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celestie0 · 10 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore.

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside.

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets.

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to.

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head.

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.”

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life.

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true?

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything.

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced?

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field.

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time.

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again.

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.”

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.”

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater.

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.”

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern.

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable.

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd.

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle.

And then the kickoff starts.

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net.

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit.

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU.

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play.

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead.

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts.

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him.

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you.

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet.

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net.

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines.

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state.

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff.

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line.

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball.

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post.

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him.

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with.

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully.

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in.

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field.

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime.

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing.

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet.

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you.

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet.

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side.

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound.

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.”

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field.

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together.

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.”

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long.

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you.

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security.

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space.

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus.

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius.

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does.

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo.

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team.

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk.

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play.

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net.

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock.

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum.

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field.

The referee chirps his whistle.

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion.

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over.

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath.

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!”

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed.

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

taglist:

@megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

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ilium-ilia · 19 days ago

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tongue on loving wound

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader | omegaverse!au | alternate universe to In Limbo | alpha!ghost x omega!fem!reader | masterlist

Chapter Three: leave me panting on the kitchen floor like a dog begging for scraps

tw: smut, scenting, scent intox, intense first time heat, fingering, creampie, breeding kink, scent gland playing

By some miracle, Simon manages to get you to sleep through the first night of your heat.

It doesn’t come easy. You wake often in fits, whimpering and writhing as you try to pry yourself from the nest for no discernable reason other than the fact that you’re uncomfortable. Itching from the inside out. Stuck within your own wretched skin. Sweat glues the two of you together as he holds you back, not that it takes much effort. You’re weak. You give in easily at the mere weight of his forearm across your torso and quiet shushing against the shell of your ear.

The only thing that truly quells this discomfort blossoming in you seems to be his scent. Thick hormones—a near paralytic. For hours he lies next to you with his palm cradling the back of your head as he keeps your face pressed against his neck where the secretions of his scent is most potent. You nap like a baby when he’s got you like this. Quiet, and drooling as if you’re starving for a taste of him.

A few hours in, you almost rouse. Somehow during his own sleep, you’ve managed to turn away from him. Back against his chest, face in the sheets—he wakes at the sound of your groan. Thick and caught in your throat like phlegm, he snaps awake as if it’s an alarm. Panicking, he grabs the first article of his clothing he can find within the nest and shoves it against your nose as if to gag you. It knocks you out cold as if it’s chloroform and not the mere scent of him.

When Simon notices that it’s a pair of his boxers, he thinks he ought to switch it out for something less degrading, but the way you mindlessly nuzzle into it with a sigh warns him he shouldn’t.

Dawn breaks over the house in pale silver. A storm is brewing. Downright angry with thunder humming in the distance and light rain already spitting against the window panes. When he notes that you’re still fast asleep, Simon does his best to slip out of the nest unnoticed. Careful, strong limbs guide him over your body until he’s steady on the floor.

It’s hard to fight his own instincts as he looks down at your curled form, and he can’t pretend as if your scent isn’t intoxicating. All things soft that follows brutality—blood after a laceration, gauze on wound, a shuddering breath from a punctured lung. Your hand begins to stretch in your sleep, fingers unfurling before curling into the mess of blankets and clothes. The sight makes him dizzy; forces all the blood in his body to flow where it knows he needs most.

Swallowing, he strips his shirt off of his torso before placing it on top of his boxers, gifting you his fresh scent before he leaves the room.

If he had known your body was about to spring such a brutal heat upon you, Simon would have prepared better, and a part of him is a bit frustrated that he wasn’t able to pick up on the scent. He stares at the sparse contents of his fridge with pursed lips. For half the night you’ve been sweating, overheating, and damn near combusting. Body thrown into overdrive, forcing your mind to undergo something you’ve never had to experience before. You’re using up too many nutrients. You need food. Water. And, of course, the obvious.

Simon snatches up a half finished packet of bacon before turning the stove on and shoving bread in the toaster. He rummages through his pantry in search for more protein. Nutella, or peanut butter—something with calories, something that’ll fuel the two of you with enough energy for what’s about to take place.

The bacon is halfway done when an inconsiderate clap of thunder shakes the house. Every wall rattles around him, and he wrenches his eyes shut as he holds his breath, hackles raised. It isn’t long before he picks up the faint sound of your feet trudging down the hallway.

“Simon?” He can tell from your voice alone that you’re already dehydrated. Each syllable cracks in your throat as you walk up to him with mist in your eyes. “Come back to bed, please.”

And he wants to. Oh, how he’d sweep you into his arms and lay you back in your nest and shove his cock into your pussy as many times as you need—and he will, in due time. But right now the drive to take care of you is stronger than something as debauched as that.

“Not yet, baby,” Simon murmurs. He stifles your pout with a gentle caress of his thumb against your cheek. “Gotta get some food in ya, first. Grab a seat, I’ll be done soon.”

You don’t wander far despite his prompting. Wobbly, unstable knees give out beneath you and he finds you sitting on the kitchen floor next to him as he continues to cook. Bacon grease pops and sears the bare skin of his chest, but it’s easy to ignore the pain when you’re clinging to his leg. Hands wrapping around his thigh, forehead rolling back and forth over his hip.

It isn’t long before you begin to wander. Nose prodding against his crotch, Simon feels himself harden within an instant. He does his best to push it out of his mind as he sets a plate for you, but the audible sounds of your inhaling leaves his mind spinning. It only worsens when your lips fall apart to press against the band of his joggers in an open mouthed kiss, wanting tongue already darting out to wet the cotton.

“Sweetheart,” Simon sighs. He places his hand on the crown of your head, prompting your neck to crane back to look at him. Everything about you is wet—your cunt, your eyes, glistening tears on your cheeks, sweat coating your throat, all failing to douse the fire churning within you. “You gotta eat.”

“I don’t wanna eat.” You’re getting bratty now. Whining with your brain telling you to devour one thing, and it certainly isn’t food. Trembling fingers curl into his joggers before you yank, sending the band pulling past his hip bone. “I feel worse. I just—everything is so foggy. You said you were gonna—Simon you said—you were gonna take care of me.”

He steadies both your body and attitude with a soft grip on your jaw. The movement silences you immediately, and all you can do is stare up at him as he clicks the stove off and retrieves your breakfast with his free hand.

“Poor little ‘mega thinks she’s got this all figured out, yeah?” He tilts his head to the side as he leans forward; nothing but a curious dog. “But you don’t, do you sweet girl? That’s why you need me. Need your alpha to take care of you, don’tcha?”

Simon slinks low enough until he’s on the ground next to you, plate of food on the floor to his left while his legs sprawl out. When his thighs part, the straining bulge in his pants is glaring. Growing ever rounder, more firm, damn near throbbing through the fabric—it’s hard to tear your eyes away from the sight when he pats his lap.

“C’mere sweet girl. We’re gonna eat.”

He situates you until you’re between his legs, back pressed against his chest and head rolling against his shoulder. Simon feeds you by hand. Slowly. Salted pork, buttered toast—it all presses past your lips until every crumb is in your mouth. Though your whimpering hasn’t stopped, your kvetching has. Jaw too busy chewing, biting through flesh, retaining the energy he knows you’re going to need.

While one hand feeds your mouth, the other feeds your cunt. Shoved past the band of your panties, Simon’s fingers swirl around your clit effortlessly with the wetness that’s accumulated over the countless hours. You’re impossibly firm, tender skin perking up nice and pretty just for him. Every now and then he slips a finger into your hole just to feel the way your hips jump and writhe.

“S-Simon,” you gasp.

“Less talkin’ and more eatin’ baby.” He brings the last half of toast up to your mouth where you gingerly take a bite, incisors hardly stealing more than a nibble.

“B-But I’m—you’re—everything feels weird like… like tight and… fuzzy…”

He knows exactly where this is going. It’s been growing for the last few minutes in the twitching of your legs, nerves misfiring, muscles contracting, a flood of spasms waiting to erupt. Before he lets that happen, he presses the last mouthful of toast into your mouth and waits for you to swallow before his fingers begin to pick up their pace.

“Yeah? What else, baby? S’it feel good?” Simon prods—playing with his food.

All you can do is mumble something hardly coherent as you nod. Back beginning to arch, hips levitating off the floor, heels digging into the hardwood—you shatter with a squeaking groan. Taut thumbs curl into his thighs where you hold purchase to keep yourself steady before you’re panting and gasping as if you’ve already sucked all the air from the world and you’re still hungry for more.

“Atta girl, there she is. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Eatin’ all your food like a good pet.” Once your breathing has calmed down a considerable amount, he raises his hand to your mouth where his fingers are still stained with bacon grease and crumbs. “Be a doll and lick me clean.”

You follow his order with a gusto he didn’t expect you to muster after he dismantled you like this. Taking his fingers into your mouth, you suck each and every one of them clean, all the way down to his thumb. When he raises his other hand away from your sex, your jaw falls slack, waiting for him to ask you to do the same, but he only chuckles.

“Nuh uh, this treat’s for me, sweetheart.”

Tight muscles begin to melt beneath his touch as Simon’s hands wander over your body. Heat still emanates out of you as if you’re a furnace, but he notes how the perspiration isn’t as thick anymore—which could either be a good or bad thing. He hums something about needing to clean up before he slips out from behind you. With all the strength sapped from your body, you do not wander off, but instead lie on the floor with your cheek pressed to the cold ground.

Rain slaps violently against the window as he begins to wash up. The food he had made for himself has gone cold, but he shovels it into his mouth before disposing of the grease and soaping the plates and pan. Thunder purrs overhead and Simon thinks about how perfect everything is. You, here where it’s safe as this storm rages on, hidden deep in his den where not even the elements can lay a hand on you.

Simon’s drying his hands off by the time he turns back around to check on you, and that string that tugs at his navel nearly forces him to pounce on you. Knees digging into the hardwood, rump raised high into the air while your face stays flat on the floor—your hands are between your thighs and he can see everything. How you desperately try to move the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, the way your fingers pitifully press into your hole, palms pressing at your cheeks, spreading yourself wide for him.

“Too empty,” you cry. “Simon, i-it feels wrong; please fix it, fix me, I can’t…”

He’s on his knees behind you in an instant. Hands ghosting over your lower back, kneading into the tense muscle before his fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear. You’re swaying with his movements, unsteady even as you’re nearly laying. Jasmine wafts in the air and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull.

“Need your alpha’s cock, is that it sweet girl?” he asks. Simon tugs at the fabric and yanks them past your hips until there’s nothing covering your sex. He can see her in all her quivering glory—glistening and clenching. Waiting. “C’mon, what do you need, baby?”

“You!” Your response leaves in a near shriek, only to die off to a susurrus. Then, your swaying tenses. “My… my alpha?”

“Yeah, your alpha, baby,” he nods.

“My alpha. I want it.”

You’ve waited so long, and been such a good girl about it. Laying pretty for him in a nest strewn in his bed, waiting by his feet as he cooks, came so sweetly on his fingers—he cannot deny you this. Simon shoves the waistband of his joggers down and grunts at the way he springs free, cock bobbing as he tenses before he takes it into his hand. Warm metal greets his palm as he lazily strokes himself, squeezing precum free from his tip so he can wipe it off on your cunt and chuckle at the way you jolt.

A sob escapes your throat when he pushes in. You stretch so well around him, pulling him in and forcing him to stop once you’ve swallowed the head of his cock. You’re panting, fingers curling into your palms, nails digging into the flesh, knuckles tapping against the floor as your feet begin to kick.

“Easy baby,” Simon says through a hiss, grabbing your hips for his own stability.

“More, more please, I can’t- too empty, Si, too empty,” you babble.

He’s impressed at how easy it is to shove the rest of himself in. Not even his frequent lays before this could ever take him as well as you do now, and he has to bite back the murmur that bubbles in his chest. This is proof. Your scent—sweet and tender in the way death always is—how you’ve so easily wrapped him around your finger, consumed every thought—his mate. His omega.

That tender spot on the side of your neck looks tastier by the minute.

Simon’s pace is quick—you won’t accept anything less. Whimpering every time he attempts to give you a break, begging for more, refusing to let him treat you as if you’re delicate; he relents. Fingers curling into your hips, broad thighs slapping against your own, sending sharp claps echoing throughout the empty kitchen; it’s raw. Pure and unadulterated.

It’s frustrating how fast his orgasm approaches, but he can tell by the kicking of your feet that it’s exactly what you’re wanting from him. To be full not only of him, but everything he has to offer. You’re begging now. Incoherent rambling hits the floor as your head lowers as if in prayer. All Simon can do is hold on to the fat of your ass as he watches the way his cock plunges into you, wetness glistening along the back of your thighs as you soak him to the very bone. His jaw clenches, teeth creaking, diaphragm spasming—

A strangled sob leaves your throat when he comes. He’s twitching inside of you, half sheathed but still filling you up properly with all the spend he has to offer. With narrowed eyes, Simon witnesses the way his knot swells just outside the entrance of your pussy and he growls. It hurts. Too much pressure and not enough counterweight to squeeze him tight—the tender skin bulges and reddens. Cursing, his palm slams against the cabinet as he grinds into you, but it’s useless to offer any reprieve for his aching knot.

Once you’ve caught your breath, he finds you finally looking back over your shoulder. Neck craned, hips rolling—it isn’t long before you’re pouting. Dazed, Simon doesn’t realize the way you’re pulling away from him until it’s too late. You rock back into him, body colliding with his knot in a way that makes him growl. Instinctively, he reaches a hand for the nape of your neck before he presses hard, forcing your chest to the floor, leaving you squirming.

“None of that,” Simon warns.

“You didn’t give me your knot,” you whine.

“You’re not ready for that yet, baby.” His weight forces you to collapse until you’re flat on your stomach, legs straightened with his thighs forcing them apart. The fear of being crushed ought to scare you, but all you do instead is moan. “Too much at once for a sweet ‘mega like you.”

Hips still wiggling, you attempt to shake your head as best as you can. “I can take it! I need it, need you so bad Simon, you’re so- you’re so mean.”

“Mean?” He can’t help but chuckle at that. “No baby, I’m takin’ care of ya. Just like I said I would, yeah?” His grip loosens on the back of your neck, but his thumb begins to wander to that quivering gland. You tense, body ready and eager; your head tilts to the side. “I’ll give you this knot nice and proper later, yeah baby?”

You wiggle in defiance. “I can’t wait, Si. I don’t wanna wait.”

“You can do it, sweetheart. I know you can.”

Without warning, his thumb digs into the side of your neck where the skin of your shoulder meets your throat. Your mouth falls open but a sound doesn’t escape you for a long moment until a moan eventually bleeds out between your lips. Soft gland pinched by his nail, every inch of you begins to tremble. Cock still shoved inside of you, he feels the way you come just from that mere touch—that feigned bite that he knows your brain craves primally, but is unsure if it’s what you truly want.

Simon’s eyes close as you squeeze him in rhythm with your orgasm and he doesn’t loosen his grip until you’ve gone truly limp beneath him. Perspiration coats your face but that doesn’t stop him from leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“You’re drinkin’ some water, then you’re gonna nap, yeah?” It’s not a question, but rather a preordained series of events he knows you need.

The fight has been drained out of you—for now—and you nod with a sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

It takes several minutes to get you back into the nest you so meticulously put together on his bed. Pulling out of you, Simon sits on the floor next to you as he rubs your back until the strength returns to your body, but even then your knees are nothing but jelly, and he has to guide you to the room with an arm wrapped around your waist.

You settle into the plush sheets and mess of his clothes so nicely, having already carved out a space for yourself. He lets you rest for only a moment before he’s cupping your chin and pressing a water glass to your lips. Half of it spills out of your mouth. Soft streams dribbling down your chin, wetting your chest—you hum at the way it cools your feverish skin.

Simon hardly has time to settle into the nest next to you before you’re winding up again. Hands pawing at his chest, nose nuzzling against his flank, mouth wandering too far down for his comfort—he has to cradle your face into the side of his neck to even temporarily sedate you, but even then your wiggling persists. He attempts to satiate you by jamming his thigh between your legs to allow you to grind against him, but if anything the stimulation only works you up even more.

“Is it time for more?” Your question is so saccharine his teeth ache at the thought of biting into something so sugary.

“Not yet, baby, you need to rest first,” he gently reminds.

“No, it’s okay, I’m ready.”

He chuckles. “No you’re not.”

You attempt to look up at him but he refuses to let you rip your face free from his neck, so instead your hips begin to rock more violently. Naked clit sliding along the fabric of his joggers, he can smell the wetness. Brine and cum, flowers and blood—his growl emanates low in his chest.

“But I want you. I want- I want everything, Si,” you whine.

“Everything?”

“You, and—oh everything. Your babies, I wanna- I just- it’s too much, I just need it, I know I do.”

Electricity shoots through his brain at that. Your babies. Everything short circuits as your hips continue to rock and grind, stomach dangerously close to the growing desire separated only by the cotton of his trousers. His knot is still angry—frustrated at being ignored—but your talking has him riled up again.

“You don’t want that, baby, that’s just the hormones talkin,” he murmurs.

“Yes I do,” you huff with a challenge. “I can… smell it. It’s so strong. You. Your scent. Fuck, it’s so good. My alpha. My alpha, and I’m your omega, you said it! You said it! You can smell it too.”

He can’t tell what’s worse—your rambling or the fact it’s making so much sense. Puzzle pieces falling together, intersecting lines pulling taut, dragging him towards this fantasy. Images of you, plump and round with his kids haunts his mind and he finds his heart freezing at the thought because fuck why does that sound so good? So delicious?

“My alpha… my mate… want you to fill me up, wanna have your babies, wanna—oh—be all yours a-and… f-fuck…”

Legs tightening around his thigh, fingers digging into his arms—your orgasm catches him off guard as your hips stutter to a stop. Though your words are now lost, Simon feels them echoing around in his skull, bouncing off the bone and burrowing straight through the grey matter of his brain. It’s a dangerous seed. Quick to germinate and root until all rational thought is snuffed out.

His only saving grace is that you’re riding out your high and melting in his arms, temporarily satiating you. Holding you closer, he takes a deep breath with his nose pressed against the top of your head while he attempts to ignore the sticky parchedness of his canines.

“Try to get some sleep, baby,” he urges before you can regain your energy again.

You grumble against his throat. “I’m not tired.”

“If you get some rest, I’ll knot you properly when you wake up.”

At that, you perk. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

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#ilium writing #sr ilia #tolw #in limbo #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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plutotheplum · 3 months ago

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chapter four | the chariot

caleb x fem!reader

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “You’re not leaving.” Caleb stalks towards you, his fingers sliding under your chin, tilting your head up. “You’re not leaving until you’re fucked full of my cum.” He dips his head, the tip of his nose grazing yours. “Understand, sweetheart?”

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, modern au, smut, fluff, kissing, oral sex, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, biting, bondage, vaginal fingering, handjob, dog tags, inappropriate photos, confessions

wc: 6.9k

a/n: this turned out to have a little more romance than i was expecting to write but i hope you enjoy! caleb is just soooo 🫦

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the emperor

“Why are you wearing a scarf?”

You clear your throat, fingers tapping against the side of your glass of juice agitatedly.

“It’s quite cold, isn’t it?” you supply lamely, fingers itching to reach up and tug the scarf tighter around your neck, desperately hoping that Caleb hadn’t taken notice of the marks that were now in full bloom.

“Cold?” he echoes, raising his brows. “We’re in the middle of spring. Are you feeling sick?”

You hardly hear his question because you’re too busy trying to tilt your head in a way that doesn’t look too suspicious. The stupid fabric was beginning to itch, and it was driving you crazy.

Xavier had offered to help when he’d found you in his kitchen in the morning, desperately twirling a whisk against your neck. It had hardly helped. You would’ve opted for a turtleneck, but there was a certain lack of them in your closet. Instead, you’d rummaged around, managing to fish out an oddly-patterned scarf from the depths.

“C’mon, are you sick?” Caleb prods, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, the couch dipping under both your weights as you shift.

“No,” you mumble, silently wishing that this wasn’t happening right now. All you can manage is a pitiful excuse. “I just happen to really like scarves, Caleb.”

“Well, it looks ridiculous,” he says drily, nuzzling into your cheek. “You gonna take it off anytime soon?”

“It’s chic,” you correct, trying to squirm away from him. “And no, I’m still cold.”

Caleb huffs out a laugh, his lips pressing against your cheek fondly. You bite your lip when he picks you up, situating you on his lap, his chest warm against your back. Normally, it’d feel nice if you weren’t currently overheating and overwhelmed.

You stiffen when Caleb rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you closer. His lips drag across your jaw in a fleeting kiss and you can feel your eyes sliding shut, lulled into a state of comfort by his thumbs gently rubbing circles into your stomach through your dress.

Out of everyone, Caleb was the one you’d known the longest. You’d grown up together, until he’d moved away for a couple of years before coming back, his demeanor a little more intense than you’d remembered. You still weren’t sure of the reason, but Caleb had gotten sterner over the years, less willing to let you go.

He’d been your first kiss back then, your lips clumsy and inexperienced when he’d kissed you and shy, fleeting glances exchanged between you when he’d walked you home, his hand grasping yours firmly.

You’d never quite gotten the chance to explore the possibility of something more… serious with him, not when Caleb was joining the military soon after. You’d hardly even seen him around until the past few months, his schedule freeing up while he awaited deployment.

“I missed you,” Caleb murmurs, his nose nudging against the side of your head.

“I missed you too,” you mumble, playing with his fingers, your palm pressing against his a few moments later, hands locking together.

He smiles, and you hum when he squeezes your hand, wiggling on his lap happily. Caleb lets out a low noise, one his hands curling over your hip to stop you.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers, his eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re no fun.”

Caleb huffs out a breath, his face pressing into your neck with the intention of mouthing across your skin. He lets out an irritated noise when he’s met with a faceful of your woolly scarf, letting out an exasperated breath.

“Please take the damn thing off.”

“Can’t,” you reply, feigning innocence, “it’s too cold.”

Caleb narrows his eyes. “I can warm you up.”

You shake your head, jerking out of his grasp when he tries to tug your scarf free from around your neck. You’re at your wits end, squeaking when Caleb tries to lunge for you again.

“I want to have sex with the scarf on, Caleb!”

“Is that a new kink?” he laughs, his eyes lighting up, “c’mon baby, you gotta take it off.”

You squeal when he manages to catch you, your little dance around his coffee table coming to an end when he pulls you into his chest, his arms firm and unrelenting, preventing your escape.

“S- stop!” you yelp, trying to squirm out of his arms, shrieking when he hooks his fingers into the gap between your scarf and neck, pulling it free. “Caleb!”

Caleb catches your hand when you try to cover up your neck, his expression dropping when he sees the extent of damage Xavier had laid to your skin. You stare up at him, swallowing nervously, fingers itching at your side, desperately wanting to snatch the scarf back from him.

“What,” he sucks in a shaky breath, “what the fuck is that?”

“N- nothing!” you protest, trying to turn your back to him. “It’s- it’s probably just an allergic reaction to my scarf!” You manage to twist yourself, hand shooting out to grab your scarf, pretending to give the little tag a once-over. “Mhm, yep, definitely an allergic reaction. I- I am, in fact, allergic to wool.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Caleb scoffs, “I know you aren’t allergic to anything.”

“It happens with age,” you lie through your teeth, “ever heard of dermatitis?”

Caleb stares at you blankly, shaking his head incredulously after a moment. “You’ve been spending too much time with Zayne,” he mutters. You watch uneasily as he balls his hands up into fists before he unclenches them, his fingers spreading out in a strained gesture. “Who did it?”

“Xavier,” you mumble, playing with your fingers.

“I’m going to missile strike his apartment.”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so on edge. “You can’t do that,” you reply exasperatedly, “I live in the same apartment complex, remember? Besides, wouldn’t that be like a crime?”

“That is a crime,” Caleb snaps, pointing at your neck accusingly, “I mean what the fuck did you do with him? He’s practically tried to devour you whole.”

You flush when you remember what you had done with Xavier. The teasing, the feeling of his mouth on your tits, you’d enjoyed it.

Caleb glares at you when he sees the faraway look in your eyes, his arms crossing over his chest. “You don’t have to look so satisfied.”

“Well, he did satisfy me,” you mutter under your breath, shifting on your feet awkwardly.

Caleb scrubs a hand over his face before running his fingers through his hair. His jaw clenches as he stares down at you, gaze fixated on the discolored splotches that cover your neck. There’s an uncomfortable tension in the air and you wring your hands together, averting your gaze from his.

“I can leave,” you offer quietly, “if that’s what you w-”

“What?” you ask breathlessly, somehow pinned in place by his darkened gaze and stern expression, holding none of the playful humor that you were accustomed to.

“You’re not leaving my apartment until I fuck you full of my cum,” Caleb repeats, tightening his grip on you. “Do you understand?”

“Well, I-” you sputter, cheeks hot, struggling to comprehend his words.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, spinning you around, his palm warm against your stomach. You bite back a whimper when he caresses your stomach, his hand pressing down firmly when you turn your head, eyes fluttering shut.

Caleb keeps his hand there, fingers splaying out, trying to encompass every inch of you that he can. His nose nudges against the side of your head, his breath hot against your skin. “Cat got your tongue, hm? You can go and sleep with those two pieces of shit but you can’t answer a simple question, huh?”

“Xavier’s not a piece of shit,” you shoot back agitatedly, eyes opening to send him an irritated look. “And neither is Rafayel. Grow up, Caleb.”

“I was right here,” he hisses, glaring down at you. “I was right fucking here and you decided you wanted to fuck four other men to have a fucking baby.”

“Yes, I did,” you retort sharply, turning in his arms, your finger pressing into his chest harshly. “If you can’t handle that, then maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

Caleb’s eyes flash with anger, his grip on you loosening when you take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I agreed first,” he snaps, “or did you forget about that little detail?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” you say exasperatedly, throwing your arms up. “I’m here, in your fucking apartment, Caleb! And yes,” you snap harshly, blinded by your irritation, not quite paying attention to the words slipping out of your mouth, “I want to be fucked full of your cum!”

Caleb’s expression falters when he hears the latter part of your outburst, his eyes widening. Your chest heaves, a frustrated sound leaving you when you realize what you’ve said. You may as well have grabbed a shovel and started looking for a plot of land to bury yourself in.

Instead, you send him a glare that you hope is venomous enough, shoving past him to save face, storming into his bedroom.

“Hey, what are you-” Caleb begins, trailing after you awkwardly, his movements unsure.

Still fuming, you unzip your dress, flinging the fabric at his stupidly handsome face, irritated by his bewildered expression. Caleb’s face disappears for a moment while he sputters, managing to ball your dress up before you throw your bra and panties in his face too. His cheeks flush at the sight of your panties, his fingers clenching around the lace.

“I’m ready,” you announce, well aware of the marks Xavier had left on your breasts and a few more that were hidden between your thighs. You gesture towards yourself. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Fuck me.”

“Uh-” Caleb clears his throat, taken aback by your sudden burst of determination, “maybe you should… calm down first?”

“You think I should calm down?” you retort sharply, “you’re the one that was throwing a temper tantrum!”

“For good reason!” he protests, setting your clothes down on top of his dresser before stepping towards you. “All someone needs to do is take one look at your neck and they’d understand where I’m coming from.”

“You started it with Xavier,” you hiss, finger prodding into his chest once again, “if you hadn’t riled him up, then maybe he wouldn’t have done this.” You gesture towards your neck agitatedly.

“Clearly it’s not just your neck, is it?” Caleb murmurs, his hand sliding up over your waist, his warm, calloused hand cupping your breast, squeezing gently. “All over your tits too.” He frowns at the sight, leaning back to watch your nipples harden at his ministrations, his eyes narrowing when he sees the splotchy marks left by Xavier. “You call that fair, sweetheart?”

All you can manage is a stubborn pout, averting your gaze. He sighs, and you shuffle forward, pressing your face into his chest. “He apologized,” you say, remembering the way Xavier had been on his knees. You let out a heavy breath. “Turns out he’s really good at apologizing.”

“I bet he is,” Caleb grumbles bitterly, his fingers pinching at your nipple absentmindedly.

You whimper, silently cursing yourself for being so weak. Caleb’s other hand comes up to cup your other breast, weighing it in his hand. The breath he lets out sounds a little too strained to be considered normal, your head tilting upwards to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he says finally, his thumbs stroking over your nipples, his expression turning slightly serious.

Caleb lowers his head, his nose brushing against yours. He doesn’t go any further, simply staring into your eyes. It’s a little unnerving until you realize what he wants from you. Fingers curling into his shirt, you bring him a little closer to you, eyes slipping shut as your lips meet his in a chaste kiss.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper against his lips, “for not being understanding of your um-” you pause, trying to think of the right word, “preferences?”

He hums, his hand sliding up over the side of your neck to cup your cheek. “Yeah,” Caleb murmurs, “I still don’t think you understand what you mean to me.”

You blink up at him, brows furrowing in confusion. Caleb’s eyes bore down into yours, his expression conflicted. You stare into his eyes searchingly when you think you spot a hint of wistfulness breaking through. “Caleb?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers, both of his hands cupping your cheeks now. “I like you, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you say, the tension bleeding out from you. “I like you too, Caleb,” you chirp, a smile on your face, “you didn’t have to scare me like that.”

“What?”

“What?” you parrot back, confusion marring your expression yet again.

“No,” Caleb huffs out an irritated breath, “no, I like you.”

You give him a blank look. “...I know. You just said that.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, “I like you as in romantically. As in I’ve spent the last fifteen years of my fucking life pining after you.”

What? Your mouth opens before you close it, stunned into silence. You always knew Caleb had a little thing for you, but fifteen years?

“And you didn’t say anything earlier?” you manage out, “and you chose to confess now?” You gesture towards your bare body, cheeks flushing.

“The timing was never right,” he replies stubbornly, his eyes narrowing, “and yes.”

“I don’t think the timing is right now!” you protest, shaking your head.

“You don’t feel the same way.”

You shoot him an indignant look. “I didn’t say that, Caleb. It’s just… it’s complicated. You know it is.”

“Always is with you, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his jaw clenching.

“Are you serious?” you begin, feeling cornered, “if you had just said some-”

You’re cut off when Caleb dips his head, pressing a bruising kiss against your lips, one that steals the air from your lungs, leaving your vision blurry when he pulls back.

“It’s okay,” Caleb says, his arms sliding under your thighs to pick you up before he dumps you on his bed unceremoniously. “The baby’s going to be mine, and when it is, I’m going to put a pretty fucking ring on this finger.”

“Marriage?” you squeak out, your complaints muffled by his mouth when he crawls over you, his mouth working against yours hungrily.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, pecking your lips gentler this time, “‘m gonna marry you, sweetheart.”

You were fairly certain the constant high altitudes he was flying at had gotten to his brain. Zayne could help, you think belatedly, until that thought is brushed away when he kisses your cheek, his lips returning to yours soon after, his tongue licking into your mouth,

“What if the baby’s not yours?” you ask him breathlessly, thighs spreading wider when he settles his hips between them.

Caleb frowns at you, his grip adjusting on your hip. “It’ll be mine,” he says self-assuredly, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You can’t be sure-”

“I’ll cum twice,” Caleb retorts.

“That’s- that’s against the rules!” you try to protest, a needy sigh slipping out of you when he mouths at your neck, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin as though trying to erase the marks laid there. “You- you all agreed to cum once ah- to- to make it fair!”

“Nothing fair about this whole thing, honey.”

Your toes curl when he calls you honey, an unbidden giggle slipping out of you. Caleb leans back to stare at your expression, a smile pulling at his lips when he sees you trying to hide away in the pillows, his nose nuzzling into your cheek, pressing soft kisses all over.

“You like that,” he laughs, his hand finding its way between your thighs.

“So- so what?” you ask breathlessly, moaning against his mouth when he slides his fingers between your puffy folds, your lips meeting his for a brief kiss, hips bucking when Caleb rubs your clit.

“So stop pretending like you don’t.”

You paw at his broad shoulders, fingers latching onto his biceps greedily. Caleb groans softly at your groping, his eyes going half-lidded, a pretty pink tinging his cheeks when you run your hands over his chest, squeezing his firm pecs.

“Take your shirt off,” you whisper, hands sliding under the hem of his shirt to feel his bare skin.

Caleb complies, sitting back on his knees. You watch as he pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, the silver chain around his neck grabbing your attention, the metal of his dog tags clinking together.

“You still wear these?” you muse as you sit up, your fingers coming up to fiddle with his dog tags, flipping one of them over to read his name stamped into the metal. “Even when you’re not deployed?”

“All the time,” he murmurs, his fingers encircling your wrist, lips brushing over your knuckles.

You shiver at the fleeting kiss, leaning forward, your hands pushing at his chest to get him to lie down. Swinging a leg over his hip, you settle down on his lap, watching the way his dog tags settle between his pecs.

“I suppose you are a big shot, Caleb,” you sigh, biting your lip, fingers skimming down his chest teasingly.

“Colonel,” he corrects, watching hazily as you squirm down to settle on his thighs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweats and boxers to pull them down.

Caleb’s cock slaps against his abdomen, hard and thick and somewhat imposing. You stare down at his arousal, cheeks flushing at the sight, watching as his cock twitches, pre-cum smearing across his skin.

“‘s nice,” you offer, hand wrapping around his cock, cunt throbbing when you feel the weight of him in your hand. “And- and big.”

“Bigger than theirs?” he asks, raising his brows, watching you closely as you begin to stroke his cock lazily.

Sylus’ was comparable, but you decide against telling him that, lest he throw another fit. Instead you nod, fighting the urge to roll your eyes when Caleb’s chest puffs out, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

His hand slides between your thighs and you shift, settling on top of it, grinding your hips across his calloused palm, wetness coating his skin. Caleb lets out a heavy breath and you whine, mouth opening and tongue lolling out to let spit drip from your mouth onto his cock.

“Fuck,” he rasps, throwing an arm over his face to hide his flushed expression, “baby, you’re fucking insane.”

“You wanted to missile strike another man’s apartment,” you shoot back, trying to pry his arm away from his face, eager to see his expressions. “Wanna see, Caleb.”

“I never said the idea was off the table,” he grouses, tilting his head to the side to let you mouth at his neck, his hips bucking up into your touch, trying to fuck his cock into the confines of your hand. “He could be a security threat,” Caleb mutters, his hands groping at your ass, squeezing and kneading. “Remind me to do a background check.”

“You’re such a baby,” you sigh, peering down to watch his cock move through your hand, tightening your grip.

A glob of pre-cum pools from the tip of his cock and you squirm, trying and failing to shuffle down and take his cock into your mouth, glaring at him when he keeps you anchored against him, on his lap.

“Always hungry for cock, hm?” Caleb coos, drawing out a loud moan from you when he curls his fingers, sinking them into your clenching pussy. “My cock-hungry little slut.”

You stifle a whimper, hips rising and falling as you fuck yourself on his fingers. His cock throbs in your hand and you squeeze, watching as more globs of thick pre-cum bead at the tip, smearing across when you spit down on his cock again, your lustful gaze meeting his.

“What?” you mumble, pecking his lips gently, eyes fluttering shut.

“Nothing,” he breathes out against your lips, his fingers crooking further, your head tipping back when his fingers hit the sensitive spot inside of you, the feeling enough to have you crying out. “You’re just… pretty.”

You blink up at him, lower lip jutting out in a pout, heart lurching uncomfortably in your chest. You press your face into the crook of his neck, your wrist twisting at a faster pace, jerking him off more desperately.

“Ah-” Caleb moans, his hand on your hip tightening when you rock your hips faster, his eyes squeezing shut when he feels the clench of your pussy around his fingers. “Slow down, honey.”

“I wanna watch you cum,” you say, teeth scraping along his shoulder, thumb brushing over the head of his cock, smiling when you feel Caleb jolt and grunt.

“No-” he shakes his head, “no, shit- I can’t cum now, baby.”

You ignore him, hand stroking faster, your other hand drifting to cup his balls, massaging them gently. Caleb curses and you squeal when he slaps your ass, the view of his room changing suddenly when he grabs you by your hips and pins you down into the bed.

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him that you weren’t done stroking his cock, but you’re only met with the creak of Caleb’s bed as he gets off of it, disappearing through the door. Your brows furrow, the bed dipping as you crawl to the edge of the bed. “Caleb?” you call out, “are- are you coming back?”

Your confusion only grows when he returns with your scarf in hand. “I- I wasn’t serious,” you begin, feeling disoriented when he moves towards you, “I don’t actually want to have sex with the scarf on.”

Caleb smiles, his eyes glittering with mirth. “I thought it might help you keep your hands to yourself,” he murmurs, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, making your face scrunch up.

You stare up at him, head tilting in question. Caleb huffs out a laugh at your expression, nose nudging against yours to land a kiss to your lips this time. His hands slide under you, picking you up before placing you closer to the headboard of his bed. You squirm under him, watching as he straddles you.

While he’s too busy pinning your wrists together, you lean forward, mouth enveloping his cock. Caleb jerks at the sudden sensation, cursing loudly, his body hunching over as you lap at the head of the cock.

“Can you listen for once?” he asks exasperatedly, his eyes narrowing down to look at you as you try to crane your neck forward, trying to take him deeper into your mouth.

Caleb rolls his eyes when you don’t listen, his fingers sliding over your wrists, winding your woolly scarf around and around, effectively binding them together. You whine when his cock slips out of your mouth with a soft pop, trying to sit up only to find your movement restricted. Your head tilts back, a huff of air leaving you when you realize he’s tied your wrists to the railing of the headboard of his bed.

“I didn’t know you were into bondage, Caleb.”

“It’s not-” Caleb sputters for a moment, before he stares at you suspiciously, “how do you know what bondage is?”

You smile up at him sweetly. “I like to read.”

He decides against chastising you, instead making a mental note to pry into whatever it was that you were reading. Your eyes flutter shut when he strokes his hand over your hair, his lips slotting over yours. “Is this okay?” he asks, fingers trailing down your sides to grip your hips, “being tied up?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, pecking his lips gently, “it’s okay.”

You bite your lip as you watch him slink down your body, his lips leaving kisses as he moves. A soft sigh escapes you when he swirls his tongue around your nipple, his teeth biting down gently before he kisses your nipple, smiling against your skin when you twitch.

Caleb’s fingers slide over your stomach, his teeth scraping across your skin. You whimper when he settles between your thighs finally, trying to reach down to run your fingers through your hair only to be reminded of the fact that you’ve been tied up.

“Hands to yourself, honey,” he reminds you, his eyes twinkling with amusement when you pout.

“Jerk,” you murmur, head tipping back when his breath ghosts over your puffy folds, his fingers spreading you open.

“Think you like that about me,” Caleb mumbles, swallowing at the sight of your wet pussy, letting out a strained breath, “‘s pretty, baby. Really fucking pretty.”

You flush, pussy clenching when he licks over your clit, thighs twitching. Caleb’s fingers wrap around your thighs, placing them over his broad shoulders, his mouth opening wider. Tongue sliding through your folds, he laps at your cunt obscenely, your eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

He thinks he could die a happy man when you squeeze your thighs around his head, his mouth wrapping around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue against the swollen bud.

Caleb’s name spills out of your mouth repeatedly in a pleading chant, tears pricking at your eyes when he digs his fingers into your thighs roughly. It all feels so good, his mouth on you, the tight grip he has on as though you might just disappear out from under you if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

You blink down at him when Caleb pulls away to lick his lips, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick and his spit, his gaze heady. A whimper leaves you when he bites your inner thigh, over the marks Xavier left, his teeth imprinted into your skin as you surrender yourself to him.

Caleb decides it’s not enough, pressing a kiss to your clit before he’s moving you to flip onto your back, your scarf twisting with you.

“Get on your knees, baby,” he rasps, tapping your hips.

You do your best, face shoved into the pillows as you squirm up onto your knees, feeling slightly mortified when Caleb spreads you apart, his hands kneading at your asscheeks.

“Don’t- don’t do that,” you whine, body jerking forward when Caleb runs his tongue through your folds unexpectedly.

“You’re shy now?” he laughs softly, biting into the fat of your ass playfully.

You ignore him, too busy moaning into the pillows when Caleb rubs your clit, his face pressing between your thighs, nose pressing up against your pussy. A sharp gasp leaves you, hips rocking back, trying to grind against the bridge of his nose while his tongue joins his fingers, lapping over your swollen clit.

“Caleb,” you mewl, hands gripping onto the railing of his headboard, the wool of your scarf rubbing against your wrists, “nghhh- ah- you’re so-”

“Charming?” he offers.

You let out a strangled laugh, squeaking when his hand comes down on your ass. He spanks you again, and you make a noise in protest, trying to crawl away, except you have nowhere to go, the scarf fastened enough to prevent you. It’s all too much when his tongue presses into your aching cunt, a cry escaping you as Caleb fucks his tongue in and out of you.

He squeezes your thigh harshly and your movements grow more desperate, trying to sway your hips back when his mouth latches onto you clit again, the press of his nose too much to handle.

“Gonna cum?” Caleb asks, his voice a low growl, “huh, baby? Gonna cum on my fucking tongue?”

“Y- yes!” you squeal, your knees giving out under you when he shoves his tongue back into your cunt, fucking it in and out of you. “Oh fuck, Caleb- oh fuck!”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he growls, his fingers rubbing at your clit fast and with just enough pressure that you give a trembling cry of his name, slumping down against the sheets as your thighs twitch uncontrollably, panting raggedly to try and catch your breath, toes curling in delirium.

Caleb loosens the scarf binding your wrists when he sees you struggling to move, his cock smearing pre-cum across your thighs and stomach as he turns you over, lips slotting over yours in a desperate kiss.

He’s picking you up soon after, chasing after your lips when you pull away to catch your breath, capturing them again, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Caleb’s kisses are messy, spit leaking out from the sides of your mouth as he settles you onto his lap, his hands running up and down your sides soothingly.

“Can’t- can’t breathe,” you complain, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

Caleb grumbles his displeasure under his breath before his eyes catch sight of your reddened wrists. Letting out a sigh, he grabs one of them, fingers running over your wrist gently, lifting it up to his lips to press soft kisses.

“You okay?” he murmurs, reaching for your other wrist, repeating his ministrations. “Was it too much?”

“No,” you say quietly, kissing his jaw, “it was good. I- I um- enjoyed it.”

Caleb smiles when you meet his eyes, his lips pressing up against the pads of your fingers. You smile back, feeling a little shy despite everything. He tucks your messy hair behind your ear, his touch skimming down your throat fleetingly.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he confesses, letting out a heavy breath, his head tipping back to rest against the headboard.

“I’m here,” you whisper, feeling unsure about what else to say, your fingers playing with his dog tags, bringing them up towards you to kiss the small, metal plates.

Caleb’s expression softens as he watches you, his heart thudding in his chest.

“I’m yours, Caleb,” you continue, kissing him sweetly. “See?”

You reach out, fingers sliding under his silver chain to lift it up over his head before you place it around his neck. The metal chimes softly, his dog tags settling between your breasts.

Caleb nearly cums at the sight. You know exactly how to rile him up, know exactly what to do to make him feel like a lovesick fool. He stares down at you, his adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows, fingers flexing against your hips.

You look so sweet, so soft, perched atop his lap delicately. He doesn’t know what to say when you peer up at him, feeling short of breath when you lean forward to kiss his cheek gently. Caleb’s fingers reach out to graze his dog tags, the cool metal grounding him at least for a moment.

“I hate how you make me feel,” he murmurs finally, hands smoothing over your sides, dragging you closer, groaning softly when your breasts squish up against his chest.

“Sorry?” you offer meekly, biting your lip when he squeezes the fat of your ass.

“Don’t be,” Caleb sighs, his forehead pressing against yours.

He kisses you gently, lips smacking against yours in the quiet of his bedroom. You rock your hips, pussy sliding over the length of his cock. Caleb grunts into your mouth, lifting you up, his hands grasping you under your thighs while you mewl, hand grasping his cock to line him up against your entrance.

“Caleb,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut when he sinks you down slowly onto his cock, nails scratching his pecs at the feeling of him stretching you out, his cock thick enough to have you feeling like you’re being split open.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he whispers, “doing so good for me. Taking my cock so well, yeah?”

You nod, still scrabbling at his chest, whining when he sinks you down onto the entire length of his cock, your pussy trying to accommodate his size. Caleb smiles against your cheek, kneading at your hips, muttering soft words of encouragement.

Your eyes meet his, hands sliding over his shoulders to let your arms wrap around his neck. Caleb leans back, resting against the headboard as you shuffle on his lap to get more comfortable, beginning to roll your hips.

“Good girl,” Caleb says hoarsely, “just like that, baby. Take your time.”

Spreading your legs to set a wider base, you rise up before dropping your hips back down, making Caleb groan when he feels you beginning to bounce on his cock, his eyes fluttering shut. You bite your lip at the sight, arms tightening around his neck, fucking yourself on his cock, gasping when you feel his cock twitch.

You think you might feel him in your stomach, his cock so fat and thick that it has your cunt clenching in quick succession in an attempt to readjust with every rise and fall of your hips. Caleb’s dog tags jingle with every bounce of you on his lap, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder, his teeth scraping across your shoulder.

“Wanna feel you fuck me full,” you mumble, nuzzling against his jaw, “please?”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, “you wanna be bred, sweetheart? Wanna have my baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod eagerly, sending him a drunken smile when he stares down at you.

Caleb’s fingers hook into the chain around your neck, tugging you closer until you’re moaning against his mouth, his darkened eyes watch the bounce and sway of your tits as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“Good fucking girl,” Caleb grunts, “ride my cock, sweetheart. Gonna fill you to the fucking brim.”

His words are obscene, his teeth biting at your lower lip, fingers pinching at your nipples until you’re writhing on his lap. You squeak when he wraps his hands around your waist, letting out a sharp gasp when he picks you up as though you weigh nothing and slams you down onto the length of his cock.

“C- Caleb! ‘s too much!” you wail, nails scratching down his back, unable to meet his eyes properly, not when he’s using you, taking you like you’re nothing but a ragdoll.

“No,” Caleb snaps, “it’s not too much; fucking take it.”

You squeal when he bites your breast, hands flailing for purchase, trying to grab out for something, anything, but it’s hard when he’s fucking you onto his cock like this, your hands landing on his shoulders briefly. The clank of his dog tags is drowned out by the sounds of his balls slapping against you, the lewd noises of his cock thrusting in and out of your clenching pussy.

“Do you like me?”

“Wh- what?” you manage out, lashes fluttering rapidly as you try to blink clearly.

“Do you like me?” Caleb asks, his voice hoarse and raspy, enough to have you clenching around his cock. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. “Say yes,” he breathes out, pressing his chest more firmly against yours, as though trying to meld your bodies together.

You feel lightheaded and short of breath when his fingers shift, pressing into your lower stomach. His voice turns into something softer, something more pleading. “Say yes, sweetheart.”

“Y- yes,” you hiccup, heart fluttering in your chest, “I- I like you Caleb.”

“Again,” he demands, nose brushing against yours, his lips hovering above yours.

“I like you,” you say breathlessly, kissing his jaw, “like you so much, Caleb. Wanna be bred, please- please cum inside.” You don’t exactly why you utter the next words, but you figure Caleb ought to be into that sort of thing, the power trip it gives him when he’s clinging to control. “Please, Colonel?”

“Oh my- fuck!” Caleb swears sharply, and you can feel his hips jerk, his grip on you faltering when you call him by his title. “You little minx- fucking crazy, you know that?”

“Sorry,” you whine, smiling against his mouth, pawing at his thick pecs, tongue licking over his lips. “‘m sorry, Colonel. Just- just wanna have your baby.”

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” Caleb groans loudly, fingers dimpling the flesh of your hips, “‘m gonna fill this pretty pussy up, sweetheart.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, feeling beyond fucked out, your head a swirl of Caleb, and Caleb only, unable to register anything other than the feeling of his cock snug inside your cunt, the cool metal of his dog tags against your skin, his mouth on yours.

“Ah-” Caleb whines, high and broken, the sound enough to make your back arch, nails digging into his chest.

He manages to fuck you on his cock a few more times, his hands pushing at your hips until your pussy hugs the entirety of his cock, your ass snug against his balls. Caleb moans into your ear, panting and whining as he cums, his cock twitching inside of you as hot spurts of cum spill out, filling you up.

You twitch atop him, the walls of your cunt fluttering around him, eyes squeezing shut as you feel your own orgasm wash over you.

Caleb clicks his tongue when you try to squirm off of him, rubbing his hands over your thighs when you complain about the ache settling in your muscles.

“Stay,” he whispers, kissing your temple, “gotta make sure it takes.”

A few minutes later, you curl up into his side when he lays you down gently, his hand rubbing over your side soothingly. Only the sounds of your breathing fill his room, Caleb’s fingers stroking across you gently. Your lips meet his when he lowers his head, sighing when he squeezes your thighs, massaging them gently.

“We don’t have to do it twice,” he whispers, “I was just- it was the heat of the moment.”

You stare at him, taking in the softness in his eyes, your head tilting to nuzzle into his palm when he strokes his thumb across your cheek. It’s against the rules, you remind yourself, and yet fifteen years… the number is enough to make your stomach flip.

“Did you mean it?” you ask quietly, your fingers tracing across his chest, over the ridges and dips of his muscles.

Caleb lets out a low sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. “Every word, sweetheart.”

There’s a long stretch of silence and Caleb presses his nose into your hair, his eyes opening when he hears the clink of metal. You give him a shy smile, leg swinging over his hip as you straddle him.

The man under you groans softly when you roll your hips, his eyes raptly watching the gentle sway of his dog tags between your breasts. The soft, sweet sentence that you utter next has Caleb closing his eyes in a silent prayer. You truly were going to drive him to madness.

“Better make up for lost time, Colonel.”

Caleb has never seen you more disarmed than when you’re asleep.

He supposes it’s a bit creepy to stare at you while you’re sleeping, but he can’t help it, having been stirred awake by a cramp in his leg. His fingers ghost across the curve of your cheek, careful not to wake you, an uncomfortable ache piercing through his heart.

If only he could keep you here with him.

But Caleb knows how stubborn you are, and he knows the rules of this little scheme that he agreed to, even if they are stupid and he’s already broken one of them. He stiffens when you stir, a smile pulling at his lips when drool slips out the side of your mouth, your body squirming as you roll over onto your back.

When he catches a glimpse of your marked neck, his irritation flares again, lips thinning. Caleb supposes he is driven by jealousy, there’s no point in denying it, not when the ugly head of envy rears his head and he finds his vision tinted with a hue of green that makes it difficult to think clearly.

His fingers are curling over your thigh gently, prying your legs apart carefully, his breath catching in his throat when he sees his cum smeared between your thighs and all over your pussy. Messy, he thinks, lowering his head to kiss your hip affectionately.

The flash of his phone camera isn’t bright enough to wake you up. Caleb stifles a groan at the picture, trying to will away the throb in his cock, his gaze entranced by the image of your messy pussy, covered and filled up with two loads of his cum.

Just like how it should be, he thinks belatedly. Caleb would make it his lockscreen if it wasn’t so intimate.

His fingers tap across his screen, finding Xavier’s number. There’s no need for unnecessary texts. The image is sent, Caleb’s lips pulling up into a sneer at the thought of the silver-haired man.

Caleb tosses his phone onto his bedside table, wrapping his arms around, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead, humming softly as you curl up into his arms, snuggling closer as you seek out his warmth. The soft sounds of his clinking dog tags catch his attention.

Caleb decides he’ll need to get an extra one stamped.

One with your name.

taglist >///<

@serenitymaria @kreishin @qyuin @wegottastayfocus @novthirty @syluslittlecrows @blorbohunter @luvleixo @crimsonmarabou @skylaryoung2002 @multisstuff @chirikoheina @supermissnkta @serenity-loves-red @shi-thats-kiera @froleineeeee @jaynawayna @schooki @minyoongi-pouts @mizienjoyer @isagistar @zaynesnowflake @athena-portgas @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @cutelittlesugarfairy @pookiei-bookie @dooopiee @rafshottestgf @thetimetravelernightmare @slytherin-min99 @envy-of-greed @paninisstuff @h0ngh0ngh0ng @nezuswritingdesk @teeheeheartless @flwerie @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @babyx91 @thisaintviolet69 @scoupsonlycherry @blubearxy @midiplier @young-adult-summer @daisys-mushroom-garden @sunsethw4 @lads-ficrecs @buffytheangelslayer @helios-eyre @browneyedgirl22 @straows @lennysnicket @actuallynarii

#caleb smut #caleb #caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb #lnd caleb #lnd smut #caleb xia #lads #lads caleb

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count-on-mi · 30 days ago

Text

Tokyo Hot (MiSaMo)

A/N: So its going to be a new series/collection of one shots about Twice and their investor, aka me. The first chapter is the Misamo at Tokyo Dome, enjoy!

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In the private box at Tokyo Dome, sunlight streams through the massive dome, casting a glow that highlights the stunning, heart-stirring figures of Misamo. As TWICE's financial backer, I have long claimed all nine of them as my forbidden possessions, each one my slave. Tonight, I invited Mina, Sana, and Momo to serve as the opening pitch guests for the Major League Baseball friendly game in Japan. Dressed in white tops emblazoned with "Dodgers" and paired with tight blue jeans, their youthful and sensual allure is deadly, every inch of their skin whispering endless submission and devotion. Mina stands on the left, number 37, her long black hair cascading like silk to her shoulders, her snow-white skin as delicate as cream, her tall and slender frame boasting endless legs and a waist as flexible as a willow swaying in the breeze, exuding an elegant yet irresistible sensuality. In the middle is Sana, number 12, her brown wavy hair flowing like waves, her gentle aura laced with intense temptation, her eyes seemingly speaking, carrying a soul-stealing smile like a seductive abyss that draws one in. To the right is Momo, number 64, her black short hair sleek and sharp, her curves exquisite, her round and perky buttocks radiating mature wildness, every move dripping with allure, her full chest faintly visible under the short top, like forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. As the three stand by the field, the audience erupts in thunderous gasps of admiration, camera flashes flickering incessantly, yet unable to conceal the silent submission they harbor deep within toward my control, adding a layer of forbidden temptation.

As their master, I have long struck a deal with their management company, their bodies and souls belonging to me, a secret transaction that infuses every glance and gesture with a shiver-inducing devotion. While the audience in Tokyo Dome remains immersed in the game's aftermath, a familiar orgiastic feast unfolds quietly between us in the box, the air thick with a potent sensual aroma. The door is locked, shutting out the outside world's clamor, and I approach the three slowly, a satisfied smile curling my lips, my eyes gleaming with limitless dominion over their flesh, my pants bulging with a hard, rigid protrusion, exuding a primal masculine scent like a beast poised to devour its prey.

"My three little sluts, it's time to serve your master well tonight," I growl, my voice hoarse and authoritative, laced with an insatiable hunger for them, every word carrying an invisible command. My gaze roams freely over their bodies, savoring the treasures that are already mine, lingering on their chests, buttocks, and long legs, my smile deepening as if anticipating the wild revelry to come.

Mina steps forward first, her movements tinged with familiar obedience, biting her lower lip as her trembling hands slowly unbutton her top, revealing a black semi-transparent silk bra. Her cleavage is deep and mesmerizing, her two plump, white breasts straining against the fabric, so tempting they make one's blood race, as if beckoning my touch. Her fingers trace the bra's edge, unclasping it slowly, and her breasts spring free, nipples pink and erect, surrounded by a faint rosy halo that glows enticingly under the dim light, like ripe cherries waiting to be plucked, their flesh quivering slightly with each breath, exuding an alluring fragrance. Sana and Momo exchange a glance before beginning to shed their clothes as well, their naked bodies appearing utterly lascivious under the dim glow, like three perfect statues radiating deadly temptation. Mina's tall figure stands like a jade pillar, her waist slender, her abdomen flat without a trace of fat, the skin around her navel smooth as silk, glistening with seductive sheen; Sana's soft curves emit a warm allure, her skin so pale it’s nearly translucent, her private area faintly revealing a hint of pink, her sparse, neatly trimmed pubic hair like a meticulously groomed garden of temptation; Momo’s voluptuous form carries a hint of wantonness, her round buttocks perky, her full breasts trembling slightly in the air, exuding a strong sensual aura, the curves of her flesh casting seductive shadows under the light, utterly captivating.

I grin wickedly and yank Mina into my arms, roughly tearing off her already unclasped bra, my hands seizing her breasts with force, nails digging into the tender flesh. I pinch her nipple hard, eliciting a sharp cry from her, the sound laced with enticing shudders. Her breasts deform under my grip, nipples hardening like small pebbles, their areolas turning red from the pinching, a mix of pain and pleasure making her body tremble involuntarily, her juices overflowing uncontrollably between her legs, trickling down her inner thighs to leave a small puddle on the carpet, emitting a pungent sweet scent like a seductive signal. I lower my head, taking her left nipple into my mouth, biting down hard, my tongue swirling rapidly around it, producing a "slurp slurp" sound as saliva drips from the corner of my mouth onto her breasts, soaking them in a wet sheen, her nipple growing even harder, the areola flushing with a fine red rash, sending waves of tingling pleasure coursing through her like electricity. "Oh… Master… it stings… more…" Mina’s voice quivers, blending pain and ecstasy, her long black hair scattered over her shoulders, her snowy skin damp with sweat, exuding an enticing aroma like a flower ravaged by me, radiating forbidden allure. Her hands instinctively clutch my shoulders, nails digging into my flesh, leaving faint red marks, her eyes flickering with shame and submission, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, the elasticity of her breasts yielding under my palms, temptation inescapable.

My other hand reaches for Sana, pulling her roughly toward me, my mouth enveloping her right nipple, teeth tugging at the areola with force. Sana lets out a soft, "Oh… Master… it’s intense…" her voice so seductive it sets the blood racing, her brown wavy hair trembling with her body, exuding captivating motion. Her nipple turns red from sucking, the areola swelling like a ripe cherry, glistening with allure like a tempting fruit. My tongue flicks rapidly over her nipple, alternating between gentle bites and forceful sucks, producing "tsk tsk" sounds, her nipple stiffening under the stimulation, the areola flushing with a fine red rash, sending waves of tingling pleasure that make her body writhe involuntarily. Her hands instinctively wrap around my head, fingers threading into my hair, nails lightly scratching my scalp, moans spilling from her throat with a trembling seduction, like an enticing melody. Her juices squirt from her core, dripping onto the floor, trailing down her inner thighs, filling the box with a thick, sweet scent that amplifies the air’s seductive aura. Her legs quiver slightly, her labia parting to reveal pink inner flesh, her fluids dripping down her thighs onto the carpet with a "drip drip" sound, exuding a potent aroma like a sensual invitation.

Meanwhile, Momo takes the initiative to kneel, her knees sinking into the carpet, her trembling hands undoing my pants. As they slide down, a thick, rigid cock springs forth, nine inches long, veins bulging, the purple-red tip glistening with a bead of precum, exuding a strong musky scent like a powerful weapon aimed directly at Momo’s face, radiating primal temptation. Momo’s eyes are filled with submission and longing, her small mouth parting slightly as she licks the tip’s slit with her tongue, tasting the salty fluid, its intensity making her throat constrict yet igniting a strange excitement that deepens her hazy gaze. Her tongue dances around the head, teasing the slit, tracing the ridge, producing "slurp slurp" sounds as if savoring a precious candy, her movements brimming with seductive finesse. She slowly takes the entire head into her mouth, her lips sealing tightly around the shaft, bobbing up and down, her tongue agilely swirling inside, alternating between forceful sucks, light scrapes along the veins, and teasing the slit, stimulating every sensitive spot to the fullest, as if her lips and tongue are luring greater pleasure.

Momo’s oral skills are skilled and delicate, her black short hair swaying with her head’s motion, strands sticking to her cheeks damp with sweat, exuding extra allure as if each hair strand tempts the eye. Deep in her throat, "gurgle gurgle" swallowing sounds emerge as she tries to take the cock deeper, the head pressing into her throat, eliciting a choking sensation, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks to drip onto her chest, mixing with her sweat to create a lascivious sheen like a seductive painting. Her hands aren’t idle—one grips the base, squeezing gently, the other massages my balls, fingertips caressing the folds, occasionally scraping lightly with her nails or cupping them tenderly, driving me to growl repeatedly, my voice hoarse with pleasure as if each touch ignites my desire. Her saliva overflows from the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin to wet her chest, the smooth skin of her cleavage slick with spit, radiating a lascivious glow like a sensual canvas. Her lips, stretched red by the cock, continue their relentless sucking, her throat producing gagging sounds, yet she shows no sign of stopping, as if this cock is her sole devotion, temptation inescapable. Her tongue glides rapidly along the shaft, teasing the slit with light flicks, enveloping the head with her tongue’s surface for forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds that make my cock swell further, veins pulsing as if ready to erupt, exuding deadly allure. Her throat reddens from the pressure, emitting "woo woo" sounds, tears and saliva mixing to drip onto the carpet, releasing a potent scent like a marker of sensual air.

"Good… you filthy slut! Keep licking!" I roar, my voice brimming with conquering delight, tinged with seductive dominance. My hands thrust into Mina and Sana’s hair, forcibly pressing their heads down, Momo’s oral frenzy intensifying, the wet heat of her lips and tongue sending shivers of ecstasy through my body, my cock swelling larger in her mouth, veins throbbing as if on the verge of explosion, radiating unmatched temptation. I look down at Momo’s mouth stretched around my cock, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I command, "Deeper! Swallow my whole cock!" The tone weaves temptation with authority.

Obeying, Momo takes a deep breath, forcing the cock deeper into her throat, the head pressing into her esophagus, unleashing an intense choking sensation, the pinnacle of temptation. Her throat stretches open, emitting "woo woo" sounds, tears falling to the carpet, yet she persists with relentless sucking, as if determined to drain my desire with her mouth, exuding deadly sensuality. Her hands grip my balls, kneading gently, fingertips teasing the folds, driving my growls, my voice hoarse with pleasure like a seductive rhythm. Her saliva drips from her mouth, trailing down the shaft to her chest, the smooth skin of her cleavage wet with spit, glowing lasciviously like a sensual artwork. Her lips, reddened from the stretch, continue their fervent sucking, her throat producing gagging sounds without pause, as if this cock is her only faith, temptation irresistible.

Suddenly, I shove Mina onto the sofa, the rough motion nearly toppling her. I tear off her jeans and panties with urgent, merciless force, revealing her pink, tender core, labia slightly parted, inner walls pink, her pubic hair soaked with juices, exuding a potent scent that ignites lust like a seductive invitation. Mina’s core glows enticingly under the light, her labia plump and pink, inner flesh quivering, fluids seeping out to trickle down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with a "drip drip" sound, releasing a thick aroma that pierces the heart with temptation. I align my cock with her entrance, thrusting the head in hard, forcing apart her tight vagina, the inner flesh stretching with a "squish" sound like splashing water, producing an alluring noise. Mina gasps sharply, "Oh… Master… it’s overwhelming…" Her vagina clenches around my cock, inner walls trembling, juices squirting out to flow down her buttock cleft onto the sofa, forming a sticky puddle exuding sensual air.

I begin thrusting violently, the cock moving in and out, the head scraping her G-spot, each thrust hitting her womb, delivering a tearing pleasure like the height of temptation. Mina’s breasts jiggle wildly with the motion, nipples hardening to a deep purple like ripe grapes, glistening with allure. Her legs are forcibly spread, ankles gripped in my hands, toes curling, arches tensing, sweat trailing down her calves to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents. Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sends waves of tingling pleasure coursing through her, her moans escalating in pitch. Her long black hair scatters across the sofa, snowy skin damp with sweat, exuding an enticing sheen, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive scene. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony, temptation inescapable. My cock moves in and out of her core, the head striking her womb with each thrust, unleashing intense pleasure, her vaginal walls clinging tightly, inner flesh trembling, juices squirting down her buttock cleft to form a sticky puddle on the sofa, exuding sensual air. Her hands instinctively grip the sofa’s edge, nails digging into the leather, leaving faint scratches, her cries growing more fervent.

Sana crawls behind me, shedding her jeans to reveal her drenched core, labia swollen and red, juices dripping onto the carpet with a "drip drip" sound, exuding a rich aroma like a tempting fragrance. She rises on her toes, pressing her core against my back, hands kneading my chest, nails digging into my flesh, leaving faint red marks exuding alluring traces. Her core is already soaked, labia parted to reveal pink inner flesh, juices trailing down her thighs to drip onto the carpet, releasing a potent sweet scent like a sensual invitation. Her legs tremble slightly, her core rubbing against my back, sending waves of tingling pleasure, moans spilling from her throat with a trembling seduction like an enticing melody. I turn my head to kiss Sana’s mouth, my tongue plunging into her oral cavity, swirling with hers, teeth nipping her lower lip, producing "tsk tsk" sounds as saliva drips from our mouths onto her chest, soaking her breasts in a wet sheen exuding allure. My other hand reaches for Momo, two fingers sliding into her core, thrusting rapidly, thumb pressing her clit, eliciting a soft, "Oh… Master… it’s too much…" Her juices squirt out, trailing down my fingers to mix with the carpet’s wet spots, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation.

"You three… are all mine! I’ll take you one by one!" I laugh maniacally, my voice brimming with beastly frenzy, laced with wild seduction. I yank Momo over, positioning her beside Mina, lifting her round buttocks, and thrusting into her from behind. Momo’s core is tighter than Mina’s, her inner flesh stretched by my cock with "squish squish" sounds, the head striking her womb, unleashing intense pleasure like the height of temptation. Her moans intertwine with Mina’s, the box filled with the "smack smack smack" of flesh colliding and their lustful cries, exuding sensual rhythm. Her buttocks redden from the impact, the two plump cheeks quivering, producing alluring sounds as if narrating her submission, temptation irresistible. Her hands brace on the sofa, nails digging into the leather, leaving faint scratches. Her black short hair sways with the motion, sweat trailing down her spine to drip onto the sofa, mixing with her juices to exude a potent scent like a seductive scene. Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sends waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans rising in intensity. Her cheeks flush, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony, temptation inescapable. My cock moves in and out of her core, the head striking her womb with each thrust, unleashing intense pleasure, her vaginal walls clinging tightly, inner flesh trembling, juices squirting down her buttock cleft to form a sticky puddle on the sofa, exuding sensual air. Her hands instinctively grip the sofa’s edge, nails digging into the leather, leaving faint scratches, her cries growing more fervent.

I alternate between the two, sweat dripping onto their backs, juices and semen mingling, the carpet now a wet mess exuding enticing air. Seeing this, Sana takes the initiative, crawling onto Mina’s face, spreading her legs to let Mina’s tongue explore her core. Sana’s core is pink and wet, labia parted to reveal pink inner flesh, juices dripping onto Mina’s face, exuding a potent sweet scent like a tempting fragrance. Mina’s tongue deftly licks her clit, alternating between forceful sucks and gentle bites, drawing continuous moans from Sana, "Oh… Mina… don’t stop… it’s building…" Her breasts jiggle, nipples hardening, vaginal walls contracting, juices squirting onto Mina’s face, trailing down her chin to drip onto the sofa, exuding sensual air. Sana’s hands grip Mina’s hair, nails digging into her scalp, the sting driving Mina to lick more fervently, her tongue thrusting rapidly into Sana’s core with "slurp slurp" sounds, as if sucking a juicy peach, temptation irresistible. Sana’s moans grow louder, "Ah… Mina… it’s intense…" Her legs instinctively clamp around Mina’s head, toes curling, arches tensing, sweat trailing down her calves to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents. Her vaginal walls quiver with Mina’s licking, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with Mina’s tongue movements like a lascivious symphony, the pinnacle of temptation.

After several minutes, I reach my limit. I flip Momo over, thrusting hard into her core, a few fierce pumps culminating in a roar as I release scalding semen inside her. Momo’s climax hits, her vaginal walls contracting, juices squirting down her legs onto the carpet with a "hiss" sound, exuding enticing air. Her black short hair sticks to her cheeks, her face flushed with post-climax redness, eyes hazy, like a lingering seductive afterglow. I then turn to Sana and Mina, both thoroughly trained to obey, kneeling to receive my second release, semen splashing across their faces, Mina’s long black hair matted, Sana’s brown wavy hair streaked with white, trailing down their breasts to drip onto the carpet, forming a sticky puddle exuding sensual air. I pant heavily, looking down at the three, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You three filthy sluts are top-notch… we’re not done yet!" The tone brims with seductive provocation.

I pull Sana up, pressing her against the box’s glass window. Her hands brace on the glass, buttocks raised high, brown wavy hair cascading down her back, her graceful form casting an enticing reflection on the glass like a sensual scene. I thrust into her from behind, my cock forcing apart her labia to strike her womb. Sana’s moans echo through the box, "Oh… Master… it’s too deep…" Her breasts press against the glass, jiggling with each thrust, nipples scraping the cold surface, blending pain and pleasure like a seductive weave. Her core clenches my cock, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, juices trailing down her thighs to drip below the window with a "drip drip" sound, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation. Her legs quiver slightly, her core stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sending waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans rising in pitch. Her cheeks flush, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her thighs below the window with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony, temptation inescapable. My cock moves in and out of her core, the head striking her womb with each thrust, unleashing intense pleasure, her vaginal walls clinging tightly, inner flesh trembling, juices squirting down her buttock cleft to form a sticky puddle below the window, exuding sensual air. Her hands instinctively grip the glass, nails leaving faint scratches, her cries growing more fervent.

Meanwhile, I order Mina and Momo to pleasure each other’s cores. Mina lies on the sofa, legs spread, Momo kneeling before her, tongue deftly licking her clit, alternating between forceful sucks and gentle bites, delivering waves of enticing pleasure. Mina’s core is pink and wet, labia parted to reveal pink inner flesh, juices dripping onto Momo’s face, exuding a potent scent like a tempting fragrance. Mina’s long black hair scatters across the sofa, moans continuous, "Oh… Momo… more…" Momo’s black short hair sways with her motion, her fingers sliding into Mina’s core, stirring her juices with "gurgle gurgle" sounds, exuding sensual rhythm. Mina’s legs instinctively clamp around Momo’s head, toes curling, sweat from her ankles dripping onto the sofa like sensual accents. Momo’s tongue thrusts rapidly into Mina’s core, teasing the clit with flicks, enveloping the labia with her tongue for forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds that make Mina tremble, her moans growing louder, "Ah… Momo… it’s overwhelming…" Her vaginal walls contract violently, juices squirting onto Momo’s face, trailing down her chin to drip onto the sofa, exuding sensual air. Momo’s hands brace on Mina’s thighs, nails digging into her flesh, leaving faint red marks exuding alluring traces. Her tongue thrusts rapidly into Mina’s core, delivering waves of tingling pleasure, Mina’s cries escalating. Her body begins to convulse, her core clenching Momo’s fingers, inner flesh contracting violently, sending waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, the pinnacle of temptation.

Watching this, I quicken my thrusts into Sana, her moans turning to sharp gasps, "Oh… Master… I’m losing control…" Her core clenches my cock, inner flesh contracting violently, juices squirting down her thighs to drip below the window, exuding enticing air. I roar, releasing semen inside her, Sana’s body convulsing as she slumps against the glass, brown wavy hair disheveled across her back, face flushed with post-climax redness, eyes hazy, like a lingering seductive afterglow. I pant heavily, looking down at Sana, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You little slut, you came hard… you’re next!" The tone brims with seductive provocation.

I turn to Mina, pulling her up to sit on the sofa, spreading her legs, thrusting my cock into her core again. Her core is already soaked, labia parted to reveal pink inner flesh, juices dripping onto the sofa, exuding a potent scent like a tempting invitation. My cock strikes her womb hard, the head scraping her G-spot, delivering waves of intense pleasure like the height of temptation. Mina’s long black hair sways with her body’s motion, moans rising, "Oh… Master… it’s divine…" Her legs are forcibly spread, ankles gripped in my hands, toes curling, arches tensing, sweat trailing down her calves to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents. Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sends waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans growing louder. Her cheeks flush, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony, temptation inescapable.

As I thrust, I order Momo to kneel beside the sofa and lick my balls. Her black short hair sticks to her cheeks, her tongue deftly licking, alternating between sucking and teasing the folds, stimulating my senses with alluring pleasure. Her tongue glides rapidly over my balls, flicking lightly, enveloping them with her tongue for forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds that make my body tremble, growls escaping me, my voice hoarse with pleasure like a seductive rhythm. Her hands aren’t idle—one grips my cock’s base, squeezing gently, the other massages my inner thigh, fingertips caressing my skin, delivering waves of tingling pleasure, temptation inescapable.

"You… are such sluts… tighten up!" I growl, quickening my thrusts, my tone brimming with seductive dominance. My cock moves in and out of Mina’s core, producing "smack smack smack" sounds, the head striking her womb, delivering a tearing pleasure like the height of temptation. Her vaginal muscles tighten, clinging to my cock, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, unleashing immense pleasure, exuding sensual air. I growl, hands seizing Mina’s breasts, kneading forcefully, fingertips pinching her nipples, twisting hard, her moans escalating, "Oh… Master… it’s too much…" Her juices squirt out, trailing down the sofa to drip onto the carpet, forming a puddle exuding enticing air. I climax simultaneously, releasing semen inside her, both trembling in the afterglow, like the pinnacle of temptation.

I pant heavily, looking down at Mina, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You little slut, you came hard… you’re next!" The tone brims with seductive provocation. I pull Momo over, positioning her on all fours on the sofa, thrusting into her from behind. Her core is tight and wet, inner flesh enveloping my cock, delivering a choking pleasure like the height of temptation. My cock strikes her womb hard, the head scraping her inner walls, producing "squish squish" sounds exuding sensual rhythm. Momo’s moans rise again, "Oh… Master… it’s intense…" Her black short hair sways with the motion, buttocks reddening from the impact, the plump cheeks jiggling with each thrust, producing alluring sounds like a sensual invitation. As I thrust, I order Sana to lick Momo’s nipples, her brown wavy hair falling over Momo’s chest, tongue deftly licking, alternating between forceful sucks and gentle bites, Momo’s nipples hardening, areolas flushing with a faint red glow, exuding allure. Momo’s hands brace on the sofa, nails digging into the leather, leaving faint scratches. Her black short hair sways, sweat trailing down her spine to drip onto the sofa, mixing with her juices to exude a potent scent like a seductive scene. Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sends waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans rising in intensity. Her cheeks flush, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss.

I look at Momo, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You little slut, your ass is so perky… I’ll enjoy you!" I quicken my thrusts, my cock moving in and out of her core, producing "smack smack smack" sounds, the head striking her womb, delivering a tearing pleasure like the height of temptation. Her vaginal muscles tighten, clinging to my cock, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, unleashing immense pleasure, exuding sensual air. I growl, hands seizing her buttocks, kneading forcefully, fingertips digging into her flesh, slapping hard, her moans escalating, "Oh… Master… it’s unbearable…" Her juices squirt out, trailing down the sofa to drip onto the carpet, forming a puddle exuding enticing air. I climax simultaneously, releasing semen inside her, both trembling in the afterglow, like the pinnacle of temptation.

I pant heavily, looking down at the three, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You three filthy sluts are top-notch… always ready to serve me!" I sit on the sofa, my cock still erect, exuding a potent musky scent, eyes burning with deeper desire like a flame of temptation. Mina, renowned for her hip-shaking dance, possesses unmatched riding skills, her agile buttocks dazzling me whether on stage or in private, exuding deadly allure. She rises slowly, eyes hazy, long black hair cascading down her back, sweat trailing down her spine to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents. Her body still ablaze with desire, she decides to claim a second round of pleasure, temptation irresistible.

Mina straddles me, facing me, gripping my cock—still hard despite its earlier release—and lowers herself slowly. Her buttocks begin to move, mimicking her stage hip-shaking dance, the flesh quivering with the rhythm, her tight core fully enveloping my cock, producing "smack smack" sounds like a rhythmic flesh performance exuding alluring tempo. Meanwhile, Momo and Sana kneel on either side, their heads converging on my groin, lips pressing against my balls, licking simultaneously. Momo’s tongue deftly traces the folds, alternating between gentle sucks and light bites, producing "slurp slurp" sounds exuding sensual air; Sana teases the other side with her tongue tip, enveloping the ball with her tongue for forceful sucks, delivering waves of tingling pleasure like a seductive melody. Their saliva mixes, trailing down my thighs to drip onto the sofa, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation. Mina moans, "Oh… so intense… let me please you…" Her long black hair flies, breasts jiggling, nipples hardening like beans, vaginal walls clenching my cock, juices trailing down her thighs to drip onto the sofa, forming a puddle exuding sensual air. Her riding skills are unparalleled, buttocks rising and falling, alternating between rapid twists and slow rotations, swallowing my cock to the hilt, as if playing a lascivious tune with her body, temptation inescapable. Her core clenches my cock tightly, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, delivering immense pleasure like the height of temptation. Mina’s buttocks move agilely, flesh quivering with her motion, alternating between rapid ups and downs and slow spins, her core gripping my cock tightly, the head striking her womb, unleashing waves of tearing pleasure exuding sensual air. Her moans grow louder, "Ah… Master… it’s exquisite…" Her long black hair scatters over her shoulders, snowy skin damp with sweat, exuding an enticing sheen, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony.

Mina’s ride grows wilder, her buttocks spinning like a windmill, flesh quivering with the rhythm, her core clenching my cock tighter, inner flesh scraped by the head, sending waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans escalating, "Oh… Master… I/m cumming…" Her body begins to convulse, her core clenching my cock, inner flesh contracting violently, sending waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, the pinnacle of temptation. Momo and Sana’s licking intensifies, Momo’s tongue gliding rapidly over my balls, flicking lightly, enveloping them with her tongue for forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds exuding sensual air; Sana bites the other side gently, blending pain and pleasure, their saliva mixing to trail down my thighs, dripping onto the sofa, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation. I growl, hands seizing Mina’s buttocks, kneading forcefully, fingertips digging into her flesh, slapping hard, her moans escalating, "Ah… Master… please… inside..." Her juices squirt out, trailing down the sofa to drip onto the carpet, forming a puddle exuding enticing air. I climax simultaneously, releasing semen inside her, both trembling in the afterglow, like the pinnacle of temptation. Momo and Sana’s tongues continue licking my balls, delivering waves of lingering pleasure, I pant heavily, looking down at the three, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes.

Momo and Sana lift their heads, lips coated with saliva and sweat, eyes hazy as they look at me, exuding alluring afterglow, while Mina slumps against me, long black hair disheveled across her back, sweat trailing down her spine to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents.

A few days later, Misamo is invited to a variety show collaborating with MLB, the atmosphere lively as the three wear blue denim miniskirts, revealing their long legs, buttocks curves accentuated by the tight fabric, exuding a perky roundness. The show reaches its mid-break, staff guiding them to the dressing room to rest and prepare for the next segment. As the door closes gently, the room’s light is soft yet slightly dim, the air filled with a faint cosmetic fragrance mixed with their sweat, adding a layer of seductive aura.

However, as the three step inside, the lock clicks shut with a "clack," and they turn to see me already waiting, a familiar satisfied smile on my lips, eyes gleaming with limitless dominion over their flesh, exuding primal temptation. "We don't have much time, you know what to do." my voice low and commanding, I toss a bottle onto the nearby vanity, the crisp clink sounding like a seductive prelude.

Mina’s long black hair sways with her motion, standing near the mirror, her white top revealing a delicate waistline, denim miniskirt hugging her long thighs, exuding enticing curves. I give her no time to react, lunging forward to shove her against the vanity, the force making her buttocks collide with the edge with a "bang," vibrating the air with temptation. She gasps "Ah!" but can’t resist, my rough hand already lifting her skirt, revealing black lace panties, the thin fabric outlining her buttocks’ curve, temptation piercing the heart. The panties are yanked aside mercilessly, exposing her core, already slightly wet from tension and submission, labia pink, inner walls glistening faintly under the light like a seductive invitation. My cock, already rock-hard, is freed with urgent haste, nine inches long, veins bulging, purple-red tip beading with precum, exuding a potent musky scent like a sensual weapon. I align with her core and thrust hard, forcing apart her tight vagina with a "squish" sound like splashing water, producing an alluring noise. Mina’s moan erupts instantly, "Oh… Master… it’s too sudden…" Her hands brace weakly on the vanity, nails scraping the surface, leaving faint marks, long black hair disheveled across her cheeks, snowy skin beading with thin sweat, exuding an enticing sheen.

Sana and Momo freeze, then are cornered by my gaze. Sana’s brown wavy hair trembles with her rapid breaths, wearing a white pleated miniskirt, the hem slightly lifted to reveal her inner thigh’s soft skin, exuding alluring tenderness. I beckon her with a finger, and she kneels hesitantly, knees pressing into the carpet, moving behind me. Her small hands tremble as they touch my buttocks, the warm contact flushing her cheeks, adding a seductive red hue. She parts my cheeks slowly, exposing my tight anus with a hint of tempting air. Her tongue ventures out gently, licking the folds around my anus, delivering waves of tingling pleasure with low "slurp slurp" sounds like a sensual melody. Her tongue tip dances around the rim, dipping lightly, then sucking forcefully, saliva overflowing from her mouth to drip onto the carpet, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation. Meanwhile, Momo is directed to kneel on the other side, her black short hair sticking to her cheeks, blue baseball jacket open to reveal a white top clinging to her full breasts, exuding mature sensuality. She lowers her head, tongue deftly licking my balls, alternating between gentle sucks and light bites, delivering waves of tingling pleasure like a seductive rhythm. Their movements intertwine, the air thick with sensual aroma.

One hand presses Mina’s buttocks, the other grips Sana’s hair, forcing her head deeper, her tongue licking my anus more forcefully, penetrating the tight folds with "gurgle" wet sounds, exuding enticing heat. Mina’s moans grow louder, "Oh… Master… it’s profound…" Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, juices trailing down her inner thighs to form a small puddle on the vanity, exuding sensual air. Her breasts jiggle under the top, nipples hardening against the fabric, outlining faint shapes like a tempting signal. My thrusts grow fiercer, each one striking her womb, delivering tearing pleasure, her long black hair soaked with sweat, clinging to her back, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering with a mix of pain and pleasure, exuding seductive charm.

Sana’s tongue works my anus with increasing fervor, dipping deeper, sucking gently, saliva dripping from her mouth onto her chest, wetting her white top to reveal enticing skin, adding a sensual layer. Her hands grip my thighs instinctively, nails digging into my flesh, the sting drawing a growl, "Good… you filthy slut… keep licking!" The tone brims with seductive dominance. Momo’s tongue intensifies on my balls, teasing the folds, enveloping them with forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds exuding sensual rhythm. Her black short hair sways, sweat trailing down her forehead to drip onto her hand, mixing with the carpet’s wet spots like a seductive scene.

The dressing room’s air grows thick, mingling with their moans, the "smack smack smack" of flesh colliding, and my heavy breaths, like a seductive symphony. The vanity’s cosmetic bottles tremble, a few lipsticks rolling to the floor with "tinkle" sounds, adding a sensual layer. Mina’s legs begin to shake, her core clenching my cock, inner flesh contracting violently, juices squirting down her buttock cleft to drip onto the floor, exuding enticing air. My thrusts grow wilder, one hand pressing Momo’s head toward my groin, aligning her and Sana’s movements into a tempting duet. Sana’s tongue thrusts rapidly into my anus, Momo’s lips and tongue roaming my balls and cock base, their saliva mixing to trail down my thighs, dripping onto the carpet, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation.

Time ticks by, the dressing room’s lascivious atmosphere thickening, Mina’s moans turning to sharp cries, "Oh… Master… I can’t…" Her body convulses, climax nearing, exuding seductive afterglow. Sana and Momo’s lips and tongue explore my groin, delivering endless stimulation, my growls growing frequent, cock moving in and out of Mina’s core with "squish squish" sounds exuding sensual rhythm. The show’s prep noises approach outside, yet unable to interrupt this frenzied flesh feast, my eyes burning with conquest, Mina’s gaze hazy, Sana and Momo’s efforts deepening, as if this game will continue…

#minasaiyatis #twice smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #m reader #twice imagines #mina smut #sana smut #momo smut #twice mina #twice sana #twice momo #misamo

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heirloomgem · 7 months ago

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Infatuation Series

Summary: Small snippets and cute scenes on your crush on Sung Jinwoo and how Sung Jinwoo courts and wins over you in high school after using the cup of reincarnation.

His sole purpose in this life is to win your heart, become your faithful husband, and have you be the mother of his children. No one else but you. (Mini chapters)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except for my characters and plot.

Warning/Genre: OOC, Romance, fluff, high school life (Sorry for the miss grammar)

Chapter 1: Chances

Lately, you have been too flustered for your own good but that’s because you’ve started liking someone.

In a classroom filled with students, the sound of pens scratching on paper echoed as students took notes while listening to their teacher.

Some people were diligent, some were dozing off and some were distracted, and you were among them.

Twirling your pen in one hand and leaning on the other, you did your best to listen to the lesson.

However, the calm spring breeze coming through the window seemed to lull you, and your mind gradually began to drift away.

Slowly, your eyes were closing.

Just as you were about to nod off, you caught yourself and quickly straightened up. Opening the back of your notebook you opted to doodle so you won't fall asleep.

It begins with a flower, followed by a bear, a knight's helmet, dragon wings, a dagger and various other unusual and unrelated items until finally you unconsciously draw a chibi version of him.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

Sung Jinwoo.

A second-year student in your high school, whom you started liking recently.

He was your senior by a year as you were in your first year. He was one of the handsome, popular and competent students in your school that most girls fawn over and for boys to idolize.

Like most girls in your school, you were no different from them, who accidentally glanced at him and were instantly smitten.

Foolishly and stupidly smitten.

You didn't know why, but after catching a glimpse of his soft black hair reminiscent of the night, his slender yet beautiful grey eyes, framed by long eyelashes, and his lips, which had a slight reddish tint.

That day, a deep sense of familiarity surged within you. Those feelings captured you and he entangled you with his very being without hesitation.

Even to this day, just remember that moment and how your eyes met made your body heat up, your cheeks flush and a deep aching echo inside you.

Finishing your doodle, you took a moment to admire your drawing of him.

Even though it's just a silly drawing, you couldn't help but caress his small face. A sweet smile appeared on your lips before shaking your head, catching yourself.

Looking at the front, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw that the teacher and your classmates didn't catch you making a silly face out of nowhere and were focused on the lesson instead.

You didn't want anyone, particularly your teacher, to catch you daydreaming especially when your mind wandered toward your silly little crush or else with just a slip everyone in your school would talk about it no doubt and soon he would hear about it.

Just imagining his uncomfortable expression made you shudder, scared and embarrassed.

There's no way you would be able to endure such humiliation if such a thing were ever to happen.

Slapping yourself awake, you flip your notes back and resume jotting down points.

Soon the bell rang, signalling for a break.

You gratefully took the time to stretch your stiff body, worn from sitting in class for almost half of the day. Hearing your bones crack, you let out a sigh of relief, you turn toward your friend before happily inviting her to go out and buy some snacks.

Walking down the hallways while talking to your friend, you furtively give a few glances at his classroom as you pass it. Hoping to catch a glance of him.

However, it seems that luck wasn't on your side, as you didn't even see a glimpse of his clothes. A sense of sadness envelops you, leaving you disheartened.

Unfortunately, you weren’t in the same class or year as him so there were only a few times when you could see him.

Although you envy the students that were in the same year as him, that didn’t dismay you from time to time to wander the hallways of his classroom to try to catch sight of him.

This was one of the few times you hoped to see him, but it seemed the gods were not in your favour today.

You haven't seen nor heard of him at all throughout the morning and now it's already past noon.

You were hoping to at least even just once, you would see him.

Glumly choosing some snacks, you paid right away and waited for your friend's turn before the both of you walked back to your classroom.

Your head hung low as you considered the rest of the day would be unmotivated and restless due to not seeing him.

You wonder why you weren't born in the same year as him. If you had been, you might have had the chance to be with him that year or, even better, have him as your classmate instead of your senior.

Probably because you were too busy weeping childishly, you didn't pay enough attention to where you were going, causing you to crash into someone.

Expecting the painful impact, you held your breath when suddenly, you felt a strong hand holding your waist and pulling you into a warm embrace, steadying your fall.

With your heart racing from fright and still dazed from the incident, it took you a moment to come to your senses before you looked up, ready to apologize.

But your eyes widened instead, your tongue stuck in your throat, and not a word came out.

You felt your face blush uncontrollably, and your whole body trembled. This time, you knew your heart was racing not from fright, but from the nervousness of your crush's sudden appearance.

Standing face to face with your crush, Sung Jinwoo, you could feel his breath as your faces were close to each other, his head bent down, looking at you.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” He asked as he gave you a worried look while you, in turn, could only look at him with your mouth wide open.

Both of your friends, who saw the whole situation stood frozen.

For one, your friend knows who your crush is while the other was bewildered with the whole situation.

Lifting his eyes, Sung Jinwoo’s eyebrow furrowed, concerned in his beautiful grey eyes, then brought a hand to touch your forehead which was now red from the earlier collision with his back.

“Your forehead’s bruised. We should go to the infirmary.” He murmured as he caressed your forehead.

Feeling his gentle touch, you snap out of your bewilderment and start rambling nonsensically, your arms flailing, your voice squeaking, and your face all messed up.

You couldn't help but cry in your heart.

Of all times, your bad luck just has to kick you when you least expected it and now you're making a fool of yourself in front of him.

Worst of all you just showed him yourself gawking at him unreservedly.

Not taking it anymore and embarrassed from head to toe, you immediately took your friend’s hand, apologizing before dashing away from the awkward situation.

You’re sure not only your face but your whole body is red as a tomato. Your back sweating profusely.

You’ve always imagined countless scenarios in your head. If you ever got the chance to talk to him, you would act smoothly and gracefully, ensuring that not a hint of your crush would show.

But now! BUT NOW!

You cried in despair.

God! You wish you could burrow yourself in a hole.

You were just grateful that only the four of you were in the hallway; otherwise, not only would you be mortified by your embarrassment, but you were certain that his fans would be furious with you for getting too close to him. And for sure you would be dead meat by the end of the day.

You were so grateful that wasn't the case.

As you and your friend were still running toward your class, a shameless thought popped into your mind, causing your once-red face to turn even redder.

Even though it was but a moment, you shamelessly recalled how his body felt against you.

His body was hard and built.

If you bet with anyone that he absolutely has abs even though he's only a high schooler, you will surely win.

With your mind clouded by immoral thoughts, you didn't notice the classroom door was closed, resulting in you running into it.

A loud sound echoed down the hallway, causing your friend to yelp in concern at your unhinged state.

You muttered a whole storm of curses under your breath.

You're certain the gods intended for you to die in shame today, leaving no corpse behind.

Meanwhile...

As Jinwoo watched you run off, he chuckled, his ears turning red from your cute reaction. After all this time, he had finally reunited with you.

He is eagerly looking forward to the days when you two can finally be together again.

A/N: Ahh, the taste of high school crushes! It’s so fresh but SO cringe at the same time, I couldn’t help but look back at my past crushes. SO CRINGE AND YET SO BITTER AND SO GOOD! Lol!🤣

Anyway, Sorry for the late post. Life has been too busy though I hope you enjoyed this fanfic!

{All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author}

#solo leveling #sung jinwoo #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jin woo x reader #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling x you #sung jinwoo x you #crushes #romance #fluff #comedy #school #high school #sung jinwoo x reader #divider by saradika #credit to the artist

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yukkiji · 26 days ago

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cross court

in a world where rivalries run deep and loyalties run deeper, a secret relationship between kageyama tobio and aoba johsai's manager tests the lines drawn between love, trust, and the net that keeps them apart

the other side of the net. haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. kageyama tobio x fem!reader ft. oikawa tooru

genre: fluff, romance, crack, older brother!oikawa, secret relationship, seijoh vbc always makes an appearance, siblings banter, reader and oikawa being petty mostly oikawa

wc: 11.3k

author's note: i enjoyed writing this so much and i probably have a thing for secret relationships lol anyways this would probably have a short part 2 but that would depend if i'm up for it or if someone request hehe enjoy reading!!

you had no intention—none—of dating someone your brother had a dramatic volleyball rivalry with. not just any rivalry, either. oikawa tooru was notorious for holding grudges like sacred relics.

and his longest-standing one?

kageyama tobio.

so, really. you had no plans of entertaining anything remotely romantic with the so-called “king of the court.” but… well.

it started in your second year at kitagawa daiichi.

back then, kageyama had a reputation that preceded him. ruthless. intense. someone you didn’t make eye contact with unless you wanted to get mentally spiked. but then again, you weren’t like most people. you did make eye contact.

you did ask questions and you did catch him staying late in the gym more times than you could count.

you’d started leaving your own club duties later than necessary, your route home conveniently passing the gymnasium. it became a routine.

a glance.

a nod.

then, eventually, a quiet: “you’re late again.”

“so are you.”

one of those evenings, after another failed toss from one of his teammates, he sat down in frustration, palms over his knees, head bowed. you hadn’t meant to speak, but your voice came anyway.

“maybe they’d trust you more if you didn’t look like you wanted to kill them.”

silence.

then, miraculously—he didn’t snap. he just looked at you with those impossibly intense eyes and said: “…i don’t.”

that was the beginning.

you weren’t sure what it was at first—friendship? understanding? tension in your chest every time his gaze lingered on you a second too long?

but then, the spring tournament came. you watched from the bleachers as kageyama played like a force of nature, and all you could think was: he’s brilliant.

and when you passed him a bottle of water after the match—heart thundering, hand barely brushing his—he said it with all the softness no one ever expected from him:

“thanks… i was hoping you’d come.”

you kissed him a week later behind the gym, after both your clubs had cleared out. it was clumsy and rushed and the dumbest decision you’d ever made.

but you didn’t stop. neither did he.

you promised to keep it a secret. not just because of the school rules. but because of your brother.

oikawa tooru would throw an entire fit—not just a tantrum, a full production—if he found out.

so you kept quiet. carefully.

even after you graduated middle school, the secret stayed tucked between you and kageyama like something sacred—something too delicate to name aloud.

you thought high school was supposed to make things easier. a new chapter, a fresh start but it didn’t.

in fact, it only made things messier.

kageyama ended up at karasuno.

you, on the other hand, followed your brother to aoba johsai—because of course you did. it was the obvious choice, the expected path, and it would’ve made your parents happy. and maybe, in some part of your heart, you thought staying close to oikawa meant things would be familiar. steady.

but nothing about that decision felt steady when you realized it would put you on the opposite side of the net from him.

to make matters worse, oikawa—your overly dramatic, high-maintenance, control-freak older brother—volunteered you for the volleyball club the second week of school.

he said you were “organized” and “smart” and “his favorite little sibling.” he left out the part where he just didn’t trust anyone else to hand him water bottles correctly and somehow, by the time you could protest, your name was already printed on the club roster.

just like that, you were in.

no interview, no hesitation—just a clipboard shoved into your hands and a whistle dangling from your neck like a leash. oikawa had smiled proudly, like he’d just done you the biggest favor of your life, completely oblivious to the way your stomach dropped when you realized exactly what it meant.

you were the new manager of aoba johsai’s volleyball team. his team. the one that would, inevitably, cross paths with karasuno.

you told yourself it wouldn’t be soon. that you had time, but life had a cruel sense of humor.

“we’ve got a practice match,” oikawa had said one morning, all smug grins and dramatic flair. “against some scrappy team from the mountains. should be fun.”

you almost didn’t check the name.

you almost didn’t need to.

your fingers paused on the gym rotation board, eyes narrowing as they landed on one word.

karasuno.

your heart stuttered. not because of the rivalry. not because of your brother’s unresolved grudge or the way he’d practically spit whenever the name “kageyama” came up.

no.

your stomach dropped because just two nights ago, you were sitting beside that very same boy—tucked into the back corner booth of a quiet café two stations away, a hoodie pulled low over his head, his hand hidden beneath the table so he could squeeze yours while pretending not to know you in public.

the worst part?

you were getting good at hiding things.

texting through locked screens, sneaking out the back gate after club hours, meeting halfway between neighborhoods just to walk a few streets together and knowing exactly how long it took to get home before anyone noticed.

you kissed him behind corner stores and train station pillars. shared rice balls and silence and the kind of looks that said, i wish this was easier. he rarely smiled around other people. but with you?

with you, he softened. just a little.

and now?

now the guy you were just on a secret date with—two days ago—was standing across the gym in a karasuno jersey, casually stretching like he didn’t know your entire world had tilted sideways.

you hadn’t even had time to come down from the high of that last kiss—rushed, stolen, tucked beneath the shadows of the park entrance as he’d muttered, “be careful going home,”

and you’d whispered, “you too, tobio.”

and now he was here. on the court. playing against your team.

your brother’s team.

and you were on the sideline with a clipboard and a name tag that practically screamed, i’m not supposed to be in love with the enemy.

you felt him notice you before you even looked up.

it was like gravity—an invisible pull that yanked your eyes toward him the second he entered your periphery.

he didn’t smile. of course he didn’t.

not where anyone could see.

not while oikawa was already glaring daggers across the net, mumbling things under his breath like “king this” and “how dramatic can one toss be.”

but his eyes lingered.

just for a second.

just long enough to say:

i missed you. i’m still yours.

you swallowed hard and turned back to your clipboard, pretending to check a lineup that didn’t need checking.

because the gym lights were too bright and your heart was too loud. the last thing you needed right now was to get caught looking at the boy you weren’t supposed to know so well.

the gym break was short—just ten minutes to refill water bottles, review line-ups, and let the boys stretch before the second half of the practice match.

naturally, your team scattered: oikawa started analyzing serve patterns with matsukawa and hanamaki, kunimi flopped onto the floor and declared he might die, and you?

you slipped away with your clipboard. casually. unassuming. just manager things.

except you didn’t go toward the benches. you went around the corner—past the lockers, down the hallway, and into the half-cracked storage room at the back of the building.

he was already there, waiting.

“you’re late,” kageyama mumbled, eyes flicking up as you closed the door behind you. his voice was quiet, but his shoulders eased the second he saw you.

“kunimi kept asking for another bottle,” you whispered, stepping toward him. “he opened one and dropped it without drinking. he’s so dramatic when he’s tired.”

“you’re one to talk,” he muttered, but there was a ghost of a smile in his voice.

it didn’t matter that it was barely five minutes, that there were shoes squeaking down the hall or that someone could open the door at any second.

none of that mattered.

because you were in his arms now—pressed into the familiar warmth of his chest, your clipboard awkwardly wedged between you and his jacket, but you didn’t care. his hand slid around your waist. his forehead pressed against yours.

“i missed you,” you breathed, and his grip tightened.

“i saw you two days ago.”

“that doesn’t count.”

you stayed there, just breathing, letting the tension melt, letting your nerves still, letting yourself be selfish for once. because it wasn’t fair, being in love with someone you couldn’t look at in public. couldn’t touch. couldn’t even acknowledge.

kageyama’s hand brushed behind your ear, gentle, like he was memorizing the shape of you again. the pad of his thumb traced the edge of your jaw in the way he always did when he was thinking too hard and feeling too much. his voice, when it came, was barely audible—just a breath against the quiet hum of the old gym light above you.

"wish i could walk you home today."

it was such a simple thing.

a small wish.

a little softness you were both constantly denied.

your throat tightened, heart clenching as your fingers curled lightly into the front of his jacket.

"me too."

and then—

he leaned in.

not rushed. not hungry. not desperate. no—he kissed you like he was trying to make time stop. like this was the only way he knew how to be gentle in a world that always expected him to be hard-edged and sharp.

his lips met yours softly, carefully—almost reverent, like he was afraid you’d break if he got too close too fast. the kiss was slow, lingering, full of the kind of longing that only came from nights spent staring at your phones, rereading unsent messages.

your eyes slipped shut. your breath caught.

you didn’t even realize how tightly you’d been wound until he touched you—until everything inside you softened just enough to breathe again.

his other hand found the small of your back, steadying you against him, grounding you like he always did when the rest of the world felt too loud. he didn’t kiss like the boy people saw on the court—didn’t move with the same fierce, brutal intensity. not here. not with you.

with you, he was all caution and quiet ache. like he didn’t want to waste a single second. like he wanted to remember exactly how your lips tasted before the world tore you apart again.

you tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to feel the way he inhaled against you—just a tiny, sharp breath like your touch startled him every single time.

god, how long had it been since you’d felt like this?

not just close, but real.

not hiding behind screens or waiting for his name to pop up in your notifications, but here, in the warmth of his chest, in the steady rhythm of his breath, in the way he clung to you like the clock wasn’t ticking down.

his lips broke from yours just slightly, lingering close enough that you were still sharing air.

"don’t look at me during the match," he whispered, voice low and serious, barely more than a hum against your mouth.

you blinked up at him, dazed. "what?"

his forehead pressed against yours. his thumb ghosted along your cheekbone. "you always smile. someone’s gonna notice."

you let out the softest breath of a laugh, eyes flicking toward the door. "that’s rich, coming from the guy who glances at me every time he serves."

"i don’t—"

"you do."

his ears went a little pink. he grumbled something under his breath, looking away for half a second like he regretted saying anything. but you caught the twitch of his lips, the almost-smile he didn’t quite let loose.

"then don’t smile too big," he said eventually, a little quieter.

"then don’t look at me so much."

the words hung between you like a shared joke neither of you could fully laugh at—not when you both knew exactly what was at stake.

he kissed you again.

this time quicker, firmer, like he was bracing himself. like it had to be enough for the next few days, weeks—however long it would take before the next stolen moment.

but just as you started to lean into him again—

knock knock knock.

your whole body jolted.

you and kageyama broke apart like magnets flipped the wrong way, panic shooting straight through your chest as the door creaked open a few inches.

you barely had time to breathe.

"you two are lucky it’s me," a familiar voice deadpanned, unimpressed.

iwaizumi hajime stood in the doorway like a disappointed older sibling who walked in just as the baby set the kitchen on fire. his arms were crossed. his brow twitched. and in his hand, swinging lazily like a weapon of judgment, was a half-empty sports drink.

you froze.

kageyama did too, like someone had just hit the pause button mid-breath. you didn’t even realize how close you were—chests brushing, hands still entangled—until iwaizumi’s stare made you hyper-aware of everything.

"oh my god," you whispered, voice barely a breath, panic bubbling in your chest. "oh my god, hajime don't tell—"

"calm down," iwaizumi said flatly, cutting you off without missing a beat. his tone was dry—borderline unimpressed, like he had caught a puppy chewing on his shoelaces. he looked at kageyama with that sharp-eyed, no-nonsense glance that had made entire first-years crumble during conditioning. "i’m not gonna snitch."

you and kageyama blinked at him in unison. "…you’re not?"

iwaizumi looked like he aged five years in that single moment.

"no," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like the weight of the volleyball world rested right between his shoulders. "but seriously—just don’t get caught."

your mouth opened, ready to thank him or explain or maybe grovel—but he lifted a hand before you could say anything, like he already regretted even engaging.

"actually—scratch that," he muttered. "do whatever the hell you want. just not before the exams."

there was a sharp silence.

iwaizumi sighed again, more soul-weary this time. "i’m begging you—not before exams."

he gestured vaguely between the two of you. "if he finds out now, it’s gonna be hell. he’ll cry. loudly. like full-volume dramatic-ass crying. there will be wailing, betrayal speeches, and possibly glitter involved. and then—then i’ll be stuck dragging his sorry ass through physics review while he rants about heartbreak and how ‘his own sister conspired with the enemy.’"

you stared at him, eyes wide. "he wouldn't—"

"he would," iwaizumi said grimly. "and he has."

your stomach flipped. kageyama glanced between you and iwaizumi like he was watching a very specific nightmare unfold in real-time.

"i just want to pass my exams," iwaizumi continued, now with the dulled tone of a man who had given up on peace a long time ago. "i want to take my tests, graduate, and never hear the phrase ‘iwa-chan, i’m emotionally devastated’ ever again."

and then, like the gods of timing were playing a prank on you—

"iwa-chan!" oikawa’s voice rang through the hallway like a foghorn dipped in glitter.

iwaizumi flinched. hard.

he closed his eyes for a beat, jaw clenching, like he was preparing for impact.

"for the love of—"

he didn’t even finish the sentence. just turned on his heel and started walking, muttering under his breath with the resigned energy of someone who had seen things.

his footsteps echoed down the hallway. his sports drink fizzed softly in his grip.

you exhaled, finally. like the air had been stuck in your lungs the whole time.

"we’re so dead," you murmured.

kageyama blinked. "…he said he wouldn’t tell."

"not before exams," you emphasized, slumping lightly against the wall. your pulse was still racing. your palms still warm from where they’d held his. "after midterms, we’re done for. that was a death warning with a time extension."

kageyama tilted his head slightly. "…should we study together?"

you looked at him.

"for physics?"

he shrugged. "…for hiding better."

you bit your lip. a laugh bubbled up despite the panic. god, how were you already this deep in?

of course, the secret dates continued.

you were both careful—meticulous, even. always watching the corners, checking your phone twice before stepping out, giving enough time between messages so no one would notice the rhythm of your habits. but there were still cracks in the walls. still moments where your heart forgot to be cautious and your smile forgot to stay small.

most of your time together was now cleverly disguised as studying. technically, it wasn’t even a lie.

kageyama was brilliant when it came to numbers, tactics, movement—but throw a dense japanese lit essay or a poetic passage with five layers of symbolism at him and he’d start blinking like the textbook was personally insulting him.

so you started helping. slowly at first—quizzing him over the phone, rewriting key points in color-coded notes. then came the in-person study sessions.

there was a little café, tucked just far enough away from the school that it felt safe. it had corner booths, soft lighting, and a playlist of instrumental jazz that made kageyama squint at the speakers like it offended him, but he never complained once.

he always ordered the same drink—a tall iced matcha with half the syrup—and you'd roll your eyes when he tried to drink it in one go during breaks.

"pace yourself," you'd murmur, sliding your annotated pages across the table. "we’re still doing comprehension later."

he’d groan softly. “do we have to do the one with the girl and the moon again?”

"yes. because you missed the metaphor. again."

you teased him, but your heart fluttered every time he listened—earnest, serious, brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of romantic prose and implied emotion like he did with set plays and timing.

sometimes, he'd stare at you too long while you were explaining something, and you’d pause mid-sentence.

“what?” you’d ask, trying not to smile.

“nothing,” he’d mutter, eyes dropping to his notes, ears going red.

those moments were dangerous. soft. yours.

but back at home, back at school, your brother started noticing.

it started with the smallest things—how you came home a little later than usual, how you checked your phone a few more times at dinner, how your excuses were starting to sound a little too well-rehearsed.

one particular afternoon, you were slipping your bag over your shoulder, fixing your hair in the hallway mirror when oikawa appeared behind you, sipping juice from a ridiculous star-patterned bottle.

"you're going out again?" he asked, a bit too casually.

"study group," you replied smoothly.

"at the school library?"

"nope. cafe."

he raised an eyebrow. "again?"

you blinked once. slow. neutral.

"hajime also studies in cafes sometimes."

oikawa nodded thoughtfully, then squinted. "but hajime doesn’t come home smiling like a golden retriever that just got praised for rolling over."

you froze mid-step. shit.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me." his eyes narrowed. “you’ve been coming home with this dumb grin on your face lately. and don’t even get me started on how often you hum now. you’re humming, like you’re in a shoujo manga.”

you forced a tight smile and grabbed your bag. "you’re being dramatic."

"you’re hiding something," he said, still squinting.

you just turned on your heel and walked away, throwing over your shoulder, “i always smile when i get good grades. maybe you should try it.”

but your heart pounded all the way out the door.

not because you were afraid—not really. you were just… getting tired of hiding how happy he made you. of dodging glances and walking tightropes around oikawa’s nosy instincts. still, the thrill of it hadn’t dulled. not yet.

the sun hadn’t fully dipped yet, and the sky was washed in warm gold, streaked with pale blue and lazy clouds. it was late afternoon—the kind of day where everything looked a little slower, a little softer.

you spotted him immediately through the window of the café.

kageyama was already at your usual booth, tucked in the corner by the bookshelf display, two drinks on the table—yours already waiting. he was wearing that same dark zip-up jacket, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, one hand idly spinning his pen while the other hovered over his open notebook.

he looked focused, serious, and very much like a boy trying to pretend this wasn’t the highlight of his day.

your steps picked up slightly. you didn’t even mean to—it just happened. like your feet wanted to reach him before your thoughts could catch up.

he looked up the moment the door chimed.

and when your eyes met, his entire face changed.

his shoulders relaxed. the tension left his brow. and for just a second, the corners of his lips lifted—barely, but enough.

you were halfway to the booth when he stood up, leaned in, and—

softly, quickly—he pressed a kiss to your lips.

it wasn’t showy. not even particularly passionate. just… familiar. warm. the kind of kiss that said you’re here. i missed you. it’s better now.

your breath caught, just a little.

“hi,” you murmured.

“hey,” he said, voice lower than usual, eyes scanning your face like he was checking if anything was wrong.

he always did that—looked at you like he could solve something if you just let him.

“you okay?” he asked gently as you slid into your seat.

you nodded. “yeah. just—tooru’s getting annoying.”

“more than usual?” his brow twitched.

you sighed, pulling your notebook out of your bag. “he’s watching me too closely. says i’m smiling like a golden retriever.”

kageyama blinked. “but you do that all the time.”

you squinted at him. “…you’re not helping.”

he pressed his lips together in a line, like he wasn’t sure what the right answer was anymore.

then, under the table, you felt the nudge of his foot tapping against yours—soft. subtle. like a secret only the two of you shared.

you didn’t look up right away.

instead, you flipped open your own notebook and pulled out a mechanical pencil, letting the quiet between you stretch just a bit longer. outside, the sunlight spilled gold over the sidewalks and filtered through the glass in long shadows, painting the table in warmth.

“so,” you said eventually, keeping your tone light. “how many times did you rewrite your essay after i said i’d check it?”

“three,” he muttered, barely audible.

your head snapped up. “three?”

kageyama blinked, defensively. “i didn’t want you to say it was lazy again.”

you blinked at him, stunned. “…that’s honestly really impressive.”

he looked away, pretending to be too focused on his cup. “i still don’t get why authors have to say stuff without saying it. if they mean something, why not just say it straight?”

you couldn’t help it—you laughed. not loud, but a soft, honest laugh that made him look back at you. and when he did, his expression shifted slightly. like he was seeing something important.

you reached for one of his flashcards and tapped it against the edge of your palm.

“because people are complicated,” you said gently. “feelings are complicated. not everything can be said straight. sometimes… it’s easier to just show it.”

he went quiet at that.

the sounds of the café filled the silence—cups clinking, pages flipping, a quiet indie song humming overhead. and beneath the table, his foot was still lightly pressed to yours.

then he spoke.

quiet. barely above a whisper.

“do you think… someday…”

you looked up.

he was staring at his notebook, but his voice was steadier than his eyes.

“…we could stop hiding?”

you didn’t answer right away.

your heart ached just a little at the question—not because it hurt, but because of how tender it was. how careful he was being with something that clearly mattered to him.

“i hope so,” you said honestly. “i really do.”

he finally looked at you. and when your eyes met, there was no secret. no fear.

just the shared understanding of two people choosing each other—quietly, stubbornly, even when the world wasn’t ready.

he nodded once.

“okay.”

then he nudged a flashcard toward you. “i don’t get this one either.”

you snorted. “yeah, no kidding.”

and just like that, the two of you fell back into rhythm—side by side in a world that didn’t know yet, but someday, maybe, would.

the rest of that afternoon passed in quiet comfort. your voices stayed low, heads tilted toward each other as you moved through flashcards and mock questions and little scribbled notes in the margins of each other’s notebooks. occasionally, kageyama would murmur something about the material—and every time he got something right, your eyes would light up just a little, and his lips would twitch like he was proud but trying not to show it too much.

you left the café an hour later with the sun dipping below the rooftops and the shadows stretching long down the sidewalk. his hand didn’t touch yours. not in public. but when he walked slightly closer than necessary, shoulder brushing yours on occasion, it felt like enough.

for now.

exams came and went in a blur of long nights, group reviews, and mental exhaustion. oikawa didn’t bother you much during exam week—too preoccupied trying to memorize formulas and force hajime to quiz him until 2 a.m. (which usually ended with iwaizumi throwing a pillow at him and telling him to sleep or fail in peace).

you barely saw kageyama during those days, save for the occasional text:

[tobio:] good luck on your history test. [tobio:] i’m still bad at reading. but i remembered your voice when i read the poem. [tobio:] can’t wait to see you again.

you smiled at your phone more than you probably should’ve. but you’d earned it.

because before you could even recover from the academic chaos—interhigh prelims began.

there was no easing into it this time.

aoba johsai versus karasuno.

the match was intense from the first serve.

you stood on the sidelines in your team jacket, clipboard in hand, trying to keep your expression neutral even as your heart threatened to leap out of your chest every time a certain setter lined up across the net.

kageyama was laser-focused. sharp. his sets were crisp, deadly. he and hinata moved like lightning bolts—chaotic but scarily effective. they were good. too good.

but your boys—your team—were better.

it was close. every set clawed for. every point hard-won. sweat dripped from foreheads, shouts rang across the court, and you were scribbling notes on the back of your clipboard with hands that trembled more from nerves than adrenaline.

in the final set, the score was 31-33.

match point.

the gym erupted.

your clipboard nearly slipped from your hand as the entire bench leapt up in celebration, the players pouring together at center court in a mess of cheers and fist bumps. oikawa was yelling something cocky about being the "great king of setters," and matsukawa had to physically drag him back from trying to gloat in front of kageyama.

your gaze, however, found him on instinct.

kageyama stood with his hands braced against his knees, chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing. sweat clung to the sides of his face, dripping from his chin to the polished court below. his brows were furrowed in frustration—but not anger. it was that quiet, inward kind. the kind that came when you gave everything and still came up short.

hinata was beside him in seconds, clapping a hand on his back and saying something—probably encouraging, probably loud. daichi offered a short, grounding pat to his shoulder as they regrouped. the rest of karasuno hovered close, murmuring, checking in, worn out but not broken.

he nodded at whatever they said.

but then, almost imperceptibly, his head turned.

and his eyes—those sharp, storm-colored eyes—scanned across the court until they landed on you.

just for a moment.

it was fast. a flicker, a second too long to be casual, a second too short to be noticed by anyone else, but you felt it like a heartbeat skipping.

your fingers tightened around your clipboard, knuckles paling against the hard edge.

you didn’t let yourself smile.

you couldn’t. not here.

not when oikawa was still riding high on victory and your team was halfway into their loud, smug celebrations. but your expression softened all the same, the corners of your eyes easing, the tension in your jaw loosening.

kageyama saw it. you knew he did.

because his shoulders straightened—not much, but just enough. like your silent exchange gave him a sliver of peace in the sting of the loss.

he gave you the smallest nod.

you nodded back.

it was enough. for now.

“did you see that block?” oikawa’s voice crashed into your space like a cymbal. “iwa-chan’s block?! textbook? no—no, wait—legendary.”

his arm slung around your shoulders before you could dodge, dragging you into his side like a trophy he was parading around with. he smelled like sweat, gatorade, and very loud pride.

you flinched, trying not to make a face. “obviously i saw it. it was textbook defense.”

“textbook?” he gasped. “it was poetry, manager-chan. the kind that should be written into the next generation’s coaching manuals.”

“you mean iwaizumi should be written into the coaching manuals,” you muttered under your breath.

as if summoned, iwaizumi passed by with a towel around his neck and a faint smirk on his face. his eyes caught yours—sharp, knowing. the look he gave you was brief, but unmistakable: i’m watching you. don’t be stupid.

you swallowed. tried to play it cool.

“great game, hajime,” you said a little too cheerfully.

he snorted. “just don’t let your brother get too annoying about it.”

then he walked off, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours.

because your heart was still racing—not from the win, not from the match.

but because you’d locked eyes with the boy who was supposed to be your rival.

the boy you’d kissed in the quiet corners of cafes and study rooms.

the boy who still looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in a gym full of noise.

aoba johsai had won.

but a part of you—quiet, aching—was still standing on the opposite side of the net.

you glanced around the gym, heart pounding. oikawa was still surrounded by a cluster of fangirls, grinning ear to ear like he hadn’t just fought tooth and nail on the court thirty minutes ago. his water bottle was tucked under one arm, towel slung over the other, signing something on a notebook that didn’t belong to him.

perfect.

you shifted your eyes to iwaizumi, who had just finished speaking to a staff member. when he turned and caught your gaze, you gave him a silent, pleading look.

he sighed—already looking like he regretted indulging you—but he tilted his head ever so slightly toward the hallway exit.

just a nod.

just enough.

you mouthed a quick thank you before slipping away, heart hammering against your ribs as you disappeared down the corridor and out the side doors.

you found him exactly where you hoped he’d be: by the bike racks behind the school, tucked between the shadows of the trees and the golden wash of the late afternoon sun. kageyama stood with his back to the building, water bottle dangling from his fingers, duffel at his feet. his hair was damp, his shirt slightly rumpled, and his entire posture radiated frustration.

you stopped just a few steps away.

“tobio,” you called gently.

his head jerked up immediately, and when his eyes landed on you, something in his shoulders loosened.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly. but he didn’t sound like he meant it. he looked relieved.

“neither should you,” you replied, stepping closer.

he looked down, jaw tight. “i messed up some of the last plays. my sets weren’t clean. i kept thinking—” he cut himself off, brows furrowing. “you were watching. and i wanted to win. for you.”

your heart ached.

“you did great,” you said honestly. “you were amazing out there.”

“still lost.”

“but you didn’t lose me,” you whispered, reaching up to brush his bangs away from his forehead.

he didn’t flinch away this time. just leaned forward ever so slightly.

“i wish i could walk you home,” he murmured, voice rough.

“me too.”

and then, because the ache between you couldn’t be swallowed down anymore—you closed the distance.

your lips met in a soft, steady kiss. his hands hesitated, then landed at your waist, pulling you closer like he was terrified you’d disappear. you kissed him again, slower this time, and he tilted his head, deepening it without rushing. it wasn’t messy, wasn’t frantic.

it was you and him.

but then—

“unbelievable.”

your body stiffened like you’d been dunked in ice water. you turned slowly, dread sinking into your stomach faster than you could breathe.

oikawa stood a few feet away, his jaw slack, one brow raised, arms crossed like he’d just walked in on the betrayal of the century.

“of all the people,” he said flatly, gesturing dramatically between the two of you. “him? really?”

“tooru—” you started, but the panic made your voice come out weak.

he shook his head, holding up a finger. “don’t even. don’t try to explain. don’t give me that look. i am so mad at iwa-chan right now. he knew something.”

kageyama stood there awkwardly, lips parted like he wasn’t sure if he should say something or just accept his fate.

“you know what?” oikawa sniffed. “i don’t even have the energy for this right now. i’ve already carried this team on my back all day, and now i have to carry this betrayal too?”

he spun on his heel with unnecessary flair and stalked off.

you chased after him, steps quick. “tooru, wait—”

he didn’t look back. “i don’t want to talk to you. not right now. not today.”

“i was going to tell you—”

“oh, were you?” he said, voice rising just enough to make the words sting. “when? before or after you made out with our school’s rival setter behind the gym like you’re starring in a bad romance drama?”

you winced. “please, don’t be mad.”

“oh, i’m not mad,” he said. “i’m just… incredibly disappointed, betrayed, and now i have to process it while walking home with my secretive little sister, because iwa-chan says it’s too dark for you to go alone.”

you both walked in silence for a moment.

you thought maybe he’d calm down eventually. say something snarky but forgivable.

he didn’t.

he didn’t even glance at you.

you walked the entire way home in awkward silence, your steps slower than usual, your chest heavier than it had been after finals. every time you tried to speak, he either walked faster or pretended not to hear you.

he held the door open when you reached home.

but didn’t say anything.

just trudged inside dramatically, like he was carrying the weight of the entire volleyball world on his shoulders. you stood in the hallway, clutching your bag, heart still racing.

you knew it would blow over.

eventually.

probably.

but for now?

tooru oikawa was going to be the pettiest person on earth.

and honestly? you probably deserved it.

but that didn’t mean you had to take it lying down.

it had been three days.

three whole days of being iced out at home—no good morning, no passing the rice, not even a passive-aggressive complaint about how you never close the fridge properly. it was like living with a ghost who slammed the bathroom door louder than necessary just to prove a point.

so, by the third day, you snapped.

it was during practice. the gym was hot, humid, and your clipboard was already a mess of smudged ink and sweat stains. oikawa had just breezed past you again without a word, tossing his towel onto the bench like you weren’t standing two feet away with a water bottle he asked for this morning.

“seriously?” you muttered under your breath.

iwaizumi looked up from where he was adjusting his kneepads. “still not talking to you?”

you scowled. “it’s been three days, hajime.”

“he’s being dramatic,” he said, not even bothering to sugarcoat it.

“he’s being impossible. i live with him. i breathe the same air as him. do you know how hard it is to eat dinner next to someone who refuses to acknowledge your existence?”

iwaizumi snorted.

oikawa—like clockwork—called for another drill. his voice rang sharp across the gym, crisp and full of authority. too crisp. too theatrical. like he was performing for an invisible audience. maybe the lingering fangirls in the bleachers. maybe the teammates pretending not to care. maybe you.

he didn’t even look at you. not once.

instead, as he passed, he tossed a smug, self-satisfied smirk your way. no eye contact. no words. just that tilt of his mouth like he was winning something you didn’t even know was a game.

that was the last straw.

you didn’t even think. your hand shot out, fingers curling around the volleyball iwaizumi was holding. he looked at you in surprise, barely having time to register what was happening before you turned on your heel, wound your arm back, and spiked it with full intention—

—the ball slammed straight into oikawa’s shoulder with a satisfying thud, hard enough to make him stumble forward.

the gym went silent.

not the kind of awkward silence. the kind where people stop breathing.

hanamaki dropped the ball he was twirling on his finger. matsukawa froze mid-sip of his water bottle.

oikawa turned slowly, blinking like he’d just been assaulted by a meteor.

“what the hell was that?!” he barked, rubbing his shoulder like it had been hit by a truck instead of a regulation volleyball.

“that?” you snapped, walking toward him, your voice trembling more from rage than fear. “that was three days of you acting like a spoiled little brat because i had the audacity to make one decision in my life without you.”

his eyes narrowed. “you hid it from me!”

“because you act like this!” you gestured around wildly. “you’re dramatic. you make everything into a production. this isn’t your court to referee, tooru.”

“i’m your brother!”

“and i’m not twelve anymore!” the words ripped out of your throat before you could stop them.

oikawa reeled, but you didn’t stop.

“you’ve been ignoring me. you roll your eyes when i speak. you treat me like i’m your problem when i’m the one who’s been covering for your team, picking up after practices, organizing drills while you lounge around on your throne.”

he opened his mouth to fire back, but you were already walking away—fast, angry steps echoing through the gym floor as you grabbed your bag off the bench.

“where are you going?” oikawa demanded.

“home.” your voice was tight. your eyes burned. “and if you’re gonna keep being like this, then maybe you should find yourself a new manager—because i’m not doing this anymore.”

that shut him up.

completely.

the gym went dead quiet, the weight of your words hanging like fog.

iwaizumi stepped forward quickly, raising both hands, like someone trying to defuse a bomb.

“okay, whoa—deep breaths. both of you.” he looked between the two of you, frowning. “this is getting out of hand.”

“she hit me with a ball!” oikawa argued, still indignant. “this is assault, iwa-chan—”

“and you’ve been a pain in the ass for three days straight,” iwaizumi snapped back. “you’re not innocent here, don’t even start.”

“iwa-chan, please, let me handle this—”

“you clearly can’t!” and without another warning, iwaizumi smacked the back of oikawa’s head with the flat of his palm.

a sharp, satisfying thwack echoed through the gym.

“ow! iwa-chan!!!”

“that’s for being insufferable.”

oikawa looked personally wounded. “i’m trying to be a good brother!”

“you’re trying to win a one-man drama award.”

from the bench, hanamaki finally broke the silence.

“…so are we still doing the drills or… should i also emotionally unpack something while we’re at it?”

matsukawa leaned over and muttered, “this is better than that reality dating show my sister watches.”

and just as oikawa turned to glare at both of them, the ball he’d been using earlier—previously balanced precariously on the ball cart—rolled off and nailed him square in the back of the head.

he yelped and fell forward with a grunt, collapsing face-first onto the court.

you paused mid-step, turning back just as hanamaki gasped, “oh my god. he’s being smited.”

matsukawa nodded solemnly. “the volleyball gods have spoken.”

iwaizumi just rubbed his temple like he was calculating how long it would take for the headache to kill him.

and though your shoulders were still tense, your hands still clenched—somehow, through the chaos and noise and sibling dramatics—you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

maybe this wasn’t over. maybe there was more arguing to come.

but right now?

you walked out of the gym knowing you weren’t the one who lost your mind in front of everyone.

that honor belonged to tooru oikawa.

you walked out of the gym knowing you weren’t the one who lost your mind in front of everyone.

that honor—undoubtedly—belonged to tooru oikawa.

and yet, even with the gym doors swinging shut behind you, the echo of raised voices and stunned silence still clung to your skin like humidity after a storm.

your chest felt tight. like your lungs were still in that room. like the words you shouted, the ones that had clawed their way out, were still lingering in the air behind you—echoing louder than the thud of the ball hitting his shoulder, louder than the stunned gasps, louder than your brother’s furious voice.

you stormed out, but the fury that had carried you out the door didn’t follow you far.

it fizzled slowly, eaten away by doubt and guilt and the quiet ache of something broken between siblings who used to be closer than breath.

you didn’t want things to end like that.

you didn’t want to walk away from the team you spent so much time managing, organizing, laughing with. you didn’t want to feel like this—that you had to choose between someone you loved and someone you were falling for.

you didn’t even realize where you were going until the school grounds had blurred behind you, until your steps grew automatic, your path familiar in the way a song plays in your head without realizing you ever pressed play.

you turned down the quiet street lined with faded shops and crooked telephone poles, past the bakery that closed too early and the bookstore that never seemed to restock. and there it was.

the café.

your café.

a little corner tucked into the edges of everything else—unassuming, warm, and private in all the ways that mattered. the kind of place no one from school would bother with. the kind of place that never asked questions. the kind of place that became yours simply because the two of you made it so.

you stood outside for a moment, the bell above the door jingling softly when the wind caught it. like it recognized you. like it missed you, too.

you stepped inside.

the air smelled like cinnamon and cheap espresso. one of the waitresses offered you a familiar smile, and you gave a polite nod before slipping into the booth in the far back—the one near the window, with the chipping tile and the scratched-up tabletop.

you didn’t even bother ordering anything. you just stared out the window for a while, watching the way the light curled on the pavement, watching the people who had no idea your world had tilted sideways.

then, with fingers that felt a little numb, you texted him.

i walked out. i’m at the café. i don’t know what i’m doing.

you put your phone face-down and rested your arms on the table, head bowed, trying not to let your emotions crawl out of your throat.

you hadn’t seen him in three days.

not since the argument started. not since oikawa started giving you the cold shoulder, and you started giving yourself boundaries. trying to prove—to your brother, to yourself—that you weren’t being careless. that you weren’t choosing recklessly. that maybe, if you just fixed everything first, it wouldn’t feel like betrayal.

ten minutes passed.

you hadn’t even touched the glass of water in front of you when the bell above the café door jingled again.

you didn’t look up at first.

but the quiet shift in the air—familiar footsteps, a presence you could feel even before you saw him—made your heart stutter.

kageyama tobio stood just inside the café, eyes scanning the tables with a kind of laser focus that made it look like he was analyzing a court mid-play. his hair was slightly damp, like he’d rushed out the moment he saw your message. his school bag slung lazily over one shoulder, jacket half-zipped, posture tense but eyes—

his eyes softened the second they landed on you.

he made his way over without hesitation, sliding into the seat across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. like he hadn’t missed you every second of those three days. like he hadn’t nearly worn a hole in his bedroom floor pacing.

you didn’t speak right away.

you looked at him. he looked back. and then, quietly, carefully, he reached across the table and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers brushed your skin—gentle, grounding.

“you okay?” he asked, voice soft. quieter than usual. more fragile.

you swallowed, throat dry. “i walked out. i told him i was quitting. i think i yelled it in front of everyone.”

kageyama’s brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded like he understood. like he was trying to meet you where you were, not just listen but hear.

“did you… hit him?” he asked, eyes flicking down, lips twitching ever so slightly.

you let out a shaky breath. “yeah. in the shoulder.”

“was it a good hit?”

you smiled despite yourself. “clean.”

he blinked once, slowly. “i wish i saw that.”

you both sat there for a while, silence stretching, but not uncomfortably. you glanced down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of a napkin.

“i haven’t seen you in three days.”

“i know,” he murmured, voice barely above the hum of the espresso machine. “i didn’t want to mess things up more. i thought… maybe you needed space.”

you hesitated. then, quieter: “i missed you.”

he reached under the table and nudged your foot with his—lightly. gently. his version of reassurance. like saying i missed you too, without needing the words.

“i just… i thought if i fixed things with tooru first, it wouldn’t hurt as much,” you admitted. “but it still does. he doesn’t understand. he doesn’t want to.”

kageyama nodded slowly, and then leaned in a little, voice even softer. “i wanted to see you anyway.”

your heart cracked a little wider.

you reached across the table, fingers brushing his, and for a moment, all the noise from the past few days—the silence from your brother, the guilt, the confusion—dulled under the comfort of being beside him.

you didn’t know how it would all end. if you’d go back to the team. if your brother would ever accept it. if the world would ever get easier.

but here, at this table, in the quiet hum of something that felt safe—

you weren’t alone.

not anymore.

but that didn’t mean everything was okay.

at home, the cold war with oikawa continued. you didn’t speak to each other unless absolutely necessary. meals were taken at different times. the house was quiet in that brittle, unnatural way—like it was holding its breath.

your family noticed, of course. your mom asked if something happened. you said you were just busy with exams. oikawa said nothing.

sometimes, though, you’d come into the kitchen and find a plastic-wrapped melon bread sitting on the table. your favorite kind. the one from the bakery across from the station.

you didn’t touch it.

just like how he didn’t speak to you the day you walked out of the gym.

tables turned, apparently.

and it made things worse—for everyone.

by day five, your absence was officially being felt. not just at home, but at practice.

which is probably why, at the worst possible time—fifteen minutes before your last class of the day ended—akira kunimi and kindaichi yuutarou showed up outside your classroom, both of them awkwardly shifting from foot to foot like they were about to beg you for your life.

and, in a way, they were.

“we snuck out of practice,” kindaichi whispered like it was a crime. “please come back.”

“yeah,” kunimi added, deadpan. “he’s making us run drills for everything. someone sneezed, and he made us do laps.”

you raised an eyebrow. “that sounds like a personal problem.”

“he was going to give us punishment laps for thinking about melon bread,” kunimi said.

“we didn’t even say anything,” kindaichi added, in full panic.

you crossed your arms, unimpressed. “so what? you want me to come back just because your captain’s being annoying?”

they looked at each other. then kindaichi said, “it’s not the same without you.”

kunimi nodded once. “seriously. the team’s falling apart. and oikawa-san… he’s—like, worse than usual. and that’s really bad.”

you sighed and ran a hand through your hair, the weight of everything pressing down like a slow, relentless tide. outside the window, the sky was stained in soft gold—afternoon sun falling over the school courtyard, shadows stretching long across the pavement. the final bell echoed through the hall, and the classroom emptied around you in a dull blur of chatter and footsteps.

you didn’t want to forgive him.

not yet.

not when he had been so quick to shut you out. not when he treated you like a kid again—like you didn’t know your own heart, like your decisions needed permission. not when he still couldn’t look you in the eye after everything.

but.

you didn’t want to stay mad forever, either.

not when he still left melon bread on the table.

not when you knew—deep down—that he’d always been the kind of person to love loudly but forgive silently, only after bruising everyone in the process.

your fingers hovered over your phone screen, thumb swiping over the empty home screen.

then it lit up.

[hajime:] come to the gym [hajime:] you might want to see this

your brows furrowed. hajime wasn’t the type to be vague—or dramatic. that was strictly oikawa’s department. if he was texting you right now, then something had happened. something important.

your heart picked up, slow and uncertain. and yet… somehow, you already knew.

you stood from your seat and slung your bag over your shoulder, ignoring the worried looks kunimi and kindaichi shot your way from the corridor. their expressions softened the moment they saw your face—because this time, you weren’t walking like someone who was furious.

you were walking like someone who had made a decision.

meanwhile, somewhere in seijoh’s gym, tooru oikawa was dangerously close to losing his mind.

his day had already been a disaster. morning drills were a mess, kunimi yawned mid-serve, and makki nearly spiked a ball into the coach’s clipboard by accident. and now, as he walked back from a quick water break, hoping for at least ten seconds of peace—

he stopped in his tracks.

standing just inside the open gym doors, awkward and stiff as a plank of wood, was kageyama tobio.

oikawa blinked once.

“what the hell.”

kageyama didn’t flinch. “good afternoon.”

his voice was polite. way too polite. like he’d rehearsed this in front of a mirror and still hated every second of it. his fingers curled around the strap of his bag, knuckles white with tension.

iwaizumi, mid-serve, dropped the ball. “you came here?”

“to me?” oikawa asked, brows arching high in disbelief. “here?”

kageyama nodded stiffly. “yes. i… i don’t want to fight.”

oikawa blinked again. “are you having a stroke?”

“no.”

“is he having a stroke?” oikawa asked iwaizumi, gesturing wildly. “because there’s no way he’s saying this to me.”

iwaizumi crossed his arms and sighed. “just let him talk.”

kageyama swallowed, stiff in the middle of the gym as half of aoba johsai watched like this was the most exciting episode of a drama they’d ever seen. his fists were clenched at his sides, but his voice—while tight—remained steady.

“i came here… to talk to you properly,” he began, glancing briefly at oikawa. “i know you probably think the worst of me. and that’s fair. you’ve never liked me. we were rivals once. maybe still are. but…”

he shifted his weight, eyes flicking to the polished gym floor, then back up. “you don’t know everything.”

oikawa’s expression twisted into a familiar scowl, but he didn’t interrupt.

kageyama pressed on. “back in middle school, i didn’t… i didn’t have a lot of people. i was good at volleyball, but i wasn’t good at anything else. i didn’t know how to talk to others. i didn’t know how to listen. i pushed people away without realizing it. i thought if i was perfect at the sport, nothing else would matter.”

he took a breath.

“but then—she came up to me. just one afternoon. middle of second year. said i looked lonely and asked if i wanted one of the melon breads she was holding. she didn’t care about the rumors. didn’t flinch when i barely said anything. she just… sat with me. asked me about practice. told me to drink water even when i didn’t feel thirsty.”

iwaizumi blinked. oikawa stood a little straighter.

kageyama kept going.

“after that, she kept talking to me. asking questions. helping me with literature assignments when i didn’t understand. i thought it would stop eventually. i..."

“…i thought she’d get tired of me,” kageyama said, voice quieter now, but still holding. “i wasn’t easy to be around back then. i didn’t know how to talk to people, didn’t know how to say things that made sense. i didn’t even know how to show i cared. i was just… focused on volleyball and pushing everyone away.”

his shoulders were drawn taut, like he was bracing for impact.

“but she didn’t leave. even when i barely spoke. even when i acted cold or didn’t know what to do with her kindness… she stayed.”

he paused, eyes drifting for a second toward the open gym doors, like his mind was replaying a memory only he could see.

“she used to bring me extra melon bread after practice,” he continued, softer now. “told me i looked like i needed it. and even when i didn’t answer, she’d sit there anyway, talking about class, or her brother being annoying, or how the sky looked weird that day. it was the first time someone made space for me, without asking for anything in return.”

his hand curled tightly around the strap of his school bag.

“and i know she could’ve had an easier life if she just walked away from me. but she didn’t. she came back every time.”

kageyama glanced up again, this time with something steadier behind his eyes—something unshakably real.

“it wasn’t just about school or volleyball. she became part of my life in a way i didn’t know i needed. she helped me understand things i didn’t get. she’s the reason i’m better now—at talking, at listening, at caring. she saw parts of me i didn’t think were worth anything, and she stayed.”

he took a breath. then another.

“and when we ended up at different schools… i thought i’d lose her. but we still found ways. late night texts. study sessions in quiet cafés. sneaking time in between practices. she made time for me, even when i didn’t know how to ask for it.”

then, finally, kageyama looked oikawa dead in the eye.

“i care about her. more than anything. i know what it’s like to be left behind. to be told you’re not good enough. and i swear… i’d never make her feel that way. not even once.”

his voice didn’t waver now.

“i’m not asking you to like me. i know you probably won’t. but please—don’t make her feel like she has to choose between us. that’s not fair. not to her.”

the silence that followed was deafening. even iwaizumi had gone still.

kageyama exhaled, slow and steady, before bowing at the waist—deep and full of quiet conviction. not just to earn approval. but to show the truth of what he said. to show he meant every word.

just beyond the gym’s open doors, you stood frozen—heart tight in your chest.

you hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. hajime had only sent you a short text and your feet had carried you there faster than you could think.

but now… standing there, with your hand curled around the edge of the wall, you knew.

kageyama tobio wasn’t a perfect boy. but he was yours.

and right now, he was fighting—for you. for this. for something real.

and suddenly, the weight in your chest—the hurt, the anger, the ache of the past week—felt like it could finally, finally lift.

you didn’t wait another second.

your footsteps echoed across the gym floor as you stepped inside, every head turning in your direction. kageyama blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting you, but didn’t move—he just looked relieved to see you there.

oikawa, on the other hand, went stiff.

you could already see the defenses rising in his eyes—sharp, overprotective, dramatic. classic tooru oikawa.

but you didn’t give him the chance to speak first.

“i heard everything,” you said, walking until you stood beside kageyama. your voice wasn’t angry, but it was firm. steady. the kind of tone you’d been practicing in your head since the fight began. “and before you go off being dramatic again, just let me say something.”

you turned to him fully, folding your arms across your chest.

“i know you care about me, tooru. i know you’ve always looked out for me—and maybe you still see me as that kid who cried when she scraped her knee or begged you to play volleyball with her in the driveway.”

oikawa’s mouth twitched at that, like he was biting back a memory.

“but i’m not that kid anymore. and you don’t get to decide everything for me just because you’re my big brother.”

the gym stayed quiet, but you heard a faint snort off to the side—hanamaki, barely holding it together.

“i get that you’re protective. i really do. but you can’t keep treating me like i’m too fragile to make choices for myself. especially when—” your eyes narrowed, a teasing smile curling at your lips “—you literally dated someone in your first year too.”

iwaizumi choked on air.

“that was different—!” oikawa started, voice pitching.

“how?” you shot back, raising a brow. “because you were older? more mature? because you thought you knew better?”

“it was different,” oikawa muttered, ears turning pink.

off to the side, matsukawa leaned into hanamaki and whispered (loudly), “does he mean the girl who dumped him after two weeks?”

hanamaki wheezed. “he cried during practice, didn’t he?”

“shut up!” oikawa barked, spinning toward them as they barely managed to keep straight faces. “this is a serious moment!”

iwaizumi stepped forward, completely unimpressed. “you’re the one who got wrecked in your own intervention, dumbass.”

you rolled your eyes with a sigh, turning your focus back to your brother.

“look, i still care about you. you’re my brother, and nothing’s going to change that. but you need to stop acting like i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m growing up, and you’re going to have to trust me a little.”

your voice softened, just slightly.

“besides, you already know the kind of person he is now. he came all the way here just to talk to you. that’s gotta count for something.”

oikawa looked between you and kageyama—jaw tight, eyes conflicted—and for once, he didn’t have a snarky comeback ready.

and maybe that was enough for now.

because the silence that followed didn’t feel tense.

it felt like the beginning of something shifting. something healing.

and even if oikawa didn’t say it out loud yet—you could see it in the way his shoulders lowered, just a little.

you were still his little sister.

but now… maybe he was starting to see you as something else too.

oikawa groaned, dragging a hand down his face like the past ten minutes had aged him a decade. “fine,” he muttered at last, voice dramatic and full of suffering. “fine. i still think he’s the worst possible person on this earth, but apparently i’m the only one here with functioning brain cells.”

you crossed your arms. “tooru—”

he held up a finger like a traffic light. “but! if i’m going to allow this absolute disaster to continue, there will be rules. strict ones. regulations, even. signed. notarized.”

iwaizumi sighed. “oh boy.”

“rule one,” oikawa declared, pacing now, “no pda. none. not even a pinky touch. i don’t want to catch you smiling too long at each other. i don’t want to walk in and find you whispering sweet nothings near the vending machine. i want professional, platonic, painful distance at all times.”

“that’s not even how rules work,” you said flatly.

“rule two,” oikawa continued as if you hadn’t spoken, “if he ever—and i mean ever—hurts you, emotionally or otherwise, iwa-chan has full license to go feral.”

iwaizumi blinked. “stop volunteering me for your revenge fantasies.”

“it’s not a fantasy, it’s a safety net,” oikawa replied, then turned to kageyama with a perfectly straight face. “you get one chance. one.”

kageyama, red-faced and stiff as a statue, gave a sharp nod. “understood.”

“and rule three,” oikawa added, holding up three fingers, “i reserve the right to revoke all of this if you so much as breathe wrong around me. if you talk too loud. if you breathe aggressively. if i even sense a smug vibe, it’s over.”

“you’re not the dating police,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“hajime” you said louder now, “do the honors.”

without hesitation, iwaizumi delivered a swift smack to the back of oikawa’s head.

“ow! betrayal!” oikawa cried, stumbling forward a step. “you’ve turned him against me!”

“he was never for you,” hanamaki muttered under his breath.

“i thought you were my sibling!” oikawa pointed accusingly at you, rubbing the back of his head.

“starting to think hajime raised me better,” you shot back with a smirk.

“what?!”

“honestly,” matsukawa chimed in, “this is giving major sibling custody battle vibes.”

“this is a mutiny,” oikawa declared dramatically. “emotional warfare. i’m wounded.”

matsukawa laughed. hanamaki leaned over to whisper, “it’s definitely not you.”

and though he huffed and grumbled and muttered something about betrayal and replacing everyone with robots, tooru oikawa couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. even if he’d never admit it out loud.

he was still sulking, of course—arms crossed, mouth twisted into the most dramatic pout known to man—but the fight had gone out of his shoulders. maybe it was the way you stood your ground, or how stiffly kageyama bowed a third time like he was presenting himself to royalty. or maybe it was the fact that everyone in the gym, even iwa-chan, had stopped treating it like the end of the world.

you turned to kageyama then, eyes soft, smile just a little victorious. “come on.”

before he could even respond, you grabbed his wrist and started pulling him toward the doors with purposeful strides. his bag hit his hip as he stumbled after you, caught completely off guard.

“w-wait, are we—are we going somewhere—?”

“we are leaving before he changes his mind.”

behind you, oikawa suddenly snapped to attention. “wait—wait—where do you think you’re going—”

you ignored him.

“you’re holding hands! i said rule one, no pda! hands apart! separate!”

you laced your fingers through kageyama’s, just to spite him. “tooru, you can’t stop love!”

“stop quoting dramas you don’t even finish!”

“you finish them for me!”

“that’s not the point—”

“let them go, oikawa,” iwaizumi said with a tired sigh, arms crossed.

oikawa turned, betrayed once again. “iwa-chan! you were supposed to be my moral support!”

“you’re the reason i have stress acne.”

“you have what—”

you didn’t hear the rest. the gym doors closed behind you with a satisfying thud, muffling the chaos, leaving you and kageyama in the quiet of the hallway. your fingers were still intertwined.

he glanced down at them, then up at you, cheeks pink. “…you’re really not scared of your brother, huh.”

you shrugged. “he’s dramatic. not scary.”

kageyama blinked. “he tried to kill me with his eyes.”

you laughed. “he does that with everyone. you get used to it.”

he nodded slowly, then hesitated. “…thank you.”

“for what?”

“for staying. for pulling me out. for choosing me—even when it made things complicated.”

you leaned your head against his shoulder as you walked.

“i didn’t choose you because it was easy, tobio. i chose you because i wanted to.”

his grip on your hand tightened just a little.

and in the silence that followed, your footsteps echoing through the empty hallways, it was clear: no matter how dramatic the world around you got, this—this was the steady part. the quiet certainty. just the two of you, walking forward. together.

now, walking you home without getting caught was easier—not because the secret was gone, but because the war had ended.

oikawa still glared from the kitchen window sometimes, dramatically clutching a mug like a scorned housewife. sometimes he’d text you mid-walk: “i can still see you, you traitor.” other times he’d message kageyama directly: “take the long route or take your life, your choice.”

but it was all bark now, no bite.

iwaizumi had confiscated his lecture notes. hanamaki and matsukawa muted him in the group chat for a full day. even kunimi said “you need help” once with just enough deadpan to shut him up.

but the thing that mattered most?

he let you go.

he still muttered and groaned and promised revenge in the most theatrical ways, but he let you have this. let you be happy. and for oikawa, that was a bigger sign of love than anything else.

so now—after long practices and longer walks, after midterms and missed calls, after melon bread and volleyballs spiked in anger—you walked home hand in hand with the boy who’d always waited at the corner café, the one who learned how to stay.

you laughed when he tried to hide behind a lamppost the first time oikawa waved from the window.

“he can still see you,” you said, amused.

“i panicked,” kageyama mumbled, ears pink.

and maybe that was the real ending.

not the declarations or the fights or the compromises, but this quiet moment—the two of you, the streetlamp glow, the sound of your steps in sync.

together. still. always.

466 notes · View notes

bunnis-monsters · 9 months ago

Text

A witch and her werewolf Pt1

Male!Werewolf x Fem!Witch Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 25th

Oct 19

Oct 26

summary: You meet a lone wolf in the woods, and realize he’s more than you thought.

a/n: this is a reskin of a Kurapika x reader fic I wrote, but never got past the first chapter. If you want a continuation, please comment or send me a Kofi.

WK: 5k+

It was finally spring, a time where flowers bloomed and the snow melted away to reveal all kinds of herbs and plants for the little witch (Name) to gather.

Today she was doing just that, gathering herbs to begin making more potions. Through the winter, her stock of salves and potions had grown smaller and smaller, until she only had a few left.

(Name) had customers that would be coming by any day now to buy her goods, so she was determined to go out and hunt for all the ingredients she would need.

She was a good witch, focusing on healing salves and helping the villagers nearby. It was partially out of the goodness of her heart, and partly because she wanted to keep a good relationship with the townspeople so they didn’t grab their pitchforks and torches to chase her out of town with.

So (Name) grabbed her hat, wearing a thick pair of boots to protect her feet from the thorny vegetation. She was always careful when visiting the forest. After all, there were rumors that many magical beasts made it their home.

Along the path, she spotted small clusters of mint, frowning. “Mint is so invasive, I thought I told the villagers not to plant it in the ground…”

(Name) did her best to dig up and pick what she could, then moved on along the path. Mushrooms, herbs, and pretty rocks all found a new home in her basket. After searching for a while, she wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘Hmm… I should still have some time to go by the lake before I go home… I wonder if anything is growing near the water's edge..?’

(Name) stepped on a branch as she neared the lake, ready to search for aquatic plant life and maybe even find a good spot to go fishing!

But before she could get too close, (Name) heard a loud howl that made her freeze in her tracks. When she turned, she spotted it.

There was a large, golden wolf near the water’s edge, its ears pinned back and snarling. From the water dripping from its furry chin, the witch assumed it had just been drinking from the lake before she interrupted it by making noise.

She was quick to hold up her hands in a sign of surrender, talking in an even voice. “Easy, boy, I’ll go,”

Backing up slowly, (Name) made sure not to meet the wolf’s eyes, though she did notice they were a sparkling shade of scarlet she had never seen before.

The beast huffed, watching her for a moment longer before turning back to drink. Once it did, she broke out in a sprint, her basket held firmly against her chest. (Name) knew the forest wasn’t exactly safe, but she had never encountered a wild animal besides some chipmunks and bunnies.

‘I’ve never seen a wolf with that coloration before…’ (Name) thought, putting away her foraged goods once she arrived home. ‘Maybe it’s an albino or something? But wouldn’t it’s fur be more white then?’

Despite being a little afraid, (Name) couldn’t get her mind off of the wolf she had seen before. It was easily the top predator in the forest, yet it only gave her a warning growl before minding its business again. Was that normal wolf behavior? She had no idea.

‘I’m thinking too much…’ (Name) thought, changing into her pajamas. ‘I need to sleep, or I’ll be late to the coven meeting tomorrow…’

Turning over, (Name) wondered what exactly she would even speak about during the meeting. She wasn’t exactly the most confident witch, often being spoken over or ignored due to her shy nature. No one would think she was the very first apprentice Ania Quell, the head of the very coven (Name) was a part of.

‘I may have been her first apprentice, but I’m definitely not her best. Miles and Gil have me beat for sure…’ she thought, rolling over onto her side to stare out of the window.

Through the gaps in the curtains, she could see the moon shining up above, big and full. It’s light bathed her in a soft glow, and made her feel both rejuvenated and relaxed.

‘It’ll be okay… after all, I have friends there. Everything should… be fine…’

(Name) drifted off to sleep, the last image on her mind before she was taken to slumberland being the golden wolf peering at her with those scarlet eyes.

—————

(Name) packed a small basket full of jams and jellies, humming a tune as she carefully stacked a small jar of syrup on the top. “I know Jill won’t be there today, but Ania loves my jams and jellies. Hopefully I’ll actually have a chance to speak with her…”

Ania, being the head of the coven, was always busy. She was usually stuck talking with several other witches about various topics, or leaving early to conduct business with other covens. Getting the opportunity to talk to her was rare enough, but being able to sit down and have a conversation was nearly impossible, especially these days.

There had recently been several cases of witches and their familiars disappearing, or even familiars turning on their masters and killing them, so Ania was especially busy dealing with the aftermath.

Each witch had a familiar bestowed upon them during a ceremony after becoming a full fledged witch. Some even had two or three, and witches with high status and great power possessed up to 10 familiars.

And there was (Name), with no familiar at all. At the ceremony, the wizard conducting it simply turned her away, saying she was not yet ready to become the master of familiar. Every other witch present had received their lifelong friend, while she went home empty handed.

It was lonely, all on her own. Watching the other witches go about their lives with the help and support of their familiars made her feel awfully… jealous. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed harboring, so (Name) tried her best to be positive!

Ania herself had said that it wasn’t unheard of for a witch to not receive their familiar during the bonding ceremony.

“Some witches just haven’t found their match yet, or perhaps they haven’t really found their true selves,” Ania had said after the ceremony, in hopes of comforting (Name).

(Name) huffed, loading her basket onto her broom. “So much for being a late bloomer. It’s been nearly five years since I became a full fledged witch, and still nothing! No familiar, not a cat or owl, not even a frog! Hell, I’d settle for a tarantula at this point!”

She flew over the forest, tilting her head when she spotted a spot of gold walking slowly near the lake. (Name) flew a bit lower, her eyes widening when she spotted the same wolf she’d seen the day before.

This time, it seemed to be walking with a bit of a limp, a small trail of blood behind it. Her heart ached to see an animal in such pain, so she landed a safe distance away from it.

“Hey there, pup.”

The wolf stiffened, quickly turning its head to growl lowly at her. (Name) held up her hands, her broom floating behind her in case she needed a quick escape.

“Woah, easy. You’re hurt, and I can help you if you’ll let me.”

She didn’t know why she was talking to it, but she kept it up. “There’s no need to be afraid, sweetheart. Shh…”

The wolf’s ears flattened against its head, and it began to bare its teeth. (Name) yelped when it began to approach her, jumping on her broom just in time to escape its jaws. It snapped at her broom bristles, but she was thankfully in the air by then and bar away enough from its jaws to not get hurt.

But… the wolf didn’t seem to be trying too hard to chase her. (Name) had a feeling it wasn’t actually attacking her, more so just trying to scare her away.

She frowned as the wolf became a small speck, her heart hurting for the poor thing. (Name) hoped that the poachers that her fellow witches had chased out from the forest years ago weren’t back.

‘I’ll have to talk to Ania about it… if I can talk to her that is.’

—————

(Name) landed in a vast meadow, wild flowers of various kinds softly swaying in the spring breeze. She took a moment to relax, bending down to pick a daily and place it in her basket.

‘Oh, I always forget where the doorway is…’ she thought to herself as she held out the stick end of her broom to feel around. When it bumped off of something solid, she grinned.

“There it is!”

(Name) reached forward and patted the surface until her hand landed on a doorknob. She turned it, and walked forward.

The empty flower field was replaced with a dark forested area, with lampposts leading down a snowy, worn down path. She could see the moon shining down through the canopy, filtered by the thick leaves until only small rays of light were visible.

‘I see the meeting is being hosted in the northern lands this time…’ she thought, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. The northern lands were often cold, even when spring came, snow still covered the land.

Each meeting was hosted in one of the four sectors of the world, North, South, East, and West. The north was her least favorite, due to the cold weather and people. The citizens of the north were often blunt and rude, having to time for warm pleasantries.

(Name) lived in the southern lands, where the weather was always warm and pleasant. Even the most severe winters in the south were not as cold as the northern spring.

She spotted the soft warm glow of a candle shining from a canon window. ‘There it is!’

(Name) opened the cabin door, revealing a bustling meeting hall. Witches all ages and genders walked around, speaking to one another and trading goods.

“(Name)!”

The woman yelped when she was tackled to the floor, knowing instantly who had done it.

“Miles, what did I tell you about jumping on her like some wild animal!?”

“Miles, Gil…” she smiled as she watched Gil drag his friend off of her, pinching his cheek.

“Hi, (Name)! It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to see you!”

She laughed, ruffling their hair. “Yeah, nearly three months. You weren’t able to attend the last few meetings due to Ania’s training, right?”

The two shuddered. “Uh… we’d rather not talk about that.”

(Name) could remember her own training, which would have been way less intense than theirs due to her weaker body. Even so, she collapsed nearly every day from exhaustion, so she could only imagine the horrors they had endured.

“Ah… okay, how about you show me how your training has been coming along then?”

The three sat in an empty room as the two showed her new, complex spells they had learned. Gil was able to summon lightning and use it as a weapon, while Miles was able to harden his body. Both were spells even she couldn’t do.

“Oh wow, you’ve grown so much! Maybe that training was worth it then?”

Gil groaned. “Barely, I didn’t think we were going to survive another day of it.”

“Aww, it wasn’t that b- no, actually it was that bad. But I’m still grateful Ania taught us so well!” Miles replied, giving her a smile.

She gave them both a hug. “I’m proud of you both. You should really come visit me sometime. Spring is here, so you can go play in the forest. There a lake~”

This excited the two, who both enjoyed swimming. “We'll definitely be coming by this summer!”

Before they could speak anymore, they heard a bell chiming. “Oh, we’ll talk later. The meeting is about to start!”

(Name) took her seat near Ania. As her first apprentice, she had to be at Ania’s side for every meeting. That didn’t mean she got Ania’s attention, though. She couldn’t blame her mentor, for she was the leader of this coven.

“Hello, my friends. Our monthly meeting has begun, and I will announce any upcoming events before opening the floor for discussion.”

(Name) looked around the room, unsurprised when she saw multiple witches waiting impatiently for the floor to be open.

It was mostly the same elderly witches that always had some mundane problem… but what was surprising was Ember, one of the fledgling witches that hadn’t yet gotten her familiar, anxiously tapping her well manicured nails against the oak table.

“And with that, the floor is open to discussion.” Ania said after finishing her announcements. Ember was quick to speak up, interrupting an elder.

“Some creature has been lurking in the south, killing my father’s livestock and scaring what it doesn’t eat half to death! It’s some kind of magical beast, I already did the identifying spell and it’s either some type of fae or a…”

She trailed off, her face going pale. Ania raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “A what, Ember?”

“A… a werewolf.”

The sound of gasps and whispered conversation filled the meeting hall, only silenced when Ania held up her hand to motion for the noise to cease.

“And you’re sure that’s what the spell said?”

Ember nodded, standing up to offer her grimoire. Ania’s eyes scanned it, then she sighed heavily. “I see…”

(Name) frowned deeply, glancing from ember to Ania. She knew that Ember lived only half a day’s walk from her home, meaning if there was a werewolf causing trouble for her, it could potentially move onto (Name).

“As we all know, magical beasts are drawn to witches due to their magical power. This is good when it comes to making friends or getting a familiar, but leads to some… detrimental outcomes when the wrong creature gets attracted. And with the recent uptick in werewolf based attacks, I wouldn’t doubt this has troubled you, Ember.”

Ania stood, walking around the table. “But be that as it may, werewolves are not evil in nature. They are simply beings that are different from us, and can be reasoned with and befriended just like most magical beasts.”

One witch scoffed. “Miss Ania, with all due respect, all witches know werewolves are dangerous beasts that deserve to be put down to keep ourselves safe. I mean, haven’t the last three witch deaths been caused by werewolves?”

Ania scowled. “That’s the kind of attitude that causes entire species to go extinct. A few werewolves have done wrong, yes, but how many humans have killed each other or other creatures? Do we all deserve to die due to the actions of a few individuals?”

The witch who spoke up immediately shrunk into herself, grumbling under her breath. (Name) noticed that several other witches also looked displeased with Ania’s words, but said nothing.

“Ember, I’ll send you home with a spell that will ward off any fae or werewolves. It’s easy, and very effective.”

“Thank you, Ania!”

The woman turned to the rest of the coven. “Now, what else needs to be discussed?”

———————-

“I respect Miss Ania’s opinion, but werewolves are dangerous beasts!”

“I know, right? My friend’s cousin’s aunt’s stepbrother was killed by a werewolf!”

“And I heard that once a werewolf has seen you, it’ll tell its whole pack to come and eat you!”

“Oh that’s not the half of it! I heard-“

(Name) rolled her eyes as she passed by a group of gossiping witches, ushering Gil and Miles away. “Don’t listen to them, I’m sure not a single one of them have ever even seen a werewolf in person.”

“Have you, (Name)?”

(Name) paused when Miles asked her that innocent question, sighing softly. “Yes, once before. It was only for a moment while Ania went to meet with one for a trade. It gave her some of its fur for a potion in exchange for a protection spell.”

“So… it didn’t attack you or Ania?”

“Nope, so don’t listen to those witches. Not one single creature is the exact same as its kin. Some are more peaceful, some are violent, just like with humans. Once people come to accept that, we could possibly form an alliance with the werewolves.”

Gil huffed, digging in her satchel. Once he found what he was looking for, a bag of handmade candy, he swiped it. “Hey, you remembered to bring it!”

“Of course I did, silly. It’s your favorite.”

Gil popped one of the candies into his mouth as they walked, humming in delight. Miles grabbed one too. “Did you get to talk to Ania, (Name)?”

The woman sighed, handing out her jam and syrup to a few witches she traded with. “Not yet, but I hope I’ll be able to catch her before she leaves. You know Ania, she’s always busy.”

“You’re not wrong, but today I have a little bit of time to spare.”

The three jumped when they heard Ania’s voice from behind them. “Ania!”

(Name) jumped into her arms, easily being held up by the seemingly young looking girl. Everyone in the coven knew that Ania was much older than she seemed, but little knew of her immense physical strength.

“Oh, (Name) my dear, you’ve gotten a bit bigger haven't you? It feels like just yesterday I was carrying you home from the orphanage and giving you your first wand.”

“A-Ania! That’s embarrassing…”

The woman laughed, setting (Name) down. “Alright, alright… what is it you wanted to talk about, dear?”

(Name) gave Ania a shy smile, handing her the jams and jellies she brought for her. “I wanted to give you these and ask how the situation with the rogue familiars has been going.”

Ania stiffened, glancing at the two boys before digging. “Come, (Name). Let’s discuss things in private.”

With a wave of her wand, (Name) and Ania were transported to a vacant room. Ania made sure the door was closed before beginning to speak in a hushed voice.

“I didn’t want to scare anyone, so I’ve been keeping some of the information private. But…” she sighed, looking out the window, into the snow. “Every single familiar that attacked their witch was a werewolf.”

(Name)’s blood ran cold at the revelation, her eyes widening as Ania turned to meet her gaze. “Every single one? That’s…”

“Unusual, I know. Werewolves in and of themselves are rare to have as a familiar because they’re reluctant to be bound to a witch… so the fact that each familiar was a werewolf is suspicious.”

“What could be the motive? I find it hard to believe a familiar would just kill its master like that! In all of witch history, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Ania opened her own grimoire. “I agree with you, it is hard to believe. But the detection spell pointed to each familiar being a werewolf. We have yet to find and question any of the suspects due to them fleeing the scene once the bond to their master was broken…”

(Name) frowned deeply. “And with what Ember said today, if this news got out, the entire coven will be in hysterics. There will be werewolf hunts and-“

“That’s why they can’t find out. You are the only person outside of my trusted inner circle that knows of this, (Name).”

She looked at Ania, confused. “But why would you tell me, Ania? I’m not as strong or intelligent as others, so why would you give me this information and not someone more qualified?”

Ania smiled at that, chuckling. “That, I cannot say my dear. You are destined for great things, and I just want you to be informed so when it’s time for you to make decisions… you’ll have all the information you need to make the right choice.”

“That’s really cryptic, Ania.”

The older woman only smiled, beckoning her to follow. “Come, I must take my leave. Let’s walk and talk.”

The two continued to chat as they walked towards the entrance of the cabin. “I’ll send you home with a spell, dear. It is quite late in the southerners sector by now, hmm?”

(Name) nodded, grabbing hold of her broom.

“Oh, and (Name)?”

She looked up as Ania raised her wand. “Yes?”

“Kindness and patience is always key.”

With that, she was sent home. She appeared in her cottage, the fire lighting the second she stepped close.

“I wonder what she meant by that…”

———————

(Name) brushed off her dress, staring out into the forest. She really had to go back into the forest to gather supplies… but she was worried she would encounter that wolf again.

With a sigh, she pocketed her wand and carried her broom. They were just there in case she sensed any danger. Unfortunately, she wasn’t great with defensive or attack spells, it was why she took to healing magic and concoctions instead.

But she knew a few illusion spells that may buy her some time to escape… hopefully those would work.

(Name) walked along the work down path, much more alert than usual. She listened for the sounds of the forest, making sure to listen for any branches snapping or leaves rustling.

She was able to make it back to the lake with no problems, sighing in relief. There, she unloaded her jars from her basket and began placing shells, underwater plantlife, and some of the nutrient rich soil to add to her garden.

Unbeknownst to her, she was being watched from a distance, a pair of scarlet eyes following her as she walked along the lake’s edge.

Once she finished, (Name) was surprised to see the wolf with the golden coat standing only a few meters away from her. Although it growled when she moved, it showed no other signs of aggression, only watching her… as if it was curious.

“Hello, again…” (Name) said softly, staying still as it approached. She kept her hand in her pocket on her wand, but began to relax. It only circled her, chuffing when it moved behind her.

She tensed, but relaxed again when it appeared on her left side. It was inspecting her, sniffing her… was that normal behavior for a wild animal?

Its scarlet eyes focused on her, and she noticed it still had that slight limp when it walked. “Are you… injured?”

As if it could understand her, the creature tensed, the fur on its back rising. “Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Taking a chance, she slowly reached out her hand to place it on its head. She had a connection with animals, having rehabilitated many woodland creatures. A wolf couldn’t be that different, right?

Well, she was wrong. The beast growled before snapping its jaws at her hand, barely missing her fingers. It then ran away, slower than it usually would be due to its injured paw.

Her heart hurt from the sight. Had it been trying to ask her for help? It was possible the poor thing was someone’s pet that had been let go after learning how hard it was to take care of a wolf. Maybe that’s why it was both comfortable around humans and also weary of them?

(Name) made a decision that day. She would gain that wolf’s trust, and maybe… even make it her familiar.

———————

As the days turned into weeks, (Name) visited the forest every day she could. She saw the wolf often, sometimes from the corner of her eye, and sometimes it came in direct contact with her.

She always sat patiently, letting it come to her. (Name) had learned her lesson, and eventually she was able to sit in silence with the wolf by her side as she did mundane tasks like cleaning out her jars or sewing by the lake.

It had yet to let her touch it, but she didn’t mind. She would get it to trust her… it needed medical attention, more than she thought. It was scrawny, hungry looking, as if it was having trouble hunting by itself.

She started bringing out raw meat from the market and leaving it by the lake for it, and when its condition started to improve slowly, she knew that it was eating.

Once she started feeding it, the wolf began trusting her a great deal more. It now followed her down the pathway when she walked home, a slight sway in its tail.

She was making great progress, and the two seemed to have a mutual trust that neither would hurt the other. Every time she came to the lake, it was waiting there for her. It would eat, then sit nearby as she did what she needed to do, then walked her home. It had become her routine.

That’s why it surprised her when it wasn’t there when she came.

“Pup?”

(Name) called for it, patting her thigh and whistling. Usually it would have come to greet her by now…

The silence in the forest was almost eerie, as if everything was holding its breath. There was no birdsong, no squirrels skittering from tree to tree… just silence.

“Something is wrong…”

It was growing dark, and she was hurrying back as quickly as she could. (Name) had heard from some other forest dwelling witches that when the sounds of the forest stopped, that meant there was a large predator around, something that made the squirrels and birds hide in fear.

Had the wolf gone into hiding too?

She didn’t have to wonder for long. As she neared her cottage, her eyes widened in horror. There were bloodied paw prints leading down the stone path to her front door, and laying on her doorstep was the golden wolf.

It panted loudly, its fur matted with blood. (Name) immediately kneeled at its side, trying to hold back tears. The injured paw was stuck in a bear trap, and it had gashed on its belly and back… as if it had been attacked with a knife…

When it growled at her touch, she simply shushed it. “Shh, shh, I’m here. You came to my home for a reason, right? I can help you…”

Although it still snarled and yelped as she hoisted it into her home with great effort, it made no attempts to sink its teeth into her flesh.

As soon as it was inside, she summoned as many bandages as she could, along with a metal bar to help her pry the bear trap off.

“This is going to hurt, pup. Don’t bite me…”

The wolf laid its head down, as if telling her it trusted her to help. It growled and snarled in pain as she pried open the bear trap. Once its paw was free, she examined the damage.

His paw was barely hanging on… thankfully she focused on healing magic. She was able to reattach his paw and clean the wound, bandaging it before moving onto the gashes on his body.

(Name) collapsed in exhaustion after hours of working on the wolf. Her efforts had paid off, as it was now sleeping peacefully by the fire.

‘At least one of us is able to sleep…’ she thought, rising from the couch to wash the blood from her hands. She exhausted all of her magic saving the wolf’s life, which worried her slightly. That meant if it were to attack for any reason, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

After much thought, she realized that even if it wanted to hurt her, it would be unable. The thing couldn’t stand, much less leap out and attack her, so she decided to sleep next to it… just to watch over it, of course… the fact that it was so soft and warm had nothing to do with it…

———————-

(Name) woke up in the early hours of the morning, the sun not even up yet. She could have only been asleep for a few hours, as the fire was still going…

She sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes… but paused when she took a second look at the fire.

She hasn’t remembered putting that second log in the fireplace… before she slept, she had even cursed herself for not doing so.

(Name) felt a chill run up her spine and immediately turned to see if the wolf was okay… but instead of seeing its beautiful golden fur and large form, she was met with something much smaller hidden under the blanket…

Smaller, but still bigger than her, whatever it was wriggled the second she spoke. “U-um…”

She expected the wolf to perhaps be some kind of magical beast that turned into something smaller when injured to conserve power… and she wasn’t that far off.

When she pulled back the blanket, instead of a furred creature, she came face to face with a handsome… man?

“… hello…”

For finding a man in the place of the injured wolf she saved, (Name) took the situation well. And by well, she screamed and scooted away, wielding her wand.

“W-who are you and what did you do to that wolf!? Are you some kind of poacher? A pervert? A poaching pervert!?”

The person squinted at her, sighing. “No… I’m neither of those… I-“

He winced in pain, whimpering as the blanket fell around him. (Name)’s eyes went wide as she saw the bandages decorating his form, the same ones she had applied to the wolf last night…

The things that finally clued her in were the wolf ears perched atop of his blonde head, and tail limp on his back.

“Y-you’re…”

“A werewolf…” he muttered, his ears flattening against his head. “You… helped me, and… I understand if you no longer want to help now that you know what I am. I simply ask that… you let me recover until I am able to move…”

She swallowed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what you are. You’re hurt, and I won’t let you suffer.”

The man looked on in mild shock as she helped him onto the couch. “This should be more comfortable… I’ll need to redo your bandages soon…”

The man watched her work silently. She redressed his wounds with a skill that was uncommon for women in their era. Once she was done, it was only then that her eyes trailed down his torso to look for anything else that she may have missed when his thick fur was in the way…

“Oh.”

Her face warmed, her eyes going wide.

He was completely and utterly nude, barely covering his groin with the blanket. His wolf ear twitched as she turned away, flustered.

‘I forgot, werewolves lose their clothing when they turn…’

For now, she simply covered him with a blanket, too tired to do anything else. With that, she left him to sleep on the couch and headed to bed.

‘What am I going to do? There’s a werewolf on my couch, right after Ember mentioned one eating her livestock. Is it the same one..? Could it… be connected to the familiars going rogue?’

She sighed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. ‘Well, whatever the case is, it’s my responsibility now. I decided to save its life, and I don’t regret it. Once it’s back to full health, I’ll think of what to do…’

With that decided, she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from her long day.

———————

In the living room, the werewolf stared up at the ceiling, his head filled with the images of the events he had been through.

‘I thought they lost my trail… those damn poachers will do anything to complete their collection…’

His heart ached to think of his pack, their coats skinned from their bodies after they were forced to transform and fight each other for their captors’ amusement. It made his blood boil to think of how scared the pups must have been, how the elders must have died comforting them with their final breaths, just for all of their words to mean nothing in the end.

He hated humans and their endless lust for money and power. For years he had avoided human contact, staying in his wolf form and attacked anyone that came near in fear of being hurt again…

That was until he met her.

Even before they officially met, he had been stalking her through the woods for months. At first, he had planned on killing her and taking over her cabin for himself. In his mind, it was only fair. Humans killed and stole from nature every single day, honestly he thought he was doing the world a favor taking one of them out.

But (Name) wasn’t like other humans. Every day, he watched her take only what she needed, and left behind gifts for the fairies and animals. She tended to the wounded creatures and made sure she never overstayed her welcome.

It would be dishonest to say he liked her, but she was the closest thing to tolerable a human could get in his eyes. So when he met her, he found himself unable to hurt her.

Though at first he kept his distance and attempted to bite her if she strayed too close, he never intended to actually hurt her. If he wanted to, he could have easily tore into her throat and feasted on her flesh… but he didn’t.

This human, this girl had become something akin to a friend to him. Despite his hatred for her kind, he couldn’t help following after her and staying by her side. It felt soothing, safe… almost familiar in a way. It reminded him of when he was just a pup and would follow behind his mother while she hunted or gathered ingredients for dinner.

So when he was attacked by the very poachers that killed his family, he escaped with only one thing in mind.

‘I have to find her!’

He followed her scent, barely dragging his wounded hide to her home and collapsing on the front step. He never would have thought that he would trust a human to help him, not after what he had been put through.

Even now, as he laid there powerless and unable to move, his mind was still conflicted. Was this really okay? Could he truly rely on this human to tend to him when he was utterly defenseless?

‘It doesn’t really look like I have much of a choice…’

Winning his trust would not be easy, but if she could… (Name) would gain a loyal companion.

Only time could tell what would become of these two…

—————————

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