Satoru pulls your hair so hard tears prick your eyes, stroking you over your sticky panties.

“Watch that mouth, and that attitude before I fuck it out of you.” His whisper and his touch makes you drip down his fingers, you’re arching your hips as he touches you, pressing on your clothed clit now. “So you get this wet for me?”

“You get that hard from me?” You counter, he laughs again, shaking his head at your audacity, slipping his finger under your panties now, finding your bare cunt.

“Stupid fucking soaked, huh? From a kiss?”

“Just touch me, please…” You’re begging him now, leaning closer, lips pressing against his, drinking his moans when he shoves two fingers in your eager hole, stretching you and making you gasp. “Satoru…”

“Do you deserve to cum, after acting this way?” He demands, curling his fingers up in your slick walls, pressing that spot that has your eyes rolling back, entire body reacting to him, dripping down his sleeves, his watch you’re so wet. “Answer me.”

The first slap on your cheek shocks you with the sting that throbs, you glare at him, slapping him back on his pretty face, earning him gripping your wrist brutal as his fingers fuck into you. The car is heating up right in the middle of the damn street, you hear your pussy squishing, hear your cries and gasps.

“Asked you a question, sweets. Seeing your ex, going on a date, showing off this body to everyone? Ya think you’re a good girl?” You shake your head then, and he groans, kissing you messy, tongues drooling saliva, thumb finding your clit now, and you’re close, so close, clinging to him.

“N-no but… please…” He laughs as he pushes you to the edge, sucking you off his fingers then, groaning, cheeks hollowing.

“Fuck you taste even better than your panties.”

“My what!?”

“C’mere, ya wanna be a good girl for me?” You blink rapidly, nodding then, and he revs up the car, pulling out, you are jostled as he begins to drive like a maniac, you’re grasping him, half thrown on his lap.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. You’re gonna make it up to me, being so slutty, huh?”

“Slutty?”

“Slutty mouth.” Satoru unzips his pants then, and you gulp when you see him for the first time, thick and long, veiny cock so pretty, the tip pink, drooling drops of precum already. You stare at it, he feels it as he drives, peeking at you now, grabbing the back of your hair again. “Put it to use, and I’ll let you cum.”

“Fuck…” You have never done something like this, but you find yourself bent over him then, taking your tongue and lapping at the precum on his tip, while he drives with one hand, his other, entangling against the nape of your neck.

“Gonna be my perfect little slut, no one else's, huh?” You nod eagerly, you’re stupid, this man literally stalked you on your date, he’s acting possessive and psychotic, but your pussy is clenching around nothing. “Say it.”

“Your perfect little slut.” You whisper, he moans then, husky and guttural as you suck him in your mouth now, hot and wet, swirling your tongue around the ridge of his tip, earning his hips bucking, cock twitching.

“That’s it, I knew you could behave. There you go, good girl.” You’re trembling, sucking him deep in your throat, over and over as your cunt is drooling, dripping down the panties that are becoming soppy wet and pathetic like you. “Feel that slutty mouth, never gonna suck anyone again, are you baby?”

“Mmm…” You’re moaning eagerly, sucking his cock as deep as you can, he’s shoving your head fully down to where you’re slobbering all over him, tears pricking your eyes, you’re shaking while he uses your throat, your mouth, as your taste his salty precum, shoving it in your throat deeper and deeper.

“F-fuck… you’re finally being good, huh? Bet you wanna cum, bet your pussy is soaked, yeah?”

He knows you can’t answer, he’s loving the choked out sounds you’re making as you suck him down more and more, until he finally pulls up to his house, he pulls you off him, cock glittering with your saliva. He moans, kissing you again, teeth sinking into your lip, tasting himself off your tongue, you’re whining, trembling, he chuckles just a bit then.

“Look at you, sucked it that good? Should I fucking be mad?” He demands then, you gasp at his touch on your pussy again.

“It’s been a long time for me, okay?” You whisper, he exhales now.

“No one will touch you again when I’m done, yeah? No one.” You nod weakly, Satoru smiles now. “Good, you’re so good f’me.”

Satoru’s got you in his penthouse so quickly you’re disoriented, and as soon as the door is closed behind you, he grabs you, slams you against the wall, and kisses you again, hard and desperate. His hands slips down to your ass, squeezing it roughly in his big palms, long fingers pressing in as he takes over everything, making you moan into his mouth.

You can feel his cock pressing against your tummy now, thick and insistent, on your tummy, half put up, his pants unzipped, and you can’t help but arch into him, rubbing against him, tip toeing to get close. He’s so rough with you, so demanding, and it’s making you wetter, making your body respond in ways it never has before, it’s insane what he’s doing to you.

He shoves a hand back up your dress, twisting your panties to the side again, rubbing in teasing circles, as tears fall out of your eyes, looking at them and moaning. “You’re crying?”

You manage a sniffle, fuck you looks so perfect like this, in tears for him, it only makes Satoru’s cock spurt more precum, so hard it hurts, he can’t wait to bury it so deep in you, he’s picturing it as he slides his fingers into your soaked cunt. You moan loudly, you’re tiny hands clinging to him, leg around his hip, letting his fingers fuck you deeper.

“Hear it? You’re so loud, so messy, huh?” He’s whispering, all you can do is nod, pupils so blown out your eyes are dark. “Look at you, fucked out from my fingers? That won’t do, baby.”

You barely register his fingers sliding out of your pussy again, you whine at the emptiness, but then he’s on his knees, shoving your dress up over your hips, yanking your panties off you. He’s throwing one of your legs over his shoulders, bright blue eyes staring up under his snowy lashes, you’re clinging to his hair, chest rising and falling as he places a kiss on your pussy.

“You were so good, I’ll treat you so good, hmm? Make you feel s’good?” You just nod, earning a smack on your pussy, making you gasp. “What do we say, little slut?”

“Please.” Satoru Gojo then his face buried between your legs, his tongue sliding along your slit, tasting your arousal that starts pouring down his mouth. You gasp as he nibbles on your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending bolts of pleasure through your body.

He’s eating you out like he’s starved, slutty moans from both of your throats, your head slamming against the wall. His stupidly long  tongue is moving in circles around your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you can’t believe how good it feels. You’ve never been with a man who’s so hungry for you, who devours you like this, his fingers making your squelching wetness even louder.

Your hands entangle in those silky white locks as he fingers and licks like he’s always known how to, but it comes so natural, flicking his tongue against your little twitchy clit over and over. Your cunt is so wet his fingers slip, before shoving back in, pressing your spongy spot inside your little hole, all while you’re a pathetic mess, sniffling and hiccuping.

He can’t wait to make you stupid for him, beyond this, beyond anything, can’t wait to own you, possess you in every fucking way. As he sucks your tiny clit in his hungry mouth, he moans against it, looking up and watching you shatter for him. You’re so close to cumming, you can feel it building.

“Gonna cum, please, please-” You whine out, gasping, thighs shaking as you’re too weak to stand, but then he stops, leaving you gasping for breath, your body on the edge, pulsating all over through every vein..

“Beg for it.” He orders, sadistic smirk on a face half soaked with you, as he licks his lower lip, glossy.

“Please, Satoru, please make me cum.” You whisper, your voice shaking, and he groans, shocking you when he yanks you down, you slam onto the ground wincing and gasping as you hit the floor, and he starts palming at your dress, until he’s ripped it completely off you. “Satoru!? What!?”

Your dress is in pieces now, much to his pleasure, all you have now is what’s left of it under you, and you’re naked aside from heels and a bra. “You’ll never wear that fucking dress again, got me? Showing off what’s mine when I wasn’t even with you? Do you hear me?”

You nod then, you should be terrified, but fuck you want him too much, as he shoves your thighs up high, then dives back in, his tongue swirling around your clit, his teeth grazing it again as he bites it. You scream out at the pain, he shoves those fingers back in, three this time.

“Too much, too much!” You’re sobbing out, and he laughs now.

“No baby, your slutty pussy can take it, huh? Lemme hear you scream my name.” He shoves his fingers in so deep and his tongue is drinking you as your orgasm hits you, your body convulsing against his mouth, your juices flowing onto his face, everywhere.

You can hear him, lapping you up, drinking every bit, all while the best orgasm of your existence makes you blind, you’re floating, the only thing that tethers you is when he looks down at you, fingers still buried. He slams his lips back on yours, you taste your pussy on his lips, whimpering and clinging to him desperately, bare as he’s fully dressed.

“You’re made for me, only me to taste, just me.” You just nod, and he chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t talk baby?”

“You, jus’ you… Toru…” He’s picked you up to stand, before he’s pulling you up against him, holding your naked frame against him, carrying you to your bed now, lips not coming up for air until he’s tossed you on your bed.

“Bra off, now.” He orders, you do as he says, tossing it and then peeking at the camera you know is there, smiling before you look back at him. He’s glaring, unbuttoning his dress shirt now. “Looking at something?”

“Oh, nothing. Do you record? Will you stroke yourself to this later?” He slips off his shirt, leaving you speechless until he’s laying on top of you again, eyeing your perfect tits and little smile.

“You knew?” You tilt your head now, leaning up on your elbows, a hand stroking his cheek.

“Did you like how I played with my pussy in front of it? How I moaned your name?” Satoru’s ended now, scowling at you.

“You liked it, being watched? By me?” You nod again, swallowing as he slides off his pants, yanking off your heels, kissing along the tops of your feet before lapping at your ankles. “You did it knowing?”

“You wouldn’t come to me.”

Satoru’s eyes are on you, you’re his entire world now, his obsession, his fixation. He’s going to claim you, fuck you until you forget every other man who ever existed. He’s going to ruin you, and you’re going to love it, he can already tell when his cock is hot and heavy against your inner thigh, when your hips are rolling up, and you’re dripping down the bed.

“You get off on it, me being fucking obsessed, huh?” You nod weakly, and Satoru has your thighs spread and pressed up, his tip drooling precum against your aching hole. “Then let me be clear, you'll never see or date anyone again, got it?”

Satoru grins sadistically as you weakly nod, whispering a-  “Yes, Satoru.” He moans then, filling your tight hole in one stroke of his huge cock, stuffing you so full you scream out, pussy gripping him like a vise, drooling down his veiny cock to his balls, pooling under you both as his own eyes roll back.

“Feel her, made f’me, just me? Mine, mine, mine.” He’s whispering it like some insane mantra as he begins to move, fucking into your soppy cunt over and over, you’re pulsing and fluttering around him as he pounds your cunt, nasty words spilling from his pouty lips. “My little slut, hmm? Mine.”

“Ngh…” Is all you manage, when he slams your cervix with his drooly tip, leaning up to grip the headboard and pressing a thigh higher, railing your cunt so much it hurts, but you’re dying, drool pooling out of the side of your lips, eyes fluttering, trying to stay open.

“That’s it, oh look at you, fucked stupid already? I’m just starting with you, baby, gonna fuck your pretty mind up till it’s all me.” He leans down, rolling his hips and grinning with his eyes lit up, so dark they look black for just a moment. “That’s it, cum all over my cock, can’t help yourself huh?”

You do then, you’re cumming all over him, muscles contracting around his cock so hard she tries to push him out with the force, so much wetness dripping it’s streaming across his cock, earning his breathy moan. He’s fucking you through your orgasm, your thighs shaking, you are stupid, you can’t form one thought in your pathetic brain as your orgasm waves over your body.

“Aw, fucked dumb? Poor stupid baby. I’ll keep fucking all those thoughts out of your head, hmm? Till it’s just me.”

“Satoru… jus’ you… s’good I…” You can’t talk anymore, not when his cock’s strokes are hitting just right, not when his tip drags against your gspot before bruising your cervix. You’re clinging to him, nails pressing into his strong back, as pulls back, watching your tummy bulge.

“Fucking up your guts, fucking up your brain. S’all me, huh?” You can’t answer, you’re too fucked out, but his slap brings you too, he smacks both cheeks, gripping your thighs brutal, leaving bruises. “Focus, baby, focus.”

“S’all you…” You answer, you’re so obedient, you’re so good for him.

“You’re such a good girl, perfect pussy, perfect body. Perfect face. Haunting my every fucking thought, torturing me.” He shoves your thighs high, pressing them against your breasts, folding you in half and bottoming out, you scream at it, hands gripping the sheets beneath you as you’re stretched and filled so much. “You’re so good you deserve all my cum, all these babies in you.”

You can’t register concern, he’s pounding you while gripping your face so tightly, you feel so tiny as he works his long, muscular body, as he breaks your body and mind with his cock, slamming harder and harder. You hear the sounds of it, the smack smack smack of his skin, as his balls slap your asshole, covered in slick from your cunt that’s drooling down his length.

“That’s it, milk my cock, so fuckin good, you want it, me to fill you, make you drip me for days.” You just weakly cry out, sniffling, tears pouring down your cheeks. “So beautiful like this, crying f’me? Oh baby, you’re perfect like this.”

Satoru loves your tears, your trembling lips, as you grip him so good, he feels it, you’re going to cum again, eager pussy sucking him in loudly, as he fucks you so hard the headboard slams the wall, you’re barely hanging on, sobbing and mumbling. You’re so fucked out it’s cute, opening and closing your mouth, unable to speak.

“It’s all me in there, yeah? Gonna be all me, gonna fill you so good, baby just wait, f-fuck!” Satoru slows then, pumping your cunt full, hot gooey cum sticking to your walls and making you cum right with him as he fucks it further, deeper.

“Satoru!” You’re mumbling his name, gasping for breath as he fills you, all of you, so hot and deep, until he finally lowers your legs, laughing softly.

“Oh I’m gonna have so much fun with you, you’re never leaving me, are you? Aw, can’t talk baby?”

He’s got you flipped on your trembling knees next, burying his face in your pussy, cleaning all his cum out and groaning. “Too much, too much!”

“Taste us together, fuck. Made for me, just me.” He’s on top of you next, prone over you, fucking out his first load and prepping you for another, all while he’s choking your neck squeezing so hard you almost faint. He’s whispering in your ear, breath tickling, hands over your sensitive skin. “Love it, hands around this neck, beg me to cum in you, fill you.”

“P-please… please fill me- ah!” You’re fading as he chokes you harder, spitting and drooling in your mouth, cock wrecking you as he fills you again, his sweat dripping from his skin as he works you. He groans then, hand pressing on your tummy.

“So full of me, but you need more, need no question in your pretty head who you belong to.”

After another load you’re weak, and he’s still going. When you finally wake in the morning, after several loads pumped in your pussy, you’re a mess, wobbling weakly as you step out of your room, thinking of facing him. Would things be different now, was it all passion, in the moment? Was it just sex? Was it more…

You smell something sweet then, inhaling as you slip on one of his dress shirts, you’d gone from fucking in your room to the bathroom, all the way to his room. At some point he had you bent over the couch, at another he had you pressed against the shower wall. It’s like little fragments, your pussy is aching, your experience has never prepared you for his size or stamina.

But you feel deliciously fucked out.

You catch his eye then, he looks at you, exhaling at how beautiful you are, your eyes are a little puffy from crying, you have bruises and marks littering your neck, you’re wearing his expensive dress shirt and nothing else. He feels himself hard just looking at you like this, remembering all the cum he’d pumped you full, wondering if it was still dripping out?

“Good morning, sweets. Get some shut eye?” He teases, winking at you as he flips his spatula, finishing the stack of pancakes he’s made.

“You cook, Satoru?” You ask, throat hoarse from your moans, from slobbering all over his cock and having him choke you. You clear it nervously, earning his smirk.

“Cute.” He murmurs, pulling out a chair for you. “Of course I cook, I just enjoy you cooking for me, so sexy watching you, barefoot in the kitchen you know.” 

“That sounds so…”

“Sit down, you need that energy baby. Last night I know I took it easy…’

“What!?” You blink then, sitting as he plates your breakfast, wincing at how sore your entire body is.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, look at my girl.” The words ruin you, when he leans down, cupping your face and his thumb brushes along your jaw. “Covered in bruises.”

“I am?” You look down and see your thighs, your chest, in hickeys and bruises, red and purple all over. “Oh…”

“Don’t worry you’re not going anywhere today anyway. You should take a break from work, you know.” He chuckles and kisses you. “Fuck I’ve waited so long for you, for you to be mine.”

You are kissed by him then, you eagerly meet his lips, before he pulls back, taking a breath. You frown when you see your phone is over by his coffee. “Is that my phone?”

“Oh, mmhmm. Needed to block any guys, you know, also that period tracker said you’re ovulating today.” You blink again as you sip the orange juice he gives you, nearly choking on it, his blue eyes have gotten even brighter, his grin huge as he watches your expressions.

“Satoru…”

“I threw out your birth control, cancelled your prescription.”

“Satoru!”

“What baby?” He sits you up on the table, between your thighs, your body violently reacts when he grabs you under your chin, his other hand slipping down your breasts. “I know, I should have breakfast first, is that what you want?”

“I… you…”

“Gonna look so fucking sexy full of me.” He lifts your thighs, sliding up the shirt you wear as he sits right on the seat, sliding it up to get a full view of your abused, puffy cunt. “Oooh, fucked her up. Do you hurt, baby?”

“Y-yes… I- ah!” Satoru’s lapped at your pussy now, from your hole to your clit, chuckling as he pulled the lips apart. “T-Toru…”

“Look at her, she’s ready for more, she’s so greedy.” He’s buried his face against you again, and you’re cumming so quickly, he laughs at it. “So easy, too. Ah we’re gonna fill her up more, don’t worry, gotta knock you the fuck up.”

You’re going to protest then, this is insane, he’s crazy, but when you’re getting bent over the kitchen table and fucked again, you soon forget your protests, as Satoru grips your tits and pinches your sensitive nipples, pounding your hole, all you can do is cry out and arch your back. Satoru smiles against your neck as you fall apart, as he pictures breeding you.

He’s got you right where he wants.

And you both know you’re never leaving.

Ahahah this was INSANE, none of this is cool unless it's Gojo, stay safe out here lol. Hope you all enjoyed! (yes all my stories are Arctic Monkeys or Chase Atlantic lyrics loll)

Taglist: @silvarys @strychnynegirl @indiewritesxoxo @alygator77 @moonlitwitchdaisy @cuntphoric @aldebrana @levislug @haruhatake @ninikrumbs @xixflower @star2112 @nanasukii28 @sukuxna0 @naammiii @uhnosav @victoria1676 @thequeenofcurses @targaryenluvs @jinjen @yesdere @shokosmokes @aishi-toru  @labelt-san @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @seeing-stars-alt @bunheadusa @alt--er--love @1satoruu @thikcems @plimplimmeiododoi @watermelonslut

[gutsby]

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Dividers by the lovely @saradika 💞

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[lokissweater]

beetlejuice!

{beetlejuice!satoru gojo x f!reader}

— “ may you never forget me ” ♪ ༘⋆

summary: living as a psychic medium was like a ticket straight to nothing in your life, you always accidentally creeping people out and scaring them when you talked about it, and you just feeling empty— like something was missing and vacant in your life with no explanation as to why. but upon stumbling through an attic inside a house of a recently deceased couple, you meet him— beetlejuice, a silly and wacky man who was damned to live in the attic for eternity due to him breaking the rules, you never having met a spirit so forward and flirtatious in your life as you quickly bonded. but when beetlejuice presents the idea of you being able to break his contract and finally set him free, you hesitate at the one condition… marrying him.

warnings: MDNI afab!reader, DIABOLICAL angst my god, angst w/ comfort though YIPPEEE, mentions of death, mentions of murder, reader is a psychic medium, fluuufff, SMUUUTTT, p in v sex, DOM AFF SATORU MEOOWWW, unprotected sex (wrap it y’all), creampie, oral, blowie, mentions of ghosts and spirits and things, loosely inspired by the 80s movie, mentions of reader having ‘pink cheeks’ is only to amplify and over-exaggerate feelings of embarrassment, shyness, and everything in between, and not to be taken literally! this is a work of fiction, and you can imagine many things for yourself :)

word count: 19.8k

authors note: YEEEEEOOOOWWWW GET READY YALL….. SHES FREAKY… SHES ANGSTY… AND SHES THE MOMEEEENNTTTT omg i absolutely LOOOVEDDD writing this one so much and i hope you guys find it interesting or i’m gonna CRYYYY HEHEHEH no i’m jk but as always, i love you SO SO SO much and thank you for all of your love and support !! MWAAAHHH <333

you’ve always had a knack for the paranormal.

and from the newspaper clippings you saw and the meddlesome whisperings of your fellow neighbors, newlyweds adam and barbara maitland died on their way home from a day out in the town— swerving in their vehicle while crossing over a bridge and crashing through the side of it, evidently sending themselves tumbling down to the river below and drowning.

it was the biggest tragedy your tiny town had ever been hit with, the maitland’s having renovated their house on the hill from scratch and had recently just finished it when the accident happened, the both of them in the midst of planning their honeymoon to get away from winter river for a little while, happy and in love and looking forward to a quiet serene life together.

it was a shame, really, and it only took two weeks for rumors to spread about how there were always weird moving shadows from the windows of their two story home, or slight flashings of neon blue or white seeping through the cracks of their front door— all of which pissed the realtors off seeing as the rumors prevented the house from being sold again, prospected buyers coming in with high hopes only to be scared off once they so even explored the town, a store clerk or a fellow neighbor quick to tell them of the gossip and to stay away, ultimately causing the house to collect dust and cobwebs until realtors decided they wouldn’t bother much with it anymore.

and the rumors always peaked your interest, as your entire life you’ve always had a passion for the supernatural seeing as your late parents were psychic mediums for the otherworldly, a beautiful ominous gift that was relayed to you from the moment you were able to correctly comprehend sentences, your mind and soul more welcoming to spirits of the unknown compared to regular folk who flat out refused.

and why? you didn’t know. they were just mystic entities that perhaps couldn’t find their way to the other side like they were intended, and if the rumors were true, the maitland’s were in the same predicament, and you felt like they just needed time and space without the pestering of realtors or dumb kids knocking on the windows to see if a ghost would pop out— deserving of a proper chance to figure it out.

except your boyfriend wouldn’t understand that either.

“babe c’mon!” he pleaded with you, a distressed look on his face. “i thought you liked creepy ghost shit?”

you scoffed. “yes rin but not to fucking break in and steal their things! what the hell’s the matter with you?!”

rin groaned and rubbed his eyes, his friends obviously annoyed and bothered by your defiance and it only made you feel awkward, sitting there on your desk chair in your college dorm and guiltily picking at your black nail polish.

“y/n we literally cannot go if you don’t go.” he pushed. “we need your ghost brain to tell us if they’re around so we can scram if they decide to kill us.”

you snorted, already aggravated by rin’s lack of respect and wholeheartedly believing dumb stereotypes.

“you’re committing a crime—”

“the house is abandoned! no one gives a shit!” he threw his arms up. “babe c’mon i’m serious it’s getting late and we’re losing time.”

why wasn’t he listening?

“what are you looking for anyways?” you mumbled.

“money.” he replied, grabbing his black bag and swinging it over his shoulder. “that’s literally it i won’t take anything else.”

“do you swear?” you peered up at him. “don’t take jewelry or any of their things just money and we get out.”

“yeah we won’t! right guys?”

rin looked over both of his shoulders to ensure that his friends agreed, them muttering and sighing as you gnawed at the inside of your cheek and feeling embarrassed for some reason, slowly standing and crossing your arms.

you never liked his friends.

“and leave me out of it okay?” you spoke. “we could get kicked out of college for this i don’t know how you’re not worried…”

he swung a heavy arm around your shoulders and nudged you on, you stumbling a bit as he basically had a lock around your neck on your way outside.

“they’re not gonna care y/n.” he dismissed, unlocking the car and his friends piling in the back while you settled in the passenger seat. “nobody will. it’s abandoned.”

the entire way there you were aggravated and guilty, rin and his friends babbling on about the valuable things they’d hope to find and the kind of ghosts they thought would appear, not a single person in the car an actual believer of those paranormal rumors as they poked fun and teased, your forehead against the glass of the window and miserable as rin drove up the steep hill— the night chilly and so dark that you could barely make out the shape of the house until you were just about to pull up to the driveway.

rin turned off his headlights and tuned down the radio to avoid drawing attention, steering wheel shifting a little to the right so the car could gradually round over and stop next to the front steps of the porch— rin shutting off the ignition once he parked and stuffing his keys into his pocket.

and you could immediately feel a presence even from outside the house, your arms stiff and tingly as you all quietly got out of the car and made your way to the stairs, dry dirt crinkling beneath your shoes as you tried to swallow back your nerves knowing that at any moment you could all be fucking arrested.

“are you sensing ghosts?” rin whispered, a sly teasing grin on his face as the floorboards of the porch creaked with your movements, his hand reaching and jiggling the doorknob.

“yeah.”

his eyes snapped over to you. “…really? yeah right.”

“no i’m serious.” you whispered back. “what did you bring me for if you’re not even gonna believe when i tell you—”

“okay! okay i’m sorry.” he apologized, though it didn’t seem genuine as he patted your back. “i believe you trust me.”

“wait— she said there’s ghosts?” one of his friends piped up. “how do you know?”

you went to answer but rin beat you to it.

“she’s a psychic… i guess.” he unzipped his bag and pulled out a mini tool kit, a mix of screwdrivers and bobby pins inside. “she can sense them.”

“oh my god…” another one mumbled, all of his friends eerie now. “rin— i thought you said those rumors were bullshit.”

your eyes narrowed. “you said that?”

“no!— i mean, technically yes but—” he took two bobby pins from the kit and put the rest of the box away, hunching down to lock pick the knob. “you guys really think any of that is real? it’s just the neighbors man they’re bored—”

“people here don’t just make up rumors like that rin.” you cut him off. “the majority of winter river is elderly and in retirement why the fuck would they be making up—”

“because they’re old and bored—”

the lock released a prominent click and rin tested the doorknob again, this time it turning all the way and opening as he pushed it wide, you all proceeding cautiously and it somehow being colder inside than it was outside as the group shined their flashlights around every corner and space, not bothering to tell your boyfriend that the presence you felt earlier was ten times stronger now, for rin never really believed you or just thought you were being funny whenever you mentioned things like that to him.

you had known rin since the start of college, him always the rebel dickish type as he didn’t follow directions or liked whenever people tried to tell him what to do, and how you ended up crossing paths with him and it sticking was something that was a mystery to you.

rin was everything you wanted at first.

and though he was a bit selfish, you foolishly looked past the fact and let him meddle his way into your already monotonous life, it being hard for you to make friends in the first place because of your psychic abilities— always feeling like something was missing and… vacant for years growing up without any explanation as to exactly why, figuring it was just the side effects of your parents’ passing.

but it still didn’t help when you’d accidentally partake in scaring off and weirding people out when you mentioned that you just saw their deceased relative wander by, rin being one of the first to actually stay because he didn’t believe you, choosing to turn a blind eye to something you treasured about yourself the most, stuck and left to wonder if there was ever someone who did.

but turning a blind eye to just your psychic ability became him turning a blind eye to everything about you, and you felt like he never really listened to what you had to say or cared, often switching the topic back to himself or giving you a series of ‘mhm’s’ and ‘yeah’s’ to get you to move on.

you didn’t feel seen anymore, but you loved him still for some reason.

“where do we even look?” one of his friends whispered, the lot of you traveling as a group through the entry room and down the hall to the kitchen.

“wherever you think a money bank would be.” rin mumbled, leading you all and going round to the living room, his flashlight shining over dusty furniture and spiderwebs. “i think it’d be better if we split up. half of us can take upstairs and the others can look through the kitchen, y/n and i are gonna dig through here for a bit—”

“what?” you spoke, his friends nodding and walking off to their designated areas. “rin no i told you i’m not—”

“oh my god babe— would it really hurt you to just peek in some freaking drawers? let me know if something looks like it has money in it alright?”

he stepped over to the middle and crouched by the coffee table, opening and closing several compartments. “be useful please.”

you scoffed. “you’re the one who dragged me here and i told you i wasn’t getting involved.”

“you’re not.” he mumbled, standing back up and going over to a big brown dresser on the side. “just look at shit and don’t touch anything. tell me if you see money.”

you rubbed your cheek in exhausted frustration, thinking it’d be better to just mindlessly look around to appease him as you caught and stared at the photographs over by the fireplace— a wedding portrait of whom you assumed to be adam and barbara maitland propped up amongst others of family and friends, your fingers raising to gently wipe away the dirt and grime from the glass to get a clearer look of them.

you felt awful that their lives were taken from them just when they had built such a loving foundation for it, and you felt even more awful that rin and his stupid friends were invading their space and stealing in the way that they were with no sense of respect.

a sudden loud thud from upstairs made you and rin stop in your tracks, the both of you unmoving as you tried to listen.

“i’m gonna—” you gnawed at your bottom lip. “i’m gonna check upstairs—”

“no absolutely not.” rin shook his head. “it’s probably just my friends it’s fine.”

“if it’s the maitland’s your friends aren’t gonna know what to do besides shit themselves—”

“okay yeah sure.” he laughed, opening and closing different drawers from top to bottom. “it’s the house babe it’s old and worn out. maybe the— wood or whatever is acting up.”

you pursed your lips, arms crossing and apprehensive as you stood next to him, knowing with everything in you that the maitland’s were definitely still present.

“can we please just go rin...” you asked softly. “please we’ll— we’ll find a different building that’s actually abandoned and doesn’t have the maitland’s still here—”

he scoffed. “y/n this one is abandoned.“

“but it’s only been three months!” you exclaimed. “i don’t wanna do this to them—”

“—oh sweet! there’s a rolex in here—”

“no!” you snatched the watch from his upheld hand and backed away towards the fireplace. “you swore to me just money these are their things—”

“y/n they’re dead! who fucking cares? all of their shit’s gonna be donated might as well pawn it.”

“yeah for your own benefit right?” you mumbled, pushing past him and walking down the hall. “i’m going home.”

he looked at you baffled. “are you serious? over a dumb watch?”

“rin you’ve gone back on everything you promised and you’re not taking me seriously—”

“did i take the watch? no i didn’t so stop—”

“i’m not talking about just the watch!”

“you know what?! fine!” rin shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out his keys, chucking them at you and hitting against your chest as you scrambled to catch them. “go wait in the car.”

you threw them back and they hit his upper arm, his eyes narrowing at you in return as he then bent down to grab them from the floor.

“i’m not waiting in the damn car i’m walking home.”

“you’re walking?” he shook his head. “back to your dorm? that’s gonna take you like an hour y/n.”

you shrugged.

“fine go i don’t give a shit.” rin muttered and rolled his eyes. “you always do this man—”

you didn’t bother to stick around for anything else he had to say as you trudged on down the hall and back to the main entryway, tears brimming your eyes at the lack of care he had for you and scolding yourself for the thousandth time for staying with him, trying to understand why he was like this with you when all you’ve ever done was be patient and give him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t fucking deserve it.

it was hard for you to tell if he even loved you anymore, and you always psyched yourself out that he did whenever he’d barely just accomplish doing the bare minimum.

upon arriving at the front door, you placed the rolex gently on a lonesome night stand by the coat hanger, your hand reaching and turning the knob to step outside until another loud thud shook through the walls, and louder this time as you pulled back and craned your head to look up the stairs.

muffled voices seeped from the top as they gasped and whispered to each other to shush, you recognizing some to be rin’s friends with irritation and worry simmering in your brain, wondering if they were messing with the maitland’s things and stealing what they weren’t supposed to steal, as they were just as uncaring and selfish as rin was throughout the time that you’ve gotten to know them.

and with that in mind, you let go of the doorknob and quietly walked up the stairs, every creak and groan from the wooden slabs underneath your feet making you wince as you went further and further until you reached the top, you sighing as you saw that the maitland’s room door was wide fucking open and with snickering inside.

but with each step that you took to get closer… the more prominent the goosebumps on your arms became and the heavier the feeling in your gut grew, a strange apparent flickering light from your right blinding your vision for a moment as you stopped and turned to look.

your eyes slightly widened, a neon lime green foggy light practically oozing from the attic staircase as it streamed over half of your frame, luring you in with your body mindlessly and curiously walking towards it and up the rugged squeaky stairs, fingers quickly reaching up to swing the attic door open and halting in alarm once you did, the green aluminous light from earlier completely encasing you entirely now as you stepped forward inside the attic.

the door swung and slammed itself shut suddenly, you jumping and spinning around with hurried hands coming up to pull and tug at the knob, breathing irregular upon realizing that it wouldn’t fucking budge and was somehow jammed with no explanation as to exactly how—

“boyfriend troubles?”

“oh my god!” you screamed, hand flying over your heart as your eyes snapped to the source, a tall lanky man standing there with a little grin and vibrant pale blue eyes that only utterly confused you, his vertically stripped black and white suit peculiar and unique as your frantic eyes darted over his figure.

you knew for a fact that the strange man before you wasn’t adam maitland, for the way he looked now didn’t match the pictures you saw in the newspapers at all, you swallowing thickly and slowly backing up against the attic door with your heart dropping straight down to your ass.

who the fuck was he? was he— was he a spirit? because if not there’s a random man literally just basking and relaxing inside the—

“relax! relax jeez you look like you’re about to vomit sweets.”

sweets?

“are you dead?!” you blurted, hand scrambling behind you for the doorknob. “are you— are you alive how are you—”

he laughed loudly and wiggled his little index finger— scrunching it up and down to elicit a ‘yes’ and finding your skittishness a little funny.

“yup! so dead very dead.”

“o— oh… okay...” you spoke softly, tense shoulders gradually relaxing as you gave him a small timid smile, relieved that he wasn’t a freaking squatter and doing god knows what up in the attic.

“you seem happier to see a dead man rather than a live one...” he looked at you amusedly. “you like ghosts? scary stuff? haunted houses? handsome me?—”

you nearly choked on your spit at his last comment, an awkward smile wobbling across your face as you played with your fingers.

“i— i um..” you looked around, your eyes catching a book titled ‘handbook for the recently deceased’ sitting neatly on a dusty table by the door. “you could say that.. but—”

you hesitated, the man’s head tilting to the side as he waited for you to continue.

“but what pretty?”

you blushed furiously, never having met a spirit so forward before.

“sorry but— how did you end up here?” you stood on your tippy toes to peer over his shoulders and around the attic. “and where are the maitlands?”

“oh, those lousy goodie two shoed meanies?” he mumbled, pouting and bitter as he crossed his arms. “beats me..”

you laughed a little, guard slowly coming down as he didn’t seem or feel like a bad person to you, and you thought that perhaps he was in the same boat as the maitlands and was just trying to find his way to the other side.

“why are they meanies?” you smiled, and he reciprocated, arms falling to his sides.

“well— i’m kind of being held in the attic against my will by the— holy shit wait!”

he threw his hands out in front of him and took quick stride full steps towards you, a wild excited expression on his face and you stiffening up again, backing up against the door.

“you can help me!”

“help… you..?” you squeaked.

he vigorously nodded. “yeah! the butthead caseworkers down in the netherworld banned me from leaving the attic… but you can give me a little leg room in my contract sweets!”

netherworld— caseworkers— banned—

“huh?!” you exclaimed, brows furrowed and utterly confused at everything he was fucking saying.

you’ve only ever seen spirits from afar or casually talked to them about something fleeting before they went on their marry way, but never in your life have you met such a complex soul that was so animate and asking you for a favor straight off the bat… as spirits usually just— knew what they were doing and eventually figured out how to get to the great beyond.

so the subject of caseworkers and the netherworld and whatever the fuck else he was rambling on about was something you were not familiar with.

“i did something they didn’t like.” he gave you a boyish half smile. “so they did some ritual thing and now i can’t leave the attic.”

you frowned. “why would they do that? what did you do?”

he waved you off and swung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you forward with him towards a huge 3D model in the center of the room that you barely just noticed— intricate and detailed and colorful as your brain put two and two together and figured out that it was a model of the entire city of winter river.

“don’t worry about it! but i overheard juno telling her assistants not to say my name three times or else i’ll be let out to roam around the house—”

juno? who’s juno?

“—and that’s why i really need you sweets because i’m dying in this fucking attic… way more than i already am.”

you blinked at him. “i’ve never— i’ve seen spirits all my life and i’ve never had any of them tell me about caseworkers? and juno? who’s juno?”

“the rule is that the land of the living isn’t supposed to know.” he pursed his lips and dropped his arm from your shoulders, picking up the book that you had spotted earlier and passing it to you. “says it in the handbook.”

you timidly took it from him and flittered through the pages, old and crinkly and a little worn out as the gist of the pages you saw was a guide for those beginning their post-livelihood and the steps they needed to do so— from waiting rooms in the netherworld to being assigned a caseworker to help you out to the great beyond and so forth, your eyes falling on a particular page and catching specific line.

‘live people ignore the strange and unusual.’

they do. wrongfully they do.

and since people had been ignoring you out of fear your whole life… did that mean you were strange and unusual too?

“what?” the unknown man spoke, softly as his blue gaze switched between your solemn expression and the book, shifting his position to stand right next to you and see what you were looking at.

“oh sorry!” you laughed it off, closing the book and placing it down. “nothing i was just—”

“‘live people ignore the strange and unusual?’” he repeated. “what about it?”

you shook your head and sent him a small smile. “nothing! i was just looking—”

“just because you can see spirits doesn’t mean you’re strange or unusual.”

you stilled, eyes big as you watched the way he froze up over what he said, sheepishly relaxing after a moment and lifting an arm to pat over your head.

“sorry pretty. i can read and manipulate minds and i poked in yours...” he looked at you apologetically. “it’s another reason why they threw me in this shit hole.”

he dropped his hand then, a sincere glint in his eyes. “but i mean it.”

“i don’t know…” you mumbled, looking down and playing with the hem of your skirt. “i’ve never really had friends because of it… and i feel like that book kind of confirmed what i’ve been thinking.”

you quickly picked your head up. “oh but— it’s okay! i’m okay i’m used to it spirits are nicer anyways and i’ve always been alone so—”

“that’s not true.” he mumbled.

your brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

he funnily froze up again. “what do i mean what?”

“what’s not true?”

“oh! that— that spirits are nicer!” he quickly sputtered. “they’re assholes. all of them. every single one. including me!”

you giggled at his franticness and a smile spread across his face at that, endearing as he watched you slowly cheer up.

“people’s ignorance doesn’t define who you are sweets.” he spoke gently. “so don’t give them that right. you look perfectly fine to me!”

your eyes softened, wondering what the hell this man did that made the caseworkers down in the netherworld ritual him into a contract, as you were convinced it wasn’t even that bad at all and just straight up unfair, him being one of the kindest and silliest souls you’ve probably ever had the privilege to come across.

“i’ll help you.”

his eyes snapped to yours. “huh?”

“i’ll help you!” you spoke sweetly. “i’ll say your name three times so you can leave the attic.”

“wha— really?!” he exclaimed excitedly, hands animatedly flying everywhere as they went from digging into his white locks to all over his suit and then thrown out to grip over your shoulders, shaking you as you giggled again. “holy shit will you actually?!”

“yeah! why not?” you grinned. “i don’t think it’s right that you’re stuck up here all alone.”

“angel! angel! you’re an angel!” he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and stuffed your face into his chest, squishing you so fucking tight and honestly holding you way longer than he should’ve, but you not minding one tiny bit as you hugged him back and smoothed a comforting friendly hand over his broad shoulders.

“what’s your name then?” you muffled against his suit. “so i can—”

“ahhh fuck.” he muttered. “i forgot about one thing.”

you pulled back a little. “hm?”

“i can’t tell you my name.”

“what?” you looked at him confusedly. “what do you mean? why not?”

“it’s part of the stupid contract sweets...” he sighed heavily. “but i can give you clues! ooo!— like charades! ready?”

“oh! o—okay!” you nodded, him finally letting you go and stepping back.

“don’t freak out.” he grinned in a silly way. “i’m about to make things show up.”

your eyebrows furrowed. “make things show up?”

he waved his hand and a life sized fucking black bug appeared out of nowhere, landing on one of the old wooden rocking chairs in the corner of the room as it wiggled its little legs and peered around, you screaming and flying behind the strange blue eyed man while he laughed loudly and looked over his shoulders for you.

“it’s okay! just a figment of your imagination is all.” he cheesed. “but guess now!”

“guess what?!” you shrieked.

“what that is!” he pointed to the bug.

you peeked an eye out from his side, the bug still gross and horrifying as it wiggled it’s antennas.

“a bug!”

“what kind?”

“a beetle!”

“yes!” he nodded vigorously. “okay that’s the first part!”

“your name starts with beetle?!—”

he waved his hand again and the bug disappeared, a carton of orange juice replacing it instead and floating in mid air, a shiny glass cup next to it as you amazedly watched it pour its bright orange contents into the cup without spilling a single drop.

“…orange juice?” you spoke softly, timidly coming around from behind him. “your names beetle orange juice?”

“not quite!” he made a drinking motion with his hand.

“beetle drinking orange juice?”

he laughed. “no! you’re adding too many words pretty take some out.”

“beetle drinking juice?”

“nope.”

“beetle drinking orange?”

“colder.”

“beetlejuice?—”

“yes!” he threw his hands out, eyes wild and excited. “yes that! and you’ve already said it once now just two more times—”

“beetlejuice.”

“uh huh uh huh—”

“beetle— mmph!”

a pair of hands clasped over your mouth from behind you and pulled you back, you letting out a muffled scream as you thrashed and quickly pried their fingers away, you spinning around and fully expecting to see rin behind you with a shit eating grin and laughing in your face for scaring you.

except it wasn’t rin.

it was the maitlands.

“don’t say his name honey.” barbara spoke first. “trust me… don’t.”

“i mean— are we sure about this sweetheart?” adam looked at his wife. “maybe he isn’t all that bad… hell we don’t even know for sure—”

barbara shook her head. “adam, did you not hear a word juno said? he was about to take advantage of that poor girl!”

take advantage?

you heard a scoff behind you and you turned around, a disgruntled and pissed off look on beetlejuice’s face as he crossed his arms.

“jeez i know you don’t like me but that’s low.” he mumbled. “i wouldn’t do something like that.”

your head turned back to barbara. “you know who juno is?”

she nodded. “juno’s our caseworker… we got assigned to her in the netherworld after we died.”

“took us three months waiting in the waiting room until she finally got to us.” adam added, chuckling in humorous disbelief. “but all she really did was nag at us and warn us about him.”

adam pointed behind you and you turned around again, beetlejuice bitterly looking to the side with his lips pursed.

oh god.

had he been feeding you nonsense this entire time?

“warn about what.” you mumbled, and beetlejuice snapped his head in your direction with anxious eyes.

“juno calls him a bio-exorcist.” barbara informed you. “he tried to illegally cross over to the land of the living and bring himself back to life.”

your eyes bulged open. “back to life? how?”

“you switch souls with someone else through a ritual.” adam piped in. “juno says he attempted to trick and switch souls with somebody that was alive so he could terminate all who were living… and they didn’t even know about it.”

“that’s not true!” beetlejuice countered, utterly exasperated. “the old hag made that up!”

he quickly walked towards you, taking your hands in his and looking at you pleadingly.

“please sweets you’ve gotta believe me i never wanted to kill anybody—”

you ripped your hands away and glared. “so this entire time you’ve been lying, playing some hopeless victim so you can poke into my head and find out shit about me to use to your advantage?—”

“no! no i— i haven’t been lying about anything it’s juno!”

“juno.” you repeated coldly. “and what’s she lying about exactly.”

“about killing the living!” he threw his hands out in emphasis. “she literally pulled that out of her ass when her and her minions banned me—”

“and what about tricking that person to switch souls with you so you can come back?”

he faltered, words completely failing him and guilty eyes looking into yours so deeply that it nearly made you feel bad for yelling at him.

“that’s… that’s true.”

you let out a breath of disbelief and barbara put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently and comfortingly as she looked at you with caring eyes.

“we don’t know what to believe either honey.” she began. “it’s a lot of he said she said… but it’s better to be safe. he tried to get us to say his name three times too in exchange for his help.”

you quirked a brow. “help? what do you guys need help with?”

“your buddies downstairs.” adam sighed. “they’re stealing our things and just messing up the house… but we’ve been watching you and we know you’ve been trying to get them out and so have we… horrendously though.”

“oh my god—” you slapped a hand over your gaping mouth. “i totally forgot about them! i’m so so sorry oh my god i can’t even begin to explain to you how embarrassing this is i’ve been telling them to stop—”

barbara laughed and waved you off. “it’s alright! we know sweetheart. but we’re not frightening enough to scare them off whatsoever… so that’s what we were trying to get his help for.”

“and i still can y’know…” he muttered. “even though you hate me.”

“i don’t hate you juno does.” she crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one side of her hip. “adam and i are lost we don’t know what’s going on and we can’t even read that thing for the recently deceased.”

“we’re just trying to get them out of the house son…” adam finished off.

and in that moment you felt like you were the one responsible for this. that if you had bitched about it harder, even screamed at rin to get him to stop or damn near called the fucking cops on them so that this wouldn’t be happening right now… the maitlands wouldn’t have to suffer and struggle like this every waking day to protect their home and what rightfully still belonged to them even after death.

because the maitland’s roaming around and producing shadows and figures and scaring the realtors and prospected buyers off wasn’t just for shits and giggles… but to try and keep what was once theirs and feel a sense of normalcy for the life they once had.

that was their great beyond. their home.

“i’ll get them to leave.” you smiled at barbara and adam. “i don’t care if i literally have to start fist fighting with his friends this is so unfair—”

“wait! are— are you sure sweets?” beetlejuice interjected worriedly. “your boyfriend’s kind of nuts and i can’t help you once you leave the attic—”

“i’m sure.” you mumbled, still bitter and annoyed at him. “can’t be anymore nuts than you basically trying to kill someone so you can prance around alive again—”

“i already apologized to the entire netherworld nation for that!” he argued. “but if you ask me, if it’s so bad then they shouldn’t have put the fucking instructions in the guidebook.”

“juno says guidebook reveals to you what you want most.” adam spoke. “because barb and i didn’t see a single page that had to do with that… mostly just tips on how to scare the living.”

beetlejuice closed his eyes exhaustedly and shook his head. “doesn’t matter. i’m not trying to trick anyone right now i just want to get out of this damn attic—”

he looked to you again. “—please say my name three times pretty i’ve poked in your boyfriends head and he’s looney i don’t want you to—”

“i’ll see you guys in a sec!” you walked over to the door and left a sputtering frustrated beetlejuice behind. “if nothing works i’ll literally just take my boyfriends keys and drive the car down the hill, he freaks over that thing—”

your voice trailed off as you walked down the creaky stairs of the attic and down the hall of the second floor, the maitlands main bedroom coming into view as you tried to get a script together in your head as to what exactly you were gonna tell rin… but your footsteps quickening at the sound of loud yelling and laughing coming from inside the bedroom, sounds of glass shattering and moving furniture making you panic as you practically stumbled in from the doorway.

and your heart stopped, rin standing there with a crow bar in his hands that he got from who the fuck knows where, smashing multiple vases and porcelain jewelry cases and stuffing his pockets full of anything that looked shiny and valuable in his eyes, the mattress and blankets thrown over to the side and the mainland’s things just completely ransacked as you took it all in.

“rin!”

he jumped and spun around, brows pinching upon seeing you standing there.

“what are you doing here? i thought you left?”

“what the fuck?!” you gestured to the broken shards on the floor and strewn about articles of clothing. “what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“calm down babe it’s fine.” he turned and smashed another small jewelry case, you scoffing in response. “it’s all useless shit that’s gonna dust over—”

“get out.”

he snorted. “uh huh—”

“i’m serious rin get out.” you spat. “all of you.”

“yeah like i’d listen to you.” he spoke harshly, eyes narrowed and sharp as he turned again. “go wait in the fucking car or go home—”

“i’m calling the cops.”

“what?!”

a series of protests and worrisome comments erupted in the air from the group, all thrown directly at a fuming rin as he chucked his crow bar to the side— it clattering on the wooden floor as he hastily trudged over to you and gripped your upper arm, yanking you with him and out of the room into the hallway by the stairs.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing huh?” he spoke lowly and in your face. “embarrassing me in front of my friends like that?”

you shoved him off. “get out and find another building or i’m calling the cops rin.”

“yeah and if you do that i’m telling them you’re a shitty psychic medium so they can throw you in the shrink.”

your jaw dropped.

rin was being meaner than usual.

“why are you like this.” you mumbled. “i don’t even know why i’m still with you you’re an asshole and you’re pathetic—”

he got in your face again and grabbed your jaw, pressing you up against the railing of the staircase and damn near throwing you over as the edge of it dug into your lower back, your fingers gripping his arm and struggling to pull him away from you while his friends quietly gasped and silently watched in shock.

“pathetic? me?” he laughed humorously. “you’re the one who doesn’t have anything or anyone besides me and yet you still treat me like this you ungrateful bitch—”

“rin okay that’s enough dude let her go—”

“you wanna shut up? or do you wanna trade spots with her?” his fiery crazed eyes switched over to his friend, him only cowering under rin’s intense stare and shaking his head no, diverting his gaze and you still squirming and tugging for your freedom.

“get— off me—”

“or what?” he pushed you further back and your breath hitched, your feet off the ground now at this point as one of your hands shot out to grip the railing for support. “you gonna call your ghost friends for help? go ahead i wanna see you do it you lying—”

“beetlejuice beetlejuice beetlejuice!”

a thunderous roar broke out into the air, actual lightning and black smokey fog spreading over the ceiling and around you as rin instantly let you go and looked around, all of his friends in a pure state of fear and alarm as they lost sight of each other amongst the suffocating mist— including you as you frantically tried to look for a clear path out, unable to decide if you regretted what you had just done.

“never seen a man with such a power trip!” a booming voice echoed through the house that you quickly recognized to be beetlejuice’s, the walls vibrating with each word. “seems to me like it’s all bark and no bite!”

“what did you do y/n?!” you heard rin’s distant yelling from somewhere you couldn’t pinpoint, the air cold and prickling at your skin. “who did you call?!”

“a god!” beetlejuice excitedly answered. “achilles preferably! wait actually he’s a demigod not a—”

“who the fuck is achilles?!”

the air cleared in the center suddenly and revealed a petrified rin, wide eyed and angry as he whipped his head around to try and figure out what was going on.

“you don’t know who achilles is?” half of beetlejuice popped out of nowhere from above the fog and his friends screamed at the mere size of him, for he wasn’t the normal looking man you saw before but a borderline monster— huge and crazed as he looked down at rin in particular with a scary grin.

but his eyes were still a fascinating sparkling blue, oddly familiar in a way as you watched the scene before you through the black air, beetlejuice continuing.

“read a book your stupid is showing.”

he lunged while simultaneously popping his eyeballs out of their sockets with his tongue out, cartoonish and terrifying as his friends yelled for help and scrambled to try and leave, struggling though the smothering mist as you placed a hand over your mouth in shock.

beetlejuice sucked his eyeballs back in and blinked to adjust. “what? you guys scared too? shouldn’t have been so mean to my little sweets over there then!”

they all looked to you and you froze, rin’s gaze narrowing.

“his little sweets?” he clenched his jaw. “the hells he talking about?”

beetlejuice didn’t know why rin was so dumb for even attempting at getting near you again after everything he did and said— his footsteps quick and stompy towards you until he straight up smacked into an invisible wall and doubled back with a hand over his nose, your brows pinching in confusion.

you timidly reached a hand out, expecting your fingers to touch an invisible barrier except there wasn’t one at all as they fell through completely over nothing, your arm slowly retracting back to your chest.

you looked up at beetlejuice’s huge figure, and he gave you a bright cute smile that made your cheeks heat up.

“this is bullshit!” rin roared, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand and pointing at you after. “you’re a goddamn nutcase y/n! what kind of show are you putting on huh?!”

“me?!” you shot back. “maybe you should stop being a dick for once in your life and listen when i tell you things you idiot.”

“yup!” beetlejuice quipped. “doll if you’re still with him after all of this i’m gonna have to start haunting you in your dreams.”

your gaze switched to beetlejuice and you laughed, a little glint to his eye as he watched you shake your pretty head.

“i was gonna dump him the minute i got him out of the house—”

“what?!” rin barked. “dump me? for what?!”

you scoffed. “are you serious? what do you mean for what?”

“fuck— babe okay i’m sorry alright? i’m sorry i’m just a little overwhelmed right now—”

“you’re a sack of shit.” beetlejuice spat. “and call her babe again and i’ll start the engine of your car and ram it through a tree.”

you snickered and rin swiveled around to face him.

“why don’t you stay out of this freak and leave my girlfriend alone—”

“sweets i’ll make him go away if you marry me.”

you choked, flustered and stiff as you looked at him, bewildered out of your mind.

“huh?!”

“pretty pleeaaseee.” he dragged. “you saying my name got me out of the attic but not the house itself… but if you marry me i’m a free man!”

“how does that—” you let out a shocked breath. “how does that even make sense—”

“marry me.”

“but i!—”

“marry me that’s my condition.”

“hold on!—”

rin dove at you with the full intention to grab you and pull you away, but eyes widening in terror as an invisible force practically grabbed his ankle and sweeped him back and away from you, dragging his body across the wooden floor and over to beetlejuice, his friends having enough of all of this and making a run for it down the stairs.

“oh! i almost forgot about you guys!”

beetlejuice nudged his head and they were sent flying back just like rin, all of them screaming and pleading for mercy as their bodies dragged across the floor and returned to him.

“which of you should i gobble up right now… i’m feeling the one on the far right! he’s trembling like a little leaf—”

“please no!” he cried. “i’ll— i’ll do anything! i’ll leave i’ll never—”

“—and i’ll save rin for the very end… best for last right?!”

they all wailed and clawed at the foggy air, your body unmoving as you tried to figure out if beetlejuice was actually being serious.

“please man!—”

“i’m sorry i’m so sorry!—”

“don’t apologize to me you doofuses.” another invisible force grabbed them all by the ankles and pulled them up, dangling them upside down. “apologize to her. then maybe i’ll spare you… how’s that sound?!”

“y/n! please! i’m sorry—”

“we’re sorry dear god!—”

“y/n!—”

“put— put them down!” you wavered. “that’s enough it’s okay! jesus..”

“awww already?!” beetlejuice pouted. “but i haven’t even started swinging them around yet… like a little ferris wheel! heh.”

you slapped a hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh once rin and his friends started wailing in fear again, you shaking your head and smiling at him.

“it’s okay! next time! just let them go i’m sure they’ll run—”

“y/n, it seems like you understand me… you’re the only one that hasn’t bitten my head off in the entire three years that i’ve been dead!”

you laughed again. “i’m glad! now put them down please—“

“so be my wife then.”

“beetlejuice!”

“what?!” he whined. “you don’t wanna be my lawful wedded wife?”

“no!— well— just—”

“is it because i’m dead?”

“put them down and i’ll consider it!”

“yes ma’am!”

the invisible force dropped them and they slammed against the hardwood floors, each and every single one of them fumbling to get their things that flew out of their pockets while upside down and scurrying away, hurried footsteps stomping down the staircase as they tripped over their feet to get to and out the front door, you observing in amusement and slight guilt, leaning over the edge of the staircase to watch them go.

and the second that they did, the stuffy black fog lifted and felt immensely lighter, it dispersing into the air above you as it thinned out to a mere silly mist, cold and wet to the touch and similar to the air you’d feel after a long days worth of rainfall and cloudy weather, slow strides coming up from behind you as you saw beetlejuice’s shiny raven leather dress shoes out of the corner of your eye, you standing upright and turning to him.

he smiled warmly at you.

“thank you.” you grinned, bashful as he reached and fixed up your hair— hands smoothing over your head and down before his fingers lightly grazed and played with the ends of your strands.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “thank you for getting me out of the attic sweets!”

you kindly nodded.

“sweetheart, are you alright?”

you looked back and saw the maitlands, barbara walking up with outstretched arms and pulling you in for a hug.

“that boy was insane!” she pulled back and held you out at an arms length by the shoulders. “we tried so hard to intervene while he was yelling at you but we’re useless… they couldn’t see us.”

you giggled. “no it’s okay! really you didn’t need to i wouldn’t ever wanna put you guys in that position.”

“honey— he almost pushed you off the railing…” adam spoke softly. “if you hadn’t called for beetlejuice lord knows what he would’ve done… he was so aggressive and we were worried…”

your heart warmed, never in your life having been so cared for and looked after— funnily enough that you were receiving that sacred feeling from beings that were dead rather than living and it reminding you a little bit of the way your parents were with you when you were young, when they were still alive.

“we’re sorry for being so hard on you kid…” barbara sighed, gaze shifting to beetlejuice. “mistakes happen. i’m sure your passing was something you weren’t expecting like us.”

“oh! no it’s okay don’t.” he smiled brightly. “i almost killed a man i understand.”

“but we understand too.” adam added, and you felt like he was also referring to something you had no clue about as he had a particular look in his eyes, something that was only amongst them three. “i would’ve considered the same.”

beetlejuice swung an arm around your shoulders and looked down at you.

“so are you my little wife?”

“okay—” barbara laughed. “not that you know this—”

“adam! barbara!”

a sudden shriek boomed through the house and beetlejuice instantly pulled you behind him, waving his hand and an invisible force sending you further away until your back gently bumped against the wall, panic rising in your chest as the same black fog from earlier returned and swirled around you, blocking your vision.

was he… was he hiding you? what for?

“juno!” beetlejuice greeted, laughing awkwardly. “heyy long time no see!”

oh.

“zip it bozo.”

from the cracks and openings that you could see through the whirling wind, a proper old lady in professional office attire stood there with her arms crossed, a pissed off look on her face as she tapped her heel against the floor and played with the pearls around her neck.

“what did i tell you two about letting him free?” she scolded. “he’s a loose cannon! he’s not to be trusted!”

“i know i know we’re sorry… we just really needed to get those kids out! and they’re gone! and beetlejuice seems alright!” barbara looked to her husband, a desperate flicker in her gaze. “right adam?”

“yes! uh uh!” adam stepped forward and sighed softly. “please juno… he’s just a kid. he’s learned and what he did was three years ago—”

“what he did could’ve cost me my job and set my entire office up in flames.” juno lectured, pointing her wrinkly finger at beetlejuice next. “you broke a million undead laws and have hundreds of violation codes on your record. your punishment was to stay in the attic for eternity.”

eternity?

oh god no.

“but now i’m gonna have to send you to live inside mr. maitland’s winter river model and you better stay there!”

“what?!” beetlejuice scoffed. “juno please there’s gotta be a way i can lift those violations?”

“i’m afraid there isn’t.” she seethed.

“pretty please?”

“no.”

“with a cherry on top?”

“absolutely not.”

“not even probation?—”

“not even probation! you’re gone!”

your eyes blew open as you watched juno extend an arm out and move it to the side, a bright white blinding light encasing her entire figure and you quickly pushed a hand through the black fog and grabbed the back of beetlejuice’s suit, everything around you scarily blurring out and disappearing and you squeezed your eyes shut, arms reaching out to wrap around his upper torso as you buried your face in his back.

you didn’t want him to go… not at all. and the thought of him stuck inside a model forever like that all alone terrified you.

you understood why he was punished in the first place, but why couldn’t juno just see that he was good? that all he was trying to do was come back to life and live? something many other souls would also kill for?

hadn’t he been punished enough already? he stood stuck in that attic for three god damn years straight with no means of escape whatsoever, and now he was shamefully being sent to live inside a styrofoam cardboard model that was far worse than that stupid attic, for now he couldn’t be seen by anyone even if he truly wanted to be.

had that not been enough? enough of a sign to reconsider his contract?

why couldn’t he just be given a second fucking chance—

“pretty?”

you opened your eyes, forehead quickly detaching from his back and looking up, his piercing blue eyes staring down at you worriedly from behind as he shifted his body a little in your hold to face you.

“what are you doing here i thought—” his surprised gaze shifted over to the way you were clutching onto him, and he relaxed, smiling a little.

“you grabbed me baby?”

“i—” you let him go and stepped back, your cheeks a vibrant pinky shade. “y—yeah…”

he turned around fully.

“why?”

“because—” you bit your bottom lip, peering cutely up at him.

“because i thought we were getting married…”

beetlejuice’s expression dropped and he stared at you wide eyed, his face reddening at your words.

“i don’t— i don’t understand—”

“what?” you giggled. “i thought you proposed to me earlier?”

“i did! yes i did!” he rapidly nodded. “but— but are you actually serious?”

you nodded. “mhm! i am!”

“you can say no sweets honestly it’s okay…”beetlejuice spoke softly with pinched brows. “i’ll cry myself to sleep and shrivel up but i can handle it don’t worry about me—”

you laughed and nudged his shoulder with yours. “i wanna marry you… i wanna set you free.”

you walked over to a little bench, the feeling of you stepping on rubber and glue a little weird under your feet as you sat down and smiled, gently patting the spot next to you.

“i’m not letting you stay here forever by yourself, not when you’ve been doing that already for years.” you murmured, him taking a seat next to you with a yearn-full but apprehensive face.

“you deserve to do the things you want to do and see the things you want to see…” you looked at him so sincerely and loving that he felt his undead heart throb. “… and if i can help you in anyway to get you there i don’t care what it is. i can’t think of anyone more deserving of freedom than you.”

“you’re so pure…” he softly took your hand, yours warm and pumping in comparison to his cold and stiff one. “you always have been.”

he stared at your hand still, his index finger delicately tracing over the faint markings of your working veins underneath your skin, trying to remember what they looked like on him when he was alive, and if they ever looked as precious as yours did.

beetlejuice raised your hand and kissed it, eliciting a fuzzy blush to your cheeks.

“i think we’re meant to be.”

you faltered slightly, for you felt a rush of deja vu hit you like a stifling wave.

“have we met?” you teasingly asked. “before you died?”

he laughed and shook his head.

you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, beetlejuice still tracing the lines and indentations of your hand before you spoke up again.

“i have a question.”

his content eyes switched to yours before they looked back down. “yes sweets?”

“is your name really beetlejuice?”

he weirdly stopped, and you quirked a brow.

“it’s…” he swallowed. “it’s not.”

“oh what the?” you paused, a little puzzled. “where did it come from?”

“juno.” he snickered. “the old hag said it fit how bizarre and stupid i was, so she put it in my contract.”

“oh my fucking god.” you mumbled. “why the hell would she do that? that’s cruel… you’ve already paid the price for what you did the least she could do is address you by your given name.”

beetlejuice laughed cutely, his eyes twinkling as he looked at you.

“that woman doesn’t care baby… so don’t sweat it.” he lifted a hand and ruffled your hair. “and if you ask me, she needs to retire immediately. like— yesterday. all she does is fucking nag at me and the rest of her damn clients.”

you giggled.

“so what’s your name then?”

“not important! now i say we figure out a way to get out of this rinky dink model—”

your eyes narrowed.

“why won’t you tell me your name?”

“—or maybe we should just stay and make ourselves at home!—”

“you won’t tell your soon to be wife your name?—”

“—oh! oh! i can manifest a little jacuzzi in the middle of the cemetery that’s neat—”

you slapped a hand over his mouth and he stopped, your pleading little eyes making him guiltily melt against your hold.

“your name.” you urged softly, lowering your hand and revealing a little frown that he had on his lips. “please.”

“i—” he blinked, utterly remorseful. “i can’t… i can’t tell you my name.”

your brows pinched. “why not? is part of your contract?”

“no— well yes.” he sighed deeply through his nose, and you wondered why he looked so… strained.

“it’s not their contract, but my contract… with you.”

you froze.

“with—” you struggled. “i don’t—”

he rubbed his tired sunken eyes.

“it’s okay sweets but that’s all you need to know—”

“no.” you replied firmly. “what i need to know is your name.”

he dropped his arms and shook his head desperately. “y/n please i put that contract on you to protect you if— if i tell you my name you’ll be hurt and i don’t want that—”

“what do you mean?” you bitterly scooched away from him on the bench and he stubbornly moved closer, eliminating the distance you had created.

“i lied when you asked me if we had met.”

your heart dropped.

“because we have… and i— i wanted you to forget me so i took away your memories and if i tell you my name—”

he swallowed hard.

“… it’ll break the contract. and you’ll remember me again.”

you stared at him, his regretful tortured gaze so anguishing that it was almost unbearable to watch him endure it, wanting to mend it instead, something that already felt so right and easy to you and in no way shape or form unfamiliar.

slowly, you reached up and cupped his cold cheeks in your hands, bringing his forehead to rest against yours.

“but i want to remember you…” you murmured. “…please let me.”

his pupils worriedly shook as they darted all around your striking features, his name practically hanging off the edge of his tongue but his throat physically unable to get the words out, for his dead heart was pulling and fighting with his vocal chords to prevent him from doing so, everything within him wanting to save you from memories he had to live with even after death.

but the other part of him was filled with such intense longing for you that it effortlessly slipped between the cracks of his defensive wall of not telling you his name…the relentless feeling going straight to his heart and mind and strangling the fuck out of it to get a formidable yes instead.

he wanted the life he once had. more than anything.

“satoru.”

something snapped in your brain and you flinched back, memories flooding through your mind faster than the speed of light as you recollected each and every moment in your existence, for the sentiment of vacancy and like a specific thing was just missing in your life was finally put back in its rightful place— for the thing that was missing in particular was him.

satoru gojo.

there were images of meeting him when you were both itty bitty in middle school under a magnolia tree, him sporadic and silly and making you laugh so hard on the third day of school that strawberry milk blew out of your nose and all over his clothes, satoru not having a care in the world as he cackled along with you and thought the way you made liquid come out of your nose was cool.

and there were images of the both of you becoming the best of friends— never one without the other as you pulled pranks on your teachers and ended up in detention together almost everyday, your parents utterly done with you as you never seemed to get it through your head how to behave, the both of you brushing off your scoldings and lectures because you had each other to endure all of it with.

and you saw how much he cared about you.

how he would physically fight and yell and reprimand anyone who called you a freak, anyone who spread rumors about you and your psychic medium abilities as he constantly reminded you everyday that your gift was sacred… a treasure while he wiped your tear stained cheeks and cheered you up after another day of your classmates poking fun at you, him saying that your skills were the coolest and how much he wished he was just like you, how much you both were meant to be as he loved ghost stories and scary stuff.

you saw how you fell in love too.

and it didn’t take long either, as your stolen glances and teasing turned into much more as soon as you grew and went to high school together, the both of you making it official literally your freshman year despite the apprehensions from your parents on both sides because of how young you were.

but it never proved to be an issue, you and satoru not once stumbling over a hiccup since the two of you had built such a strong foundation of genuine friendship and care before you blessedly fell in love, satoru throughout your years together absolutely smitten over you as he always passed you silly notes during class that had a gazillion hearts scribbled all across with your name in the middle, telling you all of the time just how much he loved and cherished you to the point where you had to funnily push him away from you to get him to stop smothering you, you always giving in anyways due to the fact that you were just as smitten, physically unable to go a day without him, and him still physically unable to not iterate how you were meant to be.

satoru understood you, satoru listened to you, and satoru believed you whenever you would speak on your psychic gift and how you had spoken casually to a spirit just the other day, him always interested and unbelievably amazed at everything you had to say as he bombarded you with fifty questions and begged you to teach him how to see spirits too.

he was respectful and supportive of you through it all.

especially when your parents died.

satoru wouldn’t leave your side. he refused to as you tried to piece together what the fuck had just happened, their accident so sudden and weird that it never made sense to you and still didn’t to this day.

and you grieved of course, cried and weeped and clung to satoru like a moth to a flame, feeling alone and without your biggest support system— without your loving peculiar parents that gave you your priceless gift in the first place, him accepting your tears with open arms as he encouraged you to let it all out and was worried for you when it seemed like you had moved on rather quickly from it.

but it was simply because your parents weren’t afraid of the afterlife. it was because your parents had talked so much about it and taught you everything that they knew, that you were convinced their souls peacefully made it through to the great beyond straight away and together, for you never saw their spirits roaming around aimlessly after and feeling eternally grateful for that, your whole life being about acknowledging and embracing the mysteries of life after death.

the knowledge of knowing they were at peace was enough to get you by for a little while.

satoru continued to check in on you about it though... even when it was the end of your junior year and nearing a year since their passing, his parents kindly taking you in after the ordeal and making satoru sleep on the floor and you taking over his bed since they didn’t have an extra room, satoru doing it without even needing to be told and you thanking all of them any chance you got for their amicable kindness and tried to pay them back, satoru checking in on you every night with a series of timid ‘are you okay’s’ and ‘are you happy’s’ before going to bed, your arm dangling off the edge so you could intertwine your fingers while you slept.

you were never alone like you thought you were. ever.

because of satoru.

and he made it obvious that he wanted to marry you too, that he wanted to have you for the rest of his life and didn’t give a single shit if you were both only 18 and barely starting college, him deeming it pointless for the both of you to pretend like the hope of marriage wasn’t there just for the sake of shutting up his parents, as every time he brought it up you stammered and blushed and fidgeted and he only giggled at you, telling you it would happen soon, to be ready, and to sit pretty and patient until the right time came.

except it never did.

because satoru gojo died a year later following that on halloween, precisely on his way over to your dorm when he was snatched by an unknown man and murdered in the middle of the night, you stuck wondering what had happened to him and why he wasn’t answering the phone when he was hours late to come get you, your chest on fire and aching as the feeling in your gut was weirdly excruciating, a part of you completely torn away and lost and you had no idea why until the very next morning.

and he had to watch you mourn. properly this time and not at all like the way you did for your parents, as this time it was fucking worse, painfully and all alone and for no way for him to get to you and comfort you— to tell you it was okay to cry and that he loved you, to tell you to be happy, to be hopeful for the future and hopeful to the thought of spending the rest of your lives together and being meant to be.

but instead he had to watch you wail and scream in your pillow every night with no saving, clutching his clothes and things and picture frames, you making yourself sick as the grief was too much to bare— everything that your parents had said to you and taught you about the afterlife meaning absolutely jack shit as the workings of supposed fate took away the only thing that ever made you happy.

satoru’s dream was to live with you. and it was taken away from him so brutally that he went absolutely nuts in the netherworld.

because yes he violated every single fucking undead law in the book and jumped over restricted gates and strange passage ways and doors, shoved through emotionless security guards, ignored juno’s warnings, and yes he tricked a living human being so he could exchange souls with him—

all for the sole purpose of getting back to you.

it was always for you.

and now, him sitting next to you with an anxious waiting expression, your body and mind now feeling the effects of not having seen him for three entire years and the way your conscious mind grieved for him and his return, his skin sickishly pale and cold but still so handsome nonetheless… absolutely broke you.

it broke you as you let out a strangled hiccup and covered your mouth tightly with both hands, eyes squeezing painfully shut as you reeled over and wailed with a broken heart, for you were mourning the loss of him all over again.

“baby no please—” he quickly caught you and brought you to his chest, his breathing erratic and with the biggest lump in his throat. “see? i didn’t want you to remember i— i wanted you to forget—

you continued to bawl and borderline scream out in agony, his words meaning absolutely nothing at this moment as your mind wouldn’t quit flashing painful memories through your mind, memories that were once entirely missing as they suffocated you with displays of satoru in his grave over and over and over again.

“i can’t—” he frantically looked around for something, anything that would make you feel better before looking back down. “look at me—”

“why did you leave?!” you wailed, pushing him away as the sight of you drowning in your tears ripped him to shreds. “why did you abandon me toru?! why did you—”

“i’m sor—” his voice gave out and he placed a hand over his heart, tears slipping from his eyes. “i’m sorry i’m so sorry i— i never wanted to leave—”

he reached out and tugged you in again, your body slumping against his as he struggled over his sobs.

“i didn’t want to die i tried so hard not to die—”

his words only made you cry harder as he gripped you tighter and shut his mouth, his frame trembling against yours and his tears trickling down and wetting your hair.

“you left me! you were supposed to come— hic— to come get me! you were supposed to marry me!—”

you were babbling mindlessly at this point, your shattered heart taking over the words that were tumbling out of your mouth as you gripped and clawed at his suit, trying to bury yourself in his skin and stay there where you belonged.

he was too cold. and you couldn’t hear a heart beat.

satoru could only cry and bawl with you as he gently rocked you side to side, knowing that there was nothing he could do to make you feel better, and nothing he could do to come back to life.

no matter how much he wanted it.

no matter how much you wanted it.

this is what fate had decided for the two of you.

“i tried so hard.” he mumbled. “i never stopped trying to get to you that’s why juno hates me so much because i’ve violated fucking everything.”

he pressed his lips to your forehead and laid his cheek on it after.

“i got sent to the attic and i couldn’t look after you anymore and i didn’t even get the chance to let you see me either—”

besides the fact that he took your memories, that explained why you never saw his spirit after he died, and you quickly pulled back again and narrowed your bloodshot eyes at him.

“why did you take my memories i never— hic!— i never asked you to i never wanted—”

“because i didn’t want you to grieve over me pretty…” he gently wiped your cheeks while you cried. “you were hurting so much and it was torture watching you suffer like that.”

you sniffled and wiped your eyes with the base of your palm.

“i wanted to see you happy…” satoru finished off.

“was i?”

he dropped his hands and frowned.

“were you?”

“no!” you muttered. “my entire life i’ve felt like something was missing and i didn’t know why… like this— this block in my brain that i couldn’t figure out and it was always just empty and like something was supposed to be there.”

you tucked your hair behind your ear and solemnly looked down, a pulsing headache racking through you from how much you were crying.

“i had to live with the fact that i was alone and that i never had anyone… and i had accepted that too… only this entire time i did have someone. you.”

and oddly enough, through everything that happened— all of the memories that you now remembered and the devastating death of your late boyfriend, you finally felt a little bit less strange and unusual.

because you always thought that something was wrong with you for feeling the way that you did, for craving something— someone that never existed, for wanting to fill the void that you now know satoru once happily sat in, all of these things now officially clicking into place and bringing you the weirdest sense of peace you had probably ever felt.

“i wish you never made me forget.” you mumbled. “you’re worth remembering toru…. even if it hurts me.”

he guiltily nodded and sniffed. “m’sorry… i thought you were better off forgetting.”

a part of him still does, because the small glimpses he caught of you no longer crying and just simply living after he took your memories away, was enough to bring him a tiny sense of relief just before he got banished to the attic, hopeful that you would live a long and happy life even if it was painfully without him.

but the minute he sensed you coming up to the house earlier that night with him thinking he was going absolutely insane and if it was truly you, was also enough to send all of that out the fucking window and falling back into a pit of despair and longing for you when he finally saw you again— for the first time in three years, looking just as pretty as he remembered and a little more grown up.

you slowly shook your head side to side, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck and him immediately responding, snaking them around your waist and pulling your warm beating body flush against his chest.

“do you still love me?” he murmured. “even though i’m dead?”

you slightly snorted, softly kissing his cheek.

“i’ll always love you toru. wherever you are.”

“i’ll always love you.”

he pulled back and gently smiled, eyes flickering to your soft lips as he juggled in his mind if it was okay to kiss you, every fiber of his undead being begging for it after missing and wishing it for so long, left with only recollections of your kisses to suffice through the years that he spent without you and wondering if he still had the right to— since even though you were once his, and he shamelessly still considered you his, he didn’t know if you were on the same page.

but you were.

it would be stupid not to be.

you leaned your pretty little face closer to his, timid doe eyed gaze looking at him so fondly that it brought back that same familiar feeling he felt with you those years ago, his hands coming up and settling themselves on your warm lively cheeks, holding you like fragile porcelain.

but were his dead lips still worthy of yours? even after everything he’d done?

“toru.”

he hummed.

“do you remember our first kiss?”

“uh huh.” he breathed out softly. “it was in my room.”

“i think—” your nose brushed with his. “i think we should have our second first kiss.”

he bit his bottom lip and smiled.

“you think so?”

“i do.”

he hummed again, his thumb gently grazing over your plushy lips.

“i think it should look a little more like the first time.”

he tilted his head to the side a tiny bit and a delicate gust of wind brushed through your hair, your surroundings now completely and miraculously morphed into his room with the both of you sitting on his bed— just like how you remembered it and basically had grown up in as you slowly took in your surroundings.

“how the fuck—”

he laughed a little, lifting one hand and keeping the other still on your cheek, his index finger lightly tapping the center of your forehead.

“mind manipulation pretty.” he grinned. “cool huh? i poked in your head again.”

“yeah!” you giggled. “very cool.”

“you know what else would be cool?”

“what?”

“if you gave me a little kiss.”

you tilted your head to the side and leaned in again, your breath fanning across his face and your lips so close but not quite that it was fucking excruciating.

“you want a kiss toru?”

“uh huh.”

“how bad— mmph!—”

satoru didn’t even let you finish that sentence as he stuffed his tongue in your mouth greedily, wet and messy kisses smacking through the room as he cradled your jaw, cold lips delving all over yours and him giddy over the sensation of your warm mouth in comparison to his, your hands clutching his blazer and making out so sensually as you made up for the time that was stolen from you.

and the only thing the two of you felt in each others arms then was serenity— one pumping, working heart and the other stiff, unmoving and cold, still equally beating for one another even through the restrictions of death, for satoru’s heart continued to move and love you regardless of how lifeless it may have appeared.

he suddenly pulled away, breathless.

“sweets?”

“yeah?”

“where in the actual fuck did you meet rin?”

you laughed, pulling back a bit to look at him with a regretful look. “knowing what i know now, i’m sick to my stomach toru.”

“did you meet him after i died?”

you nodded. “he was in one of my literature classes… and since back then i only remembered living my life— alone, i guess he was the first person that didn’t make me feel that way. at the start.”

“lame.” he mumbled. “you cheated on me sweets.”

“no!” you laughed again, giving him a little pout. “he was awful. horrendous. and i only stayed because i didn’t wanna be alone again… even though i shouldn’t have.”

you leaned and gave him a soft tiny lingering peck.

“did you love him?” he murmured against your lips, and you shook your head.

“remembering you again made me realize what being in love with someone was supposed to feel like.” you reached and brushed through the front stands of his white hair mindlessly. “and it was no where near what i felt for rin. i didn’t feel anything for him actually.”

he pursed his lips to the side, eyes squinting in thought and distaste.

“hmmm…”

you giggled. “what toru?”

he hated that you got associated with a guy like that, and hated even more that rin was kissing and hugging and touching you whenever the fuck he wanted when you were his first.

“i’m gonna haunt him for the rest of his life.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and nudged him. “honestly? do it. he sucks.”

“and you know what else sweets?”

you quirked a little brow. “what?”

“i’m gonna make you forget!”

“toru!” you giggled. “no more taking memor—“

satoru leaned his face closer to yours and you froze up, wide eyed as a little mischevious glint in his vibrant blue gaze made you fidget.

he slowly grinned and tilted his head, lips coming closer to the side of your ear and tantalizingly hovering, arms snaking around your torso and pulling you up against him.

“did you let him touch you pretty?”

“t—touch?—”

“mhm.” he gripped you a little tighter. “did you?”

“um.” you squirmed a bit, your body turning hot in the matter of seconds. “what— what do you mean—”

“did you let him fuck you.”

your breath hitched and your cheeks went pink, hands timidly resting flat on his chest and feeling a little… guilty.

“maybe—” you paused, shaky breaths blowing through your nose. “maybe once—”

satoru shot up to stand and hauled you with him, a squeal slipping past your lips as he hiked you up and brought your legs around his waist, walking across the room in quick strides and plopping you down roughly on his desk, kicking away his chair and it slamming against the wall as it rolled back.

“toru?—”

“why can’t i make you forget… hm?” he grazed his lips from your jaw and up the side of your cheek, feather like as he squeezed and kneaded at your thighs, your heart fucking hammering against your chest.

“why would you wanna remember being with someone else other than me baby…”

“i— i don’t but you erased my memories—”

he pulled back and tutted, head shaking and fingers drumming against your thighs. “doesn’t matter! should’ve avoided them like the plague silly.”

you giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him gently in.

“i would’ve if i remembered.”

“remember this remember that—” he smiled brightly and brought his face close to yours once more.

“y’know what?” he cutely pecked your lips. “i’m gonna help you remember something!”

your brows pinched momentarily in curiosity. “what?”

“that i’m the only man that ever gets to fuck you.”

satoru smashed his lips against yours and pulled you in tight, the bulge in his dress pants abundantly obvious as he grinded and rutted his aching cock on your clothed pussy, you gasping in his mouth at the feeling as you tried to keep up with his feverish fast kisses.

he slipped his icy hands underneath your top and you jumped at the change in temperature, satoru ravishing you up and obsessed with the heat your body produced and radiated, leaving him toasty for once and bringing a faux sense of life to him.

“did you forget that too?” he murmured against your lips, hands ever so slowly creeping up and sliding under your bra to grope your plump tits. “how i feel?”

“nuh uh.” you breathed out. “i didn’t—”

“tell me what you remember then sweets…”

he slid his hands back down and hiked your skirt up, you lifting your hips a little to help him bring it up as high as he possibly could, your pretty little panties tight and suffocating your pussy as his fingers came down to play with your swollen needy clit.

“i remember—” your mouth hung open, words lodging in your throat.

“hm?” he shoved his hand in your panties and your eyes fluttered closed, him placing open wet mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest, your mind unable to grasp the amount of pleasure he was getting out with simply just his fingers, pleasure you missed so fucking badly as he slipped his digits up and down your folds.

“your dick—” satoru pushed two fingers inside of you and you whined. “i remember the way you felt.”

“yeah?” he pulled back from your chest and grinned, fingers squelching as they pumped in and out. “and how did i feel?”

“big.” you choked out, legs spreading wider as you gripped the edge of his desk, his frenzied lust filled eyes drinking in the way you unraveled and crumbled before him.

something he was positive rin didn’t even come fucking close to.

“aww.” he cooed, digits speeding up as you squealed and tried to close your legs, him prying them open again. “bet you missed the way i filled you full huh? stretched you out so good?”

you rapidly nodded, eyebrows contorted in ecstasy as your thighs shook.

“anything else you missed baby?”

arousal trickled down your folds at this point, making an absolute mess out of his fingers.

“your hands— heave— on my neck when you’d fuck me—”

a shiver ran down his spine at your words, his cock so fucking hard and aching as it begged him to let it spring free and bury itself in your hole.

“my god…” he whispered. “i bet your slutty little self wants me to fuck you right now right? stuff you up and make you cum on my dick like i used to?”

with each word your hole was clenching and screaming for his cock, your hands quickly shooting out to pull and unbuckle at his belt, him laughing as he continued to finger your pussy while loosening up the collar of his tie.

“you’re so needy.”

you pouted, embarrassed as you pulled your hands away and brattily tugged at his wrist to take his fingers out.

“i take it back—”

“no!” he quickly yanked his belt off and flung it, his fingers unzipping his pants and taking out his solid dick. “hell no please i need to be inside you—“

he lined his cock up and without warning pushed, your hands flying to grip his shoulders for support and crying out at the mere size of him, his dick icy in between your gummy walls that somehow added a whole new wave of pleasure for you.

“hard toru.” you whined. “please i can’t— i—”

“i know baby i know.” he gripped your hips and snapped his hips up, your moans fueling him as he plunged in your hole and took no time in fucking you in just the way he knew you liked it, proud of the fact that your pussy still took every single inch of him like he’d trained you— almost like she recognized whose dick was actually for you and not some other fucking morons.

“you’re not screwing anybody else anymore, you hear me sweets?” he tapped your cheek to get you to look at him, you completely dazed and fucked out as you tried to hold eye contact with him amidst his drilling cock. “should’ve only been me… living or dead i don’t care.”

you nodded dumbly, you leaning and kissing him sloppily and desperately that you muffled his next words, refusing to detach from his mouth.

“did you— mmph— let him cum inside?”

you didn’t answer, not because you were afraid to, but because his dick was silencing you as you hiccuped and spasmed with every slam of his hips, satoru a horny goner and pinning everything all on you even when it was literally his fault he erased your memories in the first place, fuming over the thought of you tainted by another man that he wanted to perform a full fucking cleanse.

he rammed inside of you faster against the desk as you separated from his lips and clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“don’t tell me you let him cum inside you little slut—”

“i didn’t!” you heaved. “i didn’t i didn’t—”

“good baby!” he cheered, a complete contrast to his menacing tone from seconds before. “so you do love me.”

“i do! i love you i love you i love yo—”

his unbeating heart soared.

“you love me?”

“uh— hic!— uh huh—“

“even when i’m dead?”

you nodded vigorously, feeling your orgasm starting to bubble up in your tummy as you choked and squirmed.

“perfect my sweet little thing…” he cooed once more, him literally lightheaded over the way you clenched around his cock. “make a mess all over me baby i’ve been dreaming of your cute cunt for three fucking years—”

you wrapped your arms around him by the neck again and moaned, burying your face in his neck as he placed two palms on your bent knees and spread your plushy thighs further apart, jack hammering you and so mean about it as you shook violently against him and came, heaves and sobs of pleasure racking through your body as he threw his head back and groaned.

“you want me to cum inside you?” he asked. “fill you up just like i used to?”

“yes! please please—”

“oh fucking well.”

he pulled out of you and your eyes bulged open, his dick shiny and covered in your juices as he grabbed your upper arm and yanked you down on your knees.

“you’re gonna suck me off and swallow what i give you for letting rin’s filthy hands on you.”

satoru tapped his dick against your cheek to get you to open up, you listening and opening your mouth as he shoved his cock inside and placed a hand on the back of your head, fucking your mouth as you choked and gagged on his length and loving every second of it.

“goooddd baby.” he whispered, your slobbering so nasty as he watched drool dribble down your chin. “so good…”

you gulped him down and lathered your tongue around while he used you, his balls swollen and twitching and him needing to dump his cum in your mouth for you to swallow.

“remember when we used to do this every night?” he smiled wickedly. “when i’d make you swallow me up?”

you hummed around him and tried to nod, eager for his release and wanting to show him that you in fact did remember— wanting it just as bad as you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked him harder.

“h— oh my god—” he fisted your hair and shivered, letting you take over and milk him for all his worth. “i’m gonna— jesus baby slow— slow down slow down— hah!”

satoru’s release shot to the back of your throat and you choked, blinking back tears as you gradually slowed your pace and continued to deliciously suck him through his orgasm and gulp down his cum, him with a death grip on the edge of his desk as he heaved and swallowed, hips jittery and twitching away from you— tip now overly sensitive.

you licked up the last of his cum and stood back up, shimming your skirt back down and satoru shakily stuffing his softened dick back in his pants and zipping it, eyes softening once you reached up and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, his over your waist and squeezing you gently.

“so you’re telling me.” you began. “that you haven’t had sex in three years and you fucked me like that?”

he snickered and smoothed a hand over your back. “it’s my instinct sweets! and also because i’m sure rin did a horrendous freaking job—”

you laughed and rolled your eyes, kissing his cheek before looking at him fully.

“i’m serious you know.”

he raised a brow. “about what?”

“about marrying you. even more so now.”

and just when he was about to pick you up and spin you around and jump up and down, he stilled— face sickishly paling more than it already was.

because satoru was keeping something else from you… a condition between the living and the dead and one he overlooked entirely because he was selfishly desperate for you and just wanted you with him again, like the way he had you when he was alive.

“what toru?”

“huh?” his eyes snapped to yours, and he quickly shook his head. “oh nothing nothing!”

his mind was frantically pushing it to the back, ignoring it and wanting to go through with the one thing he’d practically been dreaming of his entire living and dead life— marriage with you.

this was fine. this was okay.

right?

“white or black.”

you tilted your head. “what?”

“you’ll see… but choose!” he grinned. “white or black?”

a slow giddy smile grew on your face.

“black.”

satoru waved his hand and you stilled, the clothes on your skin changing and morphing into something completely anew, your eyes landing on his black and white button up suit now and head quickly dropping down to yourself— gasping once it registered in your flabbergasted brain.

you were wearing a black wedding gown, beautiful and classy as you picked up and felt the soft silk material between your fingertips, your tule sheer veil intricate as you looked behind you then— it long and stretching for what seemed like miles across the floor with gorgeous embroidery at the base of it.

it was heavenly.

your gaze snapped back to his, and he smiled fondly, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers.

“three times.” he murmured, and you picked up on what he was referring to, tightening your grip on his hand and nodding.

“beetlejuice beetlejuice beetlejuice.”

and the room spun around you, so astronomically fast that you almost doubled over in stifling nausea as the wind whipped through your hair and veil, expecting to land in the attic and finally outside that damn model when in reality, you were in a church cathedral as soon as your surroundings had stopped spinning… and one that looked exactly like the one in winter river.

“are we…” you looked around. “are we still in the model?”

he shook his head. “nope! i was focusing my mind here when you were saying my name… we’re in winter river baby.”

you smiled, the atmosphere around you soft and serene as the dimly lit candles around you quietly flickered, a random lilac colored hue across the cathedral and one you assumed was placed by satoru himself as he took your hands in his, almost in a haste too, but choosing to brush the observation aside.

this was wrong… and satoru knew it.

but he pushed it to the back of his head again.

“we are gathered here today—”

“shit!”

you jumped and whipped your head to the side, breathing out and shoulders relaxing once you saw it was just your church’s pastor that you’d known since birth— a strange far off look in his eye that you deemed to be something that satoru did, for there was no way he was up at the crack of fucking dawn right now to do a wedding.

“sorry!” you laughed. “is he… is he okay?”

“oh yeah he’s fine! he’s actually still sleeping.” he let go of one of your hands and patted the pastors head. “i’m manipulating his head for a little bit. just until you’re my wife.”

his wife.

you nodded, cheeks so warm as you tried to refrain from jumping over how excited you were at the thought of finally fulfilling the vows you had placed on each other when you were young— them now nurturing into something real.

“dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the love of satoru gojo and y/n y/m in holy matrimony.”

he shouldn’t do this to you.

“today, they declare their intention to build a life together, sharing their joys and their challenges, and supporting one another in pursuit of their dreams.”

he can’t— he can’t build a life with you… can he?

he pushed his worries back again and gripped your hands tighter.

“do you, satoru gojo, take y/n y/m to be your lawfully wedded wife? do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, through sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?”

this is wrong.

but he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

“i do.”

“and do you, y/n y/m, take satoru gojo to be your lawfully wedded husband? do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, through sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?”

for as long as you both shall live.

satoru can’t live.

“i d—”

“stop.”

you froze.

“what?” you asked worriedly. “what’s wrong?”

“i’m no better than the man i was when i first died.”

the look in his eyes was… odd, and it only further confused you.

“i don’t—”

“i can’t let you marry me baby.”

your heart dropped.

“what?”

“i told you that if you married me it would break my contract and i would be a free man and that’s true…” he began. “but there’s something else that i didn’t tell you... i— i kept it from you.”

oh fuck.

“what are you talking about toru.” your voice was low and heedful, almost like a warning to him, and he wanted to slam his head against the wall for being so fucking reckless again.

“if you—” he breathed in and shook his head, letting go of your hands and letting his fall tight at his sides, balling up. “if you marry me, you’re freeing me…”

he gnawed at his lip.

“but i’m killing you.”

your blood ran cold and drained from your face, words entirely at a loss and useless as your brain tried to process what the fuck he just told you.

kill you?

“marrying me is like exchanging your soul with the dead.” satoru slowly shook his head. “you’ll die sweets… i can’t— i can’t do that to you.”

satoru was desperate to for you, so much so that he was willing to hide such a detrimental part of the marriage clause until the time came, choosing to play freaking stupid and tune it out in the hopes that in the end, he would be brave enough to go through with it just to keep you and not ever have to say goodbye again.

but it was wrong. so incredibly immoral and wrong and he felt like a monster for even trying to do it, for letting it go as far as it did and have you standing there in front of him in your pretty gown and veil— just like how he’d imagined it when his blood was pumping and his heart was beating, and just like how he’d imagined it even now, shriveled up dead veins and all.

this is what fate had chosen for the two of you.

and though it took forever for satoru to accept it… you and him were simply not meant to be.

for you were meant to live, and satoru was meant to die.

“you disgraceful bafoon! you insolent crook!”

the big doors of the cathedral kicked open and juno walked through, adam and barbara maitland running behind her and trying to pull her back, the both of them spouting reasonings and explanations.

“this is her choice juno!—”

“she wants to let her do it!—”

“the kid’s just in love!—”

“button it or i’m sending you back to the house!” juno grumbled at them, turning back around and pointing menacingly at satoru once she reached you both, her brittle old lady perfume wafting in your nostrils.

“juno!” satoru greeted with faux cheerfulness, eyes wide and alarmed. “good to see you hah! you look livelier than the last time i saw y—”

“what the hell do you think you’re doing boy?” she spat, eyes switching to you next. “and you! young lady— this man is a spirit!”

“i—i know—”

“juno they know each other.” barbara spoke up gently. “they grew up together when he was alive.”

“yes they were in a relationship this isn’t him trying to trick her into anything—”

“no but it is.” satoru exhaustedly whined, cutting adam off as he ran his hands through his snowy hair. “she didn’t know about the clause… i just told her now.”

silence.

“you didn’t tell her about the clause?!—”

“are you out of your mind you cockroach?!—”

“you’re doing what you did before!—”

“i know!” satoru exclaimed over the yells of scolding and belittlement. “i know i know that’s why i told her just now… i’m not letting her do it i— i couldn’t.”

he turned to you.

“baby i want you. i need you and that’s why i didn’t say anything like a fucking dingbat because i’m tired of living forever without you... it sucks.”

you felt tears prickle at your eyes.

“but this isn’t fair to you at all. you deserve to live man… i can’t— i won’t drag you down with me.”

“toru—”

“the living and the dead were never meant to coexist.” juno interjected, her gaze looking at satoru sincerely for once that it was a strange sight for him.

she placed a hand on her chest. “i’m sorry that your love was separated by death, truly. i sympathize with you. i can’t think of anything more cruel.”

you both solemnly nodded.

“but the living and the dead were never meant to coexist.” she repeated. “so even though you two move on from this and go back to being what you are, satoru will stay like this and you will not. you will grow.”

juno addressed you directly and you listened with a heavy heart— the use of satoru’s actual given name now from her instead of ‘beetlejuice’ adding a layer of somber seriousness.

“and let’s just say this clause didn’t exist and you get to marry her and she stays alive… satoru will still stay and you will grow. do you both understand what i’m trying to say?”

you quickly wiped the corner of your eyes, satoru peeking over at you sadly.

“i won’t tell you what i think the right choice is young lady.” she continued. “the dead aren’t even supposed to associate with the living like this… but weigh the consequences of either path and see which one you want to walk in.”

she stepped a bit closer, holding eye contact with you.

“but let me make one thing clear— the power of the living is greater than the dead. if you choose to marry him, you will break his contract forever and free him of his violations. but if you do, you will die and be one of us.”

either path is difficult.

to sacrifice his freedom, or to sacrifice your life?

but you knew that a life without satoru was nothing and bleak…. you had lived it for three years.

were you willing to return to that? just to keep your heart beating? and say goodbye to satoru for good?

you didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t have him in it. you didn’t want to live in a world where you remembered satoru for longer than you’d known him, and the thought only made you absolutely sick to your stomach as you envisioned the rest of your life without the person who knew you best.

it was almost easy… you didn’t have to weigh the consequences at all.

your path was satoru.

“we’re getting married.”

“what?!” satoru frantically shook his head. “no sweets no we’re not.”

“yes we are.” you pushed. “this isn’t for you to decide it’s my choice and i choose you—”

“and i’m not letting you.” he countered. “you’re choosing wrong so unbelievably wrong—”

“but i’m not though!” you argued. “literally explain to me right now how me stuck in a world that doesn’t have you in it is better than—”

“y/n you need to live.” he cut you off. “i died, not you it’s not supposed to be you alright? i can’t let you do this.”

tears slipped from your eyes and you wiped them right away.

“do you not— sniff— do you not want me do you want me to go away what—”

“no…” he stepped forward and cupped your cheeks. “that’s the last thing i want and you know that…”

“then why won’t you marry me?” you hiccuped. “why won’t you let me stay with you?”

“baby— life is so unbelievably precious.” he moved strands of your hair away from your face. “do you have any idea what i would give to have it again? to feel my body actually working for a change instead of it just being nothing?”

you continued to cry, your hands clutching his wrists.

“i don’t want you to take that away from yourself because of me… i want you breathing. i want your little heart pumping and your cheeks warm, i want you to move on.”

“i— hic!— i don’t want to move on from you—”

“you have to sweets.” he quickly wiped his eyes before cupping your cheeks again. “we’re not meant to be baby and i hate so much that we aren’t… and i’m sorry.”

“toru stop it—”

“please live for me okay? for the both of us. and don’t forget me either please don’t forget me—”

“why are you—” you harshly wiped your eyes. “why are you talking like that what are you doing—”

“i don’t think i should be around you anymore baby.”

“huh?!” your eyes narrowed. “are you serious?”

“satoru—”

juno raised a hand, stopping barbara from interjecting.

“it won’t be good for either of us if i stick around...” he sniffled. “i need to stay away from you because if i don’t, i might try to trick you again into giving up your soul and i can’t have that.”

“my soul?” you spat. “take it i don’t want it without you i told you already—”

“please try to understand.” he placed a soft kiss to your forehead. “please.”

“no—”

“i’ll see you soon okay?” satoru let go of your face. “graduate please. have kids and get married and stuff… travel.”

you were supposed to do all of that with him.

“satoru no listen to me!—”

“i love you.”

“stop!—”

satoru’s grief was monumental, but his love for you was greater, choosing to let you go for the sake of your life.

he looked to juno and she sighed through her nose, somehow knowing exactly what he was silently asking for, stepping forward and lifting a hand.

“satoru please i wanna stay with you!—”

juno sharply moved her hand to the side and you were pulled to a blinding white abyss, dream like and fuzzy as you felt all muscles in your body relax, your mind completely blank and free of the heartbreak and loss and sorrow for a little, floating through a cloud of soft serenity as it brought you in and tried to clear the pain in your heart.

you weren’t aware of where you were or what juno had done, but your thoughts were distant and muffled as you let it engulf you entirely in its welcoming arms, you sleepy and drowsy until the blinding white abyss slowly shrunk down to a pure black, quiet void, the nerves in your body twitching little by little until you were finally consciously aware of your limbs and mind, but you too tired still to open your eyes.

you cruelly dreamed of satoru still. of him alive.

and you weren’t sure how long you had been in this weird pit of tranquility, or how long you were asleep for until you were jerked awake and ripped from it entirely.

“hey— y/n?”

you shot awake, sitting up and whipping your head around.

you were back in your dorm.

“are you okay? why are you sleeping on the floor?”

you looked up, your roommate standing there with a weirded out expression.

“and what are you wearing?”

your gaze shifted downward, and the minute you saw your black wedding dress and veil folded neatly next to you, memories of what had happened hours prior came achingly flooding in as you scrambled to stand up on your feet, scaring your roommate and leaving her to grumble in her head about how she wished the system didn’t put her to room with the campus ghost girl.

“sorry! i have to go thank you though for waking me u—”

your voice trailed off down the hall, you running through and ignoring the weirded out looks from other students as you sprinted out of the building and down the street, engulfing the skirt of your gown up in your arms so you wouldn’t accidentally trip over it and eat shit on the ground, the goal of getting back to the maitland’s house the only thing on your mind as you ran.

your lungs burned by the time you got to the bottom of the hill, and you thanked anyone that was willing to listen for allowing winter river to exist as the smallest town you had ever known, sparing you from running a full fledged marathon just to get to the house as you heaved and tried to catch your breath, a little sweaty and hot as you began the hike up the hill.

you hoped he was there.. in the attic.

you hoped to god that he was.

reaching the top, you continued to trudge across the dirt driveway and up the porch steps, your foot lifting and just about to make contact with the old wooden platform until an invisible force grabbed your ankle and pulled you back, literally dragging you away from the house and down the hill over the grass as you screamed and thrashed for it to let you go.

satoru.

and you tried again, hiking up the hill with your bundled up wedding skirt in your arms, reaching the top faster than last time and choosing to run up the porch steps instead to see if you could outrun his ghostly abilities.

except you couldn’t, because the invisible force caught you by the ankle again just as your fingers grazed the doorknob, yanking you away and down the hill until it left you screaming and huffing in frustration at the bottom.

you continued to do that for the rest of the fucking day, and everyday for that matter, for an entire week straight.

walking up the hill, reaching the top, getting reeled back, running up the hill and getting sent back down again, sprinting for it only to get dragged away once more as the repeated cycle you had set for yourself happened over and over, until by your last attempt you couldn’t even walk up the hill anymore, satoru having put a huge invisible wall around the house that was impossible to get through.

you were angry. angry and bitter that he was doing this.

was it so bad to just want to spend the rest of your undying life with him? is that not what he wanted this entire time? why was he so adamant on damning you to live a life of suffering and— and loneliness? a life without him?

you didn’t know what to do. your psychic abilities were only for sensing the dead and being able to see them— nothing to do with calling forth spirits or summoning them at any given place and time, so there was no way for you to call satoru no matter how much you wanted to or tried.

and you cried. you cried and you sobbed just like how you did when he first died, except somehow worse knowing that there was a chance to be together with him forever and him not wanting it… not wanting you.

but you waited anyways, hoping that he would come around and change his mind, that he would bring down that stupid invisible wall and let you inside the house and back to him, counting down the days and hours and minutes until it became clearer to you that satoru wasn’t going to change his mind.

and by the third week, you had almost entirely given up.

you felt nothing. absolutely nothing as you slugged through your classes or your day to day errands, not giving a shit about anything that you had to do in this world for you had always loved the other world more— the world of spirits and the netherworld and the great beyond, the world that had satoru in it, as you appreciated and admired that one more ever since you were a kid with your parents… more than the one you were currently in— as this one was filled with ignorance and criticism.

you felt helpless… and maybe satoru was right.

if he was willing to give up an opportunity to keep you forever, then maybe that’s just the way it goes… maybe you should just accept it, and you choosing to think of the latter instead of begging and kneeling at nothing for satoru to come back and get you and marry you— was helping the bitterness in your heart grow and get you by, it at least stopping you from crying in the middle of your lectures or the grocery store and weirding people out anyways.

maybe you should accept the fact that you and him were not meant to be.

after an entire month, you had given up.

and satoru’s grave was the closest you knew you’d get to him, permanently divided by dirt and soil and grass… six feet under and totally out of your reach, his tombstone engraved and pretty and one you couldn’t believe you had forgotten about as it sat here alone for years right under your nose— you visiting it now for the millionth time as you placed your book bag down and sat criss crossed on the grass, mindlessly tugging and breaking off pieces of it as you sat there.

you sighed deeply and hugged your knees up to your chest, the day surprisingly a sunny one as chirping birds flittered past you through the wind, tiny little white butterflies occasionally stopping by to sit on your arm or satoru’s tombstone as you sat there in thought… not really sure what to think, but comforted by the fact that the engravings on his stone reminded you that he was once very much alive and real.

there was an odd wavering in your heart, and you had a feeling that this was going to be the last time you were visiting his grave, for you figured it was time to finally do what he wanted you to do— move on and forget him.

“don’t move on.”

you stiffened.

that voice… was your mind hallucinating now? jesus chri—

“don’t move on from me please… and— and don’t forget me. i take it all back.”

you heard footsteps draw nearer across the grass and you turned your head, eyes widening and unbelieving as you saw satoru standing there with a pleading anxious expression, him still dressed in his black and white suit that he had on for the wedding.

was it actually him?

“how are you…” you trailed off, your mind having difficulty processing how he was there. “how are you outside the house? i thought the contract—”

“juno gave me a hall pass…” he explained softly. “it expires at the end of the day.”

you hummed, itching to jump up and wrap your arms around him and cling to him, but stopping yourself from doing so as you still didn’t know why he was here, and you were quite frankly still bitter and hurt from him sending you away.

you slightly turned your body. “why are you here?”

“because i can’t stay away from you.”

your heart skipped a beat as he crouched down to your level, your eyes greedily running across every feature of his face and committing it to memory, as you now had him directly in front of you again instead of having to rely on recollections of him to try and mend your aching heart.

and satoru was doing the same.

“i started to sense you distancing from me and… and i had this feeling that you were starting to listen and move on and forget me and it made me fucking ill. which is crazy because i’m dead… but i was literally ill sweets.”

you let a tiny soft smile play at your lips.

“i can’t take it.” he spoke again, shaking his head. “i can’t take the thought of you forgetting me. not now, not ever, and i don’t know why i was stupid enough to try and convince myself that i could watch you do something like that even if its the right thing.”

“you sent me away.”

“i did baby…” he reached over and gently caressed your cheek. “and i regret that so fucking much. i’m sorry.”

“toru i need you to understand that you can’t make choices like that for me.”

“i know.” he mumbled and dropped his hand, eyes casting down. “i’m stupid.”

“but i also need you to understand, that i have no interest in living in a world that doesn’t have you in it… it’s not worth it now that you’re gone.”

you tilted your head to try and catch his gaze, continuing once his blue eyes flickered back to yours.

“i would die for you, and i would die without you. i look for you in everything that i do and you expecting me to just forget you is cruel.”

“no i don’t want you to forget me anym—”

“what’s life to you?” you asked him suddenly. “what does it feel to you? and mean?”

he stared at you with pinched brows, his face endearing but sad all at the same time.

“warm.” he murmured. “beautiful and… pure. it’s peaceful and it means you.”

your heart fluttered and you smiled, and satoru fell in love with you all over again— something you conquered when he was alive, and something you conquered again in death.

“that’s what life is toru.” you cupped his cheek. “to me it’s not— this.”

you gestured around you. “it’s not my body or my heart, it’s not the sun and it’s not breathing. it’s you. i feel life through you and i always have… because life doesn’t literally mean where i am now and neither does it mean the netherworld baby… it means you and me.”

satoru didn’t even realize he was crying until you wiped his cheeks, your words serving an entirely new perspective to him about the living and the dead and he felt peace.

because yes satoru was dead… but he was still living. living because he had you as the embodiment of it, and living because his soul still permitted him to see you again and be with you, to look at you with his own undead eyes and feel warmth like he did before.

but not literal warmth from your body or pumping blood or a beating heart.

but warmth from your soul. from who you are.

that’s what life was to him… and what life was to you.

satoru wrapped his arms around your shoulders and brought you to his chest, one hand on the back of your head as he cradled you and cried, finally now no longer mourning his past life like he’d been doing for the past three years, and no longer wishing for it back either or thinking that physically living in this world was the better option for you just because it meant you were breathing.

where he was, was just fine. and wherever you chose to go would be fine too.

but you chose to go with him, something that had been set since the moment you met under the magnolia tree back in middle school— living or dead, paris or italy, your choice would always and forever be him.

satoru proposed to you right then and there at his gravesite, flying to one knee as soon as you both stood back up and him manifesting the biggest diamond rock you had ever seen in your life, laughing and crying together as he slipped it over your ring finger, for your marriage meant the binding of the living and the dead, and the binding of you and him— a new beginning.

but this time your wedding wasn’t at the cathedral, but under the pretty magnolia tree where you had met, now accompanied by the maitlands as barbara cried, and juno as she herself officiated the wedding, you thinking— hoping that she grew a soft spot for satoru, and that behind her stern resting face, she was glad satoru was finally a free man and granted a second chance.

giving your soul up was nothing to you, and it didn’t hurt at all either… you feeling lighter in exchange actually… happy, with satoru standing in front of you and with a massive fucking grin on his face, shiny and bright as he practically jumped in his spot in excitement over you finally being his wife and that he got to keep you— and right this time… no lies or tricks or hidden secrets, but genuine authentic sacrifice instead, for it was the purest form of love.

because this is what fate had decided for the two of you.

it had decided that satoru gojo was meant to die… but it had also decided to bring you back to him as well— to the house of the maitlands, to the attic he was banished to, and back together again in each others cold arms where you belonged, defying the laws of the living and the dead and proving that life doesn’t end even after your hearts stopped beating.

fate had decided that you were both meant to be. that was always a fact.

and fate had decided that you and satoru gojo were meant to live, with unbeating hearts and icy cold skin, but souls still warm for each other nonetheless.

because through sickness and in health… death could not do you both apart.

you and satoru.

together for eternity.

a lovely and incredibly beautiful fanart of this fic can be found here by @courtneedsleep !! <33

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[jaylaxies]

YOURS (MAYBE?) | part I

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader x jay

GENRE: enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff, humour, angst, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, blowjob, squirting, multiple orgasms, cum in vag, praises, degradation, double penetration in one hole, threesome, lots of kissing, slight body worship, aftercare, mentions of nicknames, mentions of food, lmk if i missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 16.9k out of 34.2k words!

SYNOPSIs: Your best friend’s wedding was supposed to be the well-earned vacation you’d been dreaming of, the perfect escape and much needed breather. Instead, you’re stuck sharing a room with your ex-rival, and the previously quiet, enigmatic boy from university, both seemingly perfectly poised to turn this trip into a carefully orchestrated plan to woo you. Alternatively: Challengers, but your playground isn’t a tennis court, it is the bedroom which you share with Jay and Jake.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

PART TWO: here.

A/N: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic is finally here! gosh, this is the longest fic i have ever written, i hope you guys will enjoy it! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 1: The boy I forgot Vs. The boy I can’t. 

Being late to your best friend’s wedding trip was the lowest you could have sunk down, and you did. 

Well, granted, it was courtesy of your work which never gave you holidays, but alas, you managed to get a week off, now rushing out of the airport with your two heavy luggage bags, not to mention the backpack and purse you managed to carry along, trying to spot the bride, Karina, who still proceeded to pick you up in the midst of all the wedding preparation chaos. 

She launches herself at you even before you had the time to react, engulfing you in a hug so tight as if you hadn’t met her over dinner just the week prior. 

“You’re so fucking late,” she screamed, shaking you as you finally elicited a laugh, waving back at her fiancé, Jeno, who was smiling like a puppy seeing his fiancée so joyous. 

“Blame my boss, he fucking made me work overtime to the point I had to cancel my flight and take the ticket for the next one,” you groaned, letting the couple help you with your luggage and share everything you’ve missed so far—which somehow didn’t include the room assortment, yet. 

Karina chats your ear off the entire ride to the Airbnb villa booked especially for the friends, other families and guests having different villas all to themselves, her voice practically vibrating with sheer excitement, but it’s not until the car takes a sharp turn into a winding hill that your stomach twists with something else—anticipation.

“You’ll love the place,” she says, “and the people—well, mostly.”

You shoot her a look. “Mostly? You let me take care of everything, from helping with your wedding dress to finalizing the flowers and arrangements, but didn’t let me take a single look at the guest list, should I be worried?” 

“Let’s just say, there are a few strong personalities. You’ll see.”

You narrow your eyes but let it slide, muttering, “yeah I’m worried.” She’s already looking smug, and you had a bad feeling about it now that your car neared the villa for the next few days, and you did have a slight hint about what was to come, to which you simply prayed for it to be wrong. 

It was something straight out of a pinterest board, cream coloured walls, string lights adorning it, the faint scent of gardenia drifting through the slight breeze, cooling down the otherwise warm atmosphere. You’re still staring at the view as you get another hug attack from Winter, who was more than excited to see you after the few weeks you spent away, because you still met up after subsequently completing the university. 

A small genuine smile graced your face as you started catching up, “god—wait. I need Karina to finalize the aisle placements, I’m sorry, Y/N, we’ll be back in a second.” She says, rushing away, seeming more bothered than the bride to be herself, who was enjoying every second of it. 

You weren’t sure what you expected when you stepped into the villa, but it definitely wasn’t this.

The place looked like something out of a design magazine—open plan with warm wooden floors, arched doorways, and morning light spilling across the ceilings. Plants dangled beautifully from the pots, and a soft ocean breeze danced through linen curtains like the house was exhaling out elegance.

It was like a perfect Pinterest wedding destination, almost like a spot where people would fall in love seamlessly. 

Unfortunately, you were not here for love.

You were here for Karina’s wedding, and most importantly, you were especially not here to run into—

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigy herself.”

That voice—you froze mid-step, every muscle in your spine stiffening like instinct. No. Absolutely not, that could not be him, could he? 

You turned slowly, already preparing your sigh, and found yourself face to face with none other than Park Jongseong. 

Great.

Same perfect posture, same cocky half-smile. Tall, annoyingly handsome, and dressed like the poster boy for a casual rich man at a coastal wedding—open shirt, silver chain, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes dark enough to drown someone, and his heart shaped birthmark on the neck still standing out. 

Jay.

Your academic nemesis, your eternal debate partner. The guy who turned every university presentation into a showdown and somehow made you want to win even harder, the guy you swore you hated all three years of your undergrad uni. 

You hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d hoped that would be the end of it, but of fucking course, fate hated you.

“Well, I see you’re still as stiff as ever,” you said, looking bored, hoisting your backpack bag higher on your shoulder, “still studying like a madman, huh?”

Jay gave a lazy smile, eyes flicking over you with the practiced indifference of someone used to winning, his eyes still wandering around your figure before he clicked his tongue, “you’re late.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, already irritated, “I’m fashionably late, there’s a difference, you wouldn’t understand, of fucking course.” You said, pointing at your amazing airport fit. 

“I’m sure there’s a spreadsheet in your bag that proves that, you always came over prepared anyway.”

You opened your mouth to deliver a killer comeback—and were immediately interrupted by another voice.

“Woah—woah, I’ve only been here ten minutes and there’s already fights unleashing, huh?”

You turned again, this time finding yourself staring into a face you hadn’t expected at all.

Jake.

Sim Jaeyun, you recognized him immediately—your old batchmate, the quiet one from your year, you remembered him as soft spoken, always with a shy smile, never really one to speak unless called on, only if you omit out recalling that one night when he did talk to you, just one night. 

Except now—now he stood beside Jay, lean and sun-kissed, wearing a faded tee that clung just right and black sweatpants that made him look nothing like the awkward boy you remembered. There was a warmth in his eyes, sure—but also something new, a flicker of playfulness, of newfound confidence.

His hair fluffier than ever, lips still pouty but in a teasing manner, and his aura now strong and warm, as if he had a halo around his head. 

“Jake?” you said, unsure, but you did remember him, not just the newly transformed version of him.

His grin was unnaturally attractive as he replied, “you remember.”

Barely, you thought, but said instead, “wow, you were—uh quiet.”

Jake chuckled, and the sound was different than you remembered too, richer, more teasing, accent evident in his voice, “yeah. Not so much anymore, I guess.”

Jay scoffed from beside him, “he still is when he loses. Don’t let him fool you.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “ignore him. He gets cranky when he’s not the smartest in the room, Mr. Know it all.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Is that why he always sulked during academic week?”

Jay turned to you with a sarcastic smile. “You were the one who stole my thesis idea in senior year.”

“I didn’t steal it, I simply executed it better.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh my god,” Jake said with a laugh, looking between the two of you, “this is amazing. It’s like watching the academic war off, but, well, this is actually interesting.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, but you quickly caught yourself. No, absolutely no humanizing your rival, not when he was right in front of you. 

Jay leaned against the entryway wall, clearly amused, “didn’t expect to see you here, honestly.”

“I’m Karina’s best friend,” you replied with an eye roll as if he was dumb, “of course I’m here.”

Jay’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his gaze sharpened slightly. “Right. Makes sense.”

Jake tilted his head as if he didn’t know, “you and Karina were close in uni?”

“We roomed together all four years,” you said, lips curving, “she’s like my sister.”

Jay gave a half, sarcastic smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “hm, that does explain the pity invite.”

You scoffed as you stepped closer, gaze daring, “are you always this good at projecting?”

“I’m always this good at reading people.”

“Then read this and stay away,” you said sweetly, flipping him off.

Jake blinked, then burst out laughing, leaning forward like the moment was a personal win, genuinely amused, “I’m sorry, that was iconic, never gets old.”

Jay shrugged, shaking his head at you, “she always had a flair for the dramatics, I wonder why she didn’t join the drama society.”

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, but before Jay could respond, the front door opened again and Isa rushed in, grinning.

“There you are!” She said, grabbing your arm. “Come on, Karina’s doing the room assignments!”

You let yourself be dragged back inside, throwing one last glance at the boys—Jay smirking like he’d already won something, and Jake watching you with a curiosity that sent a shiver up your spine.

Room assignments, right. You could handle that, or so you thought. 

The rest of the house was gathered in the living room, lounging on floor cushions and sipping iced drinks and vodka? Well, afternoon drinking is fun, meanwhile, Karina stood in the center, a clipboard in hand and a wicked glint in her eye, that was reserved for you, apparently.

“Okay,” she announced. “Here’s how it’s going to work. We’ve got three rooms for guests. Each one has its own fun layout.”

You narrowed your eyes. That tone was never good, not when she used it looking your way, and you simply hoped that your gut feeling wasn’t right this once. 

“Room One, Isa, Winter, Yunjin.”

The girls high-fived and squealed, already plotting aesthetic corners and matching pajamas, and you stood there, knowing what was to happen when you weren’t put up with the girls. 

“Room Two, Yeonjun, Heeseung, Beomgyu, Jaemin, and Hyuck.”

Someone groaned in the back, definitely Hyuck, “why do we get the bunk beds?”

Karina grinned, “because you snore, Hyuck.”

Then she paused, flipping the page. “Room three—hm, this one’s interesting.”

Your stomach dropped when it was finally the time to say it out loud. 

“No,” you said immediately, “whatever it is you’re about to say, no.”

Karina ignored you, “room three has one double bed and one single, and it goes to—Y/N, Jay, and Jake.”

Silence.

Then the crowd erupted into laughter, Beomgyu complaining about how it should be him with you instead, meanwhile, the girls wondering who’s gonna make it out of the room alive, because with that pairing, someone was bound to murder the other.

“You’re fucking kidding,” you whispered, horrified, already reaching out to Karina who was on the verge of running away, laughing hard at your expressions, “what? No. Are you serious?”

Jay looked up from his drink with mock surprise, as if Jeno had already told him what was to happen, “Huh? That’s unfortunate.”

Jake’s eyes went wide, almost comical, “wait—what? All three of us?” He asked, pointing at himself. 

Karina nodded, grinning too wide, still rushing around trying to not get caught by you, “unless someone wants to sleep on the couch?” She asked, chuckling as she hid behind Jeno for shield. 

“I’ll sleep in the ocean,” you said flatly, moving back now that you knew Karina was safe and hiding behind a tall, muscular man. 

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t mind the single bed—unless you want to share.”

Jay choked, not expecting that kind of reaction from Jake, “she’d rather sleep with a thesis on stem cell regeneration.”

“Oh my god, this can’t be happening,” you muttered.

Karina clapped her hands. “Settled! Take your bags upstairs. Good luck.”

You stood frozen as the group dissolved into laughter and chatter, your fate sealed, this trip was going to kill you.

And it hadn’t even begun yet.

Chapter 2: Drunk on you, I lose control. 

The moment you walk up the stairs to your room, it’s chaos. Jake brushes past you, grabbing your suitcase with a grin, “relax, I’ve got it,” he says smoothly, his fingers brushing yours just a second longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your stomach does a stupid little flip at the change in his personality, the confidence he oozes so easily now, “you know I can handle a bag, right?”

“Sure you can,” Jake says, smirking as he sets it neatly by the wall, “but why would I pass up the chance to be your hero tonight? I’m a gentleman, y’know?”

He takes your bag so easily, muscles flexing under the T-shirt he wore, it was evident that he worked out. 

Before you can fire back, Jay’s voice cuts through the room, smooth and sharp, “wow. You’re laying it on thick, aren’t you?”

You turn to find Jay stretched out on the double bed like he owns it, arms folded behind his head, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth. His dark eyes track you, sharp and amused at the sudden display of Jake’s chivalry. 

“Don’t you have anyone else to annoy, Jay?” You snap.

“Nope,” he says easily with a smirk, “you know you’re my favourite.”

You clench your jaw, grab your clothes, and storm toward the bathroom, not having it in you to stay in the same room as Jay by any means.

Behind you, you hear Jake’s low chuckle, “easy, man.”

“I’m not the one overstepping,” Jay murmurs, and you slam the door shut before you hear the rest.

The second you enter the bathroom, you let out a long breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. You were here for a wedding, sharing a bedroom with two guys. Could this truly get any worse? 

You thought a long, hot shower would make you feel better, but it didn’t, because the moment you stepped out in your shorts, you could feel the tension in the room thickening. Jake’s sitting on the single bed, scrolling through his phone, but his eyes flick up the moment you appear, his eyes now fixated on you. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “you sure you don’t want the double?”

“I’m good.” You toss your things onto the narrow mattress and meet his eyes, “but thanks, enjoy sleeping together boys.” You threw them a look of mischief. 

Jay’s voice reverberated across the room, “damn, aren’t you polite.”

You whip your head toward him, sharp. “You want polite, Jay? Try giving me the damn bed, or actually, the whole room, and leave.”

“Not my fault you came in late, y’know?” Jay says, smiling like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “you snooze, you lose, baby.”

“Don’t you dare call me—” before you could throw something at him, Jake’s up, slinging an arm briefly around your shoulder. 

“Come on,” he murmurs close to your ear, too close, enough for you to feel his warmth and scent, “save the murder plot for later, I’m pretty sure you’ll get your chance, I’ll even help, hm?”

And you stepped back, gulping and cursing yourself for getting into this mess, leaving the boys to themselves now. 

The villa was alive with noise, soft music bouncing off the walls as your friends’ laughter echoed down the hall by the time you were done taking a tour of the whole place, Heeseung and Jaemin guiding you through it along with Isa. 

Only for everyone to gather in the main living room area for drinks and games, just like the old times, they said. 

You sat cross-legged on the floor, wedged between Jake and Karina, “I swear you’re the most evil person alive,” you mumbled as the girl only laughed at you.

“Hey! I’m only doing what’s the best for you!”

“And that involves me being in a room with two insufferable men?” You deadpanned, glad that Jake was occupied in a conversation with Hyuck, keeping him away from hearing your words. 

“By keeping you near the men who’ll probably make sure all your frustration will be gone by the time the wedding is over,” she smirked and you only shook your head with an expression that screamed ‘save me’.

Jay lounged warmly with his back against the couch, fingers tapping mindlessly against his glass as his eyes were sharp and unreadable every time Jake leaned a little too close—which he did a bit too often. 

Jake was fast, a little too fast when it came to occupying any space near you, practically running to sit down next to you, leaving Jay to sit right in front of you, across the table. 

“Truth and Dare, let’s fucking go!” Beomgyu screamed, and so did everyone else, while a few groans could be heard too. 

“What are we, kids?” You asked with a chuckle.

“No, but we can make some?” Gyu said, wiggling his eyebrows and you shook your head. 

“Hard pass,” you replied, eyes flicking up to Jake, who looked visibly annoyed. 

“C’mon, Y/N, let’s play at least,” Gyu said, “trust me it’ll be fun.”

You shrugged, nodding alongside as you found no point in arguing with them, urging him to start the game as everyone sat down in a circle, your eyes wandering around, settling on the two of your roommates every few minutes. 

The bottle spun, wobbling dangerously before landing on you. That’s just how your luck was.

“Oh, this’ll be good,” Isa giggled softly. 

Beomgyu smirked, “Y/N, truth or dare?”

You narrowed your eyes, not thinking much before you said, “dare.”

Without missing a beat, he leaned forward, voice laced with mischief, “then, I dare you to sit on my lap for two minutes.”

The room practically exploded at that—whistles, shouts, Karina gasping and swatting at Jeno’s arm as he laughed, “oh i’m having the time of my life,” she said, trying her best not to laugh at your face. 

You shot Beomgyu a sharp look, “you’re a menace, I swear.”

“I know,” he grinned, arms wide in mock innocence, “you don’t wanna make babies so.” He dragged with a smile. 

With an exaggerated sigh, you moved toward him, settling lightly on his lap. His hands flew up in surrender, but his smirk didn’t fade, hands now wrapped around your waist to help you sit comfortably. 

Jake stiffened watching the whole scene unfold, his grin tightening just at the edges. Across the circle, Jay’s fingers curled slightly against his glass, knuckles whitening as his gaze locked on you.

Two minutes never felt so long, even more so when Gyu couldn’t stop with his flirty remarks every few seconds, yelping when you pinched his arm. 

The timer beeped on Isa’s phone, and you slid off Beomgyu’s lap with a triumphant smile, a sigh of relief as you sat back down in your place, “finally survived that.”

“Barely,” Jake muttered, low enough for only you to hear.

A few spins later, Isa’s grin turned sly as you turned out to be the victim of this game again, a huff leaving your mouth as you took another shot of tequila rose, you’d definitely need it. “Y/N—seven minutes in heaven, and we choose the guy.” 

You groaned, “you people are beyond evil.”

“Democracy, baby!” Beomgyu cheered, arms thrown wide, “I vote for me!”

“Jay,” Winter declared, biting back a grin, “obviously, the soul tied rivals.”

Your eyes shot up to look at him, only to find his intense stare fixated on you already. 

“Oh yes!”

“I agree, Jay for me too.”

“Damn, this will be fun,” everyone kept on agreeing and you only looked at Karina with a glare of accusation, as if she was the reason why this was happening. Which is partly true. 

Jake shot upright, “hold on—I have to vote too.”

“Rules are rules, majority already voted for Jay and Y/N!” Isa sang, practically pushing you toward the hallway closet.

The door clicked shut behind you, plunging you and Jay into dim silence. 

He broke the silence after two minutes of absolutely nothing but the sound of your breathing, “scared?” He challenged. 

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, “oh fuck no, don’t get any wrong ideas.”

Jay leaned casually against the opposite wall, one brow lifting, “please. As if I’d do anything with you.”

You scoffed, “you’d combust before making the first move, never had the balls to do anything but study anyway.”

“How do you know that, huh?” He pushed off the wall, taking a single step forward, “you’re all talk, you know that? Acting as if you know me when you’re no better.”

Your heart jumped as his tone got an octave deeper, but you tried not to look fazed, “yeah? And you’re all ego, challenging me when you clearly always lose.”

Jay’s mouth curved, just slightly—the kind of smile that was all sharp edges, something he reserved only for you. A lot of things had changed over the years, but not his attitude. 

He closed the space between you slowly, the air thickening, your breath catching in your throat as he caged you between his arms, hand resting near your shoulder on the wall—not touching you, but just close enough to make your skin feel his presence.

“Flustered yet?” he murmured, voice low and demanding.

“Not even close,” you shot back, but your heartbeat said otherwise. How could you not be immune to anyone who comes this close to you, to the point the scent of their perfume invades your senses?

His gaze flicked over your face, lingering at your mouth for a breath too long—and before either of you could break, the door banged open.

“Time—oh wait, are you guys kissing?” Hyuck’s voice rang through, laughter spilling into the room, with a few screams of questions. 

You practically stumbled out, cheeks blazing as you smacked Hyuck on his shoulder, him fake crying on the ground, “nothing like that will ever happen, you idiot.”

“You sure about that?” Jay whispered casually, before walking ahead, his cool mask firmly back in place. Jake’s eyes tracked you across the room, jaw tight, his hand gripping his drink just a little too hard.

The bottle spun again as you settled in your place, and you prayed to stay out of the game by now, you couldn’t handle it no more.  

“Jake,” Jaemin grinned, “truth or dare?”

Jake flashed a lazy grin, “dare.”

“Give Y/N a kiss—cheek only though, she’s feisty when you get too close.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the fate wasn’t with you today by any means 

Jake’s head tilted, a spark lighting in his eyes, “uh-huh, gladly.”

He leaned in smoothly, slender fingers brushing your jaw as his plush lips pressed a warm, slow kiss to your cheek, your eyes closing at the warmth of his breath, the kiss lingering just long enough that your own breath hitched.

The room turned feral again, Karina happier than ever as she clapped at the little show of affection.

You swallowed hard, caught between a smirk and a flustered laugh, “you guys won’t let me live, will you?” 

When you glanced up, Jay’s gaze was razor-sharp, his posture rigid, his glass held a little too tight in his hand as he drank the whiskey in one go, dramatically so. 

By the time the game spiraled into chaotic karaoke battles and empty bottles, you slipped away upstairs, heart pounding like it hadn’t settled all night.

Karina cracked her door open, grinning. “Y/N—what the hell’s going on down there?”

You collapsed onto her bed with a dramatic groan, “our friends are out of control.”

Karina tugged you into her room, half laughing at your unenthusiastic state, “spill.”

You buried your face in her pillow. “Beomgyu dared me into his lap, I spent seven minutes in a closet with Jay bickering the entire fucking time, oh god that asshole, will he ever change? And then Jake kissed me on the cheek like he meant it, like I didn’t even remember the guy up till today, kinda? And now he’s hellbent on making his presence known?”

Karina wheezed, clutching her stomach, “oh, you are so in trouble.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“It’s for your own good, maybe if one of them fucks you good enough—”

You groaned louder, “I want to disappear.”

She smirked, “you’re glowing, by the way, gonna have the best sleep with the boys?”

“Shut up—shut up,” you mumbled again and again, dreading to walk into the room with those two again. 

When you finally dragged yourself to the shared room, Jake was sprawled across one double bed, shirt off, hair a stylish mess, eyes gleaming when he saw you.

“Single’s all yours, princess,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. 

You shook your head at the nickname, which only made him smile wider. 

Jay sat on the other bed, scrolling through his phone, but his gaze flicked up sharply as you entered, as if your presence was too strong for him to ignore. 

You collapsed onto the narrow single mattress, pulling the soft blanket over your face, “I don’t want to hear a single word now, go to sleep.”

Jake laughed softly, turning onto his side, eyes glinting in the dim light, making his face glow while Jay shook his head faintly, but the tension hummed in the room like a live wire waiting to cause trouble, wrapping around the three of you.

And as you drifted off, one thought pounded through your head, keeping your body nervous as you realized. 

You are absolutely, completely doomed.

Chapter 3: Come right on me, I mean camaraderie. 

You didn’t have the best relationship with sunlight, especially when you were tired and well, low-key hungover. The curtains did nothing to stop the streaming rays of the sun, lighting up the room in hues of gold. The single bed wasn’t comfortable per se, but at least you weren’t sharing it with one of those—you froze, thoughts screeching to a halt. 

You had turned around to find the two boys, shirtless might you just add, wrapped around each other in perfect yaoi proportions, almost like they were cuddling, a small smile on Jake’s face made the whole ordeal even more amusing. 

Oh, this would be a solid picture to use for blackmailing the two. 

Jay, who slept like a pretentious vampire—back straight, one arm draped over his forehead—was somehow curled toward Jake, his face half-buried in the pillow. Jake, meanwhile, had an arm slung carelessly over Jay’s torso, his fingers gripping his waist. Their legs were a mess of tangled sheets, and Jake’s knee was nudged against Jay’s thigh like they’d fought for space and called a truce in their sleep. 

It’s unnatural how perfectly sculpted their bodies are, which does irritate you, because why do your dorky uni batchmates now have abs and a strong v-line? You shake your head, focusing on the main task again, watching their sun kissed faces sleeping peacefully.  

You bit your bottom lip, stifling your laugh as you reached out for your phone, trying to capture the best piece of blackmail material ever, tiptoeing a bit closer so you were on the edge of the bed, a smirk on your face as you angle your camera towards the crime scene, the soft sound of clicking pictures was heard as you did so, but that’s exactly when Jake shifts. 

Shit. 

Your breath hitches as his lashes flutter, and you freeze, half crouched, phone in hand, wide eyed like a deer caught mid hunting as his gaze landed on you. You expected confusion, embarrassment or maybe even a look of horror on his face. 

However, instead, his lips curl into a sleepy, lopsided grin, the one which made him look like a pretty boy, “good morning, stalker.”

You open your mouth, “I—” 

You start to move back, fumbling for a response as your brain stops working for a solid second, but he suddenly reaches out—quick despite just waking up, and tugs you forward by the wrist.

You yelp, your balance tipping as you fall onto the bed. Right on top of him, chest to chest.

Jake groans as you land, but it’s not from pain, it’s the smug kind, the kind that means mischief, that just ensures how much he’s enjoying his morning. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, trapping you as he props his head on the pillow, completely unbothered.

“Was I dreaming,” he murmurs, “or did you just sneak over to take pictures of me sleeping, shirtless might I just add?”

“You were practically spooning with Jay,” you hiss, struggling to push yourself up, but his grip only tightens as you squirm around to get up, “I had to document the evidence.”

He chuckles, sleep still thick in his voice. “So I’m photogenic, even unconscious huh? Good to know.”

“Jake, let me go,” you mumble, face heating up from both proximity and the fact that he is completely shirtless and warm, holding you like you’re the most comfortable plushie he owns.

“Didn’t know you were a perv, sweetheart.”

Jake had been shy back in university, barely looked at you even though you shared lectures. You remember his quiet smiles from across the room, the way he’d always seem to vanish when you turned to speak. But this Jake? This version has an attitude in his smirk, confidence in the way he’s comfortably holding you against him like you belong there, though you didn’t miss the faint red that painted his ears. 

“Fuck—no. I’m not!” 

“You always this much of a menace in the morning?” he murmurs.

You glare at him, “you don’t remember how shy you were back in college, do you?”

“Hm, maybe I do. Maybe I remember everything. Like how you used to wear that oversized navy hoodie during finals week, and bounced your leg when you were nervous.”

You blink, not expecting such a response, especially when he’s this close, too close to you. 

“You’re the one who used to stalk huh, not talk.”

“I was terrified of you,” he admits, almost fondly, “but you were hot, so it balanced out.”

“Still terrified?” You ask, raising a brow at his utter truthfulness. 

“Terrified,” he answers in a beat, then leans in, “but not enough to let you go.”

And now Jay groans slowly, making you both freeze, and you try to move again.

You push at Jake’s chest, only for him to laugh under his breath and shift his grip. His bare skin is warm under your palms, and you realize, way too late, that he’s still holding you down, your knees are tangled with the blanket, your face far too close to his.

Jay shifts around lazily, not expecting the view of you being on top of Jake the first thing in the morning, “wow,” he scoffed, voice deeper than ever, “am I interrupting something?” 

Jay’s awake now and not even mildly amused. Propped up on one elbow, his dark eyes locked on you two, your body sprawled over Jake’s, your hands resting against his chest. 

His gaze flicks to Jake’s arm still wrapped around your waist, then to your phone, still clutched in your fingers, then back to your face.

“Good morning to you too,” Jake mutters.

Jay doesn’t respond, instead, he holds out a hand, “phone, now.”

You shake your head, trying to push off Jake again, “Oh—no fucking way, It’s not what—”

“I said give me your phone.”

“Jay—”

He grabs it from your hand before you can blink or say more. 

“God—no!”

He scrolls, his face doesn’t show emotions  at first—but you see the twitch in his jaw when the first image appears.

He raises his brows, “really? Seven pictures?”

Jake chuckles, “she’s got an eye for detail, or maybe just me.”

“You were cuddling,” you exasperated defensively.

“You’re on top of him.” Jay says, eyes dark as if no sleep was left in them anymore. 

“Because he—”

Before you can finish, Jake’s hand finds your waist again and tugs you back down—just enough for you to lose your balance and land squarely on his chest again.

“Jake, I swear I’ll kill you if you don’t let go.”

“What?” He says innocently, “ I’m helping you be comfortable.”

“You’re not!”

Jay’s hand suddenly curls around your upper arm and pulls you back toward him, prying you off Jake like you’re the rope in a damn game of tug-of-war.

“She doesn’t need your help.”

Jake narrows his eyes, “and you think she needs yours?”

Jay’s arm tightens around your waist as he pulls you into his side, your head spinning with whatever these testosterone filled assholes were up to, not making it easy for you to leave, which only made your heart beat faster. 

“She needs someone who isn’t playing every side.”

Jake sits up now, a lazy smirk on his face, “uh-huh, says the guy who flirts just to win arguments.”

“I don’t need to flirt,” Jay says coolly, “she already knows I win regardless.”

You scoff at his lie, “excuse me? You do not—“

Jay glances at you, lip twitching up, “see? So full of passion.”

Jake pulls you back toward him chuckling, “you’re delusional.”

You’re officially sandwiched between them now—Jake on one side, Jay on the other, both shirtless, smug, and insufferable. Their legs brush yours, their hands still on you, and neither seems interested in letting go.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, squirming. “Let me go—”

“Not until you tell me which picture’s your favorite,” Jay says, holding your phone out.

“I hate you.” You glare at them both, trying to break free, but their combined grip keeps you pinned.

Right then, the door swings open to reveal Karina stepping inside, definitely not expecting the sight she had in front of her, making her stop dead in her tracks, eyes wide, mouth parted. 

Her gaze scans the three of you, you caught between two shirtless men, tangled in sheets, your face full of irritation, or was it embarrassment? Both boys looked far too entertained.

Karina raises a single brow, “I knew this would happen but not this quick, oops, anyway, I’ll let you guys continue whatever this is.” She says, pointing her perfectly manicured finger your way.

The door shuts again, followed by complete and utter silence, which is how you finally manage to tear yourself free and bolt up from the bed.

“Oh my god—Karina!” You groan, giving both of the boys a look which clearly said you’re dead, before you took your fresh clothes and rushed into the bathroom, in dire need of cooling yourself down.

Back in the room, Jake and Jay sit in silence. Then Jake tosses a pillow toward Jay.

“You couldn’t give her two minutes without starting something?”

Jay catches it easily, “funny. I was about to say the same to you.”

Jake glares at the door you just disappeared through, “you think she likes the attention?”

“From you? Of course not,” Jay chuckled. 

Jake leans back on his palms, “yeah? We’ll see.”

Jay meets his gaze.

Challenge accepted.

Just the slow, silent ignition of a rivalry neither of them plans to lose.

Chapter 4: Common effects of deprivation.  

You had rushed out to see Karina post your quick shower, only to find her at the other Villa, with her family. They all were always kind to you, which is why you spent an hour there, talking to everyone and making sure to clarify what exactly went down in the morning to your best friend. 

“Fine, but it doesn’t really change the fact that they both want you.” She shrugged, and you sighed. 

“Jay hates me and Jake flirts with everyone,” you deadpanned. 

“Has Jay ever done anything to harm you?” She cocked her brow. 

“Literally always—”

“Not academically,” she clarified and you shut up in an instant, “also, have you seen Jake flirt with anyone else but you since you arrived?” 

“Uh,” you tried to think, only to see Karina sitting with a smirk because she knew she was right, “wow, this is annoying,” you mumbled, gulping and looking elsewhere. 

“Well, if you do need an escape, I have a task for you and Minjeong,” Karina said, “I need to pick up the necklace set I ordered so you can take a break and go out to get it, plus it’ll give you some time away from the boys, besides, Winter is dying to get the gossip from you.”

You chuckled, “Sure, but I still hate you for doing this to me,” you mumbled, hugging the laughing girl. 

“You’ll thank me later, trust me,” she said, only encouraging you to play with those two devils, “you’ll have the upper hand just, trust me,” she said again. 

That’s how you found yourself hand in hand with Winter, rushing out of the Villa making sure no one else notices your absence. You laughed when she opted for the golf car to make your exit quicker. 

The town was beautiful, especially the narrow boutiques near the coastline, where you juggled the bags on your arms after grabbing the necklace set for Karina, making sure to get her yet another set as a gift from you both. 

“So, why was Jake stretching—oops, flexing extra hard during breakfast? And Jay? Acting unbothered but adjusting his shirt every few seconds as if doing an advertisement for Dolce & Gabbana? Which he actually can if I’m being honest.”

You burst out laughing at her statements, “they’re annoying,” you grumbled right after, grabbing your coffee and sitting next to Winter, “I’m actually not sure what’s happening, It’s been one day, like? One! What is going on?”

“They’re fighting for your attention, babe. Jay is not used to sharing it, y’know? Meanwhile, Jake is pushing his luck as best he can, you’re practically being used as a tug of war rope from what i’ve heard happened in the morning.” She smirked, as if asking you to choose one. 

“That’s absurd if you ask me,” you said and her smile only widened once she checked her phone as Yunjin and Isa gave her live updates of how the boys were practically crashing out, “oh this is like, olympics level male stupidity if you ask me.” 

You slumped a little. “Jay always acted like he couldn’t stand me back in uni. And Jake, he used to blush if anyone looked at him for longer than three seconds. What am I supposed to do with this version of them?”

“You, my dear, are the rope in the world’s slowest and sexiest game of tug of war. I mean, I heard what happened this morning. Two men holding you down on a bed? That’s fanfiction material.”

You groaned, “It wasn’t like that! Jake woke up and pulled me onto him. Then Jay got all weird and—ugh. Then Karina walked in.”

“Yeah, so—fanfic.”

Meanwhile, back at the villa, Jake was pacing around wondering if you were actually mad because of what he did earlier in the morning, is that why you left? Where did you go? When will you come back? Did you get kidnapped?

Jay on the other hand, had read the same page of the book about sixteen times now, not being able to comprehend anything, which only irritated him further. 

You got scared as Minjeong laughed, “Oh my god. Yunjin just sent me a picture of Jay reading his book upside down!”

“You’re lying,” you said.

 Jay? The smart guy Jay who doesn’t let anyone or anything falter him? That Jay? 

She turned the phone to you.

Sure enough—Jay, perched on the edge of a sun lounger, sunglasses on, brows furrowed like he was deep in thought, while holding the book completely the wrong way.

You almost snorted, “looks tragic, is he okay?”

“Clearly, not.” She said, sipping her drink, “honestly, i’d be more concerned if he was okay, also Jake is competing with everyone in the house, doing burpees? Gosh, he needs you to come back stat.”

“This feels illegal for some reason.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said with a grin, “but also—no, wait—definitely flatter yourself. You’ve got the academic heartthrob reading books upside down, and the once shy Jake out here trying to impress you with shoulder definition and burpees.”

You groaned, but it turned into a laugh halfway through. “Okay, but be honest now, does this make me a bad person?”

Winter stopped walking and gave you a look, “no. It makes you someone who’s getting attention from two ridiculously attractive men. You’re not playing with them, when you clearly should. You have the upper hand here, even if you think otherwise. Just follow my lead to survive now.”

You sighed dramatically. “Survive, yeah.”

“Exactly.” She looped her arm with yours, “test them, just test them enough to see if they react, you’ll get your answer then if you don’t believe us.”

“So, what? I rile them up until one of them blasts and I face the consequences?”

“Precisely,” She smirked. 

Meanwhile, back at the Villa, Jaemin was laughing at Jake, “maybe three years away from Y/N were not enough for you to get over her, huh?” 

“You dare mention any of it in front of her,” Jake warned, and Jaemin held his hands up in surrender. 

“But it’s funny, he practically dedicated his whole uni life trying to talk to her, only for Jay to hog up all her attention,” Heeseung chuckled, casually mentioning how Jake had the fattest crush on you. 

Jay only smirked, eyes still on the page of his book—not upside down this time, but no one believed he was actually reading. “What attention? All she ever did was argue with me about grades and deadlines.” 

“Yeah, and you loved it,” Heeseung added, tossing a grape into his mouth like he was enjoying front row seats to a drama, “come on, man, you used to pick fights with her for fun.”

“She started it,” Jay muttered.

Yeonjun cackled, “Dude. You rearranged your entire thesis timeline just to one-up her submission date. That’s not a competition—that’s obsession, or romantic academia, whatever you prefer.”

Jay’s jaw clenched after he gulped, but he didn’t do much to deny it.

Jake, on the other hand, looked ready to spontaneously combust. “Are we seriously doing this now? What are we, twelve?”

“No, but you might be regressing,” Heeseung said, holding up his phone like he was ready to take notes. “Seriously, you two are like a romcom waiting to happen. If this were a movie, you’d be the brooding lead, Jay, and Jake would be the funny guy who always wears the crazy sweatshirts.”

Yeonjun pointed dramatically between them as if planning something, “don’t worry, gentlemen. I’ll organize another truth or dare game tonight so both of you can publicly fumble your way through kissing Y/N.”

Jay scoffed, “I’m not kissing her, I have standards.”

“I would.” Jake shrugged. 

Everyone turned around in silence. 

Jay looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon too citrusy, “excuse me?”

Jake smirked casually. “What? If the moment’s right, sure. Unlike some people, I don’t need to fake read philosophy books to avoid my feelings.”

Yeonjun howled. “Gosh. Someone get a camera, this is gold.”

Jaemin wiped away a fake tear, getting his phone out, “do it again. Say it again but slower, more dramatic.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “You’re all idiots.”

Just then, the door slammed open and in marched Hyuck, holding a water gun and a Gatorade, looking mildly caffeinated and completely unhinged.

“Alright,” he said, scanning the room. “Why does it smell like fragile masculinity and repressed longing in here?” 

“They’re arguing about who gets to kiss Y/N,” Yeonjun announced, like he was reporting live from the battlefield, using the beer can as a mic.

“I’m not—” Jay started.

“Well, I am—but not in a weird way.” Jake interrupted seamlessly. 

Hyuck blinked, then nodded as if it was normal, “cool. Anyway so—grab your shoes. We’re playing dodgeball.”

Jake frowned. “What?”

“Dodgeball,” Hyuck repeated. “Y’know—throwing rubber balls at each other until someone cries of pain or confesses their feelings. Preferably both in your case, drunken Romeo.”

Jay narrowed his eyes with a chuckle, “what kind of deranged therapy is this?”

“The budget friendly kind,” Hyuck said, already loading his water gun for dramatic effect. “Five minutes. Backyard. Loser has to write Y/N a love poem in Comic Sans.”

 Heeseung gasped dramatically, “not comic Sans!”

Jake stood, cracking his knuckles. “Fine. Let’s settle this like men—with dodgeballs,” he said, faltering when he heard everyone snigger at how stupid he sounds. 

Jay groaned but got up anyway. “If I get hit in the face, I’m writing all of you out of my will.”

“You weren’t in mine to begin with,” Heeseung chirped.

Yeonjun tossed Jay a headband. “Here, for sweat and, well, just fashion in case Y/N comes back to see your sweaty ass.”

Jay rolled his eyes and Jake scoffed, “and I get nothing?”

“Well—”

Hyuck was already halfway out the door. “Let’s go, lovers. I expect no one to play like a good sportsman, I need to tell Y/N crazy stories, so, show your worst.” 

As Jay and Jake followed him out, Yeonjun turned to Heeseung and Jaemin with a dreamy sigh.

“Ah—the best wedding ever.”

Heeseung nodded with a smirk, “and they say romance is dead.”

Soon, the backyard beach was full with everyone, gathering around and tying red and blue scarves around their wrist, arm, or neck. Team blue consisted of Jay, Heeseung, Hyuck, and Jaemin. 

Red team was full of Jake, Beomgyu, Yeonjun, and Isa who claimed that the boys can’t hurt her by any means. 

Yunjin was on standby to judge the game. 

Sand was flowing around, testosterone at an all time high with the abandonment of shirts, trash talk on cue as the game started. 

Hyuck hurled a ball at Beomgyu’s knees, missing only because Beomgyu was in the middle of retying his shoelace and fell mid dodge, face full of disbelief. 

“I’m not even standing upright!” Beomgyu shouted from the ground, “this is practically a hate crime!”

“You’re on Jake’s team,” Jay replied, already winding up for another throw, biceps flexing, “collateral damage,” he smirked. 

Jake dove to block it—barely missing, and sent his own shot back, straight toward Jay, but it grazed off Jaemin’s shoulder instead.

“I’m not even the target!” Jaemin screamed, falling dramatically into the ocean foam like he’d been shot.

“It’s just friendly fire guys,” Yeonjun yelled, already running for cover.

The match got dirtier by the second.

Jake tackled a ball midair, skidding in the sand and probably pulling a muscle in the process. Jay threw with enough force to send a coconut tumbling, the shot directed towards Jake. Hyuck started commentating his own moves in third person. Heeseung “accidentally” tripped Beomgyu.

Beomgyu threw himself into the sand, limbs flailing. “I’m innocent! I’m the emotional support teammate!”

“You’re a human shield,” Jay called back, smirking.

Beomgyu lay dramatically in the sand, arms splayed out. “Tell Y/N I died bravely!”

“Yeah, as if that’ll get you anything,” Jake muttered.

“I hope she brings me an ice pack,” Beomgyu groaned. “And love. I deserve love.” 

The sun was just beginning to dip when you and Winter returned to the villa, arms loaded with shopping bags and cheeks still puffed with smile from a successful boutique raid and a plan to rile up the boys even more. 

You opened the gate with your elbow and stepped inside the backyard patio—only to immediately stop dead in your tracks with the sight laid in front of you. 

Because sprawled across the sandy grass was what looked like the aftermath of a dodgeball themed apocalypse slash war.

Beomgyu lay motionless on a beach towel, eyes closed like he was auditioning to be a corpse in a movie. Jake was dramatically stretching his arm like a wounded war hero, hissing in pain slightly. Jay stood nearby with a damp towel over his neck and a scrape on his neck, sulking for absolutely no reason. 

“What the hell happened?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

It was almost comical how Jay was at your side in seconds, reaching for your bags before you could blink, which was comical by all means for someone who swore he hates being in your proximity. 

“I’ll take those,” he said smoothly, plucking half of them from your arms, “you shouldn’t be carrying so much, that’s heavy.”

Jake was not far behind, “did he just mansplain gravity to you?”

“Shut up, Jake,” Jay muttered. 

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” You asked, dumbfounded, fingers burning from where Jay touched you. 

“Why? Jake’s not the only gentleman in the house,” he muttered, close enough for only you to hear. 

You looked up at him, not expecting to see his serious face, which only made your heartbeat faster as you gulped as turned away, stifling up your laugh midway. 

“Wait, I‘ll help,” Jake said, gathering the two bags left in your hand. 

“I didn’t ask any of you for help,” you said, though you made no move to take the bags back.

Behind you, the witness gallery had resumed commentary.

Isa shot up from her spot in the shade and launched herself at you, hugging you as if you’d just returned from war. “Finally! I thought I was going to die surrounded by flying dodgeballs.”

Yunjin stood nearby, arms crossed and face unimpressed, “never—ever, leave us alone with these men again. I’ve aged ten years.”

Beomgyu raised a weak hand from the towel, still flat on the ground. “I’ve been hit repeatedly without any cause.”

You crouched beside him, “why did you even play?”

“I existed,” Beomgyu said solemnly, “and that was apparently enough for me to be targeted.”

“Jay hit him in the thigh. Jake hit him in the back,” Yeonjun added helpfully, sipping from a coconut, clutching his own arm in pain. 

You turned to Jake, narrowing your eyes. “Did you aim at his back?”

Jake looked scandalized, shaking his head like a dog. 

“Your exact words were, ‘Oops, guess he blocked my shot at love,’” Jaemin chimed in from a hammock.

Beomgyu groaned, “my trauma is now a fuckass punchline.”

Jay reappeared on the patio, having dropped off your bags inside, and walked straight to you with the solemn dignity of someone who just ran errands for a queen. “You left for three hours and everything fell apart.”

“I can see that,” you said, not maintaining eye contact at the sudden appearance of them both, turning toward Jake.

Which probably wasn’t the finest choice either since he was sweaty all over, especially over his torso, trails of sweat dripping down his abs—same with Jay, who’s back was strong and flexing with his stretching. 

Jake immediately leaned into the dramatics. “Might’ve pulled something during a save, i’m not too sure—might need a shoulder massage. Or, y’know—moral support.”

You just stared, a smirk on your face right after as you stepped into his space, “you just sprained your ego.”

Beomgyu wailed from the ground. “I sprained my soul!”

Winter, who had quietly been watching all of this unfold with the calm of someone used to unhinged group dynamics, nudged Isa. “Place bets?”

Isa grinned. “Ten bucks Jay nonchalantly offers her juice in five minutes. Jake will say something flirty and completely inappropriate in three. Gyu will fake a limp again, right about now.”

As if on cue, Beomgyu tried to sit up and instantly grabbed his leg. “Ah—uh! The pain—Y/N, ice me again. You’re the only one with healing hands.”

Jay stepped between you, “you’ve had enough ice. Let someone who actually played get some attention.”

Jake opened his mouth, then froze. “Wait, are we fighting over ice now?”

You turned to Winter, deadpanning, “let’s leave again.”

Winter only smirked, “yeah, the boutique was definitely a better place with the young owner flirting with you, helping you try earrings and all—those tattooed arms, yum,” she said. 

None of this had happened. 

She only wanted you to see the boys’ reaction. 

“Who did what now?” Jake asked as if he had just been told that the Villa is haunted. 

“Are you not capable of trying your own jewellery?” Jay asked, jaw clenched as he put on a shirt. 

“Why? She helped us get a great discount—not to mention she got his number,” Winter said, way too happy as you laughed with her. 

“Ahah—Can I have your phone for a second, Y/N?” Jake asked, wanting to check and delete the number of a guy he didn’t even know the name of. 

“Way to be subtle, Jake,” Jay deadpanned and you only patted both their cheeks with a laugh, which made them freeze. 

Absolute stupid men. 

You sighed a second after, already regretting your return. “I swear, if one more person gets fake injured before the wedding, I’m throwing the entire villa into the sea.”

Jake beamed. “That means she cares.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “You do know you look pathetic, right?”

“And you’re in denial,” Jake shot back.

The tension thickened just as someone’s Gatorade exploded in the background.

Chapter 5: Desire never dies. 

The bonfire cracked and sparked like it knew it was hosting chaos. A giant circle of mismatched bean bags, folded towels, and stolen pool chairs formed a rough arena around the flames. The ocean breeze was fresh, the fire hot, and the people? Unhinged beyond words. 

You were freshly showered, makeup smudged just the right amount to look accidental, legs bare under your oversized hoodie. You claimed it was fate, and Jay hadn’t claimed anything, but he hadn’t stopped looking either.

“Welcome to the bonfire,” Hyuck bellowed, wielding a half melted marshmallow stick as if it were a sword, “where the rules are made up and your dignity—well, it doesn’t matter, except mine!”

Ever so theatrical, that’s Hyuck for you. 

“Never did,” Beomgyu said from his dramatic sprawl near the fire, one arm tossed across his face as if he was participating in a Shakespearean play, way too dramatic. 

You sat between Winter and Jake, a move that had been totally, completely random—except Jake had slid in before anyone else could, a déjà vu from last night, and Jay had taken the spot directly across from you. His arms were crossed, legs wide, face unreadable.

But his eyes? Those were locked on you like you were a particularly complicated riddle he didn’t want anyone else solving first. Academic issues much?

Isa spun the bottle like she was conducting a séance, her first victim being Yeonjun. 

“Truth,” he said, already sipping his beer.

“Did you kiss the Dean’s daughter back in uni, yes or no?” Yunjin asked.

“How the actual fuck—”

“Yeah, we got our answer.” Yunjin chuckled.

Laughter roared, along with whistles especially from the boys. Jake’s knee nudged yours softly.

Then the second spin happened, then third. Fourth. Games, truths, safe dares. And then, of course, the bottle landed on you.

“Y/N,” Isa grinned like a villain. “Truth or dare?”

You hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath.

Jay tilted his head slowly at your hesitation, smirking, “what’s wrong? Scared?”

Jake smirked alongside, “Say truth. I dare you.”

Your head whipped to him. “You can’t dare me before I choose dare.”

Jay’s voice was soft, yet smug, “oh, she’s definitely choosing dare now.”

You gritted your teeth, rolling your eyes as you looked at him and said, “dare.”

Isa’s grin widened, “let’s fucking go—kiss someone’s neck. Dealer’s choice.”

Someone fake fainted as the few others screamed, groaning alongside. 

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re all kids, school kids honestly.”

“But well, at least we know how to have fun,” Karina added helpfully, which did make you smile. 

You could feel Jake’s presence beside you like a heat layer on skin, you could hear his heartbeat if you leaned just a little closer, meanwhile Jay hadn’t blinked once.

You turned, Jake’s breath caught, barely, but he sat still as you leaned in slowly, one hand on his thigh to steady yourself, the other resting against his shoulder.

Your lips hovered, just for a moment—long enough for everyone to stop breathing—then you pressed a soft kiss to the space just below his jaw.

It was warm, gentle, yet firm, making Jake exhale out sharply, his heartbeat rising at an abnormal pace as you pulled back.

Jay’s expression screamed that he was not amused by any means, not surprised either, or smug. It was simply tight lipped, almost dangerous. 

Well, oops?

“Let’s keep going,” he said, his voice low, “It’s my turn, yeah?”

“Truth or dare?” Jaemin asked with a mischievous grin. 

“Dare.” He said in a beat. 

Beomgyu lit up, ready to stir trouble, “kiss Y/N, but—but somewhere worse than where she kissed Jake.”

You almost choked on your drink, “what do you mean worse?”

“I mean like—worse for you,” Beomgyu added. “Psychologically worse, something that you’ll remember, and since neck’s already taken, do better.”

Jay stood slowly, like he had all the time in the world. His shirt had sleeves rolled up just enough to make you question your moral compass, which was struggling to calibrate in all honesty.

“May I?” he asked.

He didn’t even look at the others—just you, and your heart betrayed you with how fast it pounded, yet, you nodded slowly. 

He crouched in front of you, hand brushing your knee as he leaned in—not toward your face, but down to your wrist, and then, with obscene slowness, Jay turned your palm down and pressed his lips to the upper side of your knuckles.

It was gentle, unlike Jay’s personality, but also burning in a certain manner, almost possessive if you squint. 

And you felt it all the way up your spine, when he looked back up, his face was close to you, too close for two average rivals. Your mouth was dry by now and Jake had gone statue still beside you.

You were pretty sure someone was clicking a picture of this, which only made it worse. 

“That okay?” Jay asked.

You blinked once, clearing your throat as you said, “y—yeah.”

He stood up, successfully hiding the red in his ears, meanwhile Jake looked ready to commit arson.

You should’ve left after the first “kiss someone’s neck” dare. That was your mistake.  

But no—you were still here. Sitting around two walking, talking, male ego laced puzzles who had now declared a full-blown psychological warfare via glances, smirks, and accidental touches.

Another round passed and you had to exchange hoodies with Jake, who now sat in your oversized cropped hoodie, sniffing your scent every now and then like a puppy, his own scent engulfing your body.  

“New round,” Hyuck announced, kicking his flip-flop at Yeonjun, “no more kiddie dares, let’s get real. Who’d Y/N rather cuddle with during a thunderstorm?”

“Is this still a game or maybe, targeted harassment?” you asked, irritated at the teddy bear like boy. 

“Just answer the question,” Winter said, eyes shining like a villain’s apprentice.

Jake was lounging beside you, one leg stretched out, his arm casually behind you, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder, almost warm. 

Jay was still across from you, leaning back on his elbows, the firelight making his skin glow golden, his lips set in a flat line like he was already predicting the answer and bracing for disappointment.

Your gaze flicked between them in a sudden competition but you had an answer in mind, you took a breath, making everyone scream as you said “Jay.”

Jake’s body stiffened, not expecting that name coming out of your mouth. 

Jay stilled for a second as well, before slowly composing himself, his lips curving into a smirk, despite his heart hammering against his chest, “good choice, smartie.”

“Yeah, nevermind, I’d like to change my answer,” you muttered, glaring.

“No take-backs,” Karina called.

“Oh, but wait,” Isa grinned wickedly, “next one’s for balance. Y/N—who would you fake date to make an ex jealous?”

You didn’t even pause, the answer obvious, “Jake.”

Jake turned to you, that flirty tilt back in his grin, “yeah? Interesting, babe.”

“Why?” Jay asked, sharp.

“She’d eat her ex alive with me on her arm,” Jake said smoothly. “Let’s be real, I’d wear tight shirts and pretend not to understand personal space.”

“As if you do now,” you muttered under your breath. 

Jay rolled his eyes, “she doesn’t need a walking thirst trap. She needs strategy, understanding.”

“I’m the distraction, you’re a fucking PowerPoint presentation, who wants that, huh?” Jake shot back.

“Exactly,” you said before they could fight more, “Jake would make them regret, and Jay would make them suffer.”

Hyuck nearly choked on his drink. “That’s the most accurate thing ever said.”

“I have range,” you added with a proud sip.

Jay’s eyes held yours, “you have no idea.”

Oh.

You swallowed hard.

Before anyone could recover, Yeonjun clapped like a conductor. “Alright—final dare of the night. Y/N.” 

You met his eyes, accepting your fate, “dare, again?”

Isa chuckled, “whisper the dirtiest thing you want, one to Jay, one to Jake. Well, just say anything that would drive them crazy.”

Everyone lost it, having fun at your expense oh so perfectly, a laugh leaving your own mouth as Winter winked at you, urging you well to rile up the boys. 

Jay raised an eyebrow as Jake sat perfectly still.

You stood up, slow and deliberate, first leaning towards Jake, bending down, your lips brushing his ear, giving him goosebumps in the process. 

“I want you to pin me down and make me fall apart on your tongue,” you whispered with the newfound confidence, courtesy of alcohol, but you couldn’t deny, you loved playing this game. 

How could you not? Not when he inhaled sharply, jaw flexing as his eyes followed you when you crossed, making your way to Jay, who didn’t move an inch. You leaned in, lower this time, lips ghosting his neck.

“I want you to fuck the attitude out of me the next time we argue,” you said as Jay’s knuckles went white around his glass, his face turning towards you, lips almost brushing against your cheek. 

You sat back down, cool and composed, Karina let out a dreamy sigh. “God, I love my wedding.”

Everyone laughed, fanning their faces at the sudden increase in temperature too. Jake’s hand was still twitching while Jay didn’t bother blinking, the fire crackled, the silence screamed as the game finally got over. 

You stood up first. “I need sleep. And therapy probably,” you muttered. 

Jake stood too. “I’ll walk you back.”

Jay was already turning toward the villa. “Don’t bother. I’m headed there too.”

You chuckled, almost scoffing at the two boys and their childish ways. You thought that would be the end of it. A few cheeky dares, some group laughter, an awkward side hug from Beomgyu—but no.

No, apparently hell hath no fury like two competitive men losing a fantasy battle they never even agreed to play in the first place.

Because as soon as the group began dispersing, the fire embers dimming into a warm glow, both Jay and Jake were on their feet.

And closing in.

“Hey,” Jake said, quiet, casual, his eyes were sharp.

Jay’s voice came in just after, low and dry, “so—”

You turned slowly, you could smell it coming, the confrontation. Tension coiled in the air as you were cornered, on the beach, at night, between two men who looked like they could be models for opposing fragrance campaigns.

“Just curious,” Jay said, stepping a little closer, “what made you pick me for the thunderstorm question?”

You blinked, not expecting them to ask this and not what you had whispered, “really?”

Jake crossed his arms, “actually—yeah. That was interesting.”

You opened your mouth, shutting it back for a second, “do I need a lawyer if I don’t wanna answer?”

“Jay for cuddling,” Jake said, eyes flicking to you, “but me for the jealousy plot? I’m just trying to understand the criteria.”

Jay narrowed his eyes, “yeah. Sounds like mixed signals.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead.

Jake’s voice dipped, quiet and smug. “Must’ve been a good whisper.” Jake said looking at how intensely Jay looked at you. 

“I’ll kill you,” Jay snapped. 

Jake grinned, “In your dreams.”

Your eyes widened, a laugh leaving your lips, “you guys are not actually fighting about this—”

“We’re not fighting,” they said in unison, not even looking at each other, making the whole situation more comical. 

“We’re having a mature conversation,” Jake added.

“Very mature,” Jay agreed, “so, explain.” 

“You want me to explain why I picked each of you for obvious different hypothetical situations?” you asked, incredulous.

They both stared at you—dead fucking serious as if this wasn’t a matter to be joking about at all. 

You groaned, stepping back into the moonlight like it would save you, “okay, fine. You,” you said, pointing at Jay, “I picked for the thunderstorm cuddle because, and I hate saying this out loud—you’re stable. You don’t flinch at anything, you know me better, it’ll be safer, only if you behave and calm me down,” you cringed as you said so.

Jay froze on the spot, gulping as he looked elsewhere. 

“Safe?” he repeated, like the word offended him. Like it wasn’t the highest compliment anyone had ever paid him.

You turned to Jake, “and you—I picked for the ex jealousy dare because you’re charming, effortlessly. You’d flirt with the plants just to make someone jealous, and somehow it would work, not that I’m charmed so, don’t give me that look.”

Jake’s brows lifted as he tried to look smug but he failed. Instead, he looked stunned. Neither of them said anything anymore. And for a moment, standing between them, you realized the fire wasn’t the warmest thing in this circle.

“But—” you added quickly, stepping back, “that doesn’t mean anything, it was a game, yeah? Chill.” You said testing the waters. 

“Right,” Jay said, but his tone had cooled to something unreadable.

Jake nodded once, jaw tight. “Game, yup, got it.”

You looked between them and you swore—for one split second—they both looked at each other and decided simultaneously to back off.

Temporarily.

Like they knew the real game was starting now.

Chapter 6: A Sim and a sin. 

It was hard to go back to your room, so you took a detour, talking with Karina about your day, and how she only smirked telling you how proud she is now that you’re finally getting some cock—to which you groaned. 

That was basically her mission for her wedding, to get you dicked down. 

Alas, you decided to get some well deserved sleep before the wedding rehearsals tomorrow, opening the door to your shared room and immediately regretting every decision that led you to this moment. Because inside, sprawled comfortably across the double bed, was Jake, in your hoodie, still, the same cropped hoodie from earlier, stretched over his torso like a model. One leg bent lazily, the other stretched out, jaw loose from tiredness, but eyes—alert. Watching you like he’d been waiting all this while for you to return. 

Your body had the audacity to shiver, to show him that he affects you. 

“Hey, princess,” he said, voice low, teasing, almost deeper than usual, “room service good enough for you?”

You didn’t answer, poking your tongue on the inside of your cheek at his blatant flirting, and because just then, the bathroom door creaked open.

Steam blew out, followed by Jay—freshly showered, towel slung low on his hips, water droplets trailing from his chest down to that dangerous dip of his abs.

He ran a towel over his hair and looked up, right into your eyes, pausing for a beat, only to smirk right after, remembering what you had whispered in his ear before he spoke up, “you’re staring.”

You snapped your eyes away, heat creeping up your neck, “you came out here like that on purpose.”

“Sure,” he said, accepting it, “I always forget clothes when I know someone’s waiting for me to fulfill their fantasies, and I’m not talking studies now, you sapiosexual.”

Jake rolled his eyes behind you, “yeah, mate. She’s already halfway there. See this is why you’re single, and she’s mine.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, turning your back to both of them and walking toward the closet.

You didn’t see the look they exchanged behind your back, didn’t see how both of them shifted—sat up straighter, watching you like you were a deer in a den of wolves, which was halfway true. 

You rummaged through your bag, flustered, breathing uneven, that’s when the knock came, and you froze wondering who it could be. 

Jake grinned, “well, that’s the sound of chaos.”

You opened the door, and there he was—Beomgyu, dramatically hunched, clutching his lower back like a poor animal who was hurt. 

“I—I need you,” he gasped, acting perfectly to get his eyes watery. 

Jay, towel still firmly in place, muttered, “you’ve got a solid five seconds to disappear.”

“It’s because of you both,” Beomgyu hissed, “you both killed me with your dodgeball bullshit. Doesn’t matter, Y/N, you’re the only one who can save me.”

Before you could react, he was already limping inside like a wounded war general, heading straight to your bed, and you let out a little laugh at his stupid antics. 

Jake narrowed his eyes, “oh you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m dying,” Beomgyu whispered, “and her hands are the only thing keeping me alive.”

He flopped onto the bed next to yours with a painful groan, “need your healing touch.”

You chuckled, “why are you like this?”

Jay’s voice was low, flat almost, “again, you’ve got three seconds to walk out or be carried out.”

“Carry me away, go on,” Beomgyu challenged, “do it, muscle boy.”

Jake moved first. “Okay, that’s it.”

He strode over and grabbed the nearest pillow—then smacked it across Beomgyu’s head.

“Gentlemen!” Beomgyu shrieked, almost falling down, “there’s a lady present! Where are your manners, let’s just behave now.”

“I’m trying not to kill you in front of her,” Jake muttered.

Beomgyu rolled onto his back with a dramatic moan, “Y/N, I need you to press right here, just gently, real slow—”

Jay appeared at the foot of the bed, “you want slow?” His voice was low.

Beomgyu gulped.

Jake was beside you now, way closer than he had to be, “god he’s testing us.”

“I’m testing the boundaries of my own trauma here,” Beomgyu corrected, “why are you even naked?” He asked, pointing at Jay who was in towel, and Jake who sported your cropped hoodie. 

You reached for the ice pack Jay had set down earlier and leaned over Beomgyu’s back to press it, whispering in his ear, “okay, who put you up to this?”

“Uh—well, Winter and Yeonjun,” Beomgyu whispered back, and you laughed, making the other two boys wonder what was going on, so essentially, you followed his lead, not knowing how crazy Beomgyu could be. 

Because, unfortunately, the moment your hand touched his shirt, he moaned. Like, a real moan, soft and dramatic, actually just downright ridiculous. 

Jake tensed beside you while Jay’s towel almost fell off from pure rage. Now, that would have been a solid scene. 

“Oh my god,” you hissed, yanking the pack back, “yeah, no, you’re done.”

“I was almost healed—”

“You’re almost dead,” Jay deadpanned.

Jake grabbed his arm. “Up. Out you fucking gremlin.”

Beomgyu pointed at you as he was frog marched to the door. “I’ll remember your kindness.”

“You’re crazy,” you muttered.

Then the door slammed and Beomgyu’s moan of “I’ll never forget you!” echoed down the hall. 

Then came the silence.

Not the kind that meant the night was over, but the kind that meant it was just getting started.

Jay leaned against the dresser, towel slung dangerously low, water still trailing down his muscular chest like it belonged there. His arms were crossed, but his gaze was anything but casual, it was precise.

Jake was on the bed, still wearing your cropped hoodie, sleeves shoved up, the hem bunched halfway up his abdomen. He looked like a problem, the one you couldn’t solve. 

You didn’t bother moving and neither did they.

“So—” you said, voice deliberately low, “those were a weird five minutes.”

Jake grinned slowly, almost challenging, “could have been six if you’d rubbed a little lower.”

You rolled your eyes, “you’re disgusting by the way.”

He nodded, unashamed, “yeah? And flexible for you.”

Jay exhaled softly, “you did look—focused, y’know?”

You turned to him, “for Beomgyu?”

He tilted his head, “still, got a reaction.”

Jake hummed, “not from you, though.”

“What does that even mean?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

He sat forward, straighter, “just saying. Maybe it wasn’t him that had your attention.”

Jay’s voice was low, as he said, “you’re still flustered.”

“I am not—” you paused, cursing internally. “Okay, this is ridiculous.”

You spun toward your suitcase, actually flustered by now, but you didn’t even get two steps before Jake called out.

“You know,” he said, voice deceptively light, “if you wanted someone else to moan your name tonight,” he stretched, a smirk on his face as usual, “all you had to do was ask.”

Jay didn’t laugh, nor did he smile, only bothering enough to say, “you really want to test that theory, Jake?”

Jake raised his hands, “just putting ideas out there, no harm dude, no harm.”

You stared at both of them with disbelief, also feeling it, the heat rising in your chest, curling low in your stomach like butterflies, while also twisting somewhere behind your ribs.

You needed to do better, they wanted to push? You could push back, and so you turned, walking slowly towards Jake first, confident, making his smile falter at the sudden shift in your demeanor.

You stopped right between his knees, staring down at him as he looked up at you, lips parted slightly, breath quieter now despite the rise in his heartbeat.

You reached down, hand grazing his thigh just barely, just a brush, just enough to feel the tension snap through his body like he’d get something he’s been after for ages. 

“You really want to be next?” You asked.

“Next in—uh, what way?” He asked, gulping.  

You leaned down, placing your hand on his chest over the hoodie, resting your palm there, pressing it further.

“You’ve been acting like you’re ready,” you whispered, “but you’ve barely touched me, Jakey.”

“Is that—an invitation?” He whispered, eyes darkened. 

You smiled. “No, it’s just an observation.”

Then you pushed back gently—just enough to stand again, Jake’s face was unreadable, almost like a mix of holy shit and fucking hell do it again.

You turned your back on him then, walking towards Jay who hadn’t moved, his eyes flicking up as you approached him, and when you reached him, the only part of him that shifted was his mouth—twisting into a smirk that he knew drove you crazy.

“You planning on saying something, or will you just stand there looking hot?” you asked.

Jay’s eyes dropped to your lips, a little laugh escaping him at your boldness, “why choose one?”

You stepped closer, close enough that your shirt brushed his stomach faintly, close enough that you could see every drop of water still clinging on to his skin.

Then you reached up, slow, intentional, and slid your hand over his shoulder, across his collarbone, dragging a line down the center of his chest, down his torso. 

Just a single finger and it was enough for Jay’s breath to be stilled. You tapped a droplet off of his sternum, “aw, you missed a spot.”

He looked at you, sharper than ever, stepping closer, putting up faux confidence, “why? You volunteering to dry me off?”

“Tempting,” you said as you leaned in, voice softer now, almost like a pity, “but I don’t think you’re the one who needs drying off right now, Jongseongie.”

That was all it took for Jay to lose his smirk, his composure and probably the last bit of sanity he held inside him. 

Meanwhile, you smiled, taking a step back, eyes still shining with mischief, before you turned and stood right between both of them, hands loose at your sides.

Jake let out a soft, surprised breath, while Jay still didn’t bother blinking. You stepped back once more, letting them take you in, their arms almost opening to actually touch you. 

But then you turned, walking back to your bed, slowly pulling back the blanket as you climbed in, your lip twitching up as you said, “but if either of you still tries to get brave after lights out,” you paused, looking both of them in the eye, “then try knocking. You never know what I’ll say.”

Neither of them spoke after that, they didn’t have to, not when you had clearly won this round. As tempted as they were, they knew you were playing with them, but soon, it would be otherwise, especially with their head gears turning at the fastest possible speed they could achieve. 

And their silence? It felt like the loudest thing in the room.

Chapter 7: Cufflinks go on the inside, mate.   

This morning was supposed to be peaceful, being the day of wedding rehearsals, you somewhat expected people to be on their best behaviour, not knowing the intense chaos that awaited you, destroying the peace.  

Because downstairs, it was no less than a war zone with how Jaemin and Hyuck argued about the pancake toppings, Isa and Yunjin trying to find the lipgloss she lost yesterday, and Winter, who blasted her unhinged playlist on the speaker. 

You stood at the center of it like the classic standing emoji, just guarding and sipping on your coffee, silently observing the explosion of the bridal duty chaos that overtook the villa. 

Winter sat beside you, sipping on her mimosa, clad in her silk robe, “I have survived Mrs. Kim’s lectures, internships, a rodent in my pants, but this is where I draw the line—a wedding? The wedding of my close friend, mind you.”

You chuckled, “yeah well, you don’t expect the rehearsal to go smoothly, do you?”

Before either of you could reply further, in came the bride with her royal looking robe and hair curlers, clutching her phone as she fumed, “okay, i’ll ask this very respectfully—who the actual fucking fuck changed the seating chart? Why is my dad sitting next to the professor who still sends me weird memes? Actually, who even invited him here?”

You snorted along with all the other girls, “technically, I moved it cause there’s no way your uncle Park should be sitting near the open bar.”

“You literally colour coded my family based off of their chaos level and made the seating arrangement out of it?” Karina asked, disbelief clear on her face, soon turning into an expression which screamed impressive. 

She sighed before her eyes landed on you and she launched herself, hugging you tight, almost making you lose balance but thankfully your coffee stayed safe, “you,” she said, leaning back, “your mind is working fine thank fucking god, I need you to wrangle Jay and Jake, your supposed boyfriends, for the rehearsal because god forbid one of them shows up shirtless then you’ll have to be the one to answer my family.” 

You shook your head, “god no, why me? You’re the reason why they’re being this stupid too,” you said, accusing her. 

“Because they both listen to you, and they’re in love with you,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, Winter and Isa nodding along. 

And cue, you are choking on your coffee. 

Karina chuckled, “yeah, swallow your truth, babe.”

You couldn’t believe this was happening, it was simply hard to wrap your mind around the fact that the not so shy anymore Jake, and the smartass Jay were actually after you. 

It didn’t take you much time to get dressed up in a silky blue dress, not the one you will be wearing to wedding, just something you all ordered together to wear at the rehearsals, while Karina was clad in a white blazer dress with a clipboard, standing next to the wedding planner to orchestrate it all. 

“Let the chaos ensue now,” Winter said, high fiving Yunjin.

“Amen,” Isa grinned. 

You rolled your eyes, watching Jay and Jake argue about something, halfway dressed up, standing near the aisle. 

“Cufflinks go on the inside mate,” Jake said, crossing his arms over his vest, with the top few buttons undone. 

“Since when do you care about accessories?” Jay asked, rolling up the sleeves of his black button up. 

Yeah, they looked as if they were ready for some sort of magazine shoot, especially with Jake’s curls looking effortless, and Jay’s jawline being sharper than ever, the sun making them shine more than usual. 

“God forbid someone tries to look good,” Jake muttered. 

“Who do you even have to impress?” Jay pressed. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jake smirked and Jay only looked annoyed. 

The sound of your heels clacking made them look up, and straight to you. There was no subtlety in their reactions, especially when Jake let out a low whistle, eyeing you like you’re the only morsel left for him to devour. 

Jay stood up straighter, as if he was more spatially aware now, licking his bottom lip and trying his level best not to make it obvious that he was staring at you, miserably failing as he did so. 

“Hey,” you smiled, making Isa chuckle as she watched the interaction from a distance. 

“You’re—stunning,” Jake breathed out, losing composure, almost sounding like a pathetic loser. 

“You clean up well,” Jay cleared his throat, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

You raise your brow, “just well? And thanks Jakey,” you mumbled, and you swore you saw red creeping up Jake’s ear, almost making him seem like the Jake you knew during uni. 

“Trying to be respectful, for now,” Jay replied, maintaining eye contact. 

“Wow, that’s a first,” you teased, making the corner of his lip twitch up just a fraction before he composed himself again. 

“He’s just saying that to get you riled up,” Jake mumbled. 

“Bold of you to assume I don’t always do that,” Jay retorted, looking you in the eye. 

You let a breath out, tilting your head with a little smile, “alright, enough of this.”

Karina marched in right then, “okay so, will you guys stop flirting so we can practice walking down the aisle?”

“Let’s go with both,” Hyuck slid in, arm around your shoulder, “would be a great show if you ask me.”

“Oh please, I already know who i’ll be voting off already,” Yunjin said, making both the boys look at each other with doubt. 

“Not me for sure,” Jay shrugged. 

“Excuse me? Not me for sure,” Jake argued. 

You sighed as they looked one second away from arm wrestling, or well, wrestling in general if you must. That’s when you stepped in between them, grabbing Jake’s vest and Jay’s shirt, making them short circuit for a solid second. 

“Now, behave before Karina throws you out of the wedding.” You pointed out at the girl, who glared at the boys instantly, her expression full of mischief (at the obvious tension between you three) changing in a split second. 

“In position. Now.”

“You heard her, now no more arguments or I’m changing my partner,” you announced and Jay stilled. 

“Well, I would love that, I’ll be your partner then—” Jake started. 

“Shut it,” Jay said, being the one who is gonna walk with you. 

The planner gave a relieved nod at the tension which was sorted now, somehow, till some extent.

“You guys are so dramatic,” Isa muttered, taking her spot a few steps behind with Heeseung, who looked like he was just here for the complimentary champagne.

“I’m literally sweating just watching them,” Beomgyu added. 

“Okay!” the wedding planner clapped. “From the top! Groom’s party walks down first, then bridesmaids and groomsmen in pairs, followed by the maid of honor, and finally the bride. Let’s go!”

Karina stepped aside to join Jeno near the altar setup, mouthing good luck to you as she went. 

“Shall we?” Jay asked, offering you his arm, giving a look to Jake in the background who clenched his jaw.

“One wrong step and I’m taking over,” Jake muttered to himself. 

You linked your arm with his, and he only pulled you closer, to the point you were highly aware of his scent, his body heat, and how he gulped when he felt the proximity too. 

“You’re doing this on purpose, right?”

You tilted your head toward him innocently. “hm? Doing what?”

“That dress, that look that smug little smile like you know exactly what you’re doing to me, to Jake.”

The tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t get a chance to respond, because from behind, Jake muttered, “Keep your voice down, man. She’s walking, not seducing.”

“Who says I can’t multitask?” You said, making Jay hold you tighter, while Jake looked as if he could combust on the spot. 

You reached the end of the aisle, pausing in front of the altar. Jay stepped aside, but not before he brushed your waist with his hand, not being subtle about it by any means. 

“We should walk together more often,” he whispered, letting you go. 

Good fucking lord. 

“You do realize I’m not letting him have the last word, right?” Jake said, offering Isa his arm as they moved, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Isa patted his shoulder, “oh honey, at this point, I’m just praying we make it to dinner without a physical fight.”

Once the whole party had taken their turns, twice, Karina called everyone back and congratulated them for not fucking up this time. 

Then it was the time for the next step, the rehearsal dinner, and you weren’t sure how much of it you could survive, but you were surely looking forward to it, taking a look at Jake first, who was already staring at you, then Jay, who too was fixated on you. 

Karina blew her whistle, yes, an actual whistle—snapping everyone’s attention back.

“Alright my stupid little bridal and well, groom party, time to head to the rehearsal dinner. Move before I start pairing you up with random aunts and uncles.”

Jake let out a dramatic groan, “if I have to sit next to Aunt Haeun, I will riot. She force fed me sea cucumber a few minutes back.”

Jay smirked, “want me to hold your hand when she brings out the pickled fishes too?”

Jake cocked his head, eyes sharp, “want to build it outside?”

“Oh my fucking god,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose, “yeah, no, I’m  gonna need a shot before dinner, or maybe three actually.”

Right on cue, Beomgyu charged beside you with the energy of someone who absolutely lived for this. “Say no more, princess. I already know where the good tequila is hidden.”

“See, that’s why you’re my favorite,” you told him as he looped your arm with his and started leading you away from the aisle.

“I aim to serve,” he said. 

You glanced over your shoulder—only to catch both Jake and Jay already watching you, both visibly annoyed that Beomgyu was the one at your side. Jay stuffed his hands in his pockets and muttered something to himself. Jake’s jaw ticked as he ran a hand through his curls, glaring holes into Beomgyu’s back.

Beomgyu didn’t even flinch, expecting that much, “and the feral boyfriends awaken,” he whispered proudly.

The rehearsal dinner was set outdoors, perfectly decorated with fairy lights wrapped around the low hanging trees, long tables already prepped with starter dishes and temporary name cards. 

You were sat between Winter and Jay, with Jake sitting directly across from you, making it easy for him to look your way with lovesick eyes. Way to be subtle. 

“One man will surely cry tonight,” Winter winced, clinking her glass with yours as you shook your head. 

Jay had gone quiet, only for him to lean over and say, “you smell good.”

“Excuse me?” You said, looking at the man who chuckled, and it sounded way too rich for you to even comprehend. 

“Just saying, as no one else has the balls to do so.”

You raised your brows, “is this your way to what? Flirt with me?”

He took a sip of his champagne, “if you want it to be.”

Jake leaned in, “she’s been using the same perfume since uni, nothing new—but yeah, you smell so good,” he said. 

“Doesn’t make it any less distracting,” Jay answered. 

You tried to calm your poor heart as now the two boys fought for your attention shamelessly. 

“Funny, you said you don’t notice perfumes when I asked you about mine before the rehearsal started,” Jake challenged. 

“Guess I only notice the people I like.”

You almost spit out the piece of chicken you had just taken a bite of at the absurdity of the situation, and of course, what Jay had said, not to mention the fact that Jake just knows about your perfume. 

“Okay hold the actual fucking fuck up, did the Jay Park, the annoying broody old man, just admit he likes his rival?” Hyuck gasped and you groaned, hiding your face. 

“Yeah, Beomgyu, bar again,” you said, grabbing his arm. 

“Anything you want babe,” he replied. 

“Oh yeah? Do tell him about the night, the perfume,” Jake said, leaning back and smirking. 

“What night?” Jay asked, tensed all of a sudden and you literally ran as fast as you could, almost bumping into Karina’s mother who asked if you were okay and you nodded quickly. 

“Okay, what night? Spill, when did you cheat on me?” Beomgyu asked, almost offended and you rolled your eyes, getting another drink. 

“The farewell after party, I was drunk, went out on the balcony, it was raining and Jake followed me, sat down with me, gosh I don’t remember much but yeah he let me lean on his shoulder and told me he loved my scent,” you rambled and Gyu’s smile grew like a wicked man. 

“Oh he’s been so down bad since uni,” he chuckled. 

“Lord save me,” you groaned, “but it’s okay, we never met again, well, up until now.” 

Gyu only laughed harder, leaning on the bar beside you with a dramatic sigh, as if this were the juiciest drama he’d ever come across, which fairly enough, was the truth, “no wonder he clutches his chest every time you wear that perfume and go near him.”

“Oh they’re coming again,” you groaned, trying to act normal, confident. 

Jake arrived first, sliding up beside you with a smirk, “hope I didn’t scare you off with that memory.”

Jay came in on the other side, narrowing his eyes at Jake before turning to you. “So—this night he keeps bringing up, care to elaborate?”

You raised your brows, looking from one to the other, “why? You jealous you didn’t have a balcony moment with me in uni, Jay?”

“Wait what?”

You stared at both of them, exasperated and, frankly, two seconds away from running, “okay. Since we’re all apparently incapable of normal interaction, let me lay it out for you guys,” you turned to Jake, “yes, I remember the night, barely, I was drunk okay? You said I smelled good. I leaned on your shoulder. We did not kiss.”

Then you looked at Jay, “and yes, I’m wearing the same perfume. Not because I’m trying to seduce you two idiots, but because I like it, now if you’ll excuse me.”

You rushed out to get your two new glasses of whiskey as the guys stared at you, “she’s a problem, y’know?” Jay muttered. 

“And you like that,” said Beomgyu. 

“Oh I fucking love it,” said Jake with a smirk. 

“Damn, she got y’all feral,” said Gyu. 

“Yeah and imagine what will happen if I actually fucking try,” You said, turning and smirking before you walk away fully. 

Jake whistled, and Jay smiled just a smidge, both losing their cool. 

Beomgyu only smirked. 

“Down fucking bad.”

Chapter 8: Double bed caters to three. 

You were beyond tired and ready to retire to bed after the intense day you had today, only to find Karina waiting for you right outside your room, a sheepish smile on her face. 

She hugged you the second she saw you, “hey, so, Jeno’s great aunt arrived today when she wasn’t even gonna attend the wedding and we don’t have any beds left so we’ve taken yours—I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry please share the bed with your two hot boyfriends who are ready to devour you, okay bye,” she rambled everything in one go, leaving you stunned. 

And then, she ran away before you could say anything in return. You stood there, frozen, blinking once, and twice, then your eyes widened. 

“Oh fuck—no, absolutely not,” you almost cried out, this couldn’t be happening, not when you had practically teased the boys all day, god no. 

You took a deep breath, opening the door with more force than required and were instantly hit with the view of two men, or more accurately, wolves who were waiting for their prey (read: you).

Jay sat against the headboard with his grey sweatpants on and nothing else, his shirt was thrown somewhere across the floor, hair damp from a shower, jawline sharp, and lips red from how he bit them in anticipation the whole time. His arms were folded behind his head, biceps flexed, and eyes focused lazily on the ceiling like he wasn’t diving you crazy.

Jake was on the other side of the bed, laid out like a prince who was carefully, clad in your hoodie from earlier, hood up, soft wavy hair spilling out, collarbones peeking where the fabric drooped just enough to make your imagination run wild, his legs were stretched, one arm behind his head, the other scrolling through something on his phone like he hadn’t been waiting for this exact moment all night.

They both wanted to pounce on you by all means, the difference was, one was aware and flirting, the other in denial but full fledgedly flirting too. 

Both their heads turned in sync when they heard you, as if they had finally spotted their prey. 

“Welcome back, princess,” Jake chuckled. 

Jay’s gaze dragged down your body like he still couldn’t get used to how good the dress looked on you, and imagining how it would look even better on the floor. 

You didn’t speak, just slowly turned around in hopes of like maybe, maybe, walking away and sleeping on one of the chairs near the pool. 

“Yeah, don’t even try to run,” Jay said smoothly, already sitting up straighter. 

“Cute,” Jake added.

“I cannot do this,” you muttered, almost tugging at your hair. 

“Hey, we’ll behave y’know?” Jake said. 

“Yeah, being gentlemen and all,” Jay added not so helpfully. 

“Touch me,” you said, holding up a finger as a warning, “either of you, and I swear I’ll smother you with a fucking pillow.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, unbothered, “you think that’s gonna stop us?”

You stared at him in disbelief, the nerve of these men oh gosh. 

Jake just winked, “we’ll be so good, I promise.” He whispered, a hint of suggestive undertone lacing his voice, the kind that made you feel weak in your knees. 

“Uh-huh, you’re literally not capable of that,” you said, storming toward the bathroom, “don’t even look in my direction. Turn off the lights. Face opposite walls. Do not breathe near me. No touching I swear to god I’ll chop your hands off.”

You slammed the door and changed into the comfiest, least sexy pajamas you could find, which still somehow didn’t provide enough protection from the two hungry men outside, who were willing to offer you their everything, or better, they knew they were already yours. 

So, when you emerged in your tank and shorts, you saw the shift in their expressions. Jake’s smirk flickered. Jay’s eyes lowered slowly, then snapped back up like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and you hated how warm your skin suddenly felt.

You walked to the bed like it was the new battleground you were sent to with no armour or ammo; and yanked the blanket back, crawling in between them with the slow dread.

Jake exhaled, low and amused, ‘’middle, huh? Bold move, princess.”

The nickname, that fucking nickname, it should have been illegal how perfectly it rolled off of Jake’s tongue, especially laced with his accent. 

You glared at him, “yeah, want me to go to Jay’s side then?”

That shut him up for a second, “hey, I’m warmer than him.”

“Oh, the fuck you’re not,” Jay replied. 

“See, this is why I’m in the middle, now, say one more word and I will throw hands.”

Jay’s voice came low, “yeah? Don’t make promises you’re not ready to keep.”

You groaned and buried your face into your pillow, muttering, “I’m going to start sleeping in the car, or the pool, or just with Jeno’s great aunt at this point.”

Beside you, Jake leaned in just enough for his voice to reach your ear, completely ignoring your previous comment, “you still smell like that perfume.”

And on the other side, Jay murmured, “it drives me crazy.”

You closed your eyes, rubbing your thighs together to prevent your composure from breaking. This bed was hell reincarnated.

Jay had started behind you like a gentleman, but now his bare chest was flush to your back, his palm low on your stomach—so low you were sure it had stopped counting as innocent a long time ago. His thumb stroked tiny, lazy circles there, each one drawing you closer to a possible cardiac arrest.

Jake, in front of you, had long abandoned the sweet idea of personal space. His leg was tangled with yours, his hand resting right at the upper part of your thigh. That would’ve been fine if his fingers weren’t moving, occasionally touching the edge of your shorts like he was counting how far he could go before you snapped.

Some gentleman they were. 

You were still, losing your mind, almost afraid that others would hear the erratic beating of your poor little heart.

“Still awake?” Jake murmured, voice ready to commit sins. 

“I can’t sleep with sticky fucking limbs all over me,” you muttered, voice tight.

Jay chuckled deeply behind you, his nose brushing your neck, inhaling your scent, “you seemed pretty comfortable five minutes ago.”

“That was before you started petting me, I was asleep.”

Jake’s fingers only trailed higher, “petting? I wouldn’t call this petting.”

Your whole body tensed at his voice getting deeper each second, body shaking ever so gently as you tried not to lose your composure, because what will these idiots even do if you threaten to actually leave?

“Okay,” you said, breathless, “touch me again and I’m leaving.”

Jay’s lips caressed your jaw, “oh fuck no, you’re not.”

You twisted your body, trying to free yourself from the two horny creatures, flinging off the blanket and sitting up, heart pounding, ready to test them, or well, get them to behave. 

“I’m going to Beomgyu’s room.”

Jake lifted his head, jaw ticking, “you’re doing what now?”

Jay propped himself up on an arm, eyes sharp, “I said, no. You’re not.”

“He has a single bed and self restraint, unlike the two of you.”

You stood, reaching for your hoodie and the boys panicked big time, before their eyes darkened at the thought of you in someone else’s bed. Like that’s ever gonna happen. 

Jake’s voice went low, “you’re bluffing.”

“If either of you touch me again,” you started saying and they froze before you turned, smiling sweetly, “I’m going to go sleep on Beomgyu’s bed. Naked.”

Then came the silence, loud, dead, almost suffocating. 

Jake sat up so fast the blanket fell off his lap, “oh fuck you’re not, you’re not serious.”

Jay was already reaching for you, “try taking one more step.”

“I dare you to stop me.”

Jake stood too, grabbing your waist, “yeah? Try walking out like that.”

Jay pulled you backward by your waist in record time, like he’d done it a hundred times, like he knew exactly how to handle you, and you landed flat on your back between them again, breath stolen from the force of it.

“Guys—”

“You think we’re letting you go to Beomgyu’s like this?” Jay’s voice was low.

Jake’s hand slid over your exposed thigh, firm now, holding you in place, “you wanted a reaction, princess? Congratulations, you got one. Now, get back to sleep.” 

You squirmed beneath the blanket, but Jake’s leg hooked over yours again, locking you down.

Jay leaned over you, one hand rested beside your head, “say it again.”

You blinked up at him, voice now faltering, “s—say what?”

Jake’s lips brushed your collarbone, “that you’re gonna go to his bed—naked, hm?”

You stuttered, “I—I wasn’t actually—“ 

Jay smirked, an attractive chuckle leaving his lips, “right answer, baby.”

He dragged the blanket back over all three of you and collapsed beside you with a satisfied hum, pressing his hand to your stomach again—higher this time.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Jake’s hand was back too, fingers gliding down your inner thigh now, warm and unbothered, “next time, just ask for attention, yeah?”

You let out a shaky laugh, body warm, “you two are impossible.”

“You love it,” they said in unison.

You groaned and covered your face with the blanket, but under it, you were burning.

And their hands? Absolutely everywhere, holding you down with a strong sense of possessiveness.

Oh, you were so in trouble. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

GO TO PART 2: HERE.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 .

       ⊹ ࣪ ˖ you give yourself three rules as you make it onto the women’s volleyball team: 1. don’t fail any classes, 2. don’t get kicked off the team, and 3. don’t fall in love with any of your teammates. the first two are easy enough. but after meeting the team’s broody, guarded team captain, you realize you’ll have to try very hard not to fall in love with sophia laforteza.

            ˎˊ˗  🌌  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  ୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: volleyball captain!sophia laforteza x f!volleyball player!reader.

         ➴ genre + wc: 15k, slow burn, onesided rivals to lovers, angst and fluff, ice queen sophia, she turns mommy so fast, reader is lowkey a big dork.

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: pov - ariana grande. ♫

            ┈─★ a/n: my first sophia fic <3 long overdue and now i'm lowkey addicted i fr miss being a sophia bias..... hope you guys enjoy, lmk what u think!! <3

“cyclones’ beloved libero retiring due to injury.”

you remember reading the article, at the end of your first semester in community college. your best friend put the idea in your head. malibu is a 6 hour drive from your small town, but you hop on the bus with a crazy, stupid idea, and pray it’s crazy enough to work.

you step into the gym and let out a deep breath. this is your ticket into something bigger.

“hi, um, y/n y/ln,” you greet the coach, recognizing her from all the articles you had read. “i emailed you guys.”

the assistant coach perches his arms on his hips and gives you a look of disbelief. “a walk on?”

you swallow down nervously. it’s not ideal, to be infiltrating this practice before their season has even started, a shot in the dark in the hopes that they haven’t already started training up a new libero. what even is your game plan? waltz up, show off your skills, and pray they see your potential enough to recruit you on the spot?

(well, yes, that is the plan, but it doesn’t make it any less intimidating to have all these eyes start to draw to you, as if you’re invading their secret space.)

you try to avoid the attention your presence is bringing to you and stay focused on the conversation with the two coaches.

“freshman?” they ask.

“sophomore,” you clarify, before clearing your throat nervously. “i play libero.”

“why didn’t i see you during the off season?” he asks.

“i played club, i was homeschooled,” you explain simply, as they both turn to each other to review something between themselves. you feel so awkward, an outsider, dressed up to play, to beg for a chance to join a team that’s already got so much synergy between them.

“i remember you—” the coach says, but before he can say anything else, there’s the sharp crack of a ball landing directly in between the two of you. you jump back in shock, looking up to meet the intense gaze of a dark haired girl, eyes fixed on you. you swallow down nervously, and she walks up with a calculated coldness that makes your chest tense.

“this team hasn’t had a walk-on in years,” the girl says sharply. you’re shocked about how much she’s heard despite you guys talking quietly. did the coaches mention you and your impromptu tryout today? you try to flash her a smile to indicate you’re no harm, but she instantly sharpens her eyes at you. “not sure why you’re smiling. arrogance isn’t cute.”

her thick, dark hair is pulled back into a perfect ponytail, kept out of her eyes by a wide headband. her eyes are dark, intense, and feel like they’re looking through you. everything about her screams composure— her kneepads are in perfect condition, her shoes are perfectly unscuffed, her tshirt tucked perfectly into her shorts in a way that makes you almost confused as to how she doesn’t have a single wrinkle. everything about this girl just looks so unrealistically perfect.

“no, yeah, totally,” you stammer, watching as she picks the ball up off the ground. you shake your head. “not trying to be cocky. sorry.”

“easy, soph,” the coach waves her off, before turning back to you. “y/n, join us for practice today. we’ll do a scrimmage at the end and see if you’re up to snuff.”

you nod appreciatively, and all you can feel are the harsh eyes of this girl burning a hole in the side of your head. 

the coach motions for you to go get stretched, and you jog over to the other girls, waving as politely as you can manage. much to your relief, they welcome you warmly, encouraging you to warm up with them. you try to avoid looking back behind your shoulder, out of fear that the girl is still glaring you down.

you join the girls as they all get into their first warmups, and you end up directly behind this girl in the line to practice setting. you want to extend an olive branch, to express that you’re excited to get a chance to practice with them, that you’ve admired their team for a while and you recognize her as one of the best setters on the west coast conference.

she doesn’t give you a chance, shooting an icy gaze over her shoulder at you.

“don’t get in my way,” she warns simply, running up as the ball comes her way to make the first set. 

“i’ll do my best,” you breathe. 

-

by the time their practice ends, you’re dripping sweat, but it’s been fun to enjoy playing with a team like this all over again. your community college team was nothing in comparison, these girls are elite on several levels above what you’ve ever seen. but it excites you, and it makes you hopeful that with how good you’ve gotten over the years, you can convince them this is where you belong.

the assistant coach waves you over, and you comply immediately. 

“what were your grades like?” he asks, looking over something on a clipboard.

“good,” you say quickly, your eyes widening. “why?”

the head coach interrupts, smiling broadly. “wanna play volleyball for me?” 

“no way,” you breathe. “if you’re joking that’s super mean.”

“you’ll be our newest cyclone,” she beams, holding out her hand to you for a shake. “i’ll figure out application stuff with you. scholarship might not come until you’ve completed the season, but academics might be enough to get you through the first semester. welcome to the team.”

“thank you for the chance,” you breathe, feeling the emotion bubbling in your chest. “you have no idea how excited i am.”

you know most of the girls are looking at this point, but you feel one set of eyes harsher than the rest of them. you try to ignore it and not let it ruin this moment for you.

-

you get moved into campus and set your mind to ensure that the next practice you go to, you give it your all, eager to prove yourself to the girls on this team. you try to show up to the court early, and you quickly realize making friends might not actually be impossible, considering a majority of the girls are extremely friendly and even more eager to welcome you than you are to introduce yourself. 

“y/n, hey!” they call out excitedly, waving to you where you’re already stretching.

you spend the next chunk of warmups small talking with your new teammates, doing your best to memorize their names and whatever quirks you pick up about each of them.

“were you seriously homeschooled?” manon, a junior, tilts her head at you curiously.

“it made it easier to focus on volleyball,” you smile. sure, it’s kind of lame you didn’t get to have the same high school experience as most other people, but you got the chance to travel all over with your club team, and the skills it gave you were obviously good enough to land you here, so you can’t be too upset at how it panned out for you.

“people ask me if i was homeschooled,” megan, a chatty brunette, blurts. “whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

lara lets out a laugh. “oh, you know exactly what it-”

“look busy,” daniela warns quickly, cutting you all off as her eyes go wide.

you’re not quite sure what she could mean by that, but the moment you look up, you realize someone is coming towards you.

sophia laforteza, you quickly learned her name. the no-nonsense, scarily-intense team captain of the malibu state university cyclones. 

by the time you realize why daniela freaked out, you look around to realize the rest of them have jumped into very serious stretches. you quickly reach for your knees and pull them up to your chest, trying to look like you’re actually stretching. 

“supreme leader sophia,” manon nods. you think the interaction is harmless enough, but somehow, it’s enough to set the captain off.

“bannerman, go take a lap,” she snaps quickly. manon groans but complies, standing up and starting to jog around the court. your palms start to sweat, but sophia eyes your group and moves on, and you breathe a little easier as the distance between you increases.

“so serious,” lara mumbles under her breath.

“is she always like this?” you ask, eyeing her nervously as you all keep stretching.

“no. she’s playing it up for the newbies,” daniela rolls her eyes.

“uh yes, yes she is always like that,” megan pushes back, shaking her head. “strict as hell.”

sophia’s voice cuts in from several yards away where she stands.

“you can take a lap too, skiendiel.”

“fuck,” megan groans, standing up. “how the fuck can you even hear me, leader?”

you bite back a laugh at megan’s nickname for the captain. you had heard manon call her that too, leader, but figured it was a teasing thing. not something all the girls joined in on.

“i have a sixth sense for complaining,” sophia says dryly.

as if sophia’s warmup drills weren’t enough, practice itself is absolutely grueling. you realize this team is no joke, and if you’re going to keep up, you’re going to have to take this extremely seriously.

“bro, my asscheeks,” megan whines as you guys reach the end of the 2 hour practice, each of you dripping in sweat. your legs are shaking and you wonder how the hell you’re planning to keep up with such an intense team.

but sophia laforteza waltzes by, her skin barely glistening with sweat, not a single hair out of place in her ponytail.

“more complaining, damn. if you’ve got the energy for that, then you’ve got another lap in you, skeindiel,” sophia grins, almost devilishly. you want to laugh— she seems borderline insane, but you can tell it doesn’t come from a place of true intent to harm. 

“oh yeah? what if i fucking die, then what?” megan pushes back, tossing her head back in exhaustion.

“so dramatic, megan, you know it’s okay to shut up every once in a while?” manon groans, sensing where the youngest girl’s complaints are about to land them.

you can sense it too, after having witnessed sophia’s reaction earlier, and as predicted, sophia’s eyes sharpen as megan responds.

“i think we’ll all take an extra lap, just to show megan some support,” sophia announces, whistling quickly to catch the team’s attention. you hear a collective groan from everyone, and your coaches simply laugh at you all. you can tell that sophia’s ability to keep you guys practicing is something they’ve approved— all her power is clearly given from the people in charge, probably for good reason. 

“meiyok, i’m going to fucking kill you,” daniela grits irritatedly.

“you like seeing people suffer,” manon groans at sophia as she stands up from where she was laying and begins to jog off.

“walk-on can handle it,” sophia says, pointing at you, surprising you that she’s chosen to bring you into it. “that’s the only person i hear not complaining, actually.”

you can’t help but find the nickname endearing. maybe it’s the worst timing possible, but it brings a smile to your face.

“walk-on?” you tilt your head. “is that supposed to be me?”

sophia arches a brow, turning her head to orient towards you. “problem?”

“surely you could have come up with something more creative?” you grin. 

you hear a collective gasp from your teammates. something tells you that trying to banter with sophia laforteza is a very big, very dumb mistake.

“you know, maybe you, megan, and manon can finish with some burpees while the rest of us cool down,” sophia says, her jaw hardening. “see if that helps your attitude problem.”

i don’t have an attitude problem, you want to push back by saying, but you realize this girl is probably on a rampage, and getting in her way is a death wish. you bite your tongue and start the last lap, mentally preparing for the extra task sophia has given you.

“damn,” you gasp for breath, collapsing on the floor after the three of you finally finish.

“that was rough,” manon groans, only for megan to gag and dry heave in response.

“i’m going to puke and the season hasn’t even started yet,” the youngest whines.  

“she usually loves the newbies,” dani says in surprise, having waited for you guys with lara as the rest of the team headed off to the locker room. “not sure what you did to her.”

“you replaced—” megan starts, but manon quickly cuts her off.

“oh shit,” manon nods. “that makes sense.”

“the old libero,” lara realizes, looking at you. “they were really close.”

“where is she now?” you ask curiously.

“she took a gap year,” megan tells you, and the others look amongst themselves anxiously. “mommy sophia’s been sensitive about it. those two did everything together.”

“mommy sophia?” you laugh, but they gloss over it, clearly dead serious.

“megan…” lara warns.

“what? she hasn’t always been this angry,” megan holds her hands up to defend herself. “serious, yeah, intense, yeah, a little scary, also yeah, but not this flat out angry.”

“no, i get it,” you shake your head, trying to empathize. “i wouldn’t want my business all out there either. not a great look. we don’t have to keep talking about it.”

the small group gives you a look of approval as you all head towards the locker room.

“i miss the old sophia,” megan admits quietly under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear. 

——

your dorm isn’t perfect, but the malibu state campus is absolutely gorgeous, and being a 10 minute walk from the beach is enough to make up for your broken window and slightly unnerving roommate that won’t say a word to you. sure, you miss your home city, but it isn’t the end of the world, and the girls on your team are so friendly, it makes the homesickness even easier to handle than you imagined.

(at least, most of the girls on your team are friendly.)

you spot her on the first day of class, sitting alone at a 2 person table in your humanities class. you approach her without hesitation, just how you would for anyone else you know. 

“hey! we have a class together. just my luck, huh?” you beam, excited to see a familiar face, dropping your backpack down on the table with a thud. “can i sit here?”

she looks perfect, as she always does, somehow making a black hoodie and gym shorts look elegant. her long dark hair is tucked back behind her ears, and her lips are so gorgeously glossy. sophia is naturally gorgeous, infuriatingly so, but you’ve never been the insecure type, more so just grateful to exist at the same time as people this pretty so you can admire them.

her eyes narrow at you, something dark and unreadable in them.

“you just did,” she says simply, staring at the backpack in front of her.

“i guess i should have asked before i parked my ass,” you realize, grinning sheepishly as you take up the seat next to her. “good point.”

“y/n,” she says firmly, looking back at the front of the room.  “i can’t hear, and i need to focus.”

you were too busy trying to get on her good side that you didn’t even notice the professor had started introducing herself. you sink into your seat, trying to rush to get your laptop out.

“totally. sorry.”

she says nothing. she doesn’t even look back at you for the rest of the class. she doesn’t say “bless you” when you sneeze loudly in the middle of class, she doesn’t laugh like the rest of them when you introduce yourself and admit you have zero fun facts about yourself because you’re painfully incapable of self-reflection to know anything about yourself. when it’s her turn to introduce herself, she simply says her name and that she plays volleyball, sitting back down without so much as a smile. she doesn’t say anything when your computer dies halfway through the lecture and you have nothing left to take notes on, even though she’s siting next to the outlet and seems to have the same type of laptop as you do.

you’re not brave enough to ask her anyways.

class ends, and she doesn’t bother looking in your direction.

“don’t be late to practice,” she says simply, swooping up her backpack over her shoulder in a quick, graceful motion. “we need to win our first away game. sets the tone for the season.”

that’s it. you watch as she walks off unceremoniously, almost as if you didn’t exist except to inconvenience her.

“jesus christ,” you whisper under your breath.

———

your season starts a month later, and your first away game gives you a taste of what to expect. 

“who’d you get roomed with?” you ask the small group of 5 that you had grown particularly close to as you guys cram into the uber to your hotel. you’ve missed traveling for volleyball, and the anticipation in your bones for tomorrow’s game makes you even more eager.

“i always get manon,” daniela says. 

“and nobody else can handle megan’s mess but lara,” manon grins. 

“hey, whatever,” megan whines from the back seat, where she’s been stuck in between all your bags of luggage. 

“i got sophia,” you breathe quietly, thinking back to the email of the hotel roommate arrangement your coaches had sent out that morning. “should be fine, right?”

“walk-on, you’ll be quick to learn that supreme leader sophia is a drill sergeant with lipgloss,” manon laughs.

“very shiny, very pretty lipgloss,” you defend her.

“she’s a junior,” lara informs you, as if it puts some things into perspective for you. “for her, it’s time to start stressing about the real world next year.”

as a sophomore, you know you’ve got another 2 full seasons coming for you.

“second to final season,” lara goes on. “mommy sophia’s trying to make the most of it.”

you laugh again at lara and megan’s stupid nickname, as if “supreme leader” wasn’t bad enough.

you guys get to the hotel and your coaches send a group text warning everyone to be in bed by 9pm. you part ways with your group once the uber drops you off and go up to your room, only to find sophia has beat you there. she’s taken the bed closest to the window, her bag set up neatly. she’s wearing a facemask and a set of earplugs, eyes quickly flickering up to acknowledge you as you enter the room.

you can’t help but hope that this is your chance to break through her icy facade.

“hey! want to plan for breakfast together?” you beam, tossing your bag onto the floor in front of what sophia has decided is your bed. “i love hotel oatmeal. something about it is so gross i can’t stop craving it.”

she doesn’t bother to look up at you, slipping into her bed without another glance in your direction. “i need to sleep.”

“okay, no worries,” you blink, watching as she reaches for the light switch. “when should i wake us up?”

“i’ll be up at five.” her hand flicks the lights off, leaving you both in the dark. “good night.”

“good night,” you respond quietly, trying to feel your way around for your bed. you suck in a breath. this feels like it might be a very long few days.

—---

sophia is gone before you wake up.

you don’t hear her alarm, but you also don’t hear yours, and you’re just lucky that you can hear megan banging her fist against the wall, screaming for you stupidly and asking if you can hear her through the wall. you can vaguely hear lara yelling at her for being so annoying, but megan’s antics keep you from sleeping in too late, so you’ll thank the goofy sophomores some other time.

you don’t see sophia at breakfast, but by the time you come back to your room, she’s heading into the shower, freshly sweating in her workout clothes. you realize she’s probably already fit in a morning workout while the rest of you were barely waking up. you’re impressed, but frankly not surprised, by her work ethic.

by the time the game starts, it’s your first time in the cyclones uniform, and you feel a strange sense of nervousness wash over you in a wave. your warmups are simple enough, and sophia gathers you all in a team huddle after your coaches debrief you all.

“stay focused, stay confident, don’t let them see you sweat,” sophia states, voice cold, neutral, and self-assured. her icy disposition can be quite scary, but you can see why she’s captain— she’s intense, and something about her demeanor being so laser-focused fuels you with an equal amount of confidence. 

“uh, leader, what do i do if i’m already sweating?” megan blurts anxiously. lara reaches over to smack her on the back of the head, and sophia keeps going.

“keep your hits unreadable. their back line is tough but we should be able to break through if we stack clean and aggressive. stay focused,” she emphasizes, eyes looking over at her two main hitters, dani on opposite and megan on outside. “i’ll feed whoever’s eating."

“i like that,” you grin, the metaphor tickling you for whatever stupid reason.

you almost regret it as soon as you say it, but sophia’s eyes aren’t hostile as they meet yours. you realize this may be a first. 

“cyclones on three,” you blurt out, and sophia shoots you a sharp look, but doesn’t seem fully annoyed. 

“one, two—” she starts, and the rest of the girls jump in for the finishing chant. by the time your team takes to the court, your body is buzzing. 

time to shine.

the opposing team is no joke, and you wonder where the hell they got girls this fucking huge. they tower across the net from you, and you can’t help but swallow down anxiously. sophia walks back from the coin flip with an approving nod, and chooses to serve first. your old team always opted to pick the side of the court, but sophia takes to her serve with extreme confidence, and as you watch her two handed jump float, you realize just why she is the face of the team. 

the girls on the other team blink in shock at just how high sophia leaps into the air to send her serve. when you played, setters weren’t exactly known for power, but the sharp boom that leaves sophia’s hand as it slams into the ball, shooting through the air to speed straight at the other girls makes you realize what a force this girl is. sophia laforteza, as scary and intimidating as she is, is the perfect face of the malibu state university cyclones for that exact reason— she scares the shit out of anyone who lays eyes on her.

much to your shock, the serve sinks directly into the wood. your first point, an ace serve of all things. lara and manon high five from their positions and daniela lets out a loud cheer, but sophia is focused as ever. she doesn’t so much as crack a smile as she returns to her serving position, reaching out for the ball as it gets passed to her. you look over and see the opposing team shaking their heads, clearly trying to regain their composure. another boom, and the ball is in play. your stomach flutters at the thought of sophia’s phenomenal talent, and how grateful you are to play on the same team as such a talented girl. 

(maybe you don’t mind the batshit crazy attitude when she can back it up with skills like this.)

the set goes on and your team only goes up from there. you’ve forgotten how much you enjoy diving around a court like this, making quick work to get the ball back in the air each time it goes too far out of reach for the rest of the girls, hopping back up to your feet after every dive with a smile on your face. it’s part of what made you love the libero position in the first place— it was the perfect place to put all your boundless energy.

your team loses possession of the ball when megan misses her one-handed set to daniela, the opposing team using the opportunity to send the ball directly to where she should have been. you’re not fast enough to save it, but there’s no time to lose moping about it before those massive walls of women are preparing for their own serve on the other side. 

the other team’s serve rockets straight into an empty gap where lara isn’t expecting, leaving it up to you to protect the back line. you focus in on where sophia is standing and dive, ensuring wherever you land, the ball hits you and soars high enough for sophia to set easily. and she does, and you witness megan and daniela stack so inanely fast, you almost can’t perceive where the ball ends up or who ends up with the kill. all that matters is that the ball slams into the ground at lightning speed, dani and megan high fiving each other excitedly, and that’s when you realize your team has insane synergy. 

manon and lara with you, megan and dani eager to take on whatever sophia feeds them, and sophia, level-headed and sharp-eyed, keeping everything moving on the court. 

it’s back to back, and the pace makes your blood race in your veins. the thud of the ball against your skin is a dull burn at this point, and your elbows ache from all your digs, but your adrenaline is at an all time high, especially as the first set ends and you guys are riding the high and sailing towards taking over the second set as well.

your heart thuds even more powerfully in your chest when after a particularly good save, sophia comes to tap fingers with you, her eyes lighting up even if her face is still stern.

“your serve receive is phenomenal,” she tells you breathlessly, and you can’t tell if you’re more shocked by the compliment, or by the first high five she’s given anyone all game. 

“thank you,” you beam. “easy when i have such a good setter ready for me.”

sophia blinks, as if she’s surprised by her own compliment, or by yours, but you can’t read into it. “don’t get cocky.”

you smile back even brighter. “i think we’re flirting, leader.”

she shakes her head and returns to her position, but it’s the most positive interaction you two have had since you joined the team. maybe you overdid it with your joke, but sophia is unphased, and you guys end up winning the game in a blowout win over the other team, so it’s a win for the night overall in your book.

-

“hi,” you greet the captain, coming out of the shower after getting back to the hotel. you’re only going to get a few hours of sleep before your guys’ flight, and the routine starts all over again with practice in the morning. the grind for the msu cyclones clearly never stops.

“hey,” she greets back simply, and you’re just grateful she acknowledges you at all. she’s packing her bag, still in the uniform, clearly waiting her turn for the bathroom.

“great game!” you chirp excitedly, but you immediately regret it as she stares you over, a gaze that tells you she’s thinking, she’s studying, she’s got something prepared in her head. 

but what she says next surprises you.

“you’re good. i misjudged you.” you almost can’t believe that she’s complimenting you, but it suits her— she’s not looking at you, she isn’t smiling, and she follows it up with a piece of critique. “but weak on your left side.”

“i hurt myself a few months ago, before the summer. still recovering,” you explain simply.

“oh,” is all she says in response.

she’s comfortable with the silence, obviously, but you’re not, so you blurt out the first thing you think to ask: “they’re serious, about the whole leader thing?”

“they call me that instead of captain,” sophia says after a beat. “manon was being stupid and then it just stuck with the rest of them.”

you smile, realizing she lets it happen. “it’s hilarious.”

“i’m glad you find it funny,” she deadpans.

“you don’t?” you raise a brow.

“no,” she says plainly.

you let out a laugh, shaking your head. “then you must hate what megan and lara call you.”

you see her gaze narrow, and she finally looks up to acknowledge you. “what?”

you grin, realizing you’ve caught her attention with that one. something the girl doesn’t know. you can see how it drives her crazy, and it makes sense— sophia is so in the know, so perfectly in control of everything around her, it must feel disorienting to have something occurring that she’s not aware of, much less on the team that she runs like a military commander.

“good night, leader,” you say simply, tucking into bed and letting your head hit the pillow. she says nothing and slips into the bathroom as quietly as she can manage.

-

you guys fly back and you’re already itching for the next practice, eager to keep improving as a team. the high of the first game’s win is addicting, and you’re not about to let that energy slip through your fingers.

at the end of practice, the coaches come and debrief you all, dismissing you for the morning. but you’ve quickly learned that the girls all wait for sophia’s approval, in case she has any final words or thoughts before you guys head to the locker rooms.

you all huddle around sophia, whose unreadable features have stopped unnerving you as badly. sure, she’s still terrifying, but a little less now that you know she’s actually capable of being something other than annoyed and pissed off.

she spins one of the balls in her hand, casually and comfortably, but her voice is cold and serious as ever.

“who came up with it?” she asks, eyes fixed on the ball in her hand. “mommy sophia?”

you hear the girls go collectively silent. 

“oh fuck,” you hear lara whisper under her breath. 

“who was it?” she repeats, her gaze unreadable as she simply keeps the ball spinning. “i can wait all day. i’ve got nowhere to be on a saturday morning."

you can hear a pin drop. finally, one of the culprits bravely admits to her crime.

“t’was i…” megan raises her hand sheepishly. 

“hm.” sophia stares her over, and you can feel the collective terror of the team as they realize their captain is preparing to make an example out of megan.

but then sophia surprises everyone, instead of verbally berating megan or making her run laps until she throws up, she simply points to one of the scaffolds in the gym, motioning to megan for her to come up to it. “we’re having a pullup competition.”

“what the fuck?” megan asks in disbelief.

“she’s not gonna kill her in front of everyone?” manon asks in pure shock. 

“maybe she’s turned a new leaf,” you offer. 

“if you beat me, practice ends,” sophia explains the conditions. “i beat you, and we all run two extra miles. full extension, chest to bar, no fakies.”

“megan, i’ll fucking murder you,” daniela glares at her. it dawns upon everyone— the weight of how your practice ends rests in the mildly-incapable hands of megan skiendiel.

“no pressure,” megan mumbles under her breath as she approaches the bar.

the competition starts, and the silence erupts into a rush of screams and cheers as the two race to see who can outlast the other. it’s stupid, good-natured fun, and you know there’s a two mile run on the line, but you can’t help but love how silly the whole thing feels. you didn’t think sophia was capable of something like this, but you feel the scene quickly becoming a core memory.

“come on, you useless so-cal wasian!” manon screams, standing directly underneath megan to count her reps. “all that time lifting boxes in your little boba shop for what?! you could have been training shoulders that whole time instead!”

“i’m fucking trying,” megan sobs, her arms trembling after hitting 15. “i was at the boba shop trying to get bitches.”

“you were too useless to get a single number the whole summer you worked at that fuckass boba shop,” daniela screams laughing.

“oh my god, shut up guys,” megan groans. 

“light work from supreme leader,” lara sighs, standing underneath sophia to count her reps, who leads at a steady 16 and shows no signs of slowing down. “chat, we’re cooked.”

megan is strong, but she’s growing unsteady with each increasing pull up. sophia, as expected, is barely breaking a sweat, face tensed in concentration.

you feel the back of your neck flush as you watch the way her arms move in the tank top, the way her eyebrows furrow together, the slack of her mouth and the quiet breaths she lets out with each movement. you mentally chastise yourself for the images that come to your brain and try to soothe your raging hormones by cracking a joke, clapping your hands at her. 

“looking good a little too good, laforteza,” you tease her, shaking your head with a smile. “you make it look easy.”

in a true blink and you’ll miss it moment, you spot it— sophia laforteza, forever unshakable, lets her cheeks go pink.

you’re in shock at the reaction, and you half wonder if it’s just her straining to pull herself up again, but she simply drops from the bar, the girls all screaming excitedly as megan does one final pullup to surpass sophia by one. whereas sophia calmly reaches for her water bottle, megan collapses onto the ground, painting heavily.

“go shower,” she waves you all off. “get some sleep. good game, megan.”

she reaches out to tap fingers with the younger girl, who looks up at her with bright, excited eyes, clearly in shock to have beat the captain.

megan gets to her feet and pumps a victorious fist in the air. “i’d like to thank my mom, and then god, and then lebron james, in that order.”

“what does lebron have to do with this?” daniela questions. 

“dude, what doesn’t he have to do with this?” megan answers too easily, and you simply shake your head laughing as you see them walk off.

you reach for your gym bag to follow them, and spot sophia watching you. she turns away as soon as she’s caught, her eyes avoiding yours. you smile to yourself and chase after your friends.

———

the next day, you’re off on your own in the dining hall getting something for dinner. you’re prepared to scroll tik tok as you scan around for an empty table to sit alone at, but something catches your attention. the perfect cascade of long, dark hair waterfalling down the shoulders of a familiar figure. she’s eating alone, a book in hand, and without thinking, you run over to join her. 

“did you let megan win that pullup competition?” you blurt quickly, setting your tray down in front of her.

sophia remains silent. she doesn’t look up from her book to acknowledge you, but she simply raises her brows, as if to greet you. it’s not much, but you’ll take it. 

“i watched this documentary today in my anthropology class,” you tell her, unphased by her silence. “where the adult lions pretend to cry out and lose their fights when the cubs are learning how to play. so the cubs build confidence.”

she shrugs as if she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “i’m just here to keep the team in one piece.”

“i’ve never met someone so passionate about this sport,” you breathe, admiring her pretty face since she’s not even bothered to look at you. you pick boredly at your dinner, much more interested in getting something, anything out of this mystery of a girl. “how’d you start?”

she pauses, her eyes flicking to your hand briefly, before she focuses back on her book. it’s a long bout of silence, but you hold your own, staring at her. as if she finally realizes that you’re not letting up, her voice softens. she finally gives you something.

“i played beach volleyball, as a kid,” she says slowly, hesitantly. “on the actual beach, in the philippines.”

“really?” your eyes light up at the piece of information. like a piece of a puzzle, giving you a chance to see the bigger picture that is sophia laforteza.

“i grew up there. didn’t have a ton. volleyball opened up every door i’ve ever had,” she goes on, but you can tell she’s picking her words carefully.

“you’re pretty far from home,” you acknowledge, tilting your head. “do you miss it?”

sophia says nothing. in the silence, you get an idea.

“c’mon,” you reach for her wrist, grabbing your phone to call up a few of your new favorite friends. “let’s go get lara and megan. two v two.”

“i have homework,” she pushes back instantly, looking down at your grip on her arm.

“homework will be there,” you reassure her with a smile. “come on, leader.”

to your shock, she relents. her eyes are hesitant and untrusting, but she follows behind you without a further complaint.

-

you all pile into lara’s car, and you’re on the beach within the hour. you haven’t played beach volleyball in a while, but you get the hang readily and when your partner is as good as sophia, there isn’t much of a learning curve. she doesn’t resist, getting into the game quickly and easily as you all enjoy the fall-time breeze and the beautiful golden hues of the setting sun against the ocean.

sophia spikes another ball straight into a gap where megan should have covered. the two girls groan as you’re up by another point against them.

“okay, my game is off. i have sand where sand isn’t supposed to be,” megan whines. 

“meg, you are such a loser, lock in i am begging you,” lara gasps in exasperation. “there’s girls watching.”

sophia peeks over her shoulder and spots a small group of girls, your guys’ age, sitting on their towels admiring you guys as the game goes on. she arches her brows at you, in concern, but you wave her off, knowing it’s all in good fun.

“shirts vs. skins?” you suggest playfully, motioning over to megan and lara. 

“see that, meg? that’s how you pull,” lara nods in approval. “see how she’s setting us up for success?”

megan quickly pulls her shirt up off of her head, and lara follows suit to do the same. the two play in their sports bras. sophia eyes you questioningly, but you reassure her once again with a smile that you know what you’re doing. 

“do you guys want to play?” you offer, motioning to the girls watching from off-sides.

“we’re good watching,” they wave back appreciatively. “none of us are very good, anyways.”

“lara’s a really good teacher,” you encourage them, “and megan’s—”

“i love women,” megan blurts. 

“oh lord…” sophia brings a hand to her face. 

megan blinks a few times before trying again, her big puppy dog eyes wide and round. 

“uh, i mean, i love women’s sports and i love getting people into women’s sports. do you guys like sports? we do, of course we do ‘cause we’re players for the university. not like, players players, as in like we pull a ton, i mean some of us do but some of us don’t, i meant like we play volleyball—”

“it’s painful to watch,” you whisper to sophia. she laughs and nods in agreement. the sound of her laughter makes your entire chest rumble with warmth. 

“i think we should put her out of her misery and go home soon,” she mumbles back to you. 

“at least give lara a chance,” you grin. 

and pull through, lara does! the afternoon ends with the girls joining lara’s team, leaving you all in a 2 v 6, but even with the extra man power, you and sophia are truly no match. granted, none of the strangers play volleyball, and lara is too busy flirting while megan stammers her way through a half response, but sophia, true to herself, doesn’t take the game any less seriously. 

lara drops you guys off one by one near your dorm buildings, and you and sophia realize you’re just a few buildings apart. you wave her off and head in your own direction, but you’re stopped by a movement that nearly shocks you. 

sophia laforteza, ice queen, grabs you by the wrist. 

“thank you,” she tells you softly. “the beach was… it was nice.”

“of course,” you smile back. “i can’t imagine being a whole world away from my family. you must get homesick pretty easily.”

her mouth tightens. “i have a hard time unwinding.” 

“i can tell,” you laugh. “you deserve to smile too.”

“i forget that part, sometimes,” she breathes, offering you a quiet laugh in response. “i had fun watching megan fail at flirting.”

“she’s so, so clueless,” you shake your head. 

sophia pauses for a second, contemplating. you can’t help but admire how deep those gorgeous brown eyes are, how easily you lose yourself in them. 

“sorry if i’ve been short with you,” she finally says after a beat. 

“i’ve been told you’re usually not this grumpy,” you say back simply. 

“i wasn’t always,” she admits. “people used to think i was cheerful, actually. too cheerful.”

“i missed an iconic era, it seems,” you smile, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. “but i think we met each other exactly when we were supposed to.”

another victory— you make sophia laforteza smile. 

“maybe we did,” she says simply, before letting go of you. “good night, y/n. see you.”

—

your season goes on, and you fall into a comfortable rhythm with the girls. your season hits a few rough patches, but each time you hit the court with those girls, you’re forever more and more grateful to have convinced yourself to try out. your friendships are deeper, your days brighter, and you can’t help but feel like this is what the dream college experience is supposed to be like.

your teammates are admittedly a little more girl-crazy than you’d initially have expected, but you’re too busy trying to keep up to focus on much else. between classes, practice, traveling for games, and just general team shenanigans, you feel more than content enough. not having a love life doesn’t feel like it affects you in the slightest.

(and, should you ever get the itch, it’s always kind of fun to banter with your very hot, very serious team captain.)

you know nothing is going to come of it, and it’s absolutely harmless, but something about the way you and sophia go back and forth sends butterflies through your stomach. you know it’s all in good fun, and it isn’t hurting anyone, so what’s the harm in laying it on a little thick for the girl you know isn’t taking it personally?

plus, sophia’s been warming up to you, much to your surprise. sure, she’s still mostly quiet around you when you join her in the dining hall or sit next to her in class, but at the very least, she’s not glaring at you. she’s not mean, just focused, and the fact that she’s not icing you out is a huge win. you wonder what she used to be like, before she was this serious, and you get small glimpses especially when she’s on the court and playing like she was built for this and this alone. you see her defenses fall whenever that whistle blows, the way her eyes light up as soon as the ball leaves someone’s hand, the way she eagerly watches to see who scores.

and you love, love, love the attention she gives you for being a good fucking volleyball player.

“you’re amazing,” sophia had beamed under her breath at your last game, in awe at your sprinting dive to save what had nearly been a match-point, saved only by your quick feet.

“knock it off with the rizz while i’m playing, you’re distracting me,” you tease her, grinning widely, but you can’t deny the warmth it brings to your cheeks.

she shakes her head, but she’s smiling, watching you in admiration, and if you could feel any more vulnerable, it’d be under the beautiful gaze of a smiling sophia. she’s so radiant like this in front of you, burning almost as bright as the sun. you wonder what possibly could have happened to burn her out like this, to dim her light, and your heart aches at the thought.

your team wins your game, and instead of everyone scattering to try and get some rest, they all seem eager to shower and get dressed up for something. you follow dani’s directions to wait for a ride outside of the student center after you’ve gotten ready, and as much as you’d like to be curled up in bed and massaging your sore muscles, the enthusiasm from the girls is enough to get you going.

“ride with me and lar!” megan pleads, motioning for you to hop in the car as soon as they spot you exiting your dorm. 

“where to?”

“it’s a surprise,” lara grins. you guys chat absentmindedly as she drives you guys up through the city, and before you realize it, you’re parking in front of a giant building plastered in neon signs.

“what’s this?” you ask, spotting other girls from the team arriving at the same time as you all.

“team karaoke,” lara fills you in excitedly. “oh, nobody told you? we do it to celebrate the halfway-point of the season.”

you grin bigger than you thought was possible. god, you love this team.

they lead you to the private karaoke team and introduce you to yoonchae, coach’s daughter who’s about to graduate high school and will be soon joining your team next year. there’s no drinking, mostly due to the underaged attendees, but also considering how insane half of the team is, there’s little more you guys need to get started than someone playing “thinking of you” by katy perry before you’re all screaming along at the top of your lungs.

you almost don’t notice when sophia slips into the private room, her hair softly falling over her shoulders. it’s your first time seeing her outside of her gym or campus clothes, and even though she’s still casual, you can’t help but admire how stunning she looks in the pretty black top and jeans she’s in. plus the silver-framed glasses you never get to see her wear, and you realize you’re going to have a very hard time not staring tonight.

“sing a little ditty for us, leader,” megan begs, hooking an arm around her neck and shoving the microphone in her face. 

“filipino throat chakra!” lara hollers at the top of her lungs.

“so-phi-a,” manon chants. “so-phi-a.”

the girls all join in in the rambunctious cheer, and sophia simply presses a loving kiss to the top of megan’s head and waves them off. she sits down in between daniela and megan, but keeps one hand on the microphone. sophia may be a lot of things, but the one thing you’ll give her is that you can see how clearly she loves every single girl on that team, some ways more warm than others, but love nonetheless.

“queue lala lost you,” lara tells daniela, who’s been helping yoonchae queue up the songs as the girls all take their turns.

“you could hear sophia blasting this shit through the walls of the dorms all summer training camp,” megan laughs, pushing the microphone to her face. “i know you’ve got it in you, leader!”

sophia hasn’t said a single word since she’s walked into the room, but the moment she locks eyes with you, blatantly staring at her, her eyes soften.

“get off of me, meg,” she laughs, shoving the girl away. “i need a little space to hit these runs.”

“that’s our leader!” manon screams, leaping out of her seat to cheer the girl on as the song starts. between all of your cheers, you’re all almost louder than the speakers, but sophia’s voice rings out loud and clear as soon as the music hits. 

she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t seem nervous, doesn’t even so much as clear her throat before simply starting the song. that’s what you’re realizing is the way sophia operates— confident, certain, straightforward, not one to sugarcoat or do anything extra.

and it doesn’t hurt that her voice is absolutely gorgeous. you find it extremely hard to understand how people don’t just fall in love at the mere sight of her, much less the sound of her angelic siren’s call. she’s so focused, so precise, so impressive in everything she does, so capable. 

(not that you’re in love with her or anything, definitely not the case.)

she’s not smiling until the end of the song, where she takes a small bow after the final note and lets megan scream in her ear about how beautiful the whole experience was.

“encore!” manon goads her on.

“i’m thirsty,” sophia shakes her head, reaching for her water. “it’s dani’s turn.”

“oh say less,” daniela chirps happily, pointing at yoonchae. “yoonchip, queue gasolina by daddy yankee.”

“no twerking on the table, megan,” sophia warns knowingly.

“you are literally no fun,” megan throws her head back.

“you broke their table last time,” sophia reminds her, laughing. “we had to put coach’s credit card down for them to not ban us from ever coming back.”

“that was not my fault,” megan pouts. 

“i’m going to go get some air,” the captain stretches her arms over her head, taking her water with her as she heads towards the door. “yoonchae’s in charge.”

“what the hell?” manon protests. 

“as i should,” yoonchae nods. 

“sweaty, leader?” you joke, realizing the girl had worked up the slightest glint of a shimmer on her skin from the song in this cramped room.

“oh, like a pig,” sophia teases back.

“lechon queen,” manon laughs.

“oh fuck, this is like the perfect opportunity for a—”

“no spit roast jokes,” sophia holds a warning finger up.

“you’re no fun!” dani rolls her eyes.

sophia’s eyes are shining with something that makes you think for as much as she pretends to be annoyed with these girls, they keep her entertained. she reaches for the door and excuses herself. “i’ll be back.”

dani’s halfway through her second song when you realize sophia still hasn’t come back. you slip out the door and seek her out, finding her outside the front door, leaning against the wall, admiring the malibu sunset. you approach her quietly, as to not scare her, and lean on the wall next to her. 

“who hurt you?” you laugh. “that song was haunting.”

sophia simply smiles knowingly.

“how much time do you have?” she says after a second, much to your surprise, even if she is joking.

“all of it, for you,” you tell her instantly, smiling back at her.

“you’re doing too much,” sophia shakes her head.

“i’m gonna be so transparent,” you tell her, raising your hands in the air like you’ve been caught. “i get such a rush when i make you smile. it’s like crack to me.”

“that’s sweet,” sophia laughs, her eyes avoiding yours as she stares down at something invisible on the ground. “i can promise you all that is not worth it.”

“for you?” you question. “no, i think you’re super worth it.”

sophia clicks her tongue, continuing to avoid your gaze. you can hear something soften in her voice— still playful, still firm, but something seeking more. “you don’t even know me.”

“not a ton, sure.” you lean the tiniest bit closer, your shoulders brushing together as you lean into her. “but i like what i know so far.”

“you’re weird,” she pushes you off, but her eyes are warm. she doesn’t entirely hate it as she’s trying to pretend.

“you’re smiling,” you call her out, poking her in the cheek. “i made leader smile!”

“y/n,” sophia says quietly, and you half wonder if she’s going to reprimand you, but then you realize that she’s leaning back against you. the two of you stand, shoulder to shoulder, the gentle warmth of her body sending a wildfire along your skin at the proximity.

“yes, leader?” you tease playfully.

the girl’s eyes finally come up to meet yours, twinkling with something indescribable. 

“you can just call me sophia.”

you nod, caught up in the warmth of her incredible brown eyes, and smile back broadly in response.

“sounds good, sophia.”

—

your team flies out to the next game a week later, and as you board the plane, you notice an empty seat next to sophia. learning your lesson from your first week of school, you approach her carefully, waving a hand in her face as she takes off her headphones and arches a brow up at you.

“hey!” you greet, pointing to the middle seat next to her, where she’s positioned by the window. “can i sit here?”

“no,” she blinks flatly.

“oh,” you feel the back of your neck burn awkwardly.

but then her eyes light up again, meeting yours, and you see it. the stupid sophia laforteza smile that sends a thunderstorm through your chest.

“i’m kidding,” she reassures you, moving her bag off of the seat. “all yours. i was saving it actually.”

“for me?” you ask in disbelief, slipping into the seat.

she tilts her head at you. “for whoever was brave enough to ask.”

you settle into the spot and the two of you coexist in a peaceful silence as the airplane takes off. but you and your stupid mouth can never keep your cool around sophia laforteza, and you find yourself rambling soon enough, disturbing what you can only assume is the peaceful silence she’s seeking.

“megan told me something sweet the other day. after our last game,” you inform her, wondering if the tidbit of information will catch her attention.

and it does. sophia’s brows knit together in curiosity as she turns to face you. “what’s that?”

“she says we make a good team.”

“we do,” sophia nods. “our positions kill when we work well together, and we work well together. i agree with her.”

“i could die happy,” you beam, pretending to fan yourself. “a compliment from the sophia laforteza.”

“hey!” she rolls her eyes. “don’t start. i’ve given you plenty.”

“i’m greedy,” you wrinkle your nose at her playfully. “sorry not sorry, i want more.”

“compliments are overrated,” sophia pushes back.

“oh, for you i bet they are,” you laugh, tossing your head back in disbelief. “what compliments could you possibly need? you’re brilliant, you’re confident, you’re super talented, and you’re insanely pretty. you’re perfect. people literally use ‘sophia laforteza’ as a synonym for perfection.”

“you’re doing too much, again,” sophia shakes her head, her eyes now avoiding yours.

“and you sing like a fucking angel,” you add. “and you smell amazing all the time.”

“not true,” sophia wrinkles her nose. 

you’re about to look over and keep rambling, but in that moment you see it in her eyes. something about the way you’re talking to her makes her uncomfortable. 

“and you’re actually so fucking nice,” you add, your voice softening, curious as to why the compliments are making her recoil like this. “like the nicest ever. just protective of what you care about.”

“that’s sweet,” she mumbles.

“i mean it. all of it, soph,” you press, reaching over to take her hand in yours. it’s a brave, probably stupid move, but as soon as your fingers touch, she looks up at you with those soft beautiful eyes.

“i’m sorry if i was tough on you, when you first joined,” she says quietly, her eyes digging into yours as if to emphasize her regret. “i couldn’t go easy on you. i have a lot riding on this team.”

“i forgive you,” you reassure her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “have to keep up the whole tough team captain thing.”

“thanks,” she smiles softly.

“can i tell you something?” you whisper, leaning in as the plane cabin lights turn off, leaving you guys in the quiet glow of the airplane.

she arches her brows, beckoning for you to go on.

you smile. “i like knowing you’re a softie.”

something in her face changes, and you can see it. the warmth.

you rest your head on her shoulder, and she lets you, her gentle breaths keeping you comfortable the rest of the flight.

—

you and sophia become inseparable. 

the next away game, you’re brave enough to invite her to come watch tik toks with you, and she’s bold enough to wriggle her way under the blankets, and before you realize it, the two of you are in your bed, cuddled up, staring at your tiny screen.

you try not to overthink it. your semester is going perfectly, you couldn’t ask for better friends, and the more time you spend with sophia, the more grateful you are to just know the girl. she’s incredible— so smart, so talented, and so, so thoughtful. someone like her shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be this perfect, shouldn’t be this close to you giggling at something stupid on your phone.

you don’t get more time to overthink. megan is bursting through your hotel room door, barging in as she seeks out a spare set of kneepads considering she left her lucky ones back home.

“it smells like fritos in here,” she says plainly, snatching your extra pair out of your bag. 

“you have to be the weirdest person i know,” sophia groans, throwing her head back against the pillow. 

“my mom says frito smell comes from a yeast overgrowth,” the girl goes on, clearly not realizing she’s intruding. “y’all baking bread?”

“i don’t even think she realizes she’s talking sometimes,” you laugh, nudging sophia in the shoulder. “the noises just come right out of her.” 

she grins back at you and checks the uber eats notification on her phone. “stay there. i’m gonna go pick up our food.”

she slips out of the door and megan simply watches, before looking back over at you.

“you guys look close,” the girl arches her brows knowingly.

“she’s been opening up,” you inform her.

“oh i bet she has,” megan nods, pursing her lips into an ‘o.”

“megan, ew,” you shake your head, throwing a pillow at the girl who has quickly become one of your best friends.

“i dunno dude, you’re mighty comfy. looks sus for two people just to be friends and be that all up on each other.”

“whatever,” you roll your eyes. you watch as the girl lets herself out. 

sophia comes back and lands herself right back in your lap. something about how she fits so comfortably besides you feels too easy. megan’s words ring through your head, and you shake them off.

sophia falls asleep in your bed, and you don’t mind. you don’t mind one bit.

—

the semester goes on, and you and sophia only grow closer. wherever she goes, you’re sure to follow, and people become painfully aware of your newfound friendship.

“y/n,” sophia beams, waving you over as the girls all sit together for breakfast out on the grass of the quad. “come sit.”

you do as you’re told, looking in surprise as the girl hands you a drink. you’re usually one to skip breakfast in favor of getting more sleep, so the fact that sophia, a notorious early riser, already has a drink for you makes your stomach flip.

“i got you a matcha,” she beams proudly, unwrapping the straw for you and placing it in your hand.

“how did you know i liked the sesame one?” you question.

“you ordered it last time we went,” she responds simply.

“the whole team went,” you say in disbelief. “you noticed my order?”

“of course,” she says, too confidently, as if it’s obvious. 

“such a gentlewoman,” you smile, pressing your head into her shoulder appreciatively.

megan, who has been eyeing the both of you since your arrival, simply blinks, before blurting out the only thing on her mind: 

“sophia, you are so down bad.”

“not even,” she shoves megan away, rolling her eyes.

you’re blushing, and you hope sophia doesn’t notice. but what makes this even more difficult is that you realize she probably did notice, because sophia laforteza cares about those little tiny details. 

—-

as it turns out, being this close to sophia laforteza is not only super enjoyable, but super fucking confusing. you promised yourself you’d focus on school and volleyball when you moved to malibu at the beginning of the semester, but whatever you’ve got going on with sophia starts to feel like this weird third thing, past friends but not quite somewhere beyond that. it’s nameless, it’s confusing, but worst of all, you can’t imagine stopping.

she opens up little by little, letting you have tiny pieces of her as if she’s testing how trustworthy you are. she tells you little stories of her island, reminisces about singing with her grandparents, reveals that she plays piano in the common room of her dorm late at night when no-one is around when she’s stressed. her favorite subject is english even though she’s studying public health to run her own pediatric resource clinic for low-income families. she likes disney and she’s afraid of bugs.

and she sings, all the damn time, as if she’ll die if she doesn’t get a tune out. at first it’s quiet, a gentle hum or a whistle, but with the sheer amount of time you two are spending together, the more comfortable she gets with your presence, the more she lets it out. by the time your season is ending, she’s around you and beaming like the clouds came out from in front of the sun, warm, bright, and so melodic. she sings at the top of her lungs whenever you two are alone, studying, watching a stupid movie, at the gym together getting in a stupid extra practice.

you feel kind of pathetic, but you’d do anything to spend more time with her, more time basking in her light, in her beautiful warmth. whether it’s joining on her on her morning runs, or hanging out at your dorm to watch game recaps, she’s reaching out to you, and you’re not about to let her slip through your fingers. each time she invites you to anything you say yes, and any time you think she may even remotely like something, you invite her. your days are starting to revolve around spending time with sophia laforteza, like you can’t get enough of her, but why would anyone want to be apart from her? she’s perfect, and if she’s picked you to be her new best friend, you’ll consider it the biggest win in the world.

the sleepovers didn’t start until your season starts coming to an end. you’re about to enter your first playoff game, and sophia invites herself over as you guys prepare for your flight the next day. you lose track of time packing, chatting mindlessly, sharing stories and making sure you’re both in the right headspace before the game, but quite frankly, any ounce of access to sophia that you get will have you exactly as focused as you need to be.

you’re not sure how you end up there, but you’re admittedly a little too close for comfort, curled up together in your bed. she’s in a cozy hoodie and shorts, those stupid glasses that look way too good on her perched on the tip of her nose as she shows you another stupid brainrot tik tok that made her laugh that day. somehow, you’ve ended up with your head on her shoulder, a common occurrence for the two of you lately, but the way you’re cuddled into her arm, feeling the warmth of her body against yours, close enough to see the shimmer of the lipgloss in the light of the phone screen, is a little too close for you to ignore.

you suck in a deep breath. you figure it’s now or never, and even if you get nothing out of it, you’ll feel better knowing you’ve at least made the effort to get some clarity.

“sophia,” you say gently. 

“hm?” her head tilts in your direction, but she doesn’t look away from the phone screen.

your chest tightens, but it’s too late now. “what are we doing?”

“what do you mean?” her face stays neutral, forever the queen of composure.

“i mean i don’t even know what to call you,” you breathe.

“my name, duh,” she wrinkles her nose at you, and you shove her back gently. of course she’d choose now of all times to be a smart ass.

you let the silence rest for a few moments longer, but the feeling gnaws at you. you have to be honest, with her, but first and foremost, with yourself.

“sometimes it feels like we’re dating,” you finally admit.

you know sophia at this point to see her micro-expressions: the curl of her lip, a small shift, or in this case, the twitch of her brow. she doesn’t look at you— a habit you’ve realized that she takes up when she’s thinking. 

“oh,” is all she says.

“yeah,” you breathe back awkwardly.

“we’re not,” she tells you.

you squint at her. “i know that.”

she pauses again. you wait her out. you’ve gotten good at it— realizing her silence isn’t hostile, it’s just contemplation. sophia, perfect sophia, takes a second to pick the exact words she wants to say in that exact moment. it’s part of what you’ve come to adore so much about her, how purposeful she is, her attention to detail.

“y/n…” she muses quietly, her lips parting to show her teeth as she sucks in a quiet, thinking breath. “i don’t know how to ask this.”

“sophia laforteza, tongue tied? our eloquent leader?” you tease her, poking her in the cheek. maybe it’s a poor time to be messing with her, but this is your bad habit, making jokes at the worst possible times to try and diffuse the tension. “what’s today, the end of the world?”

but she doesn’t laugh. she doesn’t even smile.

she finally turns her head, she finally looks at you. her voice low and serious, as it always is. 

“y/n, i want to kiss you.”

“oh.” you blink. “oh.”

“you can tell me it’s a bad idea,” she tells you slowly, forever the gentlewoman, but the way her eyes flutter down to focus on your lips makes you absolutely dizzy, “or that you don’t want to.”

“i um,” you feel your stomach in knots, jumping at the sight of how she stares you down. “neither of those are true.”

she pauses, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. the movement leaves her lip even shinier, which you didn’t think was even possible, but it is and it makes you absolutely sick at how easily the movement unnerves you. her voice drops, just slightly, but it’s enough for you to notice the rasp in her tone.

“y/n, do you want to kiss me?” 

sophia is so painfully confident, so direct and straightforward, it makes your teeth hurt with how attracted you are to her. 

you nod, dumbstruck and incapable of forming any more words, and her hand drops the phone onto her stomach. she turns to reach for you, her hand cupping you by the cheek. the feeling of her grasp on your face, the closeness of her body, her breath on your nose is nearly too much for you.

“i’m going to kiss you now,” she tells you gently, moving closer and closer with each passing second, her eyes never leaving your lips. “don’t move.”

you do as you’re told, and sophia laforteza is a woman of her word. she’s slow, painfully gentle as she bridges the distance between you both, and you lose yourself in the perfect smell of her hoodie, the softness of her perfect mouth, the perfect sweetness on her tongue as it brushes softly against your bottom lip. the only word you could ever use to describe sophia, the only word that even starts to do her justice— she is absolute perfection.

“you’re not real,” you breathe, staring at her in disbelief. you’re an idiot for breaking the kiss, sure, but if you didn’t pull away to take a breath, you might’ve actually passed out. your head is so, so dizzy— in no reality, when you had first met this girl, did you ever picture she’d let you get to know her, to be this close to her, to kiss you.

“very real,” she pushes back, reaching for you once more. she turns to lean on top of you, resting her elbows on either side of your torso, hovering over you. she reaches up to brush some of your hair out of your face, her fingertips against your skin feeling like electricity. her eyes are so dark, so intense, so focused. “gonna kiss you again. don’t move.”

you wrap your arms around her neck and nod eagerly. she won’t have to tell you twice.

—-

making out with sophia laforteza for 3 hours the week of your first college playoff game is definitely not something you could have predicted on your sophomore year bingo card, but you’re not about to get greedy. 

she falls asleep cuddled up next to you after you guys mutually agree to wait until after playoffs to get distracted by anything else, and you have half a mind to tell her that you’re already extremely distracted when she’s this close to you, but you’re able to keep those thoughts to yourself. 

unfortunately, sophia is a creature of routine no matter how badly you beg her to sleep in and keep cuddling you, and gets out of your bed as gently as she can manage to go on her morning run. you’re not exactly thrilled, but she presses a gentle kiss to your temple as she slips out of your room and promises that you’ll talk more when she gets back. the combination of the two is a true win in your head, so you make your way to breakfast with a few of the girls and hope nobody asks why you can’t stop smiling even at 7 in the morning.

(of course, it would be just your luck that it’s megan who clocks you immediately— somehow clueless to literally everything except for whatever is between you and the team captain.)

“y/n, why do you keep acting like nothing’s going on?” she blurts, eyeing you suspiciously. you’ve looked down at your phone a million times that morning, eager to see if sophia has any thoughts about the development between you two, and of course, your teammate didn’t let it go unnoticed. “you’re clearly into her.”

you take a cue from sophia’s playbook and stay silent, reaching for your breakfast oatmeal in the hopes they’ll drop it. you know yourself, prone to oversharing, and you’re not sure that sophia would want something between the two of you to leave between the two of you. manon and daniela eye each other from across the table, lara giggles to herself, and megan doesn’t let up.

“are you guys dating?” she asks bluntly, narrowing her eyes at you.

“um…” you choke on your oatmeal, but try to play it off. “i don’t know how to answer that.”

“oh holy shit,” manon beams, her eyes lighting up. “it’s not a no! you always deny it!”

“it’s true,” lara grins. “this is your first non-answer.”

you feel your cheeks burn, but before you can hide your face, you can tell dani has already seen you blushing. the three of them burst into coos, clearly thrilled to hear things have moved along.

“dude, it’s so sweet,” dani chirps excitedly.

megan nods, and you can tell she’s about to start rambling, but it’s megan, and she means well, so you let her. 

“no, dude, you have no idea how good this is for us. she’s like, finally smiling again! our sophia! angry, serious sophia. she even laughed at one of my jokes last practice. my joke. do you know how long it’s been since she’s laughed with me, bro? all it took was y/n to warm her back up. it’s like the ice age is melting or something. i haven’t seen her this happy since marquise—”

you see all 3 of the girls seize up at the exact same time at the mention of this name. a name you have never, ever heard before, and yet got each of these girls to freeze with the exact same reaction. your stomach drops.

“megan—“ manon says harshly, a tone she never uses, which only tells you this is extremely not good. whatever megan has just touched on was clearly not for your ears to hear.

“who’s marquise?” you try to ask, but the three ignore you, locked onto each other.

“megan skiendiel,” daniela says it like a punishment, and megan only sinks further into her seat, her eyes wide like a puppy that’s just been scolded for chewing something up that she wasn’t meant to. you guys are the only ones at the dining hall that early in the morning, but even then, you feel like the whole world around you is spinning, in the worst way possible.

“guys. freaking out here,” you remind them, still left in limbo with nothing more than a name and 0 context. “who the hell is marquise?”

then, as if on cue, a voice cuts in from behind you. a familiar, cold, firm voice. too perfect.

your stomach sinks. you can feel it about to crumble around you. 

sophia laforteza, too perfect, too dreamy, too good to be true. 

“marquise is my ex.” her voice is neutral, factual. you can’t bring yourself to look at her, but you can see her figure in the corner of your eye. she’s got her arms crossed over her chest, so composed, so eternally the picture of calm and control. “megan wasn’t supposed to mention that.”

you feel your stomach twist into a knot. “oh.”

“saw you guys through the window,” she explains simply, motioning out to the side of the table. you can see your table directly from the window facing the running trail. “thought i’d join you guys for breakfast.”

the tension is palpable. megan is the first to speak up, but her voice is quavering and weak, like she knows the gravity of what she’s done. “soph, i’m sorry…”

sophia moves into your view and presses her lips into a fine line. “they’re freaking out because we’re on a break. marquise gets back to the US in two months.”

“oh,” you say simply, dropping your gaze to the table. “oh wow.”

“we’re gonna go,” lara says, clearly sensing the danger in lingering much longer. she scoops dani in one arm and grabs megan by the hoodie, yanking her along roughly.

“y/n, i’m really sorry,” the youngest girl tells you, her voice shaky, and a part of you feels the tiniest bit better that her guilt comes not just from spilling sophia’s secret, but from not telling you something sooner. it softens the blow somehow.

“she played libero,” sophia tells you once the girls walk away. she sits down across from you in the booth. you can tell she’s treading carefully, wanting to be close but not wanting to overdo it, and you appreciate that she has the common sense to give you space and follow your cues.  “she’s the one that got injured last year.”

your throat goes dry at the realization. 

“i replaced her,” you finally say out loud. it stings even worse hearing it than it does thinking it.

“i wanted to tell you.” her voice is still even, still composed, but you can hear the quiet rasp of something more, like she’s straining herself. she’s speaking slowly, picking her words carefully as she does. “but i didn’t want to lose you.”

“you knew it was wrong,” you call her out shakily.

“i didn’t want you drawing your own conclusions,” she tells you. “after we kissed, i knew i had to say something. i wanted to. i was going to.”

“i don’t mind being a girl with a one-sided crush. hell, i don’t even mind if we don’t work out on our own.” your voice is shaky as you look down at your hands, trying to even out your breathing to avoid crying, but fuck, this hurts. “but i do mind being a rebound if you’re not over someone.”

“i am,” she presses quickly, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard her rush her words, as if she’s trying to speak over you. it doesn’t irritate you, if anything, you’re grateful to hear that she’s got some humanity left in her, but it doesn’t help soothe you. she tries again, letting out a breath to steady herself. “we haven’t talked literally at all since she left. i’m going to tell her that things are completely over between us. i can promise that i am 100% over her.”

you won’t look up at her, but you can see her hands on the table. she’s picking at her fingernail, and the movement surprises you. sophia never fidgets, never moves nervously, never even cracks a sweat. but here she is, picking at her nail, and it makes your heart ache. you want to comfort her, but you feel sick even thinking about how much you feel for her.

“that’s the problem with being dishonest, sophia. and i know you weren’t even dishonest, you just didn’t tell me the whole truth, but it’s still a problem,” you admit, swallowing down a lump in your throat. “‘cause now, i don’t know if i believe you. i don’t know if i can trust that you’re telling me the truth.”

she says nothing, and that seals your fate. you feel the first few hot tears drop from your eyes as you shield your face and get out of the dining hall as fast as physically possible, rushing to your dorm to try and compose yourself without sobbing in public like a mess.

sophia doesn’t follow after you. you feel stupid for ever thinking she would.

—-

megan comes over a few hours later after you miss practice, too embarrassed to face sophia after everything collapsing around you. 

the younger girl sits on the edge of your bed, staring at one of her textbooks in confusion, but you know she’s only faking studying until you say something. you can tell she wants to apologize, she wants to say something, but if you can appreciate anything, it’s that megan is showing some restraint and stopping herself from crashing out in the middle of your dorm room.

you play mindlessly with your laptop as a specific email catches your attention. you had read it weeks ago, but archived it. the cyclones were your whole life at this point. this team had filled your heart with such a sense of belonging and wholeness, you didn’t even consider the idea that other schools could be eyeing you. you didn’t want any of them, you wanted sophia—

you clamp your eyes shut instantly as you realize your mistake, grimacing. you wanted malibu. you wanted to be a cyclone.

your stomach aches, thinking about the team captain. maybe this mindset of unconditional devotion was the thing truly holding you back.

so you go back to the email, and blurt it out to megan.

“UCLA is interested in me,” you tell her. “after this season.”

she looks up at you instantly, her brows tensing, but you see her instantly try to relax her face and be supportive. “oh whaaaaat? no way. that’s sick.”

you stare at your screen, feeling the ache in your chest and wishing you could just will it away in an instant.

“and since i’m still technically a walk-on, and not scholarshipped yet, i could transfer.”

“you’d leave?” megan asks softly, her eyes falling. “but we just got you, y/n. we’re about to win a championship together. you’d really leave?”

you hear the crack in her voice, but you can’t bear to look up at her. the idea sounds appealing, just a few more months and transfer over to a new school once the semester ends. move, start over, make new friends. you stop yourself from thinking about her again, pushing all thoughts of sunshine and lipgloss and singing out of your mind.

you blink a few times more, trying not to be swayed by just how fucking sad megan’s little sniffles are from her corner of your room.

“what if i don’t have anything keeping me here?” you ask, but you’re not quite sure the question is for megan any more.

—-

megan goes back to her own dorm a little bit later, after the silence gets to be too much, and you spend the rest of the evening staring up at the ceiling. you don’t have practice on sundays, so you’ll finally get a chance to sleep in, and you start to look up the forms you might need for a transfer if you opt to follow through with this. three schools in less than two years might not look great, but if it’s what’s right for you, you’ll figure out a way to explain it on a transcript.

you’re asleep with your laptop on your chest when a quiet knock on your dorm room door wakes you. you check your phone for any messages, and there’s no recent ones as you realize it’s nearly 1 am. you feel your eyelids getting heavy once more, but that knock comes back, gentle, evenly spaced, quick.

a perfect knock on the door, straight out of the movies. your stomach sinks. how fucking annoying to be so perfect, it’s recognizable, even in a knock.

you want to ask her to go away, and considering you just ditched practice for the first time all season just to avoid her, you figured she’d understand. but there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you suck in a deep breath to try and prepare yourself for what comes next as you get out of bed and finally give in, swinging the door open.

perfect sophia laforteza has messy hair.

it’s not insane, of course even her messiness is so coordinated, but it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her hair not silky smooth falling in waves over her shoulders. it’s a little frizzy, the tiniest bit unruly, thick and admittedly even a little poofy. she has some baby hairs sticking out of her headband, her bangs pulled back. your heart thuds at the sight— sophia, in her hoodie and her shorts, and her super cute, imperfect hair that’s somehow still perfect to you, as much as you wish it wasn’t

“megan called me crying,” she says simply, her eyes dark and seeking as they look up into yours, her hands tucked into her pockets as she stands in front of your door in the middle of the hallway, “saying you wanted to leave.”

you blink at her, and honestly, you’re not quite sure what to say next.

her lips press into a tight line at your lack of response. 

“i’m sorry if that’s because of me,” she breathes, quieter now.

“i’ll text megan in the morning to apologize for stressing her out. i forget how sensitive she is,” you force a smile, your forever bad habit of trying to smooth things over with anyone and everyone. you drop your eyes, unable to keep looking at her any longer without the ache in your chest roaring back to life. “i need to go to bed, good night.”

you move to close the door, but to your surprise, the door doesn’t budge. 

sophia has her foot against the base, her hand around your wrist, anchoring you there. 

it reminds you of that day, on the beach, your first glimpse into something more in sophia besides her cold stares and her unobtainable standards of perfection. the first time she ever reached out to grab you, you saw it— sophia laforteza, as perfect as she is, is also human, just like you.

her voice surprises you. 

“please don’t go.” it’s soft, and she’s avoiding your eyes again, but you hear the rasp, the crack in her voice as she pleads with you. “please hear me out.”

you can feel the burn in your chest at how small she looks, how unfamiliar this version of her is to you. “sophia…”

“i can’t um...” she clamps her eyes shut, and it physically pains you to see just how badly she’s struggling to get the words out. how badly she wants to be vulnerable with you, how hard it is for her. “i just got used to doing it alone. for a really long time. even when my ex was there, i just never could see myself as someone...”

she trails off, and you see it again in her face. that day on the airplane, where you had complimented her, how uncomfortable it seemed to make her to hear so many nice things said about her. you feel your heart shatter for her in that very moment. she doesn’t believe it. 

“and then you came in, and i tried to push you away, but you insisted on being kind to me even when i wasn’t worth being kind to, and now i have feelings for you.” she bites down on her bottom lip, the words spilling out almost rushed, as if she’s trying to get them all out at once. “so here i am, pouring my heart out, hoping you’ll stay.”

you blink back, your heart racing. “you have feelings for me?”

“i don’t need you to say it back,” she shakes her head, her brows furrowing. “i just need you to know how pissed i’ll be if you leave after i started to like you. even if it’s just as friends.”

“i didn’t know you’d care if i was gone,” you laugh, feeling your eyes water. it may be a little later than you would have wanted, but she’s trying, and you can see just how hard it is for her. 

“you’re ridiculous,” she wrinkles her nose, as if it’s obvious. “i get leaving me might be easy—”

you stop her there, feeling yourself get angry at the way she talks about herself. “no. stop that. no way.” 

she presses, insisting. “no, you don’t have to lie. i know how i get. i can be difficult, and a perfectionist—“

“sophia, you’re an incredible captain,” you cut her off, your voice full of conviction. “and a warm, thoughtful friend. people admire you.”

“they’re scared of me, y/n,” she breathes quietly. 

“they respect you,” you insist. “you’re incredible.”

she pauses, looking at you, and you let yourself look back at her. something in her eyes change, softening, warming. like the stormclouds parting to reveal the sun. 

“i didn’t believe any of that, until i met you,” she admits to you, shakily. “it was like you saw me differently. i believed it because you believed it. you treated me like i was worth it.”

“you are,” you press, before you remember something that might help convince her. “soph… the team, we made you a gift.”

she blinks back at you in shock. “what?”

you motion for her to follow you into your room, and reach under your bed to pull out a scrapbook you guys had worked on between all of you, keeping it in your room as you guys all worked on the finishing touches. the idea was to give it to her after playoffs were over, to celebrate her if you guys won and to cheer her up if you guys lost, but you figure the girls will forgive you for giving it to her a little early. 

“when i first heard you were feeling homesick, we started putting it together.” you put the book in her hands and she opens it, immediately seeing all the printed photos of your team together. your days at the beaches, the practices you all bonded over, the photos of you all traveling for games, some of the random shenanigans you’d get into like karaoke. sophia turns the page and realizes that each girl on the team had written her a note about how much they appreciate her as a captain and as a friend, and paired their heartfelt notes with a photo of themselves with her.

(unfortunately, you had waited a little too long to work on your note considering you were working through a massive crush on her, but you hope she won’t mind that you’re the only person on the team who doesn’t have a page in the scrapbook.)

“this is how we see you,” you continue, watching as sophia flips through each page, reading over each and every word with unmatchable focus. “i know you have a skewed vision of yourself. you’re so, so hard on yourself. so we wanted you to have this, so you could see what the world sees. how we see you.”

“this is incredible,” sophia whispers, her eyes welling up with tears. 

you’re incredible, you stop yourself from saying, letting you guys continue in silence as she reads the rest of the pages. 

“megan spelled ‘gratitude’ wrong,” she laughs, wiping a tear from her cheek as she points to the mistake. 

“okay, cut the girl some slack, she could barely stop crying long enough to get the words down. she was so sad thinking about how lonely you’ve been,” you laugh with her, pointing to the dried tear stains on the page. “literally sobbed all over the page and lara had to help her pull it together to finish and sign her stupid name. at this point i’m surprised there’s no snot.”

she smiles and wipes again at her cheek, clearly trying to stop herself from crying in front of you. “i’ve been a little less lonely, ever since you walked on.”

you want to reassure her that you don’t mind the tears, that you don’t mind her being human. that you adore every part of her, exactly how she is, perfect imperfections and all. you try to open your mouth, but the words get caught in your throat. 

she beats you to it. 

“i’m sorry if i confused you,” she sighs. “it was unfair. i’d be pissed if i was you. getting all caught up before someone had their shit together.”

“i’m not mad at you any more,” you reassure her, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. “maybe a little hurt, maybe a lot jealous.”

she lets out another laugh, and the sound warms your bones. the idea of UCLA seems so, so silly now, as you two look at the book together. this is where you belong. playing libero with the most incredible group of girls you’ve ever known. wingmanning for lara, laughing with dani, clowning manon, trying to keep megan from a near-daily crashout. 

basking in the light that beams from sophia laforteza. reminding her every day that she is the sun in human form, twice as bright and just as warm. reminding her especially on the days she has a hard time believing it.

“i understand if you just want to be friends after this,” she tells you quietly, so infuriatingly thoughtful. “i totally get it. i’d love to be your friend.”

you let out a soft breath. 

“i think friends a good place to be.”

sophia smiles, and you smile back. you stop yourself from reaching for her hand. her eyes twinkle as they look back at you. you watch her like she’s the sunset against the beach, and you let it warm you. 

sophia laforteza smiling is your favorite view. 

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[racingrich]

fresh peaches 🏁 op81

summary: you’re figuring out how to balance a farm and a growing relationship with an f1 driver, and he’s learning the hidden languages of flowers. it’s soft, it’s gentle, and it’s yours.

thank you everyone for your love on too many oranges! i posted it on a whim and it kinda blew up so thank you so much! i think i’ll make it a small series of stories that aren’t technically tied together but in the same universe. so this can be read as a standalone, or coupled with too many oranges! and thank you again, for all the love on the first part!

⋆.⋆✴︎˚｡ 🧡 ₊˚✧

lovelyleclerc life lately 💛

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, yourbff, and 7.5k others

view 126 comments …

charles_leclerc 💬 TWO PLACE SETTINGS?!

charles_leclerc 💬 ANSWER MY CALLS

maxverstappen1 💬 Those two cats are new.

⤷ lovelyleclerc they belong to one of my neighbours but they come by to say hi 🥹

oscarpiastri 💬 Can I get some peaches on your next delivery, please?

⤷ lovelyleclerc bc you asked nicely, yes ☺️

⤷ oscarpiastri 🧡

⤷ charles_leclerc what is this now

yourbff 💬 living the dream, come see me in lille again soon i miss you 🫶🏼🫶🏼

⤷ lovelyleclerc booking tickets as we speak 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

⋆.⋆✴︎˚｡ 🧡 ₊˚✧

He didn’t drive out when he visited you, he took the train. The arduous ride from Monaco to the middle of nowhere, in a language he didn’t understand, because you’d asked him not to drive. He could’ve said no, you both knew that. But, some part of him, the part that valued the last few weeks of gentle silence, interrupted by the sound of cows and gentle breezes, knew how sacred this had become. How this house had become something more over the last few weeks. Something like a home, not just a place he visited. It had been a month since you’d invited him back the first time. A month since you’d assigned him a random mug with a chip in the rim, and he’d refused to use another. A month since he memorized the names of all your animals. A month since you’d invited him in, and he’d accepted.

The race weekend was coming up. He had another day with you before he’d be flying out to the next track, chasing the next thrill. You’d told him not to come out, that he’d be rushing to get to airport the next day, but he didn’t listen. He was well-behaved, understanding you were always right, but not this time. He refused. In a gentle way, like everything he did.

“I’d rather rush than be alone,” he’d whispered to you when he’d arrived. You’d hugged him tightly, even though you’d seen him less than a week ago. Any time apart from him felt too long. Distance became something you cursed, not craved. You’d never leave your farm, and he’d never leave Monaco. So, distance was what you had. Hours apart, watching the same sunset, sending pictures of the same waves, just to check in.

In your kitchen, he looked like a vision. Like something a prophet saw in a haze-induced delirium. Faded Monaco shirt, apron securely tied around his waist as he worked on sautéing onions. Something so mundane, yet heartwarming. Rain kissed the ends of your bangs as you came in from harvesting tomatoes and onions. Oscar turned to look up at you as you stumbled inside, rain coat hanging neglected by the door.

“Need a towel?” He asked, because he knew where you kept them. He’d even brought some McLaren issued ones to add to your odd collection. Another piece of him that had ended up in your life that you didn’t have the heart to part with. Not when it fit so effortlessly into the gaps of your existence. Like he’d always been meant to be there. That was a concept you couldn’t ponder yet. Not when this, whatever it was you had, was fresh.

“If you’re able to multitask, I’d love one.” You shook your hair out, letting water hit your wood floors. Your clothes were all but soaked through.

“You underestimate me,” Oscar called as he walked into the small hallway between your kitchen and bedroom to grab a towel.

“Do I? The last time I distracted you while cooking, you almost set the pasta on fire.”

“That was one time!” He protested.

“One time is more than enough, actually.” He came around the corner with one of his fancy McLaren towels. You always hid them in the back of the cupboard because they clashed with your aesthetic. He’d dig through your ratty ones with crumbling seams for effortless comfort. You offered him a smiled as you placed the towel over your head.

“You look like a grandmother,” he commented. You didn’t hesitate to punch his side.

“Go watch your onions, asshole,” you chided. Oscar chuckled and backed away from you, back to the kitchen. You watched him as he left, because you couldn’t not watch him. Not when he was so pleasing to look at. Especially when he was immersed in something. Cooking, milking your cows, watering plants, and everything else that was too small to name.

It was strange, how much a month could change a life. It hadn’t been long, in the eyes of the universe. But it felt like everything. An entire life, wrapped up in 31 short days. He’d breathed life into these walls, and you’d blinked, and suddenly he was everywhere. Your phone wallpaper, always a photo of your ducks, had become him. When had that happened? You weren’t sure. Probably last week, when he’d surprised you with a tandem bike trip to the nearest reasonably sized town to search for more sheets and tablecloths to turn into summer dresses.

You moved past him, stopping to kiss his cheek as you moved into your room. Outside, the rain protested an early evening. Your window, cracked open, was gathering small puddles. The air smelled damp, clean and free of pollen. A smell you wanted to surround you like a blanket. You changed quickly, the smell of the simmering sauce becoming too much to bear.

Oscar was waiting for you, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. When you sauntered over, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“So?” He asked. “Am I meeting your standards?” He meant for cooking, you both knew that. But his eyes glimmered with unspoken meanings. Am I a good almost boyfriend?

He hasn’t made the next step yet, and you were okay being where you were. Something so new didn’t need a label, especially when you were still getting to know each other in the most simple ways.

You dipped your pinky into the vodka sauce he’d been tasked to watch. You pondered the flavours. Ones you’d selected, of course, but ones he’d added.

“It could use more bay leaves,” you spoke at last. “The ones hanging above the sink, next to the lavender.” You pointed.

“Of course, how could I be so silly?” Oscar chuckled as he grabbed two more leaves and tossed them in. You stirred the sauce, added some salt, oil, and a splash of sugar. You dipped your other pinky into, repeated the test.

“Better,” you hummed. Oscar’s shoulders deflated.

“You didn’t let me fix it,” he complained. Which was something most F1 fans didn’t know Oscar Piastri was capable of. Something so outlandishly strange. But, something you’d become accustomed to.

“Because I didn’t know what it needed.”

“What does that even mean?” He asked.

“I just follow my gut, I can’t explain it!” He shook his head in mock disappointment. Or something akin to it. Not that he could ever be disappointed with you, not in any way that felt close to true.

“Oh, yes, this chef’s instinct I’ve read about,” Oscar teased. “In the ancient texts.” He was mocking you, something he did often. Not enough to hurt feelings, just to get you to laugh. Which you always did. He made you laugh like none other.

“Not my fault you need to measure a pinch,” you retorted as you bumped him out of the way with your hip.

“How much is a pinch? There has to be a standard measurement.” Oscar hopped up on the counter, letting his legs hit your faded cabinets as he spoke.

“It’s just a pinch. It writes itself.”

“But it makes no sense! Everyone’s pinch is different, so it’s inconsistent.”

“But that’s what makes each dish unique,” you reminded him. Oscar could cook, enough to pass by. But he followed recipes like they were the Bible. He’d been appalled with your measure with your heart method of cooking. The one that ran on feelings from the Leclercs before you knowing when to stop seasoning. “What we value in food is different, so each person makes a dish differently.” Oscar groaned and leaned his head back against your mug cabinet.

“You are so attractive when you talk about food, it’s unfair.” You turned your head away from him, fighting your smile.

“Yeah, I’m the unfair one. Your job is to sit and look pretty while I do the heavy lifting.”

“But I do my job well,” he remarked. You leaned over to kiss his cheek. He leaned into it, like he always did.

“You do,” you whispered. His cheeks flushed, like they always did when you looked at him too long.

The timer on his phone went off, signalling the beginning of dinner.

He pretended to complain about your additions, but you saw how his face lit up with every bite. And that was enough. He was enough.

oscarpoastri posted a story

not bad for my first time!

⤷ lovelyleclerc you did so well! 🫶🏼

⤷ oscarpiastri because I had the best teacher 🫶🏼

⤷ lando mate i’m jealous 😒

⤷ charles_leclerc are you at ducky’s house?? i recognize that plate

lovelyleclerc better with two 🫶🏼

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, lando, and 4.7k others

view 96 comments

charles_leclerc 💬 WHO IS THAT DUCKY PLEASE

⤷ lovelyleclerc someone 🤭

⤷ charles_leclerc you’re terrible and i hate you.

⤷ lovelyleclerc i’ll tell you one day, bub, i just want something that’s mine for a little.

⤷ charles_leclerc I can’t argue with that god damn it.

lando 💬 ayo not the soft launch??

oscarpiastri 💬 Hello Tofu

⤷ lovelyleclerc he says 👋🏻👋🏻

⤷ charles_leclerc Oscar gets a tofu greeting but not me?? your brother?? who you share blood with??

⤷ lovelyleclerc tofu picks faves i’m sorry

⤷ oscarpiastri I am winning

⋆.⋆✴︎˚｡ 🧡 ₊˚✧

“Do you have to go?” You asked when the sun started peaking through your curtains. Oscar, already well awake, nodded gently.

“I do, darling,” he whispered. His voice was thick with sleep, just the way you liked it. “Trust me, if I had a choice, I’d choose here every time.” You knew he had a race to win. Him and your brother both. Race weekends used to be easy, a simple goodbye and then your brother would vanish for three days. But, now with Oscar, that meant losing someone who always listened, who always meant something. And that was starting to hurt.

“You could call in sick,” you muttered as you moved closer. You could feel him laugh.

“I can’t call in sick to a race, darling.”

“You could, you just won’t.”

“You’re right, as always,” he mused. He was rubbing your back in gentle circles. Ones that coincided with the steady thrum of your heart. “But I’ll be back soon, yeah? You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Bullshit,” you grumbled. “I always notice.” You noticed when his laughter vanished, when videos of his past races weren’t playing while you strolled and picked fruit from your overflowing trees. You noticed everything.

“That’s incredibly romantic,” Oscar mused. “But I know you’ll be okay, because I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“No, I’ll just pretend.” You both chuckled at that. Silence settled over you as you grabbed his sleep shirt tightly in your hands.

“You make it hard,” Oscar mumbled.

“Hard to what?”

“Leave.” Your heart flipped in your chest at that. Just like it always did when he said something romantic. Something that made your insides turn to goo. Which was at least twice a day, sometimes even more.

“You’ll be back?” You asked.

“I won’t even stop at my apartment first,” he promised. “I’ll just come right here.”

That was as close to I love you as you both allowed yourselves.

lovelyleclerc golden hour

liked by yourbff, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and 11.7k others

view 173 comments

yourbff 💬 HOLY CRAP GODDESS BEHAVIOUR

⤷ lovelyleclerc says you 🫶🏼🫶🏼

lilymhe 💬 your face card >>

⤷ lovelyleclerc oh hush you gorgeous girl

user 💬 holy shit this is Charles’ sister?? BARK BARK BARK

⤷ charles_leclerc someone should put you down

⤷ lovelyleclerc CHARLES OH MY GOD??

user2 💬 i know you’re seeing someone but can they fight??

⤷ lovelyleclerc he’d beat you tf up sadly

⤷ user2 SADLY I CANT

pierregasly 💬 so you took my curly hair advice seriously huh?

⤷ lovelyleclerc for someone with a rapidly deteriorating hairline, you give great hair care tips.

⤷ user3 THE WAY THEY CLOCKED HIM SO FAST??

⤷ kikagomes the way I spat my drink everywhere

maxverstappen1 💬 I remember when you walked around missing your front teeth now look at you!

⤷ lovelyleclerc MAX WHAT DID WE TALK ABOUT? WE DON’T DISCUSS THAT!

⤷ oscarpiastri Do you have proof?

⤷ maxverstappen1 Yeah, check your WhatsApp

⤷ lovelyleclerc MAX NO!

oscarpiastri 5th isn’t too bad, nice racing!

liked by lovelyleclerc, f1, mclaren, lando, and 168.6k others

view 2.8k comments

lando 💬 great job, mate!

mclaren 💬 we can smell a podium in your future 👀

⤷ oscarpiastri Manifest it.

⤷ user did … Oscar Piastri just say “manifest that shit”? What happened to him???

⤷ user2 he really said “it’s in god’s hands”

lovelyleclerc 💬 you and lando posing aw

❤️ by author

⤷ user3 omg Oscar liked??

mclaren 💬 our favourite duo 😍

⤷ user4 so true admin, ur just like us fr

user5 💬 did anyone else see how Oscar almost mentioned his partner in that post race interview?? I cannot be tripping

⤷ user6 OMG IM NOT ALONE!!

⋆.⋆✴︎˚｡ 🧡 ₊˚✧

my osc 🫶🏼

Hey darling, did you watch the race?

you

you bet!! stood on the top of a hill for the best service 😤

my osc 🫶🏼

That’s the dedication I like to see

I’m boarding soon, be there in 12 hours!

you

can’t wait actually 🫶🏼

my osc 🫶🏼

🫶🏼🫶🏼

⋆.⋆✴︎˚｡ 🧡 ₊˚✧

He arrived in the early hours of the morning. When the sun had barely kissed the edge of the rolling hills. He used the spare key you’d texted him about before you’d fallen asleep. When he moved through your house, he saw the sign you’d made. The words WELCOME BACK greeted him in lopsided cursive that made him smile.

You were huddled in your blankets when he came into your bedroom, a vision of angelic sleep.

He was feeling the jet lag now, he’d gone across the world for two days, then came back just as fast. It was hitting him, how tired he was. And even though his apartment was easier to get to, he made the trek. Because he’d made you a promise. And going back to his modern apartment felt like something from the past. Not when he had you to come back to.

Was one month too early to say that he loved you?

You moved when he set his weight on the free side of the bed. You turned over to look at him, sleep still in your eyes.

“Osc?” Your voice croaked.

“Hi,” he replied. You turned into him with everything you had, and he welcomed you.

“You smell like stranger’s BO,” you commented, your face stuffed into his shirt. Oscar chuckled.

“I came right from the airport.”

“I thought you were kidding,” you teased.

“I don’t think I could stay away even if I tried.” You giggled into his sweaty shirt.

“There’s something about male desperation that’s so hot.”

“Yeah, yeah, move over? I’m falling off the bed.” You did, because having him close was better than anything else in the world.

One month could change your life, and Oscar was starting to change yours.

[oldermenfucker]

Maldives; The Land of Chaos / M. Robinavitch

Summary: you planned this trip a year ago when you had no idea you’ll go to it as exes, especially not after the nasty breakup you experienced.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smutttt, angst, exes to lovers, angry!robby and equally angry!reader, TENSION, jealousy, alcohol consumption, oh but there’s only one bed:(, pining and yearning cause they’re not done yet oops, unprotected sex, breeding ofc, mean!robby a little, fingering, oral(F!), English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 7.3k+

an: this is my piece of work for the Fun In The Sun collab by @robbyology ! Hope y’all enjoy this fic🤭 Comments and reblogs are always appreciated💕 and a very special thank you to my babe @m-robinavitch for brainstorming with meeeeee<3333322

Fuck.

  Yes, fuck is right, so is any other curse word you can think of, as you thank the lady and grab your plane ticket to read it. Fuck. Your seat is next to him, right next to him. If you weren’t so pissed at him, if you made it to this trip as a couple, you would have been overjoyed.

  Not now, though, not when you remember how happily you reserved these seats so you would sit next to each other all throughout the flight. But you weren’t exes back then, and you didn’t experience one of the nastiest breakups of your life.

  “Fuck,” Robby sighs, scratching his chin as he looks down at his own ticket, shaking his head as he walks back to the lady behind the counter, “Listen, Ma’am, can you please check if there are any seats available–“

  “Sir, I’ve checked it for the lady next to you and gave her the same answer: no. Your seats were booked under your name, and the flight is full. We can’t change your seats, I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck,” he groans this time, throwing his head back as he tries not to look so miserable, but you can see it in the way he scrunches his face and runs a hand through his hair. 

  “Move, man, we wanna get our tickets too,” someone nudges Robby gently, and you roll your eyes at the interaction before walking away, hearing a quick ‘sorry’ and a string of curses as he tries to catch up with you.

  “Why are you following me?” You turn around abruptly, making him crash into your chest, but you are lucky he is fast enough to grab you by his arm around your waist and stop you from hitting the ground, “Watch out, grandpa.”

  “I’m not following you, kid,” he lets go of you immediately — as if your skin burned his hand — before he puts some distance between you. “Don’t get your hopes up, this is just a trip.”

  “Yeah? Then why are you following me around with your tail between your legs, Robby?” You glare at him, scoffing when he rolls his eyes and runs a hand over his face, “Don’t do that, it makes you look like you are a breath away from cardiac arrest.”

  “You might send me to one if you keep talking to me like that,” he sighs, his eyes meeting yours, gaze hardening when he sees your smug smirk, “I’m not following you, don’t flatter yourself, kid. Our seats are next to each other, it’s best if we board the plane together.”

  “I thought we were on this trip on our own, Robby,” you cross your arms over your chest, biting your cheek in annoyance, “You do remember that we broke up, right? Maybe the old age is getting to you finally.”

  “Very funny, sweetheart, but the only thing that’s getting to me is your insufferable attitude,” he says, walking past you with an innocent-looking grin, but you know him better than this, “And it wasn’t a we decision, you broke up with me.”

  “Don’t fucking start,” you grumble behind him, grabbing your suitcase and bolting past him towards the chairs without sparing him a single glance, sitting down on the only chair available in the row you saw him going to, “Oh, so sorry. You wanted to sit here?”

  “Forget about it,” he snaps at you, giving you an annoyed smile as he stands next to the seat, looking out of the big window, watching the planes land one by one. He stands with his hands in the pockets of his worn-out jeans — jeans, yes, because it’s Robby and he can’t wear something a bit comfortable even for a flight.

  You sigh and throw your head back against the edge of the chair, looking up at the high ceiling while you count the lights slowly. By accident, of course, you glance at Robby. It would be a lie if you said he didn’t look good. He does look good, straight out of your favorite fairytales, looking good, and it makes you anxious.

  He’s always had that power over you, and he knows it, or perhaps knew, given how shitty your relationship turned during the last few months of it. He knew he could consume your mind all day, making your brain shut down with full trust and simple words when he was around you, having you tremble with pleasure in many different ways.

  You take another look at him, noticing the twitch in his fingers before he buries them in the hair at the back of his head, scratching his scalp and taking a deep breath while you are busy eyeing him up and down.

  “You’re staring.” He announces, turning his head slightly to catch your eyes, the ghost of a smug smirk forming on his face already. You don’t shy away from his gaze, especially not when he notices you pulling on the skin of your lips, watching him closely as his grin widens, “Oh, you are, sweetheart.”

  “I am not,” you hiss, frowning as he shakes his head and leans down to be face to face with you, raising his eyebrow at you when you bite your lip and give him a daring look, “I’m not staring.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  It’s his time to stare at you, watching the quiver of your lips closely and the twitch of your eyelid. There is something hidden behind his big brown eyes, a longing perhaps, or a resentment he’s developed for you.

  “Sir, take my seat,” the old man next to you says, giving the two of you a disgusted look as he shakes his head, “You have a lot to talk about, it seems.”

  “Um, no—“

  “Sit down, don’t make a scene.”

  Robby thanks the guy and sits down immediately, not really wishing to sour his mood more than it already is. He spreads his thighs, his jeans grazing your pants, making you shudder at the barest contact.

  “Do we really have a lot to talk about?” He nudges your knee with his, trying to lighten your mood even though he hates to be here — or so you think.

  “No, we don’t.” You shift your knees to the side, crossing your arms over your chest, squeezing your eyes shut when you feel him let out an annoyed sigh. You do have a lot to talk about. There are many, many things you should talk about, like how his jealousy would piss you off, and he would leave for the night when you confronted him about it. Yeah, you definitely have a lot to talk about, but you don’t want to. Not now. “What are you doing here, Robby?”

  “Going on a trip I’ve paid for?”

  “I had to beg you to pay for your half because you thought we should relax and enjoy our time in the house, yet here you are dragging your ass all the way over to the Maldives.”

  “What is your point, kid?” He turns around fully in his seat to look at you, the lighthearted intentions gone as his tone drops, “I’m here now, you can’t get rid of me, I’m going on this trip.”

  “Don’t call me kid, Robby, I fucking hate it.” You don’t, you just hate how many memories it brings back. “And that’s my point! Why are you going? It’s not like you’re dying to experience this. So? Are you here just to make my life hell?”

  “I deserve this break as much as you do, if not more, kid.” You roll your eyes as he leans on the back of his chair, looking forward, “Not everything is about you.”

  “Oh, hahaha, of course it isn’t.” You sound just like him, and you know it irks him; he has rubbed his personality all over you, and it isn’t a good thing. “But this time it is, isn’t it, Robby? You always say you are too tired, that nothing can ever be good enough to leave the town for a break, but you are here.”

  “I won’t leave because you’re bitching in my ear, I won’t. We will go there and you’ll see me every fucking hour for four days. Get ready for it, sweetheart.”

  “I fucking hate you.”

  “No, you don’t,” he smirks at you, side eyeing you, watching how you seethe silently, “You actually love me, which is really embarrassing for someone who tries to act tough all the time.”

  “I only act like that around you ‘cause you hurt me, asshole,” you spit the words out, throwing one leg over the other, knocking his knee harshly, giving him a fake pitiful look, “Oh, no, sorry, did I hurt you? Boo-fucking-hoo, Robby. I don’t care, just like how you didn’t care.”

  “I’m not leaving,” he says, clutching his knees, rubbing his palm over the place you just hit, inhaling deeply, “Your efforts are in vain, kid. Good luck.”

  “Fuck you,” you hiss, standing up to grab your suitcase when you hear your boarding announcement start through the speakers, “I’m gonna make this trip hell for you.”

  “I would like to see you try.”

  •••

  “Ma’am, I need you to check the villas again. I’m sure there is at least one villa with two bedrooms. I’m begging you, please.”

  “Look, Mrs. Robinavitch—“ you glare at her so hard you are sure your eyes are about to pop out of your skull, but she isn’t phased, she only keeps talking, “We are fully booked, meaning there is no other option for you other than the villa you chose a year ago. Okay? Please enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you,” Robby cuts you off before you start begging the receptionist more than you already have, grabbing the key cards and pointing at the driver who is waiting for you to get in the cart to take you to your villa.

  Robby extends his hand to you after you thank the lady and walk away, but you slap it away and get in the cart without glancing at him, hearing his sharp laughter as he takes the seat next to you, grabbing the front seat when the driver starts taking you to your assigned spot.

  “So I was thinking—“

  “We’re fucked already—“

  “Can you listen for a second? You’ve become so miserable since you started your senior year,” Robby says, looking at you from beneath his lashes, “I was wondering if we could still do—“

  “I’ve always been miserable, and no, we can’t do the shit we booked a year ago when we were too gooey for each other. I’m not gonna go on a date on the beach with you.”

  “We paid… two thousand dollars for that one—“

  “We did?!” You gasp, hiding your face in your hands when Robby nods, “We can’t go.”

  “We have to—“

  “We don’t! We can just… go our separate ways! We don’t need to do anything together—“

  “This is your villa, Mr. Robinavitch.” The cart stops in front of a deluxe over-water villa, and you are reminded by how real this trip actually is, “I’ll bring in your stuff, please, enjoy.”

  You jump down instantly, snatching the key cards from Robby before marching towards the door, swiping the card, and entering the villa; it’s huge. There is a full-length mirror in the hallway, one bathroom on your left, and a few steps to reach the bedroom.

  “Robby?”

  You stand there, in the middle of the room with a defeated look on your face, hands on your hips as you stare at the California King bed right in front of you — huge, blindingly white, clean and ready to be used.

  You could have gotten the best dick of your life if you hadn’t broken up with the man behind you.

  “You’re taking the couch,” you point at the foot of the bed, walking on the patio that connects to the ocean with a staircase, “Ooo, lovely.”

  “I’m not taking the couch,” he follows you, sitting on the said couch, putting his ankle on his knee as he spreads his arms over the back of the cushions, looking at you while you have your back to him. If only he could do it without being reminded of how you weren’t his anymore.

  “Yes, you are, it’s not up for debate.” You turn around, leaning back on the railing, mimicking Robby’s smile, “The bed’s mine after the shit you put me through, so—“

  “The bed is big enough for five grown adults; you don’t need all that space for yourself.”

  “Yes, I do. You sleep on the couch.”

  “Nope,” he shakes his head, walking toward you, standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, “I’ll sleep right next to you.”

  “I hate you,” you grin at him, puffing out your chest and taking a step closer to him, his tummy barely brushing against yours, but you can feel the warmth of his body already.

  “I hate you more, sweetheart.”

  •••

  You take off your clothes the moment Robby slips inside the shower, tiptoeing toward the outside pool you have on the patio next to the staircase leading into the ocean.

  Robby being here won’t change your plans. You wanted to skinny dip in a clean pool and watch the sunset a year ago, and you still do. So, without caring about Robby — you definitely care, it’s kind of a show now — you slip into the warm water, sighing at the feeling enveloping your body.

  You lean on the edge of the pool, resting your head on your forearms while you watch the clouds change colors as they move in the sky. This is exactly why you planned this trip a year ago. The calmness, the silence, the soft breeze, and the smell of the ocean. And a smoking hot ex in the shower.

  Yup. Totally how you imagined it.

  You hear his footsteps: slow, deliberate, and determined. There it is, the beating of your heart and the hope that turns into reality when he approaches the patio. You have set up the steps for him to follow, and he does.

  “Enjoying the view?” He asks, joining you in the pool, but he doesn’t swim to your side; instead, he mimics his earlier pose, leaning on his elbows on the edge of the pool.

  “Yeah, until you came and ruined my moment of peace.” 

  Big mistake, you shouldn’t have turned around to look at him. Fuck, fuuuuuuck, he looks good. Naked as the day he was born, his lower body is covered by the water, his broad chest catching the peachy hues of the sunset, and his eyes twinkle as he stares at you.

  “You’re staring,” he says, running a hand through his hair — still damp from his shower, and fucking hell, the few strands that cling to his forehead are driving you nuts — before his eyes drop to your collarbones and lower, catching the sight of your tits under the water.

  “You wish,” you reply quietly, not knowing how to mask your emotions while he is only two meters away from you — fully naked by the way — and looking at you like you are the reason the sun goes down and the moon comes up, “I’m just enjoying my pool.”

  “So am I,” he shrugs, still not looking into your eyes, running his tongue over his teeth — you can follow the movement even though his mouth is closed, “By staring at you.”

  “Keep looking and I’ll bite you.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a threat,” he smiles at you, watching as you scoff and shake your head, swimming to his side before dragging a nail down his chest, then digging it in his skin, making him hiss, “Oof, kid, you’re down the wrong path.”

  “Good, whatever keeps you away from me,” you smile back sarcastically, patting his chest before putting your palms on the patio, pulling your body out of the water, rolling your eyes when he lets out a low whistle and eyes you up and down, “Pervert.”

  “You love it.”

  “Fuck no.” Fuck yes, but he doesn’t need to know that. You walk away from him, water dripping from your limbs, and he nearly breaks his neck to try and stare at your thighs. “Enjoy the sunset.”

  “I already am.”

  •••

  “Is it too late to walk back to the villa?” You ask, tapping your foot on the soft sand as the two of you stare at the large table and two fluffy cushions on each side, while the waiters place different dishes for you.

  “Yup,” Robby smiles back awkwardly when the waiters stand on the side and wait for him to ask if you need anything else, “No, everything is perfect, thank you.”

  “Fuck, is that lobster? Robby, we paid for a fucking lobster?” You kneel on one of the cushions, examining the dinner table, “Were we fucking crazy?”

  “Not just one, but three because we thought we wouldn’t be full by the end of the date,” he scratches his beard, walking through the sand to reach his cushion, taking off his sandals to sit cross-legged, scanning the table, “Okay, fuck, did we just— order oysters? We never fucking eat these things!”

  “What were we thinking, Robby? This is insane! Can we, like— send them back or something? Thank the chef and write a gratitude letter, and ask for a steak or hell, even a pizza?” You bring an oyster to your nose, smelling it before gagging and putting it down, “Fuck no, I can’t eat this shit.”

  “I mean, at least we’ve got a– what is this?” He turns the golden bottle around, squinting his eyes to read the label before doing a dramatic fall on his back, his head hitting the soft sand, “We’re fucked, sweetheart.”

  “What? What is it?” You reach across the table to grab the bottle, faking a cry as you read the words, “Moet & Chandon Rose Imperial, Case of 24 with Gold Sippers. Robby, you need to fucking talk before I scream.”

  “I don’t have any words to say–“

  “You spent over $500 on a fucking champagne, not just you but me as well. Were we preparing for you to propose to me or something?” You shriek, placing the bottle back on the table, throwing your head back as soon as you feel the evening breeze hit your neck.

  “I mean… yeah, I ordered this with buying a ring in mind…” he groans, sitting up, shaking off the sand from his hair, giving you a bashful smile, “Can’t fault a man for wanting to do you good, can you?”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not together, so I’m not sure how good you did me,” you sigh, before scooting closer to Robby, dusting off the sand from his sky blue shirt, “We’ve paid for everything, might as well enjoy it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, I just—“

  “You couldn’t have known, Robby.” You lean your head on his shoulder, watching as the hot balloons go up in the sky and the sun lowers slowly on the horizon, “Let’s just have a civil dinner for everyone’s sake. The mashed potatoes look delicious.”

  “Yeah, and the little bowls of pasta too,” he nods, kissing the top of your head before you have the chance to move away, and he looks down at his hands when you pat his shoulder and move to sit on your cushion again, “So, champagne to celebrate my failed proposal?”

  “Absolutely,” you grin, watching him while he tries to open the bottle, grabbing the knife nearby before he smashes the top of the bottle, making you scream and hand him a glass, giggling as he pours you the drink while some of the liquid spills on the sand, “You’re fucking messy.”

  “Yeah, well, one of us has to be entertaining!” He smiles fondly. For the first time in months, you are laughing at something he does, not out of sarcasm, anger, or frustration. It’s genuine, out of pure heart, and it sounds all too familiar.

  He’s missed this sound more than he likes to admit.

  “Can we eat the pasta and sneak out of here?” You ask, giving him a shy look, “Take the lobsters and champagne and order a cheap pizza while we drink in the ocean?”

  “Do you have a bag? We should also take the wine—“

  “Oh my god, are you seriously agreeing with this? No complaints, no lectures about how it’s a waste of money–“

  “Nope, nothing,” he shrugs, placing the bottle on the table before he grabs his glass, “Well, cheers to our failed relationship.”

  “Don’t say that! You make it sound like we were a mistake, but we weren’t! You were just controlling—“

  “I wasn’t!” He scoffs, clinking his glass to yours before he drowns the golden liquid, “I just didn’t like seeing men ogle my girlfriend. I don't think it was a bad thing.”

  “Oh, were you now–you know what? Let’s just stop right there. I’m quite enjoying this moment. Don’t fucking ruin it,” you tip your glass toward him, huffing out an exaggerated breath when he only looks at you as if he isn’t saying anything wrong, “don’t do that. I hate when you act like I’m crazy.”

  “Do what? I’m just looking at my girlfriend—“

  “Ex-girlfriend, Robby,” you say through gritted teeth, drowning the rest of your champagne before grabbing one of the pastas and stuffing your mouth with it, talking with a full mouth, “You do that stare thing when you think I’m in the wrong, which I rarely am by the way.”

  “Right, I’m not gonna talk about it anymore,” he sighs and stands up, offering his hand to you, and you look at it for a good minute. For a second, he thinks you are about to push it away, but he is relieved when you place your hand in his palm gently, letting him pull you to your feet without a fuss: “Grab whatever you want, we’re going back to the villa.”

  “Fuck, yes!” You take the champagne bottle after letting his hand fall and give the wine to Robby, picking up the lobster plate as you watch him put his sandals on, “You know, this would have been amazing if we had some music.”

  “I’ll play something on my phone when we get back to our room,” he says, following you out of the area the waiters cleared out for the date, walking shoulder to shoulder with you over the wooden bridge that leads to the overwater villas, “Look.”

  You follow his gaze, watching the sky turn into a bright shade of orange and pink, the image of the sunset falling over the ocean. It’s beautiful, it could have been more beautiful if you could hold his hand, but you have to enjoy the sight for now, with or without him.

  “It’s beautiful,” you say, taking a long sip from the bottle, walking ahead of him toward the villa.

  Robby stays behind for a second, his eyes trailing after you, following every step you take. It is pathetic, it really is, to look at you with heart eyes even though he was the one who caused the downfall of your relationship. If only he had worked on himself back then and regulated his insecurities, maybe you would have given him another chance.

  He takes a good look at you; you are wearing a floral dress that reaches your mid-thighs, clinging to the curves of your body just the right way, and the sight makes him dizzy, reminding him how much of an idiot he actually is.

  He comes inside the villa quickly, finding you on the patio, putting the bottle and the plate on the table before taking off your shoes, walking down the staircase that leads to the ocean, sitting on one of the stairs with your feet in the cool, clear water.

  “Hey, come join me!” You smile, kicking your feet in the water gently, “Bring the champagne too.”

  “Sure,” Robby smiles back and joins you, his large body occupying most of the space, his thighs grazing yours as he drinks from the bottle before handing it to you, his hazy brown eyes watching you closely, “You look beautiful.

  “Thanks,” you reply, suddenly feeling shy at how intense his gaze is. You used to love how he looked at you; so full of love and adoration, like somehow you were the center of his world, and anything other than you was irrelevant. Tonight, he seems like the Robby you love, the one who would feel so comfortable and happy around you, not the one with destructive thoughts that eventually pushed you over the edge.

  “Nothing to thank me for,” he wiggles his toes in the water, pouting a little, “I mean it.”

  “I bought it for tonight, you know? The dress, I mean,” You shrug, taking a swig of the champagne before you give him the bottle, leaning back on your elbow on the upper stair, “I went out a few days after we booked everything, saw the dress and thought you’d like it.”

  “I do, a lot actually,” he grins at you, his wrinkles deepening when you chuckle and shake your head, “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “I do, I do! But,” you scrunch up your nose a little, “I didn’t buy it just for dinner. I thought you’d go crazy over it and we’d have some fun after that.”

  “You’re lucky we’re not together, cause that dress would have been on the floor the moment I saw you in it,” he tells you so casually you think you are hallucinating. His eyes are darker than usual as he rakes them down all over your body, from your toes to your lips, “If only we were together.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do,” he looks away for a second, running a hand down his neck, “I’d have turned into a beast, you know me better than that, sweetheart.”

  “Well, lucky me,” you stand up, approaching the table before you grab a fork and bring the lobster to your mouth, humming at the taste, “I’d have hated you for ruining my vacation by fucking me.”

  “Yeah, lucky you,” he stands up as well, walking past you into the villa and towards the bathroom, “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “'Cause I can’t trust my self-control to keep my hands to myself.”

  And that leaves you breathless.

  •••

  It’s stupid, you tell yourself, it’s probably nothing. You told him you were on this trip as two individuals, not as a couple, not as anything other than two exes. But last night changed everything for you, and you thought he felt the same. But he has been gone the whole day, the clothes he had on yesterday are on the couch, and his phone is on the coffee table. 

  “Don’t,” you whisper to yourself as you put your perfume on. Fine, if he wants to get lost, so can you. You spotted a beach bar this morning, and now, you are determined to go and have some fun because Robby can’t ruin this trip for you; you refuse to let him do that.

  There is a lingering thought in the back of your head, and it is making you anxious. Everything was going so well last night, what changed? Why did he leave without a word before you woke up? And more importantly, why did he say those things if he wanted to disappear a few hours later?

  Doesn’t matter anymore, you walk to the beach bar, white sundress falling on your upper thighs, and your sandals catching some of the sand in them as you make your way further into the area.

  The hotel has done a wonderful job in making the atmosphere welcoming, and as much as you like to enjoy your surroundings, you can’t. Not when you notice Robby laughing at another girl, flashing her that sickeningly charming grin.

  It feels as if someone’s dumped an entire bucket of ice on you. Of course, he would go around and have fun, of course he would enjoy his vacation to full potential, of course, you were being delusional about making progress with him, and hoping for another chance.

  You walk a bit closer, taking a good look at both of them; he is leaning into her, and so is she. She looks older than you, probably mid-forties, and fuck, she is beautiful, and definitely Robby’s type.

  You feel sick to your stomach, and each quick and shallow breath you take in doesn’t help because your heart is racing a mile. You can’t do anything but watch her raise her hand and rest it on his biceps. He glances down at where she is touching him, looking up and giving her a very soft smile.

  You look away instantly, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you start to taste the metal. You need to get away from the scene as soon as you can, so with shaky legs, you take long strides to go to the other side of the bar.

  Sitting on a stool, you wait for the bartender to come and ask for your order. You wish he would come sooner because, unfortunately, you are sitting where you can see them laughing and chatting.

  “What can I get ya?”

  “Gin Tonic with a twist, make it two,” you say, tapping your fingers on the countertop while you try to take your eyes off the scene in front of you. It’s impossible, even though the bar is crowded and music fills the space, you can still hear Robby’s rich laughter across you.

  What you wouldn’t do to make him laugh like that, but someone has already taken your place, it seems.

  “Is this seat taken?” a man a few years older than you asks you, waiting for you to reply, and when you shake your head no, he sits down and rests his forearms on the countertop. “It sucks to be alone in this place.”

  “Tell me about it…” You agree, thanking the bartender when he brings your drinks, gulping down one so fast you feel your throat burning for a good few minutes, face twisting, and eyes squeezed shut, “Fuck!”

  “Rough night?” The man next to you chuckles awkwardly, sipping on his drink while he looks at you with an amused expression.

  “Yeah, unfortunately,” you take a good look at him, and you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t handsome. He is tall, muscular, with curly brunette hair and flushed cheeks. He is a beautiful guy, pleasant to the eyes, but no one compares to the man you have in mind.

  You glance across the bar, finding Robby already looking at you curiously, his fingers wrapped around his glass while the woman sitting next to him keeps talking. You turn your attention back to the man next to you, smiling softly at him before you start nursing your second glass.

  “I’m not really alone, you know,” you sigh and resume talking, “I’m here with my ex, actually. This was supposed to be our dream trip, but meh, nothing is going the way we thought it would.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Oh god, no please, don’t pity me—”

  “It’s not pity! I’m sorry he was that undeserving of you,”  he shrugs, grinning when you hit his arm playfully, “I’m serious! You’re so beautiful, I had to leave my sister alone just to shoot my shot.”

  “You are here with your sister?” you ask, turning fully toward him, suddenly feeling the burning sensation of a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. “Why would you come on a trip like this with your sister?”

  “It’s her honeymoon, and I don’t know, somehow her husband had a spare ticket, and here I am!”

  “You’re not here to ruin her honeymoon, are you?”

  “I won’t as long as you let me buy you a drink.”

  “Oooo, okay, I mean, it’s better than sharing a room with your—”

  “Sweetheart?”

  Speaking of exes, there he is — Robby with a smile that can kill a man from ten miles away, standing behind you, hands pushed into the pockets of his beige linen shorts. If he didn’t look too good, you would have slapped him across the face. You might do it anyway because he looks down at the man next to you like he wants him dead.

  “That’s your ex—”

  “Boyfriend, actually!” Robby beats you to it: “Should we leave now?”

  “No, we were talking,” you hiss at him, turning back to the man in front of you. Two can play this game, Robby. “I’m so sorry, he has always been like this.”

  “Get up, sweetheart, we had plans for the night.” he glares at you, and you glare back, standing up, but before he can hold your hand, you grab your glass and throw your drink on him, soaking his shirt completely.

  “Fuck you, Robby,” you march past him, not bothering to check and see if he is following you, but you are sure he is with how heavy his footsteps fill the open air, “I can’t believe you! How much of a fucking asshole you have to be to ruin my night like that?”

  “I didn’t ruin anything—”

  “You’re a fucking hypocrite! You can go and flirt with every woman you can get your hands on, but the second someone shows interest in me, you are scaring them away!” you scream, swiping your key card before pushing the door of the villa open, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, pacing the space around the bed, “What do you want from me, Robby?”

  “I’m not gonna watch someone else flirt with you—”

  “Robby! Oh my fucking god, do you hear yourself?” You cry out, “You can’t let others flirt with me, but you also get insecure because someone is nice enough to approach me! ‘I don’t deserve you, kid.’ Yeah, you fucking don’t because you can’t get it into your thick fucking head that maybe, just maybe I want you and nobody else! That I have never led them on, and it was you who couldn’t see my efforts.”

  He doesn’t say anything, he just stares at you with teary eyes, his lips trembling as he watches you walk around the room, rubbing your arms to soothe yourself. He takes a step closer, speechless and shocked.

  “I saw you with her, someone closer to your age, someone who isn’t like me, Robby, and you looked happy! And I understand why you’d get jealous because fuck, I wanted to throw up when I saw the way she looked at you,” you heave, wiping your tears away, “And I thought, was I so neglectful that I couldn’t make him feel secure in our relationship? Did I not show how much he meant to me—hmmm!”

  Robby kisses you so hard that you stumble back, clinging to him to keep yourself steady while you try to kiss him back. There is nothing sweet in the way he moves his lips against yours; it’s forceful, full of unresolved emotions, pent-up anger, and passion.

  You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close while he leads you toward the bed, his hands roaming your body with one thought in mind — he has to make it up to you.

  “You’re such a hypocrite,” you mumble against his lips as he trails his kisses down to your neck, grabbing the hem of your dress and pulling it off, your bra and panties following it closely — too fast, you don’t even have time to react because he is so desperate for you.

  “You can cuss me out as long as I get to eat your pussy,” he says and grabs the back of your thighs and drops you on the bed, pulling off his shirt as soon as he can before he crawls on top of you and begins to kiss a path down from your belly button.

  “I hate you—” you gasp when he bites your inner thigh, throwing your knees over his shoulders while he nibbles at your flesh, making his way to your aching pussy.

  “Yeah, I know, sweetheart.” And with that, his mouth engulfs your cunt, tongue flat against your wet folds as he drags the thick muscle up and down, enjoying how you buck your hips and grab his head.

  There is not a single thought in Robby’s head, not one, and it shows by how he is eating you out like a man starved. Months without getting to touch you, days spent together in the Pitt, yet you have been too far away from him, and now he finally has you where he wants you, where you want to be too.

  “Fuck, Robby!” you let out a shaky breath when he wraps his lips around your buzzing clit, humming as he starts hollowing his cheeks, his beard burning your skin as he feasts on you. You pull on his hair, thrusting your hips up, whining when he pushes you down with his forearm on your lower abdomen, “You’re such a loser.”

  “Oh, yeah? Tell me more, sweetheart,” he dives back in, flickering his tongue over your sensitive bud while he brings his fingers to your fluttering hole, circling the entrance with the tip of his finger before he pushes in, making you hum and go rigid in his hold.

  “Fucking pathetic,” you moan out, digging your nails into the back of his neck, “Thinking I wanted other men— ah, Roh-bbyy– I can never do that to you.”

  He adds another finger, stretching you open, relishing in every sound you make as he scissors you open with his digits, listening to the way your breath hitches when he curls his fingers inside you while his tongue does wonders on your clit.

  You can’t hold back anymore, your orgasm crashes into your body like a truck, leaving you a moaning mess under Robby’s touch. Your legs shake on his shoulders, your release coating his face as he pulls his fingers out immediately and shoves his tongue inside you, drinking you up as best as he can.

  You lie on the bed, breathless and shaky, when he gets rid of his shorts and crawls on top of you, dragging his teeth on your skin until he reaches your open mouth, pushing his tongue into the cavity and humming when you start sucking on it, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him locked to your body, tasting yourself on his tongue.

  “Still think I’m a loser?” he asks, pressing his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes as he reaches between your bodies to grab hold of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few times.

  “I’ll always think you’re a loser,” you peck the corner of his lips, arching your back when you feel him running the tip of his cock between your drenched folds, tapping your clit a few times with his member before he lines it up with your hole.

  “Well, this loser is about to fuck you.”

  “Good, just do it fa-aah!” You can’t finish your sentence because he bottoms out in one swift thrust, feeding you all his cock in a single move, punching the air out of your lungs, “Robby!”

  “I should have fucked you in front of him,” he groans into your ear, his larger body covering yours entirely as he picks up his pace, driving his dick in and out over and over, “Pretty boy thinking he’s got a chance with you.”

  It’s been quite a while since the last time you slept with anyone, and the last time was with him anyway. He is stretching you out deliciously, making your eyes roll to the back of your head with each thrust. He is pouring everything he’s felt during the past few months into fucking you, and boy, is he doing a great job.

  You claw at his back, wailing out his name in pleasure. It should feel wrong; he is your ex, and yet, you’ve never felt closer to him than you are now. You throw your head back, spine arching off the bed as the fat tip of his cock hits your cervix repeatedly, making your body pulse in delight.

  You can’t fight off your climax, nor can he. It’s kind of ironic how you both come at the same time, as if your bodies are synced even after a breakup.

  You gush around him with a moan of his name, head buried in his neck, and teeth sinking into his flesh while he groans into your hair, movements faltering as he comes deep inside you, pushing his hips into yours roughly, making sure you take everything he is giving you.

  “You are a real loser for coming so fast.”

  “Says the one who came twice in twenty minutes.”

  •••

  You toss and turn on the bed, reaching mindlessly for Robby, but you are only met with his empty space. Sitting up slowly, you spot him on the patio, sitting on one of the chairs, staring off into the horizon. You stand up, grabbing the cover and wrapping it around your naked body before approaching him.

  “Hi,” you say, smiling gently at him, and he returns it without a second thought, his grin reaching his eyes — it’s been a while since you were the reason for his smile, and it feels great to do it again.

  “Hey, c’mere,” he spreads his legs a bit, pulling you on top of him gently, and you take your time to cover his naked body, except for his boxers. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “Wanted to ask you the same thing,” you mumble, laying your head between his neck and shoulder, enjoying the warmth his body provides. “You were gone, I thought you might have ditched me again like yesterday.”

  “Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hips, resting his head on top of yours, “I was craving a cigarette so bad, I had to distract myself.”

  “Good,” you nuzzle your face in his neck completely, kissing his pulse point quickly, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “You wanted to skin me alive a few days ago,” he chuckles at your groan, holding you tighter against him.

  “Yeah, well, I still wanna do that, so you're treading on thin ice, mister,” you tell him, wrapping one arm around him, gently scratching the nape of his neck, knowing how he calms down immediately, “You shouldn’t have done that last night.”

  “I’m sorry,” He sighs, “I just… sometimes I can’t control my thoughts, it’s fucked up, I know that, but… I keep thinking about how someone your age could treat you better, someone who doesn’t come with a heavy emotional baggage—”

  “Robby, look at me.” You cup his cheek, forcing him to listen to you, “If I wanted someone like that, I’d be with him. But I don’t want that, I want you, with all your stupidity and your jealousy to some extent, because when we were together… it would get out of hand sometimes.”

  “I know, I’m so sorry about that. I’m trying, I’m really fucking trying.”

  “That’s amazing, and we will talk about it later when we get back to Pittsburgh, okay? Let’s just enjoy our time for now.” You kiss him softly, and he reciprocates without hesitation, but the moment is cut short when Robby pulls back suddenly.

  “We have to go out in a few hours.”

  “Why?” you ask, kissing his cheek down to his jaw, enjoying how his beard scratches your face.

  “Because I just remembered we’ve booked two jet skis for an hour—”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? How the fuck are we gonna— you’re not serious, are you?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately, I am, and we paid for it.”

  “This has to be our last vacation for a while,” you poke his chest, giggling when he brings the finger up to his mouth and bites it gently, “Only road trips from now on, at least they are less chaotic.”

[pinkpuppipawz]

Imagine the saja boys finding a male reader and they make him their manger. Maybe they stage a fake contest. Now they use him as a human witness so the girls can't attack with him around. So each guy spends one on one time with him. Casual things so like baby takes him out to eat lunch and of course piles on the hot sauce on hid food. What do you know they ran into one or all of the girls? Gives the boys another way to mess and give a good public image.

HUMAN SHIELD

°ᡣ𐭩 . Saja Boys x GN! Manager! Reader

CONTENTS ꒱ ➜ reader is on their breaking point, the boys enjoying toying with huntrix, platonic relationship with reader(?), mentions of murder

CREDITS ꒱ ➜ Saja Boys belong to KPOP Demon Hunters (Sony) on Netflix

AUTHORS NOTE ꒱ ➜ I know you said male reader but unfortunately at the moment I am planning on only writing for GN! Reader bc I want everyone to enjoy my writing, hope it doesn’t change much and you still enjoy it :3

the demon boy band knew that Huntrix was high on their track, planning on at some point to end them and gwi ma once and for all

but they weren’t having it

they needed to think of a way to prevent the hunters from interfering with their plan for as long as possible to ensure loads of souls were collected for gwi ma

they all huddled together one day, discussing ways to help protect themselves. when Jinu thought of the best plan possible

then the topic of a contest was brought up, they all agreed on it

in short, members of the public purchase one ticket with a number and whoever’s number they pull out of a hat is their ‘manager’ (human shield)

you bought a ticket as they were shockingly cheap for the Saja Boys. you honestly didn’t expect to win, just wanted a shot

only for them to call out your ticket number

you expected it to be a normal manager role, not whatever this was

whenever a member went out by himself in public, he always dragged you along no matter where he was going

wether that be Baby dragging you to a restaurant for lunch, hot sauce piled on his food, even his dessert (he’s a psychopath)

Abby forcing you to join him in the gym, claiming he only wants you there to hold his water bottle and towel (he defo did NOT want you there just to flex his muscles and abs at all times possible)

Romance claiming he wants a ‘shopping partner’ e.g. just a clothing hanger to hold all the clothes he wants to buy. he throws them on you, even throws them on your face. one time he honestly forgot you were there and nearly had a heart attack when you popped out of the hoard of clothes like a meerkat

Jinu always claims he needs a ‘bodyguard’ of sorts when out and about, just in case a fan jumps him you know?

Mystery doesn’t go out often, only needs you with him if he’s alone inside cause he ‘gets lonely’

huntrix tried getting rid of them a few times when they’re out and about in dodgy alleyways and such, the perfect chance to kill them right? wrong! there you are, their human manager, giving them a few ideas for future concerts, what to wear and future meet and greets with fans

when you were too busy looking at your phone to write things down and talk to certain company’s, the boys all simultaneously turned around to face the girls, eyes glowing yellow and grins as devilish as ever

one time the girls were so close to their ultimate goal, only for you to suddenly appear out of seemingly nowhere (you literally did due to jinu using his demon powers to teleport you without you knowing)

you greeted the girls with a grin, congratulating them on their new song and such, completely oblivious to the glares the girls were giving the boys

fun fact: you don’t know that they’re demons, you’re completely oblivious to it. the boys honestly believe if they were to change to their demon forms you wouldn’t even realise or react

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