#x: Sounds Fake But Okay (!Crack) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heedeungism · 5 months ago

Text

𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

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

part one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As he should.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, caught off guard, but nod.

Her grin widens. “I’m Riki’s mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t tell her.

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

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

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

“It’s so obvious you make him happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

riki 🙈: just got out of practice

riki 🙈: are you coming to the game tomorrow?

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

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

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

riki 🙈: i’ll bring you a gift rn

pretty girl 🪩: im not home

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

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

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

“I wanna see you.”

Lord have mercy—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That wasn’t me, that was Jongseob—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Riki.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course not.“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stalling. You’re stalling.

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

Ain't that the truth.

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

Decelis Demons v. YG Pirates

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

“Over here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make a face, “Not that.“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I said.”

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

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

Your heart skips as his gaze locks onto yours for a fleeting moment.

He doesn’t smile, not exactly—but his expression softens, his eyes warming like he’s relieved to see you there. The corner of his mouth twitches just enough to feel like a secret, like something meant only for you.

And then he pulls his helmet over his head and focuses on Jungkook’s words, it almost feels like a shock to your system but the lingering warmth in your chest makes it hard to feel the cold anymore.

You watch the team huddle, Jungkook’s game face amusing enough to you that you snicker softly before your attention falls back to Riki. Heeseung, who if your memory serves you right is 01, catches Riki’s shoulder in a brotherly way.

Your brows furrow as you see Riki’s head tilt slightly at what Heeseung says, glancing in your direction and then the opposing teams, and you assume his eyes search for a jersey that reads 32.

The players move onto the field with another whistle, and you watch with dread as two opposing jerseys approach the center of the field. 10 and 32.

Now, you know very little about lacrosse despite it being your school’s biggest sport and your brother playing it, but you know that Riki is a midfielder. You know this through his excited play-by-plays of practice to you on the phone whenever he was finally out, as well as the basic knowledge of how a lacrosse game starts. Two midfielders wrestling for the ball.

It couldn’t be called wrestling, however. Riki swipes it barely millisecond after the ref blows his whistle, tossing the ball to 05.

You gasp softly as his shoulder slams into 32s chest hard enough to send him stumbling back, but his body moves quickly toward the opposing defense and away from the startled enemy. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was only doing so to keep him off Jake’s back. “Geez, what did you feed him?”

You ask Rin softly, eyes trained on her son and your brain attempting to wrap itself around the difference in his body language and…aggression on-field, when he had barely risen above a loud speaking volume in your presence. She chuckles, “Would you believe me if I said his diet largely consisted of taiyaki and ramen growing up?”

“No.” You awe at her words, eyes still on him but flitting to meet hers for a brief second, “That’s just unfair.”

“Tell me about it,” The elder of his sisters huffs, “I ate my vegetables and have glasses an inch thick, but he gets to eat sweets all his life and has perfect vision.”

“That’s your fathers genetics, not mine.” Rin clarifies, offering you an explanation like it’s second nature already, “That man can’t see something coming straight at his face until it’s already hit him.”

“My brother has horrible vision, too.” You snicker softly, your eyes rarely leaving Riki but only doing so to look between the three Nishimuras, “Refused to wear contacts, even for lacrosse.” You motion in the general direction of the field, and the older woman seems intrigued.

“Your brother plays?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh at your brother’s expense, “Not since highschool, and he was benched most games because he couldn’t see the ball,” your words have Rin laughing and Maki snorting, “plus he generally sucked. He really only joined because his friend was on the team.”

Jake scores a goal and the crowd around you goes wild with cheers, mainly higher in pitch. You let out a supportive cheer and immediately act like you didn’t when his helmeted head turns your way. You’re almost positive a shit-eating grin has formed behind his helmet.

The game continues, the scoreboard leaning toward Decelis’ victory as the first two quarters come to a close and half-time ensues.

“No.” You reject Gaeul’s suggestion almost as soon as it leaves her mouth.

“Aww, c’mon!” She whines, tugging your arm closest to her, “His face would be so funny!”

“He’s wearing a helmet, you can’t see his face. And it’s small enough for you to hold up by yourself.” You point at the poster-board in his hands, which she had happily held up for a good portion of the game until her arms got tired.

“But my arms are gonna fall off.” She groans melodramatically, “Please?”

“Buy me another cocoa and I’ll think about it.”

As half-time comes to a close, your right arm is screaming for relief while you hold your side of the poster up and nurse a cup of steaming cocoa in the other hand. Gaeul shamelessly screams in support of her boyfriend, who you see hunch over slightly like he’s holding back laughter of amusement.

Your hand feels like it’s about to fall off, and you curse yourself for refusing the mittens Eunchae had offered in favor of showing off your new nails. ‘They’re too pretty to cover up,’ you had whined, yet now you wouldn’t be surprised if your fingers started breaking off like a vampire’s from Twilight.

The scoreboard reads heavily in the home team’s favor, and you pray to every deity that the game finally ends for your arm’s sake (and your crippling anxiety). Though, watching Riki slice through YG’s defense and score points like they're nothing doesn’t look like it’ll be getting old for you anytime soon.

“You’re drooling.” Gaeul teases as you suck in a sharp breath at the sight of Riki once again shoulder 32 off balance, hard enough for him to fall onto his ass this time. Tensions are high as the time counts down, though part of you’s hoping this never ends.

“I don’t drool.” You retort in a soft grumble, yet you rub the side of your wrist over the corners of your mouth self-consciously. “I’m a fucking lady.”

“Right…” Gaeul agrees with playful doubt in her tone that’s punctuated by giggles as you playfully shove her shoulder.

The final whistle slices through the winter air as Riki launches the ball into the goal, accompanied by an uproar of cheers and groans from the crowd. Decelis has won, 12-7, the scoreboard glowing with the decisive win. The players pour onto the field, some celebrating, others trudging off in defeat. Your eyes dart instinctively toward Riki, helmet under his arm, hair damp with sweat as he exchanges fist bumps and quick words with his teammates. The way his expression softens to a grin when Jake slings an arm around his shoulders makes your stomach twist.

You clutch your empty cocoa cup, suddenly desperate to find a reason to approach him. Before you can muster up a plan, the chaos swallows him—players crowding, parents flooding in from the sidelines, and Gaeul’s excited tug on your sleeve pulling you back to the moment.

“Let’s go find Jay!” she beams, and you immediately look toward Rin, Maki, and Runa.

The woman smiles warmly and pats your shoulder, “We always wait in the parking lot for him. You two can have a moment.”

Gaeul is dragging you down the bleachers the moment you softly thank the woman. Your heart thrums as you scan the chaos for Riki, but he’s nowhere to be found. Gaeul bounces ahead, her attention locked on her boyfriend.

Her hand slips from your arm as you’re both swept into the excitement, and her curls disappear in the crowd.

The field feels like a warzone, buzzing with shouts, laughter, and the rhythmic stomp of cleats against frozen grass. You’re jostled in every direction, bodies pressing and colliding as parents swarm to congratulate their kids, and the players themselves disappear into the fray. Your fingers curl around the half-empty cocoa cup as if it might ground you, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Where is he?

You catch glimpses of Riki’s teammates—Jake’s unmistakable blonde head bobbing as he jokes with Heeseung, Sunghoon hoisted onto someone’s shoulders—but Riki remains elusive, swallowed by the tide of bodies.

“Riki!” His name slips out, barely audible over the noise, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. What are you even doing? Someone brushes past you, hard enough to make you stumble. “Watch it,” you mutter, turning to see a player in a YG jersey, helmet off and grin too familiar.

32.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just gives you a once-over that makes your skin crawl. His shoulder brushes yours again as he angles toward you, his smirk sharper now. “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he drawls, voice low enough that it’s almost lost in the noise.

You make a face of disdain, like speaking to him both disgusts you and is beneath you, “Is that supposed to be cute?”

“C’mon,” He says, tone dripping with what you assume is his attempt at charm, “Don’t be like that. You’ve been watchin’ me the whole game.”

“I don’t even know you.” You respond with the same look on your face that reads you’d rather be anywhere else than where you are, listening to him.

He steps closer, undeterred by your tone and clear disgust, “That can be remedied,” His voice is low, and you see his hand move from his side to reach for your waist.

Your anger takes over your motor control, and the half-empty, long chilled cocoa in your hand splatters over the front of his jersey, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

The cocoa splashes onto his jersey in a satisfying arc, the dark liquid seeping into the white fabric. His grin falters for a moment, replaced by a stunned look that quickly twists into irritation. “Are you fucking serious?” he snaps, brushing at the stain, but it’s a futile effort.

“Yeah, I’m fucking serious,” You retort, mirroring his tone, “Who the fuck told you that you could fucking touch me?”

The players around you have started to notice the commotion, a few stopping to watch as Number 32 bites back, “You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.”

If what boiled within you was anger, then what it morphs into at the player’s statement must be seething fury, “Excuse me?”

“What’s goin’ on here?” A hand clasps over your shoulder but the voice calms any volatile reaction brewing in your gut, Jungkook stepping between you and the YG player.

Jungkook’s presence immediately shifts the energy around you. His broad frame looms between you and Number 32, the way his body blocks out the other player like a wall of stone, calm yet unyielding. The cocky grin fades from the YG player’s face as he holds up his hands in mock surrender, shooting a glare at Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t even glance at the YG player, his focus entirely on you as he steps closer, his gaze softening slightly when he sees the tension in your shoulders and the shift in your jaw. “You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle in the midst of the chaos.

You nod, even though the heat of anger still lingers in your chest. “I’m fine,” you say, but your voice shakes just enough that Jungkook catches it.

His eyes flick briefly to the YG player, who’s clearly not in the mood to test Jungkook’s patience any further. “Walk with me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. You want to protest, to stay and search for Riki, but something about the way Jungkook stands there—tall, unshakable—tells you it’s not worth resisting.

He guides you through the crowd and off the field with his hands on your shoulders. When the two of you arrive at the edge of the field where the bleachers drop off and the parking lot comes into view, he releases you. “Do I need to go talk to that kid’s coach? Or parents?”

“No, I think the shit-colored stain on his jersey says enough.” You retort swiftly, the implications of his words stick with you, though. ‘You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.’

It isn’t as if you woke up yesterday, you know he’s talking about Nayeon. Whether it be some kind of intuition or you’re just that fucking familiar with her thought process from years of what you had thought was friendship, you know it.

“Hey.” Jungkook’s gruff but somewhat gentle call snaps you out of your stewing, and you blink at him, “Don’t do anything I’m gonna hear about, okay?”

Your immature response is interrupted by the loud cheers and chatter morphing into shouts and hollers of a more alarmed tone that has the both of you looking in the direction of the field. Jungkook doesn't seem eager to let you involve yourself in whatever it is that’s going down on the field, you know this because he’s shooing you off toward your car in a dismissive but authoritative tone.

If you cared at all about anything except beating Nayeon’s face in at the moment you would be protesting and following after him as he jogs toward the commotion, but you don’t. Instead, you walk to your car, toss your Prada bag into the passenger seat as it begins to warm up, and plot.

Watching your friend group’s grins fall while learning that you did not, in fact, kiss Riki after the game but left without even speaking to him in a fit of blind rage was not how you wanted to start your weekend. You blame their soured moods for the fact that all four of them were avidly against your plan to beat Nayeon’s face in the next time you see her, but begrudgingly decided to not jump to conclusions.

The only proof you have that Nayeon was the one to sic that cretin on you may be his words, which aren’t worth much, but you refuse to believe anything else.

Monday arrives with not a singular text or call from Riki, and while Belle has already talked you off of the metaphorical ledge about it, you feel the urge to disappear off the face of the Earth every time you imagine seeing him again after leaving the game he asked you to attend without so much as a word.

Part of you figures the silence on his end is payback, or him deciding to finally let his alleged crush on you go. The other part of you really hopes he was just busy.

Jake is…silent in your second period. Not that you’d mind the silence on any other day, but it’s definitely not normal. Well, he’s silent until he catches sight of the charm bracelet on your wrist as it clinks softly on the desk. His grin is back in seconds and he takes his phone out.

“Want a picture?” You offer sarcastically. When Jake eagerly nods and holds his phone up for the picture, you shoot it a mock smile and manicured middle finger as your charm bracelet catches the light above.

With giddy giggles, Jake takes the photo and practically bounces in his seat in joy as he taps his thumbs on his screen hastily. You’re rolling your eyes and looking down at your worksheet when he asks, “Wanna know who I’m texting?”

“If I wanted to know I’d ask.” You respond swiftly, tapping the eraser-end of your pencil on the desk absentmindedly.

“It’s Riki.” He states with a smugness that pisses you off.

Looking up from the paper, you raise your brows, “Okay?”

“He needed proof,” He adds on with his arms crossed as he leans back in his seat, “Wanna know why?”

“I feel like you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

He’s still smirking as he proves you right, “He thinks you hate him.”

You blink, annoyed nonchalance pushed aside by genuine confusion, “Why would he think that?”

Jake shrugs, though his face seems anything but clueless and you hate that he knows more than you do, “Maybe ‘cause you left the game without saying anything to him.”

“Jungkook made me get off the field.”

“You could’ve waited with his family in the parking lot.”

“Well, I didn’t.” You snap, growing frustrated with the conversation despite it being your own damn fault, “Why are you telling me this, Jake?”

“‘Cause he’s my friend and he’s been miserable.”

“Then he should talk to me.” You retort with a sigh, guilt filling your gut despite your defensive words, and he tilts his head with a nod of agreement, “If I hated him he’d know. I don’t exactly keep that shit a secret.”

Jake, who had bore witness to your fight with Jaclyn Delvacchio in junior year, hums, “Well, can you do us all a favor and talk to him, please?”

“We have fifth period, I’m not gonna ignore him for an hour when he sits next to me.” You roll your eyes and focus back down at your worksheet.

By the time the bell rings, you’re halfway between plotting your own demise and debating if you should actually try to talk to Riki. The idea makes your stomach twist. What if Jake was wrong, and Riki doesn’t want to hear from you? What if your silence solidified something in him—pushed him away for good?

But then you remember how he smiled at you that day in the hallway, the soft tug of his lips like he couldn’t stop himself, and how his eyes lit up when you agreed to come to the bowling date. You remember the way his voice faltered ever-so-slightly when he asked you, like he was bracing himself for rejection but couldn’t bear not to try.

The thought makes your stomach hurt and your chest heavy, and you realize something that makes you want to kick yourself: you don’t want to lose that. You don’t want to lose him.

Yet, you so easily brushed him aside in your list of priorities to stew in your anger about someone who shouldn’t even be a thought in your mind at this point.

You screwed up. Again.

At this point, you feel like you’re winning the losing game. Not only do you hate losing, but you hate the feeling in your chest and gut that makes you want to go home and rot until Riki forgets you ever existed. Belle’s voice screams in your head to talk to him, to make the effort to speak to him and throw away your pride.

So, instead of staying in your old Latin teacher’s class for fourth period grading papers, you persuade her to let you spend your fourth period ‘at lunch with your friends’.

Your friends all share the same lunch period; sixth, when you’ve already gone home. So you lied, yes.

But Riki has fourth period lunch.

You slip through the cafeteria doors, the clang of trays and the murmur of conversation fading as you scan the room for him. The place is packed, and your heart beats louder than the chatter around you. It’s ridiculous—Riki isn’t hard to find. But your anxiety builds anyway, sending a slight tremble through your hands.

You spot him by the window, his profile framed by sunlight, his usual quiet demeanor marking him as an island in the chaos of the cafeteria. His friends surround him, but they’re not your focus. Your eyes zero in on him, his long sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his hair messy and covering his forehead like he didn’t feel like styling it this morning, the rings on his hands that glint in the cafeteria light.

But before you can make your way over, the sound of a voice you loathe cuts through the air, sharper than glass.

“A couple hundred bucks and he was practically my dog.” Nayeon muses at the two girls you barely recognize that sit across from her at a table not far from you, “Sucks that he failed, though. Would have spent my money on someone else.”

“So you…had him hit on her?” The girl on the left asks, a bit confused as she exchanges a look with the girl beside her.

Nayeon seems eager to relay the details, “I told him she liked playing hard to get,” She shrugs disinterested, yet you see a sliver of the smirk on her face from your angle, “made him all the more eager to knock her down a peg.”

The two girls seem peeved by what she says, like any sane person would be, but anything either wants to say dies on their tongue as they catch sight of you. “Girl…”

One trails off as you begin your approach, the same lightness in your gut that has your vision clouded with seething fury.

She looks over her shoulder just enough for you to see her smirk drop into wide-eyed fear.

Your hand catches the back of her head, slamming the side of her face into the table with little care for the eyes that immediately find you, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you, bitch. What was that?” There’s ‘ooo’s and ‘oh shit’s from the wuickly forming crowd as you pull her up by her hair, launching the flailing girl onto the ground. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She scrambles off the ground, immediately getting in your face as she hisses, “You don’t deserve him.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You curse as your hand meets her face, and she shrieks as her head snaps to side.

Nayeon recoils for a moment, eyes wide with shock, but the anger on her face quickly replaces any hesitation. "You think I'm scared of you?" She spits, moving toward you with a snarl. She may not have expected this, but now that it's happening, she seems desperate to prove herself.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, you shove her into one of the metal chairs, the clattering sound of it screeching across the floor as she stumbles backward. The two girls hasten to get out of the way, faces a mix of fear and ‘oh shit’.

Nayeon picks herself up with blind fury guiding her actions, hands flying out as she lunges forward to shove you back. Your hands grasp her hair again, and the crowd surrounding the scene roars.

Her nails claw at your wrist as you yank her forward. She’s small, but her anger makes her stronger than she has any right to be. The fight is a mess of hair pulling and shoving, curses from you and shrieks from her.

You shove her hard into the table again, the force sending a tray of half-eaten food crashing to the floor, and the crowd goes wild, hooting and cheering. The heat in your chest ignites with every movement. The adrenaline rush is undeniable.

Nayeon's attempts to push you back only seem to fuel your anger further. Her breath is ragged, and you can practically taste the bitterness she's been carrying since the moment you stepped into her world. Every movement of hers is desperate, like she's trying to claw her way back to a victory she's long since lost.

"Get the fuck off me!" she yells, her voice barely audible over the chaos. But you don't listen. You slam her against the chair again, hard enough that she falls onto her ass, eyes wide with disbelief. Nayeon's face contorts in pure anger as you approach again, her hands flying up in a futile attempt to strike you. Her nails scratch at your arms, but the pain barely registers.

But then, someone grabs your waist, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. The world tilts as you're pulled off of Nayeon, feet leaving the ground. For the split second that you’re struggling against them, thinking it’s one of her friends or a teacher, you curse at them too.

Then the cologne hits your nose and the voice hits your ears, “Alright, that’s enough, pretty girl.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as Riki’s voice cuts through the frenzy, low and soft in your ear, but with a sharp edge of firmness that you’ve never heard from him before. His grip on you doesn’t waver, and despite the anger still coursing through your veins, you freeze for a second, thrown off by the ease he had pulling you off of that traitorous bitch—who’s being held back by Jake and Jungwon.

“Skank!” Nayeon shrieks, clawing at Jake and Jungwon’s arms that keep her from lunging at you again.

Any calm that Riki’s presence brought you is washed away, but he pulls you back by the waist as you move to have a go at Nayeon again. His arms wrapping around you to keep your arms at your sides as you bite back, “Says you, bitch.”

“Easy, easy,” He eases, your back hitting his chest as your jerky and angry movements force him to pick you up again, “Cool it, baby. You got her good.”

“Get her out of here before the teachers get here,” Heeseung orders in a hushed tone as the other members of the lacrosse team grab at phones and shove the crowd back.

“I’m not—hey!” Your defiant statement is interrupted by the arm around your waist tightening and your feet lifting off the floor once more. “Riki!”

“I know, I know.” Riki’s hold is firm as you struggle weakly against him, his voice deep and low like he’s easing a wild animal, his touch warm. You can’t bring yourself to fight back the way you did with Nayeon as he walks you out of the cafeteria building. His presence, the warmth of his chest against your back, it all has your defense mechanisms easing up and your anger softening to a low simmer.

When he finally sets you back down, the cool chill of the air eased only by the sunlight hitting the two of you, you turn to face him with a charged glare, “I can walk.”

He holds his hands up in good faith, or maybe an attempt to calm you down, “I know, baby.”

“And she deserved that.”

“I know, baby.”

The way he repeats himself so softly, how he’s letting you take out the remnants of your anger on him, it only makes the ache in your chest worsen. You exhale sharply, “Stop that.”

“Okay.” He says, voice soft but no pain or hurt to be detected in his voice, only in his eyes.

Your own sting almost automatically with both frustration and anger at yourself and no one else, “No, not—“ Taking a deep breath, your hands move to your face, “This is all wrong.”

“What is?” You try not to notice how he doesn’t attach ‘pretty girl’ or ‘baby’ to the end of his question. You fail.

“Everything.” You mutter, exhaling another soft, “Fuck.”

“You’re bleeding.” He points out, his hands pulling yours from your face to examine the scratches up your arms.

“Nails are intact, though.” You mumble softly, trying to make yourself feel better. Riki looks at you in slight disapproval, brows furrowing, and you add, “I’m okay.”

He sighs, shaking his head, “There’s a first-aid kit in the locker room, let me clean you up.”

“Ew, I’m not going into the boys locker room.” You reject his offer with an obstinance that would usually amuse him, yet he shows a sliver of frustration in his body language. “And I told you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, you can either walk or I can carry you.”

“As if.”

Your challenge is met with him raising his eyebrows and lunging for you a second later. You flinch and swat at his hands, “Okay, fine!” He pulls back again with a ‘that’s what i thought’ look, “I’ll walk.” you add with a defiant ‘hmph’ as you walk past him.

He doesn’t press the issue, following you towards the athletics building and holding the door open for you to enter first, to your utter fury of course. Stupid boys. Stupid emotions.

When you find the boys locker room, you pause as he pushes the door open, “I’m not going in there.”

He sighs with a nod like he expected as such, “I’ll be right back, stay here.”

You sigh and cross your arms, rolling your eyes and leaning back against the wall across the locker room entrance.

Riki returns with a first aid kit and his hoodie, “Let’s go to the bleachers, no one’s got practice today.” You assume the hoodie is for you, and you’re proved correct when he tosses it into your face and snickers when you curse at him. “C’mon.”

You begrudgingly walk with him out of the athletics building to the school field not a far walk from the entrance.

You hear the bell ring from where you sit on the bleachers minutes later as your chilled fingers are tended to by the lacrosse player, “You’ll be late, you know.”

“We’ll both be. It’s fifth period now.” He states as he delicately cleans the raw skin streaking up your wrist with an alcohol wipe.

“Ow.” You mumble, and he tsks with a growing smile.

“Don’t be a baby.” He teases, and you mock his words in a higher pitched voice back to him.

“Fuck you.”

He snickers softly, gently rotating your hand in his to clean the visible lines tainting the delicate flesh, “Baby.”

His statement isn’t the beckon or fond coo you wish it’d be, but it causes flutters in your gut all the same. You mock him again and he huffs softly in amusement, refraining from continuing the back and forth to focus on your scratched up wrists and forearms.

As he moves to your right hand, his touch lingers on the charm bracelet hanging off your wrist as he dabs at the skin. The metal chain catches the sunlight, twinkling faintly against your wrist as Riki pauses. His thumb brushes over one of the charms absentmindedly before he speaks, voice softer than you expected. “You’re wearing it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you reply, trying to sound casual despite the way your pulse stutters. His touch, even as fleeting as it is, sends a warm shiver through you.

“I just…” he trails off, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly, his gaze filled with something tender. “I wasn’t sure if it was your style.”

“Why’s that?” You ask with a slight furrow of your brows, and he snickers softly.

“I’m sure it’s not the luxury you’re accustomed to.”

“Everything I wear isn’t expensive. I’m not a snob.” You huff in slight offense, though he finds it amusing.

“Never said you were a snob, princess.” He clarifies, discarding the alcohol wipe to grab the ointment from the kit, “Nothing wrong with being spoiled.”

“I’m not—“ you go to argue, but the amusement on his face has the words dying on your tongue as you look away from him, “You’re such an ass.”

“Aww, I’m wounded.” He pouts softly, before it turns into that pretty smile again and he laughs softly, “It looks good on you.”

It takes a half-second for you to remember he’s talking about the bracelet, and your instinctive reply comes in the form of a weak, “Fuck off.”

His head falls forward as he laughs at your weakly aggressive statement. His touch is still gentle as he continues, hands unbelievably warm around yours. How unfair.

“Your hands are freezing.” He states softly, tube of ointment placed aside in favor of engulfing your hands in his. You watch him rub at them, your nails clicking against his rings with every movement until they catch his attention, “These are nice.”

“I know.”

He huffs in amusement, biting his bottom lip before he says, “‘Course you do.”

The tension between the two of you shifts, delicate and tenuous, like a thread stretched too tight. Riki’s touch is warm and steady, and you hate how easy it would be to let yourself relax into it. His thumbs keep brushing over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, and your chest tightens with every pass.

You clear your throat, trying to focus anywhere but his hands, but when you look up, his gaze is already on you. It’s not intense, exactly. Not piercing or overwhelming. Just…soft. Patient, even. The kind of look that has your fight or flight instincts kicking in to protect the

“What?” you snap, defensive and unsure, your voice sharper than you mean for it to be. You regret it instantly when his brow furrows slightly, though his hands don’t pull away.

“Nothing,” he replies softly, his voice steady. “Just glad you’re okay.”

The simplicity of it almost knocks the wind out of you. You blink, trying to find a reply that won’t give you away, but the words stick in your throat. All you can manage is a mumbled, “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone carrying a gentleness that makes you ache. “But I worry about you anyway.”

You don’t know what to do with that—how to handle the sincerity in his voice or the way his touch lingers like he’s afraid to let go. It feels like too much and not enough all at once.

“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, trying to pull your hands back, but he holds them lightly, just enough to keep you there without forcing you.

“Can’t really help it, pretty girl.” His lips curve into a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Especially when you’re getting into fights.”

Your stomach twists, a cocktail of guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface. You want to tell him it wasn’t just a fight. That it was Nayeon, that she deserved it, that you were defending yourself in more ways than one. But that isn’t the truth, is it? Not really.

“I—” You start, then stop, swallowing down the lump rising in your throat. “I don’t—” Your voice wavers, and you hate it. “Riki, I can’t—I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” his hands grasp yours tighter as he leans forward with his gaze so…so attentive.

“This.” You motion vaguely between the two of you, trying to not cry in front of him. You’re failing horribly. “Us. You. Me. God, fuck.”

“Talk to me, pretty girl.” He pleas softly, and your chest feels as warm as your hands are in his.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You exhale, head dropping back in an attempt to keep your frustrated tears from falling, “And I keep fucking up everything good in my life, and I just—“

His neck cranes slightly to meet your gaze as you avert it to his hands around yours, waiting for you to continue. Listening.

You take a deep breath, “I like you, I really do,” his thumbs slow to a stop against your knuckles, but you don’t look at him, “and you’re so—perfect and I’m not—“

“Don’t say that—“

“I’m not.” You insist, and one of his hands moves to your cheek as you continue, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear, “I’m…messy and mean-“

“I don’t care about that.” He argues gently, but you’re not done.

“-and I can’t even handle my own shit in a mature way so why should I be able to give you anything better—“

You don’t get to finish as his lips press against yours, cutting off your spiraling words with a kiss so sudden and deliberate it steals every thought from your head.

His hand on your cheek tilts your head up toward him, his other remains holding yours. It’s not a hesitant kiss. There’s nothing unsure or tentative about it, not like the first one he gave you. He isn’t suffocating you, or doing anything more than moving his lips against yours like it’s all he’s wanted to do for years but knows to take his time savoring it instead of rushing in with teeth and tongue.

All you know is that you’re leaning into him, your anger, frustration, and self-doubt melting away under the weight of his touch. It’s a good kiss—better than good. It’s consuming, overwhelming, and entirely too much, yet you feel like more wouldn’t be all that bad.

When he pulls back it isn’t far, his forehead resting against yours. You’re breathless, your lips tingling in the aftermath and brain foggier than you’d like to admit. His nose brushes against your as he says, “I don’t care about any of that,” his voice is low and hoarse, “I just want you.”

You exhale shakily, feeling his words hit you lips, “Riki��“

“I’ll wait.” He promises softly, a hint of desperation in his words that has something in your gut fluttering, “However long it takes for you to be ready, I’ll wait.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shake your head weakly, looking down at your lap. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care about fair, pretty girl.” He responds with a slight smile, hand moving from your cheek to tilt your chin up and make you look at him. His gaze flits between your eyes and lingers below your nose, a pattern that mirrors your own. “I can wait.”

His words are soft, spoken like an oath as his eyes find your lips again and decide to stay there a while.

“Why?” You ask, barely a whisper.

Riki lifts his gaze to look you in the eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he says, “‘Cause I like you more.”

You roll your eyes, “Is it a competition?”

He hums low, as if apprehensive, “Not much of one.” Your jaw drops slightly as if offended and he laughs softly, “I mean, I have you completely outmatched, pretty girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” You challenge with a slight laugh, “How so?”

He shifts closer as he hums again in thought, “Well, you’ve liked me for how long? A few weeks?” The question is more of a statement, and he seems unbothered by the short time-span with the smile on his face, “Yeah, I’ve got you beat.”

“You didn’t know me until recently, so it doesn’t count.” You argue with defiance, and he raises his brows.

“Are you invalidating my feelings for you right now?” He asks in a mock-offended tone, hand moving to his chest.

You scoff with playful annoyance, looking away from him briefly before your gaze finds him all over again, like a moth to a flame, “How long?”

His smile turns shier, and he chuckles awkwardly, “Nah, it’s not a competition. You’re right.”

“Nuh-uh, you started it,” You laugh, shoving his sturdy chest weakly, “C’mon, I already know. I just wanna hear it.”

Your smug words paired with the shrug you give have his eyes narrowing, “You know?”

You nod, “Jake ratted you out.”

Riki’s eyes widen slightly and he groans, head dropping forward in embarrassment, “I’m gonna kill him.”

Riki lifts his head, still chuckling under his breath as he finally relents, “Alright, fine.” His eyes meet yours again, warm and steady, even as a blush creeps across his cheeks and ears. “Since freshman year. Happy now?”

Despite you being the one to force it out of him, you hold back the urge to giggle and turn away from him. “Very.” You answer with a slightly blissful grin on your face.

“You gonna hold that over my head?” He asks playfully, leaning closer like he wants to kiss you again.

You fight every impulse telling you to close the distance yourself, but let your eyes move between his eyes and smirking lips freely, “I might.”

“Yeah?” He jests softly.

You hum, deciding to be a little mean. “I could also hold over your head that your mom still thinks we’re dating.”

His eyes shut and the hand creeping towards yours again freezes. His head falls forward and you panic for a moment thinking you went too far before you realize his shoulders are shaking and you can hear soft wheezing. “You’re mean.”

His muffled whine makes you snicker gleefully, and you add, “She said I’m good for you.”

You don’t realize the joy behind those words until he raises his head with a teasing but genuine (and flirty) grin on his face as he asks, “You’re happy about that, huh baby?”

You find yourself teasing him back instead of getting hostile at his flirty tone, probably due to the boost he gave your ego, “Mmm, not as happy as you seem to be with me as your girlfriend. According to your mom, anyway.”

Before he can reply, a familiar voice cuts through the moment.

“Nishimura.”

Both of you whip your heads toward the source of the sound. Standing at the bottom of the bleachers with his arms crossed and an exasperated expression is Jungkook. He’s wearing a hoodie and joggers, looking like he just came from the gym with his curls in a bun, but his sharp eyes land squarely on Riki first, then shift to you.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?” Jungkook asks, though there’s no real heat in his tone.

Riki straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just…taking care of something, Coach.”

Jungkook’s brows rise, and he gestures toward the field. “And why aren’t you in class?”

“I—uh—” Riki stammers before Jungkook waves a hand dismissively.

“Save it. I don’t need the whole story. Just get your ass to class before I have you running suicides until next week.” His gaze softens slightly as it flicks to you. “And you? ”

You shrink a little under his stare, mumbling, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Jungkook lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You—” He shakes his head before gesturing toward the parking lot. “Go home, kid. And no more fights, please—or distracting my team.”

“Alright, alright,” you mumble as you stand. You glance at Riki, who’s already grinning like this whole thing is hilarious, and shoot him a glare. “Stop smiling, you ass.”

Riki just snickers, his grin growing wider as he stands. “I’ll walk you to your car, pretty girl.”

Jungkook shakes his head, muttering something about teenagers and their hormones. “She can walk herself, get to class.”

Any complaint Riki wants to make is silenced by the pointed finger Jungkook sends him, and he sighs. Your cheeks burn as he leans down to press a kiss to one of them with a soft, “See you later, pretty girl.”

Riki averts his eyes from Jungkook’s judgmental gaze as his star midfielder jogs down the bleacher steps, offering a respectful bow of his head as he passes.

Jungkook then looks over at you, and you’re already arguing, “I have to get my bag from my locker.”

He deadpans, clearly unimpressed as he says, “Ask one of your friends to get it for you.”

Unable to argue with his reasoning, you let out a soft huff and begin patting your pockets for your phone. A relieved sigh escapes your gloss-smudged lips when your fingers brush against the device through a layer of fabric. Silently, you thank whichever of your spirit guides prompted you to button your back pocket before entering the cafeteria.

You suddenly remember another reason to stay a bit longer, “My keys are in my bag!”

Jungkook sighs, “If I see you in the halls in 10 minutes you’re getting banned from my field.”

You grin, bouncing down the steps with a happy, “Thanks, Coach Jeon.”

He makes a face of disgust, hand gently pushing the side of your head as you walk by, “Get out of here.”

It’s almost laughable how quickly the situation disappears, like it never happened. No one snitches—not one person. Even the crowd of students who saw everything miraculously forget when teachers start asking questions. It’s the lacrosse team who spins the story, their collective loyalty so seamless you almost believe they rehearsed it. Nayeon threw the first punch, they all swear. You didn’t fight back. You defended yourself.

The only video evidence of the fight are clips of Nayeon lunging for you and blurry photos, another thing you’re sure the lacrosse team took care of, so the school really have nothing to go off of. By the time the dust settles, it’s like the cafeteria incident is just another school rumor, one of those things everyone knows happened yet every retelling of events sounds skewed in some way.

Your mother hadn’t been informed by the school of the issue, thankfully, but you had endured a scathing voicemail from your father about the ‘stunt’ you pulled with Eunseok’s ‘bright and good’ girlfriend while eating Chinese takeout with Belle Tuesday night. She sat there munching on an eggroll and snatching small pieces of your sweet-fire chicken while your father’s angry ramble drew on and on for a few long minutes before he ended it with a, ‘call me back.’ The laughing fit you and Belle had over that one has become a bit of an inside joke now.

Thursday evening finds you in the kitchen of your home following your Aunt’s slutty brownie recipe with Riki on FaceTime propped up against the egg carton. “Butter, butter, butter…” You mumble to yourself as you reach for the ingredient, making a face as some of the softened dairy gets on your thumb. Riki, who had been silently observing you through the screen, snickers softly. You send a pointed look to the camera, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“M’not, you're just cute.”

“Fuck you.” You lose the fight against the smile forming on your face as you unfold the waxy wrapping of the butter and tip it into the mixing bowl, “I’m always cute.”

He only hums low with that same smirk on his face as he rests his chin on his arm, watching you switch on the mixer and grab a brownie pan from the cabinet beside the stove. A beat passes and he asks, “You don’t have to, you know?”

You glance away from pressing your knuckles into the cookie dough to flatten it along the bottom of the greased pan, “I know, but I don’t want your friends to have anything over me.”

Your joke is received with a soft laugh, “I wouldn’t let them hold it over you.”

“While I would like to see that, this is much easier.” You dismiss as you move to the sink to wash your hands and grab the pack of oreos. “Plus, Jungkook loves slutty brownies so maybe he’ll take the stick out of his ass if he gets one.”

Riki snorts softly on the other end, his bangs messily covering his forehead and eyes, “It’s game day, I don’t think the stick will come out.”

You hum in defeat, shrugging slightly as you begin to place the layer of oreos into the pan, “A sweet treat for good graces then.”

Once you finish the layer of oreos, pour the brownie batter over it, and stick it in the oven, you sigh loudly. Fanning yourself and pulling your hair off your neck as you move toward your phone to grab it. “Jesus Christ, it’s hot.”

“It’s 30° outside.”

“I’m not outside, I’m inside.” You sass with a ‘duh’ look on your face as you hold the phone angled up at your face as you walk toward the living room. “And how dare you try to contradict me.”

“Sorry, pretty girl. It won’t happen again.” He responds after a light chuckle.

You feign another roll of your eyes as you fail to fight the smile growing on your lips once again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The next morning, you arrive at school earlier than you’d like—especially with how fucking cold it is. Still, you look cute and feel it too, with a new lip gloss on your lips and a pair of pearls on your ears to match the ones on your eyes.

Exiting your car, you hasten your trek to the field. The bags rustle at your sides as you chant a soft tune of “I’m so fucking cold” under your breath. Your hands are, once again, not protected by gloves as you so vehemently refuse to cover up Julie’s masterpiece. She was very pleased that her hard work stayed intact during the fight, but recommended you treat your hands with care if you want them to last as long as they usually do.

Jungkook notices your approach, tipped off by the high-pitched shiver that escapes your lips as you finally arrive on the field—a sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team either. They seem to all slowly get distracted by your figure’s approach, eyes drawn to either the bags at your sides or cute way you’re walking in the cold.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook snaps in annoyance, his tone almost dismissive.

“Jesus Christ, this violates the Geneva Conventions in some way, I'm sure.” You huff softly, holding up the bags as you arrive at his side, “I made slutty brownies.”

Jungkook’s frown softens as the team parrots your words hopefully, and he then barks, “Single file, maggots.”

You’re almost too cold to enjoy the spectacle the team provides racing to get first in line, yet keeping a respectful distance ahead of you. You snicker softly as you set the bags down, bending with a shiver to grab them to pass out before the one in front of the line protests.

“You’re cold?” Kai asks with worry from the front of the line, and the one behind him, Taehyun, steps out of line with his arms held out.

“I’ll pass them out, you need to warm up.” He fusses with a slight scolding tone, “There are hot-packs over there.” He cocks his head toward the bleachers as he takes your place in front of the bags.

You’re left standing there in confusion as Taehyun takes over your current job, walking towards the bleachers in search of the stated hotpacks before a warm object is pressed to your cheek and you startle.

Riki snickers softly as you look at him in disgust before realizing it’s him, and your face softens to an eyeroll with a soft ‘fuck off’ muttered under your breath. You move to grab the hotpack from him, but he cheekily holds it out of your reach with a boyish giggle.

The look you give him has him flattening his lips to hold back a grin as he silently hands the heat pack to you with a muttered apology.

“Why aren’t you in line?” You question, and he has that same smirk on his face.

He shrugs, “Wanted to talk to my girl first.” You give him a look and he groans, “Can’t you just let me indulge for a second?”

“Patience is a virtue, Riki.” You muse as you cross your arms to tuck your hands away with a hotpack in each hand. “Plus, you said you’d wait.”

“And I will—I am.” He confirms with a shake of his head and a lighthearted grin, “But you could be a little more forgiving, pretty girl.”

“I don’t believe in forgiveness.” You retort with a shrug and a pretty smile.

“Niki!” Jake calls out from the line a few yards away, he’s a few players behind with a grin on his face as he says, “Don’t worry about getting in line, I’ll get you one!”

“Yeah, keep talkin’ to your girlfriend~.” Sunghoon teases, causing most of the team to snicker or whistle.

Riki’s ears go red, but when you point it out with a giggle, his hand immediately shoots to one of the red appendages and he shakes his head, “It’s the cold.”

“Niki, our shy boy!” Heeseung coos from the line, and the rest are all too eager to join in.

“Wow, Niki, you're so cute!”

“Niki, kiss her!”

“It’s giving Romeo!”

Riki groans softly, hands covering his face from your vision as you laugh, a warmth blooming in your chest that eases the chill in your bones. “I’m gonna kill them.”

He’s about to say something else when Taki takes a bite of the brownie in his hand and grunts something sounding like “oh yeah” with his words garbled by the mouthful he’s chewing.

You watch the scene unfold with amusement, leaning back on your heels as the team collectively loses their minds over a baked good. Taki, still mid-chew, looks like he’s having a near-spiritual experience, while Jungkook shouts something about chewing with his mouth closed.

Riki uses the distraction to lower his hands from his face, a grin breaking through his earlier embarrassment as he watches you watching them. His voice cuts through the chaos, low and teasing: “You seem happy.”

Your gaze moves to him, “Is that an issue?”

“Not at all.” He responds smoothly, “You look good when you’re happy.”

“I always look good.” You retort out of habit.

He seems to have expected it, nodding along in agreement before he asks, “So, if I asked you to wear my jersey instead of whatever cute shirt you were gonna wear tonight, would you?”

“Look good? Yes.” You answer with a light, teasing tone, “Agree? Mmm, maybe.”

“You’re killing me, baby.”

“Sweet names will get you nowhere.”

“So, you like it when I call you that?” He asks, stepping closer with a cheeky grin.

You remain defiant, arms crossed as you instinctively lean away from him with a laugh, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t deny it either.” He retorts swiftly, his head tilting and his eyes moving over your face with a smugness that pisses you off.

“No, I didn’t.” You agree, and his eyes narrow slightly at the almost flirty smile on your lips as you turn away from him to make your way back to Taehyun.

You fight the giddy feeling in your chest as you feel his gaze on you, deciding against sparing a glance back as you hear the crunch of his steps following after you.

As always, you’re right. Riki’s spare jersey looks adorable on you.

“He’s gonna die.” Gaeul practically squeals at the sight of you. It’s a bit warmer than the morning had been when you arrive at the opposing school’s stadium, the long sleeved fleece-lined undershirt protecting you from the chilled breeze. “Bitch, your ass looks fantastic.”

A grin brightens your face and laugh leaves your glossy lips as she fawns over your look, “Right?” You turn slightly to give her a better view of your behind purely out of excitement, because yeah, your ass looks good in these jeans.

“It’s smiling at me,” She gasps, smacking your butt lightly with a laugh before hooking her arm with yours and beginning to tug you along. “I didn’t know if you’d come tonight with everything that happened last game.”

“Why?” You ask a bit cluelessly, before remembering the event clearer and shaking your head, “Oh, that weird guy? No, I’m fine.”

She hums with a slight frown as the two of you get to the concessions, “I’m so sorry for leaving you in all the chaos, I didn’t realize you weren’t behind me until I got to Jay.”

Sensing the remorse behind her words, you find yourself quickly saying, “Don’t feel bad, I’m okay.”

“Ugh, I need your number! That’s been eating me alive all week!” She huffs softly as the line moves up, “I tried to find you at school but you kept evading me.”

“You couldn’t ask Belle? Don’t you two share a class?” You question with a slight tilt of your head and her jaw slacks.

“Why did I not think of that?” She mutters to herself as you both reach the front of the line and she orders herself a soft pretzel before looking over at you, “My treat, an apology.”

You aren’t one to reject free food when offered, so you look at the concession worker and say, “A Dr Pepper and another soft pretzel, please.”

Gaeul pays and a worker in the back pulls out two warm pretzels as another grabs the familiar maroon bottle from a cooler. She starts speaking again the moment the food and drinks are in your hands.

“Food isn’t allowed on the field, but I already gave Jay a kiss before he went on the bus.”

Her smile is suggestive, and you make a face that has her whining, “C’mon, I’ll hold your food while you go—“ She shimmies her shoulders and purses her lips into a kissy face that has you letting out a shrill ‘ew, stop!’

“That’s deplorable.” Your words contradict the laughter seeping into your speech, “I am not going down there.”

“Boring.” She groans, but her face brightens suddenly and she waves ahead. When you follow her gaze and find Mrs Nishimura approaching, you internally freak out until she smiles at you and you remember how lovely of a woman she is.

A lovely woman who seems to zero in on the jersey you wear the moment she’s within arms reach, “Oh, don’t you look darling!”

She pulls you into a warm hug and you accept it keenly, “Thank you! Are Maki and Runa with you?”

Your question comes as she pulls away, keeping you at arms-length as she shakes her head, “No, they stayed home with their father, neither wanted to make the trip.”

The trip being about an hour long car ride to the other side of town, which is fair. Feels shorter when you’re driving, though. You got through SZA’s new album on the way, too.

The three of you make it to the bleachers, finding a spot to watch the game as the ref whistles and the teams start to huddle. The board reads:

STARSHIP ALIENS v. DECELIS DEMONS

You sporadically tear pieces off of your soft pretzel as your eyes follow Riki the entire game, catching his eye at multiple points and having to act like you don’t see he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face under that face-guard.

The Demon’s win 12-8 long past sunset, a chill nipping your nose and the empty paper your pretzel came in crumbled into a ball in your hand. Rin sends you the same look as the last game before retreating toward the parking lot.

The moment you step foot on the field after releasing Gaeul’s arm, Jake appears in your view with a big grin, “Didja see the weaving I did? I looked cool, right?”

You debate breaking it to the boy that you may have entirely forgotten he was even on the team, too focused on his teammate to even notice him.

“I don’t think she was watching you.” Heeseung appears with his helmet off and his sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead. He moves to throw an arm around your shoulder and you quickly dodge with an ‘eugh’.

“You’re sweaty and you stink.” You grumble with a grimace on your face, and Heeseung seems ready to complain before he grins again at something behind you and a second later arms engulf you from behind.

“You’re cute from the back too, pretty girl.” Riki muses into your ear, lifting you up held against his chest with his arms wrapped around you.

“Riki, you sweaty bastard, let me go!” You whine, struggling against him as he lets your feet touch the ground again.

He giggles boyishly as he obeys, and as you turn to give him a piece of your mind you find the curses dying on your tongue at the grin on his face.

His smile is wide and unapologetically smug, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your chest feel like your heart is trying to claw its way out. His helmet dangles loosely in his hand now, his hair a damp mess but somehow still looking good.

“You can’t just pick people up like that,” you say, trying to sound annoyed but betraying yourself when your lips twitch upward. “It’s rude.”

He leans forward slightly, closing the gap between you as if he can’t keep himself away. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”

You roll your eyes, stepping back to put some space between you, but Riki matches your movement with an exaggerated pout, clearly enjoying himself. Before you can fire back with something probably aggressive or mean, another voice cuts in.

“Alright, Romeo, stop flirting and help us pack up,” Jungwon calls, dragging the duffel bags of gear toward the bus. He tosses a water bottle at Riki, who catches it without really looking.

“I’ll see you in a minute,” Riki says softly, his grin softening into something warmer that sends an entirely different kind of shiver through you. He leans down and kisses your cheek before jogging off to join his teammates.

Holy fuck.

Your heart is racing in your chest like an old woman whose heart is about to give out, and your long sleeve undershirt is suddenly too damn hot.

You barely manage to pull yourself together before Gaeul pops up next to you, a knowing smirk spread across her face as she loops her arm around yours. “He kissed you~,” she sing-songs, her tone just low enough not to draw attention, but her amusement is blatant.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, pressing a hand to your cheek like it’ll somehow stop the warmth there from spreading like the grin in your face. You hope the shadows cast by the stadium lights are enough to hide your flustered state.

Gaeul doesn’t let up as the two of you wander toward the edge of the field, her giggles like little daggers stabbing at your already tattered dignity. “He picked you up. And got touchy.”

“I’m aware,” You huff, “I experienced it.”

“I mean, I don’t think you get how big a deal this is,” she practically rambles, “Riki’s never been this…confident!”

“Oh?” You question with your brows furrowed slightly.

She nods with an eager hum, “Riki’s shy! At least he was when I first met him.” Everything up to this point hadn’t pointed you in that direction regarding Riki’s personality, too familiar with the smug smiles and nonchalance, “I mean, he’s like a different person now that you’re around.”

“That’s…good, right?” You question hesitantly, “I mean, he wasn’t weird or anything, right?”

Your voice must have failed to convey the jesting tone you intended because Gaeul quickly begins to backtrack as you approach the bus. Jungkook is at the driver's seat of the bus while some of the team boards it with their duffles hanging from their shoulders and others are loading the luggage compartment with gear, free of their shoulder pads and helmets.

Even without the padding, Riki’s back is broad, jersey hanging off muscle. You can barely see Jake past him, who's on the other side of the compartment helping organize it.

You forget about any questions on your tongue when the shorter male cheekily points out your approach from behind and he looks over his shoulder for you with the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

Beautiful bastard.

He wastes no time in loading the equipment bag in his hands into the compartment before stepping away from the bus, jogging toward you with that grin. Gaeul begins to pull away with a grin, but leans in to speak quietly enough for him to not hear, “I’ll give you guys a second.”

She shoots a wink at you as she and Riki pass each other, a soft snicker leaving you as she calls out happily for Jay, who’s just stepped off the bus.

Riki slows as he reaches you, his smile turning slightly sheepish now that it’s just the two of you. He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, his other hand gripping the hem of his jersey. “You’re not mad about earlier, right?”

You ignore the fact his movements cause the jersey to ride up, revealing a sliver of his abdomen that makes you feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

“I haven’t decided yet.” You respond with a nonchalant shrug and a thoughtful tilt of your head.

He chuckles softly, his hand dropping from his nape as he steps closer with the same magnetism as before, like he doesn’t want to be too far, “C’mon, I was happy you’re here.”

“And you just had to pick me up?”

His laugh is warm and full, the sound washing over you and melting away any annoyance you could have pretended to feel. “Yes.” he says with a nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners again as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

This time, you roll your eyes and half-fight the smile naturally growing on your face, “Fine, but that’s your first strike.”

His brows raise in curiosity, his grin turning to a smirk as he asks, “First strike? How many do I get?”

“Three. Duh.” You sass, and he seems to find that just as amusing as your very serious strike system, though you find it kinda hot that he didn’t question the logic behind it. (The answer: if Sheldon Cooper can have a strike system, so can you.)

“And what happens after three?” He asks, leaning closer with intrigue and that stupid smile.

“Let’s hope you never find out.” You retort, having an idea of what to say but not sure if ‘flogging’ is too far. (You know Belle would laugh, though.)

“Nishimura!” Jungkook barks from the open doors of the bus. The last of the team is filing onto the bus, probably eager to get home. “Stop lollygagging and get on the damn bus.”

You snort softly at the word choice, but find that you aren’t safe from the Coach’s annoyance, “You too, go home. Don’t make me tell them about Shadow.”

The gasp that leaves your lips is one of pure betrayal. The audacity. The nerve. “You—”

He raises his brows in a ‘do it, i dare you’ way and your lips fall shut.

Riki is unable to move past the Shadow thing. “Shadow? Like the Hedgehog?”

“No, like my cat.” You snap sarcastically, “Get on that damn bus.”

Your gaze moves to the vehicle in question, and you find the eyes of the Decelis lacrosse team trained on you and Riki. Through an open window, you hear a voice you think is Kai’s saying, “I thought her cat’s name was Gus.”

“Baby, you have to tell me now.” He laughs breathlessly, like he’s not sure whether to let it out or keep it in for your sake.

“It will never leave my mouth, and I swore him—“ Your words shift from defiant to angry as your finger shoots out to point at the tattooed man impatiently waiting at the bus’ door, “—to secrecy!”

Your words are full of betrayal as you vehemently continue with your manicured finger still pointed, “You took the Unbreakable Vow!

“You were eight.” The Coach retorts. “You used a Crayola marker. It was pink.”

You want to argue, but hold yourself back for everyone’s sake as you look back at a heavily amused Riki and say, “Get on the bus.”

“I’m not letting this go.” He warns with pure joy on his face and a laugh in his voice as he begins to slowly walk back.

You simply shake your head and cross your arms defiantly, “I’m not gonna tell you.”

He only tilts his head with ‘really?’ look, too smug for his own good, the bastard.

Jay and Gaeul appear, her lipgloss smudged on his lips and messy on her own. Jungkook notices them with a disgusted frown and chilling glare. Jay mutters a ‘sorry Coach’ after kissing Gaeul goodbye, and she happily begins to approach your side.

Riki takes the brief moment of time to circle back and ask you quickly, “Are you free tomorrow? Or tonight?”

You blink, mindful of Gaeul’s approach but finding his impulsivity endearing, nodding instead of saying something you’ll cringe at later.

His grin stretches wide, lighting up his face like you’ve just made his entire night. “Cool. I’ll text you,” he says casually, though there’s a spark of excitement in his voice that betrays him. Before you can respond, he jogs back toward the bus, shooting you one last look over his shoulder as he climbs the steps.

Gaeul sidles up to you, her arm sliding through yours with practiced ease, the grin on her face telling you she heard the exchange, “Ready to go?”

You’re thankful she doesn’t tease you again, nodding as the both of you begin to walk toward the visitor parking.

With your back turned, you don’t see one of the slightly ajar windows sliding open more, or the boy that pops his head out of it until he calls out, “Hey!”

You stop mid-step, glancing back over your shoulder to find Riki leaning halfway out the window, his hair messy and damp but looking entirely too perfect for someone who just played an entire game.

You raise a brow in silent question.

“You look good in my jersey!” he calls out, his tone playful but tinged with something softer—something that makes your heart skip.

Your cheeks heat instantly, and you can’t fight the smile breaking across your face. Gaeul snorts next to you, gripping your arm like she’s about to combust.

“I know!” you shout back, doing your best to sound casual, though the warmth in your voice betrays you.

His grin widens, impossibly charming, and he shoots you a two-fingered salute before disappearing back into the bus as the vehicle begins to roll away. Gaeul finally releases her pent-up laughter, practically bouncing on her toes.

“You know?” she echoes, mimicking your response and clutching her stomach. “Girl, you’re gonna kill him one day with that play.”

You start walking toward the parking lot again, tugging her along to keep her from lingering. “I wasn’t playing anything,” you say, though the warmth in your cheeks tells a different story. “I do look good in his jersey. That’s just reality.”

“Sure, sure,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours. “But you could’ve just said thank you. Or blushed. Like a normal person.”

“Showing that he affects me is embarrassing.” You grumble softly, “I’ll die before I boost a man’s ego like that.”

(Though, you did cry in front of him about how much you like him, so maybe that argument isn’t valid anymore.)

She cackles at that, nearly stumbling over her own feet as you reach your car. “But, seriously, I’ve never seen him like that. He’s so…” Her voice trails off as she unlocks her own car a few spaces down, but the twinkle in her eye says enough.

“So what?” you press, opening your car door but pausing before you get in.

Gaeul grins knowingly, pointing at you with her keys. “So gone for you.”

You spend the next minute acting like the thought of him being ‘gone’ for you, as Gaeul put it, doesn’t make you want to squeal into a pillow and kick your feet, and when the two of you part ways that feeling remains.

The hour drive home feels longer with Riki on your mind, but maybe it’s the fact you aren’t sure if seeing him again tonight is the best idea.

Something you’ve realized about yourself since meeting Riki is that you suck at impulse control. You preach self-control yet the moment he’s around you—or even mentioned—you find yourself wanting to act on every impulse the chemicals in your brain fire.

When you get home, pulling into the garage as your parents were once again out of town, you read a text Riki had sent not ten minutes prior.

A beat passes before he responds and you huff in disbelief.

The response comes in the form of a phone call. His contact photo lights up your screen, and you huff softly in amusement before pressing the answer button and bringing it to your ear as you get out of your car, “Yes?”

“Both?” His voice comes through, playful yet tinged with something warmer. You can hear the muffled chatter of his teammates in the background, he must not be home yet. “You’re really not making this easy for me, you know.”

“You asked,” you counter with a soft laugh, locking your car and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I just gave you the answer.”

“Yeah? Which door should I be knocking on? Front or back?”

“You’re not seriously coming tonight, stupid,” you say, though the idea isn’t unappealing. You reach the door, cursing softly at how loud the garage is as it closes. Your hand wraps around the door handle.

“Why not?”

“Riki,” you start with a laugh, entering your home and flipping on the light.

“What? You said both,” he teases. You can hear the grin in his voice, and you roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Besides, Coach is gonna drop us off at the field to grab our cars anyway. It’s not like I’m going out of my way or anything.”

You hesitate, caught between the thrill of seeing him tonight and the logic of how tired he must be after the game. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to bed?”

“Not really,” he says softly, a bit more serious now, warm. “I’d rather see you.”

Your stomach flips, the sincerity in his voice knocking the wind out of you. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“And you love it,” he shoots back, but there’s a gentleness there that makes you smile despite yourself.

“You better shower before you get here,” You say after a beat, and you swear you hear a whispered ‘yes’ before adding, “Don’t need your stench stinking up my house.”

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles on the other end, a sound that comes through your phone beautifully. “Just don’t fall asleep before I get there.”

“Yeah, yeah, just text me when you’re on the way.” You walk toward the kitchen, dropping your purse on the counter and unzipping it to grab the eyedrops as you say, “Also, do you have a curfew?”

“Why? You tryna keep me for longer, pretty girl?” His teasing words are unfortunately true, but you refuse to admit it.

“Well, it’s already almost 10:00.” You dodge his question as you unscrew the tiny bottle in your hands, “I didn’t know if your mom would want you home sooner rather than later.”

“Nah, she’s fine with it.” He assures you, and then a beat passes and he asks, “What about yours?”

“They’re out of town, so it doesn't really matter.” You shrug, “So to answer your question, the front door is fine.”

You hear shuffling on the other end, a car door opening and closing, “So, you don’t mind if I stay a while?”

You can hear the smile in his words, and with a bite of your nail you say, “I’ll kick you out when I get sick of you.”

He laughs softly on the other end, “I’ll stay till you kick me out, then.”

You exchange a few more words before he hangs up to drive, and you have a window of time to panic(and clean up).

After a five minute debate with yourself about taking off or keeping on your makeup, you decide the former is the better option with how late it is and your track record of falling asleep without doing so.

(You also make a promise to yourself that if you fall asleep in front of Riki, death is the only option.)

So, when you get the text that he's arrived and you open the door with a bare face, you half-expect him to comment on it. You had FaceTimed him late enough for the boy to bear witness to your nighttime routine on multiple occasions, but he’d never shown any reaction to it.

The only reaction you get is the same boyish smile as always, the warmth behind his eyes making your heart lurch in your chest.

“Hey,” he greets softly, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he steps inside. He smells like some mélange of citrus and musk, his body wash and cologne you assume, and it makes your head feel funny.

“Hey.” You respond with a light huff of amusement as you step aside for him to enter, closing the door behind him, “I see you showered.”

His damp hair covers his forehead, the same messy style he has everytime he takes off his helmet and sweat saturates each lock, yet a bit frizzy like he towel-dried it before he left.

He chuckles, head shaking lightly in amusement as he lets you lead him toward the kitchen, “I listen.”

His words are playfully defensive, the boyish smile on his face and the way he cranes his neck slightly makes you laugh, “You better.” He hums, dropping himself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, eyes flickering over the space as you move to grab yourself a drink. “You want anything?”

“Whatever you have.” He shrugs, so you grab two Dr Pepper cans from the fridge and move back to the island.

Riki watches you pull two straws from the drawer in amusement, his elbows on the counter as you pop open the cans with practiced ease and an unhurried leisure. You catch his eyes with a raise of your brow that has him smirking slightly and saying, “Just watchin’.”

“I’d prefer you didn't stare.”

“Can’t help it.”

You roll your eyes at him, but put the straw in and hold the can out toward him anyway. When he takes it with that almost besotted look in his eyes and his fingers brush yours, you find yourself turning away from him the moment it’s out of your hand, “Are you hungry?”

Riki shakes his head, tapping his fingers against the can before taking a sip. “Nah, we stopped for food after the game.”

You nod, opening the pantry to browse and distract yourself, but it does nothing to drown out the weight of his gaze. This was a horrible idea. When you glance at him, he’s still watching you, straw between his lips, eyes holding something unreadable.

“Stop it.”

Riki obediently averts his gaze, turning in his stool until he’s no longer facing you—though he playfully overachieves, turning his back to you completely. You can’t help but poorly conceal a laugh at his actions, which prompts him to look back over his shoulder for your smile.

You act like you don’t catch the way his gaze follows you, ignoring the way it forms a knot in your gut. “C’mon, let’s sit in the living room.”

He follows without hesitation, the soft thud of his socks against the floor trailing after you. You settle into the couch, tucking your legs beneath you, and he drops down beside you like he belongs there.

He does it so easily—makes himself at home in your space, in your presence. It should annoy you. Maybe it does, but not for the reasons you wish it did.

Riki sets his drink on the coffee table, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. He doesn’t touch you, but he could. If you shifted even slightly, if he reached just a little further.

You pretend not to notice.

You scroll through the options absentmindedly, hyperaware of Riki’s presence beside you—the way his fingers drum idly against the couch cushion, the way his head tilts slightly in your direction when you stop on a show.

“This good?” You ask, your voice quieter than intended.

“Yeah,” he says softly. You get the feeling he doesn’t really care what’s on.

You settle into the silence, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. For a moment, it’s almost comfortable, normal. But the stillness makes your mind race, and it’s impossible not to notice how close he is. You shift slightly, your side brushing against his as you settle deeper into the cushions, and the air feels thicker somehow, heavier.

You steal a glance at him, his eyes fixed on the screen, but there’s a subtle tension in his posture that wasn’t there before. His shoulders are a little tighter, his jaw a little more set, like he’s holding something back.

Like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day, Gus appears around the corner with a sweet trill and takes the attention of both of you away from the movie(and each other).

Riki perks up immediately, his gaze shifting from the screen to the small ball of fur trotting toward the couch. “Oh, hey, buddy,” he greets softly, leaning forward slightly as Gus hops onto the cushions with practiced ease.

You watch with amusement as he settles in Riki’s lap, loafing contentedly and blinking slowly at you from his spot. Unable to bear it, you shift slightly closer to the boy beside you to reach your cat more comfortably, muttering a soft and fond, “Traitor.”

The midfielder laughs softly, ringed fingers gently scratching the tomcat on his head near your own, “He loves me.”

“He’s a lovey cat.” You retort, and though your words are true, you’ve never seen him lay in anyone’s lap this fast, much less a boy. He was never too fond of Eunseok, and doesn’t really care much for Jongseob, yet seeks out affection from Riki every time he comes over. “He likes warm laps.”

“Maybe he just has good taste.”

“Or maybe he’s a cat.” You retort, shifting again in your seat to make sure you’re not too close. He comments this time.

“Am I making you nervous?” He asks teasingly, voice low.

“Excuse me?” You ask with a judgemental confusion on your face.

He seems undeterred, only motivated by the tone you give him, “You keep fidgeting, baby.”

“What did I say about calling me that?” You lightly smack his side, and he winces playfully.

“My bad,” he concedes, hands lifting from Gus momentarily in mock-surrender, “it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t lie.”

He chuckles, “It’ll happen again.”

A noise begins to play from the other room, and Gus immediately launches himself from Riki’s lap to run off. You laugh softly at Riki’s slight pout, the boy dramatically reaching after the feline longingly, “That was his automatic feeder.”

“Damn.” He sighs, his hands falling back to his sides on the sofa. The tip of his thumb brushes your knee accidentally, and the tension in the air shifts once more.

Both of you seem to zero in on the simple contact, accidental and barely-there yet electric in a way you’d never experienced such minute touches. The tip of his thumb turns into the pad of it, a gentle tracing of circular patterns on your knee. Then, his knuckles join, as if testing the waters.

When you glance at him he's already looking at you, his eyes dark with something unreadable, something intense that makes your stomach flip and your chest explode with warmth. Like an itch, one you know how to quell but the side of your brain dealing with critical thinking tells you it’s probably a bad idea.

His palm flattening against your knee is enough for you to disregard the advice of your logical brain and act on the only impulse your brain can fire at the moment.

Riki’s other hand moves to your cheek when you’re close enough, long fingers tangling into the hair behind your ear as his thumb brushes your cheekbone. His head tilts to the side, nose brushing yours as he shakes it lightly. He doesn’t use the hand on your cheek to push you away or tease you further, any playfulness gone and replaced by a warmth and desire that makes your chest fill with butterflies.

Your breaths mix, the sound of the TV drowned out by the sheer madness of him. He looks like the last thing he wants to do is pull away, like it’s a struggle to not close the short distance between your lips and his—to not cross any lines. Then, his forehead presses to yours gently and he says, “We don’t have to. I can wait.”

His words are soft, nearly whispered, yet his deep voice makes them heavier on your gut than you’d ever admit. You find yourself speaking in a mirrored tone, “I don’t want you to wait anymore.”

His eyes widen just slightly, and his lips part, just barely, his gaze dropping to your mouth. His thumb continues its delicate path across your cheekbone, his fingers flexing in your hair as if anchoring himself to this moment. You can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the proximity making your heart race.

“I want you to know,” he begins, his voice a low rumble, “I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said about waiting…I won’t rush you.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, his words a tender weight against your chest. But it doesn’t change what you’re feeling now or how close he is. How easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him, to let all the tension and uncertainty dissolve with the space between your lips.

“I know.” You say with a slight smile.

Before you can second-guess yourself, your lips find his in a soft and brief kiss.

Riki’s intentions seem to differ from your own as you move to pull away, the hand on your cheek sliding into your hair as his lips chase yours to pull you back in. There’s no hesitation behind it like before, his lips moving against yours with a building urgency that you can’t help but reciprocate.

You gasp softly against his mouth when the hand on your knee glides up your thigh, fingers pressing into skin and pulling you closer almost desperately. He tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss, a low sound from his chest setting your blood aflame as you maneuver into his lap.

His hands move as your knees settle on either side of his hips, warm palms splaying over the curve of your waist and fingers digging into flesh to feel you as close as possible. It’s too much, yet somehow not enough.

Your fingers thread into his slightly damp hair, another deep sound escaping his intoxicating lips that has your stomach flipping. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips brushing yours again and again, each kiss deeper than the last. You can feel the way his heart beats beneath your palm, just as fast as yours, and it makes something tighten in your chest.

Riki tilts his head slightly, his nose brushing against your cheek as he exhales softly, his grip on your waist shifting as his hands trail up your spine. He pulls you impossibly closer, a restrained urgency in the way he holds you. He's patient—always—but there's something in the way his fingers press into your skin, in the way his lips part just enough for his breath to mix with yours, that tells you he's feeling this just as intensely as you are.

Pulling away feels like the worst idea in the world, but your lungs ache and something in the back of your mind tells you this is all too soon, too fast. The sound that the disconnect of your lips with Riki’s makes sends a thrill up your spine that the look in his eyes only exacerbates.

His forehead is warm against your own as your breaths mix and his hands slide back down to your waist. His lips ghost yours as you pant softly against him, his head tilting and his nose brushing over your cheek as his lips find the skin there, then your jaw, and your pulse point. You can feel the chastity of his kisses, the type that’s so gentle you’re not sure if you actually felt his lips on you or you just want them there enough to trick your mind into believing it.

“God, pretty girl.” He sighs, burying his nose into your neck to stop himself from kissing you more.

“Riki,” you murmur, unsure of what you want to say, only knowing that you don’t want him to move away just yet.

He hums against your skin, his breath warm, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then exhale softly. “Nothing.”

He chuckles, low and knowing, before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, but there’s something tender in the way they study you, like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.

His thumb brushes absentmindedly over your waist, his touch light, reverent. “You good?”

You nod, though your heart is hammering in your chest. “Are you?”

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering, then grins—small and lopsided. “Yeah.”

His gaze drops to your lips again, lingering for a beat too long before he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “I should go before I do something stupid.”

The admission has your stomach flipping once more, but you find yourself huffing softly in amusement, “Yeah, you should.”

The moment your hands move to his shoulders and you attempt to dismount his lap, his arms wrap around your waist and his nose returns to its home buried in your neck, “Mmm, in a minute.”

A laugh escapes you, breathy and light, as your fingers absentmindedly trace the line of his shoulder blades. “You just said you should go.”

“I should,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”

You hum softly, deciding against teasing him and instead settling into the security of his embrace. You feel him smile against your skin, slowly pulling his face from the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Then, his hands move, one sliding up your spine while the other lifts to cup your jaw, and he kisses your cheek. Soft. Chaste.

“Okay,” he murmurs, still so close. “Now I’ll go.”

You don’t stop him this time when he loosens his hold, when he gently shifts you off his lap. You don’t say anything as he stands, raking a hand through his already-messy hair(courtesy of your hands, of course), or when he stretches and his hoodie rides up. When he looks down at you, you almost shrink under his gaze before he smiles that warm way you love and he leans forward to grab your hand in his.

You let his fingers slide between your own, your eyes on him as he tugs you gently and prompts you to get off the couch to step closer to him with a soft huff of amusement, “I thought you were going?”

His hand in yours slips out in favor of joining the other on either side of your jaw, thumbs gently brushing your cheeks fondly as he mirthfully smirks down at you. You have no choice but to tilt your head back to look at him at this proximity, and he doesn’t seem all that eager to widen it.

“I am.” His muttered confirmation is contradicted by the way his lips find yours again, soft yet eager, no longer hesitant to join them as often as he’d like with your prior statement. When he pulls away and you chase his kiss, he hums with amusement in his grin, nose nudging yours. “How am I supposed to leave if you keep making me want to kiss you, huh?”

“I didn’t even do anything.” You defend yourself with a soft laugh.

“Mm, you don’t have to.” He groans softly, eyes shutting as he presses his forehead to yours and sighs, “You’re mine now, right?”

The bluntness of his question has your heart skipping but you hum as if apprehensive, “Maybe. You didn’t ask.”

His eyes open and he looks at you with playful disbelief and a whole lot of amusement, “You want me to ask you out, pretty girl?”

“I never said that,” You retort reflexively, ignoring the way his eyebrows quirk up in challenge and entertainment, “But I might be yours if you ask nicely.”

“Nicely. Right….” He nods in mock understanding, and when he leans in to kiss you again, you meet him halfway. “Will you…” He starts with his voice soft and deep in all the best ways as he pulls away between kisses to continue, “be…my girl?”

He pulls away just enough to see your face as you recover from the dizzying way his lips find yours, and your words are softer than you intended as you breathlessly reply, “I’ll have to think about it.”

His shoulders shake with soft laughter as he shakes his head and mutters, “shut up,” under his breath before he closes the distance once more.

𝒇𝒊𝒏.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

2K notes · View notes

jupiterpilgrim · 4 months ago

Text

What You Deserve

An Yujin x Male Reader

word count: 13K

Rain pelts the windows of your cramped apartment, a steady gray drizzle that’s been going all afternoon. It’s the kind of weather that makes you want to crawl under a blanket and disappear, and honestly, that’s pretty much what you’ve been doing. You’re sprawled on the couch, still in the same faded hoodie and sweatpants you’ve worn for three days straight, a half-empty bag of Doritos tipped over on the cushion next to you. The TV’s on, some random sci-fi rerun flickering across the screen, but you’re not really watching. Your head’s a mess—has been since the breakup hit you like a truck a week ago. Everything’s fuzzy, like you’re moving through fog, and the ache in your chest hasn’t let up for a second. You keep replaying the last fight, the way she—your ex—stormed out, leaving you feeling like the world’s biggest loser. Again.

The knock at the door jolts you upright, spilling a few stray Doritos onto the floor. You freeze, heart thudding. Who the hell would show up now? You’re not expecting anyone—haven’t even showered since… what, Tuesday? Hesitating, you shuffle over, socks scuffing against the hardwood, and peek through the peephole, then—holy fuck—it’s An Yujin standing there, and your heart does a dumbass somersault right into your throat.

Yujin. Your Yujin—or ex-Yujin, whatever—looking like she just strutted out of some wet dream you’d deny having.

Months—literal months—since you last saw her, and yet here she is, looking like she never left. You fumble with the lock, hands shaky, and crack the door open just enough to see her fully. She’s soaked from the rain, dark hair plastered to her neck, but somehow that only makes her more striking. She’s wearing this oversized black leather jacket, unzipped, over a cropped white tank top that clings to her skin just enough to show off her collarbones and the faintest outline of her bra underneath. Low-rise jeans hug her hips, frayed at the knees, and she’s got these scuffed-up combat boots that somehow tie the whole look together. Casual, yeah, but the kind of casual that screams she knows exactly how good she looks. Water drips from her jacket onto your doormat, and she tilts her head, smirking faintly, like she’s already won something.

“Hey,” she says, voice low and smooth, cutting through the sound of the rain. “Can I come in? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You’re too stunned to argue, stepping back to let her through. She brushes past you, close enough that you catch the scent of rain mixed with whatever expensive perfume she’s still obsessed with. The door clicks shut behind her, and suddenly your dingy living room feels way too small. She glances around, taking in the mess—empty takeout containers on the coffee table, a stack of unopened comics you’ve been meaning to sort through—and then her eyes land back on you. They’re piercing, like she’s already peeling you apart layer by layer.

“Jesus, you’re a wreck,” she says, but there’s a softness to it, a fake kind of concern that you’re too foggy to clock right away. She shrugs off her jacket, tossing it over the arm of your couch like she still owns the place, and flops down onto the cushions, legs crossed, tank top riding up just enough to show a sliver of her stomach. “Heard about what happened. Mutual friends, you know how it goes. You okay?”

You blink, still standing there like an idiot by the door. Your brain's scrambling to catch up. "Uh... Yes. I mean, no. Not really." Your voice cracks, and you hate it—hate how pathetic you sound. You shuffle over to the couch, sinking into it, hands fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie. "It's been... Rough. A week ago. Still kinda blurry."

She nods, leaning forward a little, elbows on her knees. Her eyes don’t leave yours, and it’s unnerving as hell. “I bet. Breakups suck. Especially when it’s someone who didn’t deserve you anyway.” She pauses, letting that sink in, and you feel this weird flicker of warmth, like she’s actually on your side. “What happened? You don’t have to spill everything, just… how you holding up?”

You swallow hard, staring at the floor. The rain’s louder now, drumming against the glass, and it’s easier to focus on that than her face. “I don’t even know. We fought. She left. Said I was too… I dunno, clingy or something. It’s all a mess in my head.” You laugh, but it’s bitter, hollow. “I’m not good at this stuff. Never have been.”

Yujin makes this little sound, like a hum of sympathy, and shifts closer, perching on the edge of the couch now. Her boots scuff the floor, and you can’t help but notice how her jeans stretch tight over her thighs. “That’s rough,” she says, voice dipping softer. “Sounds like she didn’t get you. Like, at all. You’re too sweet for someone who’d pull that crap.” She tilts her head again, hair falling over one shoulder, and it’s unfair how gorgeous she still is, even dripping wet and casual as hell.

You shrug, feeling the weight of everything pressing down harder. “Maybe. I just… I feel like I screwed it up. Like I always do.” Your eyes flick up to hers for a second, then dart away because looking at her too long makes your chest tight in a way you can’t explain.

“Hey, no,” she says, firm but gentle, leaning even closer now. You can feel the heat of her presence, the way she fills up the space between you. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re not the screw-up here. She didn’t see what she had, that’s on her.” She reaches out, just brushing your knee with her fingers, and it’s like a spark jumps through you. You flinch, but don’t pull away.

You’re quiet for a minute, the room heavy with the sound of rain and your own uneven breathing. She’s watching you, patient but intense, like she’s waiting for you to crack open. And you do, a little. “I’ve just been… sitting here. Feeling like garbage. I don’t know how to shake it.”

Yujin nods, like she gets it completely. “Then don’t shake it alone,” she says, voice dropping again, pulling you in. “You don’t have to. I’m here, right? I showed up because I wanted to see you. Check on you.” She smiles, small but sharp, and it’s like a lifeline tossed into the mess of your head. “Why don’t I stick around? We can talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need.”

You should say no. You know you should. Months ago, she was the one who left you spinning, who made you feel small and needy and not enough. But right now, with the rain and the gloom and the way your whole world feels like it’s caving in, she’s the only thing that looks solid. The only thing that feels like it might hold you up. So you nod, slow and shaky, and mutter, “Yeah. Okay. Stay.”

She leans back, settling into the couch like she never left, and you’re already sinking deeper into something you can’t quite name—but it feels warm, and you’re too tired to fight it.

“Hey,” you say, voice rough from disuse, “you want some hot chocolate or something? It’s crap weather out there. You’re soaked.”

Her eyes flick up to yours, and for a second, you catch this glint—like she’s surprised you’re offering. Then she grins, slow and lazy, and nods. “Yeah, that sounds good. You still make it the same way?”

“Pretty much,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from the couch. Your legs feel wobbly as you shuffle to the kitchen, heart thudding harder than it should. You can’t wrap your head around it—she’s here. Showed up in the rain, no warning, looking like that. You grab a couple of mugs from the cabinet, the chipped blue one she always used to pick and a random green one for yourself. The kettle’s already half-full, so you flick it on, digging out the cocoa powder and a bag of mini marshmallows from the pantry. You’re moving on autopilot, but your brain’s buzzing—why now? Why her?

She calls out from the living room, voice carrying over the hum of the kettle. “You know, I still can’t believe I walked all the way here in this. Guess I just had to see you for myself.”

You glance back at her, catching her stretching her arms over her head, tank top riding up again. “Yeah, well, I can’t believe it either,” you say. The water boils, and you pour it into the mugs, stirring in the cocoa until it’s smooth. A handful of marshmallows goes into hers—she always liked it loaded—and you carry them back, handing hers over carefully. Your fingers brush hers as she takes it, and you pull back fast, sitting down with your own mug cradled in your hands.

She takes a sip, closing her eyes for a second like she’s savoring it. “God, this takes me back,” she says. “You always made this when I was pissed off or whatever. Like clockwork.” She opens her eyes, locking them on you, and there’s this weight in her gaze that makes you squirm.

You shrug, staring into your mug instead of her. “Yeah, guess some things don’t change.” The steam warms your face, and you take a sip, letting the heat settle into you. It’s quiet again, just the rain and the faint hum of the TV, and you feel this pull—like you need to say something, anything, to fill the space. “So… uh, it’s been rough. With her. The ex, I mean. We fought all the time. Like, nonstop. She’d get mad over the dumbest stuff—me staying up late reading comics, or forgetting to text her back right away. And I’d just… I’d try to fix it, but it was like nothing I did was enough.”

Yujin’s listening, mug resting on her knee, her fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic. She doesn’t interrupt, just nods a little, letting you spill. You keep going, the words tumbling out now that you’ve started. “It got worse toward the end. She’d yell, I’d shut down. One time she threw my Switch across the room ‘cause I was playing Zelda instead of, I dunno, staring at her or something. Broke the screen. Then she’d act like I was the one overreacting when I got upset. It was exhausting.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Yujin says, her tone even but with this edge—like she’s pissed on your behalf. She shifts, sitting up straighter, and takes another sip. “She didn’t get you at all. Throwing your Switch? That’s psycho. You don’t mess with a guy’s games.”

You huff out a laugh, small and shaky. “Yeah, right? I was so done by the end. But it still… it still messed me up. Like, maybe I was the problem. Too clingy, too needy, too… whatever.” You trail off, staring at the marshmallows melting into your hot chocolate, feeling that familiar pit opening up in your gut.

Yujin sets her mug down on the coffee table with a soft clink, leaning forward now, elbows on her knees. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t let her flip this on you. She sounds like she sucked to be around, plain and simple.” Her voice is firm, and when you glance up, her eyes are intense, boring into you. “I heard about her, you know. Mutual friends, like I said. Word is she was never that nice to begin with. Kinda had a rep for being a control freak.”

“You… you knew about her?”

She shrugs, casual, but there’s something sharp in it. “Enough. Heard you were dating again and… I dunno, it bugged me. More than it should’ve.” She pauses, looking away for a second, out at the rain-streaked window, then back at you. “Guess I didn’t like picturing you with someone else. Especially not someone who’d treat you like that.”

Your throat goes dry, and you fumble with your mug, setting it down before you spill it. “I didn’t… I mean, it was quick. After us, I just… I didn’t know what I was doing.” You’re stumbling over your words, and she’s watching you, unblinking, like she’s piecing you together. “Maybe I jumped into it too fast. I’m not good at that stuff—figuring things out on the fly. You know that.”

Her lips twitch, not quite a smile, but close. “Yeah, I know. You’re not exactly Mr. Impulse. Always overthinking everything.” She says it like it’s a fact, not a jab, but there’s this undercurrent—like she’s pointing out something you missed. “But it’s not your fault she was a trainwreck. You don’t have to carry that.”

You lean back in the couch, running a hand through your hair. “I guess. Still feels like I should’ve seen it coming. I’m not… I’m not good at picking people, you know? Always end up with someone who makes me feel like I’m lucky they even bother with me.”

Yujin’s quiet for a beat, then she slides off the couch, moving to sit on the coffee table right in front of you, close enough that her knee bumps yours. She’s all sharp edges and soft glow—wet hair framing her face, tank top clinging just right, eyes locked on you like she’s daring you to look away. “You don’t need to feel lucky,” she says. “You’re better than that. Better than her. And honestly? You were always too good for me to deserve back then, too.”

You freeze, caught in the weight of her words. She’s so close now, and the room feels smaller, the air thicker. “You don’t mean that,” you mutter, half to yourself, but she shakes her head quick.

“I do. And you need to hear it.” She reaches out, just resting her hand on your arm, and it’s like the heat of her skin jolts you awake. “You’re a mess right now, yeah, but you don’t have to be alone with it. I’m here. I came here for you. In the freaking rain, no less.” She laughs a little, soft and real, and it’s the first time tonight you feel something lift—like the fog in your head’s thinning out.

You look at her, really look at her, and she’s stupidly gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that makes your nerdy, self-doubting brain short-circuit. You feel that old pull, the one you could never shake with her, and it’s comforting and terrifying all at once. “Thanks,” you say, quiet, barely audible over the rain. “I… I needed this. More than I thought.”

She smiles, small but warm, and squeezes your arm before letting go. “Anytime. You know I’ve got you.” And the way she says it, the way she’s looking at you, you almost believe it’s that simple—even though deep down, you know nothing with her ever is.

“I missed you,” you say, voice low, almost lost in the sound of the storm. You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but now it’s out there, hanging between you like a live wire.

Her eyes flick up to yours, and for a second, she just looks at you—searching, maybe surprised. Then her lips curve into this slow, easy smile, and there they are: those dimples. Two little indents that used to drive you insane, the ones you’d poke with your finger when she’d laugh, just because it was cute and she’d pretend to hate it. They’re back now, and your chest tightens like someone’s squeezed it. “Yeah?” she says, voice soft but teasing, leaning in just a fraction. “You missed me?”

You nod, swallowing hard, because what else can you do? She’s got you pinned with that look, and you’re already sinking. The fabric of the tight tank top hugging her like a second skin. You can see the faint outline of her bra, the way her collarbone catches the light, and your brain stumbles over itself. Your hands twitch, nervous energy spilling out, and you grip the mug tighter to keep them.

She notices—of course she does. Her smile tilts into something sharper, more knowing. “What’s with you?” she asks, tilting her head so her hair falls over one shoulder. “You’re all jumpy now.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. Your throat’s dry, and she’s just sitting there, looking like that, and it’s scrambling you. “I—uh. You’re just… you look good,” you manage, lame as hell, but it’s all you’ve got.

She laughs, soft and low, and those dimples deepen. “Thanks. But you’re dodging. What’s going on in that head of yours?” She leans closer, resting her elbows on her knees, and now she’s really in your space—close enough that you can smell the rain on her, mixed with that sharp-sweet perfume she’s always worn.

You hesitate, but she’s got you locked in, and the words spill out again before you can stop them. “I mean it. I really missed you. Like… a lot.” Your voice cracks a little, and you wince, but it’s true, and she can tell.

Her smile softens, less teasing now, more real. “I missed you too,” she says, and it’s quiet, almost like she’s admitting it to herself as much as to you. She sits back a little, crossing her arms under her chest—yeah, that’s not helping your nerves—and looks at you with this steady, unreadable gaze. “Way more than I thought I would. You’re so damn low-profile, you know that? No socials, no updates, nothing. Made it impossible to keep tabs on you.”

“Wait. You… you tried to keep tabs on me?”

She doesn’t even flinch, just shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Couldn’t help it. You just… disappeared after we split. I’d scroll through your friend’s posts, hoping you’d pop up in the background or something. Pathetic, right?” She laughs again, but it’s self-aware, almost sheepish, and it’s so unlike her usual confidence that you don’t know what to do with it.

“You were stalking me?” you ask, half-joking, but your pulse is racing now. The idea of her—Yujin—digging around for scraps of you after everything… it’s doing something to you, lighting up a part of your brain you’ve tried to keep dark for months.

She smirks, unbothered. “Stalking’s a strong word. Let’s call it… checking in. But yeah, maybe I was a little obsessed. Can you blame me?” She leans forward again, and now her hand’s on your knee, light but deliberate, and your whole body locks up. “You’ve got this way of sticking in my head. Always have.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you’re staring at her hand like it’s burning through your sweatpants. “I… didn’t know that,” you mutter. She’s looking at you like she’s daring you to push, and you’re too weak to resist. “You really thought about me that much?”

“More than I should’ve,” she says, voice dropping lower, and there’s this edge to it—like she’s letting you in on something dangerous. “Kept wondering what you were up to. Who you were with. Kept thinking about how you’d look at me with those big, dumb puppy eyes when I’d push your buttons.” Her fingers flex against your knee, just enough to make you twitch, and she grins. “Like that. Right there.”

You’re flustered now, heat creeping up your neck, and you hate how easily she’s getting to you. “Shut up,” you mumble, but it’s weak, and she knows it. You push anyway, because part of you needs to hear more—needs to feel this wanted. “So what, you were just… lurking? Keeping score?”

She laughs, tilting her head back, and those dimples flash again, killing you all over. “Not lurking. Just… noticing. And yeah, maybe keeping score a little. Wanted to see if you’d crash and burn without me.” She pauses, eyes flicking over your face, and her voice softens. “Didn’t expect to hear you were dating someone else so fast, though. That stung.”

You swallow, caught in the twist of it—guilt and this weird, messed-up thrill. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan it. Just happened.”

“Yeah, I get it,” she says, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—jealousy, maybe, or regret. “Still sucked, though. Finding out you were with her. Kept imagining you doing all the stuff we used to do. Made me wanna claw my eyes out.” She’s grinning when she says it, but it’s tight, like she’s masking something raw.

Your head’s spinning now, and you can’t stop yourself—you keep digging, chasing the high of her words. “So you were, what, jealous? Obsessed enough to hate it?”

She leans in close again, her face inches from yours, and her voice drops to this husky whisper that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah, jealous. Obsessed, maybe. Whatever you wanna call it. I didn’t like sharing you. Still don’t.” Her hand slides up your thigh, just a little, and it’s enough to set your nerves on fire. “You’ve always been mine, you know. Even when you’re not.”

You should pull back. You should laugh it off, call her out, something—but you don’t. You’re hooked, reeled in by the way she’s looking at you, by the way her confession makes you feel like you’re something. “That’s… kinda messed up,” you say, but your voice is shaky, and your body’s betraying you, leaning toward her instead of away.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, and her lips are so close now you can feel her breath on your skin. “But you like it. I can tell.” She pulls back just enough to smirk at you, those dimples mocking you, daring you to deny it. “Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t miss this—me, right here, knowing you’re all I think about sometimes.”

You can’t. She’s got you dead to rights, and you both know it. Your heart’s hammering, and she’s still got her hand on your thigh, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to close the gap. “I… I don’t know what to say,” you admit, because it’s true—you’re a mess, and she’s unraveling you stitch by stitch.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says, voice soft but commanding. “Just don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.” And she’s right—you do. You’re nervous, flustered, but under it all, you’re wanted, and it’s been so long since you’ve felt that. She’s watching you, waiting, and you’re already too far gone to pull back now.

And then, casual as hell, she slides off the table and swings a leg over yours, settling right onto your lap. Just like that, like it’s nothing.

Your sanity cracks.

She’s warm, solid, her weight pressing down on you in a way that shorts out every rational thought you’ve got left. Her tank top rides up slightly as she adjusts, showing a sliver of skin above her jeans, and you’re trying so hard not to stare, not to lose it completely. Your arms stay glued to the couch, fingers digging into the cushions like that’s gonna keep you grounded. She notices, of course, and her smirk deepens, those dimples flashing like a warning sign.

“God, you’re so tense,” she says, voice low and teasing, leaning forward just enough that her breath brushes your jaw. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle me being this close?” Her hands settle on your shoulders, light but deliberate, and you feel the heat of her palms through your hoodie.

You swallow hard, throat tight. “I… uh…” Words fail you, because yeah, she’s right—you’re barely holding it together. She’s sitting on your lap, talking like it’s normal, and your brain’s frying.

She tilts her head, hair falling over one shoulder, and her tone shifts—still playful, but darker, laced with something raw. “You know, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You with her. Some other girl sitting right here—” she presses her hips down a little, just to make her point, and your breath hitches—“where I used to be. Like she could just slide in and take my place. Drove me up the wall.”

You blink up at her, caught off guard by the edge in her voice. “You… you were that jealous?” It’s a dumb question, but you’re too scrambled to care.

Her eyes narrow, and she leans in closer, her fingers tightening on your shoulders. “Jealous? Try insane. I’d hear stuff—Rei or whoever running their mouth about you two—and I’d picture it. Her on your lap, her hands all over you, her thinking she could have you like I did. Made me wanna track her down and scratch her damn face off.” She laughs, sharp and bitter, but her gaze is steady, pinning you in place. “Stupid, right? But I couldn’t shake it.”

Your mouth’s dry, and you’re just staring at her now, the heat of her body sinking into you, making it impossible to think straight. “She… she didn’t compare,” you mutter, almost to yourself, but it’s loud enough for her to hear. “Not even close. She wasn’t you. Didn’t… do what you do. Didn’t make me feel like this.” Your voice cracks a little, and you hate it, but it’s true—she’s got you surrendered, always has, and no one else ever came close.

Yujin’s smirk softens into something dangerous, something triumphant. “Yeah?” she murmurs, shifting again, pressing herself closer so her chest brushes yours. “What do I do to you, huh? Tell me.” Her hands slide down from your shoulders, resting on your chest now, and you can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips, fast and steady.

You hesitate, your arms still frozen on the couch, but she’s not letting you off that easy. She leans in, lips hovering near your ear, voice dropping to a whisper. “Go ahead. Touch me. You know you want to.”

It’s a mistake—you know it’s a mistake. Once you cross that line, there’s no going back, no pretending this didn’t happen. But your hands move anyway, slow and shaky, lifting from the cushions to settle on her. One lands on her arm, the other on her waist, and the warmth of her skin hits you like a shockwave. She’s soft but firm, the curve of her waist fitting under your palm like it was made for it. Your fingers flex, testing the waters, and she lets out this quiet little hum that sends a jolt straight through you.

“There you go,” she says, voice silky, pulling back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, and she’s got that look—like she’s already won. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Been too long since you had your hands on me.”

You nod, barely conscious of it, because yeah, it does. “I missed this,” you admit, quiet and rough, your thumb brushing along the edge of her tank top where it meets her jeans. “Missed you. Your body… you look hotter now. If that’s even possible.”

Her smile lights up, dimples popping again, and it’s like a reward. “You think so?” she asks, voice bright with this twisted kind of joy. She shifts in your lap, deliberate, rolling her hips just enough to make your breath catch. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve been thinking about you too. How you’d feel under me like this. How much I missed having you fall apart for me.”

Your hands tighten on her instinctively, one sliding up her arm to her shoulder, the other gripping her waist harder. “Yujin…” you start, but it’s weak, and she knows it. She’s got you wrapped around her finger, and you’re not even fighting it anymore.

“What?” she murmurs, leaning in so her lips are barely a inch from yours, her breath hot against your skin. “You gonna tell me to stop? Or you gonna admit you’re still mine?” Her fingers trail down your chest, slow and teasing, and your resolve crumbles a little more with every inch.

“I… I shouldn’t,” you say, but it’s half-hearted, and your hands are already moving again, tracing the line of her spine through the thin fabric of her top. “This is a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, but her voice is dripping with confidence, and she’s closing the gap, her nose brushing yours. “But you’re not gonna stop me, are you? You missed me too much. Missed this.” She presses herself closer, thighs tightening around your hips, and you feel every bit of her—warm, alive, overwhelming.

“Yeah,” you breathe, giving in, your hands sliding down to her hips now, pulling her against you like you can’t help it. “I did. Missed you. All of you.”

She sighs, but it’s not soft—it’s resigned, almost dramatic, like she’s wrestling with something inside her. “God, you mess me up so bad,” she says, shaking her head, but she’s smiling again, dimples flashing as she cups your face with one hand. “I’m out here losing my mind over you, and you’re just… sitting there, letting me. You’re the worst, you know that?”

You laugh, small and shaky, because it’s all you’ve got left. “You’re the one who climbed into my lap,” you point out, your hands roaming now, one slipping under the hem of her tank top to feel the bare skin of her lower back. “Kinda hard to ignore you.”

“Good,” she says, and her voice drops again, husky and intent. “I don’t want you to ignore me. I want you to think about me. All the time. Like I think about you.” She shifts again, grinding down just enough to make your head spin, and her lips are so close now you can taste the hot chocolate on her breath. “Tell me you still want me. Say it.”

Your hands are all over her now—one on her back, the other gripping her thigh—and you’re done pretending you’ve got any control here. “I want you,” you say, low and rough, and it’s like letting go of a weight you didn’t know you were carrying. “Always have. You know that.”

Her eyes flash, victorious, and she leans in, finally pressing her lips to yours—just a graze at first, testing you. But you’re already gone, pulling her in harder, kissing her like you’ve been starving for it. She tastes sweet, like cocoa and something sharper, and she kisses back like she’s claiming you all over again. When she pulls away, she’s breathless, grinning, those dimples mocking you as she whispers, “See? Told you you’re still mine.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. She’s got you—hook, line, and sinker.

The rain’s still pounding outside, a steady roar that fills the room, but all you can focus on is Yujin. She’s got you pinned—figuratively, literally—straddling your lap like she owns you, and honestly, she might as well. Her hand shoots up, grabbing your cheeks with one firm grip, squeezing just enough to make your lips pucker slightly. Her eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unyielding, and it’s like she’s staring straight through you, peeling back every layer you’ve tried to build up since she’s been gone.

“Say it,” she demands, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Say you belong to me.”

You’re already a mess—heart racing, breath shallow, her weight pressing into you like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. Your hands are still on her thighs, fingers digging into the denim, and you can feel the heat of her through it, steady and real. “I belong to you,” you say, the words spilling out fast, rough, like they’ve been waiting there all along.

Her grip tightens for a second, then loosens, and she tilts her head, studying you. “Good. Now tell me—who do you belong to?”

“You,” you answer, no hesitation this time, your voice steadier even though your pulse is hammering in your ears. “I belong to you, Yujin.”

She smirks, satisfied, and there’s this glint in her eyes—like she’s won some game you didn’t even know you were playing. “That’s right,” she says, leaning in closer, her breath hot against your lips. “And no other girl—no one—better come near you again. ‘Cause I don’t know what I’d do. To her... To you.” Her voice drops, and it sends a shiver down your spine—not from fear, but from how much it gets to you.

“It won’t happen,” you mutter, hands flexing against her thighs, squeezing harder like you’re trying to prove it. “Not again. Promise.”

Her smirk softens into something almost sweet, and she closes the gap, kissing you hard and sudden. It’s not gentle—her lips crash into yours like she’s staking a claim, teeth grazing your bottom lip for a split second before she pulls back, just enough to breathe. It’s a reward, yeah, but it’s also a reminder: she’s in charge. Always has been. Your head’s spinning, but you lean into it, chasing the taste of her—cocoa and that sharp edge that’s all Yujin.

“This is for your own good, you know.” Another kiss, quick and firm, then she pulls back to look at you, her hand still holding your face like you’re something precious she’s molding. “I’m the only one who gets you. The only one who knows how to deal with you—how to take care of you.” Her voice is soft now, almost hypnotic, weaving around the sound of the rain. “No one else understands you like I do. You need me.”

You nod, dazed, because she’s right—you do need her. You’ve been a wreck without her, and now she’s here, filling up every empty space like she never left. Her body’s pressed against you, warm and insistent, and you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact. Your hands slide up her thighs, slow and tentative, and you can feel the muscle under the denim, the way she shifts under your touch. She’s solid, grounding, and it’s driving you insane.

She feels it too—your dick’s already hard, straining against your sweatpants, and there’s no hiding it. Her hips shift, just a little, and she smirks again, that knowing look that always unravels you. “Look at you,” she says. “Already falling apart just from this. You’re so easy.”

You groan, low in your throat, embarrassed but also with desire. Your hands grip her tighter, pulling her closer, and she lets you, settling fully against you now. Her hand slides up, fingers brushing over your jaw, then tracing down the side of your face, slow and deliberate. “You’re such a mess without me,” she murmurs, almost to herself, and her eyes are dark, drinking you in. “My little boy. Mommy’s boy.”

The word makes you shiver—mommy. You used to call her that, half-joking but not really, because she’d always take care of you, always know exactly what you needed. Hearing it now, from her lips, in that low, commanding tone—it’s like a switch flips. Your whole body reacts, a jolt running through you, and she clocks it immediately, her smirk widening.

“Yeah,” she says, dragging the word out, her hand resting on your cheek now, thumb brushing your lips. “Mommy’s boy needs some affection, huh? Some care. Look at you—just sitting there, all needy and lost without me.” She shifts again, grinding down subtly, and you can’t hold back the sound that slips out, a quiet, desperate little noise that makes her chuckle.

“Please,” you mutter, barely audible, and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for—just her, all of her, whatever she’ll give you. Your hands are everywhere now, roaming up her thighs to her hips, fingers digging in like you’re afraid she’ll disappear again.

She leans in, kissing you again, slower this time, savoring it. Her lips move against yours like she’s memorizing you, tongue slipping past just enough to make your head spin before she pulls back. “I’ve got you,” she whispers, forehead resting against yours for a second, her breath mingling with yours. “Always have. No one else can do this—make you feel like this. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you forget it again.”

You nod, helpless under her, and she slides her hand down your chest, slow and teasing, resting it just above your waistband. She doesn’t move further, just lets it linger there, and it’s enough to make you twitch, your dick throbbing under her weight. “See?” she says, voice smug but soft. “No one else gets you like this. All wound up, practically begging just from me talking to you. You missed your mommy, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice rough, hands squeezing her thighs again, desperate for more but too wrecked to push for it. “Missed you so much. Just… need you.”

Her smile’s all victory now, dimples flashing as she kisses you again, quick and firm, then pulls back to look at you. “Good boy,” she murmurs, patting your cheek lightly, and it’s condescending as hell but it lights you up anyway. “Mommy’s here now. Gonna take care of you, give you everything you’ve been missing.” She rocks her hips again, just enough to drive you crazy, and her hand slides back up to your face, holding you there so you can’t look away. “You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

And you believe her—because right now, with her on top of you, her voice in your ear, her touch burning through you, it’s all you want. All you’ve ever wanted.

You lean in and press your lips to her neck. It’s instinct—your mouth finds that spot just below her jaw, soft and warm, and you kiss it slow, dragging your lips against her skin. She tastes like rain and that sharp-sweet perfume, and it’s intoxicating, pulling you in deeper. Your hand starts moving, sliding down her side, fingers digging into the curve of her waist. She’s thicker now, softer in this way that makes your gut tighten, and you squeeze, feeling the give of her flesh under your grip.

She sighs, soft and airy, tilting her head back to give you more room, and it’s like she’s melting into you. “Fuck,” she mutters, voice low, her hands resting on your shoulders for balance. “You’re too good at that.” Her tank top’s tight, stretched over her chest, but it’s not enough—you need more of her. Your fingers tug at the hem, and she gets the hint, shifting back just enough to peel it off in one smooth motion. It lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten, and now she’s sitting there in just her bra, black and simple, hugging her curves like it’s doing you a favor.

Your eyes drop, and you can’t help it—you’re staring. She notices, smirking as she grabs your hand, guiding it to her tummy. Her skin’s warm, smooth under your palm, and she presses your fingers into it, letting you feel her. “Been a while, huh?” she murmurs, voice teasing but heavy with something else. “Missed this?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, your hand sliding up slow, tracing the dip of her stomach, the way it curves into her ribs. She moves your hand higher, deliberate, until it’s resting over her bra, cupping her breast. They’re medium, soft, spilling slightly over your palm as you squeeze, and she lets out this little sound—half sigh, half moan—that hits you right in the gut.

“Got a surprise for you,” she says, leaning in close, her lips brushing your ear. “Wanna see?” Her tone’s playful, but there’s a challenge in it, like she’s testing how far you’ll go.

You nod, throat tight. “Yeah. Show me.”

Her smile’s all teeth, wicked and bright, and she reaches back, fingers deft as she unhooks her bra. It’s slow, deliberate—she slides the straps down her shoulders one by one, letting the fabric fall away like she’s unwrapping something precious. When it drops, you freeze, swallowing hard. Her breasts spill free, and there they are—nipple piercings. Small silver bars glinting under the dim light, cutting through the soft pink of her nipples. Your breath catches, and your dick twitches in your sweats, already straining against the fabric.

“Like ‘em?” she asks, voice husky, watching your face like she’s feeding off your reaction.

“Fuck yeah,” you say, raw and honest, eyes locked on her. “They’re perfect.” They’re bold, unexpected, and so her—a little wild, a little dangerous, and you’re losing your mind over it.

She leans back slightly, letting you take it all in, and her voice drops lower. “They’re sensitive as hell now. Took a while to get used to, but… worth it.” She’s smirking again, daring you, and your hand’s already moving, brushing over one breast, thumb grazing the piercing. The metal’s cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her, and she gasps, sharp and sudden, her body arching into your touch.

“Shit,” she mutters, biting her lip, and you can see it—how sensitive they really are. Her nipple hardens under your fingers, and you roll the bar gently, testing it. She sighs again, louder this time, her hands gripping your shoulders tighter. “You’re gonna kill me with that,” she says, but she’s grinning, eyes half-closed, loving every second.

You hesitate, hand still on her, and glance up. “Can I… suck them?” It’s polite, almost awkward, because you’re so wound up you can barely think straight, but you need to ask.

She laughs, soft and real, tilting her head like she’s charmed by it. “God, you’re cute. Yeah, of course you can. Go for it.” She shifts closer, practically offering herself up, and you don’t waste time.

You lean in, lips brushing her skin first, just below her breast, tasting the faint salt of her. Then you move higher, closing your mouth over her nipple, the piercing cool and hard against your tongue. You suck, slow and careful at first, feeling the way she reacts—her body tensing, a quiet moan slipping out. The metal rolls in your mouth, smooth and strange, and you flick your tongue over it, testing. She groans, low and ragged, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

“Fuck, that’s good,” she breathes, voice rougher now, her hips shifting in your lap. You can feel her pressing against you, the heat of her through her jeans, and your dick’s throbbing, trapped under her weight. Your hand’s still squeezing her other breast, thumb teasing the piercing there, and she’s squirming, every sound she makes driving you further into this haze.

You pull back for a second, just to look—her nipple’s wet from your mouth, the piercing glinting, and she’s flushed, chest heaving. “So sensitive,” you mutter, almost to yourself, and she nods, biting her lip again.

“Told you,” she says, breathless, her hand sliding down your chest now, teasing the edge of your hoodie. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” It’s not a request—it’s a order, and you’re too far gone to do anything but obey.

You dive back in, sucking harder this time, letting your teeth graze the bar just enough to make her hiss. Your hand’s roaming now, sliding down her side, squeezing her thicker hips, her ass, anything you can reach. She’s solid and soft all at once, and it’s messing with you, how much you’ve missed this—missed her. Every sigh, every little twitch of her body, it’s like she’s pulling you apart piece by piece, and you’re letting her.

“Fuck, babe,” she breathes, voice ragged, her fingers tangled tight in your hair. “You’re so good at that—shit, don’t stop.” The pet name hits you like a spark, lighting you up, and you groan against her skin, pressing your face closer, hungry for more of her. She’s warm, soft, the faint taste of her skin driving you wild, and you flick your tongue over the piercing again, slow and deliberate, just to hear her gasp.

“Yeah, like that,” she murmurs, her head tipping back, eyes half-shut. “God, you’re such a sweet boy, huh? My sweet little babe, driving me crazy.” Her words drip with that mix of affection and control she’s always had over you. You switch to her other breast, mouth closing over it, sucking hard, and she moans, louder this time, her hips rocking against you. “You’re starving for me, aren’t you?” she says, smirking through it, her voice all husky and teasing. “Can feel how much you want this.”

You pull back just long enough to mutter, “Fuck yeah, I am,” voice rough, desperate, before diving back in. Your tongue circles her nipple, teasing the piercing, and she’s squirming now, thighs tightening around your hips. Your hands are everywhere—gripping her waist, sliding up her back, squeezing her breasts—because you can’t get enough. She’s thicker, curvier than you remember, and it’s got you ravenous, every touch feeding this ache that’s been building since she walked through the door.

“Missed my body this much, huh, honey?” she asks, leaning down so her lips brush your ear, her breath hot and uneven. “Can’t keep your hands off me.” She shifts, grinding down harder, and you groan into her skin, your dick twitching painfully in your sweats. You’re so hard it’s borderline unbearable, trapped under her weight, and she knows it—fuck, she loves it.

“Yeah,” you rasp, pulling back to catch her eye, your mouth wet from her skin. “Missed you. Missed this. You’re fucking unreal.” Your hand slides down, cupping her ass through her jeans, and you squeeze, pulling her closer. She sighs, pleased, and runs her fingers through your hair, tugging just enough to make you look up at her.

“Look at you, my needy little babe,” she says, grinning, those dimples flashing as she watches you unravel. “All worked up just from sucking on me. You’re too cute.” She leans in, kissing you messy and deep, her tongue sliding against yours, and you’re drowning in it—her taste, her heat, the way she’s owning you without even trying.

You’re panting when she pulls back, and she’s flushed now, chest heaving, her pierced nipples glistening from your mouth. “Shit,” you mutter, staring, and she laughs, soft and smug, like she’s got you exactly where she wants you. Your hands are still on her, roaming, and your dick’s screaming for relief, pressed tight against her. She feels it—has to—and her smirk turns wicked.

“Poor thing,” she coos, shifting back just enough to slide off your lap, slow and deliberate. “You’re rock-hard, aren’t you? Been dying for me this whole time.” She stands in front of you, close enough that her knees brush yours, and you’re staring up at her, chest tight, hands flexing on the couch cushions because you don’t trust yourself to touch her without losing it.

“Yeah,” you admit, voice hoarse, eyes locked on her. “Can’t help it. You’re… fuck, Yujin, you’re killing me.”

“Good,” she says, and there’s that edge again—possessive, commanding. She reaches down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats, and your breath catches as she tugs, slow and teasing. “Let’s see how bad you’ve got it. Lift up for me, babe.” You do, no hesitation, raising your hips so she can pull them down, taking your underwear with them in one smooth motion. They hit the floor, and you’re bare under her gaze, dick hard and aching, precum already beading at the tip.

She steps back, just a little, eyes raking over you, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Damn,” she mutters, almost to herself, then looks back up at you with a grin. “Look at you, all ready for me. My sweet boy’s been holding out, huh?” Her voice is dripping with mock sympathy, but you hear the hunger in it, and it makes your head spin.

“Only for you,” you say, raw and honest, and her smile softens, just for a second, before that wicked edge creeps back in. She drops to her knees in front of you, slow and deliberate, and your stomach flips as she settles between your legs, hands resting on your thighs.

“Gonna take care of you,” she murmurs, leaning in, her breath ghosting over your skin. “My needy little babe deserves it.” And you’re gone, completely, because she’s got you—every inch, every thought, every desperate fucking heartbeat.

The rain’s still drumming outside, but it’s nothing compared to the pulse pounding in your ears. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your skin, and you tense, every muscle coiled tight, waiting for her to make her move.

“Fuck, babe, look at you,” she says, her eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before dropping back down to your cock. “This thing’s as big as I remember. Thick too—goddamn perfect.” She licks her lips, slow and deliberate, and you feel it like a jolt, your hips twitching involuntarily. She notices, and her smirk widens. “Missed me that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, voice scraped raw, hands gripping the couch cushions because if you don’t hold onto something, you’re gonna grab her and fuck her mouth yourself. “Missed your mouth on me. Been too fucking long.”

She hums, pleased, and her fingers finally wrap around you—loose at first, just sliding up the length of your shaft, her thumb brushing the tip where you’re already leaking. “Missed this too,” she says, almost to herself, her grip tightening as she gives you a slow, teasing stroke. “Love how you feel in my hand. So heavy. Bet you’ve been dying for me to suck you off.”

“Fuck yeah,” you groan, head tipping back against the couch for a second before you force it forward again—you’re not missing a damn thing. “Please, Yujin. Need it.”

She chuckles, low and dirty, and leans in, her lips brushing the head of your cock, just enough to smear the precum across them. “So polite when you’re desperate,” she teases, then sticks her tongue out, flattening it against the tip, licking slow and filthy. Your whole body jerks, a curse slipping out under your breath, and she grins like she’s won something. “Tastes good,” she murmurs, then drags her tongue down the side, tracing a vein, taking her sweet time.

You’re shaking now, barely holding it together, and she knows it—loves it. “Shit, Yujin, stop fucking around,” you grit out, voice tight, hips shifting toward her mouth. “Suck it already.”

“Bossy,” she mutters, but she’s still smiling, those dimples flashing as she opens her mouth and finally—finally—takes you in. Her lips wrap around the head, tight and wet, and she slides down slow, sucking just enough to make your head spin. You groan loud, guttural, your hands flexing on the couch because you want to grab her hair, shove her down further, but you let her set the pace.

“Fuck,” you hiss, watching her—her cheeks hollow out as she pulls back, spit pooling at the corners of her mouth, then she sinks down again, deeper this time, taking half of you. Her tongue’s working the whole time, swirling around the tip when she pulls up, pressing flat against you when she goes down. She’s so fucking good at this—always has been—and you’ve missed it like hell, the way she makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Mmm,” she hums against you, the vibration shooting straight up your spine, and your dick twitches in her mouth. She feels it, pulls off just enough to talk, her hand stroking you slow and slick. “God, I love this cock,” she says, voice raw, eyes locked on yours as she drags her tongue up the underside, sloppy and shameless. “So fucking big, fills my mouth just right.” She dives back in, sucking harder now, her head bobbing slow and steady, and you’re unraveling, piece by piece.

“Shit, babe,” you groan, head tipping back again, but you can’t take your eyes off her for long—watching her lips stretch around you, her tongue flicking every time she pulls up. “You’re so fucking good—missed this so much.” Your hips buck a little, chasing her mouth, and she moans around you, the sound filthy and perfect.

She pulls off with a wet pop, spit trailing from her mouth to your cock, and she grins, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. “Yeah? Missed me sucking you off? Bet no one else comes close, huh?” Her hand keeps moving, jerking you slow and tight, and you shake your head, breathless.

“No one,” you pant, “not even fucking close. You’re… fuck, you’re everything.”

Her eyes light up at that, all smug and satisfied, and she leans down again, kissing the tip like it’s a tease before taking you back in. This time she goes deeper, throat relaxing as she slides down, down, until her nose is damn near brushing your pelvis. You curse loud, hips jerking up, and she takes it—lets you hit the back of her throat, gagging just a little before pulling back, eyes watering but still grinning.

“Goddamn, Yujin,” you rasp, hands finally giving in, sliding into her hair, not pushing, just holding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She pulls off again, gasping a little, spit dripping down her chin, and her hand’s still working you, slick and fast now. “Good,” she says, voice wrecked, “then you’ll die happy, babe.” She dives back in, sucking hard and sloppy, her tongue all over you, and you’re barely holding it together, and she knows it, feeding off the way you’re falling apart under her touch. Then she shifts, slow and deliberate, sliding her mouth lower, and your brain short-circuits when you realize where she’s going.

“Fuck, Yujin—” you start, but it cuts off into a groan as her lips brush your balls, heavy and tight, aching from how worked up she’s got you. She doesn’t hesitate—just dives in, sucking one into her mouth, warm and wet, her tongue rolling over it like she’s savoring every second. Her hand’s still wrapped around your cock, stroking you steady and firm, and the combo’s fucking lethal. Your hips jerk up, involuntary, and you feel her moan against you, the vibration hitting you like a shockwave.

“Goddamn, babe,” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to talk, her voice muffled against your skin. “These are so full—been saving up for me, huh?” She switches to the other one, sucking harder now, her tongue flicking and teasing, and you’re losing it, hands gripping the couch cushions so tight your knuckles are white.

“Mommy,” you groan, the word slipping out before you can stop it, raw and desperate, and she freezes for a split second, like it’s flipped a switch in her. Then she pulls off your balls with a wet pop, eyes snapping up to yours, dark and hungry.

“Fuck, say that again,” she demands, her hand pumping your cock faster now, slick with spit and precum. “Call me that again, babe.”

“Mommy,” you mutter, voice wrecked, and she moans, low and filthy, like it’s the hottest thing she’s ever heard. She leans back in, sucking your balls again, her tongue working them over with this skillful precision that’s got you shaking. She’s relentless—alternating between them, pulling one into her mouth, then the other, her lips stretching around you, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucks. All the while, her hand’s jerking you off, tight and steady, and you’re a mess of moans and curses, barely able to think straight.

“Shit—fuck, mommy, you’re so good,” you pant, head tipping back, your whole body tensing as she works you over. Her free hand slides up your thigh, squeezing, nails digging in just enough to sting, and it’s like she’s claiming every inch of you—mouth on your balls, hand on your cock, owning you completely.

She pulls back again, letting your balls slip out of her mouth, wet and messy, a string of spit connecting her lips to you before it snaps. She wipes her chin with the back of her hand, grinning like a goddamn demon. “Taste so fucking good,” she says, voice rough, her eyes locked on yours as she gives your cock a slow, teasing stroke. “Been dreaming about this—getting my mouth on you again. You’re a fucking wreck for me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you gasp, chest heaving, dick twitching in her grip. “Can’t—fuck, can’t get enough of you.” Your hands slide into her hair now, shaky and desperate, but you don’t push—she’s in control, and you both know it.

She hums, satisfied, and gives your balls one last lick—long and slow, dragging her tongue up from the base to the tip of your cock like she’s savoring you. You shudder, a loud “shit” slipping out, and she chuckles, dark and smug, before climbing to her feet. You’re panting, flushed and sweaty, dick glistening from her spit, and she’s standing there like she’s just getting started.

“C’mon,” she says, voice low and commanding, holding out her hand. “Bedroom. Now. We’re done messing around on this couch—I wanna really fuck you up.” Her eyes flick over you, taking in how wrecked you already are, and her smirk turns sharp, dangerous. “Gonna have some real fun with you, babe.”

You’re on your feet before you even realize it, grabbing her hand, letting her pull you up. Your legs feel like jelly, dick still painfully hard, swinging free as you stumble after her. “Fuck, Yujin,” you mutter, half-dazed, watching her hips sway as she leads you down the hall, jeans hugging her ass just right. “You’re really killing me.”

“Good,” she throws back over her shoulder, not even turning around. “That’s the plan. You’re mine tonight—gonna make sure you don’t forget it.” She pushes open the bedroom door and tugs you inside, kicking the door shut behind you, and turns to face you, eyes glinting with something wild.

“Get on the bed,” she says, and it’s not a request—it’s a order. Your heart’s pounding, dick throbbing, and you’re so hungry for her you can taste it, feel it in every shaky breath. You’re fucked, completely, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, still buzzing from her mouth on you, when Yujin steps back, hands on her hips, eyes locked on yours like she’s about to put on a damn show. The room’s dim, just the faint glow from the streetlights slipping through the blinds, but it’s enough to watch her every move. She kicks off her boots first, casual and quick, then her hands go to the button of her jeans. You’re mesmerized, can’t look away as she pops it open, sliding the zipper down slow—teasing, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath as she peels the jeans off, inch by inch, the denim hugging her hips before dropping down her legs. She steps out of them, kicking them aside, and there she is—just in her panties, black and simple but barely holding back what’s underneath. Her thighs catch your eye first—thick, juicy, the kind of curves you want to sink your teeth into. They flex slightly as she shifts her weight, and your dick twitches, already rock-hard from the sight alone.

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, smirking when she catches you staring. “You like?” she asks, voice low and cocky, dragging them down slow, letting the fabric roll over her hips, then her thighs, until they hit the floor. And fuck—there’s her pussy, glistening in the low light, already wet like she’s been thinking about this as much as you have. She’s got this neat little patch of hair, lightly trimmed, a perfect pattern that draws your eye right to her, and you’re practically drooling.

She steps closer, slow and deliberate, hips swaying just enough to fuck with your head. You’re still sitting there, hands twitching, when she stops right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off her. Your hands move on instinct, sliding up to her waist, gripping her soft skin, and you pull her in, pressing your lips to her tummy. It’s warm, smooth, and you kiss it slow, dragging your mouth over her, tasting her faintly—salt and that addictive edge that’s all her.

“Mm, good boy,” she murmurs, voice dripping with that dom energy she wears like a second skin. Her hand slides into your hair, stroking it, fingers curling just enough to tug lightly. “You’re already so fucking gone for me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you breathe against her skin, voice rough, trailing more kisses down her stomach, slow and hungry. You’re standing now, can’t stay still anymore, your hands roaming up her sides as your lips move lower, chasing that scent—that fucking pull—drawing you in like a drug. You pause just above her pussy, nose brushing the trimmed hair, and inhale deep. It’s musky, sweet, so goddamn addictive you feel lightheaded. “Fuck, I missed this,” you groan, almost to yourself, your mouth watering. “Missed you.”

She laughs, low and smug, her hand tightening in your hair. “Yeah? Then stop teasing and eat my pussy, babe. Show me how much you missed it.” It’s a command, sharp and final, and it’s all you need to hear.

You drop to your knees, hands sliding down to grip her thighs—thick and solid under your palms—and pull her closer. She spreads her legs a little, giving you room, and you dive in, no hesitation. Your tongue drags up her slit first, slow and deliberate, tasting her—wet and slick, already dripping for you. She’s tangy, hot, and you groan against her, the sound vibrating through her as you flick your tongue over her clit.

“Fuck, that’s it,” she hisses, her hand shoving your face tighter against her. “Right there—don’t you dare stop.” Her hips roll forward, grinding against your mouth, and you’re all in now, licking and sucking like you’re starving. You swirl your tongue around her clit, teasing it, then suck it hard, letting your teeth graze just enough to make her gasp. Her thighs tremble under your hands, and you squeeze them, pulling her closer, burying yourself in her.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking good at this,” she pants, voice breaking a little, her dom edge slipping as she starts to unravel. “Missed that mouth—shit, babe, keep going.” Her hips buck harder, and you’re drowning in her—her taste, her heat, the way she’s soaking your chin. You slide a hand up, fingers brushing her entrance, but you don’t push in yet—just tease, letting her feel it.

She moans loud, shameless, her grip in your hair turning rough. “Fuck, don’t play with me—eat me like you mean it.” You do—tongue plunging deeper, licking up every drop, sucking her clit until she’s shaking. Her pussy’s pulsing, slick and swollen, and you’re obsessed—drinking her in, feeling her thighs clamp around your head. “Yeah, just like that—my good fucking boy,” she growls, and it hits you right in the chest, fueling this desperate need to please her.

You pull back for a second, gasping for air, lips and chin dripping. “You taste so fucking good,” you mutter, raw and wrecked, diving back in before she can even respond. You’re licking harder now, sloppier, tongue everywhere—her clit, her lips, dipping inside just to feel her clench. She’s cursing, moaning, starting to ride your face, and you let her, hands gripping her ass now, guiding her as she bucks against you.

Your tongue’s working overtime, lapping up every bit of her, and she’s so fucking wet it’s obscene—her juices coating your lips, your chin, sliding down your neck. You groan into her, the sound muffled against her skin, and it’s like you’re drunk on her, hunger spiking with every taste.

“Fuck, babe, you’re killing me,” she mutters, voice rough and shaky, but she’s not pulling away—she’s leaning into it, giving you more. She shifts, lifting one leg and planting her foot on the bed, spreading herself wide open. Her pussy’s glistening, creamy now, this thick, delicious slick starting to leak out, and it’s driving you wild. You can see it—white and sticky, clinging to her folds—and you dive in deeper, tongue plunging inside her, chasing it like it’s your fucking lifeline.

“Shit—oh my god,” she gasps, her hand tightening in your hair, shoving your face harder against her. “Yeah, just like that—get in there, fuck.” Her hips roll, grinding against your mouth, and you’re surrounded by her—her heat, her scent, that addictive cream coating your tongue as you dig it in, scooping it out. It’s filthy, messy, and you’re loving every second, sucking hard, letting it smear across your lips as you tongue-fuck her with everything you’ve got.

She’s melting, you can feel it—her thighs trembling, her breath hitching in these sharp little bursts. “You’re so fucking hungry for me,” she moans, half-laughing, half-wrecked, her leg wobbling on the bed as she opens up even more. “Can’t get enough of my pussy, huh? Look at you, drowning in it.” You groan again, louder, pressing your face so deep into her you can barely breathe, licking up that creamy slick like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted—because it is.

You squeeze her ass harder, pulling her closer, fingers sinking into her thick flesh as you keep going, relentless. Her pussy’s pulsing around your tongue, soaking you, and you’re a fucking mess—face shiny, lips swollen, chin drenched. You slide your tongue out, dragging it up to her clit, sucking it hard, then dipping back down to thrust inside her again, catching more of that cream. It’s coating your mouth now, sticky and sweet, and you’re growling against her, primal, desperate, completely lost in her.

“Fuck, don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop,” she pants, voice breaking, her hips bucking harder, practically riding your face. “You’re gonna make me—shit—” She cuts off, moaning loud, her whole body tensing, and you double down, tongue plunging deep, sucking her inner walls, nose grinding against her clit. Her pussy’s so creamy now it’s spilling out, dripping down your chin, and you’re licking it up, swallowing it, starving for every drop.

She’s shaking hard, leg slipping a little on the bed, but you hold her steady, keeping her open as you push her over the edge. “C’mon, mommy, cum for me,” you mumble into her, voice muffled, needy, and that’s it—she snaps. Her hips jerk, a loud, ragged “Fuck!” ripping out of her as she cums, hard and messy. Her pussy clenches around your tongue, flooding you with more of that thick cream, and you’re drinking it, lapping it up through her shakes, her gasps, her nails digging into your scalp. She’s trembling, falling apart, and you don’t stop—sucking, licking, letting her ride it out until she’s boneless, breathless.

You finally pull back, face drenched—her juices glistening on your mouth, your chin, even your nose. You’re a fucking sight, shiny and wrecked, and she looks down at you, chest heaving, eyes dark and satisfied. She grabs your face, rough but slow, and leans in, tongue darting out to lick across your lips, then your chin, tasting herself on you. It’s filthy, hot, and you just sit there, dazed, letting her do it.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” she murmurs, voice low and raw, dragging her tongue up one last time before kissing you hard, sloppy, her taste all over both of you. She pulls back, smirking, wiping her thumb across your wet mouth. “Such a good boy for me—look at you, all shiny and fucked out from eating my pussy. Did so good, babe.”

You grin, still catching your breath, hands still on her thighs, feeling the heat of her skin. “Anything for you,” you say, and her smirk softens just a little, that dom edge giving way to something softer, something proud. She ruffles your hair, still panting, and you’re sitting there, heart hammering, completely fucking gone for her.

She stands up, all curves and confidence, and nods toward the bed. “C’mon, babe,” she says, voice low and commanding, like she’s summoning you. “Get over here. Time to give you what you deserve.”

Your legs feel like rubber, but you’re up fast, stumbling after her like a fucking puppy, too wrecked to play it cool. She’s already climbing onto the bed, and you follow, heart pounding, dick still hard and aching from everything she’s already done to you. She turns, lying back against the pillows, then pats the spot beneath her, eyes glinting with that dom energy that’s got you hooked. “Lie down,” she orders, and you do—no hesitation, flat on your back, staring up at her like she’s a goddamn goddess.

She swings a leg over you, straddling your chest first, and fuck, the view—her thighs framing your face, her pussy still glistening, her pierced nipples catching the light. She slides down slow, deliberate, until she’s hovering over you, her weight pressing you into the mattress. “This is how it should be,” she says, voice dropping, dark and possessive. “You under me, obeying me, worshiping me like the good boy you are. That’s what you want, right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, hands twitching at your sides, dying to touch her. “Fuck yeah, Yujin. Always.” Your voice is shaky, raw, and she smirks, loving how gone you are—how you’re hers without even trying.

“Go ahead then,” she murmurs, leaning down so her lips brush your ear, her hair tickling your face. “Touch me. Show me how much you’ve missed this.” Your hands move fast, sliding up her thighs, feeling the thick, warm muscle under your palms, then higher, over her hips, her waist, that soft tummy you kissed earlier. She’s solid and real, every inch of her screaming power, and you’re just… lost in it, fingers roaming like you’re trying to memorize her all over again.

She shifts, grabbing your cock with one hand—firm, no bullshit—and you groan, hips jerking up at the contact. “Easy,” she warns, smirking down at you as she lines you up, the tip brushing her pussy, wet and hot and so fucking close. “You’re gonna take what I give you, yeah? No rushing me.”

“Yes, mommy,” you mutter, half-dazed, and her eyes flash, that word lighting her up. She sinks down then, slow and deliberate, and you both sigh—her pussy’s tight, slick, swallowing you inch by inch like it’s meant to. You’re stretching her out, and she’s gripping you so good it’s like she’s pulling you apart. “Fuck,” you gasp, hands clutching her hips now, digging in, and she moans, low and sweet, settling all the way down until you’re buried deep.

“Goddamn, you’re big,” she mutters, almost to herself, adjusting her hips a little, and you feel her clench around you, hot and wet and perfect. “Missed this cock—missed you.” She leans forward, hands braced on your chest, and you still can’t believe it—your Yujin, back on top of you, fucking owning you like this. Her hair falls over her face, and you brush it back, needing to see her, those sharp eyes, that cocky little grin.

She starts moving then, slow at first, rolling her hips like she’s testing you, seeing how long you can last under her. “Look at you,” she says, voice dripping with control, “just lying there, taking it like a good boy. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” She lifts up, then drops back down, harder this time, and you groan loud, hands sliding to her ass, squeezing, trying to pull her in deeper.

“Anything,” you pant, staring up at her, completely fucking surrendered. “You’ve got me—fuck, you’ve always had me.” She’s riding you now, steady and relentless, her pussy gripping you so tight it’s almost too much, cream leaking out, smearing your hips as she moves. Her thighs flex, muscles working, and you’re just holding on, letting her set the pace, letting her use you.

“That’s right,” she growls, leaning down closer, her voice rough against your ear. “You’re mine—my good little boy, letting me fuck you like this. No one else gets this, you hear me? Just me.” She speeds up, slamming down harder, and you’re a mess—moaning, hips bucking up to meet her, but she’s in charge, pinning you down with her weight, her hands digging into your shoulders.

“Fuck, Yujin—mommy, please,” you whimper, and she grins, wild and triumphant, loving how you’re breaking under her. She straightens up, sitting back, bouncing now, her breasts swaying with every thrust, those piercings glinting, and you’re just watching, worshiping, hands roaming her body—her thighs, her ass, her tummy—anywhere you can reach.

“Keep saying it,” she demands, voice sharp, hips grinding down, working your cock so deep you’re seeing stars. “Call me that again—tell me who you belong to.”

“Mommy,” you moan, hands gripping her ass tighter, feeling her clench around you, wet and filthy and so fucking good. “I belong to you—only you. Fuck, Yujin, I’m yours.”

“Damn right,” she snarls, and she’s moving faster now, slamming down onto you, the bed creaking, her pussy soaking you, dripping down your thighs. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think straight—‘til all you know is me.” She’s relentless, dominant, and you’re surrendering completely, lost in her rhythm, in her heat, in the way she’s taking you apart piece by piece. You’re hers, and she’s proving it, and all you can do is moan and hold on as she rides you into oblivion.

Yujin’s still riding you, hips slamming down with that steady, punishing rhythm that’s got your whole body buzzing, the bedframe creaking like it’s about to give out. She’s in total control, her pussy gripping you tight, wet and hot, cream dripping down your cock, pooling on your hips. You’re a fucking wreck beneath her—moaning, hands roaming her body, completely surrendered to the way she’s owning you. Then she shifts, leaning forward, her face hovering just above yours, close enough that you can feel her breath on your lips.

Her eyes lock onto yours, dark and commanding, and one hand slides up your chest to your throat. She wraps her fingers around your neck—not hard, but firm enough to make your pulse jump under her grip. “Open your mouth,” she orders, voice low and sharp, like she’s daring you to disobey. You don’t even think about it—your lips part fast, jaw slack, ready for whatever she’s got.

She smirks, pleased, and leans in closer, tilting her head just so. Then she lets it happen—spit pooling on her tongue before she lets it drip, slow and deliberate, right into your waiting mouth. It’s warm, slick, landing on your tongue, and you shudder, tasting her, feeling it slide down your throat as you swallow. It’s filthy, raw, and it’s got your dick throbbing even harder inside her. Before you can even process it, she crashes her lips onto yours, kissing you hard and messy—tongue diving in, mixing her spit with yours, her teeth grazing your lip like she’s claiming you all over again.

She doesn’t stop riding you—not for a second—hips rolling, grinding, keeping you pinned beneath her as her mouth moves against yours. You’re drowning in it—her taste, her heat, the way she’s squeezing your neck just enough to make your head spin. Your hands slide up her body, desperate for more, landing on her breasts. You squeeze, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, and she gasps into your mouth, a sharp, sweet moan breaking free. Those piercings make her so damn sensitive, and you can feel it—the way her body reacts, the hitch in her breath, the way her pussy clenches tighter around you.

“Fuck, babe,” she mutters against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you, her hand still on your throat, thumb brushing your jaw. “You’re so fucking good—playing with my tits like that.” She’s still moving, hips circling, riding you deep, and you squeeze again, harder this time, rolling your thumbs over her nipples, tugging lightly at the piercings. She moans again, louder, sweeter, her dom edge cracking just a little as the sensitivity hits her full force.

“Shit, that feels—mmph—so good,” she groans, head tipping back for a second, exposing her neck as she rides you, her hand loosening on your throat but still resting there, keeping you in check. You’re obsessed—hands kneading her breasts, feeling the weight of them, the way they bounce with every thrust she makes. Her nipples are hard against your palms, the piercings cool and firm, and you pinch them lightly, just to hear that sound again—that soft, desperate moan that slips out of her.

“You like that, huh?” you rasp, voice hoarse, watching her unravel a little, your hands working her over as she fucks you. “So sensitive, mommy—fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Don’t get cocky,” she snaps, but it’s breathy, half-lost in the pleasure, and she squeezes your neck again, leaning down to kiss you rough, shutting you up. Her tongue’s aggressive, licking into your mouth, tasting her own spit still lingering there, and you groan, meeting her halfway, kissing her back like you’re starving for it. All the while, she’s riding you hard, pussy soaking you, tight and slick, driving you insane—but you’re not cumming yet, not until she says so. She’s got you locked down, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

You keep playing with her breasts, squeezing, teasing, rolling her nipples between your fingers, and she’s melting into it—moaning into your mouth, her hips stuttering just a little as the sensitivity catches her off guard again. “Fuck—babe, you’re gonna make me lose it,” she gasps, pulling back, her lips swollen, eyes dark and wild. “Keep touching me like that—don’t stop.”

“Never,” you mutter, hands roaming her chest, obsessed with how she feels—soft and heavy, the piercings adding this edge that’s got you hooked. She’s still in charge, still dominating you, but you can feel her slipping, her moans getting louder, her pussy fluttering around your cock with every move. You’re surrendered, completely—hands worshiping her, body pinned beneath her, just taking it, letting her ride you into the fucking ground.

Yujin’s riding you like she’s lost her damn mind, hips snapping down faster now, harder, like she’s chasing something she can’t quite reach. The bed’s groaning under the pressure, sheets tangled around your legs, and the room’s thick with the smell of sex—sweat, her, you. She’s a fucking vision above you, hair wild, skin flushed, those pierced nipples bouncing with every thrust. Her pussy’s soaked, gripping you tight, slick and creamy, and you’re so deep inside her it’s like she’s pulling you in, refusing to let go.

She leans forward, her breath hot against your face, and you catch the shift—her dom edge is cracking, slipping into something rawer, needier. “Fuck, babe,” she pants, voice shaky, her hand sliding from your neck to brace against your chest. “You feel so fucking good—don’t stop touching me.” Her thighs are trembling, muscles flexing as she grinds down, and you can feel her getting close, that desperate edge creeping in.

You don’t waste a second—your mouth latches onto her breast, lips closing around her nipple, the cool metal of her piercing pressing against your tongue. You suck hard, flicking it with the tip, and she gasps, loud and sharp, her whole body jerking against you. “Shit—yes, like that,” she moans, her voice breaking, hips stuttering as she rides you even faster. The sensitivity’s killing her, you can tell—those piercings amplifying every move, every graze of your teeth, and she’s losing it, moaning louder, more demanding, like she can’t get enough.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking sensitive,” you mutter against her skin, switching to the other breast, sucking just as hard, your hand squeezing the one you left behind. She whimpers, sweet and needy, and it’s got you reeling—your dick throbs inside her, the heat and pressure building fast. Her pussy’s squeezing you so nice, wet and tight, and you’re right on the edge, barely holding it together.

“Fuck—I’m close,” she gasps, leaning down, her forehead pressing against yours, her eyes half-lidded and wild. “You’re close too, huh? I can feel it—your cock’s fucking pulsing.” She’s panting now, her breath hitching with every thrust, and you nod, words caught in your throat because yeah, you’re right there with her, teetering on the brink.

“Cum with me,” she says, voice dropping low, almost a growl, her hips slamming down mercilessly. “Want you to cum inside me—give me a creampie, babe. Fill me up.” And fuck, that’s hot—your ex never let you, always made you pull out, but Yujin? She’s begging for it, demanding it, and it’s driving you insane. “You want that?” she asks, smirking even as she’s falling apart. “Wanna pump me full?”

“Hell yeah,” you groan, hands gripping her hips now, pulling her down harder, your voice rough and desperate. “Fuck, Yujin, I’d give you anything—gonna fill you up so good.” She moans at that, loud and needy, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice, and you know it’s coming—both of you, barreling toward it together.

She’s relentless now, riding you fast, wild, her hips rolling and grinding like she’s trying to milk you dry. “Come on, babe—cum for mommy,” she pants, voice strained, her nails digging into your chest. “Give it to me—now.” Her pussy’s squeezing you so tight it’s almost painful, wet and hot and pulsing, and you can’t hold back anymore—your whole body locks up, a hoarse “Fuck!” ripping out of you as you cum, hard and deep inside her.

The second she feels it—your hot, thick cum spilling into her—she’s done for. “Shit—yes!” she cries, her voice breaking into this gorgeous, desperate moan as she cums too, her pussy clenching around you, sucking you in deeper. You can feel it—the way your load pumps into her, the way her walls flutter around you, taking it all, and it’s fucking beautiful. She keeps riding you, shaking, her hips jerking as the orgasm rips through her, and you’re gasping, overwhelmed, watching her fall apart on top of you.

“Fuck, Yujin,” you mutter, voice wrecked, hands sliding up to her waist as she slows, still rocking against you, milking every last drop. Her pussy’s dripping now, a mix of her cream and your cum leaking out, smearing across your hips, and she’s trembling, chest heaving, those sweet little moans spilling from her lips as she rides out the aftershocks.

She collapses onto you, heavy and warm, her body pressing you into the mattress, her head resting on your shoulder. You’re both panting, sweaty, and you can feel her heartbeat against your chest, fast and wild like yours. Your hands roam her back, tracing the curve of her spine, and you’re still inside her, still hard, her pussy pulsing faintly around you. For a minute, it’s just that—the quiet, the closeness, the rain tapping the window—and then you open your mouth, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“I love you,” you say, soft and raw. It’s not planned, just spills out, and you feel it—how much you mean it, how much she’s got you twisted up inside.

She lifts her head, slow, looking at you with those dark, sharp eyes, and for a second you think maybe you fucked up, said too much. But then she smiles—those dimples popping, soft and real—and it’s like a weight lifts off you. “I love you too,” she says, voice quiet but steady, leaning down to kiss you, slow and deep, her lips lingering against yours. “You’re mine, you know that? All fucking mine.”

It’s intense—romantic and possessive all at once, and it hits you hard, makes your chest tighten. “Yeah,” you mutter, hands tightening on her hips, pulling her closer even though she’s already plastered against you. “Yours. Always have been.” And it’s true—she’s got you wrapped around her finger, always did, and the idea that a girl like her, this fucking goddess, wants you? It’s insane, a damn miracle, and drives you up the wall.

Then she shifts, slow and deliberate, lifting herself off you with a wet, filthy sound as your cock slips free, still hard, glistening with her cum and yours. She glances down at it, smirking like she’s proud of the mess she’s made, then slides off the bed, standing tall and beckoning you with a lazy flick of her hand.

“C’mon, babe,” she says, voice hoarse but dripping with that dom edge, her dimples flashing as she grins. “Get up. We’re not done—got something else for you.” Her thighs flex as she moves, slick and shiny from the orgasm, and you’re already stumbling out of bed after her, legs shaky but too fucking hooked to care.

She turns, facing you, and steps close—real close—her chest brushing yours, her breath hot on your neck. Then she shifts, spinning around so her back’s to you, ass pressing against your hips, and fuck, the view—those long, juicy thighs, thick and glistening, still wet from everything you just did. She looks over her shoulder, smirking, and reaches back, grabbing your cock with one hand, guiding it right between her legs. “Stand still,” she murmurs, voice low and teasing, as she closes her thighs around you, trapping you there.

“Shit,” you groan, hands flying to her hips on instinct, feeling the soft, warm flesh squeeze your dick tight. Her thighs are soaked—your cum, hers, all mixed together, slick and messy—and it’s fucking perfect. She starts moving, slow and sensual, sliding her thighs back and forth, and it’s like nothing else—soft, juicy, gripping you just right. “Yujin—fuck, that feels so good,” you mutter, voice rough, already half-lost in it.

“Yeah?” she says, glancing back, her voice dripping with dirty satisfaction. “You like this, huh? My thighs fucking you—look at you, babe, already a mess again.” She tightens them, squeezing harder, and you hiss, hips twitching as the pressure hits just right. Her thighs are long, wrapping you up completely, and the way they slide, slow and deliberate, wet and warm, it’s got your head spinning.

“Goddamn, you’re unreal,” you pant, hands sliding down to grip her hips tighter, feeling the muscle flex under your fingers as she works you over. “Missed these thighs—fuck, they’re so soft, so juicy.” You’re babbling now, too caught up to care, and she laughs, low and smug, loving how you’re falling apart.

“Thought you’d like it,” she says, voice husky, picking up the pace just a little, her thighs gliding over your cock, slick and tight. “Gonna keep you right here, babe—nice and cozy between mommy’s legs. You love that, don’t you? Trapped like my good little boy.” Her words are filthy, possessive, and it’s lighting you up, every syllable sinking into you, making you harder, needier.

“Fuck yeah,” you groan, leaning into her, your chest pressing against her back, hands roaming her sides, her ass, anywhere you can reach. “Love it—love you, Yujin. You’re fucking killing me.” Your dick’s throbbing, slick with her juices, and the way she’s got you locked between her thighs, it’s slow torture—sensual as hell, every slide dragging you closer to the edge but not quite there.

She tilts her head back, resting it against your shoulder, and you can feel her smirk, feel the heat of her skin against yours. “Poor thing,” she teases, voice all mock sympathy as she squeezes her thighs again, making you curse under your breath. “Can’t get enough of me, can you? Bet you’d stay like this all night if I let you—fucking my thighs ‘til you’re begging.”

“Please,” you mutter, half-joking, half-desperate, your hands digging into her hips, pulling her back so your cock slides deeper between her legs. “I’d fucking beg for it—you know I would.” She’s got you so wound up, the softness of her thighs, the wetness still clinging to them, it’s unreal, and you’re losing yourself in it, in her.

“Dirty boy,” she murmurs, voice low and pleased, her thighs tightening again as she moves, slow and deliberate, dragging it out. “Look at us—both dripping, all messy from earlier, and you’re still so fucking hard for me. You’re obsessed, babe—fucking obsessed with your mommy.” She rolls her hips just a little, enough to make her thighs shift, and you moan, loud and shameless, because yeah, she’s right—you are.

“Fuck, Yujin—can’t help it,” you say, voice wrecked, leaning forward to kiss her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. “You’re so hot—so fucking perfect. These thighs—shit, I’d die right here.” Your hands slide up, cupping her ass, squeezing, and she sighs, soft and sweet, like she’s enjoying it just as much.

“Mm, keep talking,” she says, voice dipping lower, her thighs sliding faster now, still tight, still wet, the friction building slow and steady. “Tell me how much you love it—how much you love me.” She’s demanding, controlling, and you’re giving in, every word spilling out raw and unfiltered.

“Love you so fucking much,” you pant, hands roaming her body, fingers sinking into her flesh as she works you over. “Love these thighs—love how they feel, how they’re squeezing me. Love your pussy, your ass, every fucking inch of you. You’re a goddess, Yujin—my goddess. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Your lips brush her shoulder, her neck, needy little kisses as your cock throbs between her legs.

She moans, soft and low, her thighs trembling slightly as she keeps going, the sound of her skin against yours wet and filthy. “Fuck, babe—that’s it,” she says, voice breaking a little, her dom edge softening into something needy. “Keep telling me—keep worshiping me. You’re so good at it—my perfect boy.” She tightens her thighs again, slowing down just to tease, and you whimper, hips jerking, desperate for more.

“Shit, you’re amazing,” you mutter, voice hoarse, hands sliding up to her waist, pulling her back against you as she moves. “So fucking sexy—so strong. Missed this—missed you. You’ve got me so fucked up, Yujin—can’t think about anything else.” Your dick’s sliding between her thighs, slow and sensual, and it’s driving you insane, the softness, the warmth, the way she’s got you locked in.

“Good,” she growls, picking up the pace a little, her thighs flexing as she squeezes you tighter. “That’s how it should be—you thinking about me, needing me. No one else gets this—gets you—like I do. You’re mine, babe—fucking mine.”

“Yeah—yours,” you gasp, hands gripping her harder, feeling the tension building, your cock throbbing with every slide. “Always yours—fuck, Yujin, I’d do anything for you.” She’s got you so close, the slow drag of her thighs, the wetness still clinging to her skin, it’s all too much, but you don’t want it to end—you want to stay here, wrapped up in her, forever.

She turns her head slightly, lips brushing your jaw, her breath hot and uneven. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re wrecked like this,” she murmurs, voice soft but still commanding. “All needy and hard for me—bet you’d cum right now if I told you to, huh?”

“Fuck, yeah,” you groan, hips twitching, your dick pulsing between her thighs as she keeps that tight, sensual grip. “Just say it—please, mommy, tell me.” You’re begging now, shameless, and she laughs, low and dirty, loving how you’re breaking under her.

“Not yet,” she says, voice firm, slowing her movements just enough to keep you on the edge. “Gonna make you wait—gonna make you earn it. You’re gonna cum when I say, and not a fucking second before.” Her thighs squeeze again, and you moan, loud and ragged, your hands sliding up to her back, clutching her like she’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shit—please, Yujin,” you mutter, voice cracking, your whole body trembling as she keeps you there, teetering. “You’re so fucking good—so perfect. Love you—fuck, I love you so much.” It’s spilling out, raw and desperate, and she hums, pleased, her thighs sliding slow and deliberate, keeping you locked in that sweet, torturous rhythm.

“Love you too, babe,” she whispers, turning her head to kiss you, slow and deep, her tongue teasing yours as she keeps fucking you with her thighs. “My good boy—my perfect little toy. Gonna take care of you—gonna give you everything.”

Yujin’s got you pinned in this tight, sensual cocoon of her thighs, and it’s like she’s crafted this moment just to drive you fucking insane. Your dick’s rubbing right up against her pussy now—not inside, just grazing her lips, teasing her clit with every pass—and she’s moaning, soft and low, this needy little sound that’s got your head spinning. The wetness of her, the heat, it’s all mixing with your cum from before, dripping down between her thighs, making everything so goddamn slippery and filthy. You’re a mess, hands shaking, and they fly up to her breasts on instinct, fingers sinking into that soft, sensitive flesh.

“Fuck, babe,” she groans, her voice rough and thick with pleasure as you squeeze her tits, thumbs brushing over those pierced nipples that make her whole body jolt. “Yeah—keep doing that, keep touching me.” Her thighs tighten even more, squeezing your cock harder, and you can feel her pussy lips parting slightly, your shaft sliding right along her slit, catching every bit of her slickness. She’s dripping again—her arousal mixing with the cum leaking out of you—and it’s driving you wild, the way she’s grinding against you, her moans syncing up with every slow, sensual drag.

Your hands knead her breasts, rougher now, pinching those sensitive nipples just to hear her gasp, and she’s losing it—her dom edge softening into something raw and desperate. “Shit—your cock feels so good,” she mutters, head tilting back against your shoulder, her hair sticking to your sweaty skin. “Rubbing me just right—fuck, I could cum like this.” She speeds up, thighs working you faster, wet and messy, and you’re groaning, hips bucking up to meet her, your dick throbbing so hard it’s almost painful. The friction’s intense, her pussy lips slick and hot, sliding over you, and you’re leaking a lot now—precum oozing out, dripping down her thighs, mixing with everything else. She glances down, sees it, and moans louder, voice breaking into this dirty little laugh.

“Goddamn, babe—look at that,” she says, panting, her thighs squeezing tighter as she watches your cum run down her legs. “Leaking all over me—fucking love that. You’re such a mess for me, huh?” She’s reveling in it, the way you’re losing control, the way she’s got you spilling without even cumming yet, and it’s pushing her harder, her movements getting sloppier, more frantic. “Gonna milk you dry like this—fuck, you’re so hard still.” Her words are raw, filthy, and it’s got you reeling, hands gripping her tits, thumbs rolling over her piercings again just to hear that sweet, needy moan spill out of her.

“Fuck, Yujin—don’t stop,” as your hips jerk, chasing the rhythm she’s setting. She’s moaning too, her pussy quivering against your cock, and you can feel it—she’s close, teetering on the edge just from this teasing, grinding tightjob. But then she shifts, pulling away just when you think she’s about to lose it, and you groan, half in protest, half in desperation. She turns her head, smirking down at you, her eyes dark and wild. “Not yet,” she says, voice hoarse but firm. “We’re switching it up.”

Before you can even process it, she’s sliding off you, your cock slick and shiny from her thighs, still leaking, still aching. She grabs your arm, tugging you gently but with that no-bullshit strength, and you follow, stumbling to the edge of the bed. You sit there, legs spread, chest heaving, and she steps right up between them, turning so her back’s to you again. “Stay right there,” she murmurs, glancing over her shoulder with that cocky little grin, dimples flashing, and you’re nodding, too wrecked to argue.

She grabs your cock, firm and sure, giving it a slow stroke that makes you hiss, your hands flying to her hips. Then she lines you up, her pussy hovering just above you—wet, creamy, glistening—and sinks down, slow and deliberate, taking you in inch by fucking inch. You both sigh, loud and shaky, as she settles onto your lap, her ass pressed tight against your hips, your cock buried deep inside her. “Fuck,” you groan, head tipping back, hands gripping her waist like you’re afraid she’ll vanish again. “You’re—so fucking tight, Yujin.”

“Yeah?” she says, starting to move—small bounces at first, testing you, her pussy squeezing you so good it’s got your eyes rolling back. “I love this cock stretching me out, babe.” She’s still got her back to you, and it’s a goddamn sight—her ass bouncing, her thighs flexing, all that juicy thickness working you over as she rides you reverse. Your hands slide down, cupping her ass, squeezing, and she moans, picking up the pace, slamming down harder now.

“Shit—look at you,” you mutter, voice rough, watching her move, the way her pussy swallows you whole, creamy and dripping, leaving a slick ring around your base. “Riding me like a fucking pro—fuck, you’re so hot.” You’re babbling, too caught up to care, and she loves it—you can tell by the way she moans, louder, needier, her hips rolling as she bounces, driving you deeper with every drop.

“Gonna fuck you senseless,” she gasps, hands bracing on your knees now for leverage, her body rocking back against you, fast and filthy. “My good boy—taking it so well, letting me use you like this.” Her pussy’s gripping you tight, pulsing, and you’re groaning with every thrust, your hands roaming her ass, her thighs, anywhere you can reach. She’s relentless, ass slapping against your hips, the wet sound of her pussy on your cock filling the room, and it’s got you on fire, every nerve screaming for more.

“Fuck, Yujin—harder,” you growl, hands digging into her flesh, pulling her down rougher, and she obliges—just slams onto you, her moans turning into these sweet, broken little cries. “Love this—love you,” you mutter, half-aware, your dick throbbing inside her, leaking more cum now, dripping out with every bounce. She’s feeling it too—her pussy’s quivering, soaking you, and she glances back, smirking even as she’s panting.

“Love me, huh?” she teases, voice breathy, slowing down just enough to grind her hips, dragging your cock inside her slow and deep. “Keep saying it—fucking love hearing it.” She’s got you pinned, emotionally, physically, her pussy squeezing you so tight you’re seeing stars.

“Love you—fuck, I love you so much,” you say, voice hoarse, hands sliding up to her waist, guiding her as she picks up speed again. “You’re everything—fucking everything.” She moans at that, loud and sweet, her pussy clenching, and you’re both a mess—sweaty, sticky, her thighs slick with cum and arousal, your cock leaking inside her, making every thrust wetter, sloppier.

She’s bouncing on you now, harder, faster, like she’s on a fucking mission, her pussy gripping you so tight it’s like she’s trying to wring you out. She’s not slowing down—hell no—she shifts her hand down between her legs, fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in quick, sloppy circles. “Fuck, babe,” she pants, voice high and shaky, her head tipping back so her hair brushes your chest. “Gonna cum—need it so bad—gonna cum all over your cock.” Her desperation’s thick, raw.

She’s wild now, moaning like she’s lost it, her thighs trembling, her pussy soaking you—wet, creamy, dripping down your shaft as she rides you. “Shit—look at me,” she gasps, glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes dark and frantic, those dimples nowhere in sight now—just pure, unfiltered need. “You feel that? How fucking wet I am? All for you—fuck, you drive me insane.” Her fingers are working her clit faster, her moans turning into these sharp, needy little cries, and you’re just holding on, groaning, your dick throbbing inside her, so close but not there yet because she’s got you under her spell, waiting for her to call the shots.

“Goddamn, Yujin,” you mutter, voice rough, hands digging into her hips as she slams down, over and over, her ass jiggling against you, the wet slap of her skin on yours filling the room. “You’re so fucking hot—ride me, fuck, don’t stop.” She’s relentless, her pussy squeezing you tighter with every bounce, her fingers rubbing herself sloppy and fast, and you can feel it—her walls fluttering, her body shaking, she’s right on the edge. “Cum for me,” you growl, hands sliding up to grip her waist, pulling her down harder. “Wanna feel it—c’mon, mommy, soak me.”

That does it—she snaps, her whole body locking up as she cums, hard and loud, a broken “Fuck—babe!” ripping out of her as her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, pulsing, gushing, her thighs quaking against yours. She’s shaking, gasping, her fingers still circling her clit as she rides it out, and holy shit, the way she squeezes you—it’s intense, almost too much, your cock leaking more, dripping inside her, but you hold it together, barely. She’s moaning, desperate and sweet, her bounces turning erratic, sloppy, like she’s milking every last shudder out of herself, and you’re just watching, mesmerized, your hands roaming her ass, her back, feeling her unravel.

“Shit,” she pants, slowing down, her chest heaving as she leans back against you, her pussy still twitching around your cock. “That was—fuck, so good.” She’s trembling, catching her breath, but then she turns her head, looks at you with those wild eyes, and you know she’s not done—she’s got more in her. “You’re close too, huh?” she says, voice ragged but teasing, her hand sliding down to where you’re still buried inside her, feeling how hard you are. “I can tell—fuck, you’re dying to cum, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you groan, hips twitching up into her, your voice wrecked. “So fucking close—Yujin, I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish, too wound up, and she grins, wicked and sharp, sliding off your lap in one smooth move. Your cock slips free, slick and shiny, still leaking, and she drops to her knees in front of you, grabbing it with both hands before you can even catch your breath.

“Give it to me,” she says, stroking you fast, her hands tight and slippery from all the mess. “Cum in my mouth—want it all over my tongue, babe. C’mon, give it to mommy.” She’s pumping you now, relentless, her grip firm, and you’re moaning loud, no holding back, the sound ripping out of you as your hands fly to her hair, gripping, guiding her. She’s so fucking good—too good—her hands working you like she’s done it a thousand times, and the way she’s looking up at you, eyes dark and hungry, begging for it, it’s shredding you.

“Fuck—please, Yujin,” you gasp, voice breaking, your hips bucking as she strokes faster, her tongue darting out to teased the tip, flicking over it, salty and wet. “Gonna cum—shit, I’m gonna cum so hard.” She’s moaning now, soft little hums against your cock, egging you on, and she’s begging—begging—her voice dripping with lust. “Do it—cum for me, babe—fucking cum, I need it.”

That’s it—you’re gone, groaning loud and ragged as your cock pulses, the first spurt hitting her tongue, hot and thick, and she takes it, opening her mouth wider, stroking you through it. “Fuck—yes!” you mutter, hips jerking, and she’s pumping you, milking you, cum spilling out—spurt after spurt, more than you thought you had left after all that leaking. It’s a lot, coating her tongue, dripping from her lips, and she doesn’t stop, hands sliding, squeezing every last drop out of you until you’re shaking, gasping, your cock twitching, hypersensitive as hell.

She pulls back, slow and deliberate, her tongue curling out to show you—white and thick, pooled there, a fucking mess—and you’re just staring, chest heaving, completely wrecked. “Look at that,” she murmurs, smirking, then closes her mouth, swallowing it down slow, savoring it like it’s some gourmet shit. She leans in after, licking the tip of your cock—soft, careful, but it’s so sensitive you flinch anyway, a shaky “Fuck, Yujin” slipping out as she cleans you up, every swipe of her tongue making you twitch.

She stands then, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning wide—those dimples popping, but there’s nothing innocent about her now. You’re still gasping, pleasure buzzing through you, when she steps close, grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against her. Her skin’s hot, sticky with sweat and cum, and she’s dominating—her grip firm, her eyes locking onto yours like she’s staking a claim all over again. “You’re mine,” she says, voice low, intense, her fingers digging into your sides. “Officially—fucking mine. No thinking about other girls, no looking at them, nothing. Everything you’ve got—it’s for me now. Got it?”

You nod, fast, still too fucked out to argue, your hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. “Yeah—promise,” you mutter, voice hoarse but sure. “All yours, Yujin—no one else. Swear.”

Her grin softens, those dimples turning almost cute, and she leans in, kissing you deep, her tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting you, tasting herself. “Good boy,” she whispers against your lips. “I love you—fuck, I really do.”

“Love you too,” you say back, raw and immediate, your hands tightening on her, pulling her in so there’s no space between you. “So fucking much, Yujin—you’ve got no idea.” It’s intense—this pull between you, this messy, wild, overwhelming thing—and you’re both standing there, breathing hard, wrapped up in each other like nothing else exists.

She smirks again, that playful edge creeping back, her hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing. “Oh, I’ve got some idea,” she teases, pressing herself against you, and fuck, you’re still half-hard, still twitchy from everything she’s done. “You’re crazy for me—and I’m crazy for you. We’re stuck like this, babe—deal with it.” She laughs, low and dirty, and you’re grinning too, helpless, because yeah—you’re in deep, and it’s exactly where you wanna be.

—

You stir awake, the kind of groggy wake-up where your limbs feel heavy and the world’s still fuzzy, like you’re wading through a dream that hasn’t quite let go. The room’s bathed in this soft, gray light, the rain still pattering against the window in a slow, hypnotic rhythm—same as yesterday, like the weather’s stuck on repeat. You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and that’s when you feel her—Yujin’s stare, warm and steady, prickling your skin before you even turn your head. She’s right there, propped up on one elbow, lying on her side, and fuck, she’s a vision—dangerous, sexy, like some kind of predator playing house. Just that tank top, white and worn-in, stretched thin over her chest so you can see the faint outline of her nipple piercings pushing against it, and these tiny panties, barely hanging onto her hips. Her hair’s a tangled mess, spilling over her shoulder, and she’s got this lazy, smug smile, like she’s already claimed the morning—and you—before you’ve even had a chance to catch your breath.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she says, voice low and scratchy, still thick with sleep but laced with that teasing edge she’s got down to an art. She stretches, slow and deliberate, arching her back so the tank top rides up, showing off the smooth plane of her stomach, the dip of her navel, and you’re already hooked, eyes tracing every inch like you haven’t seen it a hundred times before. “Slept like a fucking rock, huh? Guess I wore you out.” She slides closer, her bare leg brushing yours under the sheets, warm and soft, and it’s so easy, so natural, like she’s picking up right where she left off—like the months of chaos, the screaming matches, the way she’d smashed a plate against the wall and told you you’d regret leaving, never happened.

“Yeah,” you mutter, voice rough, still waking up as you shift to sit up a little, the sheets slipping down to your hips. “Guess I needed it.” You catch a glimpse of her thigh, thick and glistening faintly in the dim light, and there’s this flash in your head—her voice, sharp and venomous, “You think you can do better? Good fucking luck,” the way her eyes had burned with something wild, something that made your stomach twist with fear and want all at once. But now she’s here, soft and close, her hand already sliding up your arm, fingers curling around your bicep like she’s testing her grip, and it’s hard to hold onto that memory when she’s looking at you like this—like you’re hers, and she’s never doubted it.

She leans in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle, then pulls back, smirking as she swings her legs off the bed. “C’mon, let’s get coffee—rain’s not stopping, so we’re staying in. My rules.” She’s up now, padding across the hardwood, her tank top barely covering her ass, those panties hugging her hips just right, and you’re watching, shameless, because how could you not? She glances back over her shoulder, catching you staring, and her smirk turns sharper, dimples flashing like a trap snapping shut. “Like the view? Better get used to it—gonna be seeing a lot of me around here.”

You follow, slower, your feet hitting the cold floor as you drag yourself out of bed, boxers hanging low on your hips, still half-dazed from sleep and her. The apartment smells faintly of last night—sweat, her perfume, something musky and lived-in—and the rain’s a dull roar outside, sealing you in this little bubble with her. She’s already in the kitchen, rummaging through your cabinets like she owns them, pulling out mugs, coffee grounds, moving with this easy confidence. “Found the good shit,” she says, holding up the bag of beans you’d forgotten about, some overpriced blend you’d bought on a whim. “You’ve been holding out on me—thought you were all instant crap now.”

“Nah, just lazy,” you say, leaning against the counter, arms crossed as you watch her work the coffee maker like it’s hers. She’s humming under her breath, some tune you don’t recognize, and it’s so domestic, so fucking normal, it’s messing with you—because the last time you saw her, she was screaming, “You’ll come crawling back, watch,” her voice cracking as she’d shoved your stuff into a bag, tears streaking her face. Now she’s here, barefoot, pouring water into the machine, her tank top slipping off one shoulder, and it’s like that never happened—like you’re picking up from some perfect moment that never broke.

She turns, catching your eye, and steps closer, sliding her hands up your chest, fingers brushing your collarbone. “You’re quiet,” she murmurs, tilting her head, her breath warm against your jaw. “What’s up? Thinking about how lucky you are to have me back?” She’s teasing, but there’s this weight in her words, this quiet insistence, and you feel it—this flicker of something off, something that makes your throat tighten. But then she kisses you, soft and slow, her lips tasting faintly of toothpaste, and it’s gone, washed away by the heat of her mouth, the way her body presses into yours.

“Lucky as hell,” you say, forcing a grin, your hands finding her hips, sliding under the tank top to feel the bare skin of her waist. “Still can’t believe you’re here—thought I’d wake up and you’d be a ghost.” It’s half a joke, half true, and she laughs, soft and low, pulling back to grab the mugs as the coffee maker gurgles, filling the room with that rich, bitter smell.

“Not a ghost,” she says, handing you a mug, black and steaming, her fingers brushing yours as she does. “Real as fuck—sticking around this time.” She takes a sip, leaning against the counter opposite you, her legs crossed at the ankles, and it’s a picture—her in your kitchen, rain streaking the windows, the world outside blurry and distant. “Gonna make this place mine again—you cool with that?”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping your coffee, the heat biting your tongue as you watch her over the rim. “Feels right—having you here.” And it does—too right, maybe, because there’s this quiet hum in your head, this shadow of her voice, “You’re nothing without me,” the way she’d cried and clung to you after the fights, promising it’d be different, only to blow up again days later. But now she’s calm, sipping coffee, her tank top slipping down one shoulder, her eyes warm and steady, and it’s easy to shove that noise down, to let the moment wrap around you like a blanket.

She sets her mug down, stepping closer again, her hands sliding up your arms, resting on your shoulders. “Good,” she murmurs, kissing you again, quick this time, her lips soft and familiar. “Cause I’m not letting you out of my sight—lazy day, just us. Rain’s got us trapped anyway.” She pulls you toward the couch, tugging you down with her, and you go, coffee abandoned on the counter, your body sinking into the cushions as she curls up against you, her head on your chest, one leg slung over yours like she’s anchoring you there.

“Love this,” she says, voice muffled against your shirt, her fingers tracing lazy lines on your stomach. “You and me—chill, no bullshit. Missed it—missed you.” She tilts her head up, smiling, those dimples making her look almost sweet, almost innocent, and your chest tightens—love, yeah, but something else too, something you can’t name. “You’re not gonna fuck this up again, right?” she teases, but her eyes linger, searching, and you feel it—this quiet pressure, this need to say what she wants to hear.

“Nah,” you say, brushing her hair back, your hand resting on her neck, thumb grazing her pulse. “Not letting you go—love you too much.” It’s true, raw, spilling out easy, and she hums, satisfied, nestling closer, her body warm and solid against you. The rain keeps falling, a steady drone, and you’re here, tangled up with her, the past a faint echo you can barely hear over her breathing. She’s got you—completely—and you’re telling yourself it’s luck, pure fucking luck, that someone like her—sharp, beautiful, unstoppable—wants you this bad, needs you this close. And she’s smiling, marking you with every touch, every word, like she’s never been anything but yours.

#yujin ive #yujin smut #yujin x reader #kpop m!reader #kpop male reader #kpop smut #kpop male oc #m!reader #kpop gg smut #ive yujin #ive yujin smut #Yujin x male reader

1K notes · View notes

hollandsangel · 1 year ago

Text

move over | m. sturniolo

okAY here we go this is my first sturniolo fic please be nice to me i am afraid

ps if you’d like to be tagged in any (possible) future fics comment 🍜

summary: matt needs a bigger bed

wc: 1k

warnings: matt x fem!reader, cursing, nightmares? no description really, just funny and fluffy 🫡 all the triplets are in it but reader is dating matt!

..does anyone remember that one video where matt said chris never sleeps in his own bed? well…

gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !

you feel yourself slipping back into consciousness, and you can tell from the soft, pale blue light of matt’s bedroom that it’s morning. matt’s fast asleep behind you, resting on his stomach with you tucked up into his side, his right arm slung over your waist. you’re already upset that you have to pee, the idea of crawling out of the sleep-warm bed and leaving your boyfriend’s cozy embrace is not an appealing one, but the nagging in your bladder won’t go away.

with a sleepy sigh you stretch your arm out just enough to the tap the screen of your phone, the numbers 8:23 glaring back you. you still don’t have to be up for another hour and a half, which you think is an acceptable amount of time left to lay in matt’s arms and snooze a bit more, even if you don’t really need anymore sleep.

it’s a bit tricky to clamber out of bed without waking the sleeping boy next to you. trying to keep from dragging the duvet with you when you slide out. you tuck matt back in properly before you wander off to his bathroom. softly, you click the door shut, and it, along with your sleep-hazy mind, muffles any sounds coming from outside the bathroom.

for once, chris slept in his own bed, knowing you’d be sleeping over and nick was editing the video meant to go up later this afternoon early into the morning. it’s too early for him to be waking up on his own but something stirs him into wakefulness, his heart beating a little faster than it should be.

matt had woken up for a mere second when you slipped out of bed and hasn’t fallen back into the depth of his sleep, waiting for you to come back. he’s just barley alert enough to hear shuffling from down the hall, getting louder until the person responsible is standing at the crack in the door.

“matt?” chris whispers, peeking into the bedroom.

matt groans and rolls over just until he can see his brother over his shoulder, “what, chris?”

“i had a fucked up dream, dude,” chris says, padding further into the room, “where’s y/n?”

matt turns a little closer to his brother, facing him now, “bathroom,” he mumbles, “what was it about?”

chris is still standing in the middle of the room, phone held loosely in his hand, “you got into a fuckin’ car accident, a really bad one” he admits, feeling a bit foolish and juvenile for running to his brother after a bad dream, “can i sleep in here?”

matt’s face softens and he rubs his eye, “yeah, ‘course.” he says, watching chris slowly walk towards the bed, “that’s her side,” he says though when chris tries to lay where you had been.

chris fakes a scowl and matt makes a face back, sleep still tugging at his mind. the two of them lay back down, back to back, tugging the covers over their shoulders.

you finish washing your hands and shut off the bathroom light. rubbing at your eyes, you make your way back to matt’s room, looking forward to sleeping a bit longer. upon wandering in you’re met with more than one body under the blankets, making you stop in your tracks.

“chris?” you wonder outloud, stopped in the door way.

matt answers before his brother can, “he had a bad dream,” he explains to you, face smushed into the pillow, leaving the words all muffled and extra groggy.

“sure,” you say, as if chris sleeping in matt’s bed doesn’t surprise you (it doesn’t). dragging your feet over to your side of the bed to matt, where he’s taking up a bit too much room. “move over,” you tell him when he peels the blankets back for you. he shuffles back with a little too much effort and you climb back into bed.

once you’re settled matt scoots a little bit closer to you to make more room for the three people now in his queen sized bed, but also because he never passes up an excuse to hold you a little tighter.

you doze in and out, matt’s soft breath against your neck keeping you a little bit dazed but not quite enough to lull you back to sleep fully. it must be nearing 10 am now, more bright sun spilling in from the cracks in the curtains above the bed. you think chris is awake too, hearing breathy little chuckles every now and then. you reach for your phone, deciding on a mindless scroll through instagram.

after a few minutes it sounds like nick has also woken up, his footsteps audible in the bedroom above. you hear him coming down the stairs, and you think he stops in the kitchen until his voice fills the quiet halls.

“chris?” he asks, standing in his brother’s empty bedroom, confused as to why he’s not in bed.

“in here,” chris speaks up, waiting for nick to press the door open.

he does, standing at arms length with a skeptical look on his face, almost afraid of what he might find. “um…hello, what are you doing in here?” nick asks, finally crossing the threshold.

“he had a bad dream,” matt says into your shoulder, startling you. you didn’t know he was awake.

“i had a bad dwream,” chris says in that stupid pouty voice that drives all of you insane, no doubt looking at nick with puppy dog eyes.

“oh…kay,” nick says and you laugh at the suspicion still evident in his tone.

“did you see the tik tok i sent you?” chris is laughing but stops abruptly when matt kicks him in the calf, which makes you giggle into your boyfriend’s arm.

“yeah, but i’m a bit more preoccupied with the absurdity of the three of you in matt’s bed right now,” nick says in his distinct deadpan drawl, which only makes you smile more.

“c’mon nick you might as well join us,” you say, earning a loud, over exaggerated groan from matt, his arms tightening around your waist.

you think nick must oblige because he doesn’t say anything for a second, coming closer to the bed.

“move over, dummy fuck,” he says to chris, who laughs out loud and scoots closer to matt.

“i hate them,” matt whispers in your ear.

tags! @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo drabble #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x you

6K notes · View notes

silknspice · 7 months ago

Text

ARCANE CHARACTERS AS ROMANCE TROPES

⎯ ୨୧ pairings: vi x reader, jinx x reader

⎯ ୨୧ content: pure fluff, mentions of alcohol, lying, swearing, first love and fake dating tropes used, lowercase intended, not proofread

vi ⎯ fake dating

fake dating! vi who made the bet with you at one of jayce’s frat parties. she and caitlyn were officially over, the woman turning to the warmth of maddie to prove that she’d “moved on”, which made vi look like the loser. she couldn’t stand that. getting with the woman she told vi “not to worry about” was low. the only thing to do was go lower- or rather higher. you were caitlyn’s kryptonite. intelligent, charming, fashionable, every time you were around during your friend group’s hangouts she clung onto vi’s arm as if you were a magnet and she was the strongest metal. as if when she let go, vi would fly away and straight into your arms.

fake dating! vi who approached you while your other friends were occupied, going in with nothing but a red solo cup, cocky smile, and a dream. she soon realized that you’d be a challenge to crack, resorting to begging.

“c’mon pretty!” the pinkett pleaded, moving every which way around you as you continuously turned your body to avoid her gaze. only when she took your plastic cup and held it higher than you could reach, your bodies inches apart as she gazed down on you, did you cave.

“fine, you baby!” you huffed out with a big exhale. the girl paid the diss no mind as she lowered her arm, leaning in to whisper despite the loud party atmosphere. her words tickled the side of your ear, and you could practically sense her shit-eating grin.

“i’ll make it worth your while.”

it’s not that you didn’t want to say yes at the first sound of the question. it was the reason why this bet came to be that made your stomach turn. after some instagram stories, lots of pda, and almost everyone on campus whispering about the two of you, caitlyn would be crawling back to vi in no time. she’d have the power back. at least that’s what she thought.

it wasn’t the acting that worried you, it was your true feelings.

fake dating! vi who doesn’t understand why you’re so uptight about the situation. you invite her to your house sunday, a piece of loose leaf paper and a pink sharpie on the coffee table. on the top: “ ୨୧ rules ୨୧ “ in your pretty handwriting.

“rules?” she snorted, arms resting on the top of the couch while she leaned back into the plush throw pillows. you sat opposite of her on the ground, her wide man spreading right in front of you making your head fuzzy.

you look down at your decorated paper and back up at the girl with perfectly furrowed brows. “of course? what, you thought you were just gonna have your way with me?”

a smile quickly grew on the girl’s face, stifling a laugh at your unfortunate word choice.

“you know what i mean!” you whined, picking up the sharpie and uncapping it. “you’re chaotic. i need some guidelines so you don’t throw me into some absolutely heinous situation.”

fake dating! vi and you who agreed to the following terms after a very unproductive hour of talking: no telling anybody that this is fake (ESPECIALLY POWDER, blabbermouth), watch 10 things i hate about you together (vi hasn’t seen this!?!), yn comes to all of vi’s hockey games and after parties, and no tongue when kissing. vi groaned and debated with you for 15 minutes after you suggested the last one. you claimed there was ‘no need’ for it, she claimed no tongue wasn't convincing anyone that you were a serious couple. finally, you put a question mark next to the rule. you’ll just have to revisit that one later.

fake dating! vi who shifted in her seat, patting her lap twice in an unbothered manner once you completed the list.

“okay, c’mere.”

you looked up from the paper you were folding, brows furrowing in confusion. “‘scuse me?” the girl didn’t repeat herself, staring at you expectantly. you stood, walking around the coffee table cautiously and standing in between her legs with your hands on your hips.

fake dating! vi who scoffed and pulled you into her lap, having you straddle her with her hands on your hips while you looked at her as if she had five heads. “listen, we’re gonna have to do a bunch of shit in front of cait,” she started. “right..” you followed up, waiting for the explanation. “so, we need to practice. you know, so that you don’t freeze up or somethin’.” you scoffed, shoving her shoulder. “i’ve kissed people before vi, sorry to burst your bubble.” she grinned at that, tilting her head up at you.

“yeah, but you’ve never kissed me, honey.”

fake dating! vi who got a little carried away when practising your “fake” passionate kisses, mumbling little quips like “no no, like this” and “restart, you’ve gotta act more natural”. what was supposed to be a fast practice kiss ended up lasting 15 minutes. you ended up fixing your rules list one last time. no tongue when kissing? tongue is fine

fake dating! vi who leaves one of her clean jerseys at your house. when gameday comes, you, mel, and powder spend the hour before the game getting ready for your lovers. jersey clad bodies, blue and white ribbons in your hair (your school colors of course), and eye black on your cheekbones, except yours was pink (for obvious reasons).

fake dating! vi who’s brain short circuits when she first spots you in the stands, and again when she, ekko, and jayce meet with you girls after the game. seeing her in uniform, all aggressive and cocky out on the ice had you all but drooling in the stands. seeing you all dressed up in her attire got a rise out of her, and a different rise out of caitlyn as she stormed out of the locker room and past the six of you. you gave each other grins and a high five to mask the cheesy smiles accompanying your faces as you admired each other.

fake dating! vi who takes your hand at the crowded after party, pulling you through the drunken community and up the stairs to one of her teammates rooms. you’re utterly confused as she shuts the door behind you both and reaches over her head to pull her compression shirt off.

“the hell are you doing?” you stare straight at vi with wide eyes, but don’t dare to cover them.

“jayce said he’s sending caitlyn up here for somethin’,” she started, finally peeling the form fitting black fabric off of her body. she looked to you, eyes flicking down then back up. “well? what are you waiting for? strip.” she spoke in too calm of a manner, like she was concealing her true tone underneath.

“oh you’re crazy.” you shake your head, not moving as vi moves over to you. “just- take off your clothes! i just want her to think we were gonna do it.”

you look at her as if her previous five heads had grown to ten, grabbing the hem of your cropped top and pulling it over your head. at the sound of footsteps down the hall, you rushed to the bed, vi laying back and your body sitting atop hers. warm skin smushed together. glossy eyes admiring each others bodies as pupils unknowingly dilate. vi wondered what would happen if she unhooked the clasp of your bra that she was fiddling with. you wondered when the day would come where she begged to unclasp it.

“just like we practiced, honey?” she asked with her sweet and soft voice, foreign to everyone but you as your lips locked and the door swung open.

fake dating! vi who didn’t realize how clear her conflicting feelings were until her sister teased her on a saturday morning at ekko’s house. “i see the way she looks at you, and the way you admire her when you think no one’s looking. you’ve got it baaad, sis.”

fake dating! vi who has been falling for you more and more ever since this stupid deal began. she’s building the courage to let you know just how much you mean to her and make you her real girlfriend.

jinx ⎯ first love/teenage love

first love! jinx who became infatuated with you when she saw you at practice for the first time, whether you cheer, play a sport, or dance. the way you bit your lip in focus, the way you move in your element, and the sweat that had your attire clinging to you made her brain go completely numb.

first love! jinx who pretended not to know you as ekko introduced you, asking if the three of you could be partners for a science project. she’d already stalked your instagram and had it ready to follow as soon as she left the classroom.

first love! jinx who wasted no time getting comfortable with you. movie nights at her house, late night drives, and the parties. she partied more than one should, saying that’s “what highschool is all about”. she, ekko, vi, caitlyn, mel, jayce, and you all spread out in caitlyn’s glamorous bedroom from the plush bean bags to the girl’s bed, pregaming, chatting, and getting ready for the night.

first love! jinx who always had you do her makeup when going out, claiming it was to “practice the abstract things” you were too afraid to do on yourself. for her, it was the perfect chance to have you close. her hands rested on your hips and moved to the small of your back as you straddled her. your soft fingers cupped her chin gently to hold her face still while you coated her lashes with mascara. she absentmindedly traced meaningless patterns on the skin exposed by your cropped top, never daring to take her eyes off of you.

“all done!” you exclaimed, holding up the mini compact mirror for the bluenette to admire herself.

“you’re an artist toots, always makin’ me look s’ pretty.” the girl wrapped her arms further around you, causing you to giggle while she embraces you with a cheeky grin.

“damn, you smell good,” she whispered, just soft enough to share the thought with you and make you melt.

first love! jinx who confessed by accident when you resided in your favorite spot: the rooftop. you were babbling about college and all of your hopes and worries for the future. everything was changing so fast, and you just wanted to know it was all going to be okay.

you shifted in your position, body tense as you lay facing the ombre sky. “you just gotta promise me that even if we don’t go to the same university, we’ll both call each other all the time and try to visit as often as possible. oh, and you have to-” the girl stopped you with a hand to the cheek, gently moving your face to look her in the eyes. she was laid on her side to have you in her full view. “you worry too damn much,” she said in a tone foreign to her. it was gentle and almost breathless, like she didn’t want to scare you away. “you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. not when I love you this much.”

the reason for the shock on your face and the gasp from your soft “o” shaped lips didn’t register until she thought back on her words, face morphing into one of horror and worry. what would you say? did she just screw things up?

“...took you long enough.” you whispered through a grin, placing a hand atop hers on your cheek.

first love! jinx who, once you’re dating, loves sneaking into your room late at night. you’d say good night to your family, put on a special pair of pajamas and lie under the covers awaiting the soft knock at your window. once shes there you hop out of bed, racing to your window and deny opening it for just a moment to tease her out in the cold of night.

first love! jinx who loves having you all to herself. once inside, her arms immediately find their way around your waist and don't let go until you reach your bed. she only releases for a moment before pulling you under the covers and onto her lap, her hands sliding up your shirt and lips finding the sweet spot on your neck. to her, keeping you quiet all night is some fun challenge.

first love! jinx who always forgets to leave before sunrise, resulting in you both waking up in a panic when your parents knock at the door. you quickly shout out “just a minute!” hushed, frantic whispers follow before she hides under your bed or inside your walk-in closet, doing her best to suppress her giggles of adrenaline.

this was supposed to include ekko and cait too but i got way too carried away, love my girls <33

©silknspice

2K notes · View notes

ggukivrse · 21 days ago

Text

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 04

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, i want them to fuck already sigh, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 5.2k

notes: i actually managed to get this one out early as promised yipeee!! this was very hastily edited cuz i wanted it out by today, but tysm to j @tranquilreign for beta reading!! idk what i’d do without u pooks :’) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are very very appreciated! enjoy reading my lovies <333

< prev • next > | series masterlist | main masterlist

⤷ chapter four — halley’s comet

i was good at feeling nothing, now i’m hopeless / what a drag to love you like i do

Jungkook used to call you sunflower in the summer.

Not because of the flower itself — he never cared much for metaphors like that. But because every time the sun was out, you’d tilt your head back, eyes closed, face tilted towards the sky like you were trying to soak up every last drop of light. He’d tease you for it — call you predictable — then press a kiss to your forehead like it was instinct.

You tilt your head back now and the sun kisses the same spot. His lips don't.

And for some reason, it's the only thing you can think about now as the warmth bleeds across your skin, soft and steady. The boat rocks gently beneath you, the scent of salt lingering in the air. Laughter bubbles up from the other end of the deck, and you open your eyes behind your sunglasses, squinting toward the sound.

"Hyung, I still can’t believe you actually pulled this off," Namjoon says, nodding at Seokjin, who’s standing at the front of the boat.

Seokjin doesn’t even try to hide his smug grin. "Please. When have I ever let you down?"

"Should we make a list?" Yoongi mutters from his seat, but his tone is lazy, not sharp. He’s nursing something with ice in it and hasn’t moved much since boarding.

The engine hums beneath the conversation. You’re all sprawled out across the deck, sipping on melting drinks and soaking in the sunshine.

Somewhere behind you, Hoseok curses as a gust of wind nearly steals his hat. Haeun laughs too loud. Taehyung’s lying flat on his back with his eyes closed, Yasmine tracing lazy shapes on his chest with her finger.

Ari shifts beside you, adjusting the corner of the towel you’re both lying on so that it doesn’t bunch beneath her back. Her arm brushes yours, warm from the sun, and you feel her turn her head toward you even before she speaks.

“You guys okay?” she asks, soft and easy, like she’s just making conversation. Like she isn’t cracking open the air between you and Jungkook with three simple words.

Your body stiffens — not visibly, not enough to draw attention — but your fingers freeze mid-swipe against the condensation of your cup. You don’t answer right away. You can’t. Your brain rushes to catch up.

You glance toward the other end of the boat. Jungkook’s there, laughing at something Jimin just said, the wind catching at the hem of his shirt. Too far to hear you. Too busy to notice.

You look back at Ari.

“Huh?” you say, feigning light confusion, buying time. “What do you mean?”

She lifts her sunglasses slightly onto her head and looks at you more directly, less playfully now. “You and Jungkook. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

You blink at her. Then shake your head, too fast.

“No,” you say. “No, we’re fine. Why?”

Ari shrugs one shoulder, almost like she regrets asking. “I don’t know. You just feel... off. A little.”

You exhale through your nose and angle your face away from her, pretending to squint at the water. “We’re not off. We’re just... tired, I guess.”

“Okay,” she says, but it’s not full agreement.

You finally glance back at her, trying not to let anything show. “Do we really seem that weird?”

She hesitates, then gives a small, knowing smile. “Not weird. Just a little different.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Different how?”

“Dunno,” she says, settling back onto her elbows. “Usually you guys are either glued together or trying to beat each other at whatever game’s going on. Now it’s just... less of that.”

You almost laugh, but not because it’s funny.

Ari doesn’t push. She never does. She just lets the silence sit for a moment before speaking again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it a thing. It’s not a big deal.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I get it.”

She glances toward the others. Jungkook’s crouched by the drink cooler now, talking to Hoseok about something. You look away before he catches you watching.

“You know,” Ari says after a beat, “it’s not like people expect couples to be perfect all the time.”

You swallow. “We’re fine, Ari.”

She holds her hands up. “Okay. I believe you.”

And you think maybe she does. But she’s still watching you with the kind of look that says she knows something’s sitting underneath. Something you’re not saying.

She lies with you for a few more short minutes in silence before slipping away with a soft pat to your leg, joining Kiara and Haeun near the back railing.

You let your head fall back against the towel with a quiet sigh. The sun blurs through your lashes and your drink is nothing but sugar water now, flat and warm. You swirl the straw absently, trying to shake off the weight of that conversation.

It’s not like she was wrong.

You just wish she didn’t see so much.

The spot beside you shifts slightly, and you glance over just in time to see a cold can held out toward you.

“Figured you'd want something actually drinkable,” Jungkook says, nodding toward your cup as you take the drink from his hand.

You lift the can to your forehead before cracking it open. The cool metal soothes your skin. “Thanks."

"No problem." He lowers himself onto the towel next to you, close enough that your arms brush when you both move to get comfortable. You don’t move away. Neither does he.

You tap the can against your thigh, condensation already dripping down your leg.

Jungkook stretches his legs out beside you, arms behind his head, gaze on the sky like he’s trying to read something in the clouds. The silence between you is comfortable, but your chest still hums with the residue of Ari’s voice. You tap your can against your thigh again — once, twice — then let the words tumble out before you can second-guess them.

“She asked if we were okay,” you say, not looking at him.

Jungkook turns his head slightly, but doesn’t speak.

“Ari,” you clarify. “She asked if we had a fight.”

He lets out a slow breath through his nose. “What’d you say?”

“I said no.”

A pause.

“And then?”

You shrug. “I said we’re just tired.”

Another silence, thicker this time. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, steady and searching. You refuse to look at him.

“She didn’t buy it,” you add after a beat. “Not completely.”

Jungkook sits up slowly, arms resting over his knees. His tone is quieter now, more careful. “Think anyone else noticed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not. Ari’s always been... observant.” You finally glance at him. “She wasn’t pushy or anything. Just— curious," you say with a shrug.

Jungkook simply hums in response.

You watch the side of his face. There’s a faint shadow along his jawline, the kind you used to trace with your thumb when you thought no one was looking. You shake the thought loose before it sticks and take another sip of your drink.

“I mean, what do they want us to do?” you mumble. “Make out on the boat?”

Jungkook chokes on a laugh — not the soft kind, but the genuine kind that comes out sudden and loud, like it caught him off guard.

You glance at him. “I’m serious.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning. “You say that like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.”

“It is,” you deadpan. “You want to traumatise Yoongi? That man hasn’t moved in an hour. You think he’s got the energy to witness that?”

That makes Jungkook laugh again, head tipping back. For a second — one small second — it’s just him, sunlight caught in the strands of his hair, smile easy and unguarded like it used to be. You look away.

He leans back beside you, bumping your arm with his in the process. “Okay,” he says. “So, no making out on the boat.”

“Glad we’re setting boundaries.”

He gives you a sidelong glance. “We just have to... I dunno, turn it up a notch.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He shrugs, still watching the clouds. “Be a little more couple-y. You know. Lean on me sometimes. Laugh at my jokes.”

You scoff. “You think me laughing at your jokes is what’s gonna sell this?”

“Absolutely,” he says, deadly serious. “That’s the most unrealistic part of our relationship now. If you start doing that, everyone’ll think we’re closer than ever.”

“Right,” you deadpan. “Because this all hinges on me fake-laughing at your stand-up routine.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

You shoot him a look, but there’s no heat behind it. “So what else? You planning on feeding me grapes next?”

“I could,” he says, suddenly thoughtful. “But someone might throw themselves overboard if I do.”

Your mouth twitches before you can stop it — not a full laugh, but close. More breath than sound. You shake your head like you’re trying to brush it off, but the smile lingers for just a second too long.

There’s a beat of silence. A shift in tone that’s almost invisible, but not quite.

“Maybe just... ease into it,” he says. “We don’t have to overdo it. Just the little things.”

“Little things like what?” you ask, suspicious.

He shrugs. A breeze moves across the deck and a strand of hair falls across your face, sticking to your lip.

Before you can reach for it, his fingers are already there — brushing it back behind your ear.

You freeze.

Not too dramatically. Not enough for anyone to notice. But inside, everything stills.

Jungkook doesn’t pull away immediately. His fingers linger for a second longer than necessary — maybe two. Then he draws his hand back like nothing happened.

“See,” he says, “this is why Ari’s catching on. You’re a terrible actress.”

You blink, caught between five different emotions. “Excuse me?”

He huffs out a laughing breath. “You didn’t even flinch the other day when Taehyung almost touched a jellyfish, but this? I tuck a little hair behind your ear and you go full statue.”

“Because it’s weird!” you protest, flustered now. “You don’t just— touch me like that anymore.”

The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, and there's a pause.

Jungkook goes still. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, and for a second, you think he might actually say something real — something raw.

But then he exhales through his nose, masking it with a crooked half-smile.

“Right,” he says, voice lighter than it should be. “My bad. Next time I’ll just let it smack you in the face.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but your mouth twitches like it wants to smile.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You’re trying not to laugh,” he says.

“I’m trying not to shove you off the boat,” you correct.

“Same thing.”

He lets your words hang in the air, smiling in that way he does when he knows he’s gotten to you, just a little. It’s not smug exactly. It’s softer than that. Like he’s letting himself enjoy something small, something fleeting — and trying not to ruin it by pointing it out.

You shake your head and look back toward the horizon. The water is endless, all shifting blue and gold, and the sun is starting its slow descent, softening everything it touches.

Jungkook sits up, arms resting on his knees. You don’t look at him, but you can feel the shift — the way his attention settles on you in full.

“I meant it,” he says after a moment.

You glance over. “Meant what?”

He shrugs one shoulder, careful. “That it’s the little things. That’s how people believe it.”

You arch an eyebrow, sceptical. “People? Or you?”

There's humour laced in your words, but your smile falters when he meets your gaze.

“Both.”

The breeze picks up again, brushing against your skin, tugging gently at the edge of your towel. You catch it with your elbow, more for something to do than anything else.

You’re the one who looks away first — not because you’re uneasy, but because if you don’t, you might say something you can’t take back.

The silence stretches, and eventually you lie back, arm draped over your eyes to shield them from the sun.

“I’m still not fake-laughing at your jokes,” you murmur, voice flat but quiet. “Just so we’re clear.”

Jungkook laughs, but it’s lighter this time. The warmth that usually comes with the sound isn't quite there.

“Fair,” he says. “But maybe... maybe don’t flinch like I’ve slapped you every time I touch your arm.”

“I make no promises.”

He smiles. “Didn’t expect you to.”

The room is quiet except for the occasional hiss of steam from the bathroom and the soft swish of fabric as you move. The sun is lower now, casting long shadows across the floor, and the salty breeze sneaks in through the crack in the door.

You’re barefoot, crouched beside the dresser in a black satin dress that fits cleanly at the waist and skims your frame like it was made to. It’s simple, elegant — the kind of thing that photographs well even when you don’t try. Your hair is mostly curled, but the last roller is still clipped near the crown of your head, half-forgotten.

You’ve been retracing your steps for the past ten minutes. First calmly. Now a little less so.

“Come on,” you mutter, pushing aside a pile of folded clothes with the back of your hand. “Where the hell are you…”

You wore the earrings all day. You remember clipping them in this morning before the boat ride, the pearls small and elegant, the kind that sat just right against your jaw. They’d survived volleyball, swimming in the pool, even lying half-asleep by the sea. But now, just when you're supposed to get dolled up for one of Yasmine’s “sunset glam” photoshoots, one is gone.

And of course, it's your favourite pair. A gift from your mom the day you turned twenty.

You crouch next to the bed and run your hand along the rug for the fourth time. No glint of metal. No satisfying clink. Just a couple stray bobby pins and a sock that might be yours, might be his.

The bathroom door opens behind you with a quiet click. You hear it before you see him.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out. “Have you seen my—”

He stops.

You glance up from your crouch to see him standing just outside the doorway to the bathroom, towel-drying his hair with one hand. He’s in sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his waist, and nothing else. His skin is still damp, a faint sheen catching the last of the light. His hair sticks up in unruly spikes, and there’s a crease from the towel pressed into his shoulder.

He pauses when he sees you on the floor in your dress, face flushed with frustration, one roller still pinned in your hair.

You straighten up. “I lost my earring.”

Jungkook blinks once. Then twice.

You don’t wait for a response. “The pearl ones. I wore them all day, I definitely had them on earlier. I think I might’ve lost it on the boat or something, or maybe at the beach, I don’t know. Fuck— if I dropped it in the ocean, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You brush past him towards your bag, and start digging through the little zip pouch where you sometimes toss jewellery when you’re tired. “And Yasmine’s going to have a meltdown if I’m not ready in five minutes. I mean, not a real meltdown, but she’ll definitely give me that disappointed look. You know the one.”

You don’t know why you’re rambling. Maybe to fill the silence. Maybe to ignore how he’s still standing there, towel now slung around his neck, jaw ticking like he’s trying very hard to keep his expression neutral.

He steps back into the bathroom without saying anything. You hear the low rustle of a drawer opening. When he re-emerges a few seconds later, he’s pulling a plain black t-shirt over his head, the fabric catching slightly against damp skin. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just crosses to his side of the room and scans the floor near the nightstand.

You risk a glance at him, then look away quickly. “It’s fine,” you say, quieter now. “You don’t have to help. It’s probably gone.”

He crouches down anyway, lifting the corner of the rug with one hand.

He doesn’t look at you or ask any questions. Just scans the floor like if he stares hard enough, it’ll reveal something.

You sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. “I just really liked those earrings.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

You glance back at him.

He’s sitting back on his heels now, hands braced on his thighs. There’s a faint crease between his brows, like he’s still somewhere else.

Then he says, without looking at you, “You look good.”

The words are soft, sincere even, but they catch you off guard.

When you don’t respond right away, he clears his throat and stands, walking over to the dresser and running his hand along the edge, like the earring might have magically perched itself there.

You swallow. “Thanks,” you say finally, voice low.

He nods once, then double taps on his phone screen to check the time. “They’re probably waiting.”

You nod too, even though you still haven’t found the earring. The one that made you feel just a little more like yourself. The one that matched.

You take one last look at the floor, then straighten slowly. You adjust the roller in your hair without thinking, but your fingers move sluggishly now.

Jungkook’s already at the door, hand resting on the knob like he’s waiting for the right moment to say something. He glances over his shoulder.

“I’ll tell them you’ll be a minute.”

"Thanks."

He shuts the door behind him softly, and you let out a quiet sigh, turning toward the small jewellery box on the nightstand.

You sift through it with practiced fingers and pull out another pair — not the ones you wanted, but good enough.

As you clip them in, your hands move on instinct, your thoughts somewhere else entirely.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind you, the sound too sharp against the stillness of the room.

Your skin is clean, warm, dewy from the last step of your skincare routine. You pad across the floor and let your body fall onto the bed softly. The air leaves your lungs in a long, tired sigh as your legs dangle off the edge, your hair still damp from the quick rinse you took after coming back. The mattress dips beneath you, then settles.

The room smells faintly of clean cotton and the trace of your conditioner — the kind you only use for special things, because it costs a little too much and reminds you a little too much of before.

Your dress from earlier lies draped over the back of a chair, the earrings you ended up going with still sitting in your palm. You set them down on the nightstand without much care.

You’d smiled for the camera. You’d posed, you’d laughed, you’d tilted your head at just the right angle. It was fun in the moment and everything had gone well. The pictures were probably beautiful.

But you’re annoyed. And tired. And the kind of restless that only comes when something small goes wrong and you know it’s not about that small thing at all.

You sit up just enough to grab your laptop from the side table and the camera from the dresser. Yasmine had given it to you after begging you to upload the pictures onto your laptop since she didn't bring hers.

The familiar beep of it powering on is strangely comforting, and you scroll through a few thumbnails before plugging it in. A progress bar creeps across your screen as the files transfer. Slowly, of course. Nothing ever moves fast when you want it to.

You stretch out again, laptop resting on your stomach, and start clicking through the images as they load.

At first, they’re all from today.

Yasmine behind the lens, as always. The golden hour light is flattering. Everyone looks sun-kissed and effortless — mid-laugh, mid-step, mid-spin. You see yourself in frame: eyes half-lidded, wind teasing your hair, smile tugging at your lips.

There’s a shot of you and Kiara, and one of Ari piggybacking Haeun into the water. A blurry one of Jimin striking a ridiculous pose mid-jump while Taehyung points in mock horror. They'd come to join in at the end, both more than a little tipsy.

You click through them slowly, deleting a few accidental ones and some you don't think are the best.

Then, without meaning to, you scroll a little too far.

Today bleeds into yesterday, and yesterday into the last few years. One second it’s this trip, and the next it’s pictures you'd uploaded from your own crappy little camera. A party in someone’s dorm. A night spent crammed onto a too-small couch. A table cluttered with takeout boxes and half-empty cups.

You didn’t even remember some of these being taken.

Your face in mid-yawn. Jungkook blurry in the background, reaching for popcorn. Yoongi asleep on a beanbag with a party hat sliding off his head.

You find yourself smiling as you click through them all, before your finger comes to a still.

A thumbnail catches your eye. One of a video with no further label or context.

You pause, cursor hovering, before double clicking on it.

The video starts with a shaky frame — the camera shifting as you adjust it, then settling as you hold it up with both hands.

Jungkook stands in front of a claw machine, sleeves pushed up, jaw set with quiet determination. The glow of the machine paints him in soft neon blues and reds. There’s a Totoro plush front and centre, slightly tilted, half-buried under a heap of other prizes.

Your voice comes from behind the camera, already amused. “This is a lot of pressure, baby.”

“I’ve trained for this,” he says, without looking at you.

“You’ve failed three times.”

“That was just a warm-up.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s what you’re calling it now?”

Jungkook moves the joystick with purpose, eyes narrowed like this is life or death. The claw slides left, then back, then hovers over the plush.

“This is it,” he says.

“I believe in you,” you deadpan. “I mean, statistically, you have to get it eventually.”

The claw descends. You both watch as it surprisingly manages to grip the Totoro. Not perfectly — it's a little too far to the side — but it lifts nonetheless.

“No way,” you breathe.

It swings. Wobbles. Then drops cleanly, right into the chute.

There’s a second of stunned silence from you behind the camera.

“No fucking way," you laugh, genuine disbelief laced in your voice.

Jungkook bends down, reaches into the machine, and pulls out the plush. He turns toward you, holding it out with a smug smile.

“You actually did it! Oh my god— wait, let me see— he’s so cute!”

The frame swings back up, catching you reaching out for the Totoro, turning it in your hands, squealing softly like you can’t believe it’s real.

And Jungkook — he’s looking at you.

The camera somehow manages to catch it perfectly.

He’s not laughing or gloating, just watching you. A soft smile pulls at his lips, dimples making an appearance against his cheeks. His eyes are steady but a little dazed, like he’s taking in more than just the moment. Like he can’t help it.

You don’t see it in the moment — too distracted as you hug the plush to your chest and start thinking of what to name it — but the camera does.

“Can't believe that you actually managed to get it," you say, shifting the camera to show the plushie properly.

“Course I did,” he says. “You wanted it.”

You giggle, mumbling "Cheesy fuck." But the smile is clear in your voice, and Jungkook simply laughs before the screen cuts to black.

You stare at the screen for a while, fingers still resting on the keyboard, frozen in place like even they know you’re not ready to move yet.

There’s a warmth spreading low in your chest, starting at your ribs, curling in your stomach, settling somewhere just under your collarbone.

You’re still smiling. Just a little. That soft, involuntary kind you used to get around him when he said something dumb on purpose. Like when he tried to teach you how to play some impossible game at the arcade and kept losing so dramatically you suspected he was doing it just to make you laugh.

You thought that part of you had burned out. Gone cold after the breakup. But sitting here now, wrapped in soft clothes and the hush of this room, staring at a frozen screen where his laugh used to be — you realise it didn’t.

It just went quiet.

And now it’s creeping back in through the cracks, blooming in your chest with a stubborn sort of gentleness.

Because the truth is, you remember that night. You remember how he looked, focused and determined and weirdly proud of himself over a claw machine. You remember the weight of the Totoro plush in your hands. You remember walking home with him, the two of you talking about what you’d name it and him insisting that if it was going to live in your bed, he should get visitation rights.

And you remember how easy it was to love him.

Not in a dramatic way, but through the small things. In the way he listened. In the way he noticed when your shoelace was untied before you did. In the way he always, always looked at you like that — like you were it.

And not just the way he looked at you, but the way you felt looking back. Because even after everything, even after the silence and the distance and the effort you’ve poured into pretending you’re fine, the truth is that it never really went away.

That warmth tightens in your throat, a little too full to swallow. You blink down at the laptop, like maybe it’ll help. Like maybe if you just sit still enough, breathe slow enough, you can keep the feeling contained.

The screen has gone to sleep now, casting the room in a dim glow. Outside the window, you can hear the ocean, its soft waves rolling in and out quietly.

You close your eyes, just for a second.

But the quiet moment is interrupted when the door opens with a small click.

You sit up just enough to slam the laptop shut, a little too fast, the sound echoing louder than it should in the soft hush of the room. Your pulse jumps. You don’t even know why. Reflex, maybe.

Jungkook pauses in the doorway.

“Oh,” he says, voice low and a little slurred. “Shit. Thought you were asleep.”

He’s leaning on the doorframe, one hand still on the handle like the room is swaying more than it is. His top is slightly damp around the collar, and his hair’s a mess.

You blink at him. Say nothing at first.

He squints toward the laptop on your lap. “You working on something?”

“No.” You slide it aside, shake your head once. “Just… photos.”

He nods like that’s a satisfying answer, though you’re sure he didn’t really hear it. His attention shifts to the bed, and then without warning, he pushes off the door and flops onto the mattress beside you.

Not the far side. Not right on you either. Just… close.

You instinctively scoot half an inch back.

“Whoa,” he mutters into the pillow, one arm sprawled above his head. “This mattress is nice as fuck.”

You glance down at him. He’s half on his side now, eyes on the ceiling, a faint smile tugging lazily at his mouth.

“Why didn’t you come down?” he asks, sudden but not sharp. Just curious.

“I was tired,” you say.

He hums — thoughtful, but not convinced. “Lame excuse.”

“I’m allowed to be tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

You exhale, not quite a sigh. “You’re always drunk.”

That pulls a muffled laugh from him. He turns his head toward you slightly, cheek pressed into the pillow. “Not always.”

You glance at him. “Tonight?”

“Not my fault,” he mutters. “Jimin dared me to match his shots. Dumb fuck.”

You shake your head — not at him, but at the image of it in your head. “Sounds like him.”

Jungkook shifts again, rolling fully onto his side to face you. His arm stretches out across the blanket, fingers dragging idly over the fabric between you like he’s drawing invisible lines without thinking.

The air dips quieter. Softer.

“You smell good,” he mumbles, almost absently.

You reach up, brushing your hair off your face. “Shampoo, probably.”

He hums again, eyes heavy-lidded now. “The one you always stole from me.”

“I didn’t steal it,” you say, casually.

He smiles into the pillow. “Right. Borrowed forever.”

You shake your head — more amused than you’d admit out loud — and look away, toward the open window where the breeze has picked up just enough to shift the curtains.

"You looked really good too. In that dress. I mean— not that you don't look good without it. Not like without it, without it, just— y’know, you always look… pretty."

You can't stop the quiet laugh that tumbles from your lips despite the heat spreading across your cheeks. "Go to sleep, Kook."

He hums in response, and it doesn't take long for his breathing to settle into something slower.

You pull the blanket up over your lap and lean back against the headboard, trying not to think too hard about the warmth pooling between you.

You shift slightly, pulling the blanket higher.

The laptop is still balanced on your legs, almost forgotten now. You reach over and place it on the nightstand, careful not to knock over the earrings still sitting there. One catches the light and glints for just a second before going still again.

“Can you move?” you murmur, nudging his leg with yours. “I need the blanket.”

Jungkook groans dramatically, but rolls away from you, flopping flat on his back with one arm thrown over his face. “You’re so demanding.”

“You’re in my way.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

The words slip out so fast and so soft you don’t have time to react before he’s already tugged the blanket down to your waist with one hand, helping, not thinking.

You lie back slowly, head against the pillow, trying to keep to your side. Jungkook moves around beside you — one knee bent, one leg stretched out. His foot brushes yours once, unintentionally.

His arm loosely drapes across your waist as he gets comfortable. You glance down, but say nothing. He’s already half-asleep, breath evening out, face turned toward you like he’s forgotten where he is.

You don’t move his arm, though, you don’t lean into it either.

You just let it be.

< prev • next > | series masterlist | main masterlist

683 notes · View notes

writeriguess · 18 days ago

Note

Can you write a Katsuki x fem reader fic where he thinks she has died on a mission and is enraged, and when she comes back dripping wet from thunder, he's enraged at her because he was so worried, but then just starts to sob and throws himself into her arms, which shocks her.

Thunderstruck

The first time it happens, it’s a flicker.

Static across the comm line. Barely a second. But Bakugo knows the sound of failure. He knows the sound of something breaking.

The comms don’t come back.

He’s halfway out of his seat before anyone else notices. Pacing. Cursing. Hands clenched so tight his nails dig into his palms through the gloves.

“Tch. It’s just interference,” someone says. “Storm’s picking up.”

But his gut—his gut tells him otherwise.

You’re never late. Never careless. Never silent.

And Katsuki Bakugo knows what silence means on the battlefield.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you teased, ruffling his hair. “It’s recon, Katsuki. We’re just getting layouts and logging activity. No combat.”

He scowled, swatting your hand away. “Don’t act like you can’t get your ass blown off doing paperwork.”

You smirked. “You worried about me?”

He didn’t answer. Just grabbed your chin and kissed you hard, like he could stamp his presence onto your bones.

“Come back in one piece, dumbass,” he muttered.

“Always.”

That was six hours ago.

Now he’s storming through HQ like a bomb with a cracked shell, barking orders even though it’s not his mission, demanding updates like anyone can give him what he wants—

Your location. Your vitals. Your voice.

When Kirishima finally grabs him by the shoulder and says, “Katsuki... there was an explosion at the recon site,” he doesn’t process it.

Until they show him the wreckage.

Until they pull something half-burned from under a pile of concrete.

Until it’s your uniform jacket.

Still smoking.

Bloodied.

He goes still.

Every sound disappears. The rain, the shouting, the chopper overhead—it all fades to a dull, suffocating roar inside his skull.

No body.

No confirmation.

But the silence? The silence is screaming.

He doesn't realize he's dropped to his knees until someone tries to lift him.

He shoves them off with a snarl, dragging the scorched fabric into his lap like he can will it to be fake. Just some mistake. A wrong jacket. Someone else’s blood.

But he knows it’s yours.

He can smell your shampoo burned into the fibers. His hands have been on this fabric a hundred times—pulling it off you, gripping it when you hugged him from behind.

And now it smells like smoke.

He doesn’t remember getting back to HQ. Doesn’t remember smashing a hole in the wall of the locker room. Doesn’t remember sobbing, just once, into the broken tile before punching it again.

What he remembers is fear.

Not the kind from battle. Not even the kind from losing.

It’s the fear of never getting the chance.

Never getting to say he loved you, not really. Not with the quiet, sacred kind of love he’d never admitted out loud. The kind that choked him when you left the room and lit him on fire when you laughed.

You died thinking you were just his teammate. His girlfriend, maybe.

But not that you were everything.

So when the door creaks open five hours later, and you stumble in—drenched, shaking, scraped raw but alive—

Bakugo doesn’t believe it at first.

He thinks it’s his brain cracking under the weight of grief.

But then you speak.

“Guys?” your voice wobbles. “I—I’m okay. I—”

He turns.

And the pain doesn’t leave him.

It erupts.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Your eyes go wide. You don’t even get the chance to answer before he’s across the room, voice thunderous, hands clenched, eyes glowing with something rabid and shattered.

“Do you even fucking realize what you did to me?!” he growls, stalking closer. “You just disappear in the middle of a mission—comms go dark, and then BOOM—nothing but rubble! Nothing but your jacket and a bloodstain and you think you can just—just fucking—walk in like you didn’t just RIP MY GODDAMN WORLD APART?!”

“I—I fell—into the canal,” you stammer, backing up a step. “There was a blast—I couldn’t—my earpiece was gone, I tried to get back—”

He isn’t listening.

“I thought I lost you,” he snarls, voice breaking. “I thought I’d never hear your voice again. Never feel your hand. Never—fuck.”

The rage snaps.

He stumbles forward like gravity’s finally won, fists slackening as a choked sound breaks from his throat.

And then he collapses into you.

A full-body crash. Hands in your soaked hair. Face buried in your neck. Shoulders trembling. Your heart almost stops—because Katsuki Bakugo, your Katsuki, the one who never cried, the one who mocked people for crying—

Is sobbing.

Silent. Violent. Breathless. He clutches you like something fragile, like something he still doesn’t trust to be real.

“...Katsuki?”

You whisper it, barely breathing.

He can’t answer.

Because this is the second time he’s lost everything.

The first was when he thought he’d never be good enough.

This time it was you.

And if he ever had to go through that again, it would kill him.

You hold him tighter. One hand on the back of his neck, the other gripping the back of his hero suit.

“I’m here,” you whisper against his temple. “I’m right here. I’m sorry I scared you.”

He inhales like it hurts.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I swear to god, I—if I’d lost you, I—”

You pull back just enough to see his face. Tear-streaked, flushed, and furious—but the kind of fury that only comes from love.

“I won’t,” you say softly. “I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time all day, his breathing starts to steady.

And then he kisses you.

Hard. Desperate. Like he needs to feel every inch of you alive beneath him.

And you let him.

Because for a moment, both of you were ghosts.

But now—he’s real.

And so are you.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

1K notes · View notes

cameronsbabydoll · 5 days ago

Note

Could you please write about rafe giving puppy!reader a bath and when it comes time to clean her down there area she gets all squirmy cause he’s taking his time and when she starts complaining he goes "oh no, pup you shouldn't be getting all worked up over these type of things.. maybe there's something wrong.. I'll have to check it out some more" ? Take your time !! <33

rafe giving puppy!reader a bath ♡

rafe cameron x puppy!reader

warnings: sexual content, puppy play dynamics, intimate bathing, teasing, manipulation

you’re sitting in the warm, sudsy water of the bathtub, knees pulled up to your chest, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. rafe’s kneeling beside the tub, sleeves rolled up, his hands moving a washcloth over your arms with slow, careful strokes. you’re trying so hard to be his good girl, all sweet and eager like always, but baths with him make you antsy. he’s so thorough, and you know where this is headed, which has your cheeks already burning.

“quit squirming, pup,” he says, his voice low, that sharp edge making your stomach twist. the cloth glides over your shoulders, down your back, and you try to focus on the warmth of the water, the soft bubbles, anything to distract from the nervous flutter in your chest. you love when he pays attention to you, live for it, but this part always feels so vulnerable, like you’re laid bare under his gaze.

when his hand moves lower, the cloth brushing between your legs, you can’t help it—you squirm, water splashing over the tub’s edge. “rafe,” you whine, voice shaky and small, your thighs pressing together on instinct. he’s lingering too long, the cloth teasing over you in slow, deliberate circles, and it’s overwhelming. heat sparks through you, mixing with embarrassment, and a soft whimper slips out.

“what’s this now?” he says, smirking, one eyebrow raised. he doesn’t stop, his fingers pressing the cloth just enough to make you wiggle more. “oh no, pup, you shouldn’t be getting all worked up over something like this.” his tone’s all fake concern, laced with that mean streak you know too well. “maybe something’s wrong… guess i gotta check it out some more.”

you shake your head, sniffling, your face hot with shame and that other feeling you can’t quite name. “no, rafe, i’m okay,” you mumble, voice cracking as you try to shift away, but his free hand grabs your thigh, holding you still. “i’m trying to be good, i promise—”

“shh,” he cuts you off, tossing the cloth aside and using his fingers now, slow and purposeful, making you gasp. “bad puppies don’t call the shots. gotta make sure you’re clean, right?” his eyes lock onto yours, watching every little twitch, every needy sound, and you’re trapped under his stare. your hands grip the tub’s edge, tears stinging as you squirm under his touch, torn between pleasing him and wanting to hide.

finally, he eases up, his hand pulling back as he cups your face, thumb brushing away a tear. “there’s my good girl,” he murmurs, softer now. he helps you out of the tub, wrapping you in a fluffy towel, letting you burrow into his chest, your damp hair soaking his shirt. “you did alright, pup,” he says, kissing the top of your head, and you cling to him, feeling safe again.

409 notes · View notes

wendichester · 2 months ago

Text

⋆˙⟡ fbi, open up!

summary. the fbi shows up at your door. these agents are a little... unconventional.

pairing. sam + dean winchester x civil!reader genre. idek. just weird

wordcount. 736

notes / warnings. trauma and early seasons typical dean winchester flirting. beware.

You don’t even get the door halfway open before a badge flashes in your face.

“FBI,” the taller one says, all business. He’s got that too-handsome-to-trust kind of face—sharp jaw, kind eyes, hair that’s one shake away from a shampoo commercial.

The other one’s already sizing you up, less polite about it. His badge lowers slower. “Agent Bonham,” he adds, smirking. “This is my partner, Agent Allman.”

You blink. “Like... the Allman Brothers?”

Agent Bonham—clearly the cockier one—winks. “Big fans.”

You lean on the doorframe, still in your pajamas, coffee half-made in the kitchen, murder still raw in your mind. “Right. The FBI’s really sending classic rock stans door to door now?”

Agent Allman—Sam, according to the badge he flashed—gives his partner a look. You file it away as interesting, not incriminating. Yet.

“We just need to ask a few questions,” Sam says, voice calm, like he’s afraid you might bolt. He’s not wrong.

You step aside. “If it gets you out of the hallway before Mrs. Crenshaw across the hall calls the HOA about ‘suspicious men,’ go for it.”

They walk in. Dean—aka Agent Bonham, which you're almost 100% sure is under a fake name—starts nosing around like he owns the place. Sam stays close to the door, watching you like he’s already piecing you together.

“I already talked to the cops,” you say, flopping onto the couch. “Said everything I knew.”

“Humor us,” Sam replies. And the way he says it... it doesn’t sound like protocol. It sounds like concern. Or curiosity. Or both.

You sigh, running your fingers through your hair. “Fine. My boss—Greg—was a nightmare. Walked around like he was untouchable. Screamed at interns, made everyone miserable. So yeah, not exactly mourning him.”

Dean raises a brow. “So you don’t miss him.”

“About as much as I miss dial-up internet.”

He snorts. Sam’s lips twitch but don’t crack a smile.

“But,” you add, voice dropping as the memory crawls its way back to the front of your mind, “what I saw... it wasn’t right.”

Dean straightens a little. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you say slowly, as if saying it out loud makes it sound crazier, “I saw something pull him out of his office. Something tall. Human-shaped. But the sounds it made—”

You pause, trying to find the words that don’t make you sound insane. “They weren’t normal.”

Sam leans in, eyes soft. “What kind of sounds?”

“Like... clicking. Bones snapping. Wet breathing. Like a person with a broken rib cage trying to growl.” You shiver. “It didn’t talk. Not exactly. But it wasn’t quiet either.”

The agents exchange a look. Quick. Subtle. But definitely something.

You catch it. Your stomach knots. “You’ve heard that before?”

Dean’s mouth opens, then closes again. Sam gives you a careful shrug. “We’ve heard a lot of things.”

“Okay, well, I’m not saying it was some... demon monster whatever, alright? I’m just saying... it was weird. And I’m still trying to convince myself it had a really bad cold and I was in shock. That’s all.”

Dean gives a low whistle. “That’s some shock.”

“You weren’t there,” you shoot back.

There’s a silence. Not awkward. Just loaded.

Then Dean, ever the charmer, drops onto the arm of the couch. “So, you got a boyfriend who can vouch for you that night? Alibis are stronger when they come from someone who doesn’t sleep in your succulent shelf.”

You raise a brow. “That’s your opener? Really?”

Sam coughs. You glance at him, and he looks away—but not fast enough to hide the smirk threatening his lips.

You point between them. “Do all FBI agents flirt with witnesses?”

“Only the hot ones,” Dean says, deadpan.

Sam mutters, “Unbelievable.”

You laugh—finally. The sound feels foreign in your throat, like it doesn’t quite belong yet. But it’s there.

Dean winks. “Hey, if you remember anything else, call us. Day or night. Especially night.”

You snort. “That sounded less FBI, more Tinder.”

But when Sam hands you the card, his fingers brush yours. Just a little. Just enough.

He doesn’t say much, but the look he gives you? It sticks.

And you? You’re still not convinced the thing you saw was real. Still clinging to logic. But something about them feels just as strange.

You watch them go, heart racing a little faster than you’d like.

You want to believe it’s just adrenaline.

But part of you—small, scared, stubborn—knows better.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #sam winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

526 notes · View notes

afterheese · 1 month ago

Text

The Prefect Match - Yang Jungwon x f!reader

“We broke up!” you scream, voice shredded with fury. “Get that through your thick fucking skull and get the fuck out of my house!” But you glance down—just for a second. And that’s all it takes. His hand is on your throat.

cw: dark!jungwon, noncon,hair pulling, degradation, creampie, babytrapping and physical violence.

word count : 3.5k

You knew it was the right decision.

Ending things with Jungwon wasn’t just overdue, it was needed. The relationship had rotted from the inside out, twisted into something dark and suffocating. You’d spent too much time walking on eggshells and flinching at every raised voice or hand. So you left.

But ever since the breakup, something in the air felt wrong.

He didn’t take it well—not at all. The calls kept coming. At first, it was pleading. Sweet, pathetic apologies dripped in fakeness. But they didn’t stay sweet for long. They turned sharp and accusing. His voice would swing from soft regret to explosive rage in a single breath. As if the breakup wasn’t real. Like you were throwing a tantrum.

Now your phone buzzes at strange hours—2:17 a.m., 4:03, 5:12 always from unknown numbers. No voice, no noise just silence. You’ve started checking your locks more than once. Then again. Then again. You keep the blinds shut even when the sun is out, because the idea of light feels unsafe now. Too visible. Because Jungwon doesn’t lose. And he doesn't listen when you say no. He doesn’t rage. He doesn't scream. He waits. He smiles. Control isn’t something he wants. It’s something he assumes he already has. You don’t know it now, but you’ll soon realize that leaving him was the worst mistake you could’ve made.

“Girl, relax—he’s not here,” she says, not even looking at you. Her voice is flat, tired, like you’re annoying her with your nonsense. “Stop being so paranoid. I heard he’s got a new girlfriend or something, so… he’s over you.”

You blink at her, fork halfway to your mouth. She's probably right. Everyone keeps saying the same thing, and you’re starting to feel like the one who is being crazy. But the incidents around the house was telling you otherwise like the window in your bedroom was open yesterday morning. Just a crack. You remember closing it. You always do. You even double checked it after brushing your teeth. But there it was, gaping like a mouth in the wall, letting the cold in.

Then there was the necklace. You found it in the laundry room. You haven’t worn it in weeks. You’d swear you left it on your dresser. “You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, quieter than you meant to. “That my stuff keeps moving around?” Kailey shrugs. “You probably just forgot. You’ve been super stressed lately. Your brain’s probably just... I don’t know. Filling in blanks.” Her smile is small, pitying. It makes you feel like a child so you nod, even though your stomach twists. Because how do you argue with someone who makes your fear sound like fiction?

Everyone you’ve talked to says the same thing. You’re imagining it. You’re spiraling. Maybe talk to someone. No one listens to what you’re actually saying. They just want you to stop talking. And the more you try to explain, the more ridiculous you sound. Like some clingy ex who can’t move on. Like you’re obsessed with someone who isn't even thinking about you.

You smile. You laugh when Kailey makes a joke about “getting you a security system and a therapist.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe your memory is just playing tricks on you. Maybe the cold air, the lost things, the tapping you heard last night…maybe it’s all just in your head. But if that’s true… why does it still feel like someone’s watching you?

“Okay, call me when you get home, alright?” Kailey says, pulling you into a quick hug. “And don’t worry about Jungwon. You’re fine. Seriously. He wasn’t good for you, and breaking up with him was the smartest thing you’ve done.” She squeezes your arm before turning away, heading toward her car without waiting for a reply. The door slams, the engine hums to life, and just like that, she’s gone—leaving you alone on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. You stand there for a moment, watching her taillights fade into the distance. The street feels too quiet now, like someone turned the volume down on the world. “I hope you’re right,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, then turn and begin the walk toward home.

The sidewalk stretches ahead of you, slick from earlier rain. Your shoes tap softly against the pavement, a steady rhythm you try to focus on. Left foot, right foot. Just a walk home. Just like every other night. But now Kailey's voice is gone, and without it, the air feels too thin. A streetlight flickers as you pass underneath it, buzzing once like it’s annoyed by your presence. You glance up out of habit. It dies for a moment, then flares back to life, casting your shadow behind you. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, shoulders hunching as you turn down your street. The houses here are dark, windows glowing faintly blue with TV light or not at all. You tell yourself it’s just late. People are asleep inside.

But your stomach won’t stop tightening. That pressure behind your ribs again—like something’s watching you. Like something’s a few steps too close. You stop walking to listen. Behind you… nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Just wind rustling the trees and the faint hum of traffic blocks away. You glance over your shoulder. Empty street. You hate how fast your heart is beating. You keep walking. Faster now. You don’t want to look again. If no one’s there, you’ll feel stupid. If someone is—No, don't go there. You stop again, one foot hesitating mid-step. You turn slowly and look behind you. Still no one there. But the streetlight—It’s off now. Completely dark.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your limbs tense before you can even think. And then—You run.

You don’t think about how it looks. You don’t care. You take off, shoes slapping the pavement, your bag bouncing hard against your hip. You just run.

Your house comes into view—porch light glowing weakly like it’s trying, but not enough. You fumble for your keys as you hit the steps. You nearly drop them. Your fingers are shaking too much and the sweat making it difficult to hold them. You glance behind you. Nothing. Still. But you don’t believe it. You shove the key in, not it. Try again. Shit not it. Curse under your breath. You keep looking over your shoulder like you're expecting to see someone step out of the dark. Click. The key finally turns. You throw the door open, stumble inside, and slam it shut behind you. You turn the lock. The deadbolt and the chain. Then you press your back to the door, eyes closed, chest heaving.

You stay with your back pressed to the door, listening for something—anything. Maybe the wind. Maybe footsteps that were never there. Maybe it was just your heart that was punching the inside of your ribs. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Then you heard a thud. A soft, unmistakable sound, like something falling. Not from the kitchen or the living room. It was from your bedroom.

Your body goes cold. You strain your ears, willing for the sound to be nothing. A book slipping off your bed. Something you left too close to the edge. Just gravity. Just the house settling. But you know what you heard. You know exactly where it came from.

Your room. Down the hall. Door slightly open—just as you left it.

You step forward. Slowly. Like your feet don’t belong to you anymore. Your fingers brush against the wall as you move, needing the feel of something solid. You pause at your door. Another noise—a shift. The creak of the mattress springs.

You don’t want to look. Every nerve screams at you not to. But you push the door open anyway. And there he is.

Jungwon.

Sitting on your bed like he never left. He’s leaned back against your pillows, one arm stretched casually along the headboard, the other resting on his knee. Legs spread comfortably, like he owns the room. Like you’re the intruder. “Well,” he says, voice smooth, almost lazy, “you made it farther than I expected. Honestly, I thought you'd fold after the second time you found the window open.” His gaze skims over you—your posture, your silence, your fear.

“You really thought locking doors and whispering to Kailey would make a difference?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Cute.” Then he exhales, almost like a yawn, and shifts his weight to the side of your bed. “But playtime’s over now.” He looks you straight in the eye, the smile gone. “Time to come back to me. This little game was fun... but I’m getting bored.”

He pats the bed beside him—slow, twice.

“Don’t make me chase you again.”

You looked at him like he’d just sprouted horns. “Jungwon… what the fuck is wrong with you?” Your voice cracks from the force of it. Your hands are shaking. You don’t care.

“Get the hell out of my house!” you scream, louder this time. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink.

“Babe,” Jungwon said, his voice calm and patronizing, like he was scolding a child. “Stop yelling. It’s embarrassing.”

“We broke up!” you scream, voice shredded with fury. “Get that through your thick fucking skull and get the fuck out of my house!” You reach into your bag, fingers brushing your phone, eyes locked on him like you're defusing a bomb. Your heart racing. But you glance down—just for a second. And that’s all it takes.

His hand is on your throat.

“Now why would you do that, huh, babe?” he breathes, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your face. “I missed you. And I know you missed me.”

His fingers tighten. You choke, your nails clawing at his wrist. Your vision flickers.

“Stop struggling and just accept it, babe. I’m here now. We’re done playing—”

You swing your knee up, fast, hard, straight into his groin.

He makes a sound—half-growl, half-scream—and doubles over, crashing to the floor.

You stumble back, gasping, clutching your throat, then bolt down the hall. You don’t look behind you. You know what’s coming. You hit the living room. The space feels too small—too many corners, too many shadows, and nowhere to hide. Your feet pound the floor as you race toward the kitchen, lungs burning.

But then—His hand. It misses you by less than an inch.

You throw yourself into the kitchen and lunge for the drawer. The knife. The drawer sticks. You yank. Too slow. His hand grabs your hair—hard—and you feel your head jerk back, your scalp screaming as he slams you forward. Your temple hits the counter edge with a sickening crack. The world wavers. You dropped to the floor.

He’s pacing now, breathing hard, muttering. Mindless. Mechanical. Like a record skipping on loop.

“You were made for me,” he hisses, voice barely above a whisper but trembling with rage. “Don’t you get it? You don’t exist without me. I built you.

He slams the drawer shut with his foot—BANG—and the sound explodes through the kitchen. You flinch instinctively, shoulder curling inward. He laughs under his breath.

“No one else will touch you. Not after this. You think someone’s gonna want you after I’m done with you?” He gestures to you like you were trash. “They’ll see right through you, babe.”

He steps over your legs like they’re part of the floor, starts pacing in front of the fridge, cracking his knuckles, dragging his hand through his hair, muttering. His eyes are wild—glassy and glowing with something sick.

“You keep pretending you’re scared. But you’re not. Not really,” he says, smiling now, voice dipping into something slower, darker. “You like it when I get like this. You made those sounds for me, remember? The begging, the whimpering... the way you said my name when you couldn’t take it anymore.”

He crouches suddenly, right in front of you, and grabs your jaw—tight, fingers pressing into your cheeks.

“You remember that, don’t you?”

You try to pull away. He doesn’t let go.

“I own you. Every noise you make, every breath you take—that’s mine. You don’t get to run anymore. You had your little tantrum. Now?” His voice softens like silk. He stands again, towering above you, breath heaving, arms loose at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or kill you.

“Now you don't get to leave.”

“Please… just stop,” you whispered, voice raw, tears streaking your cheeks as your back pressed against the cold wooden kitchen counter. “You’ve had your fun.”

Jungwon didn’t flinch. He only tilted his head, eyes drinking in your trembling frame like it was art he couldn’t look away from.

“God,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice low and dark with something you couldn’t name. “You’re so damn pretty when you cry.”

You turned your face away, breath hitching.

Jungwon's hand shot out, fingers tangling harshly in your hair. He fisted it tight, yanking your head back to force you to meet his intense gaze. The sudden, painful grip made you gasp, tears flying from your eyes as he wrenched you off your feet. Your knees scraped against the hardwood floor, sending jolts of stinging pain up your legs, but he showed no mercy.

"You don’t get to turn away from me," he growled, voice dripping with venom.

Jungwon slammed you down onto the cold, unforgiving surface of the kitchen counter, the breath whooshing out of your lungs at the impact. Before you could catch your breath, he had you by the hair again, bending you over the edge of the counter roughly. You felt the chill of the granite against your skin as he forced you to arch your back. "Look at you," Jungwon snarled in your ear, his voice a low, feral rumble. "What a sweet, trembling mess you are. You can't deny how much you fucking love this, can you? How much you've missed having me inside you, ruining you?"

He punctuated his words by grinding his hard, clothed erection against the curve of your ass. You could feel every thick inch of him, a whimper escaped your throat, equal parts fear and shameful, traitorous arousal.

"This is what you do to me," Jungwon growled, giving your ass a sharp smack. "This is the effect you have on me, you fucking tease. I've been thinking about this pussy, about burying myself in you."

He tore the delicate fabric of your panties without hesitation, the rip sharp in the silence. The ruined lace discarded, leaving you bare and shivering as the cold air kissed your exposed skin. His touch followed—fingers finding your slick heat, dragging through your folds with a rough, unrelenting rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs.

"You don't get to say shit," he hissed, "You don't get to deny me anymore. I'm going to take what's mine, over and over again until you're dripping with my cum."

You heard the frantic tug of his zipper, the hiss of fabric shoved down in haste—he was struggling, almost clumsy in his desperation. He couldn’t wait. The need to be inside you was written in every rushed movement, every uneven breath. Your mind was fogged, flooded with heat, and the sound of him losing control just made it worse.

Jungwon's hips surged forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your core in one brutal thrust. A scream tore from your throat at the sudden, intense intrusion, your walls clenching desperately around his invading length. He didn't give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a hard, punishing pace as he bent over you from behind.

His breath was hot and ragged against your ear, each exhale sending shivers down your spine. You could feel the thundering of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back as he loomed over you. He was everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you completely.

"Fuck," Jungwon grunted, his voice strained with lust and dark satisfaction. “You can hate me all you want. Doesn’t change how perfectly I fit in you.”

One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he rutted into you. The other snaked up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse jump and race. Your vision swam, head spinning as he fucked you with brutal intensity, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the kitchen.

“Beg all you want. I know exactly what you need.” Jungwon growled, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. “By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be nothing left.”

His fingers tightened around your throat as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re going to carry a reminder of me, one way or another.”

A surge of pure panic shot through you at Jungwon's dark promise. Your heart raced, pounding wildly against your ribs as his fingers tightened around your throat, restricting your airflow. You tried to shake your head.

"No," you gasped out, voice barely a whisper. "Please, Jungwon, don't. Pull out, please..."

But even as the words left your lips, you knew it was futile. Jungwon was beyond reason, beyond caring about your pleas and fears. He was driven by a singular, obsessive desire to claim and conquer.

Ignoring your desperate entreaty, he was fucking into you with brutal, animalistic intensity. The kitchen filled with the vulgar sounds of your coupling - the slap of skin on skin, your strangled cries, his grunts and growls of pleasure.

"Fuck, I can feel it," Jungwon snarled, his voice tight with impending release. “You feel that? The way you pull me in like you were made for this? Like your body already knows it belongs to me.”

He punctuated his words with a harsh thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You felt his cock jerk and pulse, growing even harder, impossibly bigger. Your eyes widened in terror and a sickening mix of reluctant arousal.

"Please," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't cum inside me. I don't want to..."

But your pleas fell on deaf ears. With a guttural roar, Jungwon slammed into you one last time, grinding his pelvis against your ass as his cock erupted. You could feel the hot, thick spurts of his release painting your insides, flooding your unprotected womb with his cum.

"Take it," he commanded harshly, holding you in place as he emptied himself inside you. "Take every last drop.”

You shuddered and sobbed as you felt his cum filling you up, your body instinctively clenching and milking his pulsing cock. The sheer depravity of it, the utter lack of control, sent a confusing surge of dark pleasure through you.

As Jungwon finally pulled out, you could feel his release leaking out of you, dripping down your thighs.

You couldn’t move so you remained bent over the kitchen counter, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the cold granite surface below. Your body ached, used and abused in the most intimate way possible. The sticky evidence of his release trickled down your thighs, a sickening reminder of your defilement.

Behind you, Jungwon was already fixing his pants, tucking his spent cock away and smoothing down his shirt. He acted as if he hadn't just violated you, just taken something from you that you hadn't willingly given. As if this was an everyday occurrence, a simple transaction.

"Shut up," he barked harshly, silencing your muffled sobs and whimpers. “Did you really think someone would come running if you cried loud enough?”

You flinched at the biting words, then he was bending over you again, looming large and menacing. His hand came up, cupping the back of your head almost gently. For a moment, you thought he might caress you, soothe you. But then his fingers tightened, gripping your hair almost painfully as he wrenched your head to the side to force you to meet his gaze.

"You'll never be clean again," Jungwon whispered, his voice a low, dark rumble. "Not after this. Not after me."

His eyes bored into yours, gleaming with a manic, possessive light. Before you could look away, his mouth was on you, his lips brushing against your forehead in a mockery of a tender kiss. A promise of something far darker.

And he was right, no matter how far you ran, how high you built your walls, or how many times you tried to cut him out—Jungwon always found a way back in. Like smoke slipping through the cracks, like a shadow that knew your every hiding spot. It didn’t matter how fiercely you tried to protect yourself. He would always find you, you knew the truth: you would never be safe from him. Not really. Not ever.

454 notes · View notes

meenaxskz · 2 months ago

Text

when he gets sick (maknae line)

ot8 reactions-drabbles | bf!skz x reader au genre: crack warnings: language a/n : i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to come so late after the hyung line sniff... but it was hard to come up with different new plots for each members. hopefully it's okay ! hyung line | ✧ maknae line

han

you find him dramatically starfished across the couch like he’s been defeated by a single sneeze. tissues everywhere. hoodie halfway on. hair sticking up like static electricity punched him in the skull. he sees the cough syrup and immediately goes “oh no. not today, satan.” you’re already tired and you haven’t said a word yet. “han jisung. you are sick. take. the. medicine.” “i already took medicine!” “no you didn’t.” “i took homeopathic medicine.” “…you sniffed Vicks and drank orange juice.” “AND I FELT SPIRITUALLY HEALED.” you deadpan. he sniffles. “don’t look at me like that, you judgmental nurse from hell.” you walk over. he backs up into the corner of the couch like you’re holding a weapon. technically you are. grape-flavored and vengeance-infused. “you’re gonna have to sedate me” he whispers. “because I’m not drinking that purple demon piss.” “it’s not even bad...” “then you drink it!!” “I’M NOT THE ONE MAKING DYING GOOSE NOISES IN THEIR SLEEP.” jisung makes a tiny offended gasp, like you just insulted his ancestors “I was wheezing cutely!” “you sounded like a haunted vacuum cleaner.” he slaps a tissue to his chest. “my own lover… turned against me…” you hold up the spoon. he crosses his arms like a gremlin. “no.” you sigh. you text chan. you hold the phone up so jisung can see the message: “if han jisung doesn’t take his meds in 5 minutes, i’m sending you the ‘meow meow sick boy’ compilation i’ve been collecting since 2022.” jisung stares in horror. “you kept archives??” “i am the FBI.” he mutters something about betrayal and capitalism but opens his mouth like a sulky baby bird. you pour the syrup in. he gags like you just poisoned him. “I CAN FEEL MY SOUL DYING” he howls, flailing. “I SEE THE LIGHT.” “that’s the kitchen light, dumbass.” you give him a juice box. he slurps it aggressively. “…i still get cuddles though, right?” “only if you don’t fake your death again.” he nods. “deal.” bonus: later that night, he’s fully passed out on your lap, warm from meds, holding your hand like a teddy bear. you go to grab your phone, and he sleep-mumbles: “…don’t post the meow meow archive… the people can’t know…” you smirk. too late.

felix

you’re standing in the living room, folding towels, living your boring domestic life in peace when you hear the softest, most suspiciously sweet little voice behind you go... “baby…” you already know. your soul leaves your body. you turn. he’s standing there in a hoodie three sizes too big, sleeves covering his hands, blinking like he’s never committed a crime in his life. “…what.” “c’mere” “why?” “just. c’mere.” you blink. you take one step forward. he immediately collapses into your arms. “i’m so tired…” “you slept eleven hours.” “emotionally.” you try to walk but he's wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. “felix i literally can’t fold towels with you hanging off me like a koala” “don’t need towels. need love.” you freeze. “…did you just say that out loud.” “i’m in my soft era.” he looks up at you, full puppy eyes, lips slightly pouty. “can i sit in your lap while you do stuff?” “i'm not a fucking booster seat” he climbs into your lap anyway. man is built like a cat with separation anxiety. “pet me.” “felix” “pet. me.” so now you’re sitting there one-handed folding laundry while your very adult boyfriend purrs into your hoodie and mumbles things like “you smell like safety.” and “you’re my lil mommy bear.” “okay nope. absolutely fucking not.” “my milky wuvy” “I’M GETTING THE SPRAY BOTTLE.” you try to push him off, he clings harder. “if you unlatch me, i’ll cry. real tears. emotional damage. 2007 trauma unlocked.” you freeze. “…why 2007.” “i watched Bridge to Terabithia and i’ve never been the same.” he pulls out the big guns. eyelash flutter. pout. baby voice. “can you scratch my back while i fall asleep and then play with my hair and tell me i’m special and maybe also feed me snacks?” you stare. “…do you wanna be babied or adopted.” “both.” bonus: 30 minutes later, you’re hand-feeding him popcorn on the couch, scratching his back, while he lays across your lap like a little prince. you mutter, “you’re so fucking spoiled.” he smiles sleepily. “and yet… so adorable.” you don't deny that...

seungmin

you walk into the living room with medicine and warm tea, and he doesn’t even look up from the couch. just sniffs dramatically and says, “look who finally decided to check on the dying.” “seungmin. it’s been 6 minutes. i went to boil water.” he shrugs. “a lot can happen in 6 minutes. i could’ve passed away. joined the spirit realm. you wouldn’t even know.” you stare. he stares back, wrapped in the blanket like a bitter old man on his front porch judging the neighborhood. “here” you hand him the tea. “…you think this will fix me?” “it’s ginger and honey.” “oh perfect. can’t wait to taste warm regret.” you sit next to him. he immediately leans just slightly away. “don’t get too close. i’m diseased. like a stray dog” “you’re being dramatic.” “i’m being accurate. my lungs sound like wet socks.” he coughs once. loudly. then looks at you like you personally caused it. “this is what happens when i go outside. i told you. the air is trying to kill me.” “you were at a café for fifteen minutes” “and now i’m paying the price for socializing.” he sips the tea. pauses. “…okay fine. this is kinda nice.” you smirk “wanna cuddle?” he slowly turns to you with a blank stare “…i’m infectious.” “yeah, but you’re also cute.” he scoffs. “disgusting. go date someone with a normal immune system.” you kiss his cheek. he doesn’t react, but his ears go red.he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear: “…love you too, idiot.” bonus: he wakes up from a nap on your lap, eyes barely open, voice raspy as hell. “did you cheat on me while I was unconscious.” you blink.“…what?” “you were scrolling suspiciously fast.” “i was on pinterest.” “mhm. planning your next relationship, probably.” you snort. “i was looking at soup recipes for you, dumbass.” he pauses.“…did you save any good ones?”

i.n

he’s laying on the bed, flushed, sniffling, and looking like a hot mess. literally. fever at 100.7. eyes glassy. shirtless. blanket only covering one leg for some reason. he sees you walk in with medicine and a cold compress and immediately grins like a little demon. “baby…” he rasps. “no.” “you don’t even know what I was gonna say.” “you were gonna say something disgusting and then try to kiss me with your sick-ass mouth.” “…okay yeah but in my defense i’m very charming when i’m near death.” you sigh, placing the medicine down. he props himself up, blinking slowly like he’s trying to flirt through actual respiratory distress “come here. i wanna kiss you…” “jeongin you’re going off to blow your nose.” he pouts, genuinely offended. “so what, you don’t wanna make out with your sexy little plague rat of a boyfriend??” “correct.” “wow. coward behavior.” he starts crawling toward you like a zombie but sexy??? his voice drops an octave,still congested, and he gives you his best sultry stare. “c’mon, baby. don’t you wanna… sweat together?” “…what the actual fuck.” you dodge when he leans in to kiss you. he stops mid-air. “did you just. DODGE me.” “yes because you’re sweating and breathing like darth vader and tried to lick my face five seconds ago” “THAT WAS LOVE LANGUAGE” he throws himself back on the bed like you rejected his marriage proposal. “i can’t believe this. rejected in my time of need.” you toss him the cold compress “cool your horny little forehead.” he mumbles under his breath while placing it on his face“if i die tomorrow, just know it was the heartbreak that got me, not the virus.” bonus: you go to check if he fell asleep. he lifts the compress just enough to say: “you still think i’m hot though, right?” you raise a brow. “…sick hot.” he smirks. “i’ll take it.”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

462 notes · View notes

sabrinajenre96 · 2 months ago

Text

Title: Double Trouble

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Wife!Detective!Reader

Genre: Humor, Fluff, Light Angst

Rating: T

Word Count: ~1,800

---

Tamara didn’t mean to buy a stolen car. In her defense, it looked like a good deal, and the guy was very convincing.

Which was why Lucy was now hunched over her desk, typing furiously into the DMV and criminal databases. “Okay, we’re close,” she mumbled, narrowing her eyes at the screen. “Original registration says... Jack Butler.”

Angela leaned over Lucy’s shoulder. “Jack Butler? That sounds fake.”

Nyla, sipping her coffee nearby, snorted. “Everything about that car was fake. What does he look like?”

Lucy clicked to open the owner’s DMV photo.

And froze.

So did Angela.

“What the...” Angela blinked and leaned in. “Is that—?”

“Tim?” Nyla finished.

Lucy’s jaw dropped. “That’s not Tim.”

Angela tilted her head. “No. That’s Tim... if he spent a lot more time drinking beer and getting tattoos.”

Nyla let out a low whistle. “That’s Tim with a daddy bod and a lot of ink. Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

At that moment, you passed by with a coffee in hand. “What’s going on?”

Angela waved you over. “Y/N, you need to see this.”

You leaned in, eyes landing on Lucy’s screen. You nearly dropped your coffee. “Oh my God. It’s like someone cosplayed your husband after watching Sons of Anarchy.”

The group burst out laughing.

“That’s not him,” Lucy said again, but even she sounded unsure.

---

Ten minutes later, Tim walked into the bullpen. He immediately noticed the group of women all looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

He narrowed his eyes. “Okay... why are you all looking at me like that?”

Angela turned away, giggling. Nyla smirked.

Lucy bit her lip and gave an innocent shrug.

You sipped your coffee, eyes twinkling. “No reason. You just... ever think about getting a full sleeve tattoo, babe?”

“What?”

Angela nearly choked on her gum.

---

When Jack Butler was finally brought into the precinct and tossed into an interrogation room, the group gathered behind the two-way mirror—Tim included.

Jack leaned back in the chair like he owned the place, arms covered in tattoos, a smug grin on his stubbled face.

Tim scowled. “He looks nothing like me.”

“Oh please,” Nyla said. “You two could be twins... if your twin got into a motorcycle gang and stopped doing pushups.”

Angela laughed. “He’s you, Tim. Just... the alternate timeline version.”

You grinned. “So we’ve got Tim... and Dim.”

Everyone cracked up—except Tim.

“Really?”

You kissed his cheek. “Sorry babe. But that was a really good setup.”

---

Hours later, another surprise.

Jack’s girlfriend was brought in.

None of them were prepared for her.

Red and black hair, tight black jeans, heels that could kill a man, blood-red lipstick, a silver nose ring... and a face that could stop traffic.

Lucy’s mouth dropped. “Oh my God.”

Angela blinked. “Is it just me or... does she look like—?”

“Y/N,” Nyla confirmed. “If Y/N went full bad girl.”

Tim, now just as intrigued, smirked. “We need to show her this.”

---

“Hey babe,” you said, walking into the observation room. “What’s with the mystery call?”

Tim pointed at the mirror.

You turned—and saw her.

Your mouth opened. “Is that...?”

“She’s Jack Butler’s girlfriend,” Lucy said.

You stared. “She looks like me. If I got possessed by Harley Quinn and lived at a dive bar.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, smug. “Still think it’s funny?”

You blinked. Then tilted your head. “Okay, you know what? She’s sexy. Dim’s got taste.”

Tim's smirk vanished.

You turned toward him, smirking back. “But you’ve got taste too. I mean—look who you married.”

Angela snorted. “If I wasn’t married and completely in love with Wesley... and Y/N and I swung that way... I’d have stolen your wife.”

“Hey!” Tim glared.

You laughed and slid your hand into his. “Relax, husband. You’re the only Tim for me.”

Tim pulled you close, muttering, “Damn right. That’s my wife.”

Nyla grinned. “Aww. I love a happy ending... even if it started with identity theft and a stolen car.”

#the rookie fanfic #the rookie #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x detective reader #tim bradford fanfiction #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #Dim and Tim the rookie #tim bradford x wife reader #tim bradford x y/n

452 notes · View notes

bloomseishiro · 2 months ago

Text

ONLY IN MY DREAMS — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — you wake up from a bad dream about your boyfriend flirting with another girl. safe to say, you aren’t very happy.

itoshi rin x fem!reader. fluff, established relationship, timeskip!rin, reader gets a little insecure don’t be mean or i’ll fight u /j :p just a silly lil bf rin drabble

word count. 0.7k

You considered yourself to be a rational person. Sure, you had your moments…but didn’t everyone?

You weren’t so proud as to say that dreams never affected you. That was why, after this particularly bad one where some faceless girl was rubbing all up against Rin and he was letting her, you woke up seething.

With furrowed brows and an intense glare, your head whips to the side to find Rin sleeping soundly and blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil.

You huff at the sight, haughtily flipping over to your side and making an effort to scoot as far away from him as possible without falling off the bed.

Your tossing and turning causes him to stir, and his eyes crack open slightly.

You huff even louder once you notice he’s awake and place a pillow between the two of you.

Rin makes a grunt of confusion as he moves the pillow aside.

You shoot him a glare.

His dumbfoundment only grows and he frowns. “What?”

“I’m mad at you,” you sniffle.

“Well, I know that,” he retorts, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes. “But why?”

“You almost cheated on me!”

Rin blinks slowly.

“In my dreams!”

Now it’s Rin’s turn to glare at you.

“Really?” he says flatly.

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing the bed sheets over your face. “We were at a restaurant, and I went to the bathroom for a little bit. Then I come back to some girl at our table and she’s flirting with you and touching your arm and chest and you’re encouraging her! You even kissed her cheek! What the hell?”

Rin pulls the covers aside and watches you seethe, teeth grit as you hug your pillow and avoid his gaze. You’re too annoyed to look at him right now.

“You know it didn’t really happen, right?” he asks, voice somewhat amused. “It’s just a dream.”

You shrink into yourself. “I know it’s just a dream. But it felt so real.”

As stupid as it was, it hurt your feelings. You knew it wasn’t Rin, but it could be. Your bad dream brought insecurities to light that weren’t even on your radar. What if someone tall and pretty and confident likes Rin, and he realizes he’s interested in them too? Anger bubbles up in you at the thought. If that ever were the case, you would leave in an instant. But it broke your heart to even think about the possibility.

At your prolonged silence, Rin sighs and scoots closer to you, draping his arm around your waist in a hug. “It wasn’t real, okay? I’m not a fucking dumbass who would even think of doing that to you.”

You take a long breath, nodding because despite your overwhelming negative emotions, you know he’s right. Rin doesn’t even like talking to other people. There’s no way in hell he’d let someone feel him up.

“I know,” you say softly and he hugs you tighter. “I can’t believe this dream ruined my good night’s sleep.”

“We’ll just have to shove Dream Rin off a cliff into some spikes so you can go back to sleep.”

You giggle at the thought. “I like the sound of that.”

You feel Rin’s body relax against yours once he hears your laugh. You snuggle deeper into his embrace.

“You do know I would never cheat on you, or even let another girl flirt with me, right?” he says after a moment’s silence. “I only care about you.”

“I know,” you promise. “I trust you. Even though you are stupid in my dreams.”

He snorts. “They’re your dreams. It’s your fault for making me like that.”

You sigh. “I know.”

Rin presses a kiss to the back of your head, his grip on you loosening as he tries to get comfortable.

“It’s still early. Let’s go back to sleep,” he says in a tired mumble. “If you get more bad dreams, I’ll jump in there and kick the fake me out.”

“Promise?”

He chuckles lightly. “Promise. Once science figures out a way to do that.”

You laugh along with him, relaxing your head on your pillow as you let the sleepiness take over. “Sweet dreams, Rin. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

This time, your sleep is filled with dreams of cotton candy and butterflies. No evil Dream Rin in sight.

744 notes · View notes

linoxpudding · 2 months ago

Text

No Escape- Kim Seungmin

summary: your life is turned upside down when a ruthless mafia leader falls for you— his obsession growing stronger each day, pulling you deeper into his dark, twisted world

pairing: mafia!seungmin x fem!reader

genre: slow burn angst, dark romance, yandere, mafia au

word count: 7809 words

warnings: kidnapping, obsession, possessiveness, forced confinement, emotional manipulation, mentions of violence, toxic dynamics, controlling behavior

a/n: okay, but seungmin in those chaumet event photos? like, he’s living rent-free in my brain at this point. the white suit is giving prince energy, but the black one though? MAJOR mafia boss vibes. help me, I'm down bad

PART TWO

Masterlist

~°~

It was a random Tuesday evening.

The sky had cracked open without warning, releasing a cold, relentless rain that soaked through your sweater in seconds. You didn’t have an umbrella, your tote bag was already damp, and your fingers trembled as you hugged your books against your chest.

You’d meant to head straight home after classes, but something about the storm made you duck into that little café across from the industrial district instead. It was warm inside—quiet, dimly lit, with rain tapping gently on the fogged windows. The kind of place that smelled like old wood and cinnamon.

You found a spot by the window and sank into it, grateful. Ordered a latte, pulled out the book you were currently reading, and let the storm settle around you.

Across the street, he noticed you the second you ran into view.

From the backseat of a matte black car, tinted windows rolled halfway down, Seungmin’s fingers paused around the rim of a crystal tumbler. Amber scotch swirled lazily inside, untouched. The man beside him—older, in a gray coat, mid-sentence about offshore accounts and numbers Seungmin didn’t care about—went ignored.

Because you had caught his eye. You were nothing like the world he usually lived in. No designer heels, no bloodstained alliances, no veiled threats behind fake smiles.

Just you.

Soaking wet, eyes squinted against the rain, half-laughing as you darted across the street, nearly slipping. Your hair clung to your face. Your bag bounced at your side. You looked annoyed, tired… human.

And you disappeared inside the café like a whisper.

Seungmin leaned forward slightly, ignoring the impatient look his associate gave him. The sharp sound of rain on the windshield, the glow of café lights through the haze—everything else dulled in comparison.

He didn’t even blink.

“Are you listening, Kim?”

The man’s voice broke through the quiet.

Seungmin didn’t respond at first. Just narrowed his eyes at the café door.

Then finally, he exhaled through his nose, cold and flat. “Repeat that.”

The man clicked his tongue but did.

Yet Seungmin’s mind was still elsewhere.

He hadn’t seen anyone like you in a long time—someone who didn’t look like they belonged to the world he owned. And something about the way you carried yourself, even in the most mundane way… it scratched at something deep in his chest.

He needed to see your face again. To know your name. To understand why he suddenly didn’t care about the deal he’d spent weeks arranging.

But when the meeting ended and the man finally left the car, Seungmin turned his head back toward the café but you were gone.

The corner booth was empty. Your drink half-finished. Chair still slightly askew. Gone. Just like that.

He blinked once. Then twice. Sat forward in his seat like it would bring you back into view. Nothing. His hand tightened around the glass of scotch until it cracked.

“Where the fuck did she go?” he hissed, tossing the glass to the floor as the door opened.

Han Jisung slid into the backseat, raising a brow at the shattered mess. Han was one of Seungmin’s most trusted men. His consigliere. The silver-tongued devil who could talk a rat into a cage. He charmed politicians, bribed judges, made enemies feel like friends before they bled out on concrete.

Han looked at the mess before speaking, “Did that dude say something stupid again or—”

“She’s gone.”

“Who?”

“The girl.”

Han frowned, turning his head toward the café. “There was a girl?”

“Corner booth. Reading. Wearing white.”

“I didn’t see anyone when I came out.”

“That’s the point,” Seungmin growled. “She was there. Then she wasn’t.”

Without another word, he opened the door and stepped out into the drizzle. Crossed the street. Pushed into the café.

The bell over the café door jingled softly when he walked in. Heads turned. The few customers glanced up in mild curiosity—then quickly looked away when they saw his face.

Because he wasn’t just anyone.

He was Kim Seungmin. The name you only whispered when you were absolutely sure no one else could hear. The name associated with disappearing debts, bodies found floating in rivers, and entire criminal families reduced to ashes.

He didn’t run a mafia. He was the mafia.

Ruthless. Calculated. Obsessively private. His power was the kind that didn’t require guns drawn in public—people made space the second they recognized him. Because if Kim Seungmin had to show up in person… it meant you were already too late.

And tonight, he didn’t care about stares.

He walked straight to the counter, dark suit still perfectly pressed, eyes razor-sharp under the soft lights. The scent of rain still clung to his coat, a few stray droplets falling from his sleeves as he placed both hands on the polished wood.

The boy behind the counter blinked twice before his hands nervously reached for the register. “W-What can I get for you, sir?”

“Girl. Corner booth. Just now.”

The barista blinked. “Oh, uh, yeah. She was here. Didn’t order much. Latte, I think. Stayed maybe an hour?”

“Her name?”

“She didn’t give one.”

“Card?”

“Paid cash.”

“CCTV?”

His face paled. “Camera system’s been broken for months, sir. Sorry.”

Seungmin stared at him for a beat too long. Then turned sharply, storming out, Han hot on his heels.

“Boss—”

“Every angle of this street,” Seungmin barked, already pulling out his phone. “Find her. I don’t care if you have to tear this district apart.”

And that was the moment it began. Not a crush. Not curiosity. Obsession.

The café became a checkpoint. He sent someone to ask for the receipts that night. Pulled surveillance from nearby businesses. Tapped traffic cams.

Just to see your face again. Just to find you. Because he wasn’t used to wanting something he couldn’t immediately take. And that made you dangerous.

But even more than that it made you his. You just didn’t know it yet.

*********************

The next few days blurred.

Han returned hours later, drenched and irritated. “No CCTV. The one across the bakery’s busted. The pole cam on the street’s been non-functional for three weeks.”

Seungmin didn’t respond.

He stood by the window of his penthouse suite, city lights sprawling beneath his feet. Hands in his pockets. Jaw tight.

“She’s untraceable,” Han said. “Like a ghost. I mean, you sure this wasn’t just—”

“She’s real,” His voice was low, threatening. “And I’m going to find her.”

It should’ve been easy to find a girl in a small city. You should’ve been traceable in hours, maybe days—at most a week.

But you weren’t. You disappeared like a whisper on the wind.

Han wasn’t the only one frustrated. By week two, even Lee Minho—Seungmin’s most level-headed lieutenant—was starting to lose his calm.

“Tell me how a goddamn street full of million-dollar real estate has no working cameras?” Minho snapped, slamming a thick folder onto the desk.

“Don’t raise your voice,” Seungmin muttered without looking up.

“I’m not raising it. I’m explaining how stupid this is.”

Minho paced the floor of Seungmin’s study, black-gloved hands clenched and twitching. “You’re telling me that in your territory, there’s an entire street with zero surveillance. That a girl—one girl—shows up, disappears, and we have nothing on her?”

Han exhaled from the armchair. “We tried tracing the route from nearby businesses, traffic cams—half of them are fake or broken. And the only useful one was facing the other side.”

“She wasn’t a plant, right?” Minho asked sharply. “No one sent her?”

“She didn’t even look up,” Seungmin said darkly. “She wasn’t aware of anything except her book.”

Minho narrowed his eyes. “And that’s what got you so obsessed?”

Seungmin stood abruptly.

It was the first time in days he’d shown emotion louder than a breath.

“Something about her didn’t belong in this world,” he said, almost to himself. “Like she was dropped into it by mistake. And I…” he dragged a hand through his hair, something unhinged glinting in his eyes, “…I needed to have her.”

Minho didn’t speak. But his jaw ticked.

“If we don’t find her soon,” he said finally, “someone else might. You’re not the only one who noticed you were staring.”

“She’s mine,” Seungmin snapped. “Let them try.”

*********************

Weeks passed.

No face to match. No name to trace. No leads.

He remembered the way your fingers curled around your mug. How your eyes flicked over the page like you were drinking the words. You didn’t even look up when the thunder cracked. You were that absorbed.

You were… different. Something about the stillness in you made the world around you fade.

And it drove him insane.

He dreamt of you.

Sometimes you were sitting at the booth again, sunlight hitting your hair. Sometimes you were on the other side of the window, face pressed to the glass, mouth forming his name. But when he reached for you, you vanished.

By the third week, Seungmin had men positioned around every café, bookstore, and university campus in the district. He scanned police records, hospital visits, university logs. Checked social media using facial sketch renderings. Had artists draw from memory.

He started carrying that small sketch folded in his wallet. An artist’s attempt to draw you from memory.

Han saw it once. “You really think this will help?”

Seungmin didn’t answer. Just stared at the drawing, his thumb brushing across where your mouth would be.

He was furious. And yet still enthralled. Because the harder it was to find you, the deeper you embedded yourself inside his mind.

You became a challenge. A puzzle. An ache he couldn't scratch away.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered one night, slumped back in his leather office chair, brows furrowed deeply as a glass of scotch sat untouched on his desk.

“I always find what I want.”

The search turned violent after that.

Bribes weren’t working, so Seungmin turned to threats. A few coffee shop owners went missing. A college registrar’s office burned down. Rumors started swirling about a “ghost girl” and the man obsessed with her.

But no one could give him your name.

The longer you evaded him, the worse his temper got.

Minho stopped arguing with him. Han spoke in a calculated tone. The entire gang operated under a cloud of tension, walking on eggshells because Kim Seungmin was unraveling.

“Find her,” he growled. “Or you’ll wish you were never born.”

Each night, in the silence of the mansion, he sat by the window — scotch in one hand, your sketch in the other.

Every night, that same question: Where the hell are you?

*********************

Three months in.

Minho entered his office with a grim look. “I think I got a hit.”

Seungmin straightened immediately. “Where?”

“College campus. Some girl matching your description helped a classmate with a presentation. One of the guys mentioned a book you were reading… it matched the one from the café. Niche edition. Rare.”

Seungmin was already grabbing his coat.

“I want eyes on every exit,” he ordered, voice low but sharp. “We move only when I say.”

The next hour passed like a countdown. Minho took the wheel. Jisung slid into the passenger seat beside him. Seungmin sat in the back, silent, unreadable, one hand tapping slowly against his thigh. Rain drizzled over the windshield as they pulled up outside the university’s east gate.

They waited.

Minutes stretched. Students trickled out in clusters—hoods up, laughter rising faintly even through the closed windows.

And then you finally stepped out of a building with a few other students, hoodie pulled over your head, laughing at something someone said.

He knew instantly.

Even before your face turned toward the road—he knew.

His breath hitched.

“That’s her,” he muttered, barely audible.

Han followed his gaze and smirked. “Three months of hell, and we finally found her.”

Seungmin watched you from the shadows, his eyes wild with something dark and aching.

“There you are,” he murmured.

Three months.

Three months of madness. Of obsession. Of sleepless nights and fraying patience.

And there you were. Just walking. Just breathing. Just existing like you hadn’t haunted him all this time. He smiled slowly but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Let her walk home,” he said. “I want to know exactly where she lives.”

Seungmin’s eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. His chest rose once, then fell slowly.

He leaned back in the leather seat, fingers tapping the armrest in thought. Han was already dialing someone.

“Got her,” Han murmured into the phone. “University campus, east side. She just exited Building C. Heading south.”

Pause.

“No. Boss says let her walk. Tail her. We need a confirmed residence before anything else.”

He ended the call and turned back slightly. “She doesn’t even know what’s coming, huh?”

Seungmin’s gaze was razor sharp. “Not yet.”

From the driver’s seat, Minho glanced in the rearview mirror and smirked. “I gotta say, I didn’t think anyone could get under your skin like this. But here you are. Reckless, obsessed, and even more stubborn.”

Han crossed one leg over the other, still casual. Still light. “You’ve had senators beg for your favor. Rival bosses fear your name. But a girl reading in a café?”

Seungmin’s voice dropped to a cold murmur. “She made everything else disappear. Just for a second. I’ve never had that before.”

Han, the ever-loyal consigliere — second-in-command and Seungmin’s most trusted mind — finally sobered. He saw it now, the storm building in his boss’s eyes.

“Alright,” Han said, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “Then let’s do this right. Clean. Quiet. No mistakes.”

The rain had stopped, but the streets were still slick with its memory. You walked briskly, headphones in but music low, the weight of your backpack tugging against your shoulders with every step. A faint fog curled around the edges of the sidewalk as streetlamps flickered to life, casting long, lonely shadows.

At first, it felt like any other week night. You’d stayed late for a study session and were on your way back to your apartment. Tired. Hungry. Ready to collapse.

But then that feeling.

The kind you couldn’t quite place. A tingle along the back of your neck. That primal whisper in your bones that said you’re being watched.

You glanced behind you.

Nothing. Just a sleek black car parked down the block. Engine purring low. You thought you’d seen it earlier near the campus gates, but maybe you were imagining things. You weren’t used to this part of the city. Maybe it belonged to someone in one of the new apartment complexes.

Still.

You crossed the street.

And when you turned again, the car had moved. Just a few meters forward. Slow. Deliberate.

Your steps quickened. The car matched pace. That’s when your stomach twisted.

You tugged out your phone and pretended to answer a call. “Hey. Yeah, I’m almost home. Just two blocks away. Yeah, can you come down and meet me at the door?”

Your voice was loud. Sharp. A deterrent. But the car didn’t stop. From the backseat of that car, Seungmin watched. Silent. Focused.

“She’s smart,” Han muttered beside him. “Caught on faster than I expected.”

Seungmin didn’t respond.

He watched you turn again. Eyes scanning the street. Your chest rising just a bit too quickly. The panic blooming behind your calm façade. He could tell. And fuck, did it make him feel alive.

He had waited three goddamn months for this. Scoured the city, bribed officials, threatened civilians, pulled every string he had just to find a girl he knew for maybe thirty seconds.

But those thirty seconds had ruined him.

“Don’t grab her yet,” he said quietly.

Han blinked. “Why not? We know where she lives now. She’s vulnerable.”

Seungmin leaned forward slightly, his voice low. Controlled. Dangerous.

“She ran once. I want to see how far she thinks she can go before she breaks.

You didn’t look back again. You couldn’t. Your heart was hammering now, your legs carrying you faster than you thought possible, the edges of your vision blurring. You practically ran the final block, breath shallow, keys already clenched between your fingers like a makeshift weapon. Just in case.

And then someone grabbed you.

Not harshly. Not like you expected. Just a firm hand around your wrist, a second one over your mouth. The shock of it froze you. Then you thrashed.

You kicked, screamed into the palm muffling your voice, tried to bite, claw, anything—

But another set of hands caught you from behind.

“Careful,” a voice muttered near your ear. “She’s feisty.”

That unfamiliar voice was low, smooth. Tinted with casual amusement, like this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. Like this was just another Wednesday for him.

“I told you to bring the damn chloroform sooner,” another voice snapped. Cold. Dispassionate. Less amused, more… efficient.

Something sweet hit your nose. A soaked cloth pressed against your face. Your body instinctively struggled, adrenaline trying to fight the chemicals rushing through your system.

“Your apartment’s way out of the way, couldn't you just stay in the campus dorm, huh?” Han sighed. “Would’ve saved us the gas.”

You struggled weakly, everything swam and then the world blurred.

“Shut up,” Minho said flatly. “She’s out.”

Minho lifted you without a word, his arms steady as he carried your limp form towards the car parked a bit the building. Han walked in front and opened the backseat door.

Inside, Seungmin was waiting.

The moment Minho leaned in and passed your unconscious body to him, Seungmin reached out, almost too quickly. His arms wrapped around you carefully, protectively, as if afraid you might vanish if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“You were real,” he whispered, watching you like a starved man. “God, you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

He was brushing the strands of hair from your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin like you were something sacred. His expression unreadable. Han closed the door behind them with a soft click.

Rain pattered on the roof. Inside, it was silent.

Seungmin leaned closer, his lips ghosting against your forehead—not quite a kiss. Almost reverent.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you,” he whispered.

One hand cradled the back of your head. The other traced the line of your jaw, feather-light.

“You disappeared like a dream that night,” he murmured. “But I’m done dreaming now.”

His voice was calm, steady, but something about it sent a chill down even Minho’s spine.

“Mine,” Seungmin whispered again. “Finally… mine.”

*********************

Your head pounded. The first thing you registered was the softness beneath you—silken sheets, a mattress far too plush to be your own. Then the light. Dim, golden, filtering through sheer curtains that danced lazily with the breeze.

You blinked groggily. Your limbs felt like they weighed a ton, but your heart quickened with the creeping realization that this wasn’t your room.

This wasn’t your home.

You sat up slowly, panic curling in your gut. The room around you was lavish—elegant, but unfamiliar. Marble floors, velvet drapes, carved furniture that looked too expensive to touch. A mansion.

Someone had taken you. You had been kidnapped.

Your hands trembled as you looked down—still wearing your shirt and jeans.No injuries. No bruises.

Suddenly, the door opened and a man stepped in like he owned the world. And he did. In a way. Dressed in a sharp dark suit over a shirtless vest in deep green marble-textured hue with a metallic sheen. His hair was neatly styled— parted slightly off-center with long, layered bangs that softly frame the face and sweep naturally across the forehead. His face wore a chilling calm. The kind that didn’t need anger to be terrifying.

You knew that face. You’d seen it whispered about in headlines, splashed across grainy surveillance images and blurred news clips.

Kim Seungmin. The ghost in the criminal underworld. The youngest and most merciless of them all. The mafia prince with a smile that made people disappear.

Your blood ran cold. You tried to stand but stumbled.

"Don’t rush," he added, walking in like he owned the air you were breathing. "The drugs take a bit to wear off. It’s a custom blend. Just enough to keep you quiet. Not enough to hurt you."

He approached you slowly, his footsteps soft on the marble, his presence impossibly overwhelming. He sat beside you on the edge of the bed, not saying a word, and gently cupped your face in his hand.

That’s when you really saw him.

Seungmin's features were carved with precision. His skin was smooth and fair, glowing faintly in the golden light. His jawline was sharp and elegant, and his lips—soft, plush, and slightly parted—were tinged with an unreadable expression.

But it was his eyes that held you captive. Dark brown, deep like ink and impossible to read. They were cold, yet curious. Soft, yet calculating. They flicked across your face like he was memorizing it—committing it to his memory.

You noticed the tiny moles on his face— one on his left cheek and the other one on his nose, making him look even more endearing.

You wanted to look away. You should’ve looked away.

But you didn’t.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low, smooth—like velvet laced with steel. “Good.”

Your pulse thundered.

Seungmin tilted his head slightly, the barest smile pulling at his lips. “You’re scared. That’s good. Means you understand who I am.”

His fingers brushed your cheek with dangerous tenderness. His eyes were void of mercy.

“You’re mine now,” Seungmin whispered. “I don’t share. I don’t let go. And I sure as hell don’t lose.”

You froze.

The chill in his voice laced with something darker than possessiveness—it was certainty. Finality. Like your fate had already been sealed the moment he laid eyes on you.

Seungmin took your wrist and then he brought your hand up to his chest, resting it over the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—tauntingly calm compared to your own frantic one.

“You feel that?” he murmured, eyes locked onto yours. “That’s how steady I stay… even when everything else burns.”

You turned your face away, jaw clenched. His proximity suffocated you—his expensive cologne, that quiet dominance in his posture, the way his eyes drank in your fear like it thrilled him.

“Why am I here? Why.… why did you take me?” you asked. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t do anything to you…”

“You did everything,” he said. “You stole from me.”

Your brows furrowed. “What…? I didn’t steal anything—”

“Yes, you did.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You stole my heart. You belong to me now.”

You went still.

“I don’t belong to you,” you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts. “You can’t just take people.”

He leaned in slowly, lips ghosting near your ear.

“I didn’t take you,” he breathed. “I claimed what’s mine.”

You trembled, torn between fury and fear. “No, please, let me go.”

A low chuckle escaped him, warm breath grazing your neck. “I’ve been searching the whole world for you, love.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again, the cruel amusement fading, replaced by something far more dangerous—intent.

“Let you go?” He scoffed, “I had to find you. Had to dig through shadows, burn cities, turn every stone until I felt the ghost of your presence. You think that was easy?”

“Please,” you begged, your voice cracking. “Let me go.”

Seungmin’s gaze hardened, his stare now sharp as glass. “I’ll give you everything you could ever want,” he said, his tone softer, but colder. “But don’t mistake that for freedom. If you ever try to leave...”

He let the words hang in the air, thick with threat, “I’ll make sure you forget what the outside world even feels like.”

You tried to push him away, but his hold only tightened.

Then, without warning, he kissed your temple. Soft. Almost loving. The contradiction made your skin crawl.

“Rest,” he said, guiding you back toward the bed like a twisted lullaby. “You’ll need your strength. There's so much I want to show you.”

And as he pulled the covers over you, like a lover might, he whispered once more—

“Everything you were before… is over. You're mine now.”

The door clicked shut behind him, the echo of his footsteps retreating down the marble corridor. Only then did your lungs finally expand in a full breath.

You sat upright, trembling beneath the weight of his words—You’re mine now.

The echo of that sentence coiled like barbed wire around your chest. A moment later, the door opened again.

But this time, it wasn’t him.

A woman stepped inside — middle-aged, expression blank. She wore a simple black uniform, the crisp white apron spotless. Her eyes didn’t meet yours as she silently walked over to the edge of the bed, setting down a folded dress of deep emerald silk beside you.

“You’re to wash and change,” she said in a clipped tone. Her voice held no emotion. “The master wants you presentable.”

You stared at her, your voice still unsteady. “Wait—please. Can you tell me—where am I? Why is he—why is this happening?”

But the woman had already turned.

“Please!” you tried again, louder. “Can you just help me—just tell me if someone is coming for me—”

She paused at the door but didn’t turn back. Her voice was low and eerily calm, “Don’t try to run. There are guards outside. They have orders.”

And then she left.

You scrambled from the bed and ran to the door, but the handle didn’t budge. Locked.

Just outside, you could hear faint murmurs—low, male voices. Guards. Just like she said.

You turned slowly, the room no longer luxurious but suffocating. A cage dressed in silk.

Your eyes dropped to the dress.

It shimmered faintly in the light. The fabric was soft to the touch, tailored perfectly to your size. You hadn’t told him your size.

He knew.

You swallowed hard, hugging your arms around yourself. Somewhere in this palace of quiet horror, Kim Seungmin was waiting.

You paced the room like a caged animal. The dress lay untouched on the edge of the bed—silky, delicate, expensive. Just another reminder that you weren’t a guest here. You were a possession being wrapped up like a gift.

You’d tested the windows. Locked.

Tried the balcony. Too high up. No phone, no landline, not even a clock. The guards stationed outside your door hadn’t moved in hours. No way to slip past them, no chance to ask the maid anything—she’d disappeared before you even got a word out.

Your mind raced through escape plans, every single idea falling apart the moment it met the cold weight of reality.

You didn’t even hear the footsteps until the door slammed open.

Seungmin.

His presence sucked the air out of the room.

His dark suit’s jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the veins in his forearms prominent as he pushed the door shut with a force that made the walls flinch.

"Why," he said slowly, his voice low and sharp as a blade, "are you still in those clothes?"

You froze, eyes widening as his gaze bored into you. The clothes you were wearing from the day before—had become a silent statement, a refusal to accept the reality he had forced you into. But now, with his anger simmering and his jaw clenched tight, you knew that defiance was no longer an option.

His voice lowered further, a quiet growl that sent a shiver down your spine. “I didn’t bring you here to have you walking around in those filthy things. Freshen up. You’ll wear the new clothes I had prepared for you. Now.”

Your heart raced. The last thing you wanted was to comply, but the tension in his voice made it clear that disobedience would come with consequences you weren’t ready to face.

“I give you comfort, safety, everything, and you can’t follow one simple instruction?” He snapped.

You stepped back as he strode forward, cornering you without touching you. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was a wall.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he hissed, eyes narrowing. “Pacing like that. Looking at the window. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I just want to go home,” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “This is your home now.”

Your fists clenched. “You’re insane.”

His lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. “Maybe. But you’re still here. So what does that make you?”

He grabbed the dress and shoved it into your hands, gentler than you expected—but the threat in his voice was unmistakable.

“Put. It. On.”

Then he leaned in close, lips brushing against your ear again, the same way he had hours ago when he stole the ground from under your feet.

“If you ever want to walk through that door without chains on,” he whispered, “you better start learning how to play your part.”

And with that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood frozen for a few long seconds, heart hammering in your chest like it wanted to shatter your ribs. You realised you had no choice but to play along. For now.

You made your way to the en-suite bathroom. It was massive—gold-trimmed mirrors, a claw-foot tub, rainfall shower, the kind of place that felt too luxurious to be real. You stared at your reflection under the soft vanity light. Your skin looked dull. Eyes hollow. But there was a spark behind them. Defiance.

You carefully undressed, stepping into the steaming shower. Every movement calculated. You let yourself feel human again under the water—just for a moment. But even in there, your mind worked overtime.

There were no cameras in the bathroom, as far as you could see. No microphones either… you hoped. Maybe Seungmin thought you were too drugged, too scared, too broken to strategize.

Good. Let him think that.

Let him think you were weak.

When you stepped out, the emerald dress clung to your damp skin like liquid temptation. You fastened the clasp, staring at yourself again.

You looked like someone else. A doll. A bride dressed for a marriage you never consented to.

But your eyes were yours. Burning now.

Back in the bedroom, you scanned again. Window. Balcony. Furniture. You knelt beside the bed, ran your fingers along the underside of the frame. Nothing yet—but you’d keep checking. If there was a way out, you’d find it. And if not? You’d make one.

The guards were still posted outside. You tested the lock with a twist—it was electronic. Impossible to open without access.

But that meant something important: it could be hacked.

Your brain began mapping every possibility. All you needed was a device. A phone. A wire. A keyboard. Anything.

You sat down at the vanity table and opened the drawer. It was full of makeup products and accessories, but you weren't looking for lipstick or brushes. Your fingers trembled as you dug through the items, praying for something—anything—that could help you. Nothing.

*********************

You tried to escape two nights later.

The door hadn't been locked. You had waited—counting the seconds, memorizing the guards' rotation, mapping out the halls like your life depended on it.

And it did.

The moment the opportunity presented itself, you ran.

But you didn’t make it far. He was already there.

His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable. “You never learn, do you?” he muttered, his voice a low rasp that sent chills down your spine before he grabbed you by the waist and forced you into your room before throwing you back onto the bed with a force that stole the air from your lungs.

You screamed, kicked, scratched, fought with every ounce of strength you could muster.

“Let me go, you fucking asshole!” you cried out. “Let me go!”

He didn’t even flinch. With a calmness that made your skin crawl, he pinned your wrists above your head, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

And just like that, the storm inside you quieted—he had control. Again.

"You’re testing me," he growled, his grip tightening, "and I don’t think you want to see what happens when I’m truly tested."

Your heart raced, pulse thundering in your ears, but you met his eyes with all the defiance you had left.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat, words trembling with fury. “You’re sick.”

His face remained unchanged. The same icy calm.

“I let you breathe,” he whispered, leaning closer, his breath hot against your skin. “Let you sleep in silk. Treat you like a queen. And you still curse me?”

You could feel the heat of his proximity, his lips grazing the side of your jaw, sending a sickening thrill through your body.

His words came in a murmur, soft and deadly. “You’ll learn to love me,” he promised. “You will.”

*********************

The guards came twice a day—once in the morning, once before sunset. They never said a word. Their footsteps echoed against marble floors, and their eyes never left your face. Each tray of untouched food was replaced by a fresh one, steaming and seasoned, taunting you with the scent of meals you once loved. You didn’t eat. Not out of rebellion anymore—but because your stomach couldn’t bear to keep anything down.

Sometimes, you woke to the soft rustle of fabric at the foot of your bed—new clothes, pristine and folded with meticulous care. Dresses that shimmered like liquid gold, silks in soft pastels, heels you’d once admired in glass store windows.

Other mornings, it was flowers. Always your favorites. How did he know? The answer was simple. He had dug through your past and he used it against you.

He always came to see you in the mornings before leaving for work—and again at night.

Like some cruel tradition, he arrived after dark, just as the silence began to settle over your bones. You could feel him before you saw him—his presence thick in the air, like a storm waiting to strike.

The fifth night, you cracked.

You were shaking—cold, exhausted, hungry, and unraveling. Tears blurred your vision as you were curled up on the bed, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, when the door creaked open. You didn’t move. Not even when the sound of his shoes broke the quiet, soft against the carpeted floor.

Carrying a bowl of soup in one hand and a glass of water in the other. You sat on the edge of the bed, silent, unmoving.

“You look thinner,” Seungmin said, his voice calm, but with a weight beneath it. “Are you trying to punish me?”

You didn’t answer.

“I’m not playing with you anymore,” he said, placing the bowl on your bedside table. “You’re going to eat.”

You turned your head, “No.”

His jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, walked to your side, and crouched so your eyes were level.

“You haven’t eaten in five days!”

“Good.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up the spoon, scooped some soup, and held it out to you.

You stared at it, “I will spit it in your face.”

He said nothing. Just brought the spoon closer. You slapped it away. Hot broth spilled over your blanket, staining it. His eyes darkened.

“That’s enough.”

He moved faster than you could react—gripping your jaw tightly, prying your mouth open with terrifying precision.

“You don’t have to like it,” he said coldly. “But you will survive.”

The spoon came again. You turned your head. Fought. But he held you in place, firm and unyielding, forcing the liquid down your throat one spoonful at a time.

You coughed. Gagged.

Tears streamed down your cheeks—not from pain. Not even from fear. But from the helplessness.

When it was over, he wiped your chin gently with a napkin, then rose to his feet.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

You glared through your tears. He didn’t smile this time. He just left.

The next morning, you woke with a sharp sting in your arm. You groaned, instinctively trying to move—but your wrist tugged against a soft restraint. That’s when you saw it. A thin IV line trailing from your vein to a clear drip bag hanging beside your bed.

“What the hell—?”

“Don’t move too much,” came a calm, unfamiliar voice from the corner of the room.

You turned your head sharply.

A man stood there, clipboard in hand, white coat hanging open over all-black clothes. His face was calm. Hands gloved. Eyes unreadable.

“I’m Dr. Bang Christopher,” he said. “But you can call me Chan.”

“…His doctor?”

“Personal physician,” he corrected, walking over to check the IV. “You were dangerously dehydrated. Malnourished. Refusing food, I heard. So this was the next best solution.”

You yanked your arm again. “Take it out.”

He didn’t even blink. “I can’t.”

“Take it out!”

“I take orders from Mr Kim,” he said flatly, adjusting your pulse monitor. “Not you.”

You stared at him in horror. He looked back at you, then down at his notes.

“Don’t try to pull it out yourself. You’ll bleed.”

With that, he scribbled something, removed his gloves, and turned to leave. At the door, he paused.

“He cares for you, you know,” he said, without looking back. “As much as a man like him can.”

Then he was gone. Leaving you restrained, broken.

*********************

Seungmin came into your room again later at midnight. He crouched beside you, hands resting loosely on his knees. He studied you the way a collector might inspect a rare object—something precious, but already cracking.

“You’ve been here for a week,” he murmured. “And still, you fight me.”

Your eyes lifted, burning. “Because I’m not yours.”

Something in his jaw tensed. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You jerked away.

He sighed. “I’m not your enemy.”

That made you laugh—a bitter, broken sound.

“You kidnapped me,” you hissed. “You locked me up like a doll in a glass box and you expect gratitude?”

He tilted his head. “No. I expect understanding.”

“Understanding?” Your voice rose, wild with disbelief. “You think this is love?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that love can grow in strange places. Even in cages. Even in silence.”

You shook your head. “You’re insane.”

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning in, “you still look at me like you’re waiting for me to crack.”

He wrapped his arms around you as you resisted. But he held you tighter.

“I can wait,” he whispered. “I can wait longer than you can resist.”

“Let me go! Ple—please, just let me go!”

“You’re hurting yourself,” he whispered into your hair. “Stop. Please.”

You sobbed in his arms, trembling, hating yourself for how warm he felt. How safe. How his cologne smelled like cedar and regret and something that almost made you ache.

“I hate you,” you whispered. “I hate you, I hate you—”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek and stood up to leave. The door closed behind him with a click.

And you were alone again—with your breath quick, your fists clenched, and your fear folding itself into anger.

Just like that a month passed already.

You hadn’t said a word to him.

Not when he brought you new clothes. Not when he knocked. Not when he stood silently in the doorway, watching you with eyes full of something far too close to obsession.

You reluctantly ate food just enough to survive. Kept tearing the flowers he sent to shreds.

And when you looked up at the camera blinking red above your bed, you made sure he saw your middle finger.

Still, he never stopped watching.

He sent books. Jewelry. A bottle of expensive perfume you used to love.

All unopened. All untouched. You wouldn’t let him win.

Until that night.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him. Measured. Unhurried. Like he already knew how this would end.

The door creaked open. He stepped inside, and immediately, you knew.

Something was wrong.

He wasn’t composed like usual. He wasn’t cold or calculated. He looked... exhausted. Frustrated. Dangerous.

“You’re still doing this,” he said quietly, voice rough like he hadn’t spoken all day. “Still pretending like you hate me.”

You didn’t respond. Just glared at him from where you sat on the edge of the bed. He stepped closer.

“I’ve done everything for you,” he continued, his voice low, controlled—but trembling at the edges. “I found you. Brought you here. I gave you everything. And you act like I’m the villain.”

You stood up, slowly. “You are the villain.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

“You kidnapped me. Drugged me. Threw me in a stranger’s house and tried to dress it up like a castle.” You shook your head, biting down the trembling in your throat. “That’s not love, Seungmin. That’s psychotic.”

He flinched at the word. Actually flinched.

You pushed further. “You want to keep me here like a doll in a cage, then go ahead. But don’t pretend it’s about love.”

He reached for you, sudden and sharp, grabbing your face in one hand. You gasped.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” he said, voice shaking now. “Don’t look at me like I’m a monster.”

“I don’t have to look at you like that,” you snapped, breath catching. “You are one.”

He stared at you—really stared. His expression was blank and cold.

“You’ll come around,” he said finally. “You’ll understand.”

“No,” you whispered, fury rising behind your ribs. “I will never understand this. I will never want you. I would rather die than love you.”

Something cracked. His hand dropped. He stepped back like your words had sliced him open. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then he turned to the guards at the door, voice ice.

“Don’t let her leave this room. Not unless she changes her mind.”

“Seungmin—” you began, but the door slammed behind him before you could finish.

And then there was silence.

You collapsed, back hitting the edge of the bed as your knees gave out. Tears gathered in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You were trembling, you were afraid and a heavy sigh escaped you as hopelessness settled in.

*********************

Crying had become a routine— not from fear. But from frustration. Because you deeply loathed him.

You hated the way he stared at you like you were his salvation and his possession. You hated the way his voice sank into your bones, the way he touched you like you’d shatter, the way your body had stopped resisting even when your mind still screamed.

You hated that no one was coming.

And worse, that a part of you had stopped hoping they would.

You curled under the sheets, fists clenched, teeth biting into your sleeve to muffle the sobs. Every shadow in the room felt like him. Every creak in the walls sounded like his footsteps.

You didn’t want to need him.

But your body was weak, your mind even weaker, and the isolation was breaking you apart thread by thread.

You thought of your family—did they even know you were missing? Were they looking for you? Had they given up?

The door creaked open. You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. You already knew it was him.

Seungmin stepped inside slowly, quietly, like he’d done every night since you arrived. He sat at the edge of the bed without a word.

And you didn’t tell him to leave. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t say anything. He just sat there in the dark, a silent presence—watching, breathing, waiting.

Eventually, you rolled onto your back, your eyes meeting his in the low light.

“…I can’t escape, can I?”

His silence answered for him.

You swallowed hard, the bitterness lodged deep in your throat.

“I’m never getting out of here.”

Seungmin’s gaze softened—sad, gentle, but far from apologetic.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re not.”

Your chest rose and fell slowly. Shallow breaths. Eyes dry now. You looked up at the ceiling. The moonlight washed over your face.

“…Fine.”

Your voice was hollow. A whisper of surrender. Not love. Not forgiveness. Not even understanding. Just the cold, empty truth. There was no escape. So you stopped trying.

And when Seungmin’s hand slowly reached for yours—this time, you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t hold it either.

You just let it happen.

Because maybe that was all you had left.

The next morning, Seungmin entered your room.

His day always started better when he saw you—still asleep, curled up beneath the soft sheets like something fragile and precious.

You didn’t stir when the door creaked open. He stepped inside quietly, like he always did, careful not to wake you. The sight of you—peaceful, unmoving—eased something deep in his chest.

You looked… soft today. Less angry. Less hollow.

He approached your bedside and crouched beside you, letting his fingers graze the blanket near your hand. Not quite touching. Just close enough to feel your warmth.

He’d memorized you like scripture—the way your breath hitched when you dreamed, the way your lashes fluttered just before you stirred, the way your fingers used to clench the sheets when he entered.

But now, they were still. You didn’t flinch anymore. That tiny shift meant everything.

Seungmin sat there for a moment longer, just watching. Admiring. Loving.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath. “Why don’t you see it, baby?”

He reached forward, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. You shifted slightly in your sleep but didn’t pull away. His hand lingered for just a second more before retreating, trembling with restraint.

You looked like peace.

But he knew the battle inside you hadn’t ended. Only changed shape.

Still… he could feel it. The quiet acceptance in the way you no longer resisted his presence. The way your body allowed his closeness. The way your fingers had once grazed his hand and didn’t pull away.

You hated him. He knew that. But in time, he would rewrite that hate. He would replace it—slowly, methodically—with something warmer. Something softer.

“You know me now,” he continued, his voice low, almost hypnotic. “You hate me but that’s also an emotion, right? You feel something for me.”

He stood, stealing one last look at you before leaving for the day. His heart ached, swollen with the weight of longing and victory.

You were still here. You hadn’t run. And last night, for the first time… you had let him hold your hand.

“You can deny it all you want,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with an undeniable certainty. “But we’re bound now. You’ll see.”

As he closed the door behind him, his lips curled into the faintest smile.

----------------

Permanent Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos @silly250 @notmedina127 @thecutiepieme @stay-tiny-things @inlovewithstraykids @skz-ot8-stay @emilyywhyy @havenwithleeknow @hungryhobbit815 @seungminnieinthebuilding @beabidoobee @geni-627 @ye0lkkot @yaorzu-blog @butterflybananabread @nightshadeblooming @rockstarkkami @finannn @poody1608 @scarlet789 @mbioooo0000 @icannotbelieveit @casperlynn23 @rtyuy1346

#kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmim #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin angst #mafia au #mafia!seungmin #kim seungmin scenarios #kim seungmin au #skz x reader

452 notes · View notes