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anonnie-in-wonderland · 1 day ago

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Home Calls the Heart

Summary: Twenty-year old L/N Y/N realizes she might be, okay, is a little bit of a social pariah. But there’s not much she can really do about it. Until a dreary winter day, when a determined, persistent dog hybrid named Taehyung shows up and declares that he’s interested in adopting her for himself and the rest of his lonely pack.

chapter: six

Word Count: 7.7k

rating: T (angst central, past child abuse and animal cruelty)

genre: romance | hurt/comfort| magic AU

tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly| FM!reader

Emperor Penguin!Seokjin, Golden Retriever!Taehyung, Coyote!Hoseok, Mountain Lion!Yoongi, Wolfdog!Namjoon, Kingfisher!Jimin, Holland Lop!Jungkook

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Author's Note: I know, I know. It’s been forever. The last year (or more) was a really busy one, and I also took a break for an extended period to work on myself and mental/physical health. Glad to be writing this chapter, felt kinda inspired after a few Jungkook songs came up on shuffle while I was out for morning exercise. Anyway~ enjoy

Jin-hyung stirred the rice around, carefully adding a few more ingredients with just a flick of his wrist. He was so graceful in the kitchen, multitasking with ease as he prepared an entire meal from scratch.

Taehyung was assisting, happily following instructions with his tail wagging, even managing to get away with accidentally dumping too much gochujang in the dakgalbi with just a quiet “oops” and a sheepish expression. Taehyung was always hard to stay mad at like that.

Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t miss this, didn’t miss them. There was something soothing about being back among them, quietly observing as the others did their best to also pick up a routine. It was a balm for his heart he hadn’t even realized he’d needed. And to think, it was all because they randomly met some human with magic.

Not that Jungkook was praising her or anything. He was still wary of the fact that she might come back around, get the others all dopey and friendly with her, the way Taehyung was. He hadn’t stopped talking about how he had her number and could text or call her whenever he wanted, and it had been three days.

Maybe it was too late for Taehyung, but Jungkook decided he could at least protect his other hyungs from the same fate. He didn’t want them warming up to someone who might not stay in the long run anyway.

He was just looking out for them, the way they always had for him. It was about protecting his hyungs, not being possessive or insecure about someone moving into his spot while he was withdrawn or anything. And if being vigilant meant being around his family more again, so what? …There were worse things someone could do out of spite, right?

“Kookie, would you check on that pan in the oven for me?” He perked up at the sound of his hyung’s sweet croon. If he had a longer tail, it would probably start wiggling around in content. Jungkook always adored when his family used one of his nicknames and spoke to him with so much blatant affection.

In more recent years they jokingly called him their muscle bunny, because, well, he’d gone and gotten buff. He made a big deal about not being the little shy baby bun he once was anymore, and they respected him changing and discovering himself as an adult buck.

But, deep down, Jungkook knew all they had to do was squeeze him into a hug when he was feeling down or rub a certain spot behind his ears, and he’d melt. Times like this worked too. It was a reassurance that he was still loved, even if he put his colony through it with his distance since Gramps died.

Jin could easily check on the cookies, even while he did six other things, because he was an amazing multitasker. If he couldn’t, Taehyung, who was currently salivating too close to Jin’s pan—which earned him a maybe not-entirely-accidental elbow to the forehead—could. But it was Jin’s way of including him. The heat that hit him in the face when he opened the oven was nothing compared to the glowing warmth he held for his hyung, his whole family.

“They look ready, hyung.”

“Good, you can take them out.” Jin had his wide back to him, distracted as he turned the heat down on the meal and fended off the impatient dog hybrid at his side.

It was a small job, but Jungkook still grabbed an oven mitt and did it carefully. The aroma of Jin’s ginger cookies filled his nose, causing him to discreetly lean a little closer to get a good whiff. He was sure his tail did twitch in anticipation this time, just a little.

“It’s done?” Taehyung was hanging over Jin’s back, being his normal clingy self. “Should I call the—”

“Lunch time?” Jimin’s tinkling voice made them all turn around, his shock of blue hair visible as he popped his head into the kitchen. “Ooh is that dakgalbi?”

“Mhm, I helped!” Jin didn’t dispute Taehyung’s eager chirp verbally, but the long side eye he gave the golden was loud enough.

“I’ll tell everybody,” The avian hybrid was already pulling out his phone, thumbs flying across his keypad as he likely informed the house group chat. It was more handy than someone might think to have one, even if they saw each other every day.

It was at times the only way to get ahold of everyone when they were split up on different parts of the farm, or when they would go out shopping and inevitably all wander away from Gramps, he would shake his head and use the chat to tell them to get their butts back before they got left.

But it didn’t take long today. Apparently everyone had worked up an appetite. They came stampeding down the stairs or indoors, beelining to the kitchen in a way Jungkook knew was going to annoy Jin.

“Were you raised in a barn?!” He cried, right on time. Yep, called it.

“The wilderness, actually.” Yoongi pulled one of his mittens off with his teeth and shook the snow from his hair as if to prove his point. Hoseok giggled, probably finding the snarky comment all the funnier since it applied to him too.

The both of them had spent more years in the household being raised by Gramps than they had out in the wild, but there was a certain animalistic sharpness to their movements and behavior that came out from time to time, a clue that they weren’t born domesticated.

“Maybe you’d be more comfortable eating out on the porch then.” Jin retorted, accepting the plates Taehyung had retrieved for him. “This food’s only for the civilized ones.”

“Fine by me.” The lion shrugged. “Hell, I’ll shift down and eat in my fur while I’m at it. You’re not the only one who finds the cold refreshing.”

Jin only rolled his eyes, ignoring Yoongi calling his bluff. “Sit down before I change my mind.” he grumbled.

Seeming pleased with himself, Yoongi winked at them when Jin’s back was turned, rolling up his sleeves to wash his hands after stuffing his mittens in his pocket.

“This is nice,” Hoseok remarked, smiling wide after they were all seated and the food began to get passed around. “I missed sharing meals like this.”

“Me too, hyung,” Taehyung wiggled around in his spot impatiently as he waited for the dish he wanted. Jungkook watched as it was almost handed off to him by Jimin, who smirked, passing it the other way when the dog hybrid groaned in frustration. “You did that on purpose.” He accused.

“Who, me?” Anyone who didn’t know them and couldn’t see Jimin’s wings would have a very hard time determining who was the dog when he made such a perfect pair of puppy dog eyes. “Anyway, is that all you’re eating Jungkookie? You should have some more.”

Jungkook looked down at his own plate. Compared to his usual, well, his previous intake before he startled nibbling his meals for lack of appetite, it was pretty light.

“Want help?” Taehyung asked, already reaching for his plate from across the table. Usually Jin might scold for something like that, since it required reaching over other people’s meals, but he said nothing as his plate was passed and loaded up with a generous helping of lunch.

His hyungs all worked to pass it back to him like the well-oiled parts of a machine, totally in sync, and it was yet another thing that made Jungkook want to hide a touched smile. They all wanted to take care of him, and they did it in a way that didn’t feel smothering. When he got his plate back, the rabbit hybrid picked up his chopsticks and ate his first bite reverently. The company and love of his family made the flavors richer, and before he knew it, someone was telling him not to eat so fast.

“There’s plenty more where that came from, Kook.” Yoongi said.

Jungkook paused, ‘coming up for air’ as Hoseok put it when he was inhaling his food. All the patient faces he was surrounded by were trained on him, looking so subtly proud and content.

The bunny dropped his head, not wanting them to see the way it was making his eyes water. Something bittersweet brushed against his heart and made it ache.

Probably knowing every meal would be like this, Gramps would be absent from here on out, his chair remaining empty. They still had each other, and in time it might even be okay again, but their family looked different, and nothing could change that.

He trudged away from the house with his hands in his coat pockets, boots crunching through the powdery snow. A flake touched the fur of his ear and Jungkook stopped, the appendage flickering involuntarily at the sensitivity it caused.

Jin stood on the porch, watching him, looking like the twelve feet between them was as wide as a canyon. He knew. Jungkook knew his hyung wanted to fuss over him.

It was a total change of pace since Gramps died for him to want to go on walks. As a baby bunny he’d been active once he settled in, running all over the farm grounds with the rest of them.

As he got older he helped with some of the more intensive labor-laden chores, which helped build up his impressive physique. Nothing toned muscle like an honest day of farm work.

“I’ll be fine, hyung.” Jungkook appreciated the concern, but this was something he had to conquer at some point. If he didn’t get past this…if he didn’t face what he’d been hiding from…he’d be stuck forever.

“I’ll have some cocoa ready when you come back inside.” Jin promised, smiling sweetly. Jungkook waved, watching him turn to go back into the house, only to have to shoo his curious fellow maknaes away from the door. His keen hearing picked up Taehyung whining about something before it shut.

Sighing, Jungkook took a few more steps, lifting his nose up to the sky and watching more snow drift down from the gray heavens. An overcast winter day, huh? It was kind of similar to that time…

The rabbit glanced down at his feet, at the prints they made, thinking back to when he had walked around the farm hand in hand with Gramps. When he had first come home, his footprints had been tiny compared to the man’s adult-sized ones and he had never seen snow. He had never seen much of anything, really, except the lonely metal cage and concrete walls of his prison.

The small hybrid’s swollen eyes blinked open, the creak of the cage door signaling his worst fear. Morning again. That meant the Coats were back, reaching into their ‘homes’ and dragging them out by the scruffs of their necks, carrying them off to the cold, terrifying room where they did their experiments. It had been the same thing, every day, going on for so long it was hard to keep track.

It would have been hard anyway, since he was so young, but the way time blurred together here made it harder. “Alright, I only need one of you today.” The human rumbled, his gloved hand reaching in and grabbing another kit by the neck.

She squealed, but fell limp obediently as he hauled her away. Shivering, he curled deeper under the newspaper they had been using for a blanket, frightened eyes darting around to the three other bunnies left with him, squeezed in the far back corner of their cage all piled up. None of them dared to breathe, let alone move, until the door slammed shut again.

“Sun Hee…” her sister Mi Cha squeaked sadly. He watched one of the other male kits groom her ears in an attempt to provide comfort. They were all at the mercy of the humans, all of them there for the same reason. To help, they were told. And the best way for them to do that was to be good, obedient little bunnies and cooperate.

It wasn’t that they had much choice. Even as hybrids, the humans overpowered them easily. They were just scrawny little children, and after the series of tests they regularly endured most of them barely had the energy to pick their heads up to nibble the pellets they were given, let alone fight back.

He had done that only once, and only because he was startled when he was grabbed up so roughly. Biting was his first defense, and his baby bunny teeth hadn’t done much damage anyway. But that didn’t matter.

He made the scientist angry, and he paid for it when he was taken back to a testing room, some of his fur shaved and water that made him scream in pain dripped into his eyes, which they held open. Later, he learned the term for it from one of the older kits—chemical testing.

He went on to explain to the younger hybrids like him their “true” purpose for being there that the humans would never tell them. They were testing subjects, bought to be used in a lab.

Humans liked wearing something they called “makeup”. They didn’t have fluffy fur, so they shaved theirs off to rub products onto their bare skin and see if it hurt the hybrids. If it didn’t, they would do it on themselves. Each of them had been picked out to spend their lives there, “helping” humans make better makeup.

The news rattled around in his brain, but he barely processed it. He guessed that sounded close to right. There was something deep down in his distant memory, a time where had not been here with his fellow kits, but somewhere else.

The bunny was pretty sure that was where he had come from, maybe even where he was born. It was where the two adult hybrids who were his parents lived. When he tried to think back, it wasn’t a clear picture anymore, sometimes just a feeling, sometimes hazy shapes and colors from an old memory.

He couldn’t even remember their faces anymore. But he knew the day he was taken away, a lady’s voice that must have been his mama cried and begged for them not to take her baby boy, her youngest kit. Arms held him so close, but stronger arms ripped him out of the safety they provided anyway. Everything was a blur. Everything about them was gone now. Only their smells stayed with him.

Sometimes in the dead of night while he twitched around restlessly in his sleep, their scents almost came to him, as if they were really there. But when he opened his eyes, the room where they all slept was always quiet, dark and lonely, the whimpers of hybrids occasionally piercing the night.

There were no adult hybrids kept with them in their room, so no one to protect them, or teach them things. They taught each other and comforted each other the best they could. And when the morning came they all braced for the possibility of being picked next. Sometimes, he felt like the humans had a target. Other times it felt random, like there was no reason to it at all.

Either way it ended the same, one or more of them taken for testing, spending all day subjected to one cruel test after the next, until the scientists were satisfied and they were brought back to their cages to writhe on the cold metal in the aftershocks of pain.

The kits who had not been tested on for that day would come and cuddle the spent, exhausted bodies of the kits who had. He had been pressed into the middle of the pile, panting, his blood burning and what little he had in his stomach matted into his fur after he couldn’t keep it in. He had also been on the outside of the pile, using his tiny body to share meager warmth with a crying kit who needed it.

That was going to be his life, forever and ever, or at least until the humans came to take him for a final time like some of the kits before him who never came back. That was until the morning new scents and new voices came into the room, humans in uniforms he didn’t recognize. They were unknown, and that made them scary. Just like they would when it was the white coats floating toward them, the kits huddled up to make themselves smaller.

A woman drifted closer, stopping in front of the cage with a strangled gasp. Through all the fur and limbs in his way, he could sort of see her through the tiny crack of space. Her eyes were shiny. His sensitive little nose smelled saltiness in the air. She was…she was crying.

“Found some more,” she whispered into a metal box raised to her lips. The Coats used those to talk to each other sometimes. Walkie-talkies. That’s what the smart older kit said they were called. “They’re young…”

The cage door slid open with much less force than they were used to. Normally it seemed like the Coats would rip it off the hinges to get to the kits if they had to. But her hand hovered near the entrance, just laying there, no attempts to pull them all out. He, like the others, caught her scent.

It was…different than the way the Coats smelled—which was cold and harsh, like the chemicals used to hurt them—it was…clean and nice.

“Hi, hello,” she smiled a little, another gesture they weren’t used to from humans. The integrity of the pile was tested as some of the kits nervously started to squirm. “It’s alright. I’m here to help. It’s alright.”

He had always been curious, underneath all the fear and caution that kept them alive. If he could hop around, poking his head into nooks and crannies, sniffing around to explore the unknown, if it was a different place, a safer place…maybe he would.

It was a far off memory, but the little black kit could almost remember the touch of sunlight on his face instead of the artificial lamps shining on them.

He could almost remember the grass. When his paws found purchase on the soiled newspaper underneath them, he began to slowly squeeze his way out, ears bent against the urgent squeals of horror that called him back to the pretend safety of their pile.

Cautiously, he half hopped forward, pausing as he looked down at her fingers. Stretching his neck, the kit sniffed only getting that same clean, nice scent from before.

And that was when the curiosity he never got to express took over, his mouth gently nibbling the digits stretched out in front of him. The human made a quiet sound, not aggressive or angry, not dangerous. Creeping into her palm, he felt fingers curl gently around his stomach, pulling him up, close to her chest.

“Good baby,” she cooed. “Brave baby.” A finger caressed the top of his ear, and he flinched. But it didn’t do much more than that. A soft, friendly caress that turned into a scratch at the base. Although he couldn’t remember the last time he did it, his foot thumped when she scratched an itch he didn’t even know about.

That was the beginning of everything changing. He was lowered into a crate, dark and full of warm, soft blankets. Snuggling down, he didn’t have to wait long before the other kits were placed inside one by one.

He scrambled to peer out of the slats in the side as they moved, gently swaying in the woman’s secure hold. There was a flurry of motion out there, lots of humans, some he recognized as the Coats being walked out with their hands behind their backs. More and more cages being emptied as hybrids just like him were rescued.

“…can’t believe this happened right under our noses…”

“…illegal, new low.”

“…weren’t even trying to look into…”

“They’re just babies…look…” The crate was lifted, and another face he had never seen peeked in. This time, he moved back, his back pressing into the others cowering in the farthest part from the door. “I don’t know how much they understand. I don’t know if they’ve ever had the opportunity to shift. What if they don’t…don’t even know they’re hybrids?”

“What are they? Three or four year olds?” The second voice, a man’s, sounded unsure, gruff. He smelled smoky, not as nice as the other scent. “Once we get them safe, they’ll have all the time in the world to learn.”

To think, back then he didn’t even have a name. The scientists had only ever referred to him as the number he had come with, assigned to him in the breeding facility where he was born.

In the end, over one hundred and sixty other rabbit hybrids got rescued and taken into custody along with him. Gramps was a wealthy concerned citizen who had heard about the raid before it even broke national news. It paid to have connections in the task force that prosecuted hybrid abuse related crimes.

The bunnies were still being processed when his savior showed up. Not that Jungkook knew it. To the bunny, he was just a bizarrely dressed human who peered down at him with concern as a task force officer cleaned his stained fur and tried to feed him strained baby food after they guesstimated his age.

Though apparently there had been more of them than they anticipated, and there was concern about how the youngest and most fragile of them would adjust to a shelter environment, even if it was a safe one. Foster care was preferred for the kits, it was decided, and Gramps had stumbled across a group of university students protesting the cosmetic company’s hybrid cruelty outside one of the stores that sold their products. He’d taken a flyer, somehow found out about the case, and wasted no time coming down and inserting himself in the situation.

That was how he would eventually save them all and form their little family. A small bunny, young and behind on his developmental milestones, there was plenty about the situation that went over his head. It was so much to process at once, leaving him feeling vulnerable and overstimulated. But he remembered Gramps’ scent, his leathery hand reaching down to stroke him gently between the ears, and his soft, encouraging whispers. “You were just a tiny thing that left such a big impression.” Gramps had told him years later. “I knew I had to help you. I knew there was a hole you were meant to fill in our growing family.”

Jungkook paused, inhaling a deep lungful of crisp winter air and glancing over his shoulder. He’d gone a lot farther than he planned to just wandering, a bittersweet trip down memory lane. Gramps…there was truly nothing like him. So many people would have been frustrated or pushy or gotten overwhelmed with all his care and needs in those early years.

After all, being raised as a test subject didn’t make for the most socialized kid in the world. Looking back, he had more or less entered Gramps’ care as a blank slate, nothing of note about him besides being a malnourished hybrid from a bad situation. A creature to pity. No name, no voice…Jungkook had barely even had a personality.

His first day home was…something. Gramps whispered that the others would be gentle with him, carrying him through the door bundled in a blanket, still in hybrid form. Because the rescuers had been right—he didn’t know how to shift.

The first four years of his life, kept heavily drugged and pumped full of harmful chemicals, it was a wonder he still could. Gramps wasted no time getting him set up with doctors, therapists, a whole support system. The best money could buy. “Maybe you don’t know it yet, but you’re a fighter.” Gramps had told him that first week. “I can feel it. I can see it in your eyes. One day, you’ll feel it too.”

Jungkook had internalized those words, working hard to live up to the faith his savior had in him. Out across the fields, he watched a few cows roaming the barren grounds, a mother keeping a close eye on her young calf. It was so similar to the way he had been with his hyungs and Gramps, the rabbit couldn’t help but move closer to the fencing, overcome with emotion.

They had been there every step of the way, as he slowly gained strength and put on weight, and as exactly five months later, he shifted for the first time. One minute he was a tiny rabbit, being washed in the sink after getting into a mess in the berry patch, the next he was naked and covered in skin and his hyungs: Jin, Taehyung and Hoseok, were running around, screaming for joy. Gramps was all pride, presenting him with clothes in his size he already had prepared, because he knew.

His faith that one day Jungkook would master his ability to shift had never wavered. It went on from there—he learned to walk upright, learned to talk, learned to sing. Jimin was thrilled to have someone to harmonize with, and it made their farm chores go by faster when they sang and danced to their silly songs. As it turned out, Jungkook could learn to do a lot of things. “My boy, multi-talented.” Gramps would say when his close friends commented on how far he had come. “If Jungkook was a color he’d be golden.”

Golden. Jungkook stared up at the weak rays of the winter sun. The snow wouldn’t melt, at least not for a couple more days. ‘He thought I was golden when every other human looked at me and thought I was something broken to throw away.’

There was no putting a price on that. The mercy and compassion of one man was the reason he got a second chance, his first real home, a whole new life.

Knowing that person was no longer around, that they would never talk together as father and son while they weeded the garden; or that Gramps would never find and comfort him in his secret fort in the attic, crying when his insecurities pushed him too far in his own head and he didn’t want to worry his hyungs…it made his temples throb, and his fingers dug into the fencing just for the extra support.

The air got punched right out of his lungs, like he’d gone a few rounds in a prized fight and his opponent got the upper hand. Reeling, his eyes squeezed closed, vaguely aware his breathing was heavy. Slumping over, the bunny heard the first pitiful noise crawl its way from his throat, biting his lip hard to stop it.

It only came out as a strangled whine. When was this supposed to go away…? The way he felt, like he was coping one minute and dangling from a cliff the next? His own mind was a maze and his emotions were a rollercoaster taking him from the steepest highs to plummeting lows, guilt swirling through his stomach.

Gramps had shown signs. He’d been getting weaker. Jungkook could smell a faint change in his scent. Why hadn’t he pushed? Why hadn’t he brought it up to the hyungs? If they made him go to the doctor…if they made him take it slow…if they…if he were a better son—

His breath rasped from his lungs and he gave up trying to hold on, allowing his body to sink bonelessly against the fence, down in the cold snow. Somehow, it was refreshing, grounding enough that the warm flush across his face and the pounding inside his head was made bearable.

For a split second, Jungkook could swear he felt the familiar touch of a leathery hand, the ring always on the index and pinky fingers extra weight on his shoulder. Blinking, he scrubbed his face, ready to be brave and…and face no one.

So now he was going crazy, too?

“…Jungkook?”

“No,” he groaned, letting his forehead touch the fence. “I’m not doing this.”

“Kookie, what’re you doing?” The voice asked, very clear, very present, and very concerned. “I thought that was you, and I’ve been calling you for a while now. Did you just not hear me?” Yeah, there was no mistaking that scent.

Jungkook dragged big mouthfuls into his lungs, gulping down the comfort of having someone he trusted so close. Being caught in such a moment of weakness and vulnerability should have had him ducking away again, but he was tired of running from the people who loved him most.

Still, there was a certain amount of clinginess he just wasn’t comfortable with. “M’good, hyung.” He wasn’t, but that was his problem to deal with, not Jimin’s.

Without a word, the avian hybrid gracefully sat next to him in the snow, situating himself comfortably like they were about to do a sharing circle—sans a few more members.

Jungkook knew he had to look like a wreck, but Jimin blinked up at him patiently with those round, understanding eyes, leaning back on his hands as he crossed his legs. “You know that’s not how it works,” he said lightly. “Do that with strangers, not with me~”

“Can it be later?” He asked, weakly. “It’s hard to…it’s like he’s still…please not right now?” He would die. If Jimin pressed the issue and made him really spill his guts, dig into the painful, throbbing mass growing where all his unreleased love and anguish for Gramps was stored, Jungkook would stop existing.

Ever the emotionally intuitive one, of course his sweet hyung picked up on that, blessing him with a loving smile.

Leaning forward, Jimin grabbed the sides of his face between warm mittens, pulling Jungkook’s head close with firm surety. Holding his breath, the rabbit closed his eyes like he had so many times before.

Cool lips pressed against an eyelid, then both eyelids. Across his cheeks, on his nose, down to his lips. They lingered there, stealing the heat away from him. Jimin always claimed he loved kissing him in the winter because his lips were always warm. When they pulled apart, though, Jimin’s skin wasn’t the only place that had thawed. “It can be any time.” From Jimin, that was a promise. “Tomorrow, next week, even in ten years. I’ve got you.”

Jungkook pulled the smaller hybrid into him, all but crushing their bodies together in a hug. “I know, hyung.” No matter how fractured his heart felt, now matter how scarily raw he was, they would glue him back together, just like every time he needed them before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bone tired after a long day at work, and yet somehow she had still managed to take a detour. (Y/N) lifted her head up from where it almost fully rested against the top of the steering wheel, her gloved hands running absently back and forth across the leathered material.

The car was still running, her half-glazed eyes staring up at the storefront she was parked in front of. The Babbling Book. A cozy family-owned bookshop she’d been meaning to check out a long time.

And after mentioning to her coworker she was hoping to support small businesses more this season and looking for her next cozy winter read, he had pointed her in the direction of this place on the hybrid side of town.

Apparently they actually had a wider selection than what was kept in the bigger, chain bookstore down on mainstreet, and (Y/N) could believe it. Mom and pop stores didn’t have to cater to corporate interests. They were free to stock whatever their heart desired.

Cutting the engine, (Y/N) dabbed at her nose to make sure it wasn’t running, climbing out of her car. It really was a cute little store, a striped green awning hanging over the door, and a modest amount of snow and frost sprinkled there. The trim around the door was painted in the same friendly shade of green, and the light red brick it was set in gave it a nostalgic appeal.

Rubbing her hands together for lack of something better to do with them, she carefully traveled the cleared walkway, hit in the face with a blast of warm air and a whiff of cinnamon and cardamom as soon as she opened the door.

“Hi!” (Y/N) barely suppressed her yelp as a young girl slid down from a ladder, landing right in front of her with an energetic wave. She couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve, bundled in a long skirt, leggings and a puffy pink sweater, gold eyes wide as her bushy tail twitched. “Whoa,” she said, awed. “Are you a human?”

“Y-” (Y/N) looked around, where other customers had baskets on their arms and were quietly shopping. Most of them appeared to be hybrids. Everywhere around her she saw long, pointed ears, or various length tails. Did her coworker tell her wrong? Were humans even supposed to be in here? Blushing at the thought of possibly intruding, (Y/N) heard her voice come out in a self-conscious whisper, plucking her sleeve. “Yes?”

Eyes practically glowing, the fox girl opened her mouth wide. “Soo-ah!” Only for it to fall shut as a woman with a gorgeous silver fox tail and wearing an apron hurried over. “You know we don’t ask guests questions like that.” Soo-ah’s ears drooped a little at the tips.

“Yes, eomma. Sorry miss…” Soo-ah bowed apologetically.

“Everyone is welcomed here,” the woman assured (Y/N), plucking up and offering her a basket. “Please come in and browse, stay as long as you like.”

The adult hybrid ushered her daughter away by the shoulders, but not before Soo-ah threw her a wave. (Y/N) laughed under her breath, waving back and deeply inhaling the scent of paper and warm cinnamon. Although it wasn’t the largest bookstore she had ever been in, the displays around the shop already had several titles that caught her eye, and the shelves were stacked high.

(Y/N) almost didn’t know where to begin, and if she were a hybrid her tail would no doubt be wagging eagerly. Tracing her finger along the spine of a book in the mystery section, she carefully removed it from the shelf, studying the cover and then flipping it over to read the synopsis. There weren’t many books sold in her area of the city where hybrids featured as the protagonists.

Often, they were depicted as pets or sidekicks or god forbid, villains. So the thought of a calico cat hybrid being the lead detective in a murder mystery slash thriller already sounded interesting, and she placed it in her basket. It wasn’t hard to lose track of time, all the new books at her fingertips, each its own adventure. (Y/N) had hardly looked up since sinking into a chair near the fantasy section, thumbing through the pile she was considering, until a thud from nearby drew her attention.

‘That kind of sounded like someone fell over…’

Concerned, (Y/N) set the book down and hurried toward the source of the noise, finding a massive pile of books had indeed overturned, a pair of legs sticking out from under them. “Hang on!” She gasped, bending to pick up as many as she could, the pile starting to wiggle as the poor person underneath slowly sat up.

(Y/N) was so preoccupied with getting the books off them, hearing the sound of her own name almost made her drop them all again. “(Y/N)-ssi…?”

Astoundingly, she realized she knew the owner, one slightly dazed and very confused wolfdog hybrid meeting her eyes as she looked up. “N-Namjoon-ssi?!”

Swallowing, he climbed to his feet, brushing the front of his comfortable-looking gray pullover and then leaning down to offer her a hand. “What are the odds of running into each other here? Here, that was my fault. Let me.”

Before she could even tell him she had it handled, he was plucking the books up to tuck under his arm and using the other hand to help her up. (Y/N) held her breath a little, not wanting to look like she was swooning at the way he easily pulled her to her feet. Still, it was gentlemanly, and running into him was a pleasant surprise.

“Do you come here often?” She could have smacked herself as soon as it was out of her mouth. It sounded so much like a cheesy pick-up line. And yes, Namjoon was a very handsome man, his healthy tanned skin bringing out the sparkle in his dragon eyes. But given that she had only just gotten to know some of his family, the idea of actually making a pass felt absurd. Surely, he had his eye on someone else anyway.

“It feels like at least once a week.” He grinned, starting to place some of the books on the shelf.

“More like twice.” The fox woman hummed as she hurried by with a cart of books.

(Y/N) smiled as she started to help Namjoon collect what was left on the carpet. “Sounds like they know you pretty well around here.”

“You could say I’m a regular customer,” He shrugged, looking both pleased and bashful. “I really like a good book, and I go through them pretty fast. Every time I put one down I end up right back here for the next one.” Clearing his throat, he added, “I don’t always ruin Soon-Bok’s shop, though. I’m just a little more ‘light-footed’ when I’m excited, as Jin likes to say.”

The way one of his ears drooped a little was too cute, (Y/N) thought as she melted a little. Namjoon said it so earnestly and matter-of-fact, too. She couldn’t help but picture the elegant wolfdog form she had seen, bumbling around and skidding into things with big paws and a thumping tail.

Trying to fight down the smile surfacing, (Y/N) looked him in the eyes. “It’s my first time here.” she explained. “And the selection’s so different from what I’m used to at the bookstore I usually go to. I can see why you love it. There’s so much more—”

“Literature by hybrid authors?” He guessed.

“That too.” (Y/N) had at least five books all written by hybrids in her basket, and even more to sort through. “I was going to say diversity, but in this case I guess that’s practically the same thing.”

“It’s nice.” Namjoon nodded, finished organizing the books he had knocked down. (Y/N) struggled to get one she was pretty sure had come from a high shelf above her head back where it belonged, until Namjoon held out his hand with a short laugh. “May I?”

Not too proud to concede defeat, she put the self-help book in his large hand and watched as he easily slotted it back where it belonged with minimal stretching. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t sort of envious. “Soo…you wouldn’t happen to have any recommendations, would you?” Namjoon turned to her, eyes widening. “Since you’re more familiar with the selection here.” Was that dumb? Was that pushy? She was rusty at the whole socializing thing. Probably one of the reasons she’d always struggled to make friends… “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“I want to…” Namjoon’s eyes grew soft, “I’d love to.” It took (Y/N) a few seconds to realize the sound of something chopping the air was his tail wagging at an impressive pace. “What are you interested in?”

“What’ve you been reading lately?” She asked, genuinely curious. Someone like Namjoon probably had a fascinating taste in books.

“Contemporary philosophy,” he said immediately. “Um, but I’m also following a murder-mystery series, and I planned to try a book about spiritual cultivation through gardening, because I enjoyed the author’s other book about emotional regulation through music writing and…” Dipping his head, Namjoon paused.

“Why’d you stop?” (Y/N) asked.

“Is it too much?” He glanced down, “I know sometimes when I start in about what I’m reading it can be a little hard to follow. Not because I don’t think you’re capable of keeping up intellectually,” he quickly clarified. “But I know I get lost in tangents sometimes…”

“There’s nothing wrong with showing how passionate you are about your interests.” (Y/N) laid a hand on his arm. “That just tells me it spoke to you on an emotional level, and maybe it’ll speak to me the same way.”

Namjoon’s dimples revealed themselves in a sudden, beautiful smile that left her reeling back internally. Talk about a hidden weapon. Yes, (Y/N) knew he was attractive. Everyone in his family was. But to be on the receiving end of that look did make her heart skip a beat. “If you’ve got time, I could show you where the book is…and there’s a reading nook in the back. It’s a pretty peaceful way to pass a day like this.”

The spot Namjoon led them to was exactly as comfortable as she had described, the kind of cozy that was made for reading on a rainy or snowy afternoon indoors. She plopped down into one of the leather bean bag chairs, and he took an armchair right across from it.

The wolfdog gingerly passed her a copy of the book he had recommended, and (Y/N) studied the cover and read the blurb on the inside of the dust jacket. “Hmm oh yes, this is right up my alley. Definite purchase. Thank you, Namjoon-ssi.”

He nodded quietly, his eyes pleased. “Any time.” (Y/N) noticed him pull a book onto his lap, squinting as she caught some of the words on the cover but not quite able to make it out.

“What’s that about? Any good?” He stilled, stared at what he had in his hands wide-eyed, eliciting a bit of confusion from her.

“I’m actually not sure yet.” Namjoon admitted. “It just…spoke to me. It’s by an author who explains how he learned to work through his grieving process by managing fish tanks, and what he took out of it. It’s a bit…nebulous based solely on the introduction, but I get it. All of us have been working through losing Gramps in different ways, and sometimes…the progression of it surprises you.”

(Y/N) found herself nodding along, listening silently as he spoke. “I feel the same way. The whole thing gives you so much whiplash, one minute you’re okay, the next minute something reminds you of them and you’re breaking down over a song or a smell…”

Namjoon ran long fingers over the glossy book cover, his smile soft but distant. It wasn’t a smile for her, not really. He was thinking back to a memory, recalling a time that passed with the bittersweet fondness only nostalgia could bring. “Everything is heightened when you’re a hybrid, especially when you have a canine nose. After…after he was gone…his smell was still everywhere. All of our smells are thick around the farm, but Gramps’ was like a phantom for a while. I’d catch his scent somewhere and forget he was…” When he swallowed, she tracked the movement of his adam’s apple. (Y/N) waited for him to finish, in case he had anything to add, but that seemed to be the extent of wanting to talk about it at the moment.

She turned over the book in her own hands absently, wanting him to know she could relate. “I lost my mom very suddenly as a little girl. And then I lost…my path. I still had my dad, but I felt so alone. I couldn’t understand how fate could be so cruel and she could just be gone. I dwelled on it for a long time, and it didn’t help that people wouldn’t let me forget I was broken. I heard the comments they thought they whispered.”

She sniffled, surprised at herself as her eyes burned a little. Usually, she didn’t cry over her mother anymore. She could talk about it without tears coming to her eyes. Usually. “Ah, well,” she cleared her throat. “Thanks again for the recs. I’m especially eager to read up on how this author’s thoughts on existentialism relate to how they tackle the grieving process.”

If Namjoon noticed the shine to her eyes, he was kind enough not to bring it up. He perked up. “I really think you’ll enjoy it, and if you do, maybe…I could recommend more books sometime?”

(Y/N) readily agreed, hoping he would do just that. “I’d really like that.”

It was nice talking to Namjoon, needing out a little, enjoying conversation with a fellow bibliophile. The time slipped away way too quickly as they sat and talked, and when they both had made their purchases and got ready to go, it felt like saying goodbye after a nice day out with a friend. Is that…what they were? Is that what they could maybe become? Friends?

Namjoon held the door open for her as they walked out, and a part of (Y/N) swooned at how considerate it was. She sat for a while once she was back in her car, letting her hands rest on the steering wheel and waiting to warm up. Namjoon had thrown one long leg over his bike after securing his books in a basket, waving as he rode by.

She slowly backed out of the parking space, careful to watch for anyone behind her, whether they were on two legs or four. ‘Hanging out with them…it’s kind of nice.’ It’d been a long time since it felt like she had a group who “got her”.

**TAGLIST IS CLOSED**:

@sunoosult @hesmyphenominiall @taradevonne @childfmoonn @stcrwhiz @ghostkat23 @colourlyhobbit @juju-227592 @iconicjk @cestlabellemort @squishyturtle @singukieee @jcrml @neyneythepainaway @emu007 @mojojojothegreat @daydreambrliever @dinorahrodriguez @cosmos-d-clouds @blackrockshooter780 @hydroyaksha @tinyoonsblog @toughbook @4evahevah @7dilemma7 @yoursoontobestepmom @jiminie-08 @black-rose-29 @malewife-supremacy @do-as-you-dont @yoonseok-jjang @mageprincess7 @pipminnie @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @kodzuskook @doublebunv @nonbinaryidiot @silscintilla @amarokofficial @bangtanxberm @kimsaerom @aurorasymphonies @kawaiikpoplover268 @anacbm

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tohruies · 6 months ago

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hi hi mrs yao !!!! christmas is coming up, are you going to celebrate anythinf with xiangli ? :33 btw, since miss coco doesnt have a tree, here's a little something to say thank you for being one of my lovely moots 🥺

oh! 😁 hi hello mr puppetgear! 😁 christmas celebrations with xiangli you ask! 😁 well actually! 😁 you see, i was th— *dies upon seeing the image you’ve attached to this ask* 😳😲🤯😱😱😱😵💀🪦

#chérir!#anyway! hi nick! :^) I HAVE BEEN SITTING HERE FOR HOURS COMING BACK TO LOOK AT THIS AND CRY FAT UGLY TEARS OVER IT! I MEAN THIS SO BAD I HA #BEEN TEARING UP ALL DAY THINKING OF THIS FREAKING. NUCLEAR BOMB YOU DROPPED ON ME OUT OF THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE 😭#nick... i’m such a wreck over this i wish you could see my face and all the snot and tissues that have piled up on my desk as a result of t #okay um first of all!! where is your kofi!!! what is your paypal can i send you money please lol?! <- is being serious BECAUSE WHAT! 🥹 WH #what could i have Ever done to prompt you to do something so nice for me!!!! 🥹🥹 for FREE?! I WILL FIND A WAY TO SEND YOU MONEY EVEN IF IT’#IT’S THE LAST THING I DO I SWEAR IT!! oh my goodness nick!!! ): actually wait can i please say some nice things about you for a moment 🥺#you are genuinely one of the most giving & kind & thoughtful friend i have made on here!! ♡ i always see you delivering little art pieces t #your mutuals of their selfships and it never fails to make me smile so big! and be so happy & PROUD! especially proud!! to have a friend so #generous & bighearted & attentive as you!! 🥺 and i know the world is mean and sometimes your brain isn’t kind to you ): so for you to still #go out of your way to do such nice things for your friends!! 🥹 i just think it’s so inspiring! and! it makes me want to be like that too!!#i think you made a post once where you said that you like gifting things to people because their happy reaction to it gives you serotonin #AKKDKSK it made me giggle and smile and nod along because i so understand that feeling!! ANYWAY i hope my tags are able to give you that #serotonin lol!! ♡ waaaah nick ): NICK ): oh gosh i had another look at the yaoco art and started tearing up again STOP IT COCO!!!! 🥹#all these tags and i haven’t even said the most important thing i need to say!! which is! thank you ): NICK! ): THANK YOU SO SINCERELY ):#from the bottom of my heart ): i know physical touch tends to ick you out hehe so i am sending wanderer in my stead to give your hand a #squeeze!! to give you a shoulder to lean on! or a chest to cry into!! whatever you need most kajakd!! on my behalf :3 #oh my gosh nick i’m seriously just so (╯꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)╯︵┻━┻ over this LOL!! flabbergasted and gobsmacked. I CANNOT BELIEVE YOUUU!!!!#the way you drew us WHAT!! your attention to detail is so astounding and it makes my heart swell knowing that you put such care #into this drawing ): EVEN WHEN YOU KNOW NEXT TO NOTHING ABOUT XIANGLI YAO! 😭😭#LIKE THE TWINKLE ✨OF HIS HAIR... AND HIS SHIRT!! THE NECK!!! YOU DREW THE CIRCUIT LINES AKAKSDJ OH MY GOODNESS ): NICK!!!!#and the pose... the... *sniffles* pose... *chokes on a sob* the pose you drew us in *huffs shakily and starts to weep again*#the way he’s holding my face in the cradle of his hand ): and even just how smiley! 🥺 i am! to be with him!! 🥺 the way i hold onto his #arms!! ): nick looking at this felt like such a comforting hug it’s like i could FEEL his hand on my cheek ): the warmth of him right in #front of me!! it felt so tangible!! ): and i think that is a testament to your skill as an artist — where looking at your illustrations mak #makes people FEEL so strongly about it!!! many such cases i could provide of this aka pulls out entire puppetgear art gallery on my phone #KJSDKJ!! but nick seriously ): thank you 🥺 thank you 🥹 THANK YOU!! 😭 i’m going to go stare and cry at this some more #i’m... so grateful!!! 🥹❤️‍🩹 to know someone as kind as yourself — and to be a recipient of said kindness!!#NICK I LOVE YOU!! ): ps am i allowed to save this photo? or use it as a pfp?! 🥺 totally okies if not!!! i just want to make sure hehe ♡#yaoco ໒꒱

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urfavesarequadranted · 9 months ago

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adaman and irida from pokemon legends arceus are kismeses!

Adaman and Irida from Pokemon Legends: Arceus are kismeses!

#pokemon #pokemon adaman #pokemon irida #pokemon legends arceus #mod lollie #cw homestuck #kismeses #lollies requests #posting this now cos i SWEAR ive done this i even had the image made up but i cant find this on the blog because *i* ship this #so i swear it was one of my edits #but hai im kinda very drubk but adaman is so beautiful im transing his gender and having gay sex w/ him #actually NPC from modern pokemon games are actually something that can be so trans masc #this is abt Penny from SV. that is a trans man. to me.#i always use he/him for penny and nothing can stop me #anyways. adaman please [redacted to keep this blog PG]#im going to bed or my pokemon in pokemon sleep will be sad #i have over 400 nights in that game. it didnt cure my insomia. but it does motivate me to go to bed #long tags whoops #i get extra wordy when im drunk #clanleadershipping

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pilonciillo · 6 months ago

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lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety

#to the judge that’s gonna see this case next year and the lawyer that is representing it assuming the state idk how this all works #why has the person to say the least get to go a whole year without consequence? a known criminal who after stealing from me and being #released and again getting arrest now for gang violence or some shit she was let go? she maybe associated to the group that killed that boy #last year. and here i am panicking because im afraid to carry cash. im paranoid that imma go outside and my car will be missing. i’m get #panic attacks when i drive to close to that gym and tired going back but physically cannot get out of my car and i start to cry in the #parking lot. i’m not sitting at work shaking forcing myself not to cry because someone handed me cash and i’m afraid someone is going to #steal my purse again. you think that’s not a big deal and honestly i didn’t think it was until my purse was gone. my cards stolen and used.#my key missing EVERYTHING in my purse GONE. so many things in there plus the purse i had money and all that is stuff i paid for now im out #all that cash i’m out 500$ for a key replacement i stopped feeling safe leaving my house all my non replaceable things gone and everyone #spoke to me like it was my fault and had to stand their crying while adults told me not to use a gym locker ??? but in the same breath telli #telling me this isn’t the first time she’s done this she has a warrant for her arrest she’s known to steal cars i’m the problem and there’s #nothing they can do to help me. so while i cry because all the money i had lost and never got back i had to do ALL the work to call my bank #track where my cards were being spent at call the jpay line she transferred money to look up the person she cashapped money to call the #business she was actively spending money at ask the manger if she is currently there and if they could give the police all the receipts and #video of her there for them to act like the hero’s for my brother and i tracking her down while you all belittled me #FUCK YOU AND FUCK HER i can’t be fucking normal about STUPID mundane shit i’m stuck here shaking and crying and what you tell me later it’s #not a big deal? give me all the content of your car and wallet or purse or backpack take nothing out and see what you’re left with and how m #much you need to spend to drive your car again and to tow your car home let a stranger have all your cards and address and tell me you feel #safe #OH and for the gym to tell me they know about her she used to be an employee there she doesn’t have a membership so they don’t know how she #got in and they can’t help but she did steal from another girl that night and an employee last month and who knows how many more ppl like #that’s convenient you pos sounds like she has friends that still work at the gym and open the back door for her or just let her in that’s #crazy no ? and this is all alleged because when if i lost all these things i can’t speak on what did or didn’t happen that’s some crazy bull #shit anyways the towing company felt bad for me maybe because i hadn’t stopped crying they gave me the key replacement number and told me to #mention he referred me so i could get a discount and the layman felt back for me because when i called him i started to cry and when he told #me the price i cried harder so 500$ was the cheapest but pretty much my whole check #key man*#bad** LET ME FIX TAGS #allegedly all these ppl are privileged kids from a privileged background that grew up in a sheltered community and thing there’s no #consequences to their actions because of the lack of accountability from their parents who willing pay for people to look the other way

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astralzeraphias · 2 years ago

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some of my favorite obscure tfs !!

#kiloton #glit #howlback #yellow splendid convoy #maccadam #transformers #optimus prime #<- nothing can stop me from using this tag . and anyways if i had to shove her into a continuity box #she’d probably be the one that’s just referred to as optimus prime anyways . as yellow splendid convoy doesn’t have decepticons in her #universe anyways??? i think??? idk man this shits confusing

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rxkuyo · 11 months ago

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"Ahaha Daemon is so dumb for believing the old man is the one actively poisoning him when the weird goth witch giving him weird concoctions is right there."

May I introduce you to a beautiful concept known as sleep deprivation ? Man's only gotten poor quality sleep (if any at all) for weeks for all we know. Mood swings and paranoia are bound to go hand in hand with that one. Logical thinking ? Nope. Not happening. You add the fucking hallucinations further messing up his mind to the mix and you get exactly what we see.

#like I know the writing is bad #I am not a fan of the harrenhall arc #but you cannot complain about a character not using his braincells while actively also not using your braincells #kinda contradicting if you ask me #n e ways #talking from experience here btw #throwback to that one week of suffering from tension headaches so bad I thought my skull was going to explode #painkillers did nothing #sleeping was impossible for four (4!!!!!!) entire days #after that I managed to pass out for an hour or two every once in a while as the headaches ever so slowly started getting better #my brain was fucking mush on day 3 #there was no being reasonable and thinking logically anymore #I had the worst mood swings #like constant mood swings #I was about ready to kill the next person who as much as made a sound #I snapped at everyone who checked up on me #worst fucking week of my life #do not recommend #anyways #you can hate the character #you can criticize the direction the writers have taken for him this season #but maybe stop being hypocritical little shits about it :)#whatever. I'll lose followers for this one and I do not give a fuck.#got mad scrolling the tag.#will go back to regular posting now.#can we talk about the fact that the acting was fucking phenomenal in that scene #daemon targaryen #hotd spoilers #putting this in the tag actually pls feel free to get openly mad at me I would love to have a free blocklist <3 #much love <3

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fruitmouse · 7 months ago

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was the only first shift part-timer at my job to not quit like 2 weeks in and my manager said he “knew i was a stayer from the moment [he] met [me]” which is like. just manager talk but i’ve been thinking abt it a lot for some reason

#not like it necessarily ‘meant a lot’ to me or anything #like it was nice to hear ofc it’s nice to be appreciated #just like. a ‘stayer’#i’ve had this really weird relationship with this general concept for a minute now and i don’t think i’ve ever really talked about it #because sometimes it kind of feels like all i do is run away LOL #i stopped talking to all my friends from senior year largely because i convinced myself i was complicating things #like. being in their lives was actively making it worse which they didn’t deserve #so i kind of ran away from that instead of trying to work it out because. i don’t know. everything with that situation makes me so tired #but there are other instances that feel like the opposite?#i feel like i’m always either running away from my people problems or sitting and staying like a good dog. forever #something something needs to be useful something #if the. Heh. The best that i could give to you was noth-[GUNSHOT]#but if the best thing i feel like i can do for someone is Not be there. i tend to take that route #knowing full well the entire time it’s not really. rational? but saying that out loud to yourself over and over doesn’t make you believe it #im odd bc im so ‘logical’ but forget that the main reason people have you as a friend is bc they Like You Actually #so im always just kind of looking at people like. equations. this whole thing would be so less complicated if we just took this variable ou #and suddenly i have the power to just take the variable out #idk #i think that whole situation was doomed anyway. maybe i do owe those people better maybe i don’t #hey actually. fuck this i did try #bc they kind of never. like. followed up with me on any of The Situation they kinda just let me deal with that completely on my own ?? 😭#then when it made us all kind of distant and /i/ tried to bring it up they really did not seem to give a fuck about like #making an effort to be real with me #so. i did try. i only have so much to give and i wasn’t going to keep throwing lines out #maybe they did deserve better. but do did i. god so did i #probably won’t delete later but i might delete some of these tags later lol. drama they

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humanjarvis · 1 month ago

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alternative medicine

synopsis: after a tough mission, you stop by zayne’s house for a checkup. but caleb thinks you should’ve come to him.

tags: condescending jealous dom caleb, stubborn reader but justified, friendly zayne cameo, caleb’s got a weird scent thing, bickering, massage, groping, cockwarming, riding (forced), non pip-squeak pet names (baby & princess), manhandling, biting, marking, boob slapping, hair pulling, rough…not sex?

pairing: caleb x fem reader/mc

word count: 2.2k

a/n: yall didn’t think i could still write dom caleb did u. maybe i can’t and this sucks. anyway i have turned the wholesome caleb text above into a monstrosity. if ur partner ever gets jealous when u go to the doctor irl u should ditch them immediately

The blare of a car horn outside your bedroom window rouses you from a deep sleep.

Late morning sunlight greets you as you blink your eyes open, surveying the mess you’d left your room in when you’d flopped into bed last night. Clothes, gear, and bags strewn all over the floor…yesterday’s mission had really taken a lot out of you.

And when you try to sit up on the mattress, you find it took even more than you thought.

Because your body hurts. Stiffness and soreness in every muscle, to the point where every movement has your limbs screaming in pain. Even your worst period cramps couldn’t compare to the army of cells trying to tear themselves apart in your body right now.

You’d really overdone it.

Staring at the ceiling, trying not to breathe too hard in case that hurts, too, you rack your brain for options.

Back to sleep? Back to sleep would be good. Would be great, if you didn’t have plans with Caleb tonight. And flaking out this late would only make him worry.

Power through it? Maybe. But as you try to rise again, a sharp burn in your abdomen has you gasping and crashing back down. Maybe not.

Medicine? The sensible choice. But you’d been so busy with work lately that you hadn’t been to the pharmacy in ages, and everything you had that might have helped you was expired.

Lucky for you, you have friends in high places.

“Ow,” you groan, wincing at the sudden pressure on your neck. “Yes, it hurts when you touch there.”

“As I warned you it might,” Zayne replies smartly. “Who was it that requested this exam, again?”

“Sorry,” you grumble, lips tugging into a deep frown. “You’re using your free time to see me, I know. I’ll be quiet.”

Your friend in a high place was off work today, you’d learned when you texted him earlier. And while you’d been more than happy to leave him in peace and let him enjoy his day, when he’d learned of your condition, he’d all but insisted you come over for treatment.

So with gritted teeth, protesting limbs, and a quick stop to a nearby coffee shop, you’d made the short trip to his neighborhood. When you’d sucked up the pain and knocked on his door, he’d welcomed you with open arms, especially when he saw the milk tea you’d brought as compensation.

“You don’t work for the rest of the week, correct?” Zayne asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Nope. We had it so rough yesterday, Jenna gave everyone a long weekend. I’m free to writhe around in agony ‘til Monday,” you answer, grimacing as he checks your forearms.

“No need. You have a moderate case of overexertion—which might feel agonizing, but it’s nothing simple painkillers can’t fix,” he decides, stepping away to rummage through a cabinet.

“Here, take these,” he says, holding out a familiar bottle of medicine. “One pill every six hours until the pain stops. You can keep them for future use, but let me know when you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks, Dr. Zayne,” you sing, sliding down from his bar stool to give him a friendly hug. As his large hand pats your back, you breathe in his scent: clean and light, with a hint of jasmine. “What would I do without you?”

As you swing open your apartment door and flick on the main light, a hulking figure startles you much less than it should.

Freshly showered and in his nightclothes, Caleb is already inside, flipping through a book as he lounges on your armchair. An hour early, but what did you expect, coming from him?

“Hello to you, too,” you greet him wryly. “Of course you can come in. Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“Well, this is my second home. Would be my first, if you’d let me sleep on the couch,” he quips, a boyish grin lighting up his face as he reaches you in four long strides. “Sorry for bein’ so early, pip-squeak. I just couldn’t wait to see you.”

“Mm, I missed you too,” you admit, standing on your tiptoes to give him a chaste peck. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day—I’m just so tired,” you whine, falling into him dramatically.

A half-second after he catches you, Caleb falters. “Did you go to a cafe today?” he asks hesitantly. “You smell different.”

“…No?” you blink slowly, staring up at him in confusion. “I got some milk tea earlier, but I only went through the drive-thru. What do I smell like?”

“Like jasmine,” he frowns, scanning you with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Oh, that. I said I was tired, right? It’s because of my mission yesterday. I could barely move when I woke up, so I went to see Zayne earlier. You know he loves jasmine stuff—his house smells like it a little, too. Anyway, he gave me some medicine for the soreness. I’ll probably take some before we go to bed,” you explain, fishing the pill bottle out of your purse and rattling it in the air.

“His house?” Caleb asks, voice strained with alarm.

“What?”

“You saw Zayne, but not at his office. You went to his house for medicine?”

“Uh, yeah,” you shrug simply, leaving his embrace to stand up straight. “He was off today.”

On Caleb’s face is a mix of disbelief, betrayal, and envy. But you, too busy fiddling with the pill bottle, are too distracted to notice.

When you look up again, his only emotion is cool, confident resolve.

“Alright then, pip-squeak,” he cheers with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “We gonna watch the movie, or would you rather mess with that bottle all night?”

Your movie night starts off slow, normal, with all the whispered jokes and casual touches of the ones before.

So when Caleb puts more pressure where his hand rests on your shoulder, you think nothing of it, at first.

But when that hand starts groping and squeezing, fondling your soft flesh under the thin fabric of your shirt, you swivel your head and eye him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Just givin’ you a massage, pip-squeak,” he grins, his murmur barely audible over the gunfire on screen. “You’re still sore, right? Let me help you out.”

Unconvinced, you scrutinize him until his innocent smile dissolves your willpower. “Okay,” you say warily, turning back to face the screen as large hands caress your body. “Thank you. But don’t distract me—this is the good part.”

***

The whole third act of the movie passes, but Caleb never stops. Your shoulders, arms, stomach, hips—every part of you he can reach, pliant under his eager touch.

And you can’t focus.

It’s when his wandering hands greedily squeeze the fat of your breasts that you pause the movie with a choked gasp.

“You don’t have to…I’m not sore there,” you chide, cheeks flaming from embarrassment and something more.

“Hm? Is it not helping? With the way you gasped just now, I’d think it felt really good,” he mocks, leaning in to tease you up close.

“It’s not bad. You’re just…being thorough,” you grumble, retreating from his advance.

“More thorough than Zayne was earlier, I hope,” he shoots back bitterly, and it all clicks into place.

Scoffing, you turn to face him fully, making his hands fall to your sides. “You can’t be serious. Of all the things to be jealous of—”

“I’m jealous that my girlfriend would go to another guy’s house for help when she has me on speed dial.”

“Oh my god, Caleb, you’re not a doctor! I would’ve called you if I needed a ride home or something, not if I needed medical help.”

“When was the last time you saw a doctor just because you were sore?” he lifts a brow, slowing his movements on your body. “I can help you just like this. You’re feelin’ better since I started, right? I can tell you are. You’re less tense, and you don’t wince when you move anymore. That’s me. Not him.”

He’s not wrong. Since he started his massage, your muscles had relaxed almost miraculously, as if his hands were the antidote to your pain.

You won’t tell him that, of course. Pride and all.

“I’d be perfectly fine with Zayne’s painkillers,” you snap haughtily. “I don’t need you for everything, you know.”

At that, Caleb freezes entirely.

But only for a moment.

“Is that so?” he asks lowly, breath fanning the shell of your ear. There’s a threat in his voice. A promise. Things never ended well when he took that tone with you.

“Wait,” you try to backtrack, nervously bracing your hands against his chest. “I didn’t mean it like that, I-I just—”

Before you can plead your case, Caleb hauls you up and into his lap, molding your back to his front with an iron grip.

“I know exactly what you meant, pip-squeak,” he whispers in your ear. “But I thought you’d be tired of me provin’ you wrong by now.”

As you squirm helplessly in his hold, his hands return to your chest, pulling your shirt up to pluck and grope your tender skin. It’s hardly a massage anymore, with how rough he’s being—rolling your nipples under skilled fingers, tugging them until they ache with pleasure. When he cups one breast with merciless ownership, making your flesh spill out between his fingers, you moan and wriggle in his lap, reigniting the burn in your thighs.

“Still hurts?” Caleb asks, laying his head on your shoulder tauntingly.

“N-no, it feels g—”

He cuts you off. “It does, huh?” he pouts with feigned pity. “Poor baby, still so tight…don’t worry, I’ll loosen you up.”

Before you can react, he lifts you slightly to free his hard length from his sweats. Under your skirt, his hand pinches the fat of your ass hard before he slides your soaked panties to the side.

And then slowly, steadily, Caleb lowers you down on his waiting cock, inch by devastating inch.

Your mixed gasps fill the room as you adjust to the feel of each other—you suction his length, he savors your warmth.

“This better, princess?” he grits out, one hand still fondling your breast while the other grips your hip.

“Caleb,” you groan, annoyance and arousal blending together.

He coos in response, pressing a gloating kiss to your hair. “Aw, it is? I know it is.”

Chuckling breathily behind you, he slaps the flesh of your breast with a reverberating smack, and you squeal as your skin ripples. “He didn’t help you like this, right? I hope he didn’t,” he jeers. “Otherwise, I’ll have to pay him a visit.”

Hissing at the lingering sting on your chest, you stomp his foot with your smaller one. “You are so childish! It wasn’t like that.”

“You’re melting around me, baby,” he ignores you, shifting his hips to press deeper into you. “You don’t need those pills, you don’t need him—not while I’m here. I’m the first one you tell. First one you cry to. No one else. Isn’t that right?”

Mewling at the new angle, you shake your head wildly, bringing an arm up to tug at his hair.

Huffing out a laugh, Caleb sinks his teeth into your neck in warning, sucking harshly before lapping at the mark. “No?” he asks, grinding your hips into his so roughly that stars cloud your vision.

“When you're hungry, you call Caleb. When you're thirsty, you call Caleb. When you're happy you call Caleb, when you're sad you call Caleb. And when you’re sick, you still. Call. Caleb,” he finishes, punctuating his last command with three punishing thrusts into you. “Say yes.”

Stubborn as ever, you deny him, still squirming in his grasp. But when he bounces you on top of him, forcing your aching thighs and ass against his swollen base in slick, lewd slaps, you lose the dignity you had left. “Yes!” you squeal in submission, digging your nails into his thighs to ground yourself. “Y-yes, I’ll come to you when I need something. Always. I should’ve this time, I’m sorry.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, it’s like the tension in the room evaporates.

Sighing contentedly, Caleb wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you flush against his chest to lay a kiss on your temple. “I know you are. But it’s okay now, right? Lesson learned for next time.”

“Next time,” you agree dazedly, eyelids drooping as his length still pulses inside you.

“Now, why don’t you pass me the remote? We have a movie to finish.”

The movie ended an hour ago.

But Caleb was far too satisfied watching you doze off on his cock to ruin the moment.

Now, slipping out of your heat with gentle precision, he gathers your sleeping form in his arms, cradling your head to his chest.

You smell like him now. Good.

Carrying you to your bedroom, he lays you down and slips a loose t-shirt over your head before pulling the covers to your chin.

For a moment, he watches you, a serene smile gracing his lips in the moonlight.

And then, he dips a hand into his pocket, fishing out the stolen pill bottle and dropping it in the trash.

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killerpancakeburger · 10 months ago

Text

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

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screampied · 2 years ago

Text

HOW JJK MEN DEAL WITH YOUR ATTITUDE….

sukuna, nanamin, toji, getō, gojo. jujutsu kaisen men vs your bratty attitude in bed.

2.7k words of pure filth, not yet proofread srry! ☆ total wc ☆

☆ tags ☆ afab!reader, brat-taming, unprotected sex, dirty talk, facefucking , overstimulation, hair pulling , hitting it raw, semi-public sex, 18+ mdni!

☆ a : n ☆ I just wanna get dicked down by fictional men

SUKUNA ☆ RYŌMEN

“ya got some nerve, woman,” sukuna spits, watching you with bright eyes as you just bounce up and down on his lap, your dampened lips tremble as his dick squeezes past such a sweet spot. two hands of yours gripped onto both sides of his thighs, the top of your teeth softly bites down on your bottom lip once a moan slip out from sukuna gifting your pussy with a single spank. “all that talkin’ and ya can barely ride me without me guiding your hips.”

“fuck you s-sukuna.” you’d hiss out, and his base just slams back into you, your weight shifts a bit as you’re growing more stupid, a gasp leaves your lips once you feel him reach a rough hand between your legs, slowly, just to rub circles against your clit. “you’re.. fucking small anyways.”

his warm breath wafts against your neck once he lets off a laugh, watching you struggle to keep up with his pace. yet, grows a bit stern for a second, grabbing ahold of both of your hips to make you stop - do nothing but sit in such dismay. “repeat that again for me, girl?”

“i said-” you started, and he’s stuffing you full of thick inches, your nails dig and dig into his thighs, and sukuna brings a hand up to your mouth. “you’re small, k-kuna.”

“i’m small yet you still fuck me, in case you forgot about that part.” sukuna mutters, his tone was full of rasp that it was a bit sexy, especially when you’re taken by surprise once he shoves you lightly on your chest and the very palm of his hand smacks against your ass, “i’m small yet you probably couldn’t even take both of my dicks if you tried, whore.”

a hiss leaves from your lips again, and you start to whimper once you feel the tip of his swollen head swipe against your achy entrance. “just.. stop talking and fuck me then.”

“mm. no. i’ll fuck ya when i feel like it,” he replies immediately, and you’re just stupidly enough laid flat against your chest, facing forward while sukuna’s entire frame is against you, just barely. just as he’s about to go in, he stops, leaving you with the biggest pout imaginable. “and right now, i don’t feel like it.”

“wha-”

you feel the weight of the bed shift a bit, hearing sukuna pull up his pants, readjusting his belt and you sit up with your eyebrows curling up in disappointment. “where are you going? i didn’t even g-get to cum yet.”

“that sounds like a you problem, princess.” he says, staring down at you with red slick eyes. bastard. his tone carried such arrogant tease, it made you throb and it was so annoying, even still. “don’t think i’ll be able to make ya cum with a dick this small. go ahead and use those fingers of yours. you’re a big girl.”

and sukuna leaves the bedroom, leaving you, naked, confused, and even more horny than you already were before.

NANAMI ☆ KENTO

“my love, thought i told you to wait, i’m in a… call.”

his words slow for a moment once he looks down, seeing you buried underneath his home office work desk, on your knees and giving him that needy look of pure want and desperation. your eyes was just begging, he stares with near widened eyes once he sees you playfully unzip his black slacks. “little.. minx.. okay, fine. just.. try to control yourself for me?”

you and nanami both knew how you’d get though, especially whenever you were to go down on him. you wanted him to touch you, let alone fuck you but he just had to have a stupid important business company meeting. he relaxes for a moment, giving you one final glance before averting his attention towards his bright screen on his laptop as if you weren’t taking him in your mouth at that right given moment.

“fuck,” he groans, leaning back against his black cushioned chair, he can’t help but stare for a bit at seeing his fat tip disappear after each inch. your tongue swirls against against the plump head, tasting his pre-cum and moments later you gag from feeling him reach way back against your throat. “…you.. better wipe that damn smile off your face.”

he was half right, the tiny smile poking against thet corners of your lips as your head started to slowly bobble up and down, taking him with tears already starting to form in your eyes from how good it was. “uh.. kento. are you listening? we need your input for the week's product.”

“p-pardon?” he groans, and his tip continues to hit against the back of your throat, your mouth’s happily being stuffed full, wet sloppy noises of your throat getting fucked, by this point nanami’s got a fist full of your hair, shoving you with ease yet just enough force to where his dick tickles your uvula, making you gag again and again. “i’m listening.. sorry,” he huffs out, and you’re being pushed against him again and again, it’s so sloppy and messy you’ve got drool pouring down the sides of your mouth, “my um.. pet, keeps distracting me, you know?”

the other employees on the call laugh at nanami’s poor attempt of a joking lie, and momentarily his thigh bounces and he bites his lip while trying to maintain focus on his screen. “right, right. anyways, as we mentioned…” and the boring conversation continues, nanami’s staring at you, you’re being a good girl taking him fully, that sloppy tongue of yours just toying with his tip and he’s close - you can tell from the way his grip tightens in your hair, dragging you closer against him and you’re breathing through your nose.

nanami grows quiet for a bit, you keep a long gaze towards him as your knees dig into the ground, probably marks on them by now and moments later he shoots in your mouth, warm ropes of his cum coat on your tongue and it catches him off guard. “….y-yeah no, that sounds good.” he swallows thickly, squeezing the small black mouse that connected to his laptop—just eager to click the red decline button to end the meeting call.

you sucked him dry, his eyes close for a moment and he’s still holding onto your hair, swaying his thumb against your mouth once he takes his dick out to rub and smear his erected cock against your lips. beep. he left the call, and he lets off a sexy low grunt, finally staring at you again. “show me your tongue, baby. let me see the mess you made.”

you stick out your tongue, and nanami gets hard again even though he’s flaccid at the moment, he slaps his fat tip against your tongue and your reaction is so enthusiastic, he watches his own cum nearly pour out your mouth and he brings a hand towards your chin to cup your cheeks. “swallow,” and you do, eager enough and he gives you a head pat before you gasp, pushing you closer towards his crotch area again. “need to feel that mouth of yours again, love. make me cum at least two more times and i’ll think about touching that pretty needy body of yours, okay?”

FUSHIGURO ☆ TOJI

“am i goin' deaf or did ya really just say that, brat?” toji says, and you moan once he’s got you bent over the armrest of the couch like some slut. in this case, you were from how loud you were from each thrust he gave you. you’re just screaming out his name practically from how good he’s hitting you from the back. deep deep strokes that makes your back go up a bit. “still think your ex fucks better than… me?”

“you h-heard me,” you shot back, barely being able to keep up your act, his dick has you stupid and feral, mouth watering, it was just so filthy. he’s so big and thick, stretching and molding out your walls with each second, you feel him throb inside you and his base smacks back against your pussy, he groans from it before chuckling at your broken words. “he can.. last longer than you.”

toji scoffs. “tch,” and your mouth opens a bit once he deepens the angle, getting more thorough with his hits against your cunt. you get dizzy from how good he fucks you, you’re whimpering from his cock at this point, whimpering for more and toji grows cocky. “now girl, let’s not lie.”

his sassiness throws you off, and you’re basically being fucked into the mattress, face being shoved against the cushions.

“f-fucking asshole,” you whined, and he spanks your ass, you let off a soft noise once you feel him pin your wrists behind your back, he’s so deep you can feel his thrusts kiss against your pussy numerous times, you get shivers.

“…sayin' that yet here ya are slutting yourself out on me, that’s…kinda ironic sweetheart,” toji smirks, and he’s got your pussy losing itself, he was right, he and you both knew that. no one could fuck better than toji, especially with a size like his—he could fuck you right to sleep, his dreamy strokes would ease about anyway. “how ‘bout i pump this cunt full and show your little boy toy what he’s missin'.”

you’re too fucked dumb to reply, and toji’s pace grows more and more erotic. the couch creaks and creaks, and your head’s just spinning.

“f-fuck.. cum- gonna cum toji.”

“not on me you aren’t,” he mumbles back, and you’re mood immediately shifts to confusion once he flips you on your back, his hovering over you with a fixated witty grin. “oh don’t give me that look, sweets. you brought this on yourself, and my feelings are hurt so it you think i can’t last, maybe your ex can do better.”

“h-huh?” you whimpered, watching him grab your phone from the nightstand. “what are you doing? finish fucking me..”

“callin' mr. lover boy,” still balls deep yet stopping his thrusts, with a few clicks, toji dials a number before pressing the phone against his ear. “hey buddy. hope ya aren’t busy. but you remember your girl right? i’m-fucking-her-by-the-way-but-that’s not-important. but she says you last longer than me. ain’t gonna lie, man to man, quite frankly, i’m offended.”

SUGURU ☆ GETŌ

“fucking…” he cursed, kissing his teeth in annoyance, he pulls over the car to a more secluded area away from public eyes, he gets you out before staring at you with an annoyed expression. even pissed off, geto was still heavily attractive. “trying to.. get me off while i’m driving? you wanna get us both killed?”

“maybe…” you fake whined, a smile going on your lips, striding towards him to playfully run your hands up his shirt to feel his toned abs.

geto gives you a glare before with a swift arm movement, he turns you around and pins you against the hood of his car. “you just woke up and chose to be a brat today, huh. someone needs to get put in their place again. you never learn, do you.”

he had no shame fucking you out in the open, despite no cars were driving nearby, anyone could probably stumble upon the two of you though. it was so filthy, your boyfriend fucking you rough and deep against the hood of his car, lazily pulling your skirt up, not having the decency to pull down your panties. “s-suguru,” you moaned, not expecting him to be so worked up, your panties were pulled to the side and he’s pumping your sweet tight cunt full of his dick. “someone’s gonna see us.”

“someone’s gonna see you,” he corrects, giving your ass a mean spank and that makes you moan later before you start sputtering cute whiney little sorry’s before he continues to spank you ever few seconds, grunting from his deep strokes that made you almost go limp against his hood. “what are you sorry for?”

he was teasing you, your hands remained planted on top of the the warm over-heated vehicle, you feel your mouth grow dry and you feel yourself coming close. “for- for trying to stroke you while you were trying.”

“that’s sweet,” he says, and you’re just getting pounded from behind, he’s a perfect fit for your smug entrance, using a rough hand to spread your legs a little wider for him. you could sort of feel the soft fabric of his halfway pulled down sweats against your ass each time he hits himself against you, “but i don’t believe you’re sorry. you’re just saying sorry so i can let you cum, is that right, pretty?”

you squeezed your eyes close for a split second and you hear geto hold back a giggle once he gives your ass another spank. “n-no i’m serious suguru, 'm sorry- please let me cum.”

“pretty please,” he adds, hearing you sigh in frustration. he found it so cute whenever you didn’t get your way.

“…….pretty please, suguru.”

“good, good girl.” he groans, his balls were so heavy, very thick you’re just hungry for him to pump you more, your mouth watered just imagining him over filling your pussy with ropes and ropes of his cum until it’s dripping down your thighs.

but a ear-wrenching siren appears, and you freeze up once you spot a police car pulling up towards the both of you. let’s just say, the both of you were busted.

GOJO ☆ SATORU

“so it’s like that,” gojo frowns, and it’s fake nonetheless, of course it is, it’s gojo. he’s never serious, especially while he’s intimate with you. you’re laid down on your back and gojo’s just so mean. he already came inside you but now he’s just teasing you, admiring his own cum overflowing your cunt with the stupidest grin spreading on his face. “we may not be together anymore but you’re the one beggin' for more all the time.”

“don’t be stupid,” you grumble, giving him a returning glare - and oddly enough, that only turns him on. “you’re only good for a quick f-fuck.”

“oh. soooo you’re just using me,” he pouts, leaning in to give you a kiss, but pauses and that’s when he goes back inside you, barely giving you time to adjust and your nails find its way into the edges of his back. his dick was so lengthy, a perfect fit for your pussy and you whine once he leans into you, body to body, and he’s so warm.

“who knew you were a such a player, baby,” he utters, moving in close to lick a stripe up your neck. “but we both know that isn’t true. you keep comin' back to me 'cause you’ll never find someone who can fuck you deep as good as me. i mean, i don’t blame you…. i’d be pretty pissed too. especially with a size like mine. there there.”

gojo goes on to ramble mid-fuck, like he always does and he’s so annoying, but his heavy size makes up for it entirely.

“i hate you-” was all you managed to spit out, and you moan once you feel gojo press a hand against your tummy, he’s feeling the slight bulge and it makes him smile knowing how big he is. “cocky bastard.”

“ehhh but you love this cocky bastard though.” he sings, pursing his lips together in a mocking way, and he’s fucking you again with his hips rocking and swaying against you, gojo grabs onto your hands, playfully squeezing them before noticing your lip starting to tremor. “oh? you gonna cry for me, princess? forgot how much of a crybaby you were whenever you get close.”

you don’t reply, just lock your legs around his slutty waist and he chuckles at your clinginess.

“….speechless… just… like… that, that’s so cute but sad. thought i taught this pussy better,” he mocks, and you moan right up against his ear from his dick going against your clit repeatedly, you take a few stops to smear your lips together or control your breathing and gojo’s sliding in and out of you, preparing to gift you with another dump of his cum to fill you full.

his inches nearly have you drooling—you want more and more but you’d never flat out say that to gojo satoru of all people. he smooches your cheek and flashes that cheesy cocky grin, before giving you more ropes of his cum, admiring the way your legs shook before spreading your legs open to get a good enough view of the way it drips down your thighs.

“oh…. damn. you’re on the pill…. right?”

“……”

“RIGHT?”

9K notes · View notes

miyukisu · 8 months ago

Text

Between Me and You .ᐟ

❤︎ | While your other friends are enjoying themselves on your little camping trip, you and Kaiser were secretly fucking around (3k wc) ╰ feat. michael kaiser (bllk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 6 | kinktober masterlist

tags - exhibitionism, car fun, fingering, hand jobs, kaiser is a bit desperate, camping trip, p in v, breeding, p*rn with plot, profanity, kaiser and reader banter a bit, friends/enemies-ish to lovers

minors do not interact

"Can you stop fucking moving for a second?"

A tone of annoyance filled his voice as he gripped your waist, effectively keeping you in place.

You two found yourselves in a rather interesting position—at the back of your friend's car with nothing else but the equipment you guys brought for the camping trip. You and Kaiser just pulled the short end of the stick hence why the others were enjoying a little bit of space in the cramped car, while you two had none at all.

"Move one more time and I swear to God—"

"What? You'll get harder?" you tease.

Kaiser clicked his tongue. He was already regretting this trip. The first half of the journey was rather peaceful as he probably fell asleep. And maybe it was because he wasn't conscious to keep his "thing" in control—combined with the fact that you had been rubbing against him this entire time—but it wasn't surprising that he was slowly getting hard.

You thought it would be funny to mess with him; you two had that kind of odd relationship anyway. So you rolled your ass against him, pretending that the road was bumpier than it actually is... until he woke up and became aware of the situation.

"I'm not hard," he denies. But the stiff feeling poking at you from behind told you otherwise.

You simply grinded your hips against him again in response—earning a low groan from him.

"Ya alright back there, man?" one of your friends asks, looking in the rear view mirror.

Kaiser breathes in. "Yeah, one of the tent poles just kept poking me and it hurt."

"Something's poking me too," you add, but Kaiser quickly pinches the side of your waist to stop your mischief.

Your friend laughs, completely unaware of what you two were doing at the back of his car. "My bad. Y'all just try your best to get comfortable, a'ight? We got about another hour on the road."

A whole entire hour.

You could either torture yourself by dwelling on the fact that your position was uncomfortable or... you could have fun. But it seems like Kaiser had the same idea as he slowly lifted up the skirt of your sundress. Your eyes widened, fully knowing that the tides have now turned against you.

"Let's see if you like it," he whispers in your ear. His breath felt warm, contrasting the chilly air of the airconditioned vehicle.

The panties you wore today matched the color of your sundress, except he can't really see it with you sitting on his lap like that. Though it hardly mattered. It was coming off later anyway.

He swiped a finger along your core, noticing how damp it had gotten. Kaiser elicits a low chuckle, whispering in your ear again, "Look at how wet you got from grinding on me. Slut."

There was no comeback; how could you deny that? Especially as he presses his thumb on your clit, rubbing it slowly. You were about to moan and fall back against his chest, but his other hand stopped you.

"Hey, remember he can see us through the mirror, right? I'd suggest you behave unless you want them to see you whoring yourself out for me."

You swallowed back your wanton moans. The fact that he had his hand on your pussy so shamelessly was embarrassing enough; you didn't need for the others to find that out too.

But for as embarrassing as it is, you made no effort to swat his hand away. In fact, you let him go on. You let him rub your sensitive clit faster. And you let him hook a finger in the gusset, pulling the fabric out of the way.

He swiped his finger again and it had him snickering. Kaiser pressed a kiss on your shoulder blade as way to show his amusement. "Holy shit. You're dripping for me."

This time, it was you clicking your tongue at him. But again, you were at a loss for words. You were too focused on the way he played with your pussy and his dick that seemed to be getting even harder. It was impossible to ignore how it pressed against the flesh of your ass.

"What? Got nothing to say now? Where did all your attitude go—"

Turning to face him slightly, you pleaded. "Just take responsibility for it... please?"

You swore you felt his dick twitch through his sweats. Kaiser gulped down, not expecting for that kind of response. He wanted you to fight back—be your usual feisty self. What was he to do now?

"Say it again," he whispered lowly.

"Kaiser... please?" you obeyed.

He hated how easily he gave in as well. All he needed was your honeyed pleas and he was sold.

Kaiser clicked his tongue, knowingly facing a predicament. On one hand, he wanted to listen to his lust infested brain. But it was dangerous. He was about to finger fuck you in a car filled with your dearest friends after all.

His free hand held you by the arm. "Be quiet... or else."

You gulped. It was going to be a difficult task, but you'd rather keep your mouth shut than get no relief at all. He slowly slid one finger in as if to test the waters.

As he expected, it was warm and tight. It made his mind race with all sorts of lewd images. He silently cursed himself, knowing that he was in no position to give himself the same kind of relief.

Perhaps, seeing you enjoy yourself on his fingers would get him off... for now at least.

Though his mind was preoccupied on what could and couldn't be—he absentmindedly pushed in two fingers without warning. The way his thumb resumed to rubbing circles on your clit while he pistoned his fingers out of you felt too practiced—like he had done this thing plenty of times in the past.

He skillfully and precisely brought you to orgasm—all the while you were fighting for your life to keep your sounds at bay. Hell, you were sure that you were biting down on your lips hard enough to make it bleed.

Kaiser let you ride out your high, still pushing his fingers in and out… slowly. A breathy rasp leaves his lips as he throws his head back against the seat. To some extent, part of him felt liberated too.

A boundary was crossed—one that you two teetered on for what felt like months. His dick was aching, yes, but a different kind of warmth filled him.

Hope? He wanted to call it that, but it felt pathetic somehow. Kaiser felt a bit stupid—thinking too hard about something else while you’re right here, sitting on his lap all fucked out.

“Enjoyed yourself?” He whispered to you once more.

“Shut up, ass hat.”

He chuckles. “That’s what I get? After fing—“

“Shut the fuck up. I’m serious,” you sneer.

And he did; awkward silence enveloped the two of you as you sat uncomfortably—Kaiser still with his hard on and you with your ruined underwear. All you wanted at this point was to get out of the fucking car.

────────────

“Hey, so uh, where did Kaiser go?”

Your friends seemed to look in your direction, thinking that you of all people should know the whereabouts of the man whose lap you sat on for quite some time. However, you didn’t bother sparing them a glance as you continued to help set up camp.

“How would I know?”

Your friends looked amongst each other, slightly unconvinced by your cluelessness. But they shrugged it off—thankfully. Everyone resumed to their designated camp duties and not long after, Kaiser returned from his so-called bathroom break. Though you had a hunch on what that truly meant.

It was normal for the most part—everything went as you had envisioned it… except for the little fact that Kaiser would be avoiding you.

Here you thought that after your little stunt in the car, he’d be even more forward with you. But it seems to have an opposite effect. Every time your eyes would meet, he’d look away. You didn’t even dare talk to him because you knew he’d gloss over you.

But the fact of the matter was that—Michael Kaiser was too overwhelmed by the sudden shift in your relationship. He was trying his fucking best to keep himself in control. Otherwise, there may be consequences…

Consequences which you will soon know of.

────────────

You think the world likes to play tricks on you because why do you have to sleep in the same tent as him when there were 2? And why oh why did you have to sleep beside him? There were 4 of you inside the tent—but still—you found yourself on the same inflatable mattress, under the same blanket. Because of course, the damn thing only fit for two people.

Your friends thought it was alright considering you two have already broken the barrier of physical touch; they just didn’t know how far that REALLY meant.

As best as you tried to sleep, you felt intense eyes boring into the back of your head. You silently cursed him for not following the unspoken rule of sleeping back to back. This was just impossible.

You turned around to face him, pulling more of the blanket towards you. Your eyes were met with his. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. What the fuck’s going on with you?”

He stared blankly at you, lips pressed in a straight line. “Nothing.”

“Cut the bullshit. You’ve been avoiding me the entire time we were here after you… you…”

“After I made you cum in the car?”

The audacity of this man caused you to kick his shin. He had to bite back a pained groan to not wake up the others.

“Was that fucking necessary?” He asked. But his question was met with silence; he took it as a hard resounding yes.

A frustrated sigh spilled from his lips. "Fine. I was avoiding you because... I know I won't be able to control myself around you."

You raise your eyebrow in response, unsure of what he meant exactly. He couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose to express his exasperation.

"I was this close," he says while pinching his pointer and thumb together as if to show he was holding something miniscule between the pads of his fingers. "I was this close to fucking you in the car."

Your eyes widened in disbelief. This whole time you thought he had regretted his previous actions back in the car, but you had it totally backwards. It was your turn to sigh.

"You could've just told me," you countered.

"That I wanted to fuck?"

"Yeah."

...

"I wanna fuck then," he says so matter-of-factly. It was almost comical to you that it made you chuckle softly.

"What's so funny, assh—"

You cut him off by pulling him into a soft but passionate kiss. Your palm cupped his cheek and your fingers wove themselves into his silky blonde hair.

He was a good kisser—that much was to be expected. It didn't take long for him to reciprocate and then some, pulling your leg to drape over his hips.

Kaiser wanted—no, needed—you to be closer to him. He had to feel your heat, your presence, your everything.

It was almost animalistic how he tried to devour your lips. It was desperate—like a call for help. Now, you were a hundred percent sure about what he had been doing earlier when he left the group.

You pulled away, breathless. If not for the concept of breathing, you would have gone at it until morning. His bright blue eyes stared into yours.

Kaiser was eerily silent, but mostly because he didn't want to get caught doing something dirty with you in the tent. He let his actions speak for himself—his hand lowering to grope the flesh of your ass.

He squeezed it harshly and without restraint; he was way past that. But he decided that it wasn't enough.

He slowly cupped your pussy with his slender fingers. Surely, he was more excited than you were.

"We can't..." your voice trails off—partially due to disappointment, but mostly because he began rubbing your clit again.

"Why not?"

"What? Are you not aware of the two other people sleeping in here?"

"The fuck do we do then?"

But it would seem that he had no plans of letting you speak. Somehow, his fingers found their way in—past your cotton shorts and past the sorry excuse for panties that you wore.

He had been there earlier, so he wasted no time plunging his fingers as if they belonged there. The slight squelching sound made your stomach knot in fear; you could only hope that your friends were sleeping deeply enough.

"What do we do, pretty?" he asked again, though softer.

But his tone betrayed his actions. He stared at you like he wasn't doing anything dirty to you under that blanket.

"I... we... we can't"

Kaiser hummed. "We can't huh?" But he continues to bully his fingers into you and it made your head spin. Words had failed you at this point, so you held on to his arm—failing miserably at stopping him. But you both knew that you wouldn't want him to stop anyway.

The impending climax clouded your judgement. Part of you felt oddly fine if your friends did end up waking and catching you in the act.

The fear had morphed into forbidden excitement.

But it was too soon as he pulled his hand out, leaving you high and dry.

"You think you can get to cum again after being so selfish in the car?"

He tried his best to remain firm, but the muffled whines you let out slowly chipped at his resolve.

"Nuh uh. You gotta be fair," he argued.

At the very least, you were easy to talk to. You pushed him to lie on his back as you propped yourself up on your shoulder. Your palm caressed his body before sliding down to his aching cock. Finally free from its confines, Kaiser let out a strained sigh of relief.

The blanket was a useless barrier; it barely hid his hard length and the motions of your hand.

You chose to go at a painfully slow pace—it made his head spin. But it was so much better than using his own hand that he found it hard to complain at all.

"Fuckkkk," he drawled out.

His face of pleasure was mesmerizing—eyes glued shut with his jaw hanging loosely. It motivated you... somehow. Speeding up the pace, you eventually brought him to orgasm. His body flinched, but he tried to stop himself—not wanting to show how badly you affected him.

You kept his cock in your hand, amazed that it was still hard even after cumming once. "Shit... how are you still hard?"

"Been thinking about this shit all day... How can I not be?"

His honest words sent a jolt to your core. You thought it was impossible to get even wetter. But he managed to do the impossible.

"Fuck—just turn around, will you?"

He asked, but it sounded more like a command. Kaiser got on to his side once more and guided you to do the same so that your back was against his chest. His warm breath fanned the skin of your neck.

His heart was thumping so hard that you could feel it reverberate in your own body.

"Hold your leg up," he commanded again. And you obeyed like the good girl that you are for him.

Kaiser deftly pushed the fabric that was in his way, lining up his cock against your entrance. He pushed only the tip in, but that alone was tantalizing.

You could hear the way his breath hitched. His hand replaced yours as he held up your leg himself. His long fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping it high enough so he can fuck into you better.

Slowly, he rolled his hips—getting at least half of his length in. You almost let a moan slip out, but you were cautious enough to slap your hand over your mouth.

Checking to see if they're still asleep, Kaiser figured it was safe enough to sheath himself completely inside you. And he swore it was heaven.

Even he wanted to moan. But the prospect of being discovered and stopped abruptly prevented him from making any sound at all. He wanted this. He wanted it badly. Nothing's going to stop it now.

He languidly rolled his hips back and forth—fucking into you without another thought. His cock stretched you out in a way you've never felt before. But it was good... way too good.

It was a crime not to be a moaning mess right now. The slow and precise thrusts turned into frenzied fucking—like this was going to be the first and last time he'd be able to feel your pussy around his cock.

"Shit... this is way too good. I could get addicted," he whispered. "Gonna make me cum twice in one night."

Although you wanted to respond, it was impossible without moaning like a bitch in heat and getting you two caught. The best you could do was to clench around him.

Kaiser bit into your shoulder, suppressing his own grunts. You felt his grip on your thigh tighten substantially.

"Fuuuuck... can I cum inside? Can I?"

He shuddered. "Please? Shit... I won't last longer."

Your mind was swirling—not a single coherent thought could be formed other than a single word.

"Yes."

You whispered it—over and over again into the dead air. And as if on cue, his hips jerked up, fully shoving himself into your deepest parts and shooting hot ropes of cum.

He filled you up nicely—just as how he had been imagining in the car. Though, his daydreams paled in comparison to the real thing.

Again, he let you ride out your orgasm, not pulling out just yet.

"Hey... wanna see how many more rounds we can do before they wake up?"

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note I cannot write exhibitionism that well

#blue lock #blue lock smut #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #kaiser smut #kaiser x reader smut #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk smut #blue lock kaiser #michael kaiser smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #mksu.works #mksu.ktober 24

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fgojous · 2 months ago

Text

silver springs ( satoru g. )

satoru's life was planned down to the very last detail. every clinical rotations, every exam, especially his future—laid out carefully like a surgical procedure. but then you came along—loud, sarcastic and seemed to have no remorse when your ice cold coffee was dripping down his white coat—and into his perfectly planned life. and now? he can't stop thinking about you. everything he had planned? yeah, that went sideways.

med student!gojo x pre-med student!reader

tags. romance, fluff, light angst (hehe), hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, slow burn, medical au, college au, age gap, banters (a lot), sexual tension, use of profanities, explicit sexual content, kissing/making out (like a lot too i think? lmao), unprotected sex (pls always use protection), little hair pulling, fingering, p in v, creampie, overstimulation (?), pillow talks | eighteen plus only!

word count. 13.4k

status. completed (one-shot)

note. i know! 13.4k is crazy but i love satoru sm can u blame me. anyway, i can't get enough of med student satoru, he drives me insane. this is kinda self-indulgent (cos yn is a pt student, and me too hihi). btw, satoru is 25 and yn is 20! <3 i think that's all i wanted to say. anyway, i love u <3

Satoru was—safe to say, pissed.

He hasn’t slept for hours. There’s his clinical instructor breathing down his neck. He’s still got to study after this.

Then you, wide your eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped, are just staring at him. Like you were sent by the heavens above to add to his problems today—maybe they said, it wasn’t enough, you had to come.

Fuck this day, really.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” his voice was low, irritation unmistaken.

You blinked, frozen in place, your caramel macchiato—wasted, dripping down his white—very white coat. Does this day get any better than this? You think not.

You stared at the man in front of you. His jaw was clenched and his specs are slightly askew, and there’s obvious irritation dancing in his sharp sapphire eyes, his long white lashes fluttering. Goddamn, he’s tall.

And you are pissing him off.

“Uh—what—you bumped into me!”

His figure was towering over you—his white messy hair caught a glimpse of the fluorescent light.

“Because you weren’t looking. You’re on your phone.”

Well, sorry, if you were stressing about your upcoming long test—but you were here in the hospital instead of studying, accompanying your mother. Maybe she thought it’d be better to string you along in the hospital on the weekends.

“And you’re walking too fast.” you retorted, your chest was brewing. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

His lips twitch, almost smirking. You’re so fucking… irritating. “Wow. Was it your mission to irritate me today?”

You scoffed, my god, you hate him already and you don’t even know his name yet.

You reached for a napkin from your purse, attempting to ‘alleviate’ this situation but you know that there is nothing you could do anymore. You were about to dab on his coat when he stepped back.

“Are you seriously going to dab it in?”

“Wow. You’re so grumpy.”

“And you are irritating.”

Yes. You get it.

“Then maybe you should get some more sleep?”

He paused, for a moment, before he laughed. He actually laughed.

Not that loud, but enough for you to ease a bit. He can’t believe that you still have something to say—and yet to say the one thing that he’s waiting for you to say.

“You’re unbelievable.” he muttered, he adjusted his glasses before peeling the coat off. “You owe me. Dry cleaners.”

You blinked, he’s only wearing his dark navy scrubs now, you see his badge clipped on his breast pocket.

Gojo Satoru | Clinical Clerk

His name lingered in your mind longer than it should be. Where have you heard that name again?

But you didn’t have any time to rack your brains out when he handed his white coat to you with care, like it’s something so fragile it almost makes you scoff. But you took it anyway, because taking it to the dry cleaners was the only thing that you could do now—and you know, it’s kind of your fault too.

“Don’t put bleach on it. I’m serious.”

“I know how laundry works.” you rolled your eyes, folding his white coat carefully in your arms.

“Really? You’re not just a spoiled brat who spills coffee on someone’s coat?”

You deadpanned, not bothering to answer him because seriously, you can’t argue with him anymore. You handed him your phone and his brows furrowed, “Your number. How could I give this back to you if I can’t contact you?”

He snatched your phone from your hand, “For once you were actually thinking.”

Oh my god, give me the strength not to wipe his coat on the floor right now.

You just watched him type in his number, he called his phone from yours so he could save your number.

“There.” he says, handing you your phone back. “I expect my coat to be sparkling clean.”

“Yeah, fine.”

He didn’t answer you anymore and just turned to walk away. But before he disappeared into the hallway, he waves over his shoulder.

“Talk about dramatic.”

Three days have passed before he reached out to you.

You had honestly forgotten about the coat—well, you blame the myriad of long tests and practical exams for the past three days. You’d gotten immersed in studying that you forgot that you had to actually give his coat back.

But it was already clean and hanging neatly in a garment bag, just forgotten for a bit.

And honestly? You didn’t know how to face him again without getting embarrassed. You may have been too much of a brat that day.

[grumpy med student | 6:57 PM] where’s my coat i need it

[grumpy med student | 6:58 PM] you’ve thrown it away, didn’t you?

You rolled your eyes, typing on your phone.

[You | 6:59 PM ] i can bring it to you right now, my classes have just finished.

[You | 7:00 PM] i had it cleaned, don’t worry. u asked for bleach, right?

[grumpy med student | 7:01 PM] stop fucking with me. meet me at the ER entrance in 20

You stared at the screen for a bit too long. How in the hell did he manage to annoy you with just a text?

But still, you were there twenty minutes later with his coat draped over your arm. You’re still wearing your white uniform, your ID badge hanging on a lanyard embroidered with the hospital’s name—you’re scrolling through your group chats to read about the practicals that were coming up.

“Huh.” you looked up at the voice, his face etched with surprise as he looked at you, “ You actually look so miserable.”

Your eyes fell on him and there he was with his navy scrubs with a stethoscope slung around his neck and the only thing missing was his white coat that was hanging from your arm.

“Thanks. I just came from a six-hour lecture.” you say, voice laced with sarcasm then you handed him his coat. “Here. We’re even now.”

“Didn’t know we study in the same university,” he says.

How could he even know when you’re in different buildings? And he’s already in med school?

“So, what are you?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer when he reached for your badge, “Physical Therapy, huh?”

You snatched it from his hand, “I’m leaving.”

He smirks, “Don’t trip and spill some coffee on someone else now, YN.”

“Try opening your eyes while you walk, Satoru.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away. God, he was so annoying.

Your mother’s rounds were running longer than usual.

She keeps on insisting you wait for her at the hospital so you could have lunch together. With you, living in the dorms and your long, grueling classes eating up most of your days, this was the only time you get to spend together.

And she’s late. And you’re hungry.

Now, you’re in the hospital cafeteria, eating the chips that you got from the vending machine.

This is the only place you could think of where you could spread your books and notes. You can’t afford not to study right now.

Your mind was full of some terms you’re not even sure you’re understanding. You were muttering words, teaching yourself like it actually helps. You didn’t even notice a group of med students passing by your table until a voice cut through the noise going on in your head.

“Hey, Miss PT.”

You looked up at him.

He looked the same. Glasses perched on top of his nose, same navy scrubs except he was the one holding the coffee now.

“Are you planning to get back at me?”

Satoru stared right at you, eyes flickering between you and your notes, “As much as I’d love to stain your white uniform, fortunate for you, I’m not as clumsy as you.”

“Aren’t you too busy to irritate me right now?” you retorted, looking back down at your notes to… read?

Anything.

Just so you could look away from him.

Then you hear him laugh lightly—annoyingly, before turning away. You stare at his back as he walks away then you see him talk to a dark-haired med student who looked just as tired as he is before disappearing.

Then you look down, something caught at the side of your eyes.

Then you see a small chocolate bar on top of your open notes.

Huh.

You muttered a curse under your breath. How else are you going to go to your dorm when it’s pouring?

A heavy breath escaped your lips as you tuck your arm in your chest, watching the rain splatter down the pavement. The rain was cold, loud—and seemed like it would not stop any time soon.

“Let me guess, you’re trying to catch a cold to miss clinical exams?”

Your head tilted to the side quickly. That familiar voice grazing through your ears.

It has been almost a week since you saw him. He wasn’t wearing scrubs anymore. He’s just wearing his white uniform just like you are, a university hoodie for med students draped on his arm.

“Let me guess, you’re going to annoy me to death now?” you gave him a sarcastic smile, “What are you doing at our building?”

“Had to drop off something. Why? You thought I was looking for you?” a menacing grin tugging on his lips.

Does he really have to be this annoying? And unbelievably good looking?

You ignored his comment, “I don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”

“Nope.” he answered, you just sighed and looked away—you frown a bit as you saw some of the students from different programs were looking your way, you just shrugged it off, trying to wait the rain out.

Satoru stared at you, really stared at you like you’re a mnemonic that he was memorizing—you were hugging yourself, teeth clattering slightly, your hair strands stuck in your cheeks.

“Here.” you glanced back at him, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Take it. Don’t want you dying from hypothermia over there.”

It’s his hoodie.

You looked at him and back at the hoodie again. You blinked once trying to comprehend what he’s offering you right now.

Is he really? This grumpy, annoying med student is offering you his hoodie?

“Are you going to take it or not? My arm is killing me.” he says, nudging it closer to you.

You sighed, taking it from him with slight hesitation, if you weren’t so cold right now—but you are, so you swallowed your pride, “Thank you.”

“Huh?” he leaned closer as if he didn’t hear what you said, but you know he did because there’s a smirk pulling on his lips right now. “Didn’t hear what you said. Come again?”

You leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “I said, fuck off.”

You slipped on his hoodie, it was annoyingly soft and smelled like him. That’s actually the first thing that you noticed—and you suddenly realized, you actually know what his scent is.

You actually know what Satoru Gojo smelled like even if you’re not around him that much.

And it pisses you off just a little how nice it felt around you.

“You know you’d have to return that to me, right?”

It’s been two days and you still have his hoodie.

You told yourself you’re going to return it. That’s why you’re here again.

In front of the emergency room entrance, in the middle of the day.

If anyone sees you, maybe you could say that you were going to see your mother.

Or, maybe because your professor had canceled his lecture for today and you had nothing else to do.

You’ve got about two hours before your next subject and you got time to kill. Your friends had already gone to the nearest mall and you had no energy to walk around right now.

That’s why you’re here.

That’s what you’re telling yourself because you’re seeing him so often these days, it’s almost becoming a routine and it weirds you out in a way that you can’t explain.

“Hey.”

You turned and there he was again, tall as ever, just a few steps from you..

“Your hoodie.” you say, lifting it. “Thanks.”

His eyes just flickered to the fabric on your arm then back to your face again. “You busy?”

“Not as busy as you.” you say with a mischievous grin.

He almost rolls his eyes, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” you answered, a teasing smile escaping past your lips. “Why? You want to eat with me?”

“You like hospital food?”

And that’s how you ended up in that cafeteria again, except you’re sitting across from him now and his hoodie was still on your arm. So, you set it down on the chair beside you—it’s just sitting there, waiting to be brought up.

You’re twisting the pasta with your fork, and stared at it like it hurt you—how could it look this… bland?

But that’s not what concerns you the most, it’s the fact that the silence between the two of you was more comfortable than it is awkward.

Like you had done this before—or, like this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.

Satoru was about to bite on his sandwich when he looked at you. “Do you always stare at your food like it has done you wrong?”

“Do you always sound this irritating when you’re chewing?”

“Yeah. There’s actually a class in med school for that.” he bites on his sandwich, not shying his blue eyes from you.

You stare back at him, sipping from your cup. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“I know I am.” his smugness didn’t escape past you. Annoying.

You huffed a breath, “Should’ve gone with my friends.”

“Uh-huh.” he agreed, nodding his head. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit here and endure this torture.”

You scrunch your nose, glaring at him and he just gives you a sheepish smile.

Isn’t he the one who invited you here? And now he’s acting like you’re the one who interrupts his peace.

You didn’t answer—but you glared at him enough to let him know that he’s an exhausting little prick.

When is the bickering ever going to stop?

You bite back your breath before finally bringing it up, “Aren’t you going to take your hoodie back?”

You couldn’t take the way his hoodie just stares at you. It’s too weird—like it’s really meant for you when it’s not.

It shouldn’t.

“You keep it.”

“Why?”

Satoru looked at you, “So you’ll have to return it again.”

So here you were, in your next class, wearing his damn hoodie because the air conditioning in this lecture hall was on full blast.

“Medicine.” you hear Maki say.

“Huh?”

She pointed at the back of the hoodie with her lips, “You’re wearing a hoodie from the college of medicine and surgery. You’re a med student now?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

Yes.

Why?

Why are you wearing it?

It has been two weeks since you last saw him.

Not that you were counting.

Well, maybe, it’s because your mother hasn’t been begging you to eat lunch with her and you had no business being at the hospital.

Not that you were hoping for him to drop something off at your building again. My god, why are you even thinking about him now?

It’s because you were staring at his hoodie right now, just sprawled across the backrest of the seat of your study table. You looked away, reaching for your phone to check if he had messaged you—

No, what business does he have messaging you? You tossed your phone away and buried your face on the pillow.

This is so goddamn embarrassing.

The next day, you were about to finish your last class for the day when your mother had texted you and wanted you to come.

And, fuck, you couldn’t get out of your building fast enough. You were almost sprinting to the hospital.

Then you slowed down… why in the hell are you this excited? Isn’t he annoying to you?

So you walked—tried to walk normally, but you were clearly searching for that white hair as you walked through the hallway.

And then you paused, your heart gradually pounds inside your chest, until the only thing that you could feel was your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribs.

There he was, standing just outside the exam room, reading something on the charts when you sneaked behind him.

“Hey, annoying.”

Satoru pauses for a fraction of a second before looking at you, your eyes met, and he looked like he hasn’t slept for about a year.

“Hey.” he greeted you back, his voice was flat—tired.

You blinked, letting out a faint smirk. “Wow, don’t get so excited now.”

You could almost see that grin tugging on his lips but… none. He just adjusted his glasses and scratched the back of his neck. “Just had a long day.”

You searched his face. Yeah, he looked so tired like he hasn’t slept—which, really he hasn’t. But there was something else.

“Oh, you okay?” you swallowed thickly, clutching on your bag—where his hoodie sits heavy just like that feeling creeping up on you.

“Fine.” he says, “I gotta go back.”

Satoru didn’t give you any chance to answer, he walked past you—not a single grin or snarkiness. He didn’t even give you a second glance.

So, you stood there, words still stuck on your throat, standing there a few more seconds than you should have.

[grumpy med student | 11:58 PM] u still up?

You stared at your phone. The bright light from your laptop screen illuminating the frown etched on your face.

[You |11:59 PM] what do u think

[grumpy med student | 11:59 PM] studying?

[You | 12:00 AM] how else am i supposed to answer the long test tomorrow

[grumpy med student | 12:00 AM] what topic

[You | 12:01 AM] orthopedic conditions

You hated how much you stared at your phone, your conversation still open as if you’re really anticipating everything that he’s going to say.

Then three minutes passed and he still hasn't answered and you thought that he had vanished again. And that was it.

It was three days since he gave you the cold shoulder in the hospital, you were supposed to be mad at him for reasons that you don’t even know—or if you even had the right to, and now you’re just waiting for him to respond—

The shrill ringing of your phone cuts off your thoughts.

You looked at the screen and there was his contact.

grumpy med student Calling…

Don’t answer it, you say. Why is he even calling you this late?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, thinking it over, debating yourself if it’s a good thing that you talk to him right now.

But then you sighed, your finger clicking the answer button.

“Hi.”

You heard him breathe on the other side of the phone, “Sorry.”

“For what?” you were almost whispering, like you couldn’t believe that you were talking to him right now.

“Three days ago. I wasn’t in the mood.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

The silence filled with quiet breathing from either of you.

Why is he saying sorry, even though it wasn’t a big deal?

It really isn’t.

Right?

“Okay.” you say softly, and then it was his turn this time to stay quiet. Then you hear him shift, maybe from his bed.

“You still have my hoodie?”

Then your heart pounds. Because you were wearing it. You’re fucking wearing it. It’s wrapped around you, clinging on your skin along with his scent that still lingers in it.

“No, I threw it out.” then you heard him laugh, a breathy laugh that made you slightly insane. “Cause you pissed me off.”

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” he paused for a bit, “Are you still mad?”

You huffed, “Am I allowed to?”

You hold your breath waiting for his answer. What kind of question is that?

“You are.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, you say, “I’m hanging up. I’m studying.”

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“I’m studying too.” he says, you can hear shuffling on the other side, “Don’t hang up.”

An irritated groan came out of your mouth, refusing to lift your head up from your desk. If you could get just a minute of sleep you’d be fine.

But there’s someone pissing you off by nudging your arm. Repeatedly, to say.

You haven’t had the chance to sleep, thanks to a certain someone who called you at midnight and kept you talking until your brain turned to mush.

And the nudging doesn’t stop.

You finally lifted your head, your eyes stinging from the lack of sleep. “What?!”

Then you froze, just seeing who it was.

Satoru was standing there, looking down at you with an infuriating smirk on his lips—his eyes flickering down briefly to his hoodie that you were wearing. “Now, you’re the grumpy one.”

“And who’s fault is that?” your brows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes.

Then you suddenly realized, he’s in your building.

In your lecture hall.

Right in front of you—in front of your entire block.

You blinked—a little stunned as he placed a coffee on your desk, with a chocolate bar just like the one he left you last time.

Did he just come all the way here to give you a cup of coffee?

Your eyes darted around slightly, your block mates were already watching—whispering like you’ve brought someone famous. Because how often do you see a third year med student in his scrubs, dropping off some coffee for a second year pre-med student?

Exactly. Never.

Then all of it clicked into place like a perfect puzzle.

Satoru Gojo.

You’ve heard his name before. From all around the campus—from the whispers, he’s that med student your block mates were all talking about.

You just didn’t realize it was him. Took you a month.

“Now we’re even.” he says casually, “Bye.”

Then he left you there, with your mouth slightly open—and with the knowing looks that your block mates were giving you.

Especially the one beside you.

“Oh.” Maki smirks, “So, that’s Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked at her, mouth shut tightly.

“Didn’t know you were dating the med school’s golden boy.”

Dating?

Is she kidding right now?

Your eyes gaze upon the coffee he left for a little too long.

“We’re not—he’s… not—”

“Uh-huh.” Maki nods, now staring at the hoodie that you are wearing. “Sure.”

The one thing that you were wishing as of now was for the ground to swallow you whole.

“You’re being weird.”

There you were, elbows propped on the table, cheeks resting on your palm as you shamelessly stare him down.

It didn’t matter that he was famous in your university and everyone was talking about him, blah blah. It bothers you that it took you this long to realize.

Well, you really don’t pride yourself on engaging in senseless gossip, much less about some handsome someone you don’t even know—well, now you know.

Because you’re eating with him side by side, at the hospital cafeteria, with the shitty food.

“You know they call you the ‘golden boy’, right?”

Then he groaned, poking on his food. “So?”

“How come I didn’t know?” you murmured, “I mean, I always hear them talk about you, I just didn’t realize it was you. I just felt stupid?”

“It’s because you are.” and he said that with a straight face, you glare at him and he smiles, “Can you just eat?”

“Okay, golden boy.”

“Can you stop?”

You scrunch your nose and give him a little smile before snatching a fry from his plate, “Make me.”

“Ah.” he laughs—adjusting his specs before leaning in, “You really want to go there? I don’t think you can handle it if I do.”

It was safe to say that you’re flustered, you tried to hold your ground but something in the way he stared at you made your stomach churn in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“Shut up.” that’s all you could say before pushing his forehead away using your index finger. “Just eat your food.”

─── MONDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 5:45 PM] i’m outside your lecture hall

[You | 5:46 PM] why? u miss me?

[grumpy med student | 5:46 PM] no. i’m just not irritated enough today, maybe seeing ur face would fix that

You purse your lips, trying so hard not to let a smile slip past your lips. Your professor was still on the last slide of her lecture, wrapping things up.

While you were already shoving things in your bag rather hastily for someone who ‘doesn’t care’ whether he’s there or not—and when your professor said the class was dismissed, you said a quick goodbye to Maki before stepping out the hall.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed—hair messy, specs looking unfairly good on him.

He looked up from his phone, “Took you long enough.”

You raised your brows, “Well, I’m sorry if my studies are a bother to you having your need to be extremely irritated today.”

“Apology accepted.” he says, pushing off the wall to step beside you. “Library?”

You started walking, side by side—not minding the looks coming your way. “Uh-huh.”

Maybe you could see now why they called him the golden boy.

It’s not just his looks, but the way he’s so focused—head dipped down on his books like his eyes were glued on the paper. He was scribbling notes, tapping his pen lightly—his lips parted slightly.

You could see why they’re talking.

He’s like an all-in-one package—the looks, talent, skills… the way his face looks intent but calm while he’s studying.

But for you, he’s just the grumpy med student who bumped into you and made you spill your coffee on him.

─── TUESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 3:12 PM] i think my legs would fall of if i moved

[You | 3:12 PM] why

[grumpy med student | 3:13 PM] they made me stand for 6 hours straight. fuck it, i’m never moving from this gurney

[You | 3:14 PM] aw, poor baby. want me to carry u home? );<

[grumpy med student | 3:15 PM] yes baby

[You | 3:16 PM] fuck u

─── WEDNESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] bring highlighters, forgot mine. not YELLOW

[You | 6:17 PM] what’s your beef with yellow

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] hurts my eyes

[You | 6:18 PM] you know what hurts your eyes? lack of sleep

He looked up at you when you laid out a bunch of highlighters in front of him, “Don’t worry. Not one of ‘em is yellow.”

“Did you go around and ask a bunch of people for highlighters?” his eyes followed you as you sat in front of him.

You just shrugged your shoulders, opening your own notes—hiding a grin behind the paper.

─── THURSDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:45 PM] where are u? some freshmen stole our table. the fuck

[You | 6:46 PM] our prof is still wrapping up

[grumpy med student | 6:47 PM] get here fast

You roll your eyes as you read his text. Your professor ended the class and you stood up almost immediately.

“Going on a date again?”

You glanced at your friend, brows furrowing. “It’s not a date.”

Maki doesn’t know why you’re still fooling her, maybe because you don’t know yourself what this is.

“Oh. Okay. Say hi to Gojo for me.” she says, laughing before stepping out the door. And you just huffed out a breath before picking up your bag.

You walk slowly—just to spite Satoru, and to think about what really is this.

Well, you’re just studying together. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?

─── FRIDAY───

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] i forgot to tell u earlier, someone just came up to me and asked if MI stands for mild infection

[You | 4:46 PM] my god

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] haha right.

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] what time’s your out? lecture just finished

[You | 4:47 PM] i'm here at the 2nd floor lounge w my friends. why?

He didn’t respond after that, you didn’t think much about it. Maybe he got pulled into a case, or he thought it’d be better to annoy his friends other than you.

Not until Maki nudges you with her shoulder, looking at the figure walking up to your table.

And there he was, Satoru Gojo, gracing your building with his presence—still in his lecture uniform, his hands were in his pocket like he’s a walking drama that’s about to happen.

“I don’t think you belong here.” you say as soon as he sat beside you, in front of your friends who’s just looking at him with their jaw slightly dropped.

“Yeah? I was told I could find the most irritating person here. And, yeah. Here she is.”

Your eyes were flickering in between your notes and him.

Because for the past ten minutes, he’s been blinking slowly—nodding off just a little before snapping his eyes back open.

You try not to stare at him but it’s really hard not to.

Satoru shifts in his seat, his cheek dips down on his folded arms—and then, poof, out cold.

Seriously?

You pressed your cheek against your palm and let yourself stare at him. His white hair was messier than usual, his specs almost out of place—his lips are parted slightly, small huffs of breath shuffling out.

He looks so exhausted.

This is so stupid, my god.

Your eyes darted around the library to see if someone else is looking—but they’re caught up in their own world, so you extended your arm, reaching out for his glasses before removing them slowly and placing them neatly on the table.

You should’ve stopped there.

But your fingers lightly grazed his hair strands, brushing it gently out of his face.

It doesn’t make sense why—you’re here tucking his hair like you’re meant to do it. You don’t know why you keep meeting up with him when he’s just supposed to be a stranger you accidentally spilled your coffee to.

It’s like suddenly you’re looped in each other’s orbits and you can’t go on a single day without even talking to each other.

This is so stupid.

You sighed, leaning back on your chair and focused on your notes again.

Twenty minutes later, maybe more, he stirred.

You look up just in time to see him squinting his eyes against the light, he looked at you still a bit disoriented.

“You didn’t leave?” he mumbled—voice hoarse from sleep, now sitting up and stretching his arm.

“No.” you replied, “I’m afraid the librarian might kick you out.”

He lets out a soft laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. His eye catches yours—neither of you says anything for a moment.

You coughed a bit, handing him his glasses. “Here. I thought you might need it.”

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] cafe’s too loud

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] someone got our table in the library again

[You | 6:31 PM] find another place, we’re almost finished here

[grumpy med student | 6:32 PM] it's all packed

[You | 6:33 PM] are u sure

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] ?

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] yes im sure, u wanna go check it yourself?

[You | 6:35 PM] ugh so maybe next time?

[grumpy med student | 6:35 PM] how about my place? it’s quiet

You were having a staring contest with your phone again.

His place and quiet didn’t quite add up to you. Your brain was reeling its wheels trying to conjure every possible way going to his place for the first time ever might entail.

It’s not like this is the first time you’re going to be alone together. It’s just that—this feels different, too different.

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] unless you don’t want to, it’s fine we can study tomorrow

[You | 6:37 PM] no it’s okay

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] okay, i’m outside your lecture hall

And that’s how you ended up in his place, at the living room floor with your notes and books splayed on the coffee table and on the floor—just anywhere near.

His place was surprisingly clean. Not too clean, but enough to surprise you considering he’s too busy. There were a lot of medical textbooks near the coffee table, some takeout containers but that was it.

And there’s definitely his scent that lingers around the air.

It was silent between you two—it’s always like that, not awkward silence but comfortable. You were both flipping through books, handouts and whatnot.

You were scribbling left and right and sometimes mumbling mnemonics like you’ve lost your mind.

Sometimes he’d ask you some questions about anatomy because he needs to recall something—or when you’re spacing out, he’d nudge your knee with his and you’d flick your pen or a yellow highlighter to his direction.

Yeah, well, it was a mix of peaceful yet chaotic.

Satoru looked up from his book, arching his brow when you sprawled on the carpet, your handouts placed above your face.

“If I read the word vertigo one more time, I swear I’ll jump off the balcony,” you say, your voice a little muffled due to the papers that were covering your face.

“Neuro?”

“Uh-huh.” you replied, groaning.

“Okay, I get why you’re being so dramatic now. Take a break?”

You pulled the papers out of your face as you sat up, “Yes. Please.”

You lean the side of your body against the couch, elbows resting on the cushion as you look at him. “So, were you like this when you were in college?”

“Like what?” He removes his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Uh—annoying?”

“Yeah, it’s innate.” and you both snorted, “It’s a gift, don’t you know?”

You waved your hand off, “But seriously, what were you like?”

He turned, mimicking your position. “Just like this but minus the parties. Kinda reckless. Uh, handsome?”

Then you threw your handouts at him.

“And you, after college are you going straight to med school?”

You hummed, because that was always the plan. It never changed.

“Yeah. That’s always the plan.” you answered, “So, you partied in college, huh? I could see it.”

He raised his brow, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” you narrow your eyes, looking at him carefully like you are analyzing him. “You’re wearing a backwards cap and oversized long sleeves with the first few buttons unbuttoned, probably holding a red cup—then there’s girls hovering over you, while you give your number left and right, did I nail it?”

Satoru blinked for a bit, then he suddenly laughed. “That’s oddly specific. What are you, a witch?”

You snorted a laugh, pointing at the small picture frame on his TV console. It’s a picture of him with his friends at a party—and he was wearing exactly what you had said.

Satoru blinked, looking at the photo then back at you.

Then he suddenly flicks your forehead—not too strong, but enough for you to glare at him. “You saw it earlier, didn’t you?”

“Ouch?!” you winced, a menacing smile slowly creeping up to your lips. “Even if I didn’t, I know you were like that.”

“Okay, miss psychic. But you were wrong about one thing.” he stretched his arms, and you could almost see the electrical field of smugness around him.

“And what is that?”

“I never gave my number to anyone.”

You raised a brow, “And why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop texting.”

“But you gave your number to me.”

He stops for a bit.

“Yeah, because you have my coat. I was afraid you’ll throw it out of spite,” he smirks.

“You’re so annoying.” you roll your eyes, your lips trying to twitch into a smile. “So you never dated anyone serious?”

He hummed, like he’s trying to think of every girl that he dated and you almost threw a pillow in his direction. “Just the one. But we broke up after a year.”

You were about to speak when he did it first. “How about you? You ever had a boyfriend?”

You shrugged, “I had a boyfriend. First year. For just a few months. But it’s fine, we’re just friends now.”

You swore you saw his grin falter a bit—his jaw clenched slightly before speaking, “Ah. Dark-hair, looks like he hasn’t slept in quite a while, that guy?”

You blinked, “How did you know?”

“That day in the lounge,” he paused, “He was staring at you and he looked pissed when I sat beside you.”

Your brows furrow a bit then you laugh, “He always looks like that.”

“Right.” he paused, he was smirking but his eyes told a different story. “Totally normal.”

Both of you just stared at each other until you looked away and he cleared his throat like there’s something stuck in there that he couldn’t quite say.

“Okay. Break’s over.” he says, and just like that he’s got his specs on and a book on his lap again.

“Yeah.” you mumbled, and reached for your handout then you turned away.

The silence envelops the two of you again. All you could hear was his AC unit humming, his shallow breaths and the papers rustling. You were tapping your fingers on the carpet over and over again while you tried to read what was on the paper.

But all the letters all seemed mushed as you try to comprehend the look he gave you earlier.

What the fuck.

It was ten minutes until you spoke again.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?” he answers, gaze not leaving the book.

“Let me try the Dix-Hallpike maneuver on you.”

Then he looked up—you were holding the book up to show him the illustration, his eyebrow creased. “You really think you could pull me down without dislocating my neck?”

You thought about it. He’s taller than you, probably a bit heavy. But, hey, there’s no harm in trying, right?

You squint your eyes, “Come on. I just want to practice. It’s for the sake of medicine and my future patients.”

He groaned, removing his glasses, then he stood up to sit on the couch. Thank god his couch is L-shaped, you have plenty of space for him because he is freakishly tall.

You had him on the couch in a long sitting position, then you stood in front of him. Your hands shake a bit when you hold his face on each side, tilting it gently.

Your heart was pounding, how can it not when this six-foot tall med student was staring at your face like you’ve got all the answers in the world—

“You’re shaking.” his voice was low.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“It’s because you’re annoying, put your weight on me.” you say a little bit pissed, and he just laughs. “I’m going to lean you back now.”

And you tried, like, really tried but his muscle mass and gravity weren’t on your side. He leaned a little bit too enthused, his shoulders were also hanging because you hadn’t calculated the size of this couch.

This maneuver isn’t meant for this couch, really.

He burst out laughing and you did too, “You broke your patient.”

You were still laughing, hands clutching your stomach, he sat up. “Let me try it on you.”

“You don’t even know how.” you say, still giggling.

“I saw you did it, didn’t I? And lucky for you, I’m a fast learner.” he reached out to your book and read the section for a bit.

You just watched as he read for a while, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Don’t break my neck.” you say as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah.” he says, tapping the couch for you to sit on. Then it was your turn.

Your breath hitched when he placed his hand, his palm on your jaw—his thumbs placed on your cheeks, and his fingers were supporting your neck.

Then he leaned you back, your head hanging from the couch—you didn't realize that he was too close until you felt his breath on your cheeks.

“So, tell me,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “What signs to look out for when your patient is positive for this maneuver?”

“Uh—” you paused, your voice was close to cracking. “Nystagmus.”

“Good.” he mumbles, his breath getting heavy. “For how long?”

Then you tilt your head to look at him, he was still holding you. His thumb was brushing your cheeks.

“For… uh—seconds to minutes…”

My god, this felt like hours.

You could feel the air shift and all the nerves in your body had awakened.

Your gaze locked into each other and it just clicked.

Then he pressed his lips onto yours, not a sliver of hesitation like he was sure he wanted to do this.

The kiss felt inevitable.

Your eyes widened before you closed them, tugging on his shirt to pull him close—his hand moved to the back of your neck before pulling you up without breaking the kiss.

You could feel your body warm up despite the air conditioning being on low temperature—the nerve endings on your skin were working full-time as his fingers grip the back of your neck a little.

Then his back hits the cushion with a soft thud.

His hands settled on your hips—your weight hovering over him as you straddle his lap—he deepened this kiss, biting your lower lip—pushing his tongue in, making you whimper in his mouth.

Your hands travelled to his hair, grasping the locks in between your fingers. His hands were circling in on you now.

He was kissing you like he was being starved—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Then the kiss turned deeper, messier and louder—teeth clashing, lips biting, tongue delving inside just to taste every inch of your mouth—none of it was neat, he was kissing you sloppy.

Satoru groaned into your mouth when you moved your hips a little. You could feel him bulging underneath your clothed sex, he gripped your hips trying to keep you steady.

Then he pulled away—his eyes lidded, lips were swollen as you looked down at him, both your breaths uneven.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you like he was memorizing the way your lips quiver as you breathe.

“We should stop.” he finally says, his voice rough.

“Why?” you ask softly, chest heaving—your hand still tangled in his hair, your fingers combing his soft locks.

“Because if we don’t,” he swallowed thickly, gripping your hips like he’s holding to what restraint he has left. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back anymore.”

Your ears pulsate, your face warms up as you stare at him.

God, you’re making him crazy.

The walk back to your dorm was silent. Not the tense silent kind of thing, where someone is about to throw a fit or cry.

It’s a ‘we-just-full-on-make-out-and-don’t-know-what-to-say’ kind of silence.

The kind that made your footsteps heavy on the sidewalk—you can’t even look at him, and you know he can’t look at you too.

Because he hadn’t said much since he offered to walk you back to your dorm—just took your bag without even saying a word, his skin brushes against you a bit and that was all, that was the last contact that you two ever made.

You were asking when the bickering would stop, and here it is. It stopped.

You used to walk like this together all the time. To the library, to the hospital cafeteria, to the café—bickering, nudging each other, making stupid jokes and annoying the hell out of each other and now it’s just… all gone.

You have no idea what else to do now. It’s like an itch on your brain that you can’t scratch. How are you supposed to act now? How do you even walk normally? How do you even breathe normally?

You swallowed hard, your brain was starting to irritate you. It’s screaming at you over and over again. You kissed him.

Nuh-uh, not just kiss, you made out with him. On his couch. With his hands gripping your waist. His fingers tracing your spine. Your lips clashing, molded into each other like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

You pursed your lip, huffing out a small breath that you wish he didn’t notice. Your thoughts were scattered, you couldn’t even think straight. You couldn’t find any right words to say.

And yet, you caved.

Your eyes looked forward, “You’re awfully quiet.”

“So are you.” he replies, then you look at him and he is staring at you.

And there he was calm. He always looked like that. Like this didn’t shake him.

Was he spiraling too? Is he pretending right now? You don’t know. You can’t even tell.

What now? What are you going to say? Are you going to ask him now what that kiss meant?

You looked away again. Wouldn’t it be better if he said something—maybe joke about it a little or annoy you, tease you—like he always does. But none of that was happening.

He stayed silent. And so did you, until you reached your dorm building.

“This is you.” he finally says, handing your bag to you.

You took it, and his fingers brushed into you again.

You open your mouth to say something but none of the words come out. Your throat felt like something big was stuck in it and you couldn’t spew what you wanted to say.

“Good night,” he said, and you just gave him a faint smile then you nodded.

What even is this? Why can’t you say something—

“Is this going to be weird now?”

He blinked, frozen in place but then he gave you a smile. Not that annoying, smug, teasing smile of his—it was a genuine smile, the kind that makes your heart squeeze.

“Only if you want it to be.”

You wanted to scream because how does he do it? How does he say it so casually while you’re here, like a ticking time bomb, about to explode?

Your fingers tightened around the bag that you were holding.

No, of course, you wouldn’t want it to be weird.

“I don’t want it to be.” you said, almost whispering.

Because that’s the truth. You didn’t want anything to change. Even if you’ve crossed that line. Even if you didn’t know what it meant for the two of you.

You don’t want to lose whatever this is.

He nodded, then stepped forward—placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, YN.”

You just swallowed hard. Your eyes followed his figure while he walked back to his place that was just a few blocks from yours.

Your heart was pounding inside your chest. It’s funny you realize this now—but you know, it’s the truth.

That he’s either going to be the one… or the one you’ll never recover from.

You just didn’t know which is which.

You both said you were just taking a short break.

But now you have no idea how long you’d been like that on the couch.

Your back on the armrest, while he’s above, pressing his body against you—your legs curled up beside him and the other, slightly on him. It was getting kinda hard to breathe—from the kiss but also from the fact that whatever this is, there’s no coming back from this.

Your grip on his hair tightens when his lips trailed down to the side of your lips, to your jaw down to your neck—sucking and licking, “Satoru—don’t… don’t put—mhm!”

Then he presses his lips on yours again, and you could feel him smile—his teeth grazing on your lower lip.

“You know we should be studying, right?” he says in between, breathing heavy, then he was on you again—biting and nibbling on your lips.

“Mhm—hmm.” you hummed into his mouth, pulling him closer, like there’s any space left in between. Your lips were probably swollen—wet, from all the sloppy kisses that he was giving you but you didn’t have any care in the world.

Your notes and books were long forgotten on the floor and on the coffee table.

Your hair was probably a mess, a few buttons on your white uniform were unbuttoned—his white shirt was wrinkled from all the tugging that you did.

His hand moved to your hair, gripping on it a bit to angle your head—you moan into his mouth, and he pushes his tongue, swirling it around then sucks your tongue in—

“Yo. You weren’t answering—oh. OH.”

You both froze, eyes now open and you’re becoming painfully aware that he’s still above you. Then you heard another voice coming in.

“Hey! We brought—my god, we’re so sorry!” Then you heard a soft thud on the floor.

You pushed Satoru off you so fast that you almost hit your head against his. You sat up, fixing your hair and buttoning your white uniform again—while Satoru, this dumbass, was groaning—his back leaned on the couch now.

“For the record,” the tall guy with a dark-hair tied loosely into a bun—the one you saw in the cafeteria, started speaking, “We knocked.”

Satoru was about to speak when a voice cut into the conversation. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s happening in here?”

And another.

Now, there’s four of them. Looking back and forth at you and Satoru.

“Hi. I’m Yuki!” the tall blonde girl cracked the awkward silence, she walked towards the couch where you were sitting, then she pointed at her friends. “That’s Choso. Shoko then, the one who interrupted you first was Suguru.”

You smiled at them, still catching your breath—pulling your uniform down slightly, “I—uh… I’m YN.”

Then her eyes widened, “Oh! You’re YN?! The YN?”

Was he talking about you to his friends?

“The YN that spilled a coffee on his coat then he bitched to us about it like a fucking baby?” Shoko—the short-haired girl nudges Satoru to move so she could sit beside you.

Satoru glared at her but he moved anyway. Then slowly they were placing the food here and there, Suguru even handed you a soda.

“He was so dramatic about it,” Choso says, “We almost kicked him out of the group chat.”

You whip your head to look at Satoru, “I can’t believe you told them.”

“What was I supposed to do? I was pissed off.” he says, groaning. “And you didn’t even say sorry!”

“Uh—what? Cause you’re the one who bumped into me like you’re walking with your eyes closed! And I did say sorry!”

Did you? That memory was kind of a blur now.

Satoru laughs, “Uh. If I could remember, the only thing you said to me was I needed to get some sleep.”

And just like that the whole room burst into laughter—they were watching with amusement as you bicker back and forth with their friend, like they haven’t caught you making out with him on this very couch.

They were very loud—but funny, and so comfortable with each other and yet, you didn’t feel left out. Not even for a bit.

Now you’re all on the floor, your back leaning on the couch and Satoru was seated beside you.

Yuki was looping you in on the jokes. Shoko was asking you how pre-med is now and then, Choso and Suguru were asking you a bunch of questions about anatomy like you were in a trivia game.

They like you.

And that made you feel overwhelmed—in a good way, maybe? How are you supposed to feel in this position anyway?

You didn’t even notice the embarrassment gone out of your body like it was nothing. The room was filled with jokes, banters—and god, Satoru’s laugh. His laugh was annoyingly good. It was driving you insane.

You were still laughing when you looked at him and he looked back at you with a faint smile etched on his face.

Then your eyes landed onto his, he was looking at you like there’s something brewing on his mind—like there was something that he wanted to say but he couldn’t.

“You okay?” you asked him, nudging his knee slightly.

“Yeah.” he slung an arm around your shoulder, “Good.”

You smiled and looked away because you can feel something shifted. You can feel something tiny—an ache, pressing onto your ribs that was supposed to be protecting your heart.

You just didn’t know what it was.

Your days felt the same but at the same time it wasn’t.

You were still talking.

He was still messaging you.

You were still studying together—not at his place, but at the library.

And he was quieter than usual.

He wasn’t nudging your knee, flicking your forehead or grumbling about his back-to-back rotations where they made him stand for hours again.

He was just… there. Reading. Writing something in his notebook. Not even sparing you a single glance.

“Are you okay?” you asked and he just hummed, you took a deep breath, “Am I annoying you?”

He stopped for a bit, still not looking. “No.”

You were expecting that his answer would be ‘yes, you’re annoying me. you always do.’ because… that’s how he’s supposed to answer you, right?

With a cocky grin and a teasing tone. That’s how.

Maybe he was just too tired. Maybe his instructor was too much. Maybe he was just… you don’t know what reasons you could come up with anymore just to justify him acting like this.

But still you brushed it off. Holding onto some stupid reason that you don’t even know.

But the next day came. He canceled lunch, saying he was backed up. Rounds were taking too long.

He said he’ll see you later at the café, that he’ll text you once he gets there.

But he didn’t.

But you let it slide, maybe it slipped his mind. Come on, he’s a third year med student, of course, he’s busy.

And for the next two days, he was silent. He wasn’t messaging—and how you hated that every single time you stepped out the lecture hall, you were wishing he was there, leaning on the wall—waiting for you.

But he wasn’t.

So, you’re staring at your phone for the whole lunch break. Contemplating whether to send him a text. Typing then erasing, then typing again—and the cycle just continued until you had the guts to press the send button.

[You | 12:32 PM] u still alive? haha

So, you waited. Until the lunch break finished. Until it was time for your one pm lecture.

None.

Then you check your phone.

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] just busy

It took him four hours.

Four. fucking. hours. It was starting to piss you off. Why is he acting like this? Why is he avoiding you like you’re some plague?

Was it something that you did? Was it the kiss?

Your mind can’t comprehend why he’s acting this way. You were good, right?

You were so good. Not just good. Everything felt right, everything was into pieces like a puzzle locked in together and now it shattered, and the pieces were missing.

You already felt like you belonged.

And suddenly, it’s just… this?

[You | 4:55 PM ] okay

And that was the last thing you sent him.

Then a week passed by agonizingly slow—just like this elevator ride up to your mother’s office.

There were days that you found yourself staring at your phone—reading the old texts, and his damn hoodie wrapped around you while you slept, just to fill a large chunk of space that he left.

You hated how much you noticed the space where he was supposed to be. You hated all of it because he wasn’t just ignoring you—he’s making you feel his absence, and no matter what you did—you can’t escape this raw, aching feeling that’s clawing its way to your chest.

Like it wanted to rip your heart and lungs out.

Maybe it was all too much for him? Maybe he regretted it now.

Maybe.

You looked at the elevator door when it opened—

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart stopped beating for a short while before screaming inside your chest.

There he was—Satoru, standing in front of you, his hair was messy like he ran his fingers through it a lot of times, his specs still perched on top of his nose and a stethoscope was hanging around his neck.

You could see the look on his face—like you’re a ghost that he was trying to avoid. But then he stepped in and stood up a few inches away from you.

You knew this was going to happen if you went to the hospital. You know you’re going to bump into him—the problem is, you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to act anymore.

This was the kind of silence that you hated—it was heavy with the words that you couldn’t utter. Words that you don’t know how to get out.

You wanted to say something.

Open your mouth but all you could do was look straight ahead.

Like he’s just some stranger who you share memories with.

You know he was about to say something by the way he breathed but then the elevator door opened again.

But you didn’t wait—didn't look back, didn’t spare him a glance and just walked out until you were out of his sight.

And that was the moment you realized—it was all gone.

The bickering, the coffee, the waiting outside your lecture hall so you could walk side by side to the library—the mnemonics, the late night calls and—the kiss.

It was all lost.

Just like that.

The cafeteria was just the same. It was a little more crowded than usual but it was just the same.

But instead of him, you sat across from your mother, quietly eating her food while her phone was buzzing nonstop, and she kept looking at her watch while you just poked on your food like it done you wrong.

“Sorry we can’t eat outside,” she sipped on her coffee, “The surgery took longer than I expected and I still have a consult after this.”

“It’s okay.” you answered softly, absentmindedly poking. You hadn’t said much since you saw him earlier.

You hated him for doing this to you.

“You alright?” your mom asked, staring at your face and you lift your head, giving her a faint smile.

You nodded, but something caught the side of your eye and it darted past your mother’s shoulder—to the table at the corner of the cafeteria, why is the universe playing with you today?

There he was, sitting with his friends, and he looked how he was earlier—except he looked like the skies fell on him.

She followed your line of sight, furrowing her brows a bit before turning to you.

“You know Gojo?”

Your ears pulsate with just a mere utterance of his name.

You looked away, “No.”

“I hear he’s a bit popular in the university,” she continued, giving you a look like she was looking out for your reaction, “Even here. One of the top students. Brilliant.”

You just hummed, and she just kept on talking about him—and you just wished she would stop. “He’s in his third year, right? His mom and I were residents together.”

You blinked, looking at her. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” you puffed out a small breath, and you avoided her gaze. “It’s really… nothing.”

She looked at you, gaze softening as she watched you push your food around. “Hm. Okay, you don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“It’s really nothing, Mom. It’s fine.”

She just chuckled, her hands cupped yours above the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be looking at him like that.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

He bought food but he was barely touching it. It was hard to breathe when he knew that you were there—just a few tables from him.

He hated this. He hates himself—he always does this, when everything feels too good—too real, it terrifies him that he turns away.

Except, when he had done this before—he didn’t get hung up, he had protected himself before it got real, before everything went too deep.

He doesn’t just let anyone in, but then you came, you invaded his space—and this barrier between him and his emotions just came crumbling down.

“Satoru,” Suguru called him, tossing a crumpled tissue his way, “You good?”

“Yeah.” he just nodded, a bit distracted.

Yuki was ranting about her rotations when she suddenly stopped, squinting across the room, to the table where you were sitting. “Wait. Isn’t that Dr. LN?”

Shoko and the others followed her gaze, “Yeah. It is.”

“Isn’t that YN with her?” Choso says, turning away and suddenly, all of them were just staring at him—Satoru, like he had done them wrong too.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows creased.

Yuki waved her hand first, “Wait. Before we get to Satoru’s stupid ass, why is YN eating with Dr. LN?!”

Satoru lifted his head—he couldn’t help but look in your direction, your chin was resting on your hand, you were looking at the food again like it said something that offended you.

He muttered, “Dr. LN’s her mom.”

“Whaaat?” Yuki shrieked and Shoko was taken aback too.

“You’re kidding?”

But he didn’t answer them. He wasn’t surprised at his friends’ reactions because Dr. LN is one of the top surgeons at the hospital, maybe it just shocked them that you’re her daughter.

Well, it wasn’t a surprise. You’re smart—just like her. You’re…

Fuck. Why can’t he look away? He made his decision, right? Why can’t he get you out—

“The fuck was that for?” his train of thoughts vanished when he felt Shoko smack his head. “Are you—”

“You’re a dumbass.” she hissed, and the other three hummed in agreement. “She’s the only girl that we liked. Like, ever.”

“I mean,” Suguru started, “No offense to your past trainwrecks.”

“She just clicked, you know?” Yuki said, sipping on her juice, “I mean, she didn’t even look nervous around us. She laughed with us, she never had that awkward silence, you get me? Like, you could feel her—ah, I’m rambling. Bottomline, you’re fucking stupid.”

He knew that—and that’s what terrified him, you fitted in so easily. You slid so easily in his life like you really belong there.

The problem was never with you.

He used to be content with what you two had—the endless bickering, the studying together quietly—all of it was enough for a person like him. Enough for him who didn’t have time, who couldn’t offer anything more.

Because what if he couldn’t give you what you wanted? What you deserved?

And it scared him when you two kissed for the first time. Because it felt like whatever you two had, could be something more.

But he wasn’t ready for more.

Not when his life was already hanging on a balance with the endless responsibilities, pressure, expectations—he couldn’t bring you into this.

He was hunched into the desk when Suguru placed a paper bag in front of him. He looked at him and frowned. “What is this?”

“Nurses said someone dropped it off. It’s yours.”

Satoru sighed then reached for the bag.

And his heart stopped.

It was his hoodie.

The one that he gave you so that you could have something of his, that you could return—so you could—he could see you again.

He knew what this meant. He knew why you gave it back.

Because he wasn’t going to see you again.

He just stared at it, barely moved, afraid that if he touched it, it would explode. It didn’t smell like him anymore—it smelled like you.

“You know, it’s the first time that I saw you like this.” he looked at Suguru who was leaning on the wall, staring right at him as if watching him come to his senses.

But he didn’t speak, he just looked away as if scared that the truth would hurt him. And it did.

It does.

“She was really good for you,” Suguru added, “I mean, granted that you ditch us for her like an asshole but still, she made you breathe just for a bit.”

Suguru didn’t say this just to be cruel. He was just telling the truth. Because that’s what he saw.

Satoru’s fists clenched, “I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”

“It’s too late for that, you know that, right?”

“And I told you before,” Satoru muttered, “I can’t do this. I don’t have enough time, space—”

“And yet you did.” Suguru pressed, “You made time. You brought her into your space. You let her in, man. She even met all of us. And I know you, you don’t do that.”

Satoru’s breath caught into his throat.

“And it was a mistake.” he says quietly, like he was trying to convince himself. But he’s too smart for that.

They both know it wasn’t. He never regretted it once. He’s just too terrified.

Because you weren’t supposed to matter. But then you started showing up in places where he was. Everywhere he went you were there. Everywhere he looks, he sees you.

Even in his thoughts—you were there.

You were in every goddamn thing that he touches.

And now all of it is just… just.

There’s no more lunch breaks where you kick his leg slightly under the table, no more yellow highlighters flying to his direction just so you could annoy him.

He would never see the crease in your brows again whenever you were muttering mnemonics like the world would end if you didn’t memorize it all.

He would never get irritated now that you’re not here to pester him about practicing something on him—and he’ll say yes anyway.

Now, there’s no more pretending that he wasn’t falling for you. Because he did, he fell hard and he crashed.

There’s no coming back from that.

He really fucked up, huh?

You were about to drift off to sleep when you heard a knock on your door.

You groaned, clutching the paper that was on your face. You hadn’t slept properly in days and of course—of fucking course, just when you’re about to, someone decides to knock on your stupid door.

Great. Just fucking great.

You removed every paper that was on you and set it aside.

You drag yourself up pulling the blanket over your shoulder to cover up the fact that you were only wearing your cami top and shorts—meaning, you’re not to be disturbed, god, it’s late.

You walk to the door, barely awake, cracking it open just to see who it is.

And it’s like a cold bucket of water was splashed onto your face.

Sleep? Gone.

Your heart? Gone. It exploded.

“What are you doing here?”

He was staring at you like you stole all air from him.

You looked around the hallway before pulling him in—shutting the door behind you. You don’t even know how he got in your dorm building—but here he is, interrupting your sleep, your life.

You turned to him, clutching the blanket around you, waiting for him to speak.

“The hoodie,” he whispered, breathing heavily, “You gave it back.”

“That’s what you came here to say? That I gave you your hoodie back?”

He parted his mouth like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you like he’s afraid that you were going to slip away.

So you did, “I gave it back because it’s pointless. I gave it back because I know you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. I didn’t want to hold on to something that… that you clearly don't want.”

His heart dropped when your voice cracked.

“YN—”

“What?” your tone was sharp, like you were protecting yourself. “What do you want, Satoru? Are you going to show up again, act like I fucking matter to you and the next few days, ignore me?”

You laughed bitterly, tears cascading down the side of your eyes. You said you weren’t going to cry.

You didn’t cry in the past two weeks that he didn’t talk to you.

But seeing him here, in front of you, it’s like a dam broke inside of you.

“It’s not that—It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you,” he muttered, trying to step closer but his feet wouldn’t move. “I fucked up.”

“You did!” you snapped, wiping your tears hastily, “So what was it? You were busy? You forgot I existed?”

“No.” he paused, “Because you weren’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to happen—I don’t fucking do this, YN. I don’t stay up late with someone, I don’t just eat lunch with someone because I want to—I… fuck.”

“So you just pushed me away? Because life didn’t go the fucking way you want it to?”

He just looked at you, every word that you were saying sits heavy on his chest.

“Because, God forbid, you feel something real?” your voice shatters, “You made me think, I mattered. Then you just up… and leave. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

And that’s what hurt the most. How easily he walked away like none of it meant anything to him.

You buried your face in your palms, sobbing—the blanket that was hugging you pooling on the floor.

“YN.” he stepped forward, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I was such a fucking jerk—”

“You are!” your voice was muffled, your shoulders shaking as you cried. Then you feel him—his arms circling around you to pull you close, the side of your head resting on his chest.

“I didn’t know what to do.” he almost choked, resting his cheek on your head. “I didn’t know how to deal with something like this. You weren’t just a distraction, you weren’t just a girl who flirted with me at a party—you were, you.”

You could feel his hand tremble by the way he held you, but you let him speak. “You were there almost every day. God, you were the first person I think about whenever I hear something funny or someone irritated the fuck out of me.”

“Then I got scared when I saw how easy it was for you to slip into my space, into the people I care about.”

You pull away from him, your hands wiping your tears. Your gaze finds each other.

“When I was watching you laugh with them… I realized that I care so much about you. And that scared me because I don’t want to lose you—I didn’t want that moment to end, and if I said the wrong thing or did something stupid then I would lose you for good? I could not let myself do that.”

“What changed?” you paused, “So, what? You’re not scared now?”

“No. God, I’m scared.” his eyes didn’t leave yours, “But I’m scared of not being with you at all—of walking away, then spending the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve been.”

You didn’t know what else to say.

Or if there is something else to say.

You were just standing there, his hands trembling on your hips—his lips flutter every time he took a breath.

“Kiss me.”

You say but you didn’t even let him react when you tugged on his shirt, pulling him close to press his lips against yours—your teeth grazing his lower lip to let you in.

And he did, he let you in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breathing heavily before letting you jump into his arms, he carried you to your bed—pushing everything on the floor, the sheets under you rustles as he set you down along with the sound of the papers scattering on the floor.

And just like that, he was all over you again—on top of your body, pressing himself against you.

“I missed you,” you let it slip in between the kisses, in between the whimper into his mouth. “I miss you, Satoru.”

His fingers trail inside your shirt, skimming your waist up to your ribs until he reaches the underside of your breast.

He groaned into your mouth before pulling away, his kisses trail down to the skin of your neck, peppering you with desperate—hungry kisses, “You have no idea how hard it was to stay away.”

“Then don’t.” you gasp as he bites the skin just above your collarbone, “Just stay… with me.”

God, you’re driving him insane.

Then he was back on your lips again. His kisses getting frantic—desperate, he pushed his tongue past your lips—hot and heavy, swirling his tongue inside your mouth like he needed to taste every inch of you.

Because he does. Satoru needed you, he craved you.

You moan against his mouth, his fingers tracing the strap of your camisole before pulling it down—the strap falling flawlessly from your shoulders.

His hand gripped your shoulder—like he was making sure you were okay with his hands all over you, but you reached for his wrist almost immediately and placed it on top of your breast yourself.

Then he froze for a bit, both your eyes opened—until a startled laugh broke out of him—and next, you.

“I thought you were getting shy or something,” you say breathlessly, laughing softly.

“I was being respectful,” he brushed the tip of his nose against yours and yet his hand was still on your breast.

“Don’t you think that went out the window when you stuck your tongue down my throat?”

“Point taken.” he says before his mouth crashes on you again, licking your lips as he starts to knead your chest—he presses soft kisses against your jaw until he is down to your chest, pulling your cami top down with his teeth.

Fuck, he’s so hot.

You catch your breath as he takes your breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling on your nipple while the pad of his thumb brushes over the other.

Your fingers find their way to his hair—gripping it desperately, like you were aching for more, more touch, more of him.

He lets go of your breast with a pop, his eyes staring at you like he was burning your skin.

“Satoru,” you look up at him, your fingers tightened on his hair, “Fuck, please…”

“I know.” his breath stutters when he sees you part your swollen lips, “I got you, baby.”

His lips were back onto yours—greedy, breathless as his hands roam everywhere, he grips on your hips like he’s melding his hand onto your skin. His fingers trace the waistband of your shorts before pulling it down in a swift motion, throwing it on the floor.

His fingers dug into your thighs, coaxing them apart before moving his hands up, his fingers drawing the fabric of your underwear to the side.

You whine against his lips when he slid his finger up and down your folds, his fingers slick with your juices before sliding one finger in, “Mhm—fuck.”

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice was almost reverent—but the smirk tugging on his lip betrays him, your lips part—breathless moan leaches out of your mouth when he adds a finger.

Then he moves his fingers in then out—hooking it just enough to make you tremble and grip his wrist when he moves it fast.

His fingers coated with your wetness creates a hungering sound, he watches as you arch into his hand—and it makes his stomach curl in an animalistic way. He couldn’t even think straight, he was just watching your every gasp and shiver like he was memorizing it.

“Sa—toru! Mhm, fuck, more—please.” you moaned, tugging him close to pull him close just so you could feel him more, it wasn’t enough that his fingers were inside you—you needed more. “I want you. Please.”

“Ah.” he half laughs, breathlessly—almost moaning, his fingers still pumping in and out of your cunt, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I know.” you lift your head a bit to reach his lower lip, you graze your teeth into the wet skin of his mouth, “Let me—ngh—drive you even crazier.”

“Yeah?” he groans, and you nod, your fingers reaching out for the waistband of his pants, until you reach the button of his pants—your hands reach inside cupping his hard dick with your palm, moving your hands agonizingly—slowly.

“Ah—fuck—” you whimpered when he stopped pumping his fingers—you didn’t even know how he rid himself of his clothes that fast, then he was on top of you again.

Maybe he was just that desperate—and fuck, you know you were too.

His body was hoisted slightly as he stroked his cock above you while pressing sloppy kisses on your mouth.

Then you pulled away, you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he tilted his head back slightly—your fingers tracing the line of his abs—guttural moans came out of him like he came straight out of porn, his hand still pumping his cock.

You loop your legs on his waist, pulling him close—you both gasp as the tip of his dick almost dips in your cunt. “Impatient, are you?”

“Mhm.” you pull him more—his jaw clenches, eyes darkening at how maddeningly desperate you are.

“Fuuuck. You’re killing me.” he slides his tip up and down, just to tease you—and it loses his mind how you're faltering with even a small touch. He’s ruined.

You ruined him.

“Please—Satoruuu—OH.”

You both gasp when he suddenly pushes in, slowly—deliberately, like he wanted to relish in the way that you clench around him, walls hugging his dick so tight he might’ve come right there and then.

“Shit,” he groans, voice cracking while pushing in deep—until you take all of him, “You’re so—tight, ah, fuck. So good.”

You dip your fingernails into his shoulder, lips apart—your head tilted back slightly. Your eyes flutter shut as you take the abrupt stretch—the pleasure.

“Satoru—mhm, please. Need you to move, baby.”

He groans into your neck—the pet name added to the things cutting into his restraint, he gripped your hips trying to keep you still—god, he couldn’t move. He was getting overwhelmed with the way you feel soft and tight around him.

There was a hitch in your voice when he started moving, slowly—then deeper, faster—harder.

The shaky, uneven—heavy breathing fills the air. The sheets rustle just below you as the bed starts creaking but all you could focus on was how delicious his hips slaps into you—wet, sloppy thrusts fills your ear, making your body ache in ways you didn’t even know.

Your moans grew louder, air catches on your breath with every thrust that he makes.

“Satoru—ah. Fuck!” you close your eyes from the hundreds of pleasure coursing through your body.

He pulls back just a bit, to see your face.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and when your eyes meet his—he loses it. He was all over you—on your mouth, on your face, neck—pressing wet kisses while he rams you into oblivion.

And fuck, how it drove you insane when he gripped your hair and tilted your head just so he could lick your collarbone up to your jaw—then it suddenly hit you like a wave, his name left your mouth broken.

The muscles on your abdomen contract, toes curling into the sheets.

Your grip on him tightens as your thighs quivered, hips arching into him. “Sat—nggh—toru! Feels so good,”

“Fuck, you came?” he groans, his grip on your hips tightens as he fucked you into overstimulation.

You make him crazy. So crazy—he’s losing his mind—you’re going to make him lose his mind until there’s just a scintilla of sanity left on him.

Satoru cursed under his breath—hips curving slightly as he pushed in deep. Your name leaves his lips, strained—low. His hips stutter a bit before he collapses on top of you.

You could feel his chest rise and fall against yours, your breathing in sync.

“You’re heavy.” you muttered, and he just hums—sinking himself deeper against your body.

“I think I just went to heaven.”

You laughed, swatting his back lightly. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“Well, I’m sorry—but you ruined me.” he groans—you let out a whimper when he shifts slightly, aware that he’s still inside you. You both winced when he pulled out, but still not getting off of you.

“I ruined you?” you arch your brow, he places his head on your chest—listening to your heartbeat like it was the only thing grounding him.

“Hmm. Completely ruined—like my coat was.”

You groaned, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He lifts his head and greets you with a smug grin, “No. I’d be annoying you with that forever.”

Forever, huh?

597 notes · View notes

kisseobie · 3 months ago

Text

p1harmony as your stoner boyfriends

pairings: ot6!piwon x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw (mdni)

a/n: hello again 😓 sorry for being gone for months, i still don’t know how much i have in me to post regularly, but i hope u all like this nonetheless <3 if this sucks please give me some grace, i’m so out of practice. anyways i love stoner piwon 😸

tags: established relationships, drug use (obviously, please stay safe!), sexual content, high sex, cunnilingus, blowjobs, domesticity, idk what else

౨ৎ keeho

the only member i think would rather drink than get high, but honestly, he’s down for anything you want. kyo doesn’t really buy bud on his own, so you’d have to be the provider i fear. all is well though, because he sends you money every other day anyways. the first time you got high together, keeho’s tolerance was shit, and the man had fallen asleep within 20 minutes of the sesh. now though, he’s built up his tolerance, and rather than getting sleepy, he just becomes cockier than he already is. compliments come easy to keeho, he’s never shied away from praising you, but when he’s smoked some weed, it’s like the words just spill out. it’s almost annoying, he knows exactly which buttons to push and prod at until you’re reduced into a blushing mess, and keeho definitely uses that to his advantage. what he doesn’t expect, is for you to retaliate, pressing your fingers into his chest to push him backwards, his back hitting the soft of your mattress as he looks up at you confused. it makes you giggle, how he’s so easy to render speechless when moments ago, he wouldn’t dare shut up.

admittedly, you’d already been craving him, long before he had made his way to your apartment. now that you’re high though, all that’s on your mind is keeping the boy beneath you quiet, almost as if to teach him a lesson. your attention falls from his face to his crotch area, his dick already pressing against his jeans, as if his body was anticipating this before his mind could even catch on. you coo at his patheticness, reveling in this newfound power you have over him. your manicured nails find themselves underneath his white tee, scratching slightly at his bare chest as kyo continues to silently ogle you. you don’t miss the blush on his ears though, or how his eyes glaze over in a way that makes it obvious he wants nothing more than to be taken care of. you test the waters by ghosting your fingers over his covered cock, now painfully aware of how inexperienced you are when it comes down to dominating him, as the opportunity hadn’t arrived until just now. you look at your boyfriend to gauge his reaction, and he simply nods to give you permission to use him as you please. confident once more, you unbutton his jeans slowly, all while staring at his bewilderment (and enjoyment!) of your sudden affinity for dominating him. twenty something minutes later, you’ve got keeho in tears, the man whimpering and thrashing around in your sheets, all while your fist pumps his dick as fast as you can manage. you’ve robbed him of three orgasms at this point, and you’re not planning on stopping anytime soon.

౨ৎ theo

taeyang was an avid stoner long before he had even met you, and now that you’re his girl, he’s corrupted you as well—if the pen you carry around like a vice is anything to go by. he’s still disciplined though, saving his smoke seshes for the weekend, where he can actually enjoy himself without having to stress about work. his ideal weekend entails sleeping in, picking you up to take you on a date, bringing you home to lounge around, and of course, smoke. i imagine theo has a cozy little spot in the corner of his living room where he likes to get high the most. there’s a good view of the tv from there, along with cushions that remind him of his childhood home, proper ventilation, the works. before you’re even over, he makes sure to have your go-to blanket on top of your usual cushion, along with some of your favorite snacks. once you’re both back at his place after another successful date, you get undressed into something comfy and make a beeline for his special corner, harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban already on, lighter and joint in your boyfriend’s hand. the two of you have a routine at this point, tuning the movie out and making conversation as the high starts to kick in.

high sex with taeyang isn’t guaranteed. it happens when it happens, so you aren’t necessarily expecting your boyfriend to lean over and stare at your lips, much less to make out with you right then and there. you get ahold of the situation pretty quickly though, deepening the kiss while putting out the joint on the ashtray beside you. he’s not super vocal, but his tight grip on your hips makes his desire for you undeniable, and lucky enough for him, it doesn’t take long before you can feel your arousal, your panties now sticky. he stops kissing you for a moment to stare at you, smiling like he just won the lottery. ��i missed you.” is all he says, and the man doesn’t even give you enough time to reply, locking your lips once more while his hands move upwards to knead at your clothed tits. the stimulation is heavenly, and with just a few gropes you’re whimpering into his mouth, hot and heavy. eventually, yangie pulls you into his inviting lap, and after some more making out, you’re both naked from the waist down, with your pussy grinding against his thick cock in hurried motions. there’s no time to think, no time to even put him inside of you. all you care about is the dizzying friction against your cunny, and theo wouldn’t have it any other way.

౨ৎ jiung

rolls up for you every time like a true gentlemen—is good at it too. prefers to smoke with you out on his fancy patio, the chill air easing him into fully letting go, without having to worry about the pungent scent of bud that’ll no doubt linger on his clothes later. however, if you’re convincing enough, he might just allow you to place yourself atop his lap, your combined weight pressing into the plush of ji’s living room couch as you blow smoke into the stillness of his apartment. jiung, always responsible, has water bottles within reach for whenever need be, as well as the cute calico cat ash tray you bought him a few months back. hatessss getting ash anywhere but in the tray, and scolds you if some drops onto his hardwood floors. has a pretty high tolerance, but when it does hit, all of his stress fades away pretty quickly. isn’t really all that talkative, as he’d rather listen to whatever bullshit you have to spew when you’re high off of your mind. gently rubs at your thighs with his cold hands as he listens, a curious look in his eyes that’s mixed with something else that you can only place as love.

waits until your high dissipates into a thin fog before he suggests anything remotely sexual, afraid that he’ll do something rash and regret it afterwards. jiung tends to be a little lazier in this state, preferring to spoon fuck you into the couch at a slower pace than usual—not that you mind, especially not when his cock hits every little spot inside your gummy walls. kisses at your exposed shoulders after every few mind-numbing thrusts, and like always, makes sure that you’ve came on his cock before indulging in his own peak. jiung gets kinda sappy once the deed is done, evident in the way he turns you over to look at him, or how his hands come up to cradle your fucked out face, grounding you almost instantly. whispers sweet nothings at you until your eyes have fallen shut, and proceeds to bridal carry you to his bed when he’s sure you’ve tapped out for the night, knowing how much you despise waking up cramped on his couch. getting high with bf!jiung is comfortable, and you know that you’re always in safe hands with him.

౨ৎ intak

hwang intak rolls worst joint ever, asked to leave p1harmony. genuinely though, his lazy ass always stocks up on the weakest pre-rolls, because he knows his fingers aren’t to be trusted with the pretty pink rolling papers you bring to every smoke sesh. you always end up having to roll for the two of you because of his lackluster skills, but he makes up for it by buying his girl a cute hello kitty themed grinder. has a really low tolerance, but swears up and down that he’s not high (he absolutely is). when he’s baked, he somehow gets even touchier with you, pawing at each and every curve of your body with no shame. his big eyes get all droopy, tinted a slight red color as he watches you—perched up against his bedroom wall, joint between your fingers as you pay him no mind, like he’s not even there. for some reason, i see intak as the type to want to work for your attention, especially during times like these, where all you really care about is getting high, with or without him. he’s not one to falter when it comes to a challenge.

in true intak manner, he’d try to get you to crack with physical touch, and although the feel of his hands against your skin affects you more than you’d ever admit, the final push would definitely be intak getting real close to your ear, whispering something like “let me make you feel good? please?”, and you don’t have to be asked twice. smirks all stupid when he realizes he’s won, ready to make you see stars and regret ignoring him. i think tak would be an eater when he’s high, not like he usually isn’t, but his desire to explore your cunt with his tongue just grows tenfold when he’s in this state. takes you right there on his carpeted floor, not even bothering to take off any of his own garments, because this is just for you. likes to take his time with it, looking up at you with teary, hazy eyes as he admires the crinkles in your features when he moves his tongue especially well. wouldn’t even stop once you’ve hit your climax, is way too lost in the sauce, overstimulating your pussy until he comes in his pants with a groan like some horny teenager. he’s not ashamed about it in the slightest, as intak thinks the sexiest thing in the world is to have his girl rutting against his eager mouth.

random little thought of mine, but i imagine intak lovessss to get crossed as well :3

౨ৎ soul

i don’t know why, but sho pegs me as an avid bong user. maybe it’s the childlike whimsy of pulling and watching bubbles rise in the chamber, much like how he’d blow bubbles into a glass of milk as a kid. i don’t know, but soul loves himself a good bong. has a bunch of ‘em actually, colorful and strangely shaped. whenever you get high together, he lets you pick out the one you want to use from his collection, like the true gentleman he is. you’re both sat in front of his janky tv, passing around the bong and laughing at whatever anime soul’s currently binging. your boyfriend’s personality doesn’t change much when he’s high, but you on the other hand, happen to get horny each and every time. maybe it’s the way your foggy brain can only focus on his side profile, the light of tv screen casting a glow on his pale skin in the prettiest of ways, accentuating his jawline that you oh so love. maybe it’s his posture, hands pressed into the floor behind him to support his weight, sweatpants adorning his slightly spread legs that leave little to the imagination. whatever it is, you’re horny, and you get an idea that brings a flush of pink to your cheeks.

you crawl over a bit to hover over his legs, and shota, bless his heart, is too high preoccupied with the episode to wonder what you’re doing. you place your forearms onto his legs to stabilize yourself before looking up at him some more, waiting with batted lashes for soul to finally make eye contact with you. when he does, your lips move faster than your brain. “can i suck you off?” is what shota registers before blood rushes to his dick embarrassingly quick, and the innocent but eager look in your eyes has him filling up his sweatpants in record time. he’d probably mumble some stupid shit like “uh huh” with his gaze focused on your every move, clearly forgetting all about the show that was taking up all his attention earlier. you smile while pulling his sweats down, just enough to free his cock—red and begging for attention, the view making you salivate. of course, you get to work real quick, pumping his dick with a tight closed fist before taking it all the way in your mouth with some effort. your boyfriend lets out a strained “fuck” at the contact, hips already chasing the heat of your mouth, making you gag around the flesh—just how you like it. he comes embarrassingly quick, but you still swallow up everything with pleasure, cunt throbbing and head still lost to your high. when you pull off of him with a smile, shota wastes no time in grabbing your face and pulling you into a messy kiss, with his taste still on your tongue. and of course, he returns the favor with the most ruthless back shots, slapping at pulling at your ass to give thanks for your generosity. :D

౨ৎ jongseob

once again pitching the idea of seob being your boyfriend, as well as your dealer all-in-one.. only difference is, you don’t have to pay him shit, which is very convenient! has a zip on him at all times, and you’re forever thankful for it—especially when you’ve had a god awful day. his favorite way to cheer you up after one of those types of days is by getting high together, oh and fucking your brains out too. he’s not really picky location wise, doesn’t have a designated spot where he likes to smoke, as he’s used to getting ash on his sheets and doesn’t mind it much. while he’s sparking up, he watches you get unready for the night from the comfort of his bed. you’re wearing a cute little baby tee and some pajama shorts you bought a while back, hunched over by the vanity he bought just for your convenience when you sleep over. seobie lovesss watching you do your skincare in his bedroom, the sight so domestic and comfortable, making him want you even more than he already does. once you’re all done with your routine, he’s already taken a few puffs and passes the joint to your ready fingers as you approach him. is surprised when you seat yourself on his lap, but you look so pretty while doing it that he wouldn’t dare complain.

if you blow smoke into his face with a giggle, he’s a goner. flips you over to kiss you silly, pausing momentarily to take another hit from the still-lit blunt. jongseob when high is at his most confident, and it doesn’t take long before he’s smirking down at you while feeling you up over your clothes. unbeknownst to him, you’ve been waiting for this moment all day, to be in his bed, with a much needed high. his smooth fingers tease a bit more, grazing against the bare skin of your tummy, but never daring to touch you underneath the layers of polyester until you work for it. you’d squirm a bit, joint long forgotten and clearly unamused at his antics, but eventually you can’t wait anymore! the magic word is “please”, and as soon as it’s spoken, he lets go of all the teasing and gives you what you really want. pulls off your clothes with a mix of love and lust in his eyes, and fucks you into his mattress without hesitation. laughs at the sight of his dick forming a bulge in your tummy, presses on it just enough to get your eyes rolling back. you both fall asleep after a few more rounds, and he doesn’t even bother pulling out, just holds you close with his cock still planted in your cunny. he’s so <33

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @dprvivi @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @sundancearchives @chuuswifereal @seisyiss @fishsquishh @jiungsdaisy @asianpenguin04 @lunepoesie @haku-s0ultrain @tkooooop @taehyux

౨ৎ ⋆ 𓏲ּ

752 notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 10 months ago

Text

match my freak | yuki tsunoda social media au

pairing: yuki tsunoda x fem rugby player reader

there's only one person who can match the yuki tsunoda radio freak...

MAIN MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

.・゜゜・ part of the aston martini summer olympics ・゜゜・．

yukitsunoda0511

liked by pierregasly, danielricciardo and 384,098 others

tagged: yourusername

yukitsunoda0511: spa was fine i guess, time to spend my summer break in france (ew) supporting the love of my life (yay)

view all comments

user1: 'fine i guess' as if we didn't get YOINTS

user2: tbf if my gf looked like that, points also wouldn't matter to me

pierregasly: FRANCE (EW)??? DID OUR HOMOEROTIC TENSION MEAN NOTHING???

yukitsunoda0511: oh so when i diss france we had homoerotic tension but when i said we were boyfriends i went too far 🤨

pierregasly: diss me all you want but not the homeland?

yukitsunoda0511: fine, i will from 5pm tomorrow

pierregasly: ???

yukitsunoda0511: because y/n will be there and therefore it will be the ONLY country in existence

pierregasly: i give up

user3: i need a man this down bad for me asap

user4: maybe it's time to lower my height requirements :(

yourusername: it's not how tall you are but how you are tall

user5: idk what the fuck that means

yourusername: IT MEANS SHORT KINGS PUT IN A LOT OF EFFORT WHY DO I HAVE TO SPELL OUT EVERYTHING? WHERE IS THE MEDIA LITERACY? THE READ COMPREHENSION?

user6: okay i think i now know ^^ why y/n and yuki are so good together

user7: i need someone to edit together their most iconic on field and radio moments together please for my mental health

yourusername: that's a crazy coincidence because the love of MY life will also be in paris 🤨

yukitsunoda0511: well i bet i love my love of my life more than you love your love of your life

yourusername: NUH UH

yukitsunoda0511: yep :PPPPPPP

yourusername: u wanna fight?

yukitsunoda0511: yes actually!

yourusername: well soz babe i can't get all hot and bothered before competing 🤷‍♀️

yukitsunoda0511: BORING

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, pierregasly and 318,905 others

tagged: yukitsunoda

yourusername: seeing yuki again: 10/10 ... realising he's not allowed in the olympic village and there's only cardboard beds anyway -100,000/10

view all comments

user12: so i suddenly understand why they give out so many condoms at the olympics

user13: why do they all go so feral?

yourusername: have you seen my man?

yourusername: AND THAT'S A RHETORICAL QUESTION TO SHOW OFF MY HANDSOME LITTLE MAN NOT AN INVITATION FOR YOU BITCHES TO THIRST

user14: noted 😔

pierregasly: i'm the one with a bad digital footprint but you're out here being just as horny as me on main

yourusername: i am allowed to ?

pierregasly: and i'm not allowed to?

yourusername: no

pierregasly: so fuck me i guess?

yourusername: let me be a woman in a male dominated field (being gross online)

yukitsunoda0511: yeah pierre stop trying to minimise womens' voices

pierregasly: how am i the bad guy again?

yourusername: man ❤️

pierregasly: yuki is a man?

yourusername: he's MY man which means he's been closely vetted and is basically one of the girls now

user14: i know visa cashapp rb or whatever the fuck they're called hate to see them coming

user15: it's the fact she's taller than most of the mechanics and she is always watching over them

yukitsunoda0511: i missed you so much but i can't wait to watch you beat the shit out of the competition

yourusername: for you, anything

yukitsunoda0511: a gold? so at least one of us can be world champion 🥺

yourusername: i'll win gold for you and then schedule in a friendly visit to see helmut

yukitsunoda0511: i think your mere presence could give him a heart attack

yourusername: oh well

user16: so real of her

olympics

liked by yukitsunoda0511, landonorris and 1,209,678 others

tagged: newzealandrubgy

olympics: the women's rugby final saw gold go home to new zealand!

view all comments

user17: okay yuki i am SEEING THE VISION

user18: i watched this game to see her and i am a changed woman

user19: i am no better than a man

danielricciardo: my personal favourite moment was when y/n clotheslined that poor girl, laughed in her face and said if she tried to get past her again she'd make trinket dishes out of her knee caps

yourusername: why thank you, i think my wit is my least appreciated part of my game

danielricciardo: i think we should honestly get you in the commentary box

yourusername: i'd make mince meat of crofty, he'd never say anything about yuki's radios again

danielricciardo: can you tell them to stop telling me to retire while you're at it?

yourusername: sure, i'm feeling generous

danielricciardo: a gold medal will do that to you

user20: so they weren't joking when they said that her and yuki are just the same person in different fonts ?

user21: my commentary team apologised about 20 times for her swearing on the broadcast but then they kept bursting out laughing whenever she said anything

yukitsunoda0511: HOLY FUCKING SHIT

yukitsunoda0511: GOAT GOAT GOAT MY GIRLFRIEND IS THE GOAT

yukitsunoda0511: i'm so proud, i love you y/n 🫶🏻🥹❤️‍🩹

yourusername: i love you too boo

yukitsunoda0511: can they let me in the room now? i'm getting withdrawal symptoms :(

yourusername: of course, i can't celebrate properly without you

yukitsunoda0511: 😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄

user22: picturing yuki waiting outside the team room is so cute

user23: the nz team instagram posted a pic of it on their story he had flowers and balloons (∩˃o˂∩)♡

yukitsunoda0511

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 893,401 others

tagged: yourusername

yukitsunoda0511: she matches my freak :)

view all comments

user25: oh believe me we know

user26: i'm like a confusing mix of scared AND turned on

yukitsunoda0511: you keep that to yourself

user27: okay sir 🤨

yukitsunoda0511: you can look but you can't touch :P

yukitsunoda0511: actually don't even look

yukitsunoda0511: don't even think about her ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡)

user28: this man is insane, i love him

yourusername: you LIKE HIM YOU APPRECIATE HIM FROM AFAR YOU MAYBE HAVE A PARASOCIAL RELATIONSHIP YOU DON'T LOVE HIM THAT'S FOR ME AND ME ONLY

user29: oh they weren't joking about matching each other's freaks

yourusername: there's no one else i'd like to be a lil gremlin with :3

yukitsunoda0511: gremlins forever with you <3

yourusername: sounds like paradise to me !!

yukitsunoda0511: i'm on it ✍🏻

user30: is he going to propose ???

user31: hopefully (ㅅ •᷄ ₃•᷅ )

pierregasly: yeah i guess you guys are kinda cute

yukitsunoda0511: kINDA?

yourusername: i know this man ain't speaking on us

yourusername: kika is the face economy in that relationship

yourusername: her back must hurt from carrying the style in this couple

francisca.cgomez: well 🥹

pierregasly: WHAT ? HOW ?

yukitsunoda0511: don't call my girlfriend kinda cute then 🤨

user32: good lord

fin.

note: she's back !!!!!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #yuki tsunoda instagram au #yuki tsunoda x you #yuki tsunoda x reader #yuki tsunoda imagine #yuki tsunoda

1K notes · View notes

capuccinodoll · 2 months ago

Text

The boyfriend act, part 12: "The one when nothing happens" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Emma is in town, and it’s Benny’s birthday. Just a simple night out at the bar—or so you think. But the space Frankie has carefully placed between you stirs something unexpected. WC: 18,6k

Pd: This is for all of us, we lost our husband yesterday so I hope this brings you joy ❤️‍🩹 #ripJoelMiller I will always love you.

A/N: heheh *rubs hands together like a mosquito* Thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments!!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

You didn’t step back. He did.

The silence between you had always been there, in your dynamic, a familiar presence in the room, but this one carried a different kind of weight. Not heavier, necessarily—just changed. Altered somehow.

The days folded in on themselves. A quiet rhythm took over—early mornings filled with emails and half-drunk coffee, afternoons swallowed by errands, small domestic rituals. No Frankie.

On monday, Bill stopped by. He brought you a cappuccino and a chocolate muffin with a paper napkin tucked under it like it mattered. He told you about an idea he couldn’t shake, a proposal: books in the coffee shop. Not a whole bookstore, just shelves. Corners of stories.

It started with Juliette, apparently—she’d been in one afternoon, tucked into the window seat with a paperback and a mug of hot chocolate, and later at home, she told him, casually, “You should have books. So people can read if they want.”

That one sentence stayed with him. He couldn’t let it go.

So now he wanted your help. What do people like to read while they’re alone but surrounded by other people? What kind of books feel like company without requiring too much of you? Should there be poetry? Cookbooks? Art? He talked about adding narrow shelves along the wall near the tables, maybe even building them in himself. It might take a while, he said, but it was doable. Manageable. And lucky for him, you lived next door.

He asked if you’d make the list. Choose the books. He said he’d buy them from you—of course he would—and he’d pay for your time, too.

“Thinking and curating isn’t free,” he said, when you teased that maybe he could just pay in muffins and coffee. Not that he’d ever really charged you properly anyway.

So you said yes. You kept a notepad beside your computer, filling it with titles in between emails and phone calls, between folding laundry and watching the sun move across the living room floor. You took naps on the couch beside Mr. Darcy, made simple dinners, rewatched old movies where the endings still made you ache.

Still, no Frankie.

Because he didn’t call. And he didn’t write to you either.

And you told yourself it was fine. Normal, even. There was no real reason for him to reach out. Except, of course, there was. A quiet reason. One that lingered in the corners of your thinking, never quite announcing itself, but never really leaving either. At the same time, there was also a reason not to reach out. An equally plausible, equally logical reason. So you chose not to dwell on it. You folded the thought in half and tucked it somewhere you didn’t have to look at.

Another week passed, almost unregistered by your body. No Frankie.

No messages lighting up your screen. No phone calls. No familiar knock at your door. The silence began to feel structural. Built-in.

You saw Santi on tuesday night over dinner. He brought empanadas and a bottle of wine, and you ate on the couch while a movie played behind your conversation. He didn’t mention Frankie. You waited, half-listening, hoping for some accidental update, some passing reference. But it never came.

Instead, he talked about the skydiving. Said he was still stunned you’d gone through with it, and then launched into a long, slightly theatrical complaint about not being invited. You laughed. Promised to go again with him next time. He made you swear it.

Then, more cautiously, he asked about the situation with Frankie. The two of you. The fake relationship.

You didn’t lie. You told him the truth—or a version of it. That things were going well. That you and Frankie had found a sort of rhythm. That you were getting along better now. That was technically accurate.

He looked at you for a moment like he was trying to read between your words, but he smiled eventually. Told you he was glad to hear it.

You almost asked about him. You nearly said, Have you seen him? Has he said anything? How is he?

But you didn’t. You changed the subject. Something about work, or maybe the movie. You can’t remember now.

The rest of the week slipped by in the same quiet way. Bill kept you busy. There were lists to write, catalogues to browse through.

On thursday you met Juliette, finally, at the coffee shop.

She was clever and observant, in that way some people are from a very young age, like they’ve always known how to listen carefully. She had shoulder-length brown hair, and enormous green eyes that didn’t seem to miss much. She had her mother’s sharpness, according to Bill.

You liked her. She liked you too. That shouldn’t have mattered so much, but it did. There was something grounding about it, as if her approval—casual as it was—validated something inside you that had been unsteady for a while.

Emma arrived on friday. You saw her car pull up in front of your house, the familiar dent on the left side of the bumper, the same soft pop of the door as she got out. You didn’t wait. You ran down the steps and into her arms, almost tripping over the welcome mat in your rush.

She smelled like citrus perfume and coconut shampoo, a scent so distinctly hers that it made your throat catch for a moment. Like summer and high school and safety.

You closed the bookstore a little earlier than usual. Turned the sign, locked the door, didn’t even pretend to feel guilty about it. You both went out for pasta—her favorite place, the one with the mismatched chairs and the faded mural on the back wall. The waiter already knew your order.

You already knew the basics, of course. She’d told you everything over the phone, in a string of late-night calls and voice notes sent during walks to work or while she folded laundry. But face to face, everything hit different. The tone, the pauses, the way her hands moved when she talked. It all filled in the spaces her words had left empty.

She told you about the divorce—not dramatically, just plainly.

Yes, it was real. Yes, it was happening. But no, it wasn’t awful. They were still friends, weirdly. Comfortably, even.

You liked Luca. Everyone did. He had a warm, easy energy and a really nice laugh. Emma had met him on a summer vacation a few years ago—something casual at first, then not casual at all. It had been fast, she told you once, in that breathless way people do when they’re still stunned by their own feelings.

He was kind. Charming. Funny in the kind of way that didn’t try too hard.

But it hadn’t worked out. Not because they fought. Not because they stopped loving each other. But because of something bigger, something she couldn’t control, something neither of them had the language for at first.

Irreconcilable differences, she said lightly, sipping her wine. Then she clarified, smiling in that half-sad, half-resigned way she had: irreconcilable differences being that he fell in love with the Michael, the bartender at the place they used to go to every other friday. The place where he went more often than she did.

It hadn’t been messy, at least not in the external sense. No shouting. No broken plates across kitchen counters. Just quiet revelations and truths that had been waiting patiently beneath the surface.

She said she wasn’t angry. Not really. More shocked than anything. There’d been signs, small ones, that she’d ignored. Not out of naivety, but maybe out of self-preservation. You understood that. Completely.

And when he finally told her—haltingly, kindly, honestly—she had listened. She had nodded. She had said it was okay, even if it wasn’t. Because she loved him.

You took her to one of those rage rooms on the edge of town. The kind where you wear safety goggles and throw ceramic plates against concrete walls. You both paid extra to smash an old television with a baseball bat.

You screamed until your voice cracked. She laughed so hard she had to sit down. It wasn’t therapy exactly, but it helped. It was something.

And that night, when you lay side by side in bed, hair still wet from the shower, your fingers brushing in the dark, she whispered, “I think I’m going to be okay.” And you believed her.

Emma was doing better now. You could see it in the way she moved around your living room, humming absently while waiting for the kettle, not checking her phone every five minutes. Luca had been out of the house for a couple of months, and the divorce, as far as divorces went, was being kind. Quiet. Almost courteous. Like two people respectfully folding their shared history into neat piles and placing it in separate drawers.

He hadn’t said anything about Michael and their relationship status—not explicitly. And she hadn’t asked. That was part of the new understanding between them: leave certain truths alone. Let them breathe in their own time.

His family still didn’t know. She said that with a shrug, like it was someone else’s problem to solve. Maybe it was.

That night, the plan had been to go out for drinks. A real friday outing, just the two of you, reclaiming your twenties like responsible women who still owned good heels. But somewhere between deciding where to go and actually leaving the house, you ended up under a blanket in bed, her phone screen glowing against the sheets. A tiktok was playing softly on her phone—something about baked chicken with cream and garlic—and neither of you moved to pause it. You fell asleep like that. Her phone still in her hand.

The next morning, you woke to a text from Benny.

[Ben]: Birthday celebration. Tonight at Ogham. Last minute, so sorry if you already have plans, Santi told me you'd probably be busy. No worries!!!

You read it aloud while Emma stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like it had personally wronged her. She was wearing a pale blue robe, the fluffy kind that made her look like a very elegant cloud. Her hair was messy but artfully so, a short blond cut that would’ve looked awkward on almost anyone else but framed her face like it had been designed specifically for her cheekbones.

“I think we should go,” she said, without looking up, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.

“You think?” you asked, skeptical. “I thought you wanted us to go out dancing. A proper club night.”

“I did. But I think I’d rather go to Ogham now,” she said, lifting her mug toward her mouth, one eyebrow raised. “Frankie’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

“I guess so.”

“Then... let’s go.”

You gave her a look, unimpressed. “I’m not sure.”

“But it’s Benny’s birthday! We like Benny!”

“Oh, you definitely like Benny.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be like that. Can’t a girl look at someone?”

You laughed, opened your mouth to respond, but she cut you off before you could.

“And don’t even try to turn this around on me,” she added smoothly. “You know Frankie’s going.”

“I know. I just don’t know if he actually wants me there.”

“I think he was pretty clear when he told you not to stay away.”

You exhaled loudly, let your head drop back as you leaned further against the counter. The marble edge pressed into your lower back. Something about the discomfort felt appropriate.

“How clear, though?” you muttered. “Honestly, every time I replay the conversation in my head, it gets blurrier. Like, the more I think about it, the less I actually understand.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because he spent most of the conversation listing all the reasons he shouldn’t be near me. And then, like, right after that, he kissed me. Just... he kissed me. And I’m left wondering what the hell I was supposed to take from that.”

Emma closed her eyes and gave a small nod, thoughtful. You’d already walked her through the entire thing the day before, over half-eaten pasta and the last glass of wine. Right after she told you about seeing Luca again—with his lawyer, no less.

“I mean, it sounded like a last kiss,” she said eventually. “Like something you do when you know it’s the last time. Which is kind of romantic, if you think about it in a tragic, messy sort of way.”

“I guess. But I don’t know if I’d call it romantic. It felt more like emotional whiplash. Like... what does he expect from me now? He kisses me, walks away like he’s done with it, and then just vanishes.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but not at you. More like at the general emotional incompetence of the male species.

“I already told you. He’s probably spiraling. I mean, remember how he acted after the wedding? The whole thing where he said he didn’t talk about it because he assumed you forgot? That wasn’t chill. That was full-blown internal meltdown. He’s probably lying in bed somewhere, overanalyzing some ridiculous thing.”

You tried not to smile, but your mouth gave you away.

“Or,” you offered, “he’s just being logical about it. Maybe he’s finally sticking to the boundaries we talked about. Maybe now that we have no excuse to be in each other’s lives—no wedding, no birthday party—he doesn’t see a reason to stay close.”

“I thought he was going to help you with the list?”

You lifted your eyebrows. “Right. The list. You mean the one that includes kissing a stranger and the New Year’s kiss?”

She smirked into her coffee. “That’s the one.”

“Yeah, I don’t see either of those things happening anytime soon.”

“What about the rest of it?” she asked. “The non-kissing parts.”

“There are a few things left,” you admitted. “But we haven’t talked about any of it. Not since.”

“Well, maybe the ‘kiss a stranger’ part is closer than you think,” Emma said, tilting her head toward you, raising her brows with theatrical enthusiasm. “We’re going to a bar tonight, remember? And it’s saturday. Statistically speaking, that place is going to be full of very attractive, emotionally unavailable men.”

You made a face. “Oh, yeah. Everyone's going to be there. My brother’s going to be there.”

Emma rolled her eyes like this was the most irrelevant detail you could have offered.

“Santi’s practically middle-aged, all of them are, and you’re almost thirty. Your knees pop when you stand up too fast. What are you, thirteen? He’s not going to care.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Okay, fair. But still, not happening—”

She cut you off. “That whole thing about Santi? It’s kind of a childish excuse, if you think about it.”

You frowned. “What?”

“The Frankie excuse,” she said, with a small shrug. “The one where he says, oh, you’re his best friend’s sister so it’s all off-limits or whatever. Like, okay, sure. But also, what does that even mean?”

You sighed. “I don’t know. It’s not that it’s bad exactly, but it feels... off. If things went south, it would be uncomfortable. A mess.”

Emma looked at you like she was trying to be patient, but barely succeeding.

“Babe, you guys already hated each other for, like, multiple years. You once threw a dart at his actual head. And now you’re worried it might get awkward? We’ve already been to weird. We set up camp in weird.”

“That was different.”

She smirked. “You two are addicted to excuses. It’s almost romantic in how tragic it is. Like, see, there’s an attempt at honesty. But it’s half-hearted. ”

“Okay, Atticus Finch,” you snorted.

Emma set her coffee down on the counter and turned to face you more directly, her expression suddenly more serious.

“Alright, what if I went out with Santi?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, hypothetically,” she said, tilting her head with mock innocence. “Say something... unexpected happened. Would that bother you?”

You pressed your lips together, unsure whether to laugh or actually consider the question.

“Well... first of all, he’s engaged.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yes, obviously. I said hypothetically. If none of that were true. What would you think?”

“I—I don’t know. I think it’d feel kind of strange, I guess. You’re my best friend. My person. It’d be like two parts of my life suddenly... touching in a way they weren’t supposed to.”

“Would it bother you?”

“Maybe a little. I think I’d feel... weird about it, at first.”

Emma nodded like she was filing that information away.

“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. There’s a difference between ‘this would be strange’ and ‘this can’t happen.’ You know?”

“I think so.”

“But you’d accept it,” Emma pressed.

“I guess I would.”

“Why?”

You exhaled, your arms crossed loosely over your chest.

“I dunno. Because I love you both, maybe?” You lifted your shoulders, more in question than statement. “I mean, I’d hate it if you turned into one of those people who completely change when they start dating someone and suddenly start leaking your friends’ secrets over wine.”

Emma gasped, hand to heart. “I would never.”

“I know,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

She tilted her head. “So? It wouldn’t really bother you. You’d get used to it. Eventually. Sooner or later.”

“Yeah. Okay. Probably. But why are we even talking about this anyway?”

“Because,” she said, with the slightly smug tone of someone who had been quietly assembling an argument and had just reached her favorite part, “I think Santi would say exactly the same thing. You two—God help us—you’re very alike. Which is precisely why I think what Frankie said is just a really well constructed excuse.”

“He never actually said Santi would disapprove. He said he felt weird about it. That he didn’t know how to navigate it. And anyway, that wasn’t even the main reason he brought up.” Your voice softened. “There were... other things.”

“I know,” Emma said, hands up in mock surrender. “And those things are valid, okay? I’m not saying they’re not. I’m just saying... he’s hiding behind the most convenient reason because it’s easier than admitting something else.”

You looked down at the tiled floor, the words catching somewhere between your chest and throat.

“Well,” you muttered, “you’ve made your point.”

“Thank you. I do try.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward. “I missed you.”

Emma's face softened into something honest and unguarded.

“I missed you, too.” she said. “Good thing we’re friends, and that I’ll be by your side tonight. In fact, I packed a super cute dress that I’m really hoping to wear. It’s got, like, criminal levels of leg.”

“Oh, I’m sure Benny will appreciate that.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Ha, ha. The pot calling the kettle black.”

“Mmm, the old Ogham’s fries,” Emma said as the two of you stepped inside, her hand pressing against the bar door.

The bar was packed. Conversations overlapped in warm bursts, threading themselves into the clatter of plates and the low hum of music playing from unseen speakers. Yellow-gold pendant lights floated above each table like small suns, casting soft pools of light that made everything look a little kinder, warmer. The exposed brick walls were cluttered with vintage beer ads and fading whiskey posters, all half-charming, half-forgotten.

You hadn’t given much thought to what you were going to wear. Emma had insisted on a few outfits—held them up with dramatic gestures and persuasive arguments—but in the end, you went with a black skirt and a fitted black tee. Simple. Uncomplicated. You did let her do your makeup, though. Something subtle, she’d said, brushing color onto your cheeks. Just enough to bring out your beautiful features.

“They’re in the back,” you said, already looking past the tables, even though the view was fractured—shoulders, raised glasses, blur of motion. You reached out and took Emma’s arm.

“I’m ordering fries the second we sit down,” she whispered.

You walked forward slowly, weaving through the narrow aisles. Benny spotted you first. He lifted a hand in greeting, grin already forming on his face.

“Hey!” he called. “Must be my lucky day.”

You smiled back instinctively, even as your eyes swept the rest of the table. Will was in the corner seat, leaning into his beer. Next to him, Benny, then your brother—who was already rising to greet Emma—and Yov, who met your glance with an easy smile. Tom wasn’t there. You remembered he was out of town for work. And Frankie—no sign of him. You weren’t sure if that absence meant anything. Maybe he was late. Maybe he’d decided not to come.

You gave everyone a quick hello and slid into the empty seat beside Yov. Benny was in rare form, practically glowing. He insisted it had nothing to do with his birthday. According to him, it was the win that mattered.

“Billy Spears,” he said, raising his glass, “talked more shit than anyone I’ve met in a ring. Said I’d be down in the first round. That I didn’t have the heart for it.” His voice curled into something close to laughter.

Will chuckled. “You taught him a lesson. That much I believe.”

Benny nodded, still smiling, his knuckles red and fading to purple at the edges.

“Four rounds,” he said, almost to himself. “Twenty minutes of him trying to take my head off. He didn’t land anything clean. Not once. He’ll think twice before running his mouth next time.”

He kept talking, something about the final clinch or how the ref had almost called it early, but your attention slipped. You rested your chin in your hand, elbow braced on the table, and let the noise of your friends wash over you like static. You weren’t really listening. You were thinking about who wasn’t there—and wondering why it mattered.

“Everything okay?” Yov asked, her voice low. “What have you two been up to?”

Emma shifted closer, the side of her arm brushing yours as she leaned in.

“Talking,” she said, and her eyes flicked between you and Yov. “Talking is never enough. Honestly, I could talk forever and still feel like I haven’t said half of what I meant to.”

Yov laughed, the sound genuine.

“You’re one of mine,” she said, like that explained everything. “How long are you here for?”

“Just until tomorrow. It’s a short visit. I have to get back to work.”

“But you missed Austin?”

“I missed everyone. Family. Friends. I’m not even that far away, but distance does its thing anyway.”

You took a small step back. Yov’s attention stayed on Emma.

“It’s the daily things, right?” Emma said. “Even when the drive isn’t long, it still feels like a whole production. There’s no room for the unplanned anymore.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Yov nodded. “I used to make last-minute plans with people all the time. Now I have to book something two weeks in advance, and even then it might fall through.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma added, mostly to herself, “life tends to get in the way.”

Yov gave a small sigh, like she was admitting something without saying it directly.

“It does. I’ve got a routine now, and I like it, mostly. But sometimes I miss being able to just say, ‘Hey, meet me in an hour,’ and know it could actually happen.”

Santi turned around in his seat at that. “What do you miss?”

You laughed lightly, pushing your chair back in that awkward, careful way people do when they’re trying not to interrupt anything.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” you said, already half-standing. You looked at Emma. “Want me to order your fries?”

She nodded, still smiling up at you from her seat. “Yeah—do you want me to come?”

“No,” you said, your hand already brushing the back of your chair. “Stay. I’ll be back in a second.”

But a second had stretched into something longer. Not dramatically so, just enough that you noticed it. You were still at the bar, your back lightly pressed against the stool, one elbow resting on the counter as you waited—first patiently, then just passively—for your drink and the cheddar fries Emma had been craving.

The place had a menu designed to satisfy people who ordered with beer already in hand. Everything felt intentionally greasy and generous. Good for soaking up alcohol. On saturdays, though, even the kitchen struggled to keep pace. And ever since The Crow had closed for renovations, Ogham had absorbed the spillover crowd. It was louder now, more chaotic. A sort of charming disorder, if you were in the mood for it.

Grian caught your eye from behind the bar. He was mixing a drink with the weary rhythm of someone who's already halfway through a long night. He gave you a look that said “I know, I know” without saying a word. You liked him. He was tall and had pale ocean eyes. He always wore cool graphic tees. Tonight, his shirt read: I hate Woody Allen.

“Your food’ll be up in a sec,” he said, tone apologetic as he slid your gin and tonic toward you. His smile was almost embarrassed.

You nodded and gave him a small smile in return, dipping your head slightly in that way you did when you were trying not to make someone feel worse for something out of their control.

“No worries.”

You reached for your purse, your fingers brushing the zipper just as the bar door opened behind you. Just a flicker of motion. You didn’t even hear it, not over the music and the voices, but you felt it—a small shift in the room’s atmosphere. Some part of your mind, the part that noticed things before you let yourself notice them, turned toward it.

Your eyes followed a beat later. The door had swung closed again. And he was there.

Frankie.

White t-shirt, dark pants. No cap tonight. No jacket, either. You saw him and then, just as quickly, looked away. Back to the counter. Back to Grian, who was holding your glass a little closer to you now, like he wasn’t sure you were really present.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You nodded, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” You took the drink, brought it to your lips. “Tastes great. As always.”

He grinned at the compliment, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Thanks. Sorry for the wait. I’m on my own tonight. Kat's in the kitchen.” He gestured vaguely behind him, where the chaos of orders buzzed from the kitchen. “Can you believe it? On a saturday.”

“Where’s Bianca?”

“She quit,” he said, grabbing another glass from the shelf. “Had a fight with—”

But you’d stopped listening.

Because Frankie was somewhere behind you now, in the room. And even though you weren’t looking, you knew exactly where he was standing.

“Hey, Morales,” came a voice from behind you. Male. Confident in that casual, too-familiar way. You didn’t recognize it.

You turned slightly, just enough to see. A man, maybe in his forties, with a receding hairline and cool red prescription glasses. He clapped Frankie on the back, and he greeted him easily, a handshake and a half-laugh, like this sort of thing happened to him all the time.

You turned back to Grian, catching his eye again.

“That’s too bad,” you said. “I like Bianca.”

He made a face—part shrug, part agreement. “Everyone likes Bianca. But Tim's a jerk.”

You raised your eyebrows. Grian, sensing your curiosity, leaned in slightly like he couldn’t help himself.

“She wanted to go take care of her mom. Something in L.A.—family stuff. Last weekend.”

You nodded.

“Tim told her no,” he continued. “Said she had to be here. She told him to fuck off, more or less. He threatened to fire her, so she saved him the trouble.”

You exhaled through your nose.

“Anyway, we don’t get paid enough to put up with this shit,” Grian added. “I’m thinking of just stealing liquor at this point. Like, genuinely. One bottle at a time.”

You laughed. “Start with the Jameson. That one’s mine.”

He gave you a mock salute, but before he could respond, a voice came from just beside you.

“First wine and champagne, now whiskey,” he said, with something like amusement tucked under the words. “You’re turning it into an art.”

You didn’t turn around right away. The voice was low, smooth, unmistakably his. Your pulse jumped once.

Then, slowly, you let your gaze shift, your shoulders following.

Frankie stood beside you. His hand was resting casually on the edge of the bar, the other on the back of your stool like it had landed there by accident. He wasn’t touching you. Not really. But he was close enough that you felt the heat of him in the space between.

His t-shirt clung a little to his chest, and his skin looked flushed from the walk or the weight of the room or maybe something else. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, and under the flickering bar lights they caught the glow—like sparks rising too fast from a match.

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re late, Dante.”

Grian paused to glance between you and Frankie. “Should I get the first aid kit ready?”

Frankie didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on you, the corners creased just slightly. “No, but I’ll take a beer.”

Grian gave a little shrug. “On it,” he muttered, already turning away.

A small exhale left your chest, almost inaudible.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask how he’d been. About his week. About what had kept him busy or distracted or too preoccupied to send a message. But before a single syllable left your lips, he spoke.

“I could smell your perfume when I walked in,” he said, voice quiet enough that only you could hear it.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “I hope that’s a good thing. Some people have very strong opinions about perfume.”

“It’s good.” He wasn’t smiling but his expression had softened. “I like yours.” Then, after a beat, he added, “I smelled you before I saw you.”

You let out a short laugh, raising your glass toward your mouth again. “That sounds like something a well-trained dog would say.”

He actually laughed at that—low, unguarded.

“How long’ve you been here?” he asked.

“Do you mean at the bar or waiting?”

“Both.”

You sipped your gin and tonic again, letting it linger before answering. “I got here nearly an hour ago. Been waiting… thirty minutes, maybe more.”

He took a moment to scan the room. “It’s packed.”

“It is. The guys are in the back.”

“I figured. You came with Emma, right?”

You nodded, smiling now, almost involuntarily. You weren’t sure when his voice had started to do that to you.

Grian returned, setting a beer in front of Frankie. Almost immediately after, a plate of cheddar fries appeared beside you, steaming and glowing faintly in the low amber light.

You stood up, the legs of the stool scraping softly against the floor. Frankie reached for the plate before you could, holding it carefully.

“I’ve got it,” he said, and you looked at him for a second longer than you meant to, then followed him through the crowded bar.

You made your way back to the table, weaving through the mess of chairs and limbs and low laughter. Frankie moved ahead of you, greeting Benny with a hug that involved too much back-slapping to be casual. Emma caught your eye as you approached, her expression bright with unspoken commentary. Her mouth curved up, conspiratorial. You could practically hear the teasing words she hadn’t said yet.

You sank into the seat beside her. Almost immediately, her fingers found your forearm, tapping once, then staying there, her touch unhidden.

Frankie took the seat across the table, one spot over—not directly in front of you, but close enough that you became aware of his presence each time he shifted in his seat or lifted his glass. His gaze drifted past you occasionally, never lingering, never quite settling. Still, you felt the flicker of it every time.

Two hours passed this way. A blur of drinks appearing and being drained, plates stacking up in the middle of the table like lazy little mountains of comfort food. At some point, four more plates of fries had arrived—no one had actually agreed on ordering them, but no one had stopped it either. You were already on your second gin and tonic.

The conversation at one end of the table had splintered into something you only half-registered. Will was explaining something about a car he was working on—something about a part he couldn’t track down, maybe something to do with a carburetor, though you weren’t sure what a carburetor even looked like.

On your side, Emma had shifted her full attention to Yov and Santi. She was asking about the wedding—venue, dress, guest list—and Yov, for her part, answered with the kind of practiced cheer people use when they’ve been asked the same questions too many times. Her fingers played with the edge of her napkin as she spoke, a little nervous.

You leaned in to hear them better, but your mind kept wandering. To the weight of Frankie’s presence at the edge of your vision. To the warmth of Emma’s hand still near yours. To the fizzing sensation in your stomach.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, letting your gaze wander around the bar, detached from the thread of conversation at the table. There was something soothing about observing other people living their lives—temporary characters in a play you weren’t invited to join. At one table, a woman tilted her head, laughing, her mouth open too wide, one hand resting possessively on the arm of the man beside her. At another, two friends spoke directly into each other’s ears, their voices drowned by the music. Just to your right, a couple was mid-argument—low-voiced and tightly contained, the woman’s expression tight, her hand slicing the air with every sentence.

Your eyes landed on Grian at the bar. He looked mildly distressed, his brows drawn together as he listened to a man gesturing wildly in front of him, as though urgency alone would guarantee better service. Grian’s hands were on the bar, long fingers tapping against the wood, waiting for a break in the monologue.

“... but I know that's because she likes Fish,” Will said suddenly, pulling you back to the present.

You didn’t turn your head right away. Your ears tuned in instinctively to the rhythm of Will’s voice, but your eyes stayed fixed on Grian—on the way he finally reached for a glass, as if grateful to have something to do with his hands.

The guys laughed, that light, familiar cadence of friends teasing each other.

“I told you it was just a matter of time,” Benny added, grinning around the rim of his drink.

“That… that’s not true,” Frankie murmured. The tone of his voice was quiet, uncharacteristically so.

Will leaned forward a little, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“I offered to take her home, she said no. But with him? Tam didn’t even blink.”

Something tightened inside your chest. It was so slight, it barely registered—like your body skipped a beat only to recover by beating twice as hard. You glanced toward Frankie. He was rubbing his temple, elbow on the table, eyes trained on Will with a tired sort of focus. Your cheeks grew warm.

“I just took her home, that’s all,” Frankie said. His gaze flicked toward you. A second, maybe less. But it was enough.

“Hers or yours?” Benny grinned.

“Man, fuck off.” Frankie’s voice cracked a little under the weight of it. His face flushed, and he dropped his hand from his temple to fold both arms tightly across his chest. “You always do this.”

Santi was laughing.

“Right, leave him alone,” he said, looking from one to the other, clearly gearing up. “He’s not exactly a free agent anymore, is he?”

Will raised his eyebrows, smiling. “What, is he married to a cockpit now?”

There was a pause—small, fractured—and then Santi just came out with it.

“He’s like, like my brother-in-law now,” he said, tipping his head toward you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This son of a bitch is dating my little sister.”

Yov’s face lit up with amusement. She turned to look at you, her cheeks tinged pink, lips parting like she was about to ask something—though she didn’t.

Will and Benny burst into laughter, their reactions immediate and slightly performative, like they thought it was a joke. A ridiculous, funny story. But after a few seconds, the sound tapered off. Their faces stilled. The mood shifted by degrees. It was in the way their smiles froze, how their eyes flitted between you and Frankie like they weren’t quite sure what they were looking at now. Was it a joke?

Frankie didn’t say anything. He just shook his head slightly, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His eyes were on you. You didn’t meet them. But you felt them. The way one feels heat even when there’s no visible flame.

You smiled, just a little—tight-lipped, like you were amused in theory but not particularly entertained. You looked at Santi instead, not needing to say anything at all. There was something deeply satisfying about letting the silence stretch.

No denial. No clarification.

Will’s eyes widened gradually, disbelief taking up space in his expression. “Dude. Are you serious?”

"No, he isn't," Benny said, half-laughing.

Santi raised his glass. “Ask Helena. She’s thrilled.” He drank, and beside him, Yov reached over and smacked his arm, not too hard, but enough to say, what the hell are you doing?

“There’s no way you’re not joking,” Benny said.

“I always knew there was something there,” Will added, pointing at Frankie with narrowed eyes, grinning like he’d just uncovered a well-kept secret. “Right from the get-go.”

Benny looked at you then, frowning slightly. “You threw a dart at him once.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “You gave me the dart.”

“I remember the dart,” Will said, shifting in his seat to face Frankie more directly. “You remember the dart, Fish?”

Frankie exhaled hard through his nose and covered his face with one hand. When he pulled his hand away, his cheeks were flushed and there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, I remember the dart. Still got the damn scar.” He pointed just above his brow, where the skin had once split open under the wrong end of a bad decision. He glanced at you for a second—not bitter.

“That was the crush,” Santi said casually.

Benny turned to you again, then looked at Frankie, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? That logic—‘if you hate each other, you secretly love each other’—works on tv, right, sure. But not with you two.”

Frankie laughed quietly, without looking up.

“Call my mom,” he said. “Ask her what she thinks.”

Benny shook his head, eyes wide. “No. No way.”

“You want to date my little sister too, Ben?” Santi asked, tilting his head in Benny’s direction with mock suspicion. “You’re starting to sound a little too invested.”

Emma groaned dramatically next to you and covered her face.

“Please don’t take this away from me,” Benny said, leaning forward again, his eyes exaggeratedly mournful. “Watching you tease Frankie is one of the only joys I have left. I’ve got more darts. I can restock.”

“I’m sorry, Benny,” you said, lifting your shoulders in a resigned shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Shit, Fish, tell that to Tam, then,” Will said, his tone flattening slightly as he looked across the table at Frankie.

Tam. You blinked. Who the hell was Tam? Why were they suddenly talking about her? Had Frankie taken her home? Was that what this was about?

The mood shifted just enough for everyone to feel it. Emma pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, and Yov looked vaguely guilty, like she'd laughed a little too long. Santi just leaned back, watching everything unfold with that unreadable look he wore when he didn’t want to interfere but also couldn’t look away.

“What should I tell her?” Frankie asked, his voice light, lips curved in something that looked like a smirk.

Will turned to you then, as if your reaction had suddenly become important.

“I think he’s free to hang out with whoever he wants,” you said, your voice too even. You turned your head, eyes locking with Frankie’s. “As far as I’m concerned, Francisco, you can do whatever you want. That much is clear.”

Benny shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable now. His earlier jokes had evaporated into a fog of uncertainty.

Frankie was still watching you. “I’m not sure about that.”

You let out a short breath. “Ask Tam.”

Benny turned his confusion into a muttered, “I don’t understand this,” directed at Santi.

Your brother raised his eyebrows and shook his head, offering nothing.

“There’s nothing going on with Tam,” Frankie said. His voice was quieter now, but steady. He leaned forward, forearms on the table, eyes not moving from yours. “I just gave her a ride home. It was late.”

You tilted your head. “That’s how it starts.”

You didn’t know if it was the gin and tonic, or the music, or the strange heat blooming under your skin, but everything in you was beginning to feel looser, like your words might start slipping past the filter.

Frankie kept his eyes on you. A full second passed, maybe more. Then: “Do you really—”

“Alright,” Santi cut in suddenly. He held up both palms like a referee in a game no one had agreed to play. “We’re done. I take it back. It was a joke, a dumb one. Not true. None of it.”

You let out a laugh and rolled your eyes. You turned toward Benny and Will, who were both watching you now like you were a page in a language they didn’t speak.

But Frankie’s eyes hadn’t left your face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Benny asked, confused, almost indignant.

Will laughed quietly beside him, like he had only just realized he was also confused.

“It’s not real,” you said, your voice lighter now. You smiled. “Frankie and I aren’t dating. We faked it. That’s all.”

Will blinked. “What? Why?”

Frankie leaned back in his seat, his shoulders sinking a little into the booth. There was a hint of a smile on his face, but it didn’t quite hold—it felt more like muscle memory.

“For convenience,” you said, your voice even. “It’s a long story.” You lifted your glass and took a sip that felt like punctuation.

“My family still thinks it’s real,” Frankie added, his eyes scanning the table. “So if you run into any of them, I’d appreciate it if you just… didn’t say anything.”

Benny let out a short laugh, disbelieving. “Right—why?”

“Jesus, man,” Frankie said, exhaling sharply. “I’ll explain later. It’s not some big dramatic thing. It just is.”

Will slumped against the back of his chair with an exaggerated sigh, folding his arms across his chest like a sulky teenager.

“Well. That’s disappointing. I had hopes, you know.”

Santi made a strangled sound in his throat. “You really thought this would actually work out?”

Will gave him a look. “Stranger things have happened.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Yov cut in, shrugging as she swirled the last of the ice in her glass. “Unless your only objection is that he’s your friend. Which, okay, fine. But opposites attract, baby.”

Santi narrowed his eyes like he was personally offended by the phrase.

“Not in their world.” He turned toward you then, leveling you with the kind of look only older brothers can get away with—half teasing, half invasive. “Besides, I’m pretty sure your type is more like, like brooding academic or something like that. The ones who look like they teach ethics at liberal arts colleges and that shit.”

You let out a breathy laugh, somewhere between surprised and exasperated. “What are you even talking about?”

Santi was already laughing, his face flushed with alcohol and mischief.

“Come on, you know what I mean. Like your new guy. What’s his name again? That one you’ve been hanging around with lately.”

Emma perked up beside you, clearly enjoying the new direction. “Oh, right. Bill?”

“Bill. That’s the guy,” Santi said, nodding like he’d cracked some sort of code.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“He’s not my guy, and he’s definitely not a brooding academic, if that’s what you were picturing.”

You could feel Emma grinning next to you without even looking.

“Well, he’s very attentive,” she said, turning her words to Santi but clearly directing them at you. “And, I mean, he sells coffee. That’s like... ideal, if you’re someone who sells books.”

“I don’t know about ideal,” your brother said. “But his donuts are damn good.”

“Bill who?” Benny asked, glancing between the two of you with genuine confusion.

“He owns the coffee shop next to the bookstore,” you explained, feeling suddenly very aware of how small your voice sounded in the room.

“He’s really cute,” Emma added, despite never having met him. “He’s doing renovations right now, and she’s helping him out.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t correct her. “He just wants to add a little library area. Somewhere people can sit, read and, yeah, just that. He asked if I could help him pick out some books. Maybe design the shelves, that sort of thing. That's it.”

There was a small pause, just long enough for your face to betray you again, your cheeks warming.

From across the table, Frankie shifted. He was half in shadow, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze found you and didn’t let go. There was something unreadable in his expression. Maybe a smirk trying not to be a smirk. You weren’t sure.

“That’s sweet,” Yov said. “Yup. I get it. I see the appeal.”

“And he has a little daughter,” Emma added like she was dropping the final piece of the puzzle. “She loves to read too, apparently. I mean, come on.”

You exhaled, more sharply than you meant to. “I’m just helping out. That’s all it is.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Well, he’s lovely. And he clearly likes you.”

You shot her a warning look. “Emma.”

“What? I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“I’m thinking I’d like more free donuts,” Santi muttered under his breath.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Yov laughed.

“I think Bill is exactly what you need,” Emma said, her voice pitched slightly higher, like she wanted to make sure everyone could hear her.

You turned to look at her, eyebrows drawn together in a way that felt automatic, like your body was trying to shield itself from where this was going.

She went on, undeterred. “A man who knows what he wants. Someone with actual follow-through. Who doesn’t play games. Who’s not afraid to show you how he feels.”

There was a beat of silence—something in the air growing taut, or maybe just your own pulse pressing hard behind your ears.

Frankie stood abruptly. “I’m gonna grab a drink. Anyone want anything?” His voice was calm.

Nobody answered. Or maybe a few people shook their heads, you weren’t really paying attention. He pushed back his chair and stood. Then he turned, and walked off in the direction of the bar.

There was something in the way he moved. A tired walk. You tried not to follow him with your eyes, but you did.

Thankfully, Will spoke up, saying something about Bianca not being there tonight. You latched onto the change of subject the way someone might grab the edge of a table during an earthquake—knowing it won’t help much, but needing something to hold on to. It was obvious he was fishing for sympathy, or maybe absolution. According to what Santi had told you, there had been something between them. Casual, inconsistent, but still something.

Still, your thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Your gaze wandered to the bar. Frankie was standing there, leaning into it with one elbow, his body slightly hunched. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just staring at something in front of him you couldn’t see. Grian, behind the bar, was finally moving like someone at ease, as if the worst part of the night had passed.

You hadn’t seen Frankie in nearly two weeks. Fourteen days where the thought of him would drift in and out —at the sink, at work, just before sleep. You wondered if he’d been working too much. If he was taking care of himself. If Helena had asked about you. If he’d told her anything at all.

And the only thing you’d learned about him in all that time was that he'd apparently been driving Tam around. That—and the fact that Will seemed to think she liked him.

You looked down at your hands, resting in your lap, and suddenly wished you had something to do with them.

You had no right to feel anything. You knew that. You repeated it to yourself like a fact, like something printed in a textbook or carved into stone. He’d been clear, hadn’t he? He couldn’t have that kind of relationship. Not with you. And maybe that was the part you’d skipped over—the with you. As if the problem wasn’t in the thing itself, but in the person he might share it with. Maybe it wasn’t relationships he was avoiding. Just the one that included you.

That thought lodged somewhere deep, somewhere soft. It made your stomach feel unsettled, like the air had shifted slightly and now everything was just a little off balance.

You hated that. Hated the way your body betrayed you over something that, by all definitions, was nothing. Because what even was this? It wasn’t real. It wasn’t defined. He hadn’t promised you anything, hadn’t even implied it. And yet here you were, trying not to think about what it would mean if he looked at someone else the way he sometimes looked at you.

Emma’s voice pulled you out of your own head. “Hey, wanna go to the bathroom?”

You nodded wordlessly, grateful for something to do, and followed her through the press of people standing near the pool tables, their voices loud and overlapping like waves hitting the same shore.

The bathroom was cooler, quieter. Emma closed the door behind you with her hip and turned toward the mirror, digging into her purse.

“Why didn’t you go with it?” she asked, glancing at you through the reflection.

“What?”

“Bill. Why didn’t you play along? It was working. You could’ve just said you liked him too.”

You leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely across your chest. “What did you want me to say? That I’m in love with him?”

Emma laughed quietly, smoothing a fresh coat of gloss over her bottom lip. “You didn’t have to lie. Just... lean into it a little. It was making him mad.”

You frowned. “Huh?”

She looked at you through the mirror again, meeting your eyes this time. “Frankie.”

Your chest pulled tight, like the air had been snatched out of the room too fast.

“He looked pissed,” she said, turning to face you now. “Not jealous-jealous, but... you know. Close.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were trying not to feel the thing you were already feeling.

“I don’t think that’s why. He was already upset before the Bill thing.”

Emma frowned, tugging at a piece of hair near her temple. “Yeah? Why?”

You shrugged. “Because of the guys. Because Santi opened his mouth and made the whole fake-dating thing sound like a joke. Tam, probably.”

“Who even is Tam? Do you know her?”

You gave a tiny shake of your head, almost embarrassed by the answer.

“No. Not really.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Well, it shouldn’t bother you anyway,” she said lightly, but then her tone sharpened just a touch. “Still. I know a jealous man when I see one.”

You scoffed, looking down at the floor tiles. “Frankie’s not jealous. He was the one who tried to convince me Bill was into me. When we went skydiving.”

“Okay, but that was before you told him how you felt.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

She let out a small, frustrated sound and rubbed her temples like you’d given her a migraine.

“You are infuriating. Like, truly. I love you, but you make me want to scream into a throw pillow.”

You gave her a crooked smile, something caught between guilt and defensiveness.

Emma checked her reflection again, smoothing down her dress and fixing a small smudge near her eye.

“Come with me to the bar, will you?”

You squinted. “You want another drink?” It wasn’t accusatory, just surprised—Emma wasn’t a big drinker. Two beers, that was usually her limit.

“Yeah,” she said with a grin that felt just a little too rehearsed. “I’m feeling festive.”

You stepped out of the bathroom together. Bowie’s China Girl was playing on the speakers, a little distorted through the sound system. The air was thick with the layered scent of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and deep-fried potatoes.

Emma grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd. Frankie was still at the bar, leaning against it. When he saw you approach, he shifted—barely.

You slipped into the space beside him, Emma sliding in between you.

“Emma,” Frankie said, his voice low and even. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, cocking her head, playful. “Though the sound of your car’s hood slamming shut is still echoing through my skull.”

Frankie let out a soft laugh and made a half-dismissive gesture. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile that softened just slightly. “I hear you’re redeeming yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

Before you could say anything, a voice called out from somewhere behind you, and Emma’s hand was instantly on your shoulder.

“Oh my God, Devon!” she said, and turned toward the voice like it was magnetic. Then she glanced at you, amused and breathless. “Tragic, I know, but I have to go say hi. Order me a beer, okay?”

She winked before disappearing into the crowd, her pace just fast enough to suggest she was escaping something.

You stayed where you were, eyes flicking toward Frankie. He didn’t speak right away, but he didn’t move either. Just stood there, the space between your arms barely an inch.

Grian came over and placed Frankie’s drink in front of him, the glass catching a glint of amber under the overhead light. You gave him Emma's order without looking up. Just a beer.

“Santi is drunk,” Frankie said. His voice was neutral.

You nodded, fingers curled around the edge of the bar. “I noticed.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment. The bar hummed around you—music, laughter, a burst of ice clattering into a metal bin. You watched the way your nails pressed against your palm, the thin crescent marks they left behind. Frankie exhaled beside you. Not loud, not theatrical. He shifted his weight.

You turned to look at him.

His jaw was tight. Not clenched, but contained. He wasn’t watching you—his eyes were fixed on the bottles behind the bar, neat rows of color and glass and labels. His brows weren’t furrowed, but there was tension in the corners of his mouth.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He glanced down at you then. His eyes dark. “You want to get out of here?”

“What?”

He turned toward you more fully now, eyes scanning your face with something like uncertainty.

“If you want to leave. With me.”

He sounded earnest, a little hesitant—like maybe the words had gotten ahead of him. Your lips twitched with a hint of a smile, the kind you didn’t mean to show.

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He looked over his shoulder toward the table where the others were sitting. “Wherever you want.”

You followed his gaze. Santi was leaning dramatically against Benny’s shoulder, mid-laugh. Yov was talking animatedly with someone you didn’t recognize. Will looked tired but was laughing anyway.

“What about them?” you asked.

Frankie turned back to you.

“They’re drunk,” he said simply. “And a little unbearable, to be honest.”

“And you don’t care if they see us leave together?”

“No,” he said, shrugging. “I think they already made up their minds about us. Impossible, they said.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “And Emma? I’m not leaving her here alone.”

His lips curved slightly. “So that’s a yes.”

“What?”

“That you want to come with me.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just turned to look at Emma again, now laughing at something Devon was saying. Her body language was loose, comfortable.

You looked back at Frankie, raising your index finger. “Give me a second.”

He nodded, watching you walk away.

When you reached Emma, she looked up with a knowing expression already blooming on her face.

“So?” she asked. “What did he say?”

“He asked me if I wanted to leave with him.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Go,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m fine. Devon’s driving me home soon. And I have the spare key in my bag.”

You touched her arm. “Text me when you get in?”

“Obviously.”

When you returned to the bar, Frankie was sipping from his glass while Grian spoke to him about a fight that had broken out the night before. He nodded at something Grian said, then turned when he saw you.

“Okay,” you said simply. “I’ll come with you.”

“You have everything?”

“Yeah, just my bag.”

He finished the last sip of his drink and set the glass down. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He pushed off the bar and gave a nod toward the exit. Grian gave you a small, knowing smile. You waved at him, your hand lifting instinctively, and then you followed Frankie toward the door.

Outside, the air had shifted—lighter now, cooler. It wasn’t particularly cold, but it felt cleaner somehow, like a layer of noise had peeled away with the door behind you. Frankie stepped up beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets, close enough that your arms might touch if either of you leaned just slightly to the side.

At the corner, you turned to look at him. The amber streetlights caught in his eyes, making them look brighter than usual. He looked back at you, a tender expression there. Neither of you said anything, and for a moment it felt like those hours in the bar had existed in some other version of reality. This felt like a different moment. Him, here. You, here. No noise. No laughter. No Emma nudging you beneath the table or Santi trying to make a joke.

Out here, he looked different. Or maybe he just looked more like himself. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hand through it too many times. You imagined it would feel soft if you touched it, and then tried not to imagine that.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

You hesitated, but only for show. “Whatever I want?”

“You sound like trouble. Don’t make me steal anything tonight.”

That made you laugh, too quickly. You looked down at your shoes, pretending to consider the question, even though you already knew your answer. The gin still warmed your veins, made you feel bolder than usual, like the version of yourself who didn’t overthink things to death.

You looked up again. “Can we go to your place?”

Frankie smiled—an uneven, vaguely suspicious sort of smile, like you’d just proposed something illegal and mildly intriguing.

“You want to go to my place?”

You nodded, unfazed. “You've been to my place several times. That I can remember. I, on the other hand, have no idea where you live. For all I know, you sleep in your car like a cryptid.”

He tilted his head. “Wow. A cryptid?”

“I said like one. You’re far too clean to be an actual cryptid.”

“Thanks,” he said, deadpan. “Really heartfelt compliment. I’ll treasure it forever.”

"You're welcome."

He laughed, the sound low and genuine, and ran a hand through his hair, which only made it more chaotic than it already was.

“Aha. So this is about fairness,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re calling me out on a hospitality imbalance.”

“Exactly. Basic domestic justice.”

“Alright. Full disclosure, though—no cat.”

You narrowed your eyes, pretending to reconsider. “That can be arranged. I know a guy.”

He laughed. “You’re gonna get me a cat?”

“I think you should have one,” you said, shrugging. “Otherwise, who do you talk to at 2 am?”

“I talk to my plants.”

You tilted your head, charmed despite yourself. “What do you say to them?”

“Mostly, ‘please don’t die.’ Sometimes I play them old records. I’ve been told it helps. Mai told me, actually.”

You grinned, already imagining it. Frankie watering plants while Johnny Cash plays in the background.

“Well, I still think the cat’s a good idea anyway.”

Frankie grinned, mouth twitching at the corners like he was trying not to look as pleased as he felt.

“Alright then. Come to my tragic, cat-less apartment and make your judgments.”

“Gladly. But just so you know, if there’s even one lava lamp or a poster of Scarface, I’m walking out.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you in if I had a lava lamp.”

“Fair,” you said, and the two of you started walking again, your shoulders nearly brushing.

“Don’t fall. Watch out.” Frankie’s hand wrapped around yours as you stepped out of the Uber like he'd done it a hundred times before.

“I’m not going to fall,” you said, frowning at him playfully, though you didn’t pull your hand away.

Then you looked up.

Frankie’s house was—unexpected. Clean lines. Neutral tones. The place stood neat and self-contained at the end of a quiet street. The facade was light wood, almost golden under the porch light, and the gabled roof above it was the color of charcoal. Everything about it looked clean and measured. The symmetry of it was almost uncanny—the central porch framed by white columns, the wide double door with its glass panes catching bits of amber light from inside.

On either side, windows glowed softly, as if someone inside was still awake. But you knew that wasn't true, and that Frankie probably left the lights on to create the false impression that someone was inside. The garage stretched to the left, its doors darker wood, with small square windows at the top like little eyes. The front yard was impossibly tidy. The grass was cut to an even length, the edges trimmed. There were rows of low shrubs and just enough flowers to make it feel like someone cared, but not too much. The path was poured concrete, no cracks, no weeds creeping through.

You stared for a beat too long, and he noticed. “I have a gardener,” Frankie said, his voice close to your ear. You didn’t answer.

He unlocked the door with ease, and then stepped aside to let you in first. You brushed past him, closer than necessary, and he didn’t move.

The room felt too exposed, like something you weren’t supposed to be witnessing. Not because it was messy or chaotic—quite the opposite—but because it was composed in a way that revealed too much. Or maybe it just felt that way because it was Frankie, and you had never really pictured him inside a space like this.

The living room was lit by two lamps, one on each side of a deep gray sofa, casting the kind of glow that made everything look softer than it probably was. The fireplace across from it wasn’t lit, its matte black surface blending into the wall, with a television mounted above it, silent and blank. On the mantel sat two houseplants in identical white ceramic pots, flanking a pair of simple photo frames.

A coffee table, scratched at the edges, stood in front of the sofa. He had left a mug there, half drunk. There was also a book turned face-down and a lighter next to an open pack of cigs. Two armchairs filled the remaining corners of the room. One had a navy cushion, the other black.

The air smelled like laundry detergent, the faint bitterness of old coffee, something earthy and clean. And beneath it, him—his cologne, maybe, or the scent of his skin. It was subtle but persistent. Like if you stayed here long enough, it would cling to you.

“Want something to drink? Tea? Coffee?” His voice came from behind you as he moved toward the kitchen, his steps quiet on the hardwood floor. You didn’t follow him.

“Tea’s fine,” you said, almost to yourself, wandering over to the fireplace. You leaned in to look at the photos. One showed his dad standing alone on a pier, sun hitting his face. He was grinning, the lines around his eyes deep and familiar. He looked so much like Frankie it startled you—same smile, same jawline, same thick, full hair. You imagined his voice would be similar too.

The second frame was filled with women. His mom, his sisters, all of them laughing at something just outside the frame. Frankie wasn’t in the photo.

You kept walking, a little slower now, taking in more than you should have. A sweatshirt tossed over the back of the sofa. Headphones folded carefully on the coffee table. Three plants lined up on a chest of drawers by the window, each one thriving in a different shape of pot. To the left, a piece of mid-century furniture caught your eye. A record cabinet, filled almost to overflowing. A closed record player sat on top, the glass lid dust-free.

You leaned in, reading titles out loud in your head like they were clues: The Stooges. Fleetwood Mac. Busy Bee Starski. Alice in Chains. The Clash. Eagles. Marvin Gaye. T. Rex. The sleeves looked worn, loved, pulled from the shelf again and again.

“Wanna hear one?” Frankie’s voice startled you. You hadn’t heard him come back.

You turned toward him. “T. Rex?”

He grinned. Not smug—more like pleased. He placed two mugs down on the table and crossed the room to join you. You held the record sleeve while he powered up the record player. Electric Warrior. His hands were steady, practiced, and within seconds, Mambo Sun filled the room.

“My dad loved this album,” you said, not really looking at him. “He’d play it on sundays while fixing stuff in the garage. The volume was always too loud.I really love it.”

You rested the sleeve behind the record player carefully and turned around. Frankie was already on the sofa, holding his tea.

“T. Rex in the garage on a sunday,” he said, lifting the mug to his mouth. “Sounds like your dad had his priorities in order. Shit—careful. It’s hot.”

You sat beside him, your hip brushing his just barely. “I like it hot. So hot that one sip burns my heart out.”

You smiled at him then, sideways.

“So romantic,” he murmured, head leaning back against the cushion.

You didn’t speak, and neither did he. The silence wasn’t awkward—it felt chosen. Mutual. Like you both knew that if you said anything right then, it might undo the atmosphere you’d stumbled into. So instead, the music filled the space. The vinyl hissed softly beneath the track, that low, velvety warmth that you always loved.

By the time Cosmic Dancer had reached its halfway point, you lifted your mug, took a careful sip, then let it rest in your lap, your fingers curling around the ceramic. You were perched on your knees, your legs folded beneath you, spine tilted just slightly toward him like your body had gotten used to the idea of being near him again. You kept your eyes fixed on your hands.

“I missed talking to you,” you said. “Just a little.”

The words felt like they slipped out more than they were offered.

You felt him turn, could feel the weight of his gaze move from the record player to your face. Your cheeks warmed under it, uninvited.

“You did?”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

“Just a little,” you repeated, and finally let your eyes meet his, your lips tilting into something that tried not to be a smile but failed.

“Ah, thank God,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch with a kind of theatrical relief. “I was starting to get worried.”

You laughed, soft and breathy, your eyes dropping again to the mug in your lap. There was a pause. Not uncomfortable. You shifted a little closer and rested your head on his shoulder like it was a pillow you’d always used.

“So,” you said, “what’ve you been up to?”

He didn’t answer right away. You could tell he was thinking.

“Work. Rest,” he said finally. “I bought a new coffee the other day.”

“Oh yeah? Is it any good?”

“It is. I’ll give you some.”

“That’s generous of you,” you said, your tone feather-light. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “What else… I went on a few walks. Tried to cut down on smoking. Not sure if I actually managed to.”

Your gaze flicked to the coffee table, where a pack of cigarettes lay in plain sight.

“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding toward it. “There’s your progress.”

He gave a short, stifled laugh that vibrated faintly beneath your ear. “I’m trying.”

You reached over and patted his thigh twice. “Good boy.”

He exhaled a laugh, head turning slightly toward you. “That again?”

“I haven’t forgotten. My theory still stands.”

“It’s a weird theory,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “A praise kink? Really?”

“It’s not weird, actually.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding with mock solemnity, eyes dancing. “It’s not. So,” he went on, “that’s what I did. Oh—helped Will with his car. We spent the whole day on it.”

“A whole day?”

“Well. Two hours, technically. Then we gave up and made ribs in the backyard.”

“Ah. The whole day.” You laughed and leaned into him again. “Two hours.”

He laughed again, then lifted the mug to his mouth. You were about to say something else, maybe something meaningless, but then the thought came back like a door left ajar in your mind, something drifting through.

“So, Tam,” you said, casually enough that it surprised even you. “What about her?”

You felt the change in him instantly. A shift in posture. A tightening.

“She’s a friend of Will’s,” he said, voice level. “They met a few months ago. She sold him a bike.”

“Oh.” You nodded once, your eyes on the handle of your mug as your thumb traced over it.

You didn’t add anything.

A few seconds passed. He swallowed. “There’s nothing going on with her. I just…” He paused. “I just—”

“Frankie,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes to meet his. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I just drove her home. It was late.”

You smiled. “That was nice of you.”

“Mm.” He shifted again, resettling into the cushions beside you. Your head was still resting on his shoulder, and neither of you moved to change that. “That was it.”

You extended your empty mug toward him, and he took it from your hands with an ease that made something inside you soften. He leaned to place it gently on the small table beside him.

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to glance at him from your position. “Do you think what Will said is true?”

“What?”

“That maybe she likes you. Or something like that.”

“Will just likes messing with me. He sees something and runs with it. That’s kind of his thing.”

You reached out, your hand brushing against his arm, fingertips trailing until they found the little freckle near his wrist. You pressed lightly there, then traced the edge of it.

“It was just that, you know?” he said, his voice more certain now, like he needed you to hear it. Like he needed himself to say it out loud. He looked at you, but your gaze didn’t rise this time.

You exhaled slowly. “Even if it was something else, it’s fine. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to explain.”

But still, he reached for your hand, the one that had touched his skin. He folded his fingers around yours, his thumb brushing softly along your fingertips.

“I just got the sense that it bothered you,” he said quietly. “That’s all. I—”

“As far as I know, you’re a single man. And if you meet someone you like, and they’re kind to you… I think that’s your business.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept holding your hand.

Then, “We’ve talked about this already.”

“I know,” you said, your voice even, “but these aren’t things you can always control, right? You can have the whole thing mapped out in your head—what you want, what you’re ready for, what you’ve decided not to touch. You can feel so sure about all of it. And then someone comes along who completely rearranges the blueprint, and maybe you weren’t prepared for that. Maybe it’s inconvenient, maybe it’s terrifying. But what are you supposed to do with that kind of thing?”

You paused. “Sometimes it just... arrives. Like timing that sneaks up on you and lands exactly where it should, whether you’re prepared or not. And honestly, Frankie,” you added, eyes steady, “you shouldn’t feel guilty about that. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Or anyone.”

He didn’t answer right away. You could hear him breathing beside you, that quiet rhythm, the way his chest moved beneath your head, like he was sorting through something inside himself. For a moment, you worried you’d said too much, crossed into a space that wasn’t yours to step into.

Then, finally: “I get it. But I don’t like Tam.”

You let out a soft exhale. “I wasn’t really talking about Tam,” you said gently. “I meant anyone.”

Your eyes dropped to where your hands rested together. His thumb was brushing against your skin again, the motion absent-minded but oddly grounding.

“I think it’s just one of those things people can’t plan for. You try, but then it happens anyway. I think it’s okay to take your time, to be cautious, to move at your own pace. But I also think it’s not weakness to let yourself be caught off guard by something good.”

He tilted his head slightly, enough to look at you. “You think that’s possible? That it can be a good thing?”

“I think it’s the most human thing in the world. Letting yourself feel something fully. Letting it lead you. Even just a little.”

Frankie gave a half-smile, not the kind that reached all the way to his eyes.

“Bad things have happened when I’ve done that before. When I’ve let myself get too carried away by what I was feeling.”

You looked at him. “Right, but what were you getting carried away by? What kinds of feelings?”

He let out a short laugh, more tired than amused. “It’s been a long, long stretch of darker ones, baby.”

Your gaze dropped again, back to your joined hands. You studied the place where his fingers still cradled yours.

“Then maybe that’s the difference,” you murmured. “You don’t have to follow the dark ones. Not if there are brighter ones. I mean, it sounds corny but... you know.”

“Uh-huh. Like what?”

“Well, I dunno,” you said, and your voice carried that hesitant tone people use when they’re trying not to sound too sure of themselves. “I know you said you don’t like Tam. But say you did. Say you met someone who made you feel a little more okay just by being around, someone who was gentle, real, not out to ruin your life. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Frankie’s laugh came out a little too fast. “They could absolutely crush me. Like, destroy me. Again.” He tried to make it sound like a joke. “Break my heart. And you... you’re not afraid of that happening again? Not after what Harry did?”

You nodded slowly, still looking down. “Yeah, I am, sometimes. Maybe more than I admit. But I don’t want that fear. I don't like it. I don’t want to be afraid of something as good as love just because someone misused it. Falling in love is... still one of the best things. It's fun, it's nice. I’m not going to let him take that away from me.”

Frankie leaned his head back against the couch. “It usually ends in a disaster, though. It rips you apart. It doesn’t just hurt, it—it just... Yeah, it fucking hurts.”

“I know, I’m not pretending it doesn’t.”

“And you still want it?”

“Still,” you murmured. “Even after everything. And I get it, right? Like, you promise yourself you’ll never be that open again, never leave the door even slightly cracked. But then someone comes along and you find yourself doing it anyway. You stop noticing how carefully you were guarding yourself, and suddenly you’re not anymore.”

Frankie was silent for a beat. Then:

“Someone like Bill?”

You frowned faintly, but didn’t lift your head. “Bill?”

“Yeah. I told you—I could see he was into you. And he seems decent, doesn’t he?”

“I think so.”

“And Emma likes him. And she's your best friend, she knows you better than anyone. If he’s the way she says... I guess I just think—I think—”

“He is,” you said, cutting gently across his sentence. “He is exactly like she says.”

“Right.” He paused. “He is exactly like she says.”

He just sat there, still as furniture, the heat from his side warming yours. Your fingers moved slightly, brushing his knuckles before curling around them—just barely, just enough to feel it. The shape of his hand in yours felt familiar.

“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” You whispered. You waited. He didn’t reply. “He’s not who I want.”

Shit. Shit. The words echoed in your mind long after you said them.

Next to you, Frankie stiffened — not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. Enough to make your body react instinctively. Your hand, still tangled with his, turned cold at the fingertips, and you let it slip out of his. It didn’t feel right to keep touching him.

You adjusted your posture, putting space between your bodies, lowering your feet to the floor as if reclaiming a version of yourself that wasn’t so recklessly leaning into him.

A pause stretched between you. You reached over to your purse and fished out your phone. The screen lit up instantly with a message from Emma, timestamped ten minutes earlier.

[Em🐥 ]: I'm home <3 let me know how everything is going, I'll stay up a little longer

You replied with a few quick words — something casual, enough to reassure her you weren’t unraveling, even if a part of you might have been. You told her everything was fine, that you’d be back soon. You slipped the phone back in your bag, your hands quieter now.

“Um,” you said, eyes trained somewhere around the coffee table, anywhere but his face. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah. Down the hall. First door on the left.”

He hadn’t moved. His back still pressed against the couch, his eyes on you, hand resting exactly where yours had been, like he hadn’t quite registered its absence.

You stood and made your way to the bathroom, maybe a bit too fast. The light flicked on and for a second your eyes narrowed against the brightness. The space was neat — not sterile, just… simple. Everything in its place. No clutter.

You leaned your weight against the wall and exhaled, the sound more fragile than you expected.

Goddamn gin. You hadn’t even had much, just enough to loosen the seams a little. You weren’t drunk — you were just... like this, around Frankie. Words always rushed out like they were being pulled from you. Like he had some quiet gravitational force you hadn’t learned to resist.

And now you’d done it. You’d said too much. You’d pushed him again, out of his comfort zone, out of reach. He’d already been at arm’s length — why did you keep trying to pull him closer? He was probably right to stay there.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. You didn’t look wrecked, at least. Your lipstick hadn’t faded, your eyeliner hadn’t betrayed you. That was something. A small win. Thanks, Emma.

You stayed there longer than you needed to, buying yourself a few more seconds before stepping back into the atmosphere you’d unsettled. But eventually, you knew — you had to take responsibility for what you’d stirred.

You opened the door. The music was still playing, Marc Bolan’s voice floating like a ghost through the room.

Frankie stood by the record player. One hand hovered near his mouth, fingers resting lightly against his lips, the other braced at his hip. He looked like he was studying the motion of the record as it turned or the color of the vinyl.

You stayed where you were, watching his back. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

He didn’t turn fully, just twisted at the waist, his profile barely visible. “Yeah—okay. Or I can drive you, if you’d rather.”

You shook your head before remembering he couldn’t see you. “It’s fine. I’ll get an Uber.”

He nodded once. Not arguing.

You could tell he wasn’t drunk, not really, but you both knew there was just enough alcohol in your systems to complicate things.

He turned back toward the record player and reached forward, stopping it with a practiced motion. Then he carefully lifted the vinyl off it and slid it into its sleeve, his fingertips pressing softly at the edges like he was handling something fragile. He was.

“Thanks for the tea,” you said, watching him. “And for letting me come here. It’s like uncovering a mystery.”

He let out a sound—somewhere between a laugh and a breath—and turned to face you.

“And thank you for showing me your records,” you added.

“You’re welcome. Anytime.”

He looked down at the record in his hand, hesitated, then glanced back up at you.

“I know you don’t have a garage or anything,” he started, “but... here. Take this.” He stepped forward and held it out to you. The record, now tucked neatly in its cover, extended in your direction. “I saw your player. In the bookshop.”

Your fingers closed around the edges, brushing briefly against his.

“Are you sure? It’s yours—”

“You’ll enjoy it more than I do. Really. And maybe you can listen to it at work. Or whenever you want, I mean. ”

You looked down at the cover, letting your eyes trace the artwork, the worn corners. You smiled, and lifted your gaze back to him.

“Thank you,” you said, and you meant it more than he probably knew.

Frankie smiled again. There was peace in his face, but not joy exactly.

“Well,” you said quietly, turning away as your fingers curled around the strap of your purse. “I’ll get a car.” You pulled the phone free, the screen lighting up in your hand. “What’s your address again?”

You glanced up, expecting him to speak quickly, but instead he stepped toward you. Just two steps but enough that the air between you changed. His presence drew up close to yours like heat in a narrow space.

“Um,” he began, eyes flickering down to the phone in your hand. “Two-two-one-one… Hartford—Hart…” He stumbled over the words, his voice catching as if his mind had exited the room entirely. His brow creased, lips parted, eyes still on your screen, but not really seeing it. He ran his hand through his hair, nervous.

Then he looked at you. You should have said something. You felt it building in your chest, a sentence that never came. You thought, briefly, that you might speak. That you might ask if he was okay, or if maybe—

But you didn’t.

Because he was already there. His hands lifted to your face, gently. And his mouth was so close you felt the first brush of it before you realized he’d leaned in at all.

Your eyes shut instantly. A reflex. A surrender.

His fingers curved along your jaw, thumbs soft at your cheeks, touching you like he was afraid you might vanish. The kiss wasn’t demanding — it was brief, tentative, something barely born.

When you opened your eyes, he was watching you, his gaze darker than you’d ever seen it. Full.

He slipped the vinyl from your hands —carefully— and placed it down on the couch without breaking eye contact. You let your phone fall there too, not bothering to look at it again.

Then his hands were on you again, firmer this time, his grip less cautious. And he kissed you like he’d run out of patience, like he couldn’t talk himself out of it anymore. You met him with the same urgency.

Your heart was thudding, loud and uneven, as if trying to match the rhythm of his. You looped your arms around his neck, pulled him closer, tilted your head to let him in. His tongue slipped into your mouth without hesitation.

You made a quiet sound against his lips, and he responded by pulling you tighter. You reached for his hair, threading your fingers through it, gripping soft strands like you needed something to anchor you to the ground.

You hadn’t even noticed when it happened, not fully — just the subtle shift of his body, the press of his weight, and then the cool firmness of the wall behind your back. One moment you were kissing him like you couldn’t breathe without it, and the next you were pinned, his hands moving down your sides, rough with want but tender with care. His fingers found your hips first, gripped tightly, then slid down, tracing the shape of your thighs, your ass — pulling you into him like he couldn’t stand the idea of space between you.

Your breathing was uneven, catching at the top of each inhale, and his matched yours. You were flushed everywhere, skin hot and tingling, like something inside you had been lit and was now burning recklessly out of control. The closeness wasn’t enough — not nearly. You wanted more of him, all of him, everywhere.

He broke the kiss and moved to your neck like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. His lips grazed the skin beneath your jaw, warm and searching. Then he bit softly — just enough to make you gasp, your hands instinctively clutching at his shirt. The sound you made seemed to light something in him, because he groaned against your throat, low and needy, the vibration of it sinking straight into your chest.

You opened your eyes, breath shuddering out in fragmented sighs.

“Frankie,” you said, barely above a whisper, not even sure if it was a plea or a warning or both. You tugged gently at his hair, needing him to hear you, to see you.

He lifted his head, his mouth deep pink, eyes heavy and full of something that looked like reverence and hunger all at once. His face was flushed and gorgeous in that ruinous way people look when they’ve stopped pretending.

“I don’t know if you want this.” Your voice didn’t sound like yours — it was fragile, shaky, almost not there at all.

His expression shifted, like something cracked inside him.

“I do,” he said, the words scraping out of his throat. “I do,” he repeated, eyes locked on yours. He rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve been thinking about you. Every damn day. I—” He shook his head like the sentence was useless. “Fuck it.”

Then his mouth was on yours again — hard, urgent, no more waiting. He kissed you like he was making up for every second he hadn’t, his hands cupping your thighs as he lifted you without hesitation. You wrapped your legs around him, your arms tightening around his shoulders, everything in you pulling him closer. The wall disappeared behind you. You didn’t know where he was carrying you, and it didn’t matter. Your eyes were closed and your thoughts had blurred into sensation — pure, overwhelming.

You kissed him like you were starving. Like the world outside this moment had ceased to exist. And then, just as the pace of everything threatened to consume you entirely, he set you down. Carefully. Your back met a soft surface — a bed, you realized. Your chest rose and fell, breathless. The room was dim, nearly pitch dark, until Frankie turned and switched on a lamp beside the bed. A small circle of golden light spread over the sheets, over the shape of his body as he looked at you.

You kicked off your shoes in a clumsy rush. You barely looked at the room itself — barely noticed the furniture, the walls, anything. Your attention had narrowed entirely to him.

He climbed onto the bed, over you, his knee sliding between yours. He kissed you again before you could say anything. Your hands trembled slightly as they moved to his belt. You fumbled, but not out of hesitation — out of the sheer urgency coursing through you. You got the button open, then the zipper, just as his mouth moved to your throat again, this time biting with more certainty, less restraint.

The pain flared, beautiful in the way it folded instantly into pleasure. You moaned, head tilting back, hands still on his waist, and thought briefly, this is happening, and thank god.

You reached for him without thinking, but he was already moving, shifting his weight back onto his knees. A frustrated sound broke in your throat at the absence of his body on yours. But then you saw his hands at the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head in a single motion and tossing it somewhere behind him, careless with everything but you.

You sat up automatically, drawn forward, and placed your hands on his bare abdomen. His skin was warm, soft under your touch, and you could feel the tautness of muscle beneath the surface. Quiet strength, the heat of him, the way desire seemed to radiate outward and settle in the pit of your stomach like something molten.

He guided you back, pressing you into the mattress again. His palms slid down your body, finding your skirt. You bent your knees, lifting your legs to help him, and he removed it with a practiced kind of ease, the fabric sliding down and away.

You sat up again, wordlessly, unthinking, and peeled off your shirt, letting it fall from your fingers to the floor beside the bed.

Frankie reached for you once more, his hands firm. He pushed you back again, settling over you with a kind of certainty that made you feel both cherished and undone. His face hovered just above yours — eyes dark and focused, mouth curved in the faintest smile — and then he kissed you, briefly, almost teasingly, before pulling back a little.

One of his hands pressed into the mattress above your head, steadying himself, while the other moved to your shoulder, tracing the strap of your bra with his knuckles before easing it down your arm. Then the other. His fingers found the center clasp and worked it down, peeling the fabric away until it rested around your waist, leaving your breasts exposed to the room, to him.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your skin buzzed beneath the sudden coolness, your nipples already tight, your whole body reacting before he even touched you again. He looked at you like he was seeing something private and sacred, something he wanted to memorize. Then, finally, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his weight pressing into you as his tongue explored your mouth with aching intensity. You tasted want and something else you didn’t have words for.

His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down your neck, your collarbones, across the soft hollow between them. Every part of you he touched felt heightened, more awake. When his lips finally closed around your nipple, you gasped, your back arching toward him as if your body had made the decision for you.

You reached up and cradled the back of his neck, anchoring him to you, your fingers sliding into his hair as he circled his tongue over the sensitive skin. The sensation pulled a reaction from you so swift, so undeniable, that you barely recognized the sound you made — a moan that felt like it had come from somewhere deeper than your throat.

He moved to your other breast, his hand replacing his mouth on the first, fingers firm and careful, and your body responded again, a rush of heat pooling between your legs. It was impossible to stay still beneath him.

Frankie let go of you with a wet sound that echoed in the quiet of the room. His mouth trailed lower, over your stomach, leaving behind a warm, glistening path of kisses that made your skin tense beneath him. You felt the brush of his lips against the top of your underwear — the softest press — and yet your hips lifted toward him, needy and instinctual.

His breath hit you there, unsteady and hot. You could hear it—uneven, rushed—against the cotton that separated his mouth from your skin. His hands came to rest around your thighs, thumbs pressing into the softness just above your knees.

And then his mouth was on you. Just the thin barrier of fabric between his tongue and your flesh. The pressure made your back lift off the mattress, your body responding with a gasp. Frankie groaned into you, low and raw, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him and vibrated through your body like it belonged to you.

Your fingers found his messy hair and gripped, not knowing what else to do. He pulled back then, just enough to reach for the waistband of your panties, and you didn’t wait for instruction. You raised your hips, legs bent and ready, and he slid them down your thighs in one clean motion.

For a beat, everything went still.

Your knees rested lightly on his shoulders, the bones of your legs brushing against his collarbones. He looked down at you, eyes glazed with something heavier than lust. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted, chest rising in quick, uneven rhythm. He looked like someone caught between prayer and ruin.

One hand slid along your leg, palm smoothing over the bend of your knee. The other traced the length of your thigh, fingers leaving a trail of heat. Then, without a word, he opened you. And he saw you.

You watched his face change—eyes widening slightly, mouth twitching. You could feel his gaze on you like contact itself, like pressure, like he was touching you just by looking.

But it wasn’t enough. Your body screamed for more, impatient and pulsing. Still, he stayed there, fixed between your legs, studying you like you were made of something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Then he moved.

His hands slid lower, securing your thighs in his grip. He leaned in and kissed the inside of your left leg, just above the knee. His mouth wandered downward, closer and closer, and you propped yourself on your elbows to see him—to see all of him, hair mussed and lashes shadowing his cheeks as he kissed his way down like he was following a map.

And then he reached your core.

There was no hesitation, no warning—just his mouth on you, all tongue and lips and intention. You cried out without sound, your mouth dropping open, your head falling back against the bed. Every nerve inside you lit up, over and over again, as if your body had been waiting for this exact touch your entire life. You trembled under him, every muscle drawn tight, and the sensation rushed through you in waves so intense you weren’t sure whether you could bear it or beg for more.

Frankie’s tongue moved in steady, circular motions, like he had studied you before this moment, like he knew what would make you fall apart. He groaned against you, the sound low and guttural, and the vibration shot straight through your core.

“Oh my God, Francisco,” you gasped, the words tumbling out of you as your head dropped back onto the pillow. Your eyes squeezed shut. You felt almost outside yourself, like you were watching this happen from somewhere else in the room.

Your hips began to shift, restless with urgency, but his grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you anchored to the bed. His breathing had turned heavy, matching your own, and there was something increasingly frantic in the way his mouth moved on you — like he couldn’t get enough, like he wasn’t just trying to make you come, but to taste your undoing, to drown in it.

It had never been like this. You had known pleasure before, of course, but not this kind. Not the kind that seemed to steal the thoughts from your head and replace them with static. Frankie moved like he could feel every nuance in your body, like he could sense exactly where you were breaking, and pushed just a little further.

You felt it rising inside you, a tension that curled tighter and tighter. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, a movement so quick it almost startled him, your hand finding his hair again and tangling there, tugging with a force you didn’t know you were capable of. He groaned again, louder this time, and the sound rattled against your skin, your ribs, your bones.

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, a fierce, uneven rhythm. Heat spread through you like fire licking at every corner of your body. Frankie pulled you closer, his tongue moving with a rhythm that felt built for you and no one else. You cried out — not words, just sound — and your head tipped back as the wave overtook you, crashing over your body in a torrent that left you gasping. Every part of you clenched and released, like your body was unraveling and rebuilding all at once.

But he didn’t stop.

Even when your fingers pushed at his hair, even when your body jolted with overstimulation, he kept going — licking, kissing, breathing you in. You whimpered, twisting beneath him, your hand pressing at his forehead until he finally lifted his head, lips wet and eyes dazed.

You were shaking. Completely unmade. Your chest rose and fell in sharp breaths that didn’t feel like enough. And still, he looked at you like he wasn’t finished.

He moved back up over your body, settling on top of you with that same heat still written across his skin. His mouth found yours again, this time soft, almost careful, like he knew you needed a moment.

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper.

You smiled, eyes almost closed. "Yeah. That was... Yeah." You caressed his face, your fingers running over it as if you wanted to memorize it.

Frankie smiled. Then he moved to your neck, kissing the place just below your jaw, again and again, like he knew you loved it. Or maybe he just wanted to stay there for a while.

Your hand trailed back down his chest, each movement deliberate not in pace but in purpose. His skin was warm under your fingertips, the faintest ridge of muscle beneath the softness. You brushed past his navel, past the band of his boxers, and without pausing, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric. The hair there, and then—further down—you found him.

Hard. Large. Hot in your palm.

You opened your eyes. The ceiling was a blur, the room spinning softly around the edges. Frankie let out a sound into your neck and it curled around your spine like a fuse catching fire. The sound did something to you. You didn’t have a name for it, but it made your breath catch and your body ache.

“Please,” you whispered, hoarse, sure what you were asking for. Just more. Just him.

He stilled, his breath uneven. Then he shifted, pulling away from your body with effort, like detaching two pieces of something that had always belonged together. He rose from the bed without saying anything, and you stayed where you were—sprawled across his sheets, boneless and burning—watching him silently.

Frankie bent to remove his shoes, then his jeans. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, as if witnessing this needed the reverence of attention. When he pulled off his boxers, you went still.

There he was. Completely bare. Standing in the amber light of the bedside lamp like a statue half-finished, chest rising with every sharp breath, cock full and thick and impossibly beautiful in the dimness. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you with that expression again—like he was still trying to believe you were real.

He climbed back onto the bed, one knee between your legs, one hand stroking himself with an absent-minded kind of urgency. You felt your mouth go dry and wet at once, your body too aware of every inch of him. The sight of him touching himself in front of you was almost too much.

He opened the drawer on his nightstand and pulled out a foil packet. You sat up, instinctively, and reached for him, your hand wrapping around his length. You moved your palm up and down, gentle, reverent. His breathing fractured.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, the words barely audible.

He tore open the wrapper with shaking fingers. You let go and watched him carefully as he rolled the condom on. You leaned back, your skin hypersensitive, your nipples prickling with the faintest movement of air.

Then he was over you again, his body shadowing yours, arms bracketing your head like he needed to keep you beneath him. His mouth found yours—not ravenous, not frenzied. Just… kind.

He kissed you like he meant it, like he had all the time in the world to taste you. Lips brushing yours with a softness that felt dangerous. Like this could be something more than heat and breath and tension. Like this might break you open if you let it.

And you let it. Because you were already breaking.

You felt him there, right at the edge of you—his body so close it was hard to tell where yours ended. You tilted your hips toward him instinctively, something inside you guiding the movement without thought. Frankie’s mouth brushed yours again, and he smiled—barely, just enough for you to feel it. His left hand planted itself above your head, steadying. His other hand shifted between you, grounding you in a way that felt both gentle and firm.

Your arms went around his neck. You couldn’t help it. You needed to hold him. Needed to feel every inch of him pressed against you.

And then he pushed inside.

The stretch was exquisite, each inch of him invading you in a way that made your lungs forget how to work. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out—just air, caught in your throat. He stopped halfway in, his breath faltering, forehead nearly resting against yours. And then he drew back, not completely, just enough to make you ache, and slid in again. This time deeper. A shiver ran down your spine.

You moaned—soft at first, involuntary. When you opened your eyes, his face was right there. His expression was undone, like he’d broken apart and hadn’t figured out how to reassemble himself yet. He was looking at you, but it wasn’t just about sex. There was something else in his gaze.

Then he kissed you again—messier this time, more urgent, like he needed your mouth the same way he needed everything else. He moved inside you harder, hips shifting into a rhythm that felt like a storm brewing just beneath your skin. It wasn’t just the pressure or the depth—it was the way it built, how it stole your breath more with every thrust.

The noises that came from you weren’t delicate. They were raw, real, rising in pitch as his body collided with yours. The slap of skin, the creak of the bedframe, the heavy breath between both of your mouths—it all blurred into one sound, constant and deafening and perfect.

He groaned into your ear, a low, shaken sound. Your hands clung to his back, nails dragging across his skin as if anchoring yourself to the moment. You felt him respond to the sting of it—his hips snapping forward harder.

He was driving you deeper into the mattress with each movement. You felt it in your ribs, in your thighs, in your soul. The wall behind the bed thudded in rhythm, the room echoing back the chaos you two were making.

Your chest heaved. Your face was flushed. There were tears pricking behind your eyes for no reason you could explain—just too much sensation, too much want. A buzz built beneath your skin, sweet and dizzying, until it filled your whole body like electricity.

You bit him.

You weren’t thinking, not really—your teeth found his shoulder, his neck, like you needed something to hold onto or you might disappear. And he let you. He groaned again, a sound that went straight through your body and took up residence somewhere deep inside.

And still—he didn’t stop.

His moans shifted—deeper now, full-bodied. You opened your eyes and ran your hands over his back, tracing the dip of his spine, the tension in his shoulders, the thickness of his arms. You adjusted beneath him, tilting your hips in a way that made your intent unmistakable. He paused just enough to register it.

So he moved, wordlessly. Rolled off you and onto his back, hands already on your hips as if his body had anticipated yours.

You climbed over him in one fluid movement, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Your center brushed along the length of him and your breath caught like a thread pulled tight in your chest. His hands remained on you.

You pushed the hair from your face and let one palm rest on his chest—warm, firm, rising and falling beneath your touch. Your other hand moved between your thighs, guiding him toward you. And then, with both hands braced on his chest, you sank down onto him.

Your head tipped back. Your mouth opened in something between relief and reverence. He filled you completely. Every inch of him belonged inside you and your body knew it instinctively.

At first, you moved gently—learning the rhythm, feeling every part of him stretch and press inside you. But the pressure built quickly, rising in waves, until your hips began to move with more urgency. Up, down, again, again. The bed shifted beneath you, groaning with each motion. Frankie’s hands slid from your waist to your ass, gripping you tightly as he began to move with you, helping you take him deeper, harder.

You leaned forward, placing your hands on either side of his head. His eyes were glazed with heat. He let out a sound—low, strained—and then bent his head just enough to capture one of your breasts in his mouth. Your hips stuttered. The contact made you gasp.

You were unraveling. Melting over him, against him, around him. Every nerve in your body lit up, overwhelmed by sensation. The room filled with the echo of it all—flesh meeting flesh, your breath hitching and breaking, the slick sounds that made your whole body feel like it was vibrating.

Then Frankie growled—a dark, guttural sound that you felt more than heard. He grabbed your waist and pressed you flush against him, arms aroung you, lifting his knees for leverage. He began thrusting up into you, hard and purposeful, meeting you with a rhythm so perfect it felt like your body had been made for this exact moment.

You pressed your hands to his shoulders for balance and looked down at him.

He was stunning. Absolutely undone. Hair matted to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with exertion, his lips parted, damp and pink. His eyes met yours—dark, shining—and you felt like you could drown in them.

You leaned down and kissed him, a shaky moan caught between your mouths. He was still moving beneath you and it was almost too much. Every thrust scraped against something inside you that made your vision blur.

You broke the kiss and gasped against his cheek. Your fingers dug into his skin, holding on like you might fall apart.

Your mouth found his again, and this time you bit down softly on his lower lip, just as you felt the wave crest. His hips stuttered beneath you, erratic now, almost frantic. You heard the shift in his breath—the sharp intake, the strangled exhale—and then you felt it. His release. The moment his body surrendered entirely, muscles tightening, his grip on you fierce and unthinking.

Your vision blurred as your own pleasure surged alongside his, crashing into you in a way that made your hands clench around his shoulders, your spine arch, your thighs tremble where they straddled his hips. Frankie groaned—gutural and right against your neck—and the sound felt like it was stitched into your skin.

When it ended, he didn’t move right away. Just held you there, still connected, one hand splayed across your back, the other resting on your hip like a tether. You let your forehead fall into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smelled like skin and sweat and something warm that you couldn’t name but never wanted to forget.

After a few breaths—his still uneven, yours catching on the edge of a sigh—you lifted your face. Your eyes met his in the half-light. It felt impossibly quiet. Like nothing else existed outside that room, that bed, that look.

You raised a hand and touched his cheek with your fingertips. He turned into your palm like it was instinct. You kissed him once, soft and lingering, and then began to shift off him, your body aching in the best kind of way.

But before you could fully roll away, his hand caught your arm. He pulled you gently back against his chest, like he wasn’t ready to lose the weight of you yet. His other hand came up to your face, brushing over your cheekbone with careful tenderness.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was low, raw. Like it had been scraped out of him.

You nodded and kissed him again. “I'm okay. You?”

Your head settled on his chest, and your hand moved across his skin in idle strokes. You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek, strong and steady, the rise and fall of his breath slowly evening out.

“I’m okay, baby,” he said, barely above a murmur.

No consequence felt significant in that exact moment.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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