#catch perfect chapter 4

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Prologue: hapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5 Chapter 6:

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful

Summary: You have a long weekend that ends rather unexpectedly. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. 

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, suggestive content, language, some brief violence at the end.

A/N: I'm in a bit of a crisis so you're getting a bonus chapter this week. It's a beefy one and I wrote like 90% of it yesterday, just had the brain sludge by the time I was close to finishing and decided to rest before I finished and edited. Things are starting to get a big suggestive here, so as a reminder, this fic will have NSFW content in later chapters so please do not interact with it if you are under 18. I'd hate to have to block you.

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“How are you settling in?” 

“Fine.” You shrug. 

“Any instinct to nest at all?” 

You shake your head. “No.” 

“That’s fine.” Dr. Keller says, writing something down. “It’s only been just over a week. Have you started kneeling for Captain Price yet?” 

You shake your head again. “No.” 

Dr. Keller tilts her head. “Why not?” 

You shrug again. “He hasn’t brought it up.” 

“Is that something you’d like to start doing?” 

Her question catches you off guard again. You’re not used to being asked what you want, afterall you’re an omega. That’s not important. You’re here to serve. To do as you’re told. You remember watching your mother kneel for your father while he watched TV, her dazed, glazed over eyes staring at nothing as he almost seemed to hypnotize her into the shell of a perfect omega. It was your first taste of truly how much power alphas could hold over omegas. One hand on the back of your neck and it’s over. 

“I...I don’t know.” You say, picking at your sleeve. 

“You’re allowed to want things too.” Dr. Keller leans forward just slightly, giving you a smile. “I highly doubt Captain Price will make much of a fuss if you ask for something you need. He cares about you. If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here alone.” She tilts her head at you, watching you pick at your sleeve. “Is there anything you want or maybe need that you haven’t asked for?” 

Softer blankets. A fluffier pillow. Different body wash and shampoo. New clothes. A picture or a poster or something to make your room seem less clinical. Your instincts to finally start kicking in. Price to want you as much as he’s supposed to. Ghost to like you. To go back in time and let Soap kiss you. 

To go back in time and never present as an omega. 

“No.” You finally answer, shaking your head. “I’m fine.” 

Dr. Keller stares at you for a long moment. You avoid her gaze, picking at the seam of your sleeve. “I know you’re going to get tired of me saying this, but it’s important that you understand that this is a safe space for you. Everything that we discuss, everything that you say in here stays between you and me. Doctor-patient confidentiality is something I firmly believe in, even when it comes to alpha/omega relationships. Okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You say quietly, still avoiding her gaze. 

She continues to stare at you for a moment before she leans back on the couch again, shuffling some papers around. “The two betas, Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant MacTavish. How are you getting along with them?” She continues with her questions.

“Fine.” You lean back in your chair, hoping it might swallow you whole. “They’re easiest to get along with.” 

Dr. Keller nods. “Good. I’m a strong advocate for organic pack bonding. Helps avoid any dynamic struggles or false instincts down the line. How are you sleeping?” 

“Fine I guess.” You shrug. “I nap a lot.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Omegas need a lot of sleep and I can imagine adjusting to a new schedule has been rough.” Dr. Keller moves the papers to the couch next to her, looking up at you. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” 

You hesitate, pulling at the seam of your sleeve. It’s beginning to unravel a bit from your nervous picking. You’ll have to fix it. Dr. Keller is right, though. You could just ask for a new one. Price had told you they had a budget for your needs, plus they do get paid well. Anything you needed, they would gladly get for you. 

You just have to ask. 

It’s the asking that you’re not sure you can do. It feels strange to ask anything of your new pack. They’re supposed to be the ones needing things from you. If Soap had wanted to kiss you, he could have. Instead he left it up to you. He let you decide. You wonder if Price’s hesitation to move forward has been because he’s waiting on you. 

They’re all waiting on you, except maybe Ghost. They’re waiting on you to make the first moves, on you to set the pieces on the board. What is the first move? How do you set the pieces? Did you even need to? Would they fall into place organically if you just left them alone? Or would the tension continue to build up, would you continue to affect them until it became too much and the pressure causes everything to blow? 

“I’m affecting them.” You say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. 

Dr. Keller tilts her head as she stares at you. “What do you mean?” 

“They’re soldiers. They’re good soldiers with years and years of training, that’s why they're here. But...but I’m changing that. I asked Price if I could go with them and watch them run a training course cause I read in a book that I should get to know them and the things they like and so I was just curious what they do during the day when I’m not with them. He let me watch and he told me their top speeds running the training course but...none of them met those times with me there.”

You take a deep breath, the words pouring out of you easily now. You feel as if you’re not even thinking of them, not even measuring them or using caution as you normally would in any conversation. They’re slipping out from somewhere deep inside and now that you’ve opened that dam, you can’t stop it. 

“Price made them run through it five times and they still couldn’t match their top speeds. He said it was a good thing that they figured that out, that they need to know how I’m affecting them and how to adjust to me. And every time they ran through it, I couldn’t stop thinking about...” 

You take another breath, the air catching in your lungs. Your fingers are shaking, your body sinking deeper and deeper into the chair, almost as if you’re trying to get it to swallow you whole. As if the chair might wrap its arms around you and pull you into its softness and keep you there until you can’t breathe and it suffocates you. 

“What if it was me? What if they were having to rescue me? I know that’s a risk, a low one, but it’s still a risk. The CIA and Kate warned me that I could become a target if the wrong person found out about me. That’s why I can’t know anything about what they do because that puts me at more of a risk, and I could be a threat to them and the entire world if something got out that wasn’t supposed to.” 

You’re breathing heavily as the words finally come to a stop. Dr. Keller’s eyes are shining with sympathy as she stares at you. This is the most you’ve ever opened up to her, the most words you feel you’ve ever spoken to her in the two times now that you’ve met.

It feels good. It feels really good to voice your thoughts and your fears to someone on the outside, someone you can trust won’t tell anyone. You couldn’t voice these fears to your pack. They’re used to this kind of thing. They live with the knowledge they could die at any point, that any mission might be their last. How many lives have they seen lost, how many close calls have they had? You’ve seen scars already on arms, hands, faces. How many others are hidden where you can’t see? 

How many scars do they have inside, too? 

“I want you to know that your fears are very valid.” Dr. Keller says, her voice soft. “Being involved in the military comes with a lot of risks, and then you get to places like this and those risks only get greater and greater. I can’t promise you that something like that won’t ever happen, because we have no way of knowing. The risk is not zero for a reason.” 

Dr. Keller stands from the couch, moving to the chair next to you. The calming beta scent washes over you, and you know you have to be stinking up the room. She turns the chair slightly to face you, leaning forward onto her knees. You can see the imprints on the sides of her nose from where she’d been wearing glasses earlier. 

“That risk is also only low for a reason. Your identity has been well hidden, just like those of your pack’s. You’re on a well protected and secure military base. This place is a black square on Google Maps. I know, I tried looking it up when I found out where I was being assigned.” She reaches out, squeezing your arm gently. “And I highly doubt your pack would ever let anything happen to you. Packs are highly protective over their omegas. Even bad alphas can’t fight that instinct when their pack is threatened. Your pack would quite literally go to war for you.” 

She is right, you know she is. Yet that fear continues to wiggle at the back of your mind. You know they’d never let anything happen to you, but they’re going to start leaving soon. What if something happens while they’re not here? Who will help you then? The other soldiers? The betas that stare and the alphas that catcall you? 

“I guess you’re right.” You say, continuing to pick at your sleeve. At this rate, by the time your heat starts, you’ll have unraveled the whole sweatshirt.  

The buzz of your phone on your nightstand pulls you from your half asleep state. Your book is on the floor, having dropped from your hands and slid off your bed as you drifted off. Your lamp is still on, casting a warm glow around your room. You prefer the softer light compared to the fluorescent overhead, as most omegas do. There’s something too clinical and sterile about fluorescents. 

You grab your phone, pushing yourself up onto your elbow as you try to blink the sleepiness away. It’s not terribly late, but you’ve been feeling the exhaustion all day since your conversation with Dr. Keller. 

“Be ready by 0500 tomorrow. Wear something meant for the outdoors.” 

It’s a text from Price, your brow furrowing as you read it over. Five in the morning on a Saturday? That’s the earliest you’ve had to get up since your arrival on base. And wear something meant for the outdoors? You can only imagine what he has planned for the day you had been planning on spending sleeping. 

You make a quiet noise of indignation as you text back in confirmation, setting an alarm so you can be ready by 5 am. Not up by 5 am, ready by 5 am. You have half a mind to call him, or to text back asking why he feels you need to be up before the sun. You know that’s the normal time they begin their mornings during the week, usually when you hear them up and moving around, getting ready to go work out. That’s usually when you roll over and go back to sleep for another hour and a half before your own alarm gets you up for breakfast. 

You pout a little as you set your phone back on your nightstand, reaching down to grab your book and set it next to your phone. You lay back down on your bed, turning off your lamp and bathing the room in darkness. Well, it’s not totally dark. The light from the lamp outside shines in your window, casting cold shadows across the walls and floor. You’ve never been a fan of total darkness. You’d grown used to having some light in the room at The Institute. One of your roommates had insisted on having a nightlight, and there were many nights you were grateful for it as you laid awake at the mercy of your racing mind. 

A nightlight. 

You add it to the mental list of things you want, but you’ll never feel brave enough to ask for. 

Your alarm rings too early in the morning, your hand lifting to silence it quickly. 4:30 am doesn’t feel like a real time as you rise in darkness, hand fumbling for the switch to your lamp. You glare into the dimly lit room, trying to blink the sleepiness from your eyes. How desperately you want to curl back up under the blankets and sleep until someone knocks on the door to check on you because you’ve slept so long into the day. 

You don’t doubt Price will knock in about 30 minutes to get you up. He’ll be disappointed if you ignore him, you think. He wouldn’t punish you if you went against his wishes, would he? 

You don’t know that. 

You haven’t even thought to push that boundary, nor have you discussed it. You don’t want to. You’re a good omega. 

You’re a good omega. 

You repeat it over and over as you get yourself ready, splashing cold water on your face to wake yourself up. You silently thank Kate as you pull on a pair of cargo pants and hiking boots, assuming that’s what Price means by “something meant for the outdoors.” Had she bought the items in anticipation of something like this happening? You are on a military base. You should have expected you’d be pulled into something like this eventually. 

You’re debating on a jacket by the time the knock comes, right at 5 am. You wonder how long Price has been standing in the hallway, or if he’s perfected arriving right on the dot after years of expected punctuality. You decide on the jacket after checking the weather, slipping it on as you open the door. He hadn’t mentioned needing anything, not that you own any sort of supplies for the outdoors anyway. 

He doesn’t say anything as you open the door, instead motioning with his head to follow. You quietly close your door, expecting the others to be waiting for you, but their doors are all closed and they’re nowhere to be seen. You feel slightly nervous as you follow Price out into the cold morning air, glad you decided on the jacket as your breath steams from your lips. 

Price is dressed in his usual boots and cargo pants with a cargo jacket and a beanie instead of a bucket hat. There’s two packs leaning against the side of the building, Price grabbing one and approaching you. 

“What are we doing?” You ask quietly as he helps you put on the backpack, buckling it across your chest. 

“Going for a hike.” He says, putting on the other backpack. 

“Why?” You ask as he turns on a flashlight, handing it to you before turning on another one for himself. 

“I’ll explain when we get there.” He says simply, motioning for you to follow him. 

You hesitate for half a moment. A hike in the dark? The base is surrounded by forest, but you sometimes forget due to the sprawling nature of the buildings, and your usual ventures outside the barracks being to either the mess or the medical center, all of which were central on the base. 

Why does he feel the need to hike in the dark? Surely it’s more dangerous, especially for someone not quite so physically inclined like you. If he wanted to go on a hike, why hadn’t he just said that to begin with? Maybe he would have, had you asked why last night instead of just immediately agreeing. 

Going into the woods alone in the dark with an alpha you barely know. 

Anxiety twists in your stomach for a moment before you force your feet forward, walking fast to catch up to him. He leads you down one of the roads on base, your boots crunching as the ground changes from asphalt to gravel. Your anxiety doesn’t lessen any as the trees loom high above you in the darkness, the forest like a black void before you. 

Your brain thinks up all the land predators that might exist in England. Do they have bears? You’ve seen Brave, but that’s in Scotland. What about big cats like cougars or mountain lions? Are there racoons in England? 

You’re on a military base, you think. Surely they have means to keep out large predators that might be dangerous. 

Your pack won’t let anything happen to you. 

Dr. Keller’s words float through your mind as you follow Price through the underbrush and into the trees. You’re not following any path, at least that you can see, though your experiences in the outdoors have been very limited since you left home. Your dad liked to camp and hike, and often you and your siblings were subjected to his weekend and holiday trips into the wilderness. 

You missed them in the early days at the Institute. You missed a lot of things back then. 

“What’s eating you back there?” Price asks as you weave through trees and underbrush. 

“There’s nothing...dangerous out here...is there, sir?” You ask, narrowly avoiding taking a branch to the face. “Bears or mountain lions?” 

Price chuckles. “The worst thing you might find is a stray badger or a snake that got through the fence somehow.” 

“Oh.” You say, shining the flashlight around you. “That’s good.” 

Price stops, turning to face you. “You’re fretting.” 

“Well, we’re in the woods in the dark at an ungodly hour and you won’t tell me why, sir.” You pout. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, staring down at you with a hard look in his eyes. 

You stare up at him, your grip tightening on the flashlight in your hand. “Should I trust you?” 

He straightens up a bit, the corner of his lips twitching. “That’s something you have to decide.” He turns back around, starting to walk again. “All I can do is my best to try and prove myself to you. In the end, you’re the one that decides if I’m trustworthy or not.” 

You’ve never thought of it that way. He could do everything in his power to get you to trust him, but in the end it is your decision. He hasn’t proven you wrong yet, but then again...it’s only been a week. You’ve known him for a week and you’re following him through the woods alone in the dark. 

Your brothers would have a fit if they saw you right now. 

“Do you trust me?” You find yourself asking as you continue to trek through the woods, narrowly avoiding hurting yourself on various occasions. 

“You haven’t given me reason not to.” He answers, turning his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder. “I’d prefer it stayed that way.” 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, sir. I hardly think I’m much of a threat on any term. Well, at least I don’t think I am. Ghost seems to disagree.” 

Price lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Simon...Simon is a unique case. He’s good at his job, but that makes it hard for him to succeed in other areas. I’m sure Johnny has told you how much Simon couldn’t stand him at first. Now look at them.” He chuckles warmly, almost fondly. “He only sees you as a threat in your nature.” 

You frown, glancing up at the sky. It’s beginning to turn grey with dusk, the trees seeming to come alive around you in the dim light. “What do you mean by that, sir?” 

“You’re an omega. To bond with an omega, there is a degree of vulnerability required by the alpha. Being around omegas requires an openness that can be frightening if you’re not used to it.” He explains. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Simon isn’t the most open man.” 

You snort quietly. “Hadn’t noticed, sir.” 

Price chuckles at your answer. “You’re threatening to him, because you’re a challenge. Give him time. This entire situation is an adjustment for all of us, just as I’m sure it is for you too.” 

You don’t know how to respond to that statement. It is an adjustment. Joining any pack was, but a pack like this...a pack that has you tramping through the woods at 6 am for a reason you don’t even know yet is a major adjustment. 

Price stops after the sun has come up, taking a moment next to an outcropping of rocks. He clips your flashlight to your bag before unzipping it, passing you a bottle of water. You take it gladly, your mouth feeling dry after walking for so long. 

“How much further?” You ask as he drinks his own water. 

“Quite a ways.” He answers. 

“Can I know why we’re doing this yet?” You ask as he zips your water back into your backpack. 

“Not yet.” He says, continuing onward.

You let out an exasperated sigh, but follow him anyway. You don’t have much of a choice. 

Your legs are beginning to get tired, and you’re starting to feel a bit hungry. You’re not sure if you should say anything, or if he’d even stop. You assume he’s packed food, or at least you hope so. You’re going to get grumpy if you’re traversing all over the forest for hours with nothing to eat. 

Price slows his pace a bit as you approach what you think is a clearing. You can see a break in the trees ahead, the sun coming through brighter here. You’re sore and tired, your phone telling you you’ve been walking for just over two hours. 

How big is this base?

You break through the treeline, finding a small clearing with what looks like a fire watch tower in the middle of it. It’s not what you were expecting, the many scenarios of why you had been dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour and forced to hike through the woods you’ve been thinking up the last two hours, did not end quite like this. You stare up at the tower, your head tilting back to take it in. 

“Not scared of heights, are you?” Price asks, standing beside you. 

“Maybe.” You answer, eyeing the staircase winding around it to get to the top. 

“Come on.” He says, nudging you forward gently. “Up the stairs.” 

The last thing you want to do after walking for two hours is climb a never ending staircase, but you don’t think you have much of a choice. Perhaps you can finally sit once you get to the top, and maybe you’ll even get to eat. 

Price follows behind you as you take the steps, climbing slowly. Your legs are screaming, your feet aching in your boots. You wouldn’t be surprised if they’re bleeding a little, or if you wind up with blisters. You’re breathing heavily by the time you get to the top, sweat beading on your brow. Price doesn’t even seem winded behind you, and you’re sure he could have jogged up the steps if he wanted to. 

The top of the tower is mostly empty except for a small table and two chairs. There’s no windows, the tower open between the railing and the roof. Price sets his bag on the table, unzipping it. You sink into one of the chairs, letting your bag drop to the floor. 

“Can I know why we’re here now?” You ask him. 

“Drink some water and take a breath first.” He says, pulling a couple packets out of his bag. MRE’s. 

You dig your bottle out of your bag, taking note of the other contents inside. A few snack bars, a couple MRE’s of your own, another unopened bottle of water, and a book. There’s things in the other pockets but you don’t bother looking, guzzling down more water. 

You stand from your chair, your legs almost buckling in protest as Price gets the MRE’s cooking. You lean against the railing, looking down over the forest that stretches out as far as you can see below. 

“Can I know now?” You ask, knowing there has to be a good reason for him to bring you out here. 

“A training exercise.” He says finally. 

“A training exercise?” You frown, turning to look at him over your shoulder. It wasn’t a training exercise for you, was it? 

“Sometimes when we get a specific target on a mission, the only thing we have to go off of is a general location and a scent.” He explains. “We have to be able to track that scent effectively, sometimes for miles. We run training exercises out here to test their ability to track scents to hunt down a target.” 

You stare at the sprawling woods, beginning to understand. “So, they’re hunting a scent that will lead them here?” 

Price chuckles lowly, his hands coming to rest on the railing on either side of you. Your stomach flutters as he leans in close, his scent strong in your nose as his breath fans your ear. “Technically, they’re hunting you.” 

Your knuckles go white as they grip the railing, your blood pulsing in your veins. You’re well aware that some alphas like to hunt their omegas. There’s some primal urge deep within your brains to chase and be chased. You’re well aware of how it usually ends, the thought making your stomach clench. 

“You gave me the idea.” Price says, the warmth of his body radiating through your jacket. “When you asked to watch them train, I saw how you affected them, I thought...maybe you can be useful for their training afterall.” 

“Do they...do they know it’s me?” You ask as he steps back from you. You fight the urge to whine at the loss of proximity. 

“They do now.” He says with a smirk. “They’ve already started, so if they can follow your scent successfully, then they’ll be here in about an hour.” He says, looking at his watch. 

You frown a little. “But...we walked for two hours.” 

He smiles a little, pointing to a break in the trees below you hadn’t noticed until now. “That trailhead is a 20 minute hike back to base.” 

Your frown deepens. “But-” 

“We weren’t walking in a straight line.” He explains. “We doubled back and recrossed the trail several times to try and confuse them, just as someone running from them would do.” He passes you one of the MRE’s. “That’s what I want you to do, if it ever comes to it. You don’t fight unless you have no other choice. You always try to run first.” 

“Yes, sir.” You say, sitting down again. You don’t think you’d do much damage fighting anyway, but you don’t tell him that. 

You open the package, peeking at the contents. Some sort of potato hash, you think, but you don’t really care. You’re so hungry you’ll gladly eat the mystery re-hydrated food. Price sinks into the other chair with a quiet sigh, digging into the food. It’s quiet out in the woods, the only other sound besides the two of you the sounds of birds. 

You’ve always loved the woods, the quiet serenity of such isolation. You could imagine Price living in a log cabin miles from civilization, with animals and his own garden, happily living in quiet peace away from the stresses of life and war. You blame the fluttering in your stomach on the lingering thoughts of a chase, of a hunt. The thought of running, trying to evade soldiers who train to hunt others by their scents has goosebumps forming on your skin. 

They’re not from the cold either. 

The sun has disappeared behind clouds, the grey weather of England quickly becoming normal to you. You haven’t seen the sun much since you landed in London two weeks ago, and you’re sure you’re not going to see much of it for quite a long while. 

“What’s got you all twitchy over there?” Price asks, breaking the silence. 

You turn to look at him, your mouth open a bit in surprise. “How can you tell?” 

“I’ve been trained to notice small details, sweetheart.” He says, grinning at you. “Your fingers always get fidgety first. Like you’re looking for something to do with them. Usually they disappear beneath your sleeves, or you start picking at your clothes. Your scent changes too. Subtly, but still noticeable.” 

Oh god. You wince a little bit. He can still smell you, even outdoors in an open area. 

“Your eyes start to move, looking all over the place, like you’re searching for something, or trying not to stare at one place too long.” He continues, making you want to sink deeper and deeper into the chair until you disappear. Of course he can read you like a book. They all probably can. “Your breathing always picks up, fast enough it’s noticeable if you’re paying attention. It’s easy to set you off too, sweet little thing.” 

Warmth floods your face at his words and his stare, the back of your neck prickling. You meet his gaze across the table, the look in his eyes making you feel like you want to crawl under the table and hide. You hate that he can read you so easily. You won’t be able to hide anything from him. 

He probably knows you already have. 

You continue to hold his gaze, not backing down despite the intense tickling at the back of your neck. Touch alphas like a challenge, you repeat it over and over in your head. 

Don’t back down. 

Don’t back down. 

Don’t back down. 

A quiet growl rumbles through his chest, a shiver shooting down your spine so violently it nearly steals your breath. You fight the urge to bear your throat to him in submission, your head tilting back just slightly as your eyes squeeze closed. You’re panting, warmth pooling in your stomach as he chuckles lowly. He’s won, he knows it. You were never going to win. Nature was set against you. Your nature is to submit to him. 

“Innocent little thing, aren’t ya?” He says, pulling a cigar from one of his pockets. 

You know he smokes, you know they all do. You’ve smelled it on them many times, and it was to be expected. Your father hadn’t started until after he joined the Marines. Your mother hated it. “Dirty habit.” She always whispered as she smelled his uniform and the laundry he brought home from deployment. 

He could have had worse ones, you always thought. 

You can’t help but watch his lips curl around the cigar, the scent of tobacco permeating the air. His eyes are still on you, your own lips tingling a bit. You think back to how close you had been with Soap, inches from having your first real kiss. You regret it a bit now, not letting him kiss you. He wouldn’t have known he was your first, except perhaps by your awkwardness. 

You wonder how many times they’ve all been kissed. You wonder how many times they've kissed each other. You wonder how many barrack bunnies Price has been with, how many other omegas he’s been with. You can’t imagine Ghost being one for barrack bunnies, but then your mind sinks somewhere deeper. Ghost in his mask with an omega bent over the side of his bed, his hand wrapped around the back of their neck... 

Another shiver runs down your spine, your lower body beginning to pulse in time with your heart. 

“What’s going through that head of yours?” Price asks, still staring at you. 

“Soap almost kissed me a couple days ago.” You admit, not trusting yourself not to admit to the other things you’re thinking about. 

Price’s brows lift in surprise. “Did you not want him to?” 

Want. There’s that word again. You keep hearing it, but you’re not entirely sure what it means anymore. He’s asking to be sure that Soap didn’t force you into anything, even though you can’t imagine the beta doing such a thing. Betas usually weren’t aggressive without good reason, not like alphas. 

“Well...no, that’s not it...” You say, your face burning as you begin to regret your choice of topic. “I...I haven’t kissed anyone before...well, not like a real kiss. At The Institute, there was this omega, she was...progressive. Nothing they tried could break her of that and she got into the heads of a few other omegas. One of my bunkmates decided she didn’t want an alpha to be her first kiss, so...I volunteered.” 

Price continues to stare at you, a dark look in his eyes. You know some alphas like to watch omegas together. You’ve seen it in movies, things your brothers would put on when they were babysitting, things that would have gotten them hit over the head if your father found out. 

“Is that so?” He finally says, flicking some of the ash from the end of his cigar. “Not even a real kiss before you presented?” 

You shake your head. “No. I was...the weird kid in school. Most people considered it social suicide to be around me.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I bet quite a few of them are kicking themselves now.” 

“Why didn’t you want Soap to kiss you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice. He’s still wondering if he needs to have a long chat with the young Sergeant, or perhaps take other action. 

“Well...it wasn’t so much that I didn’t want it.” You say. “I just...thought you might be upset...if you weren’t my first...” You swallow nervously at his stare. “Since you’re pack alpha...you have the right to claim-” 

“I wouldn’t care.” He cuts you off, almost as if he’s uncomfortable with the idea of him having all the rights to claim you. As if he was uncomfortable with the idea of holding a claim over someone else. “If you want your first kiss to be with one of the others, then you shouldn’t keep yourself from what you want.” 

His words echo Dr. Keller’s. It confuses you, their willingness to allow you to want. You’re an omega, you don’t get to want. You get told what to do, what to wear. You get told what to want. You don’t make decisions, you sit and be a good omega for your alpha. 

“I don’t know what I want.” You say quietly. 

“Think about it.” He says, stubbing out his cigar. “I won’t be upset. Makes me feel a little better, in truth. Makes me feel less like an old creep trying to steal your innocence.” 

You try not to smile at his words. “I mean...you are, in a way.” 

He tsks at you but his eyes are playful as he checks his watch. “You’re trouble. We’ve got a few minutes before the hour is up. Let’s see if they can beat it.” 

You stare out at the treeline, taking deep gulps of the cool air to try and calm yourself as you wait for the others to arrive. You’re still tingling a bit from your conversation with Price, that slight tickle still crawling across the back of your neck. You want him to hold you there, feel his calloused skin against yours, feel the strength of his fingers as they press into your skin. You want him to take all the turmoil away, the fear and the insecurity and the confusion. 

You want to kneel for him. 

You’re saved from your thoughts as a familiar figure breaks through the treeline, big and hulking and wearing a skull on his face. You’ve never seen him in this mask before, only ever seeing him in his balaclava. It’s a haunting image, only his eyes visible as he looks up at the top of the tower. Soap and Gaz appear behind him, the three of them making for the staircase. 

Their boots echo on the steps as they race to the top, Soap the first one to appear with a wide grin. 

“Aye, we found the target!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you into the air and spinning.

You yelp, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hang on for dear life. He smells like musk and sweat, and you can’t help but wonder if they ran here. He sets you back on your feet, your legs aching in protest after sitting for too long. The soreness of your morning hike has caught up to you, and you’ll be feeling it for a few days. 

“Not bad.” Price says, looking at his watch. “For the first time with a new scent.” He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get back and you can have the rest of the day off.” 

You let out a whine in protest as Price grabs your backpack, gaining the attention of the four men. “You mean we have to walk back too?” 

“It’s not even a kilometer.” Gaz says with a grin. 

You pout. “I don’t know how far that is! I already had to walk for two hours this morning. My legs hurt.” 

“You didn’t stretch before you started?” Soap asks. 

“No! I didn’t know we’d be hiking halfway across the country when I was told to get up at 5 am!” You continue to pout. 

“Come on, you’ll survive.” Price says, clipping your backpack across your chest again. “You can sleep for the rest of the day.” 

You definitely have blisters, the sides of your feet burning as you walk down the stairs. You’re going to take a very long shower when you get back to base, and then crawl into bed and sleep until someone inevitably knocks because they’re worried about you. You’re still pouting, not having even thought about how you were going to get back to base. 

Soap stops at the bottom of the steps, turning to glance at you behind him as he bends down slightly. “Hop on, hen.” 

It takes you a moment to conceptualize what he’s doing before you break out in a grin, putting your hands on his shoulders to hoist yourself onto his back. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as he carries you piggy-back style. 

“I’ve lifted weights heavier than you, bonny.” He says, not seeming to struggle at all with carrying you. 

“Well, omegas are supposed to be small.” You say, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“Aye, like a wee bairn.” Soap laughs. 

He carries you all the way back to base, barely even breathing heavily by the time you break the treeline. The rocking motion of being carried, along with your exhaustion, has lulled you into a daze, your head leaning against his as you desperately fight sleep. 

You’re jostled awake as Soap gently bounces you on his back. “We’re back, hen.” 

You grumble sleepily, holding onto him tighter. “Comfy.” 

“You’ll be comfier in bed, love.” Gaz says, stroking your hair. 

“Carry me.” You murmur, both of them freezing. 

“You sure about that, hen?” Soap asks. “You wan’t tae let us in your space?” 

“Mmm...yeah.” You murmur, nuzzling Soap’s shoulder. 

You miss the silent conversation between them in your half asleep state, the way Gaz’s hand hesitates on the knob, their slow, cautious steps into your space. It was a big deal, infringing upon an omega’s space. It’s sacred. One could only enter with permission, or if it was an emergency. Infringing on that space without permission could be detrimental. 

Soap gently lowers you onto your bed, helping you curl up on your side. Gaz unties your boots, setting them on the floor next to the bed before pulling off your socks. He lets out a quiet hiss as he spots your raw and blistered feet. 

“That’s going to hurt later.” He whispers. “No wonder she didn’t want to walk back.” 

“Didnae say nothing either.” Soap says, his fingers trailing your cheek. 

“Stubborn little omega.” 

Gaz’s words are the last you hear before you’re lost to sleep, your brain forcing you to give in to your exhaustion finally. 

It’s knocking at the door that wakes you. You’re not sure what time it is, or what planet you’re on. Your eyes are crusty with sleep, your pillow damp from drooling. You’re in your bed in the barracks, tucked under a blanket. You vaguely remember giving Gaz and Soap permission to enter before you were out again. 

It’s still daylight, judging by the light around the edges of your curtains. Or maybe you had slept through the day and it was morning. You can’t tell, feeling a bit like you were hit by a bus and jumped dimensions. 

“C’mon lass, ye got tae eat at least one meal today.” Soap’s voice calls through the door. 

You let out a groan, pushing yourself up to sit. You haven’t even changed or showered, but your shoes have been removed. You flex your toes, wincing at the sharp pain from them. You pull the blanket off, staring down at your bandaged feet. They must be as blistered and raw as they had felt in your shoes. You don’t want to get up. You’re going to be sore and probably walking with a limp. 

You know what they’re going to think. 

The stares you’ll get. 

Soon it will be for that reason, though, you think. Why not let them think it now? Then maybe by then they’ll be used to it and it’ll be much less mortifying for you. 

You get up, padding barefoot to the door. You open it, rubbing at your eyes. “What time is it?” Your voice sounds rough with sleep, your tongue feeling heavy. 

“Almost 1800 hours.” He answers. “Price let ye sleep. He and Gaz already ate. Had something tae take care of.” 

You let out a quiet groan as you rub your eyes. You slept all day, past lunch and nearly past dinner. You likely would have kept sleeping, had they let you, but then you’d be up at an ungodly hour having to scrounge for food in the rec room. 

“Get some shoes on.” Soap says. “We’ll get food in ye, then ye can sleep more.” 

You let out a quiet grumble but do as he says, grabbing your most comfortable pair of shoes before following him out of the barracks. You let your hand slip into his, the base less populated on the weekend. The mess is still busy, though, most of those that stay keeping their schedules even over the weekend. 

Soap helps you make your tray before finding Ghost sitting at a table. You deposit your tray across from them before going to grab something to drink. You look over the options, your sleep-drunk brain trying to decide on what you need. 

“I recommend coffee.” A voice says behind you. 

You spin around, looking up at a familiar face. Your stomach twists nervously, the back of your neck prickling. It’s the soldier that had been staring at you your second day on base, the one Ghost had scared off with his glare. 

“You look like you need it.” He says, giving what you assume is supposed to be a friendly smile, except to you it looks like the grin of a hungry wolf in a storybook, and you’re the injured rabbit about to be devoured. You flinch just slightly as he holds out a hand. “I’m Corporal McKinney.” 

You don’t want to take his hand, you don’t want to touch him at all. Catcalling you could handle, the stares and the whistles were nothing. None of them have been so brave as to approach you before now, and you’re starting to realize you prefer it that way. 

An overwhelming scent suddenly washes over you, the prickling at the back of your neck intensifying. It’s rich and deep, the scent of leather and gunpowder lacing the ozone-like tang of anger, of danger. 

“Can I help you, Corporal?” The deep voice rumbles behind you, the warmth close enough all you’d have to do was lean back slightly and you’d be touching him. 

The soldier’s eyes lift from you to Ghost behind you, the wicked gleam to them fading as he stares down the giant alpha. “No, sir.” The soldier swallows thickly. “Just thought I’d introduce myself to the new omega on base. Figured we’d be seeing a lot of her around.” 

“She’s no concern of yours.” Ghost says, a dangerous rumble vibrating at the edge of his voice. “You were given the briefing.” 

He hesitates and you know he’s measuring the risk of staying, of saying something else. It’s not just the threat of a dangerous alpha, but also of his superior. “Of course, sir.” He finally says, eyeing you once more before he turns on his heel, leaving the mess. 

“What do you want?” 

You turn on your heel, staring up at Ghost. You’re shaking a little, staring up at him wide-eyed. You no longer feel the haze of sleep, wide awake and alert. Ghost is staring down at you, his scent far less prominent than it had been before.

“To drink.” He motions to the selection, waiting on you to answer. 

You stare at the options, your brain trying hard to snap back into the present, to comprehend what you’re looking at. You’re on edge, on high alert after that confrontation. 

“W-Water please.” You manage to stutter out, 

“Go sit back down. I’ll get it.” He says, turning his back to you. 

You scurry back to the table, still trembling as you take your seat again. You’re getting stares, likely from the change in your scent. It’s alerting every alpha and beta in close proximity, their instincts reacting to the scent of fear, of an threatened omega. 

“Ye alright, hen?” Soap asks, giving you a worried look. The scent of beta washes over you, Soap projecting his scent to try and cover yours and calm you all at once. 

You nod, trying to swallow the panic before you alert the entire mess to your current emotional state. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” 

Ghost returns with a glass of water, setting it in front of you before taking his seat again. 

“Thank you.” You murmur, taking a long drink of it. It’s ice cold, the sensation shocking you back into reality a bit. 

You’re still trembling slightly as you eat, the back of your neck still prickling. You glance around the quickly emptying mess, eyes following every person that walks too close to the table. You know you’re safe. Soap and Ghost would make quick work of anyone who tried anything. 

Ghost did make quick work of the alpha that had approached you. 

You’re still in a bit of disbelief that Ghost had come to your aid. You remember the anger burning in his scent, the rumble at the edge of his voice. An alpha poised for a fight. Of course, you were being cornered by another alpha. You don’t doubt Soap could have easily won that fight if he had to, but an alpha had the natural advantage in a fight against other alphas. If it had been a beta cornering you, would he have still come to your aid? Or would he have watched and let Soap handle it? 

You're drawn from your thoughts as Soap’s phone rings, and he dismisses himself from the table to answer it. You wonder who it might be. Family maybe? Price? You wish you had someone that would call you regularly. You will, once they start leaving you. 

You’re left alone with Ghost, your eyes trying to look anywhere but at him. He takes your tray once you’re done, going to dump it before motioning for you to follow. You’re still a bit shaken, though you’ve managed to get your trembling under control, as well as your scent. 

He leads you back towards the barracks, your pace faster to keep up with him. Your feet hurt, but you’re eager to get back to the familiar safety of the barracks. 

You stop as a whistle sounds through the air, Ghost’s steps faltering as well. 

“Gonna go spread your legs for that freak, bunny?” A voice calls out across the courtyard. “I’m sure I could offer you a better time. At least you’ll be able to see my face.” 

The smell of ozone washes over you again, burning straight to some primal part of your brain. You’re not sure if it’s the exhaustion, or the emotions still reeling from your confrontation in the mess, but you turn on your heel, stalking over to the group of soldiers. You’re trembling again, but not out of fear. The anger has gone straight to your instincts, burning hot through your veins. 

The soldiers laugh as you approach, the one that had spoken grinning vilely at you. “Gonna take me up on my offer, omega?” The sound of your title from his lips nearly makes you shudder in disgust. It’s wrong, it sounds wrong being said in such a way. “I’d love to bend you over and stare at that sweet ass all night-” 

It’s not until your hand is throbbing that you register what happened. The soldier stumbles back a step, hand moving to his face. Your hand is balled in a fist, knuckles throbbing from the punch you delivered to his face. The next few moments seem to move in slow motion, your body pushed backwards as a hulking form comes to stand in front of you. The scent of ozone is still burning hot in your nose, anger pulsing through your body. Your ears are ringing, your hands refusing to unball from the fists they’ve closed into. You’re breathing heavily, eyes training on a small speck of mud on the back of Ghost’s jacket. 

“-You even so much as look in her direction again, I’ll rip your intestines out, tie them to the back of a humvee and drag you all the way to London, understood?” The dangerous rumble is back at the edge of his voice, his own hands balled into fists. 

“Loud and clear, sir.” The soldier spits out, massaging his face from your punch. 

A rough hand closes around your arm, making you stumble as you’re half dragged towards the barracks. You’re breathing heavily, breaths coming in gasps as the flood of emotions through you grows to almost be too much. You’re led down the hall towards the rec room, Ghost pushing you inside. 

“Sit.” He snaps, pointing at the couch.

You scramble to sit where he pointed, your brain beginning to move in autopilot as you cradle your throbbing hand to your chest. It’s still curled in a fist, the adrenaline pumping through you preventing you from uncurling your fingers. You try to steady your breathing as Ghost digs around in the fridge for a moment. You flinch as the door slams closed, Ghost dropping an ice pack on the coffee table before he takes a seat next to you on the couch. 

He grabs your hand, pulling it towards him rather roughly. He forces your fingers to uncurl, his own rough fingers digging into your hand, poking and prodding. He moves your fingers, bending your wrist and moving your arm. “It’s not broken.” He says, grabbing the ice pack and slapping it across your knuckles. “Luckily.” 

You’re still trembling, your hand lifting subconsciously to hold the ice pack in place. You feel dazed, not unlike you had earlier when you’d been pulled from sleep, only this time you can feel the emotions still pulsing through you. The remnants of anger, the disgust, the fear both from attacking an alpha, and the reprimanding you’re sure you’re due for doing such a thing.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” You murmur, feeling far away, outside of your  body looking in. 

“Probably not.” Ghost says. 

You turn slightly to look at him, pupils dilated as you simultaneously appear to see him and look straight through him. “Price is gonna find out.”

Ghost nods again, the burn of ozone gone from his scent. “He’ll believe you, though. Anything you tell him, he’s going to believe you over what anyone else says.” 

You stare at him, the skull mask from earlier gone, leaving him just in his balaclava. His eyelashes are blonde, you think as you take him in, trying to ground yourself. His skin looks soft, but that could just be the omega screaming at you. You expect him to get up, to leave you alone until you find the will to move, or one of the others finds you. Yet, he stays where he is, eyes focused across the room as you sit there. 

“You’re a purebred alpha.” You say, breaking the silence with the thought that had come to mind earlier. You need to keep talking, to keep your mind steady while you relax. 

“How did you figure it out?” He asks, not denying it. 

“Your scent.” You say, recalling earlier in the mess, the way his scent had permeated your entire body. You hadn’t just sensed it, you had felt it. His emotions, his anger, the hint of desperation for the Corporal to make the smart decision and walk away. “It’s different from other alphas. Price smells good and I’d like to roll around in his scent, but yours hits some deep primal part of my brain.” You say, turning slowly to face him. “Makes sense you’d end up in a position like this. You’re supposed to be like, an apex human.” You laugh quietly. “Just a couple of purebreds. What are the odds?” 

“Very high.” He answers. 

You laugh again. “Yeah, I know. Both of my parents were purebreds, and my grandparents. Both of them came from a long line of purebreds.” Your brows pinch into a frown. “I didn’t see it in your file, though.” 

“I don’t want it to be.” He explains. 

“Makes sense.” You say. “If I’d had that choice I’d have it left out too. As soon as someone sees it, that’s how they measure your worth. It’s not about you anymore, it’s your status they want.” You lift the ice, moving your fingers. Your hand is sore, your knuckles starting to swell a bit. 

“It’ll bruise.” He says, staring down at your hand. 

“‘Spose it could have been worse.” You say, grimacing at the ache pulsing all the way to your shoulder.

“Yeah,” He scoffs. “You could have broken your arm with a punch like that.” 

“‘S not my fault the CIA didn’t teach me much.” You murmur. “They mostly made me run.” You remember the hours and hours you spend running circles around the gym. So many circles, over and over again. 

Get involved in their hobbies. Your brain flicks through that section of the book, an idea beginning to form in your head. You’d considered it a few days ago, when you first read that chapter. Ghost speaks in violence and warfare, fighting and defending. How do you bond with the apex of humankind? 

“Teach me to fight.” 

His eyes shift slowly until he’s looking at you. You wish you could see the rest of his face, read his expression. His eyes don't give you much to go off of, something he'd likely perfected over the years. 

“Or, at least defend myself.” You continue, fighting the urge to shrink back under his gaze. “I know, Price already told me to run first, but what if that's not an option? Am I gonna throw a shitty punch and hope it works? Aim between the legs and hope I'm faster than they can block? I promise I won't go around trying to fight asshole alphas.”

He continues to stare at you, his eyes locked on yours. Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach twisting nervously but there's no challenge in his gaze, not even a playful one like you'd initiated with Price. He's simply staring. 

You wonder what he's looking for, what he's thinking. Will he laugh at you for asking? Tell you to ask someone else? Get Price to do it since he’s actually your alpha? 

“Fine.” He grunts, breaking eye contact first as he pushes himself to stand. “We start Monday. Early.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him leave the rec room. You may have just found your way into Ghost’s heart, or at least a way to get him to tolerate your presence. 

Monday. Early. 

You’ll be ready. 

NEXT ->

Taglist Part 1:

@bobaprint, @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @ghostlythots @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @thychuvaluswife @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @bisky-business @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @cadotoast @linaangel @rancid-wasp @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @puppyel @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal Au.

Chapter 5:

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 6.

Sorry for the long weight everyone! I had to binge allll of Stranger Things for a friend's future birthday event and ohhh wow I thought the episodes were gonna be 20 minutes not 40-1hr

Also I suffered a bit of writers block, it happens

But regardless, I hope you all enjoy! ^ ^

(also the taglist has migrated to the bottom of the fic because it's a bit too long now)

----

The office was large, sprawling walls contained by an even bigger ceiling. The faint humming of Tim’s computer provided no reassurance, nor did the soft leather of your seat. It felt as if you could sink right into it, and try to fade away. There was a faint aroma of coffee that lingered around the office, but it gave you no solace. It just reminded you of the mistakes you made, to end up here. The elephant in the room.

Tim’s smile was bright, a warm sun. You were burning.

“It’s.. nice to see you again.” You attempted, words stumbling about on your tongue. You couldn't help it, the mere presence of your soulmate sending anxiety skyrocketing down your spine. Why couldn't he just get to the point?

“I didn't really expect my company and Wayne Enterprises to be working together.” You continued, a fake smile plastered onto your face. “What a nice coincidence!”

“I hope for us to have a successful collaboration.” Tim replies, still smiling. “But enough about the companies, it's been so long since I've seen you, and I didn't have your number to text.”

You laugh in response, a pale imitation of a real laugh. You had hoped to focus on discussing the work you both had to do first, and then escape before any catch up talks were attempted. Unfortunately, it appears that Tim won't let you do any actual work before engaging with him.

Your nails dug into your knees, an attempt to stay calm. Your reply was measured.

“Oh are you sure? Surely it would be better to get work on the collaboration done first, then we’ll have all the time left to chat freely.”

“I wouldn't worry about that, really. We’ve got plenty of time together, and I wouldn't be able to work without knowing how you're doing lately. Since you didn't have the time to text, I presume you've been busy?”

“Ah, right! Yes! Yes I have been, busy that is, you know how it is with work. Endless and all that.” You were frustrated at being pushed into a lie already. Tim was in charge here and he knew it.

“Why don't you give me your number then?” His smile was perfect, as flawless as his manipulation. “That way, when you're too busy to remember to message, I can remind you.”

You frowned. Like he didn't know your number already.

Quickly remembering you had to smile, you gave him your number, watching as he slowly typed it in, then texted. Only when you showed you received his text did he relent.

The ‘meeting’ continued on from there, Tim asking about all your hobbies and passions. Time ticked on, daylight turning to evening. Any attempt from you to redirect the conversation to either himself or work was swiftly dismissed. A small part of you admired his skill, he was playing you like a doll. You knew it, but you had no option but to play along. It was like an older sibling playing pretend with the young sibling. You hated the comparison.

The attention was unnerving. Your only solace was that neither of you had soul animals present currently, which was an absolute miracle.

Actually… what if that isn't a coincidence at all? Could this too have been engineered? Was that even possible?

“So then what’s your opinion on..” The sound of Tim’s voice slammed you back to reality. You quickly focused back in, fearing losing any advantage due to a lack of attention.

Abruptly, an alarm sounded, the noise blazing a path through your eardrums. You jolted in surprise. Tim however, was barely rattled. A frown appeared on his face as he glanced at his phone.

“That was the Arkham Asylum breakout alarm. It's no longer safe to go outside.” With these words Tim got up, walking over to the door and opening it.

“What…?” You mumbled, horrified.

“Stay here.” He commanded, a firm tone in his voice. This was Red Robin. “I’m going to check on the building, don't leave, it isn't safe.”

“Wait! But.. the collaboration.. we didn't..” The words rushed out of your mouth, leaving you feeling like a fool as Tim paused for a moment, to look at you.

“Don't worry.” He smiled, the weight of it bearing down upon you. You felt small. “You can just come in tomorrow, I'm sure your company won't mind.” With the final word said, Tim closed the door, presumably rushing off to become Red Robin. The click of the door felt like a dismissal, a scolding. A reminder to stay in your place.

Once again, you were trapped.

You clenched your fists. He wanted you to stay here, in his territory. You didn't doubt that Wayne Enterprises had amazing security, probably some of the best considering the identities of the owners. This was likely the third most safe place in Gotham, with the first and second places going to Batman’s base and Wayne Manor.

But… you haven't learned anything yet. All that time spent with him and somehow he hadn't brought up that singular, obvious fact. There was no way he didn't know, not with the way he was acting. And yet, he hadn't brought it up. Why?

What was he getting out of this?

Was he hoping that if you assumed he didn't know then you could easily be monitored? Was he just gathering information before acting? Where was the rest of the vigilantes in this?

Your head was spinning, going in circles. You couldn't understand him, you couldn't understand any of them. Why choose to be vigilantes, knowing the costs that life endures? Why were you tied to them, when you were so against a fundamental part of their existence?

You couldn't understand this at all. How could this be the basis of a soulmate bond?

You were… opposites.

You felt the telltale beat of an oncoming headache. For your own sanity, you decided to fold the incoming soulmate crisis into a small cavity of your brain to panic about later.

Fact One: There was an ongoing Arkham Asylum breakout, everyone is either being attacked, hiding away or escaping the city.

Fact Two: Batman and all his partners are going to be occupied for at least several hours if not a day.

Fact Three: You were going to take advantage of this.

It was the perfect time. All your soulmates were occupied, so none of them would be able to pay any attention to you. Red Robin might know your identity, and so the other vigilantes may know as well.

That didn't need to matter. They may have the information, but information itself is useless, if they are unable to act.

Right now, any Gothamite that isn't involved with rogues is either hiding or escaping. You could join the escapes, and get out of Gotham in the rush.

You didn't have to stay here, to play the role of a caged bird. You could escape, before they even got a chance.

You had to try.

You suppressed a shaky sigh, getting up and walking to the door. You tried the door handle.

Locked.

Uh oh. You tried it again, and then a few more times after that, shaking the door eventually in your desperation. Oh come on! You desperately thought to yourself. The one time you finally got the perfect chance and it's being ruined by a locked door.

Wait. You glanced at the small window in the door, the beginnings of an idea sprouting in your head. You glance over at Tim’s desk, noticing a small paper weight. You smile.

Lifting the paperweight, you judge the weight to be enough. Holding it up, you get into position to throw.

Wait.. the door has a keyhole, not a sliding chain, you realize, almost too late.

Ah.

Well that would have been embarrassing.

Sadly, you place the paperweight back down. There goes that idea.

But that wasn't the only door in the office, there was another one, the one that the shouting voice left out of. You approach the door, trying the doorknob.

Click!

It opens! Giving a small laugh, you advance through the door and out into the halls of Wayne Enterprises, a jubilant smile on your face. Whoever was shouting at Tim earlier, you almost wanted to thank them.

You avoid the elevators, instead picking stairs, as you presumed they may also be in lockdown. It didn't take you too long to get down to the ground floor, since the main walking areas were now barren of people.

The ground floor had some unfortunate news to offer you though. The once wildly open doors had now been locked down and barred, an iron wall between you and freedom.

Although, maybe there was some other way, you thought, eyeing the anxious security guards patrolling the front entrance.

Pulling out of your hiding spot, you approach the guards, making to time your steps, making noise to not scare them. You really didn't want to get shot before you had even left the safety of the building.

“P-please help me!” You stuttered, trembling with tears in your eyes. The guards jolted in surprise, turning to face you. They were expecting threats from the outside, not the inside.

“I need to get home, I can't stay here.” You sobbed, the guards pausing in confusion. They didn't know what to do with you.

“What’s wrong?” A sympathetic guard asked, patting you gently on the back. You almost felt bad.

“I need to go home!” You repeated, tone frantic.

A disgruntled guard stepped up to you. “Look, no one can leave right now. Company policy. It isn't safe, there's been an Arkham breakout. Just sit tight, and whatever’s waiting for you at home will be there when you get back.”

“N-no…” You mumbled. “You don't understand.. I have.. I have a cat, waiting for me.” You glance up, watching the expressions on their faces. They seem unmoved. “A-and my child!” You cry out, realizing you needed a better lie.

“A child?” The disgruntled guard repeated, sounding a little more sympathetic, but clearly not convinced. He eyed you up and down, evidentially thinking you looked a little too young.

“They're so little, but my cat likes to take care of them and I needed the money so, so I left them at home alone today. But recently they're been figuring out how to open doors and if anything happened to them I don't know what I’d d-” Your frantic lie is cut off, the disgruntled guard laying a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright listen. None of us can escort you, we're here on the job.”

You nodded, feeling exuberation rush through you.

“But if anything happened, run right back here, alright?”

You nodded again, fighting a smile on your face. The guards unlocked the doors, watching you dash out with frowns on their tired faces.

They were obvious to the beaming smirk on yours.

Nights in Gotham are by nature a little terrifying, but they're nothing compared to an Arkham breakout night. Shadows crawled up alleyways, the smell of booze and smoke lingering in a way it never could on normal nights. The terror was so pungent in the air, you could almost taste it. It was on the tip of your tongue.

Every so often you'd hear a scream, and you'd walk a little faster. Ideally you would have committed to the stealth route, but you had wasted enough time already.

Your house was on the way to the bus station, so you could easily pop in, grab essentials, and get out. You wouldn't lie, you were nervous. Every so often you’d feel your knees lose strength, and you'd have to fight with your body to regain the strength to stand.

But at this point it was either the horror of whatever your soulmates had in store for you, or the horrors of Arkham night. You'd already picked your poison, now it was time to swallow.

You took a breath in, then out, and continued walking. You were almost there.

The streets of Gotham stretched on endlessly, a cacophony of fear.

Just a bit longer.

A gunshot sounded nearby, the noise blasting through your eardrum.

Almost there.

The hum of a van's engine rushed through the night, haunting laughter echoing through the road.

You could see your house!

You beamed, a smile lighting up your face, as you practically skipped up to the entrance. You reached into your bag to withdraw your keys.

You had just retrieved them when a crowbar smashed into your head.

----

Wow umh, please pray for reader guys, this is NOT going well for them. Who do you think that was?

Me writing shenanigans for this chapter:

I just really feel like reader should smash open this window, let's do it. Wait. They wouldn't have doors that work like that. so reader sadly puts the heavy object down :(

Also me: yeah so reader lies here and it's an absolute mess

Also also me: rip reader that's a lotta head trauma omg

Sorry for the lack of soul animals this chapter :(( there's a reason I swear

The next chapter is definitely gonna be a bit insane, for sure! The soul animals return then anddd in droves!

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @lavender-moony @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0 @jailbimbo @yandereheros @sxftiebee @i-have-three-feelings @toast-on-dandelioms @lyl-3 @sitepathos @pato-spoiler-27 @ghostdoodlen @phoenixgurl030 @problematicreblogger @sociallyakwardpanda

@imaginarydreams @zanzie @yuyuzi-ling @soriansick @f1lover4ever @kiikkey @elizzsush @raincxtter @luoyi85 @yune1337 @erikasurfer @thekingofsimps @chaosbeanuwu

If I missed anyone out im super sorry! I generally check the replies for the current chapter and messages for people that want to be tagged, so it's possible for people to slip by

Just remind me again and I'll be sure to add you! (This also goes for if I misspell you accidentally, which also happens cuz I type them all manually)

For some reason I couldnt tag anymore people until I put a random space in-between the tags, so that's apparently a thing. If anyone has any ideas why, I'm listening

[the-oblivious-writer]

The Perfect Girl |prologue|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Prologue of With Her I Die (optional one-shot)

Summary: You and Jackie - your ever so lovely girlfriend - share precious stolen moments away from prying eyes in your very bedroom.

Warning(s): Intimate scenes/implied smut, innuendos, pre-crash, and underage substance use (marijuana)

Notes: How are we doing after ep 4? Yeah. Figured.

masterlist | first chapter

The smoke hangs lazy in the afternoon air of your bedroom, curling around the shafts of golden light filtering through half-drawn blinds. Robert Smith's voice floats from your record player—the one your dad gave you for your sixteenth birthday with strict instructions to "treat the vinyl with respect, for God's sake." You'd promised, never imagining that one day you'd be using his precious sound system to provide the soundtrack for making out with Jackie Taylor.

Jackie—varsity soccer captain, homecoming queen nominee, and the girl whose public image couldn't be further from this moment: her perfect hair mussed beyond repair, wearing nothing but your oversized Sonic Youth t-shirt and a pair of lacy underwear that had made your brain short-circuit when you first saw them.

"You're staring again," she murmurs, taking another hit from the joint you'd been passing back and forth. Her eyes are slightly red-rimmed, her smile looser than the one she wears in the school hallways.

"Can you blame me?" You prop yourself up on your elbows, drinking in the sight of her. "Do you have any idea how many people would lose their minds if they could see Jackie Taylor right now?"

She rolls her eyes, but you catch the pleased flush creeping up her neck. "Please. I'm hardly centerfold material."

"You're right," you agree solemnly. "You're much better."

The way she looks at you then—half-exasperated, half-adoring—makes your chest ache with how much you love her. A year and a half of sneaking around, of stolen moments between classes and elaborate excuses to your respective friend groups, and sometimes you still can't believe she's yours.

"Come here," you say, making grabby hands at her.

Jackie raises an eyebrow, taking her time with another drag before passing the joint back to you. "Demanding much?" But she moves toward you anyway, settling onto your lap with the practiced ease of someone who's been there countless times before.

"Pictures of You" starts playing, and Jackie groans, dropping her forehead against yours. "God, not this song. It's so sad."

"It's romantic," you argue, running your hands up her bare thighs, delighting in the goosebumps that rise in their wake.

"It's about loss," she counters. Her fingers toy with the collar of your shirt, brushing against your collarbone in a way that makes it hard to concentrate on the philosophical debate about Cure lyrics.

"It's about love," you insist, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "How everything fades but photographs and memories."

Jackie pulls back just enough to study your face, her expression caught between amusement and something deeper. "Since when did you become the romantic one? I thought that was my role."

"Don't worry," you laugh, hands now resting on her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles against the fabric of her borrowed shirt. "Your title as 'most likely to cry during romantic comedies' remains unchallenged."

"That was one time!" she protests, but she's laughing too. "And 'The Princess Bride' is emotional terrorism."

"Whatever you say, captain."

Her eyes narrow playfully. "You know, for someone who's currently enjoying the privileges of having me on their lap, you're being awfully snarky."

"Privileges, huh?" You raise an eyebrow, feeling bold from the weed and the warmth of her against you. "And what privileges might those be?"

Jackie's smile turns wicked, a side of her no one at Wiskayok High ever sees except you. She leans down until her lips brush your ear. "Play your cards right, and you might find out."

A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the temperature. "I've always been good at cards."

"Hmm," she hums, unconvinced. "Is that why you lost twenty bucks to Shauna at poker night?"

"That was—" you splutter, indignant. "Shauna cheats! She has that whole quiet, innocent act down to a science."

Jackie laughs, the sound lighter than the carefully modulated one she uses at school. This laugh is just for you—unfiltered, slightly too loud, and utterly perfect.

"My point," she says, "is that you might need to work on your bluffing skills."

"I don't need to bluff with you," you say, suddenly serious despite the pleasant haze of the high. "Never have."

Something in her expression softens, the armor she wears so carefully around everyone else slipping away entirely. These are the moments you treasure most—when Jackie is just Jackie, not the perfect student, not the soccer star, not Jeff's sometimes-girlfriend (a convenient cover you both agreed on, with his reluctant cooperation).

"No," she agrees quietly. "You don't."

You reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she leans into your touch like a cat seeking affection. It still amazes you sometimes, how different she is in these private moments—how the Jackie Taylor who intimidated you during your first soccer practice freshman year transformed into the girl who now melts at your simplest touches.

"Remember when Coach Martinez paired us for drills that first day?" you ask, thinking back to how it all began. "And you told me my footwork was 'almost adequate'?"

Jackie groans, hiding her face in your neck. "Can we please not relive my bitch phase?"

"It was kind of hot, actually," you admit, laughing when she pinches your side in retaliation. "What? It was! All commanding and authoritative."

"You're deranged," she says, but she's smiling against your skin.

"Maybe. But you're the one who cornered me in the equipment shed two weeks later."

"Because you kept looking at me with those eyes!" She sits up, gesturing dramatically. "All... intense and stuff. It was distracting."

"My sincerest apologies for having eyes and using them to look at the prettiest girl on the field."

Jackie rolls her eyes, but you can tell she's pleased. She's always been a sucker for compliments, especially the earnest ones.

"Smooth talker," she accuses, before leaning down to press her lips against yours.

The kiss starts slow, languid with the unhurried confidence of people who know each other's bodies by heart. Your hands find their way under her shirt—your shirt—fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the curve of her ribs. She sighs into your mouth, shifting on your lap in a way that makes you both gasp.

"You know," you murmur against her lips, "we have the house to ourselves for at least three more hours."

Jackie pulls back just enough to look at you, her pupils dilated from more than just the weed. "Is that your subtle way of saying we should move this to a more horizontal position?"

"I was actually thinking we could finish our calculus homework," you deadpan. "You know how I get turned on by derivatives."

She snorts, an undignified sound that she'd be mortified to let slip in front of anyone else. "You're such a nerd."

"Says the girl with a 4.0 GPA."

"That's different," she insists, tracing a finger down your sternum. "I'm academically gifted. You're a genuine weirdo who reads physics books for fun."

"Only sometimes," you defend yourself. "And they have pretty pictures of space."

Jackie shakes her head, a fond smile playing at her lips. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," you suggest, waggling your eyebrows in an exaggerated way that makes her laugh again.

"Can you now?" she challenges, and then she's leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time, with an urgency that makes your head spin.

Your hands drift higher under her shirt, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She makes a soft noise against your mouth that sends heat pooling low in your belly. One of her hands tangles in your hair, the other bracing against your shoulder for leverage as she rocks against you.

When you break apart for air, her lips immediately find your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. It's your turn to gasp, head falling back to give her better access.

"Jackie," you breathe, hands now gripping her hips tightly.

She smiles against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Yes?"

"The record's about to end."

She pulls back, blinking at you in confusion before her brow furrows in annoyance. "Seriously? That's what you're thinking about right now?"

You can't help but laugh at her indignation. "I just thought you might want some more mood music."

"The mood," she says, deliberately shifting on your lap in a way that makes your breath catch, "is doing just fine without Robert Smith's help."

"Fair point," you concede, voice slightly strained. "But you were the one who insisted we needed The Cure specifically for our afternoon delinquency session."

"That was before you started doing that thing with your hands," she counters, leaning in to nip at your bottom lip. "Now I couldn't care less about the soundtrack."

The needle reaches the end of the record, the soft scratching sound barely registering through the haze of desire clouding your brain.

"Besides," Jackie adds, her voice dropping to a whisper as she brings her lips to your ear. "I'd rather listen to the sounds you make when I do this."

Her hands slip beneath your shirt, and suddenly the lack of music is the furthest thing from your mind.

Later, much later, when you're both lying tangled in your sheets, catching your breath, Jackie props herself up on one elbow to look down at you.

"You know," she says, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder, "we won't have to hide next year."

The thought sends a rush of warmth through you that has nothing to do with physical pleasure. College, away from Wiskayok's judgmental eyes and rigid social hierarchies. A place where Jackie won't have to pretend to be someone she's not, where you can walk across campus holding her hand without calculating who might see.

"I can't wait," you say honestly.

Something vulnerable flickers across her face. "You won't get tired of me once I'm not your dirty little secret anymore?"

The question surprises you. Jackie's always so confident, so sure of herself and what she wants. But sometimes, in these quiet moments, you get glimpses of the insecurities she hides from everyone else.

"Are you kidding?" You reach up to cup her cheek. "I've been counting down the days until I can show you off properly."

Her smile is small but genuine, relief softening the tension you hadn't even noticed in her shoulders.

"Besides," you add, unable to resist, "I've invested too much time teaching you good music taste to abandon you now."

She gasps in mock outrage, grabbing a pillow to smack you with it. "Excuse you! I knew who The Cure was before I met you!"

"Name three albums," you challenge, laughing as you try to fend off her pillow attack.

"Disintegration," she says immediately, punctuating it with another swing of the pillow. "Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. And... uh..."

"That's what I thought," you tease, finally capturing the pillow and tossing it aside so you can pull her down for another kiss.

Against your lips, she murmurs, "You're lucky you're cute."

"I'm lucky, period," you respond honestly, and the softness that returns to her eyes makes your heart flip over in your chest.

The Cure may have stopped playing hours ago, but as Jackie settles against you, her head tucked under your chin, you think Robert Smith would approve of this particular love song—the one written in the rhythm of your synchronized heartbeats and the promise of a future where hiding is no longer necessary.

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

+18 mdni! watch your mouth; a fic where bucky's your boss, and you're his secretary. he ends up getting himself into a lot of trouble with you.

cw: sub!bucky, dom!mean!m!reader, bucky has a degrading kink, masturbation, shitty contact names, possessive!reader, use of 'sir', and 'slut', begging, use of toys (vibrating plug), use of a blindfold, edging, degrading kink

word count: >3k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 (soon!)

a/n: this is freaky but it gets worse by the next few chapters trust me.

-------------------------------------------------------

it was supposed to be a standard morning meeting. bucky’s mornings were usually smooth. coffee, briefing, you. you were his secretary, sharp, efficient, and unshakably composed. you were always ten steps ahead. nothing ruffled you, not the board, not his clients, and definitely not him.

until this morning.

you were mid-presentation, there was clean delivery, and perfect pacing, when your voice caught, just once. it was barely even a stutter. bucky, who was seated at the head of the conference table, had somehow managed to catch it.

“might need a reboot there, don’t you think?”

a couple quiet chuckles sounded, but you kept your composure, though something in your eyes went cold. you wrapped up the presentation without another hitch, before ending the meeting with yet another satisfied client.

“you okay, man?” bucky stood, sipping his coffee. “didn’t think you glitched like that.”

“close the door.” you spoke, not looking away from your tablet.

“what?” he blinked at you.

“i said, close the door.” your tone was so calm, it didn’t even register as a command at first.

bucky’s body responded before his brain even caught up. the door clicked shut. you finally set your tablet down, and walked towards him slowly.

“you think it’s funny? mocking the way i speak, in front of people? while i’m representing you?”

“it was a joke,” he said quickly, backing away from you. “come on, don’t be like that.”

“like what?” you spoke, and he swore your voice dropped an octave. “sensitive?”

bucky’s mouth opened, then closed again, seemingly at a loss for words.

“you might be my boss,” you continued, crossing your arms over your chest. “but you don’t run me. not like that. not in front of people. not ever.”

he gulped, audibly, at your words.

“and if you think you can humiliate me without consequences,” you leaned in. “you’ve clearly forgotten who keeps your world from falling apart, mr. barnes.”

his breath caught, at that moment. he should feel cornered. but instead, he was.. turned on, inexplicably, shamelessly hard.

you noticed, of course you did.

“that do it for you, huh?” you chuckled.

“shit.” he swore under his breath.

“you get off on being put in your place?” you stepped closer towards him now.

bucky gave the smallest, slightest nod, just obvious enough for you to notice.

“then you’re going to sit there, and do exactly what i say.”

“yes.”

“on your knees.”

bucky hesitated.

“i said, get on your knees, barnes.” you spoke, dropping the honorifics now.

he obeyed, slowly but surely getting on his knees.

“i don’t want to hear you speak, unless i ask you something. nod if you understand.”

he nodded.

“you don’t get to tease without consequences. you will earn your forgiveness, inch by inch.”

his breath hitched at that, and you stepped back.

“if you’re lucky, i might just forgive you.”

his eyes lit up.

“might.” you huffed. “and don’t you dare get yourself off to this. you don’t get to cum today.”

for the first time in his life, submitting felt better than being in charge.

bucky barely made it though the rest of the workday. his legs were shaky, his mind a mess. he couldn’t focus during calls or meetings, couldn’t remember basic numbers in reports. every thought of his looped back to you, the sound of the door shutting, the feeling of carpet beneath his knees, that voice, low and sharp:

‘on your knees.’

by the time he stumbled into his apartment, he was hard again, still. he dropped his briefcase on the floor, kicked his shoes off, and collapsed onto his couch. his tie was half undone, shirt wrinkled from hours of sitting with a painfully, insistent erection.

he didn’t mean to touch himself. he just.. let his fingers drift.

‘you don’t get to cum today.’

bucky cursed under his breath as his hand brushed over his clothed cock. he tried to ignore the guilt rising in his chest. you weren’t here, you wouldn’t know. he needed this, needed relief. the second he pulled his cock out, the memories flooded back. the view of you standing tall, towering over him. then, he started to stroke himself.

‘you get off on being put in your place?’

“fuck,” his grip tightened, and his eyes squeezed shut, picturing the view of you when he was on his knees. he thought about being dragged into the supply closet while the both of you were at work, bent over his own desk, your belt around his wrist as you railed him. he was so close now, pathetically gasping for air.

“fuck, uugh, oh god- aah..” he came, hard, his hips bucked off the couch. then, the guilt- no, shame, hit. his heart pounded while his cock twitched, and your last words echoed in his head, louder this time.

‘you don’t get to cum today.’

bucky sat in silence, panting. he had disobeyed you, and part of him hoped, prayed that you’d find out. because, if you were dangerous when you were mad, he couldn’t even imagine how you’d be like if you were disappointed, in him.

___________________________________________

the next morning,

it had started with a confession, sort of.

you noticed first, bucky was twitchier than usual. extra attentive, overly obedient, weirdly perfect. when it was time for your break, you cornered him.

“you’ve been jerking off without asking, haven’t you?”

he freezes, visibly.

“barnes.”

“once..” he swallows.

“when?”

“y-yesterday.. i couldn’t sleep. i just-”

“and you didn’t ask.” you cut him off.

“no.”

you were quiet for a beat, too quiet.

“go to your office, and kneel.”

bucky obeyed, without a word. the moment he kneels, you walked in behind him, closing the door with that soft click. the same one that led him into all this shit in the first place.

“i gave you rules, and you followed them for a while. i was starting to think that i was being too mean to you.” you spoke, stepping behind him, and running a finger down the back of his neck. “but then you decided you could take pleasure without my permission.”

he shudders.

“you think you’re too good now? did i not give you enough?”

“no- sir, i swear, you give me everything. i just- i was desperate, couldn’t stop thinking about you..”

“you don’t get to think of me when you break my rules, barnes.”

he went silent.

“since you want to cum so bad, i’ll give you a chance.” you dragged his office chair so that you could sit in front of him. “you’re going to get yourself off right here. on my shoe.”

the humiliation hit bucky like a freight train, and he hesitated.

“go on.”

he straddled your foot, grinding slowly at first, letting the pressure build as his cheeks burned with embarrassment. your shoe was firm beneath him, unmoving.

“look at you, pathetic, desperate. you don’t get to cum, not until i say.”

“f-fuck..” he moaned softly, rutting harder now. he could feel the friction through his pants, the embarrassment only heightening his pleasure.

“feel that, barnes? you’re so hard, you’re drooling through your pants, just from my shoe.”

the words made everything worse. he whimpered, grinding down with desperate rhythm. he chased that friction, shame building in his gut and spreading all throughout his skin.

your shoe didn’t move, you made no effort to assist him, just watched.

“wanted to act like a desperate slut, now you get to cum like one.”

“i-i.. mmh..” he gasped, almost there, but he froze, stopping immediately. he remembered. he wasn’t allowed.

“good, you’re learning. keep going, slower.”

bucky obeyed with a broken sound, dragging his hips in a slower rhythm. your shoe was now ruined, slick with pre-cum that had soaked through the fabric of his slacks. he was shaking now, sweat beading at his temples, while his breath caught in broken little gasps. his thighs, and hips ached, but he didn’t dare to stop, didn’t dare to speak. he just kept grinding, like you told him to.

“you want to cum?”

his head jerked up, his pupils were blown wide as he nodded frantically.

you slapped him, just hard enough to make him snap out of his trance.

“words, barnes.” you tugged on his tie as you spoke, pulling him forwards slightly.

“yes, ugh- mmh, please.. please, let me-”

“beg properly. tell me what you’re doing.”

his face flushed, and he took a second to compose himself, before he spoke.

“i.. i’m getting myself off on your s-shoe.” he spoke, breathily. “i broke your rules, now i- fuck, i’m grinding l-like a slut.. just to cum.”

“good boy, cum for me.”

bucky cried out, his hips jerking wildly as he came in his pants. he clung onto your knee for balance. he didn’t stop moving though, he couldn’t stop himself from grinding through it. the slick mess spread further over your shoe as he rutted through the aftershocks. he pressed his forehead to your knee, before looking up at you with blown pupils. he kissed your knee gently, as if he was trying to thank you.

“that’s the last time you forget the rules.” you spoke, leaning down to lift his chin with two fingers. “isn’t it?”

“y-yes, yes sir.”

“remember this the next time you try to cum without permission.” you finally moved, sliding your shoe back, and leaving the room.

he sat there for a long moment, his breath slowing. his mind was fogged with shame, but somewhere under that haze, pride coiled in his gut. he thought he had finally pleased you, for once.

___________________________________________

later that night,

bucky couldn’t sleep. he laid on his back, naked and spent. sheets twisted around his legs. he had been jerking off since the moment he got home, he couldn’t stop himself, not when it came to you. he stared at the ceiling, as if it would pardon him for his sins.

it didn’t, though. he broke the rule. you had told him, clearly, what the boundary was:

‘that’s the last time you forget the rules.’

your voice echoed in his mind.

he had disobeyed, like some needy teenager who couldn’t help himself. it was pathetic, really. hesitantly, he reached for his phone. he opened up your messages. the both of you had saved each other’s contacts with silly, quirky names. he started typing something, before deleting it. this went on and on for at least 10 minutes, before he took a deep breath, and finally mustered up the courage to send it.

boss man:

‘i’m sorry’.

minutes passed, and there was no response.

boss man:

‘i couldn’t stop thinking about what happened earlier.’

‘couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

‘i tried to wait. i swear i did.’

still no response. bucky felt himself grow impatient.

boss man:

‘let me make it up to you.’

‘please?’

then, after what felt like a century to him, you responded.

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘you touched yourself?’

boss man:

‘yes.’

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘did you ask permission?’

boss man:

‘no.’

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘then you’ll be punished.’

boss man:

‘please.’

no answer.

bucky’s heart pounded again. he waited five minutes. then ten.

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘i expect to see you on my doorstep in 20 minutes.’

‘move.’

immediately, he sped to your house. by the time he reached your home, it was close to midnight. he hesitated before ringing the door bell. the door opened without a word. you stood there in a black t-shirt and grey sweats, it was casual, but still commanding as hell.

“strip.”

bucky obeyed instantly, kicking his clothes off the moment he entered your home. he was left bare now, under your gaze.

you said nothing, just turned and walked towards the living room.

he followed, on instinct, like a dog.

the living room was dim, lit only by a floor lamp in the corner.

“hands on the couch.”

he obeyed, bending forward slightly. he heard you open the drawer, but he didn’t dare to look. there was the sound of something slick being squeezed out. then, your hand was between his thighs. and with that, you pressed the slicked plug inside.

he gasped, a soft, broken sound, as he flinched. it slid in smoothly, and once it was in place, you praised him, making him whimper.

you let him turn around, and there was a pillow in the center of the carpet. bucky dropped to his knees without being told.

you took your time, first pacing, letting the silence stew. the longer he waited, the more the anticipation ate at him. he squirmed, shifting his weight. you sat down on the couch, spreading your legs enticingly, and draping one arm lazily across your lap.

“hands behind your back.” you finally broke the silence.

he obeyed immediately.

“i told you not to cum.” you leaned forward, close enough to caress his face. you slid your fingers through his hair, gently at first, before tugging roughly, forcing his chin up.

“i know,” he whispered. “i’m sorry-”

“you knew you weren’t allowed, but you did it anyway. why?”

he was silent now, feeling ashamed of himself.

“tell me what you want.”

“want.. i want you to use me,” he spoke softly, afraid to make another mistake. “to let me make it up to you.”

“pathetic.” you replied flatly.

bucky’s face flushed, but he didn’t look away. he didn’t dare to.

“say please.”

“please.”

“louder.”

“please, sir.”

“that’s better.”

you pressed your foot onto his clothed cock, and he bit his lip in an attempt to stay silent.

“you don’t get to beg for forgiveness,” you spoke, still pressing onto him. “you’re going to have to earn it.”

“yes, s-sir.” he nodded quickly.

you pulled your foot away from him, making him sigh out. you reached to the coffee table next to you, pulling something from its drawer, a blindfold.

“tonight, you don’t get to see me. you don’t get to touch. you don’t even get to know what i’m doing.” you spoke, tying the blindfold tightly around his eyes.

then the teasing began. bucky knelt motionless on the cushion in your living room, naked, trembling, and blindfolded. he was so hard he could barely breathe. his fingers twitched against his thighs where they rested.

he couldn’t tell where you were in the room. his senses were heightened, he was extra sensitive now. all he could hear was the slight ruffle of fabric, the occasional click of something being set down on the coffee table, and the quiet, calm rhythm of your breathing.

then finally, after what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence.

“you like sneaking around my back, mr. barnes?” you stuck to the honorifics on purpose, just to tease him, to remind him that even though he had a higher position than you in the office, you were still in control of him.

he visibly flinched when you spoke.

“you like thinking i won’t find out when you break the rules?”

he shook his head.

“words.”

“no, sir.”

“but you did break them.”

“yes, sir.” he swallowed hard. he knew he was fucked.

“then tonight, you’re going to show me just how sorry you are.”

there was a pause. then, the soft buzz came alive inside him.

bucky inhaled sharply as he felt the plug vibrate suddenly, low and steady. it wasn’t enough to make him cum, but enough to make his hips buck slightly.

“ah- fuck.” he hissed.

“ah ah,” you spoke, “position.”

he forced himself upright again, breath shaky.

the plug buzzed again, stronger this time. he let out a noise before he could stop it. the sensation was unbearable, too much, yet not enough.

“you’ll sit like this while i read. you won’t move, you won’t speak, you won’t touch.” you spoke, settling back down on the couch. “if you so much as twitch, we’ll start over.”

“y-yes, sir.” his voice cracked.

___________________________________________

15 minutes later,

minutes had passed, bucky wasn’t sure anymore.

the buzzing varied, sometimes low, and slow, then turning off entirely, then a sudden strong jolt that made his hips jump. every time he moved, you clicked your tongue disapprovingly at him. every time he whimpered, you paused your reading, glaring down at him until he corrected himself.

he was hyper-aware of his surroundings now, considering how he wasn’t allowed to see. he could hear the pages of your book turn, could smell the cologne on you. his body ached with the effort of holding back. he kept holding his position, still obeyed, just for you. because if he didn’t, he’d lose all the progress he had made.

an hour later,

finally, the toy stopped. there was an uneasy silence.

bucky’s muscle’s shook from tension. he was soaked in sweat, his heart pounded as his mind tore at the seams.

then, he could hear the sound of your book being shut, and he almost moaned from the sheer anticipation he was feeling.

“not bad,” you murmured. “better than i expected.”

he shivered, not daring to speak.

“you want to cum?”

“yes, sir.” he gasped, voice light and breathy. “please, m-may i?”

“then you’ll spend the next night like this too.” your hand slid down his chest, light, and slow. “and the one after.”

bucky’s breath hitched. he wanted to bargain with you, but he knew better than to piss you off again.

“but tonight, you sleep here, on the floor.”

he whimpered.

“i want you to think about what it means to belong to someone, mr. barnes.”

you kissed the side of his throat, right below his jaw, then pulled the blindfold off, before stepping away to your room.

___________________________________________

part 2

[queerteapie]

Please, I Beg (18+)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal/Reader

Rating: Mature

Fic Playlist: Spotify

Summary: You recieve a late night text asking for an emergency babysitter, and with the cost of LA, you take the job. The job, however, ends up being far more than the money.

Tags: 18+, angst, smut, NSFW, femme reader

Masterlist | Ao3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Chapter 1

The sun’s warmth begins to fade outside, giving way to a quiet breeze that whispers through the open window. It dances across your bare skin with a cool touch, raising goosebumps in its wake. Soft music plays in the background, and you hum along without thinking. Sitting on the edge of your bed, hair still damp and clinging to your neck from the shower, you hear the familiar buzz of a text. You reach for your phone, water still trailing down your arm, and glance at the screen - a message from the babysitting agency: an emergency request for a sitter tonight. Double Pay. 

Since moving to California, money is tight. Not the best financial decision you've ever made, but the right one nonetheless. The timing of this job is perfect. You type back quickly, confirming you can take it. A few seconds later, the agency responds with the address and a brief note about the family. You sit up a little straighter, already shifting into work mode. Time to get ready. You stand, towel slipping from your shoulders, and head to the closet to find something clean but comfortable. Your mind races through a mental checklist: ID, keys, snacks for the road. In the background, the music plays on, soft and steady.

You quickly change into a pair of workout leggings and a loose tee, comfortable but practical. After a quick blow-dry, you gather your hair into a messy bun, not bothering for perfection. You throw your overnight bag over your shoulder, taking a moment to glance around the room before heading out the door to your car. The drive to the family isn’t far, but with LA traffic, it’s going to be a close call.

With seconds to spare, you pull into the driveway of a house, grand in size. What could these people possibly do for a living?

Grabbing your bag from the back seat, you make your way to the front door and press the doorbell. Silence. You give the wooden frame a couple of quick taps, just as the sound of approaching footsteps breaks the stillness.

A woman’s silhouette appears behind the frosted glass, visibly fumbling with an earring as she moves closer.

“Coming, coming, sorry!” the woman calls out as she opens the door, stepping aside to usher you in.

“Evening! You must be Y/N. Lovely to meet you, I’m Agatha.”

You're drawn to her the moment she opens the door. There’s something commanding in the way she carries herself; confident, grounded, and unapologetically sure of who she is. Her hair falls over her shoulders with casual ease, and her dress fits in a way that shows she knows how to own a room without trying too hard. She has a presence that feels both warm and in control, like someone used to being listened to. As you inhale, a hint of floral perfume lingers in the air, subtle, but impossible to ignore, much like her.

"Y-yes, yes, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you too," you manage to say, stumbling over your words. "I... wow, you look lovely."

It feels like an understatement. She looks phenomenal.

"Oh, why thank you, dear. How kind of you," she replies with a warm smile, and for a moment, the air around you feels heavier, charged. "Let me introduce you to Nicky. He’s pretty great, though as his mom, I suppose I have to say that."

She laughs, easy and genuine, and you find yourself smiling back as a quiet chuckle escapes you. You follow her down the hallway toward the lounge, still trying to gather yourself.

The décor along the walls catches your eye, unusual and unlike anything you’ve seen before. The furniture carries the weight of history, each piece rich with character, while the wallpaper speaks of quiet luxury.

Your gaze shifts to a collection of family photos, carefully arranged and lovingly displayed.

One image holds your attention. Another woman. There’s something about her, a quiet intensity that draws you in. She’s beautiful in a way that feels timeless, with a shadow in her eyes that hints at stories untold.

You linger, perhaps longer than you should, unable to look away. A soft smile finds its way to your lips, unbidden.

"That's Rio. She’ll be down in a minute. She only just got out of the shower," Agatha says with a sigh, her voice tinged with mild irritation at her partner’s lateness.

"You have a beautiful family," you reply, stepping toward the young boy sitting cross-legged on the floor with a colouring pencil in hand. He looks to be about seven, maybe eight. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration as he fills in a bright red cape on what appears to be a superhero.

"Hey there," you say gently, crouching down beside him. "That’s a cool drawing. Is he flying or getting ready to save someone?"

The boy glances up at you with wide, curious eyes. "He’s flying. He’s got fire powers," he replies, holding up the picture with a touch of pride.

"Fire powers? That’s awesome. I’m Y/N, by the way."

"I’m Nicky," he says, then returns to shading in flames with an orange pencil.

You smile and watch for a moment, the quiet energy between you settling comfortably. Just then, another set of footsteps approaches, joining you in the lounge.

"Do you know where my suspenders are? I can't seem to find them anywh-oh, we have a guest," she says, appearing suddenly in the doorway, her movements hurried and distracted. Her eyes land on you, and she straightens slightly, surprise flickering across her face.

You rise to your feet and offer your hand. "Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m the babysitter for the evening.”

She takes your hand with a firm grip, her touch lingering just a moment longer than expected. A slow smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as her eyes sweep over you, deliberate and unhurried. "Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing," she says, her voice low and playful. There’s a glint of amusement in her gaze, and something else too, something that lingers like heat in the air between you, before she finally releases your hand.

Agatha raises an eyebrow as she watches the exchange, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “Rio, really?” she says, her tone light but laced with a hint of mock disapproval. “You’re meant to be getting dressed, not eyeing up the babysitter.”

Rio chuckles, clearly unbothered. “Can’t I do both?” she tosses over her shoulder as she heads for the stairs.

“Your suspenders are in the top drawer of the chest, try not to tear the place apart looking for them this time,” Agatha calls after her with a knowing smile.

Once Rio disappears upstairs, Agatha turns back to you with a warm but more focused expression.

“Okay, so Nicky’s already had dinner, he just needs a snack before bed. He’ll ask for chocolate, but try to keep it light or he’ll be bouncing off the walls. Bedtime is at eight, though he’ll try to push for eight-thirty if you let him talk you into one more story.” She pauses, then adds with a smile, “He’s good, honestly. Just a bit of a negotiator.”

You nod, taking it all in as Agatha reaches for her coat and bag. “We shouldn’t be too late, but feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. If there’s any trouble, my number’s on the fridge.”

Just as she’s adjusting her coat, you hear Rio’s footsteps returning from upstairs. 

Just as Agatha slips her coat on, Rio reappears, now fully dressed and tugging her suspenders into place with a little flair. She gives you a wink in passing before turning her attention to Nicky.

“There’s my little man,” she says, kneeling beside him. “You going to be good tonight?”

Nicky nods solemnly, but there’s a cheeky sparkle in his eyes. “I’ll be good if I can have two stories.”

Agatha laughs softly and bends down to kiss the top of his head. “One story, and no bargaining. Don’t make Y/N call us, okay?”

He sighs dramatically but nods. “Okay. One story.”

Rio leans in, ruffles his hair gently, then glances at you with a smirk. “If he gives you trouble, bribe him with marshmallows. Works every time.”

“Rio,” Agatha says in warning, but there’s no real weight behind it. The two women share a look - half amused, half fond - before Agatha straightens up.

“Alright, we’re off. Thanks again,” she says to you, reaching for her keys.

“Don’t have too much fun without us,” Rio adds with a grin, and then the front door clicks shut behind them, leaving the house quiet for the first time that evening.

***********

Between entertaining, feeding, and eventually settling Nicky into bed, your mind never strays far from the two women who left you in a haze of perfume and flirtation. Images of Agatha’s dress clinging perfectly to her waist flicker behind your eyes, each detail burned into memory. And then there’s Rio - her smirk, her eyes, the deliberate way she looked at you just before stepping out the door. That one glance has been echoing in your chest all night.

The hands on the clock read 1am when you hear the soft hum of a cab pulling up outside, followed by the unmistakable sound of giggling and whispered shushes as they make their way along the path. You draw in a deep breath, hoping the extra air will steady you, maybe stop your thoughts from tripping over themselves.

It doesn’t.

The front door creaks open moments later, the soft shuffle of heels and the occasional laugh filling the hallway. Agatha and Rio are home.

“Oh, look who’s still awake,” Rio teases, her voice a little slurred, but no less alluring. She leans against the doorframe, eyes glinting with mischief as she scans you, her gaze lingering just a second too long on your lips. “I thought for sure you’d be in bed by now, all tired out from the little one.”

Agatha steps in behind her, her movements smooth and easy, but there’s a playful tilt to her lips as she sees you. “Don’t mind Rio. She’s had a little too much fun tonight,” she says with a knowing smile, brushing past her partner to pour herself a glass of water from the kitchen.

Rio pushes off the doorframe and moves toward you, her steps slower than usual, but just as confident. She stops a few inches away, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of her breath against your skin. “But I think you should stay awake a little longer,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. “I bet we could make it worth your while.”

Agatha chuckles softly from the kitchen, evident that she’s listening, the tension building between the three of you. Rio’s hand brushes against your arm as she straightens, clearly waiting for your reaction.

“I-um, well…” you fumble, eyes making a quick glance toward the kitchen.

Rio’s smirk deepens as she watches you, her gaze steady and filled with mischief. The air between you crackles with tension, her nearness setting your skin alight. She leans in just a little closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her body and the sweet, spiced scent of her perfume.

“You know,” she murmurs, voice honey-smooth and heavy with suggestion, “Agatha and I don’t mind sharing... if you’re interested.”

Your breath catches before you can respond. Her words hit you low in the stomach, igniting something raw and wanting. Your mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out right away. You can only stare back, heartbeat thudding, heat creeping up your neck. You weren’t prepared for this, how direct she’d be, how good it would feel to have her attention so focused, so intimate. A part of you aches to lean into it, to say yes, to let her take you apart slowly right there in the soft glow of the hallway light.

But before you can say anything, Agatha, who has been quietly observing from the kitchen, steps in. She folds her arms, the curve of a smile playing on her lips as she regards the two of you. “Rio,” she says gently, “you’ve had a bit to drink, love. Maybe... maybe it’s not the best time for this.”

There’s no judgment in her voice, just a calm certainty that grounds the moment. You glance at her, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. It’s clear she’s looking out for everyone - Rio, herself, and you.

Rio pouts, clearly not ready to let the moment slip away. “Oh, come on, Agatha. What’s the harm?” she says with a little laugh, then turns her attention back to you. Her eyes sweep over you again, slow and deliberate. “I’m sure she’s just as curious as we are.”

You swallow hard. She’s not wrong. Your body hums with tension, with want. But there’s also a part of you that appreciates the restraint, the respect humming beneath the flirtation.

Rio moves closer, and your breath hitches again. Her hand grazes your arm, light but electric. “Maybe just a little taste?” she whispers, her lips dangerously close to your ear. Her voice curls around you like silk, sending shivers down your spine. “We can save the rest for another night.”

Your body responds before your mind can form a full thought. Every nerve feels on edge, aching. But before anything more can happen, Agatha steps forward and gently rests a hand on Rio’s shoulder.

“You know I’m all for fun,” Agatha says, her voice softer now, almost intimate. “But I think tonight’s…not the right moment.”

She looks at you then, and you feel seen, not just desired, but considered. It catches you off guard, that subtle care beneath the suggestion.

Agatha smiles, her touch still on Rio’s arm. “We can wait. There’s no rush.”

Rio sighs, exaggerated and theatrical, but there’s a hint of affection in her eyes when she glances at Agatha. “Fine, fine,” she mutters, then shoots you one last look, hungry, promising. “But this isn’t over.”

Agatha chuckles, linking her fingers through Rio’s. “We’ll see you again soon,” she says to you, and her voice wraps around you like a secret. “And next time, maybe we’ll all be in a better state of mind.”

As they head upstairs, Rio casts one final glance over her shoulder, mischief still dancing in her expression, before they vanish from view.

You’re left alone in the quiet, the air still buzzing from their presence. Your body thrums with leftover heat, your thoughts tangled with everything that could have happened... and everything that still might.

[keeryhours]

the needle and the damage done - chapter one

Older! Rockstar! Eddie Munson x female! reader

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Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

37 year old Eddie Munson is a washed up rockstar - reckless, wild, and heavily addicted to drugs. His drug use tore apart his band and his family. It’s up to him to make things right.

A bit of a prologue. Eddie destroys his own life.

Warnings:

(18+), HEAVY warning for drugs (weed, psychedelics, cocaine, pills, heroin), alcohol, addiction, one slightly smutty part, p in v, pregnancy, birth, medical conditions, rockstar and addict behavior, cycle of trauma, ANGST, mention of shitty parents, broken families

Word Count: 3k

A/N:

I hope you enjoy this new series! Please mind the triggers and warnings!

—

Corroded Coffin was Eddie’s first baby.

He started that band in middle school with his closest friends. He gave it his everything all throughout school, to the point that he repeated his senior year three times and still never graduated.

But that didn’t matter, because it paid off. Corroded Coffin made it big. Huge, in fact. Like playing three sold out shows in a row at Madison Square Garden big.

You had been there from the beginning, too. Friends since 3rd grade, growing up together in Forest Hills trailer park. Where Wayne and Eddie always gave you sanctuary from your own shitty parents.

You and Eddie started dating in 10th grade. It felt like it had been forever coming. You had both been crushing on each other since the beginning, both too scared to say anything about it. But one day, after a Hellfire campaign, Eddie cornered you in the drama room and asked you out. The rest was history, as they say.

You started working at Benny’s after graduation, waiting for Eddie to catch up with you. A few years later and Eddie was coming in with the mail screaming - the tapes the guys had sent off to record labels had paid off. One wanted to meet them.

It was a whirlwind of fame and music after that. Things happened so quickly it made your head spin. They recorded an album, released it to critical and fan acclaim, went on a tour. Eddie swept you off your feet and you spent 4 months living on the tour bus, seeing the country with him and the guys. Every show sold out, fans lining up outside after trying for even a glimpse of the band. They were usually happy to stop for autographs, unless they had to be somewhere, an interview or a magazine shoot.

The suits insisted it would be better for the band’s image if they all appeared single, but Eddie was having none of that. He paraded you around like his personal trophy, showing you off to anyone who would see. It was a little embarrassing, but you loved him.

Eddie pulled you onstage at the final show of the first tour. You were terrified to be on stage in front of so many people, already embarrassed about whatever Eddie was about to pull. But then he dropped down to one knee, pulled a ring out, looked at you like you were the only person in the world, and asked you to marry him. You said yes, of course.

Your wedding was perfect. You wore a beautiful white gown, form fitting with lace sleeves. Eddie wore a black tux. Gareth was his best man, Robin your maid of honor. It was a pretty small wedding, just your closest family and friends, but it couldn’t have been better. It was everything you’d dreamed of since you met Eddie.

With rockstar-dom came certain expectations, certain…hobbies. You and Eddie had always loved to share a joint or a bowl together, sometimes even fooling around with psychedelics. It was always an amazing time. But with fame came access to anything your heart could ever desire. And Eddie loved the drugs.

It started out slowly. He’d drink himself stupid at the after parties, climb on the bar and throw chairs and get rowdy, get into fights sometimes. He only behaved if you tagged along. But the fans loved him, the guys thought he was a blast. That was just Eddie, wild, just how he was. The life of the party, until he wasn’t.

Coke was the first new thing you ever tried together. Eddie definitely didn’t need to be any more hyped up than he already was on his own, but he loved the stuff. He’d carry the little baggie in his pocket at all times, pouring a little on his hand for a bump when you or he needed a top up. He’d spread fat lines on a mirror in his hotel room, passing you a rolled up $100 dollar bill to let you go first, ever the gentleman. Then you’d fuck like rabbits the whole night, doing more lines whenever you started to come down. For the first time in your lives, you had all the money and all the drugs in the world. The party never had to stop.

Next was pills. Oxy, Xanax, Adderall. Eddie really liked the pills. He always kept some on him, would sneak off to crush one up and snort it if he needed the high extra fast. You didn’t know. You thought they were just for parties. You didn’t know it had become a daily thing, a crutch.

1993, you were 26 years old. Corroded Coffin had been successful for the past few years. Everyone loved them, especially Eddie as the frontman. He knew how to put on a show, knew how to have a good time. You couldn’t go anywhere without being followed by fans and photographers. It threw everything off balance when you found out you were pregnant.

It had been an accident. You were terrified to tell Eddie. You didn’t want to ruin his fun, or get in the way of his dream. But this baby was happening whether you were ready or not. And you knew it was time to get sober. After his show that night, you asked Eddie to come back to the hotel with you instead of going to the after party. He had been reluctant - he loved the after parties - but he agreed. Back in the hotel room, you sat him down, the look on his face completely terrified of whatever you were about to drop on him.

“Eddie…” you had started, holding his ringed hands in yours. “I’m…I’m pregnant.”

His eyes had gone wide. Maybe if you had known then what you knew now, you would have noticed how his pupils were blown. You didn’t even know he was on anything at the time.

“Baby, that’s…” he shook his head, and your heart sunk. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want the baby. “That’s fucking incredible!”

It was your turn to widen your eyes when Eddie stood, pulling you into a tight embrace and lifting you off the ground, spinning you around. “A baby! Wow.”

“You’re not upset?” You asked once he’d sat you back down, a huge grin on his face.

“Upset? Why would I be upset?”

“Because of the band,” you said. “Your freedom.”

“I don’t care about all of that,” he said, hands on either side of your face. “I care about you. I care about this baby.” He lowered a hand to gently caress your stomach. “You’re my whole world. And now my world is about to double,” he laughed. You couldn’t help but return his smile, tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m so happy you’re happy,” you said. “I‘ve always wanted a family with you.”

“Me too.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, then started covering your whole face in kisses, making you giggle. “I’m so fucking happy.”

A baby girl, Evelyn “Evie” Grace Munson was born August 1994. She was Eddie’s twin, born with big brown eyes and a head full of dark brown hair that got curlier the longer it grew. She was an angel of a baby, slept perfectly and hardly ever fussed. She was even a well behaved toddler, shy and reserved. She clung to you and Eddie and her Uncles Gareth, Jeff, and Grant.

Eddie’s drug problem ramped up after Evie’s birth. He was still able to hide it, to cover it up with his partying, but it was getting worse. He was starting to take oxy on a regular basis, snorting coke or taking adderall to counteract the downer’s effects. He was pretty much fucked up all the time, but he was functional enough that no one worried. And he did his best to keep it away from you.

After it all, you felt like an idiot for never noticing.

December 1998, you welcomed your second daughter, Rhiannon Raven Munson. She also looked just like Eddie, brown hair and big brown eyes. The Munson genes were strong, apparently. She was a fussier baby, suffering with colic. There were countless sleepless nights walking the halls with her, bouncing her and trying to get her to just sleep.

Evie adjusted to her big sister role perfectly. She loved her new baby sister, even if she wanted to treat her like a doll and push her around in her toy stroller.

After Rhiannon’s birth is when things really spiraled, although you were still oblivious. But the guys started to notice, because he was less careful around them. He started spending more time away from home.

This was when Eddie did heroin for the first time.

It was just snorting it, he didn’t think it was a big deal. But god, the way it made him feel. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, like he had literally gone to heaven. It was the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.

He never wanted to stop.

Eddie was railing lines before shows, smoking heroin as soon as he got off stage before heading to the after party. You were home alone with the two girls.

He would come home late, long after you and the girls had gone to bed, climbing into bed with you and kissing all over your neck and shoulders until you turned around in his arms, kissing him deeply as he slid his hand beneath your panties.

“My pretty girl,” he’d mumble against your lips, pulling your body into his own. “Gonna make you feel so good tonight.”

Eddie was always incredible in bed, but being hopped up on coke always made him insatiable. He’d fuck your brains out, have his hand held tightly over your mouth to not wake the kids as your eyes rolled back and you came around his cock again and again.

July 2001, Ivy Maeve Munson was born. She was born prematurely and with a congenital heart condition, and spent months in the NICU. You left her side as little as possible, Wayne babysitting the girls while you spent every possible moment at the hospital. She had heart surgery at 3 weeks old, which thankfully went perfectly. Eddie had to leave for band commitments, but spent as much time as he could by your side. He didn’t mention the pills he was popping behind your back, or the heroin he was smoking in the bathroom of the studio.

Things really hit rock bottom after Ivy’s birth. You didn’t know if it was the stress of her health problems or what, but something had changed in Eddie. He wasn’t even trying to hide his drug abuse anymore.

She was only a few months old when he injected heroin for the first time.

The rush was nothing like snorting or smoking it. The first time he did it, with some of his rockstar friends, and the drug hit his veins for the first time, he had never felt happier. Not on his wedding day, not holding his daughters for the first time. It was like there wasn’t a single thing wrong in the world, everyone around him felt like his closest friend, he loved everyone and everything. He was wrapped in the warmest, most comforting hug, his stomach was filled with butterflies like the first time he’d kissed you. Only better.

He slumped over and let it take him.

His addiction became obvious to everyone around him after that. His bandmates first - they’d get into constant arguments over Eddie showing up late too high to play guitar, forgetting the lyrics and slacking off on songwriting and practices. It was getting embarrassing for the whole band when he’d act a fool in public now, usually getting into fights with someone every time before they’d have to drag his passed out form back home.

The first time you found his kit, you confronted him in the living room, throwing it down on the table. “What the fuck is this, Eddie?”

Fear struck into his very soul. “Baby, I-“

“No.” You shook your head. “What the fuck, Eddie?”

“I-I swear I can explain-“

“I don’t think you can.” You looked down at the drugs and paraphernalia, tears in your eyes. “What have you been doing to yourself?”

“It’s just some fun, okay?” He said, hands combing through his curls in his stress. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just some fun.”

“This is heroin, Eddie. There’s needles here.”

Eddie opened his mouth, his hand outstretched like he was going to come up with some excuse, but he really didn’t have one. He dropped his arms to his sides. “I’m sorry.”

You wiped your tears away, angry and scared for your husband. “What if the girls were to see you fucked up on this stuff?”

Emotions swam behind Eddie’s eyes. “That wouldn’t happen. I promise that won’t happen.”

“Because you’re gonna stop, right?”

Eddie didn’t say anything.

“You’re gonna stop, right?”

“I…” Eddie looked around. “Of course I’m gonna stop, baby. I can stop any time, it’s no big deal.”

It was a big deal, and he couldn’t stop. In fact, his addiction only got worse and worse. He started stumbling onto stage doped out of his mind, unable to perform and forcing shows to be cancelled and tickets to be refunded. His public breakdown took over the tabloids, which was humiliating for everyone involved. And despite his promise, he came home high every day. The girls were scared of him like that, they were withdrawing from their father day by day, but he didn’t even know what was going on.

You broke up with him countless times, saying you couldn’t handle it anymore. But he would always come back, banging on the door in the middle of the night, crying and withdrawing and swearing he was done and wouldn’t touch the stuff again. You’d take him back, help him through the sickness, and things would be okay for a week before he’d be right back to it.

The final straw was when you found him shooting up a speedball in the bathroom at the house. You had freaked out - “The girls could have walked in on you! What are you thinking?!” - and Eddie was too doped up to even have a conversation with you. You called Gareth, Jeff, and Grant to come get him, because you were officially done for good.

You found out you were pregnant again after that. It was a complete surprise - Eddie was 37 and you were 36. There had been no plans for more kids. Three kids was a handful, and Eddie was his own shitshow right now. You hadn’t even talked in a week, and last you’d heard he was still heavy on the dope.

The guys were getting sick of him. The band had gone on an indefinite hiatus because Eddie couldn’t get his shit together. Everything he’d dreamed of, everything he worked for was falling from his grasp faster than he knew what to do with. But he still couldn’t put the drugs down.

You showed up at Gareth’s house, walls up as you prepared for the conversation, prepared for the state Eddie would be in when you saw him. Gareth answered the door with a somber expression on his face, and you knew it wouldn’t be good.

“He’s on the couch in the den,” he said.

You were familiar with the house, so you walked down the hall and to the room yourself. Eddie was passed out on the couch, hair a mess, sweaty, dirty clothes he’d probably been in for days. Track marks visible on his strong arms you always loved having wrapped around you.

You nudged him, and he slowly woke up.

“Babe?” He said, voice hoarse. His pupils were constricted, eyes bloodshot. He’d clearly had something recently. His facial hair was scruffy, unkempt. He reached for you, but you pulled away.

“I need to talk to you.”

He sat up on the couch with a groan, rubbing his head. “What…what’s up?”

“I’m pregnant again, Eddie.”

He dropped his hands, looking up at you. “No.”

You pulled the tests out of your hoodie pocket, handing them over. He took them with shaking hands, examining them. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m 6 weeks. It’s still early.”

Eddie shook his head. “I can’t- we can’t-“

“I’m giving you an ultimatum.”

His eyes shot up to you. “What?”

“An ultimatum,” you said again. “Either you go to rehab and get clean, for good…or me and the kids are out of your life. For good.”

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed, looking for something to say. “You- you can’t do that.”

“I can,” you said. “And I am. Because this is out of hand, Eddie. You’re an addict. You’re going to kill yourself doing this shit. You’re not 22 anymore. This is sad. It’s sad watching you do this to yourself.” You wiped away a tear. “I love you more than anything, and I’m just watching you destroy yourself.”

Eddie looked up at you sadly. “Please. Please don’t take my kids from me. Please don’t leave me.”

“I have to do this,” you said. You took a deep breath. “If you want to get clean, you know where to find us.”

With that you turned and left the room, leaving Eddie alone with your words. He knew something had to change. He was killing himself with the drugs. But he also didn’t want to stop. He never wanted to stop. They felt too good, made him feel so alive in a way he never did in normal life.

As you drove home, you wondered if Eddie would take your words to heart. You’d broken up with him plenty of times over his drug use in the past three years, and it hadn’t changed anything. Not a damn thing.

If losing his family and his career wasn’t enough to scare him straight, you weren’t sure anything would.

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[goldfades]

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐓 ꩜ juju watkins ¹² (part 3/4)

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST | PART ONE | PART TWO

ᝰ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | she was born to be great—legacy inked in her blood, she was a taurasi. committing to usc was supposed to be her moment, her name, her story. but this is juju watkins' court. and kingdoms don’t like to be threatened.

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst!!!!!!!!!!!!! hurt to comfort, ofc. could possibly be triggering?? lots of descriptions of performance anxiety, panic attack, blood/injury (nosebleed), self-doubt, intense internal monologue, comfort after breakdown, soft girl tenderness (tm), juju watkins being a little too good at seeing through you

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | yeah so i meant to post this like… three weeks ago. but life got lifey (as u probably know if u keep up with my blog LMAO) and also this chapter emotionally wrecked me while i was trying to write it so i kept stalling. but!!! we are back and we are spiraling. thank you for your patience while i sat in google docs whispering “she’s fine she’s fine she’s totally not fine” over and over like a spell.

juju continues to be dangerously perceptive and our girl continues to unravel in high definition. i’ll see you in part 4. maybe. if i emotionally recover. (i will not). also would like to thank my beta readers! yall helped me out sm, ily<3

December in L.A. doesn’t feel like winter, not really.

It’s sixty-seven degrees and sunny outside. Palm trees still sway like it’s September, and girls walk around campus in shorts and crop tops like they haven’t checked a calendar. But inside the Galen Center, it feels like December - tight, tense, the kind of cold that doesn’t come from the weather, but from expectation.

Finals week is over. The dorms are thinning out. People are catching flights home, saying their see-you-next-years. But for you, there’s still one thing left.

Utah.

Your last game before winter break. And you have to win.

On paper, it’s just another conference game. But everyone knows it’s more than that.

Utah’s been electric this season - fast-paced, fluid, a team that knows how to move as one. They’re flashy, but they’re solid too, and fans have latched on. They’ve become the darling team of the year, the underdogs turned national darlings. ESPN’s been hyping the matchup for a week straight - undefeated USC vs. Utah’s run-and-gun machine. The comments are already spiraling. The forums too. “Can the Trojans stay perfect?” “Taurasi’s kid isn’t as clutch as her mom.” “Juju’s carrying again.”

You try not to read them. You really do. But they seep in. And lately, everything’s been seeping in.

Warmups feel off.

Your shots fall, but they don’t feel right. Too much wrist. Not enough arc. Your follow-through looks good, but it doesn’t settle you like it usually does. There’s this twitch in your legs, like you’ve had too much caffeine. Your heart’s pounding, even though you haven’t started running yet.

You glance over at Juju as you stretch. She’s bouncing on her toes, headphones in, nodding along to whatever she’s playing. She looks focused - but loose. The way she always is before big games. She thrives in this kind of spotlight. Loves it.

You used to. At least, you think you did. But lately it feels like the spotlight’s more heat than light. It blisters.

You’ve been here before. Big games. Big stakes. But this season has felt different from the start.

USC hasn’t lost once.

8–0. Ranked #3 in the country. Climbing.

The pressure started subtly - postgame interviews, features, “can they go all the way?” Then it ramped up. People you haven’t spoken to in months. Suddenly everyone wants to talk. Everyone wants a quote. Every game feels like proof. Every stat line is a headline.

And you - you’re the one with the last name that drips expectations. You’re the one they measure against a ghost who still plays like a myth.

--

THREE DAYS UNTIL UTAH

Practice had run long again. Not because Coach said it had to, but because that's just how it went when you were undefeated in December and still fighting to prove you belonged at the top. You were one of the last ones out of the gym, stretching alone in the corner with your earbuds in - though they weren’t playing anything. Sometimes silence helped quiet the noise better than music ever could.

Your phone buzzed once beside you. Then again. Then four more times in a row.

[Mom]: Landing soon [Mom]: Don’t freak [Mom]: Surprise! [Penny]: Don’t let your mom stress you out too much. We brought reinforcements [Derek]: BIG SISSSSSSS 😈😈😈 [Derek]: finally we get to see you play live!!

You froze mid-stretch.

No. No, no, no.

You blinked at the screen. The knot already forming in your stomach twisted tighter. For a second, your body didn’t move at all, like someone had hit pause.

They were here.

Diana. Penny. Derek. Gigi.

They were in Los Angeles. Three days before the Utah game. The last game before winter break. The game everyone on the team had circled and underlined. And they hadn’t warned you. Not really.

Your heart was racing, but it didn’t feel like excitement. It felt like pressure - familiar, cold, creeping pressure that settled on your shoulders and didn’t let go. Diana flying out to see a game wasn’t just about watching. It was about evaluating. Analyzing. Fixing.

You got up too fast, shoved your phone into your hoodie pocket, and left the gym without a word. This was classic Diana, showing up unannounced, like she owned the damn place. It was a tendency of hers, but you never really minded until it was like this - a high stakes game like this one.

They were waiting by the hotel when you arrived, standing on the curb as if they hadn’t just hijacked your entire mental space.

Penny was leaned against the back of the SUV with one arm lazily draped over the open trunk. Derek was bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was already in a full defensive stance. Gigi, tiny and grinning, sat cross-legged on top of a suitcase, wearing a hoodie that nearly swallowed her whole and sipping from a juice pouch like she’d never been happier.

And then there was Diana.

She stood a few feet away from the rest of them, hands in the pockets of her joggers, sunglasses pushed up on her head. She looked relaxed. Comfortable. Like retirement suited her in every possible way.

“Surprise,” she said simply, her voice even. But you knew her too well not to catch the anticipation behind it. The way her eyes scanned you from head to toe, subtle but focused.

You forced a smile. “Hey,” you said, and your voice cracked on the inhale.

Before you could say anything else, Gigi launched herself off the suitcase and straight into your arms, her tiny body colliding with yours like a rocket.

“You’re here!” she squealed.

You caught her, stumbling back half a step under her weight, and laughed a little. “Barely,” you said. “I’m like 40% real and 60% exhausted.”

“You look like Derek when he stayed up all night watching anime,” she said with a serious face, squishing your cheeks.

“I did that once,” Derek muttered. “And it was Naruto. It was important.”

You set Gigi down, and Penny came over to hug you next. She wrapped her arms around you slowly, gently, like she was trying to soften everything your mother inevitably brought with her.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Penny murmured. “You look... busy.”

“That’s one way to put it,” you said, stepping back with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Then Diana stepped closer. She gave you a side hug as she just studied you, unreadable expression in place.

“Good to see you,” she said, and it landed somewhere between a compliment and a challenge.

“Yeah,” you replied. “You too.”

There was a brief silence, the kind that never felt comfortable with her.

“We want to take you to dinner,” Penny cut in, trying to ease the moment. “Nothing fancy, just something casual. The kids are starving, and we figured it would be nice. No pressure.”

“Sure,” you said, even though your head was already spinning.

Dinner ended up being a loud Italian place not far from campus. It was the kind of place that served garlic knots by the basket and played old Dean Martin songs a little too loud over the speakers. Gigi insisted on sitting next to you and Derek spent most of the meal showing you clips from his last middle school tournament, pausing every few seconds to point out some assist or block.

You loved them. God, you loved them. But it was hard not to notice how different everything felt.

Penny cut Gigi’s spaghetti for her without being asked. Diana let Derek talk without interrupting, even when he got a stat wrong or rambled for too long. They were patient. Warm. Effortlessly encouraging.

When you were eight, Diana had made you run suicides in the driveway because you missed too many layups in a rec league game. When you were twelve, she’d given you film to watch during winter break and quizzed you on your footwork mid-dinner. When you were their age, she didn’t coddle. She didn’t laugh at your jokes unless they were smart. She didn’t let you cry unless it was in the locker room and even then, only once.

So yeah, watching her now - soft and domestic and kind in ways you didn’t grow up with, it did something strange to you. It made your food taste blander, your chest feel tighter. Made your head buzz with memories you’d tried to file away under “character-building.”

“You’re quiet,” Penny said softly, midway through the meal. “Everything okay?”

You nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired. Practice went long.”

Diana didn’t say anything, but you could feel her watching you.

And then she said, “Heard Utah’s been hot this season. Ranked top ten in fan votes.”

The comment wasn’t loaded, not technically. But with her, it always felt like there was something underneath.

You shrugged. “We’ve been watching film. We’re ready.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “Big crowd. Big moment.”

You smiled tightly, swallowing back the urge to say, I know. You don’t have to remind me.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur - laughter from the kids, Penny’s calm presence anchoring everything, Diana occasionally offering commentary about the league or asking a pointed question about your rotations. You went through the motions. Said the right things. Made Gigi giggle. Gave Derek a few high-fives.

But all you could think about was how this was supposed to be a good thing.

And yet it felt like the walls were closing in.

You loved your family. You really did. But loving them didn’t make it easy. Not when every moment felt like a test you couldn’t afford to fail.

--

TWO DAYS UNTIL UTAH

The gym felt colder than usual that morning. It might’ve been the AC or the way the windows didn’t let in as much light during December, but something about the air felt heavier - like it was pressing against your skin instead of surrounding you. You laced up your shoes slower than usual, your fingers fumbling more than once on the second knot, but you didn’t say anything. No one did.

Everyone was in their own rhythm. Some girls were already warming up on the far court, others stretching in quiet pairs. You ran through your dynamic warm-up like muscle memory, but your thoughts were scattered, caught in a loop that you couldn’t seem to cut through. Your feet moved, your arms swung, but your brain was replaying film, comments, dinner conversations, old memories from Phoenix, like your entire life before USC had decided to come watch this one game. One game. And it had to be perfect.

The pressure wasn’t new. You’d grown up with it, worn it like a second jersey since you were a kid. But lately, it had felt different. Sharper. Not just something to rise to, but something you were afraid might crush you if you weren’t careful.

Practice started the way it always did - shooting drills, a few conditioning bursts, then walkthroughs. You were focused, or at least trying to be, and no one said anything about how quiet you were. Maybe they were used to it by now. Maybe they just assumed it was part of your process. But you could feel it bubbling under your skin, that pressure, that buzzing nervous energy that had been following you around since last night. Since you saw your little brother’s excited face and Diana’s unreadable expression.

By the time scrimmage started, your jaw was already tight from clenching it. You took the court without saying much, nodded at Juju as you settled into your spot on the wing, and locked in, or at least, tried to.

The first few minutes were clean. Crisp ball movement, smart reads, a couple of nice buckets. You even hit a pull-up three that made Coach shout “nice shot!” from the sideline, but it barely registered. Because all you could think was, That won’t matter if we lose on Saturday. That won’t matter if I mess up in front of them.

And then, halfway through the scrimmage, it happened.

One of your teammates - a freshman guard - misread a switch on defense. It wasn’t catastrophic. A miscommunication at most. The kind of mistake that happened all the time in practice and usually led to a quick reset or a calm pointer from Coach. But in that moment, something snapped.

“Are you serious?” you barked, turning around sharply. “You have to see that switch. That’s a wide-open three because you weren’t paying attention.”

The gym went quiet for a beat, just the echo of the ball bouncing once before someone caught it. The freshman blinked, clearly startled, opening her mouth to explain but you didn’t give her the chance.

“You want to win a natty or what?” Your voice rose, sharp and clipped. “Because this game, this game against Utah - this is the one. You think we’re gonna walk into March and magically pull it together if we can’t even run a clean switch on a Wednesday? This is the kind of thing that costs you a season. One mistake. One possession.”

Your chest was heaving, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The whole team was staring at you, no one saying anything. A couple girls looked down at their shoes. One of the seniors shifted uncomfortably. And in the silence, the weight of your outburst settled in like dust—too quiet, too much.

Coach finally spoke, voice even but laced with something cautious. “Alright. Take a second. Everybody reset.”

You didn’t move.

Coach looked at you. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” You reached for the ball and passed it to the nearest teammate, too forcefully.

Everyone got back into position, but the energy had shifted. Nobody was moving the same way. The pace was slower, tighter. Like everyone was suddenly aware of being watched. Like the trust had cracked and hadn’t fully sealed over yet.

Only Juju stayed near you.

She didn’t say anything at first, just stood by your side at the wing during the next possession, eyes flicking between you and the floor like she was working something out in her head. When the ball stopped again, she leaned in a little, keeping her voice low so only you could hear.

“Hey,” she said gently. “I know you’re trying to carry all of it, but you don’t have to.”

You didn’t look at her.

She tried again. “You’re not alone out here. You never were.”

You forced a smile. “I’m just locked in. That’s all.”

“You’re not locked in,” she said, still soft, still careful. “You’re spinning out.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying to laugh it off. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “You’re not sleeping. You’re barely talking to anyone. And now you’re yelling at freshmen over one blown coverage?”

“I’m not yelling.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Alright.”

You shook your head, trying to make a joke out of it. “Maybe I’m just trying to be more like Coach Taurasi. Gotta keep the legacy alive.”

But Juju didn’t laugh.

She didn’t say anything else either, just kept looking at you like she was trying to see straight through you. And that somehow - this was worse. Because it felt like she could see through you, like all the walls and deflections weren’t enough to cover up how much pressure you were under, how badly you wanted this game to go right, how terrified you were of failing in front of your family. Especially Diana.

It was too much.

“Can you just...” you started, then stopped, then looked at her with more bite than you meant to. “Can you worry about yourself, Ju? I said I’m fine.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t snap back. Didn’t look hurt.

Just nodded once, eyes steady. “Okay.”

And that quiet, calm okay cut deeper than anything else could have. Because she believed you weren’t fine - but she was still giving you space. Still showing up, even when you pushed her away.

You turned back toward the scrimmage, swallowing the lump in your throat, the sting behind your eyes.

Because the truth was, you weren’t fine.

You were unraveling. And you weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend otherwise.

--

ONE DAY UNTIL THE UTAH GAME

Something feels off.

Not in a way you can name. Not in a way you can show. Your jumper still looks clean. You’re getting to your spots. You’re locked in during film. No one would guess anything’s wrong just by looking at you.

But you know.

It’s not nerves exactly. Not excitement either. It’s something heavier. Something slower. Like a low drumbeat under your skin that doesn’t stop. Like everything is a half-second behind even though you’re trying to stay ahead of it.

USC is undefeated. That should settle you. Should make you feel strong, confident. You’re part of something real heading into the last game before winter break. The Galen Center’s gonna be packed tonight. National attention. Ranked game. Everyone’s watching.

You don’t have room to miss tonight. Not after what you told her back in August - If I choose USC, I’ll give you 110%. Every damn game.

It wasn’t just a promise. It was a declaration. A challenge.

So no, you can’t lose. Not in front of her. Not when she’s watching like she used to - analyzing everything. Every decision. Every step. Every second you have the ball in your hands.

It’s not just a game anymore. It’s a test. And you're the one who wrote the syllabus.

You wipe your palms on your shorts, try to ignore the way your breath keeps catching in your throat like it's climbing over something just to get out. It’s not like you can talk about it. Not really.

Not to Coach. Not to the trainers. Not even to your teammates. Because everything on the outside looks fine. Better than fine. You’re averaging double figures. Your minutes are solid. Your defense has improved. You’re getting praise from analysts who used to call you overhyped.

But Penny called last night. Said Diana was watching film. Not just a game. Your game. Said she had notes.

And you knew what that meant.

She’s always done that. She rewatches your performances like they’re case studies. Breaks them down on the phone with military precision. No fluff. No sugar. Just cold, clean basketball logic.

You’ve learned to take it. Learned to breathe through it. But it still hits.

Because she doesn’t ask how you’re feeling. She asks why you missed the read on that backdoor cut. Why you pulled up into a double team. Why your closeout was slow by half a beat. She doesn’t mean it cruelly. That’s just how she loves you. She corrects.

And you love her for it. You do.

But tonight, you’re tired.

Not the kind of tired a nap will fix. The kind that settles in your bones and makes everything feel just a little too loud. The kind that makes your chest tighten when you think about her sitting there, watching with her arms crossed, judging whether or not her legacy was wasted on you.

Because nobody says it outright - but it’s always there.

She’s good. But is she Diana good?

You’ve spent your whole life hearing that question in one form or another. And tonight, you’re scared of the answer.

Juju catches your eye from across the gym. Just a look - subtle, knowing.

She sees you. And maybe that’s what makes your skin feel too tight.

Because Juju’s the type to smile through the chaos. To play free. To let the game come to her like it’s a gift. And you? You’re trying to outrun something invisible. Something that sounds like don’t mess this up. Something that feels like you have to be perfect or what was the point of choosing this?

You think about how Diana will be sitting courtside. You think about the promise you made. And you think about what happens if you come up short.

Juju tosses you a ball. “Wanna run through some sets?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t press. Doesn’t say what she’s probably thinking. But she doesn’t need to. You know she sees it. The stiffness in your shoulders. The way you’ve been chewing the inside of your cheek since this morning. The way your voice got quiet when Coach brought up the game plan for Utah’s zone press.

You’re here. You’re focused. You’re fine.

But she knows the difference between your game face and your real face. And right now, you’re wearing the wrong one.

Still, you run the sets. You make your reads. You talk through the actions. You do everything right.

But something in you is clenched. And you don’t know how to let go.

The sun’s starting to dip outside Galen by the time y’all finish running through sets again. The gym lights stay humming above, buzzing faintly like always. You can hear the faint bounce of a stray ball in the far corner, the shuffle of sneakers from some of the younger girls staying after, but mostly it’s just you and Juju now.

And she’s still watching you. Quietly. Like she’s waiting.

You wipe your face with the bottom of your shirt and grab your water bottle. It’s half-warm, the kind that’s been sitting on the sideline too long. You drink anyway.

“Hey,” Juju says eventually, walking over. Not loud. Just enough.

You glance at her, try to play it easy. “Hey.”

She studies you for a second. Her arms are crossed, one wrist lightly taped from something earlier this week. “You good?”

It’s simple, the way she says it. No edge. No accusation. Just a check-in. Not like you had a freak out yesterday.

You nod. “Yeah.”

She gives you a look that’s all eyebrow, skeptical and soft at once. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” You tack on a grin, crooked and automatic. “Why, you worried about me?”

That gets the smallest snort from her, but she doesn’t drop it. “Nah, I just know when someone’s about to play like they got cinderblocks on their shoes.”

You laugh lightly, trying to shove off the weight of that comment. “That your subtle way of saying I’ve been dragging ass?”

She steps a little closer. Not in a threatening way - Juju's never threatening. She’s just… grounded. Present. “No, it’s my way of saying I’ve been where you are. And it sucks when no one calls it out.”

You look down at your shoes. Scuffed just enough to prove you’ve been working. You press your lips together and shake your head like you're just shaking off sweat. “I’m good, Ju. I promise.”

Juju stays there. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

You know she’s not going anywhere. And something about that makes your skin feel too tight.

“I mean,” you add, trying again, this time with a little more bounce, “we’re undefeated. We’re at home. You’re about to drop twenty-five on Utah’s heads. My family’s here. What could I possibly be stressed about?”

“Stop,” Juju says, but it’s not harsh. It’s soft, almost like she’s telling you to breathe. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

“Do what?”

“That.” She gestures vaguely, hands loose at her sides. “The joking thing. The ‘I’m chill, everything’s fine, I got it’ act. You don’t gotta be Diana 2.0 with me.”

And there it is.

The one thing she wasn’t supposed to say out loud.

You freeze for a beat, something hot flashing in your chest before you even have the words. It’s not her fault. You know that. She doesn’t mean anything by it. But your whole body tenses anyway.

“I’m not doing an act,” you say.

Juju raises both palms. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

Your jaw tightens. You don't know why it lands like that. The pressure behind your ribs flares up, sharp and restless.

You pace a little, not even really realizing you are. “I just... look, it’s not that deep. I’ve had a long week. Everyone’s hyped about Utah and I get it, but like… I’m not falling apart or anything. It’s one game.”

Juju watches you closely. Calm. Collected. Still not buying a damn thing.

You sigh through your nose, trying to laugh again. “You really don’t let shit go, huh?”

“Not when I care about it.”

That line lands too hard. You feel it in your teeth.

You turn back to her. “Ju, I’m fine. Seriously.” And then, quieter: “You don’t need to worry about me.”

She tilts her head. “Too late.”

There’s this moment, just a beat of stillness, and it feels like something might break if either of you move.

You snap first.

“Just worry about yourself, Juju,” you say, voice sharp - sharper than you mean it, but you don’t stop it either. “I’m fine, alright? Just drop it.”

It echoes louder in the gym than it should.

A few heads turn from across the court, curious but not too interested. You immediately regret raising your voice, but you’re too far in now.

Juju just blinks once. Then nods. Not upset. Not hurt.

She takes it in like she expected it. Like she understands.

“Okay,” she says softly. “Okay.”

You exhale hard, like you’re trying to burn it off.

But it doesn’t leave you. It just simmers in your chest, guilt and heat tangled up like a knot. She doesn’t walk away. She just picks up her ball and starts dribbling slowly toward the sideline.

And you watch her, feeling every inch of your tension suddenly coil tighter instead of loosening.

Because the thing is - she wasn’t wrong.

You are off. You are feeling it more than you want to admit. And she was trying to help.

But the idea of letting someone help you right now? Of admitting out loud that you’re not okay, that all the weight in your chest is actually starting to mess with your game, that you’re scared of failing in front of the entire country, in front of your family?

It feels impossible.

You sit down at the end of the bench, elbows on your knees, trying to find a breath that feels deep enough. But they all feel shallow.

Juju bounces the ball behind her back. Shoots a lazy three. Swish.

She doesn’t look at you again. Not out of spite.

Just giving you the space you think you want.

And for some reason, that makes your throat burn worse than anything else.

--

The locker room smells like sweat and eucalyptus muscle rub, that familiar post-practice haze hanging thick in the air. You’re not there - you left early, a quick muttered excuse to Coach about needing to ice your knee, even though both of you knew that wasn’t the real reason. The tension had gotten too thick, your voice too thin, and something in you had started to splinter at the edges. So you left. Grabbed your bag and ducked out before anyone could stop you.

But the rest of the team stayed. Some hit the showers, others sprawled out across the benches, still in their socks and compression sleeves. The mood is lighter now, the way it always gets after the grind is over and endorphins start to do their job. Someone’s playing music low from a phone speaker. A couple girls are teasing each other about missed layups and tangled ponytails. Laughing. Loose.

Until the topic shifts.

“Yo, was she okay today?” Kennedy asks, only half-innocent, towel draped over her shoulder. “She looked like she was gonna pop a blood vessel when Coach brought up Utah’s press.”

“She did pop a blood vessel,” Bree snorts, unlacing her sneakers. “Swear I saw it happen. One second she’s normal, the next she’s barking like Coach took her scholarship or something.”

There’s laughter. Loud, harmless in tone, but sharp if you’re listening close enough.

And Juju is listening.

She’s sitting on the bench across from them, quiet, towel around her neck, earbuds looped around her collarbone but not in her ears. She hasn’t said anything yet. Not since practice ended. Not since you left.

“I mean, I get it,” Kennedy continues, like she’s just filling air. “Pressure’s getting to her or whatever. But damn. Girl’s unraveling like an cheap sweater.”

That one gets a laugh too. Juju doesn’t join in.

Instead, something flickers behind her eyes. Not anger - not yet. Just… awareness. A tension drawing up the line of her spine.

“She’s not unraveling,” she says finally, and it’s quiet, but not uncertain.

The room softens a little, like it knows that voice. Juju doesn’t raise it often, but when she does, people listen.

Bree blinks. “I mean, she kinda is.”

“She’s had a bad week,” Juju replies, evenly. “That doesn’t mean she’s falling apart.”

“Okay, but you gotta admit-”

“No,” Juju cuts in, sharper this time. “I don’t have to admit anything.”

Now there’s a shift. Bare legs go still. Water bottles pause mid-sip. Kennedy quirks a brow, not defensive yet, just surprised. Juju almost never pushes back like this.

“She didn’t yell because she’s some ticking time bomb,” Juju says, standing now, towel forgotten on the bench. “She yelled because she’s under pressure and no one’s really been checking on her for real. And yeah, it wasn’t cool. But it also wasn’t some unforgivable thing. Y’all are acting like she spit on the Trojan logo.”

There’s a beat of silence, awkward and heavy.

“I’m just saying,” Bree offers, slower now, “it’s not that deep. We’re just talking.”

Juju crosses her arms. “Then maybe talk like teammates, not commentators. This isn’t some Twitter thread. That girl shows up to every practice, every lift, every film session. She works her ass off. She’s not out here slacking or starting fights or acting like she’s better than anyone.”

“She yelled at you, though,” Naya points out, voice more tentative now. “Aren’t you, like… mad?”

Juju shakes her head, jaw tight. “No. Because I know it wasn’t really about me and because I’m not gonna sit here and clown someone who’s clearly struggling just because it’s easier than asking what’s wrong.”

That one lands. Hard.

A few girls drop their gazes, suddenly busy with shoelaces or their phones.

Kennedy tries to lighten it again, maybe to save face. “Damn, Ju. Didn’t know you were out here defending her honor like that.”

Bree smirks. “Lowkey romantic.”

“Shut up,” Juju mutters, but it’s too late.

The comments spiral just a little. All in good fun, or so they claim.

“Is this, like, a thing?” someone teases.

“She yours now?”

“Gotta admit, the tension was kinda sexy-”

Juju doesn’t respond.

Because in the space between those jokes, something cold and startling is creeping up her spine. A realization. One she’s tried to ignore all week. Maybe longer.

She’s not just mad at them for the way they talked about you. She’s mad because it made her want to protect you.

And not in the team captain, ride-or-die, squad-unity kind of way.

It’s… softer than that. And messier. The kind of thing she doesn’t let herself feel, especially not about you. You, with your sharp game face and the way you never ask for help. You, who sniped at her like she was the problem. You, who left the gym with your shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring.

You, who she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about.

Not since the second you looked at her like she’d seen too much.

She swallows hard, pushing that thought deep down into her chest like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s not new and terrifying.

“Nah,” she says finally, forcing a smirk as she grabs her slides. “Y’all are stupid. I’m just not cool with teammates talking shit, that’s all.”

“Mm-hm,” Bree hums, unconvinced but willing to let it go.

Juju heads toward the showers, but the air feels heavier now, like the room shifted in a way no one wants to acknowledge.

She keeps walking, jaw tight, heart pounding against her ribs like it’s begging her to admit something. Something she’s not ready for.

She’s not in love with you. She’s not.

She just cares. She just… sees you. That’s all.

But the echo of your voice, the way it cracked when you told her to drop it, the way you couldn’t look her in the eye, it sticks. And she knows.

If she keeps caring like this, she’s going to have to deal with what that means.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she lets the water run hot over her face until the locker room clears, and she doesn't let herself think about the way she wanted to reach for you and say something she’s never said out loud.

Not yet.

--

GAME DAY

You wake up on game day before your alarm even has a chance to buzz. It's not nerves, exactly. It’s something else, something heavier. You lie there for a while, staring up at the ceiling of your dorm, sheets kicked down past your ankles, that pressure sitting on your chest like it's been waiting all night to smother you.

It’s the Utah game. Big one. Eyes-on-it kind of big.

Your phone lights up with team messages. Graphics with your faces. Hype videos. “Let’s eat today.” “Showtime.” You double-tap a few, type a half-hearted Let’s gooo, and toss the phone to the side.

No one knows how close you are to losing it.

You’ve been spiraling all week. You know it. The outburst in practice, the early exits, the way you’ve been tiptoeing around Juju like something broke and neither of you knows how to fix it. But today isn’t about that.

Today is about pretending.

You pull on your uniform like armor. Tape your wrists tighter than usual, like it'll keep the insides from leaking out. You tell yourself you’ll be the version of you that everybody expects - the one on all the posters, with the clean stat lines and the smart passes. The leader. The jokester. The one who flips the switch and makes magic happen under pressure.

The cameras are already around by the time you walk into the arena. The lighting’s too bright. The buzz in the gym is loud, even with just warmups going. Your team trickles into the locker room, talking fast, energy vibrating off the walls.

You walk in with a grin pasted on.

“You ladies ready to go viral?” you crack, winking at one of the freshmen.

They laugh. It’s easy. Too easy.

Coach says a few words, gives the scouting recap, says Utah’s going to press early, play hard, try to get in our heads. No surprise. You nod along like you’re locked in. You can feel Juju watching you from the opposite bench. You haven’t really spoken to her since practice. Not about it, anyway.

But you feel her eyes like heat on your cheek. You don’t look.

When Coach asks if anyone has anything to say, everyone turns to you. Like they always do.

You stand. Blow out a breath. Clap your hands.

“Alight, listen up.” You shift your weight from one foot to the other, exaggerating your usual bravado. “They’ve been talking about this game all damn week. About how Utah’s supposed to have this ‘elite defense’ and how they’re gonna take us out at home. But they forgot one thing.”

You pause for dramatic effect, raising your brows. “We’re them.”

The girls laugh, a couple whistles. You keep going.

“Every single person in this room earned their spot. They don’t hand out these jerseys. They don’t give us cameras because we’re cute, they give us cameras cause we can hoop.”

More nods. More little hums of agreement. You’re working them now.

“So I don’t care who they got on that bench. I don’t care how loud their fans are. I don’t care if I gotta put my body on the line - if we all do this together, they’re not walking out of here with a win.”

You finish with a loud clap, a bark of “LET’S GO” that echoes off the walls.

It works. They erupt, bumping shoulders, hyping each other up. And when you sit back down, you smile like your heart isn’t pounding out of rhythm in your chest.

Juju’s still looking at you.

You give her a crooked grin and say, “Don’t worry. I got my head on straight.”

But that’s a lie.

Because the second the game tips off, you realize how off you feel.

Your legs feel heavy. Like running through sand. The timing’s just… wrong. You’re late on rotations. You’re rushing passes. You hesitate on open shots, second-guessing yourself when you usually play by instinct.

Juju gives you that look, that small, subtle “you good?” glance after a clumsy turnover in the second quarter. You nod too fast.

She doesn't believe you.

And the rhythm between you, the one that’s usually automatic, starts to crack. Passes come a second too late. Cuts are missed. On a backdoor play you’ve run together a hundred times, you pull up when she expects you to drive. The ball bounces out of bounds.

You hear the crowd murmur. The announcers probably already crafting the narrative.

You, unraveling. The second coming of Taurasi, unraveling under real pressure?

Utah plays rough. They’re built for that. Physical and fast and annoying as hell. You get bumped more than usual, slapped across the arm, tugged off balance. But you don’t complain. You play through it. Until you stop playing smart.

You go for a charge when you shouldn’t. Reach in when you’re already off-balance. You start playing angry, and that’s not your game. That’s never been your game.

Fourth quarter. Four minutes left. Tight score.

You're chasing a Utah guard on a drive - number twelve, the one who’s been talking shit all game. You try to body her up, but you’re off-angle. You go high when you should’ve gone low. Your elbow flies. There’s contact.

And then there’s the crack.

It’s not bone, not anything serious - at least, not in the way it should be. It’s the crunch of cartilage and pressure, the sudden burn in your nose, and then the warmth. That kind of warmth that only means one thing. It drips before you can process it. A fat, wet drop splashes onto your jersey, right over your number. Then another. And another.

You're bleeding.

“Ref,” someone yells. It might be Juju. It might be the Utah bench. You’re not sure because the ringing in your ears has started.

You blink. Blood trickles from your nose down your lip, catches on the corner of your mouth. You wipe it with the back of your hand, smear it across your face and onto your sleeve. You don’t even realize it until a teammate grabs you - Kiki, maybe and says something about a sub, about getting looked at, about, “You’re bleeding, you’re bleeding.”

You shake your head. You wave them off.

“I’m fine,” you say. Your voice is hoarse and too loud. “I’m fine.”

You're not.

You're dizzy. You can feel the heartbeat in your nose, like a drumbeat behind your eyes. The blood keeps coming. The official calls for a trainer. You try to brush it off, plead with the coach, but she’s already signaling to the bench. Juju’s up before you can say anything.

And then there’s chaos.

You're walking off, jaw clenched, still trying to convince yourself this isn’t a big deal - that it’s just a nosebleed, not the end of the world. But you see Juju stop mid-play, pivot toward number twelve and let her have it. You don’t hear every word, but her tone cuts through everything else - sharp, furious.

“That’s how you play? That’s who you are?” she snaps, and the ref gets between them before it escalates.

The crowd is roaring. The Utah player is yelling back. Juju is still barking. It’s loud and hot and frantic and suddenly you feel like you can’t breathe.

You slump down on the bench, and someone tosses you a towel. You press it hard against your face, not gently - rough, punishing, like maybe you can make it all go away if you press hard enough. You don’t want to cry. You won’t cry. But your vision is already blurry. Your throat is tight. You’re swallowing fast and hard, like that’ll keep everything inside.

The trainer says something, but you don't completely register it.

“You need stitches.”

“I said I’m fine.”

You’re watching Juju argue from the sidelines, watching her swing on defense and hustle for the ball and throw you these quick, panicked glances like she wants to come to you, but she won’t let herself. You want to meet her halfway. You want to be okay. But you’re not.

You’re spiraling.

The game presses on. You keep the towel pressed to your face. You nod at the coaches like you’re paying attention but you're not absorbing anything. Every time your eyes flick up to the scoreboard, your stomach drops. Two minutes. Then one. You're still on the bench. Blood on your shorts. Blood in your mouth.

The buzzer sounds.

Final score: Utah 84. You: 82.

You don't even remember the last play.

The crowd erupts for them. Cheers and celebration and Utah players rushing the court. Confetti falls. Cameras flash. You sit on the bench like a statue, still holding the blood-soaked towel to your nose, which has finally stopped bleeding but somehow still aches.

It hits you all at once.

You lost.

Because of you.

You should’ve played through it. You should’ve insisted harder. You should’ve been smarter - lower on defense, tighter with your arms, better with your body. You should’ve never let her get the drive. Never let her get in your head.

You start to tremble.

Your chest seizes. Your throat closes. Your vision blurs, not from blood this time but from the tears that you’ve been holding back for what feels like the entire game, the entire week, the entire season. Maybe your entire life. You don’t blink. If you blink, they’ll fall. If they fall, it’s over.

You stand. Your legs are wobbly, but you start walking away from the bench, away from your team, away from the noise and the lights and the confusion. You don’t know where you’re going, only that you need to move. If you stay, you’re going to lose it in front of everyone. And that can’t happen. Not again.

Down the tunnel.

Past the locker room.

Into the first empty hallway you can find.

You press your back to the cold cement wall and let yourself slide down it until you’re sitting, knees to your chest. You bury your face in your hands - still sticky with blood, you can smell it and that’s when it happens.

The unraveling.

It starts with the shaking. Your hands first, then your arms, then your whole body. You can’t stop it. Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps. You try to take a deep one, but it catches halfway, turns into a sob. You bite your fist. You try to muffle the sound. It’s no use.

Your heart is pounding like it’s trying to break through your chest. You’re sweating but freezing. Your ears ring, and your vision dims at the edges.

This is your fault.

You let a nosebleed ruin the game.

You let your team down.

You let yourself down.

You’re the reason they lost.

You’re the reason the cameras caught Juju yelling and Diana losing her mind and the entire game spinning out like a car on black ice.

You press your head to your knees and try to disappear. You want to crawl out of your skin. You want to rewind time. You want to vanish. You want to scream. All of it. Everything. All at once.

It’s not just about this game.

It’s about every game. Every practice. Every comment.

Every moment this week where you haven’t felt good enough. Haven’t felt like you. You’ve been pretending - acting like you're fine, like you're focused, like you belong. But the cracks are showing now. You're not holding it together anymore.

What if this was a mistake? What if everyone was right - you are just Diana 2.0, that’s all you are. That's all you’ll ever be. You should’ve just listened to Diana, went to UConn. Did you really think you’d ever be something outside of the Taurasi name?

You're spiraling.

You try to count your breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four.

It doesn’t help.

The floor feels like it’s spinning underneath you. The hallway is too quiet. You can hear the echo of your breath and the shaking in your limbs and the sob that rips out of your throat when you finally give up trying to hold it in.

You feel pathetic.

You feel like a failure.

You feel like if you sit here long enough, maybe no one will find you. Maybe they’ll forget you. Maybe that’s easier than facing what just happened.

But then, faintly, you hear footsteps.

Voices.

Someone’s calling your name.

You flinch.

You pull your hoodie over your head, press your back harder against the wall, as if it’ll swallow you whole. You’re not ready to be seen. You’re not ready for Juju or Diana or the coaches or anyone. You’re not ready for the sympathy or the disappointment or the “you did your best” lies.

You just want to be alone.

So you stay still.

You close your eyes.

You let the world keep spinning without you, heart still thudding in your ears, chest still caving in on itself, and for the first time in a long time - you let yourself fall apart completely, completely unravel.

The second Juju turns that corner and sees you - crumpled on the floor, hoodie over your head, body shaking like a leaf in the wind - something inside her breaks. This wasn’t the girl she knew back in October, in the beginning of the season.

She doesn’t think. She moves.

She drops to her knees beside you like gravity pulled her there, like the weight of how much she cares knocked her flat. And she doesn’t even hesitate - doesn’t ask, doesn’t pause, just reaches for you, arms open and steady.

“Hey,” she whispers, soft and warm and everything you need. “Hey, I got you. I got you, okay?”

At first, you flinch. Like you think you’re not allowed to be touched right now. Like you think you're not deserving of comfort. But Juju doesn’t pull back. She stays there, solid as ever even when you shake your head, even when you try to apologize through the tears that won’t stop.

“No,” she says, her voice firmer this time. “No, it’s not your fault.”

She says it again.

And again.

Until she feels your fists uncurl just a little.

Until your head drops against her shoulder.

Until your breath starts to hitch instead of sob.

“You didn’t lose that game,” she tells you, pressing her cheek to the side of your head. “A nosebleed didn’t lose that game. We win as a team, we lose as a team. That’s the deal. You don’t carry this alone.”

Your hands are clutching the front of her jersey like it’s the only thing tethering you to the world.

Juju tightens her arms around you. Keeps you there. Keeps talking, soft and steady, because she knows if she stops, you'll spiral again.

“Your mom doesn’t hate you,” she murmurs. “Diana is probably tearing the refs a new one right now, not thinking for a second that this was on you. She’s your mom. She loves you. She just... she gets intense. You know that. But you didn’t let her down. You didn’t let anyone down.”

You’re shaking again. She holds you closer.

“And USC doesn’t hate you,” she says, more fiercely now. “They love you. We love you. No one’s looking at you thinking, ‘wow, she blew it.’ We’re thinking you gave everything until your face bled and you still wanted to play. You never quit. That’s what we see. That’s what I see.”

Your breath stutters. Slows. Not normal yet, not easy but enough that Juju can feel your weight starting to shift, starting to relax into her.

And God - Juju doesn’t even realize how tightly her chest has been wound until this moment. Until you melt against her like you're finally letting go. Like all month you’ve been carrying this pressure, this legacy, this image you think you have to live up to, and now - finally, it slips a little. You let her take some of it. You let yourself be held.

And Juju’s heart? It soars.

She strokes your back, slow and rhythmic, grounding you with each pass of her hand.

Because you’re not just Diana Taurasi’s daughter, and you’re not just some phenom dropped into the starting lineup with too many expectations stitched into the seams of your jersey.

You’re you.

The girl who wears her headphones too loud and eats all the hot fries before anyone else can get to them. The one who texts Juju memes at 2 a.m. even when they’re rooming two doors down. The one who overanalyzes film and underestimates herself, despite the overconfident exterior she tries to uphold.

You’re not trying to take Juju’s spot.

You’re just trying to survive it all.

And for the first time - she sees it.

Not the image. Not the pressure. Not the competition.

You.

You, with your bleeding nose and your bloodshot eyes and your whole heart on your sleeve.

You, who are still so soft under all that armor.

You, who let yourself fall apart in front of her and maybe that’s the most honest thing you’ve done all month.

Juju holds you like she means it. Because she does.

She presses her forehead gently to yours and lets the silence stretch, warm and safe.

You’re not saying anything now. You’re too tired to think, too wrung out to speak. But you’re still here. You haven’t pulled away.

You’re not some perfect little legacy player sent to outshine her. And Juju - well, she wants to protect you.

Not because you’re weak. But because you're finally letting someone in. And because she knows what it’s like to try and be everything for everyone and still feel like it's never enough.

So she stays.

She holds you like the world isn’t spinning, like this hallway is the only place that matters.

And even when your breathing evens out and your body stops trembling and your death grip on her jersey loosens, she still doesn’t let go.

Because for the first time all month, you’re letting her carry some of it.

And Juju’s not going to drop you.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Ch.4 — jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・ ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 +explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, enemies with benefits ❥chapter warnings/tags: Drinking, Swearing, Fighting, multiple uses of the middle finger, some medical talk, Smoking,.........SMUT, making out, heavy petting, dirty talk, protected sex (WRAP IT UP), cum eating, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f.receiving), cowgirl, JK a little obsessed with your body (squint), somewhat pathetic jk? yeah its really hot and intense just trust me, like the tension is so.... Oh it all sorts of confusing for everyone's feelings. This chapter had ME giggling ❥word-count: 15.1k (hehehe) ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the taglist! .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

You had hoped—no—prayed, that your gas station encounter with Jungkook would be a one off encounter. You had pushed it from your mind and tucked it away because it probably would be the only time it would happen. It has been kicking up old memories these days. Old frustrations and annoyances as well. 

Many stories for another time, but college was on your mind now. How everything played out… you still to this day have no idea what set Jungkook off so bad. 

Sighing, you stirred your noodles in your ramen cup, eyes tracing little circles as you zoned out in thought. This side of the hospital was quieter, and you enjoyed the break room here. A small, cozy spot where you could actually hear yourself think. You were so lost in memories that you didn’t notice someone else had walked in.

“Y/N?”

You blinked and looked up, nearly dropping your chopsticks. Dr. Kim Seokjin stood beside you, his tall frame practically radiating energy. His white coat was open, slightly wrinkled as if he’d been speed-walking for hours, and he was flashing you the kind of grin that could probably be seen from space.

“Dr. Kim,” you said, straightening up, a polite smile forming. You’d wanted to talk with him yesterday, but schedules had kept you both busy. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning.” He laughed and held a hand out to you in a theatrical manner. “I know we’ve met before but thought I should reintroduce myself. Properly this time!” 

“Oh, no problem, sir. I feel like I know everything about you already, the others have been filling me in.” You took his hand, and his grip was warm and reassuring, with just a hint of that showmanship flair he couldn’t seem to hide.

“And I’ve been seeing your work in the charts,” he said, barely pausing for breath. “Your attention to detail is phenomenal! I’m really sorry I haven’t been around to welcome you properly! Vic’s thrilled to have you up here—I get why,” He puttered around the small room to the counters, taking an apple. “And listen, my office is always open if you need anything. Anything. Or just go and pester Yoongi,” he added with a gleam in his eye. “He needs a good pestering every now and then.”

You laugh, nodding. “Oh I have no issue bothering Yoongi.” 

“Perfect, you'll do great up here.” Tossing the apple up and catching it smoothly, he began to take a few small steps back out of the room, “Wish I could stay and chat more, but surgery calls. But hey, we’ll talk later this week. I promise!”

Right then, he bumped backward straight into Vic, who was stepping into the room with a look that could cut through any excuse Seokjin could come up with. She gave him a once-over, crossing her arms and tilting her head.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to surgery, Dr. Kim?” She asked, her voice dry as sandpaper.

Seokjin’s face twisted into a pout. “Wow, not even a good morning, Dr. Kim, you miracle-worker? Or maybe, how was your life-changing surgery last night?” He took an exaggerated bite out of his apple, grinning at her with a mischievous gleam.

Vic rolled her eyes but humored him, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Good morning, Dr. Kim, miracle-worker. How was your life-changing surgery last night? Now can you get to the surgical floor before they decide to operate on you instead?”

“Fine,” Seokjin continued to pout as he made his way out of the room, calling back. “I’ll have you know I saved at least seven lives last night!” 

“Great, now go save seven more!” Vic let out an exasperated laugh, closing the break room door. You laughed a little bit taking another bite of your ramen. Vic pulled up a chair in front of you, slumping down with a heavy sigh. 

“He certainty makes your life easy, huh?” You tease Vic, and she laughs. 

“Oh, definitely,” Vic replied, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her fond smile. “But he’s a good guy, even with all the theatrics. A great surgeon.”

“I believe it.” You said. Even though it was only your second day up here you had already heard so many good things. You knew Seokjin somewhat but now you felt like you really knew him—even though you had maybe two conversations. 

Vic leaned on her hand, watching you with a glint of curiosity. “Please tell me you have an interesting story or something to distract me with. I’m about to lose my mind doing the same rounds all day.”

You snort, dragging out a long sigh for effect., “I ran into Jungkook last night.” 

Her eyes lit up, and she sat up straight. “Oh really?”

“Turns out he works close to where I live. We bumped into each other at the store by my place.” You scrunch your face up in mild annoyance. 

“Booty call on demand. That’s convenient.” Vic laughs to herself but can tell you aren’t so amused. “Sorry, so was it weird?” 

You paused, “A little? He… wanted to talk about it.” 

“Oh, interesting.” Vic scooted her chair closer to you, like you were going to reveal some big secret. 

So, you told her everything—not that there was much to tell, but Vic was hanging on every word as if it were the best gossip she'd heard all week. You admitted you were hoping it was a one-off encounter; the idea of walking a couple of extra blocks just to avoid the place was tempting.

“How fun!” Vic leaned back in her seat and rested her arms behind her head. 

You roll your eyes, “You and I have different definitions of fun.”

Vic smirked, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Every time you guys meet, it’s like God flips a coin. Fight or... you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully, her grin widening as you kicked her ankle under the table.

“Stop.” You stood up, mostly eager to escape her relentless teasing.

You pushed the thought of Jungkook out of your mind, spending the rest of the day diving into your rounds. By the time you finished, exhaustion hit you full force, but you decided you needed a quick pick-me-up. Maybe a small snack and an energy drink for tomorrow would do you some good. So you stopped by the convenience store near your apartment again today, hoping for a quiet, uneventful errand.

Well that was up until–

“Oh god damn it,” you muttered under your breath, spotting Jungkook at the end of one of the aisles. He noticed you at the same moment, blinking as if the universe had just pulled a fast one on him. 

“You’re kidding right?” Jungkook whispered into the air, looking up to the ceiling like he was talking to something else. Of course you would be here again, he had purposefully decided to show up at a different time in the hopes he wouldn’t run into you again but here you were. 

You quickly grabbed your snack, brushing past him without a word, darting to the drinks for a swift escape. Jungkook watched for a second before going back to his shopping, both of you clearly trying to act unaffected. After rushing to the counter, you checked out and slipped out of the store as quickly as you’d arrived. Behind you, Jungkook let out a quiet sigh, relieved, mentally vowing to stick to later store runs to avoid the awkwardness.

But the universe, it seemed, had other plans. The next day, the same scenario unfolded.

As you walked out of the store later the next evening, your steps faltered when you saw him entering. His expression mirrored your own—the wide-eyed disbelief, followed by something more annoyed and inpatient.

“Oh, Jesus.” Jungkook muttered, glancing heavenward as if to say seriously, again?

Your eyes narrowed, your disbelief morphing quickly into irritation. “Stalking me now, Jungkook?” Without missing a beat, you bumped your shoulder into his as you passed. Deliberately harder than necessary.

Jungkook snorted, throwing you an unimpressed glance. “You aren’t even worth the breath it would take to come up with an insult,” he muttered, turning away as if the encounter bored him.

You looked back, a mocking smile playing on your lips. “Disappointing,” you said, tone dripping with satisfaction. “Your comebacks are getting lazy.”

Jungkook just went inside, not even bothering with a response. He couldn’t help but think three times in the same week? This would be the most you and Jungkook had seen each in such a short period in five years. What kind of joke was this? Was this some kind of punishment for your ill-advised night together? Did the two of you tip some kind of karmic scale somewhere so you were doomed to keep running into each other? Whatever it was, Jungkook could only hope that this was the last time. 

Except it didn’t end there, cause the next evening–

You rounded the corner of an aisle only to freeze, spotting Jungkook standing by the drink fridge again, his back to you. He turned just as you did, his face falling into an exasperated glare. “Okay, now I really need a restraining order,” you said, folding your arms with an annoyed sigh.

“Funny, I’ve been nice enough to come at different times every day. Maybe I need the restraining order.” He pressed his tongue against his cheek, clearly just as irked. He yanked a drink from the fridge with unnecessary force, glancing at you as if daring you to counter him.

You shook your head, unimpressed. “I live in this neighborhood, so if anyone should be giving up their convenience store privileges, it’s you.”

Jungkook let out a dry laugh, stepping closer. “Maybe it’s fate’s way of telling you to find a new place.”

You scoffed, holding his gaze. “Please. If anything, fate’s just telling you that I was here first. So maybe you’re the one who needs to find a new store.”

“You’re not nearly as scary as you think you are, you know that?” He smirked, but there was a hint of challenge in his eyes. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Keep testing me, and you might find out just how scary I can be.” Grabbing your drink, you attempted to brush past him, but he shifted just enough to subtly stick his foot out. The move was barely noticeable—until you tripped, stumbling forward. You whipped around, eyes blazing with white-hot rage, only to see Jungkook with a look of pure satisfaction, like he’d just won some unspoken game.

“Oh, whoops.” he said, his voice dripping with childish amusement. Jungkook never thought in his grown age he would be intentionally tripping someone else, but he was always surprised when it came to your interactions.

“Seriously?” you hissed, glaring at him.

Jungkook shrugged, clearly unfazed as he made his way toward the counter, all too pleased with himself. “Careful, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

You let out a scoff, not caring about the stares from the other customers as you muttered under your breath, “Fuck you.”

Jungkook looked back with an infuriatingly casual grin, then quickly left with a wave before you had the chance to retaliate. He was out of the store and gone before you could fully process the whole interaction, leaving you fuming and oddly rattled, wondering just how far this little war would go.

The tension between you two was unmistakably intensifying, each encounter adding to the growing irritation. Determined to avoid him, you decided to go to the store way earlier than usual the next day. You’d planned it all out in your head, you scoped out the store through the window, even checked up and down the street for any sign of him. It had appeared to be all clear. All you needed was some ibuprofen so this should be quick. Confident, you headed on inside, grabbed what you needed and checked out, hoping to finally break the streak of unfortunate coincidences.

But, of course, fate was not done testing you.

As you stepped out of the store, bag in hand, you glanced left and there he was. This time, he had a friend with him, chatting casually as they strolled down the street. Jungkook spotted you at the same moment, his face shifting from casual amusement to a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

A laugh escaped your lips despite yourself, part amusement and part resignation. The absurdity of it was almost impressive at this point. Jungkook’s friend noticed the interaction, giving him a curious look. Jungkook just sighed, visibly exhausted by the constant run-ins. Now Jimin got to experience this chance encounter.

At this point, you’d completely abandoned any pretense of politeness. Without breaking stride, you lifted both hands, middle fingers raised, and started walking backward up the street, smirking as you saw the irritation flicker across Jungkook’s face.

“Real mature.” Jungkook called, shaking his head.

You shrugged, calling back, “I go high when you go low.” With that, you turned on your heel and continued down the street. Jungkook sighed, grateful this encounter hadn’t escalated further.

Jimin watched you walk away, eyebrows raised. “You gonna explain what that was all about?”

“That,” Jungkook muttered, heading into the store, “was a usual encounter with Y/N.”

“Oh… oh.” Jimin nodded, connecting the dots. He and Jungkook had been friends for ages, so although he hadn’t met you before, he’d definitely heard tales of you—and now he was seeing it all firsthand. “You really weren’t joking.”

Jungkook snorted, grabbing a snack. “I couldn’t make this up if I tried.”

Jungkook began to give Jimin a quick rundown of the week’s events as they walked back to the office after getting a few things. Jungkook describes each encounter more ridiculous than the last, his annoyance apparent. Jimin’s grin only grew wider with every detail, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Wait, so you’ve really been running into each other all week?”

“Like clockwork,” Jungkook muttered, exasperated. “It’s like she knows exactly when I’ll be here.”

“Well if you go missing, I’ll know where to start looking for you.” Jimin joked and Jungkook brushed him off. 

It wasn’t a joke. If Jungkook did go missing you probably would be the first suspect. You weren’t too far off from wanting to strangle him usually so it would be justified. 

Now it was Saturday and you were back at work so you decided to just avoid the store altogether today, no way you could run into him if you just didn't show up. Plus tonight you would be going out. Ash and you planned to go to an emo night and you couldn’t wait, it was your reward for making it through this week for sure.

Still, you found your thoughts drifting to Jungkook’s irritatingly smug face as you went about your work. You were so distracted that you barely noticed Ji-eun watching you, a touch of concern in her eyes.

“You okay, kid?” Ji-eun asked, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. She tilted her head, studying you.

You blinked, realizing you’d zoned out completely. “Sorry,” you said with a sheepish smile as you noted her blood pressure on your tablet. “I got so distracted I didn’t even realize you were talking.”

She laughed, waving a hand as if brushing away your apology. “Oh, don’t be silly. I was just rambling about my kids anyway.” She gave you a knowing look. “But I can tell something’s weighing on you.”

You were a little taken aback by her question, “Oh it’s just personal things.” 

“Well I’ve got loads of advice if you need some. I’ve nothing better to do these days.” She gestured around at the obvious surroundings, she must have been getting bored as even though its only been a few days. The room had slowly been filling up with crochet projects, the corpes of the failed pieces had piled up in the corner of the room. “Come on, you can tell me while you finish up.” 

You chuckled, typing a few notes into your tablet. “It’s complicated… there’s this guy.”

Ji-eun cuts you off with a knowing smile, “Ain't it always a guy.” 

You laugh but shake your head, “Not with me usually. It’s also not like that… this guy is seriously just–” You paused, your mouth in a tight line and your shoulders rising just at the thought of Jungkook, “an absolute nightmare.”

“Nightmare? He sounds intense. What did he do to earn that title?” Ji-eun asked, her eyes wide with amused curiosity.

“Now that is a much longer and complicated story.” You sigh, continuing to move around her, beginning to inspect her skin. 

“Again. I have all the time in the world.” Ji-eun really was desperate for a good story, and honestly you were a little desperate to lay it all out on the table again. 

 You found yourself more willing to spill the details than you expected. “We knew each other in college but had a big blowout. Then ever since, we fight and argue and it sometimes borders on physical altercations. I’ve never met anyone who can get under my skin like he does. But we ended up as the maid of honor and best man at our friends’ wedding, and I thought maybe, just maybe, we’d be able to be civil.”

“And?” she prompted, amused.

You shook your head, moving to examine her skin as part of her routine. “We just fought again. Normally, I can avoid him in most situations, but this week? I’ve run into him every single day. It’s like he’s popping up everywhere.”

“Sounds like the universe is really having a field day with the two of you.” She grinned at you childishly.

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you checked Ji-eun’s arms and made sure there were no signs of discoloration or swelling. “Feels like it. I keep turning corners, and there he is, just… waiting to ruin my day.”

Ji-eun’s smile softened as she watched you, nodding as you recounted the drama. “Sounds exhausting,” she said gently. “Sometimes, we end up running into people like that for a reason though. Especially because it sounds like there is major unfinished business here.”

You sighed, moving down to check the circulation in her legs, grateful that she didn’t seem to mind your rambling. “Oh, there’s a reason all right—to remind me that my patience has limits.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Believe me, I’ve had my share of people who made my blood boil. But, you know, it made me realize that some people test us because they see something in us. Sometimes, even if it’s frustrating, it’s a chance to learn something.”

“I don’t think there’s anything he sees in me other than a chance to annoy me. It’s been five years of this so if I was supposed to learn something I would hope I would have figured it out by now.” You note a few things in her chart. Ji-eun hadn’t been showing really any signs of fatigue lately but you could tell that she was shaking a little bit when holding up her legs. 

Ji-eun tilted her head, her tone thoughtful as she continued. “Sometimes, we’re put in front of the same person over and over because it’s life’s way of pushing us toward something or to be better. And that doesn’t have to mean romance—it could mean resolving something. Or maybe finding a way to make peace? Maybe this is the universe saying hey, heres you opportunity to fix everything?”

You scoffed softly, checking her pulse and nodding as it came back steady. “I don’t think peace is anywhere in our future.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Just don’t let him control your day-to-day. One lesson I’ve learned is to live for what makes you happy, not what keeps you frustrated. You don’t have to let him have so much power over your mood. He’s just a stupid boy after all. Sometimes, it’s just about saying to yourself, He’s not worth it.”

You considered her words, hesitating as you updated her notes on your tablet. She was right; it was draining to have Jungkook on your mind constantly, even if it was just anger. Maybe part of what frustrated you was how much headspace he took up, how he seemed to affect your peace.

“I guess I hadn’t realized how much he had been ruining my mood.” You let out a long dragged out sigh, “You are pretty good with the advice.”

“I know!” She flashed you a big cheesy grin again, immediately improving your mood. “I don’t have any daughters so it’s nice to grant what wisdom I have to someone else. About boys and other things.”

 You finish up with Ji-eun and you continue about the rest of your day in a much better mood. She was absolutely right, Jungkook was an idiot and you should not let him ruin your mood. After all you finally were going to spend a fun evening out with Ash. So you picked yourself up and pushed through the rest of the day to get to this evening. Ash would be coming over since she wanted to steal some clothes and make up for you. 

The two of you would be joining Hoseok for an emo night at the club you went too for Melanie's Bachelorette party. You had really been looking forward too it all week. It would be your reward for surviving Jungkook. 

Once you made it home, Ash had already arrived and was waiting outside. She made herself very comfortable shuffling through your closet like she lived here herself. You had already picked out an outfit aside so now you were really just waiting on Ash to make some decisions. In her rummaging you decided to call Melanie, filling her in on your eventful week with satan's spawn. 

“I think you’re being just a tiny bit dramatic,” Melanie said, her voice crackling through the phone as you absentmindedly scrolled on your phone. Namjoon and Melanie were still on their honeymoon but Namjoon wasn’t feeling good so she had a few minutes to talk. 

“I don’t think shopping at the same convenience store is going to kill you,” Melanie continued, the patience in her tone borderline condescending. 

“You don’t know that!” You protested, “For all I know, he could hex the place. Next time I walk in, bam! Up in flames.”

“Highly unlikely,” she said, her voice dry.

“I mean,” Ash pipes up from inside your closet, having pulled out a dress only to toss it back in. “You can’t completely rule it out, though.”

“See? Ash gets it.”

Melanie sighed. “Fine. If you go back to the convenience store and spontaneously combust, I will issue a formal statement in your obituary that I was wrong.”

“It’s the least you could do,” you said, throwing in an exaggerated sniffle for dramatic effect. You could practically hear Melanie’s eye-roll through the phone.

“Still, it’s kind of weird that you’ve lived there this long and never run into each other.” she muses.

Ash agrees from your closet. “Jungkook’s been working at that firm for like two years. It’s shocking your paths haven’t crossed.”

“It’s a sick, twisted joke is what it is,” you huff, folding a pair of jeans that Ash discarded. “Can’t believe he tripped me.”

“Again, dramatic,” Melanie muttered. 

“Yeah yeah enough about me. When do you guys get back? I need some Melanie time.” This was probably the longest stretch of period you had gone without seeing Melanie. You had been attached at the hip since you met basically.

“Tomorrow night, we will be in super late. Someone wanted to be back to work on Monday.” Her tone clearly pointed towards Namjoon. You let out a snort. It’s been two weeks since the wedding so Namjoon was probably itching to get back to his routine. 

Ash came out of your closet with a dress and leather jacket combo, “How does this look?” 

You think for a moment, “If you accessorize it I think it will be great.” Which you had plenty of accessories to dress it up just right. You also needed her to decide because it was already late and you two needed to start getting ready. 

“I can’t believe you guys are going out without me. You must hate me.” Melanie whines on the other side of the phone and you laugh at her. 

“You are in paradise. With the love of your life,” you laugh, plopping your phone down on the bed as you slip on your outfit. “I would take that over an emo night any day.”

“No, you guys hate me,” she insists, fake-crying loudly into the phone. You and Ash exchange amused glances.

“Aw, poor baby,” Ash coos into the phone, laughing as she rummages through your jewelry box.

After some playful back-and-forth, Melanie finally hangs up, still grumbling in betrayal. You and Ash pick up the pace, now racing against the clock to get ready. Ash is better at makeup than you, so once she’s done, she helps you with a bold, modern emo look—sharp eyeliner and dark lipstick that gives a bit of edge without going full 2010s throwback.

After some last-minute touch-ups, you and Ash finally head out, both buzzing with excitement. The club is packed when you arrive, but the line moves quickly, and soon you’re slipping inside to the familiar pulse of music and flashing lights. Inside, you and Ash share a grin, already swept up in the energy of the night.

Once inside, the club is already alive with energy, dark lights and neon hues casting a moody glow over the dance floor. People are scattered around, some nodding along to the beat, others fully immersed, lost in the music. You and Ash weave your way through the crowd, searching for Hoseok.

It doesn’t take long to spot him by the bar, where he’s already ordered a round for the three of you. He’s dressed to match the night’s vibe, with dark clothes and a silver chain, looking effortlessly cool. He grins as he catches sight of you both.

“My babies! Took you long enough!” he teases, sliding the drinks over as you reach him.

“Blame Ash,” you reply, elbowing her playfully.

Ash scoffs. “Please, you’re the one who needed help with eyeliner!”

“Whatever, it’s time to actually get this party started!” Hoseok says. The three of you clink glasses, laughing as you take your first sips. The familiar taste mixes perfectly with the thrum of guitar filling the air, already pulling you into the spirit of the night.

A song Ash knew immediately filled the air of the club and Ash let out an excited yell, grabbing your hand and pulling you onto the dance floor. You barely have a moment to take another sip before she’s dragging you through the crowd, laughing all the way.

Hoseok follows, and soon the three of you are lost in the sea of people, letting the music take over. Ash throws her arms up, singing along to every word, and you find yourself joining in, laughing when you miss a lyric here or there. Hoseok, usually the smoothest of dancers, isn’t above a little head-banging, which only makes you all laugh harder.

After a while, you retreat to the edge of the dance floor, panting and grinning. Hoseok comes back with another round, passing you something sweet. The refreshing drink is exactly what you need after dancing up a storm.

“Oh, this is perfect,” you sigh, savoring the cool, sugary flavor.

Ash, fanning herself dramatically, suggests, “Let’s catch some air.” You and Hoseok nod, following her outside. The November night is brisk, and the cold air hits you like a splash of water—invigorating after the club’s stuffy heat. You take a deep breath, grateful for the moment to cool down.

As you settle into a quiet corner on the patio, mostly used by smokers, Ash turns to you. “Was that bartender from last time here?” she asks, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

You shake your head, a little disappointed. “Nope. I was hoping to see him, though! Maybe he’s just not working tonight.”

“Boo,” Hoseok pouts, placing his hands on your shoulders and giving you a playful shake. “Don’t worry, we can find you someone better.” 

“Oh yeah?” you laugh looking over your shoulder at him. 

“He does know like everyone.” Ash smirks, it was true. It was always a staple for your group outings that Hoseok always knew someone. Hoseok is a magnet for people. Outgoing and effortlessly charming, he always manages to bump into familiar faces no matter where you go.

Hoseok just shrugs with a mischievous smile. “What can I say? I’m a people person.”

“I think I’m okay.” You giggle leaning against one of the walls next to you guys. 

Hoseok does seem to have something catch his eye a little too quickly. “Don’t hate me but I’ll be right back.” 

Before either you or Ash could get a word in Hoseok hopped away over to another group that was just out of your sight. “How does he do that?” Ash laughs trying to follow him with her eyes. 

“I don’t get it either. He just loves meeting people.” You sip on your drink for a second, it giving you a much needed buzz. Hoseok definitely made sure this second drink was a little stronger than the first. 

“Oh I think he is waving us over.” Ash grabs your wrist and starts pulling you in his direction. It takes a little bobbing and weaving past other groups out here but he eventually comes into sight. Waving at the both of you with a big smile on his face from something someone said in the group. 

“Jimin!” Hoseok gestures enthusiastically as you approach. “Meet my friends Ash and Y/N!”

Jimin turns, flashing a warm smile as he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you both! Hoseok’s told me all about you.”

“Oh no,” Ash teases, shaking his hand with a stare at Hoseok. “I hope he didn’t embarrass us.”

Jimin laughs, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Only good things, I promise. You’re safe.”

As you shake his hand, something about him feels strangely familiar, though you can’t quite place it. “How do you know Hobi?”

Jimin grins, throwing an arm around Hoseok’s shoulders. “Oh, we go way, way back. I could tell you so many stories.”

“Way too many,” Hoseok chuckles, nudging him. “I don’t need them using any of those stories against me.”

“Too late,” you laugh, and the three of you share a smile.

 Just then, Hoseok’s eyes light up as he glances to the side. “Ah, there you are!” he says, breaking away from Jimin to greet someone else.

You follow his gaze, and your heart skips a beat as you spot Jungkook, striding over with his usual relaxed confidence. He was in a dark shirt with a printed ribcage on it and wore a leather jacket on top and fitting cargo pants, and really large combat boots. Definitely understanding the assignment for the theme. It takes you a second to register that it’s actually him standing there. You instinctively turn to Ash, who has her mouth wide open in shock before breaking into quiet laughter at the absurdity of your luck.

“JK!” Hoseok says warmly, pulling Jungkook into a quick hug.

Jungkook, still oblivious to you, is in mid-conversation with Hoseok when Ash’s laughter finally catches his attention. His eyes shift, first to Ash, and then they land on you. His smile fades, and you can see the disbelief setting in.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you scoff.

“What are the odds?” Jungkook's expression turns equally unimpressed. “This night just went downhill.”

“Believe me, I’m just as thrilled to see you.” you retort, crossing your arms.

Hoseok glances between the two of you, clearly caught off guard. “Wait, you guys know each other?”

Ash covers her mouth, barely containing her amusement. “Oh, they know each other all right.” Although sometimes you and Jungkook took your fights too far, Ash did find quite a bit of entertainment in them.

“Oh you’re Y/N?” Jimin piped up after noticing the draggers you and Jungkook were throwing at each other with your eyes. “This guy hasn’t shut up about you all week. I saw your theatrics yesterday. Really funny.”

Any other time you would have cringed at your public display of hatred but you were too busy focussing on Jungkook standing here. You didn’t notice it until now but he had a lip piercing. You had no idea he had a lip piercing did you? Was it fake? “Wow talking about me to your friends, it seems you really are my biggest fan aren’t you?” You say, disdain in your tone. 

Jungkook’s eyes glint with mischief. “Biggest fan? More like a spectator. Someone has to make sure you don’t take down the whole room with you.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Please. I think you’re just secretly obsessed with me. It’s kind of pathetic, actually.”

“Hey, okay, how about we reel it in.” Ash throws an arm over your shoulder, wanting to break the tension before it gets too high. You finished off your drink with some annoyance, you were just getting started.

“Yes, how about another round?” Hoseok looks around the group. Ash nods a little too enthusiastically and starts pushing you away. You were giving the death glare to Jungkook until you could no longer see him over your shoulder. Hoseok trailing close behind. 

“She’s cute, I see why you fight with her so often.” Jimin pokes Jungkooks cheek to tease him and jungkook swats his hand away. 

“It’s really not like that.”

“Weren’t you telling me the other day that you guys called a truce at that wedding you went to or something? What happened there?” Jimin folded his arms over his chest. 

“A temporary truce. Back to our normal selves now.” Jungkook pulls out a cigarette and his lighter from his pocket. Lighting up the cigarette and taking a long drag, brushing past the subject. He would find any reason to not have to talk about you anymore. 

“What did you guys do to make it work?” Jimin found his curiosity piqued the more Jungkook tried to push the subject away, Folding his arms over his chest. 

“Why so curious?” Jungkook raises his eyebrow, offering the cigarette to Jimin as a way of distraction.

“Why are you avoiding the question?” Jimin could tell Jungkook now had more to tell than he was letting on. 

“Avoiding what?” Taehyung strolled up the both of them, Jungkook and Jimin had gotten so wrapped up that they forgot they were waiting for him to arrive. Which was the whole reason they had been hanging out here at all.

“Look who finally showed up,” Jungkook says, giving Taehyung a side hug. 

“He’s avoiding my questions about Y/N,” Jimin informs Taehyung, taking another drag from the cigarette before Jungkook snatches it back.

Taehyung let out a breathy laugh, “Jesus, where can you even start with the history between these two.” 

“You just missed a sparkling encounter between them.” Jimin nodded his head inside where you had gone. Taehyung immediately perked up. 

“She’s here? Where?” Taehyung glancing around to see if he can spot you. 

“Oh so you like Y/N?” Jimin asked. 

“Oh she’s awesome.” Taehyung beamed, he really did think highly of you. Jungkook is very obviously peeved by your glowing review from Taehyung. “Oh come on, she's so sweet!”

“Interesting.” Jimin nodded, rubbing his chin. 

“More like rotten inside and out.” Jungkook mumbled, letting his annoyance bubble up. 

Taehyung bumped Jungkook's shoulder with his own, “He’s an unreliable source. She’s never been anything but wonderful to me. Oh, if only she would accept my hand.” Taehyung dramatically sighed a hand on his forehead. 

“Please I’ve never seen you commit to keeping a plant alive, let alone to another person.” Jungkook laughs. 

“True,” Taehyung grinned, knowing full well he'd probably leave with someone by the end of the night, just to add to his reputation. “But she’s gorgeous, and she’s way too good for anyone.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Jungkook groaned, feeling his skin prickle at the mention of you.

“Oh, she really gets under your skin, huh?” Jimin smirked, clearly enjoying Jungkook’s discomfort. “I’ll have to keep this in mind.” 

“You don’t even know the half of it.” Taehyung rolled his eyes knowingly.

Jungkook tried his best to steer the conversation elsewhere, but Jimin’s interest only seemed to deepen. Jungkook could already tell this topic wouldn’t die easily, especially with Jimin's tendency to dig for juicy details.

As the night wore on the three of them eventually made it back inside and had a handful of drinks of their own. Enjoying the music, and singing along to the songs. So were you, Ash, and Hoseok. You all had basically stayed glued to the dance floor when you were not getting more drinks. Screaming at the top of your lungs and rocking out as hard as you could. Your worry about Jungkook ruining the night had melted away rather quickly with each shot you took. 

With every shot, your confidence and sense of adventure grew. You had a habit of wandering off when you got drunk, and tonight was no exception. Ash had been doing her best to keep an eye on you, fully aware of this tendency. But as soon as she looked away for a moment—just as Hoseok stepped away to grab some waters—you were gone. Pushing her way through the crowded club, Ash searched for you, but you were nowhere to be found. Her concern grew with each passing minute, especially since she was fairly intoxicated herself, making her sense of direction hazy. She quickly texted Hoseok about the situation, and he, too, began weaving through the crowd in search of you.

Ash emerged out of the crowd to eventually bump into Taehyung and Jungkook trying to go out onto the floor.

“Tae?” She looked at him confused but then relieved, “I had no idea you were here.” 

“Hey!” Taehyung slurred his words as he pulled Ash into a hug, “Where have you been all night?”

“On the dance floor!” She grinned, grabbing his and Jungkook’s arms to steady herself. “Hey, have either of you seen Y/N? She tends to... wander after a few drinks, and I can’t find her.”

Jungkook shook his head, “Not since we saw you guys outside.”

“Can you please help me find her?” Ash knew asking for anything from Jungkook when it came to you would be a long shot. 

“Of course we will.” Taehyung nodded his head vigorously and patted Jungkook on the back, “We are on it.”

Ash gives a thankful smile between the both of them, “Thank you, please text me when you find her.” Ash then without another word moves on to continue trying to find you. 

Jungkook groaned, the alcohol making him a little too open with his emotions. “Do I have too?”

“Yes. Be a good friend to Ash and look around.” Taehyung pushed him into the opposite direction of himself, thinking maybe that splitting up would make it easier. 

Jungkook trudged around the edge of the club looking in tables and in darker corners to see if you had gotten scooped up somewhere or were clinging to a wall. He decided you probably also were going to need some water once he found you and you would need a minute to sober up. The water cup he got posed a little bit of a spill threat anywhere he went though. He was pretty tipsy himself but not enough he wouldn’t recognize your annoying face or voice when he spotted it. He was having no luck this way so he decided to move around the dance area to see if maybe you had got swept away with some of the crowd. 

Which Jungooks thought wouldn’t be too wrong. You really had just gotten pulled into the crowd, you hadn’t really noticed Ash had gone missing since you were just enjoying the music. You had sent a few drunk voice messages to Melanie, who you were sure would have some hilarious responses too in the morning. You had become overwhelmed with the amount of people around you and the heat though so you decided to start pushing your way out, which doing while rather tipsy was somewhat difficult. 

You felt yourself tilt a little and bump your head straight into someone’s chest. What you didn’t immediately register was that the front of your top had become completely soaked. Shocking you almost to a sober state from the ice cold water. You immediately felt bad because you may have just accidentally bumped into someone and their drink spilled down on you.

“I’m so sorry.” You throw your hands over your mouth and look up to see the person, finding Jungkook to be on the other end of your apology, “Oh it’s you again!” 

“Shit.” Jungook knew how cold that water probably was. He really did feel bad that it got split but you had come outta nowhere at him.

You scoff and glance down at your now soaked front annoyed. Your wobbly brain not totally thinking straight. “You totally did that on purpose.” Just as you were saying it you swayed a bit. Jungkook notices you losing your balance and steadies you.

“Ash asked me to find you. That water was for you.” He helped move you away from the center of the room and to a less crowded spot.

“Yeah whatever. You wanted to embarrass me right? Cause I embarrassed you in front of your friend Jim.” You slur and start to stumble away from Jungkook. If it weren’t you he may have laughed at the thought of someone calling Jimin Jim instead. 

“Believe it or not. I don’t spare you that much thought.” Jungkook rolled his eyes, but continued to follow you. Making sure you didn’t fall flat on your face, which would have been amusing in his mind. 

Jungkook tried to keep his hands on your shoulders to guide you away but you kept swatting them off of you. “Your voice is so annoying. You’re annoying. Get away from me, annoying boy.” 

“I am actually trying to help you, I’ll have you know.” Jungkook rolled his eyes. You could swat his hands away a thousand times. He was still going to get you back to Ash. 

You sway back and forth, it had started to make you feel a little seasick and you were worried you may actually hurl. “I need to go to the bathroom.” 

With a reluctant sigh Jungkook nods, “I’ll get you there.” 

Jungkook helps to guide you. Blocking anyone else from bumping into you. Getting you to the bathrooms. It was just a hallway with a handful of single person bathrooms. Jungkook manages to get you to one that was open at the end. You stumble your way in but don’t go to hurl you just press your back to the cold tiles. 

The small bathroom felt claustrophobic under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, illuminating the scribbles on the walls—snippets of humor and frustration from past patrons. You were acutely aware of the ridiculousness of the situation; the tipsy haze that had wrapped around your mind was starting to lift. The cold splash of water had brought you back to a semblance of sobriety, but not enough to chase away the stubborn annoyance that bubbled beneath the surface.

“This is your fault.” You glared at Jungkook but then looked down at your shirt. It actually was drying up pretty good. Probably would be dry by the end of the night. 

“Even if I hadn’t done it, you would find a reason to make it my fault.” Jungkook rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the bathroom door. 

You gave him a begrudging smile, tilting your head in fake gratitude. “Well, thank you for ruining my shirt and my night. You’re a real hero.”

He laughed, a bitter laugh. “Fuck off. You’re the one who had too much and worried everyone. Seems like you were the one to really ruin the night.”

“Oh so suddenly you worry about me now?” You roll your eyes, you know he didn’t

“You know what. I’ll be a bigger man. Yeah, you were drunk and alone and one of my friends was concerned about you. So I was too.”  Jungkook leaned away from the door and crossed his arms, sick and tired of having to deal with you this week. 

His words stung, and you couldn’t shake the guilt creeping in. You had really worried Ash and Hoseok, and the weight of that realization pressed down on you. “Fine. Well, mission accomplished; you can leave now.”

“No.” Jungkook shrugged. 

“Excuse me?”

“No, I’m going to walk you back to Ash myself. Doing my job as a good friend to make sure you’re okay. Whether you like it or not.” He widened his stance, as if bracing for a push that he knew wouldn’t come.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in defiance. “You don’t even like me, and suddenly you’re so noble. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re just here to be a pain.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re so stubborn. It’s like you’re trying to make this difficult.”

You just leave him in an angry silence now as you continue to clean yourself up. Back still pressed against the tile. You stare at the ground instead of Jungkook standing across from you. Your sober mind would give him brownie points for making sure you were okay even though things are so difficult between the two of you. Your tipsy brain was not thinking critically now. Just wanted to fight since you had become so annoyed from seeing him every single day this week. 

Jungkook couldn’t say he didn’t feel the same. Seeing you everyday had added a certain level of stress and annoyance to each day. It had been building up to a moment the two of you would blow up in each other's faces like this. 

As you tried to move, a wave of dizziness washed over you, forcing you to lean back against the cool tiles for support. A long breath in, then out, hoping this wasn’t a sign that you might actually be sick. Once the feeling passed, you leaned up again, feeling slightly better.

“Are you okay?” Although a bit forced, he thought he should ask.

“A little dizzy still.” You hold your hands over your eyes and scrunch your face up tight for a moment. 

“We really should get you some water.” Jungkook sighed, “One I don’t accidentally spill on you that is.” 

“That would be preferable.” You laugh a little, dropping your hands. 

“Was that a laugh? Did I manage to get you to laugh?” Jungkook's face fell into dramatic shock. “Oh this needs to be documented.”

“Stop. You are being so loud.” You roll your eyes at his exasperation. “You’ll never get a laugh from me again.” 

“As long as it annoys you. I’ll never shut up.” He gives a shit eating grin your directions and you just shake your head. 

“What a gentlemen.”

Jungkook chuckled, crossing his arms as he took a  step closer to you. "Look at that. Now you’re giving me compliments? What’s next, a thank you?"

The defiant look in his eyes only fueled your frustration. "You’re impossible. You don’t even know when to quit, do you?"

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you." His voice was quiet now, and though he had not intended too he was looking at you a different way now. It actually made you… nervous?

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, hating the way your heart was racing from the proximity.

“I’m good.” His voice was almost playful and daring. Challenging you in a way that made it impossible to look away. For the first time tonight you actually looked him in the eyes. He was also looking into yours, Jungkook was still pretty tipsy although he was doing a much better job at keeping himself together.

“I don’t like you.”

“Wow news of the century.” Jungkook gave you a confused look but he was amused.

“Yet somehow in this universe we managed too… well you know. You were there.” You gestured your arm dramatically pointing to him. 

“Did what?” Jungkook played a little innocent now, pushing your buttons. 

“I’m not saying it.”

“No I have no idea what we did,” Jungkook mused, “I have a terrible memory after all.”

“Jungkook,” you sighed, exasperation coloring your voice.

“What?” His grin widened, almost genuine, as if he enjoyed this.

“We managed to fuck. Are you happy?” The words hung between you like a confession, and you hated how flustered you felt afterward.

“Oh, that’s right.” Jungkook closed the distance even more, invading your space, his playful tone now laced with something deeper. “I had a lapse in my memory.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you despised how your body was reacting to him. “You’re insufferable,” you shot back, struggling to mask the flutter in your stomach with irritation.

“And yet, here I am, still standing in front of you.” Jungkook’s voice dropped lower, teasingly. You could feel the tension thickening in the small bathroom, and it only added to the growing frustration and confusion bubbling inside you.

“Why do you always have to make everything so complicated?” You snapped, but there was a hint of uncertainty in your voice. “Can’t you just leave me alone for once?”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “If I did that, who is going to help you back?” His words were almost playful, but the weight behind them felt more serious than before.

You gestured between the two of you, your voice rising again. “I think you’re really here to just mess with me.”

“Messing with you is just a bonus,” he countered smoothly. “Because, although you don’t believe it, I’m actually a decent person, I have like a sliver of care for you.”

You scoffed, arms crossed over your chest, but the way he was looking at you, that mix of annoyance and something more, made it hard to keep up your defenses. “You’re just saying that because you feel guilty for spilling water on me.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, taking another step forward, closing the distance even further. “But you’ve had it coming, haven’t you? For all the times you’ve acted like a total brat.”

“Oh please, like you’re any better!” You pushed back, a challenge dancing in your eyes. “You’re an even bigger brat than I am, and you know it.”

“Touche.” He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated through the small space, making it hard to stay annoyed. It was a sweet sound, more than you would ever admit out loud.

“And I sometimes think you enjoy fighting me,” you pressed, desperate to maintain the upper hand.

“Full transparency, I don’t.” His tone shifted, just slightly, revealing a flicker of sincerity beneath the teasing.

“Whatever.” you huffed, but you could hear the vulnerability behind his words, and it made you momentarily hesitate.

“It’s true. I have to fight at my job a lot, so I’m not a big fan of it in my personal life.” His admission hung in the air, unexpected and honest. Not something Jungkook ever thought he would say out loud to you of all people.

You paused, considering him for a moment. “I think that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me.” Your heart raced as the realization settled in—there was more to him than the brash exterior he always showed. Which was annoying, because he was becoming human instead of monster in your mind.

“Probably.” He shrugged, but there was a softness in his gaze now that made you want to look away, even as you felt drawn in.

You both laughed to yourselves then, the sound echoing off the tiled walls, the tension easing just enough to breathe. It was a shared moment, lightening the mood even as it carried the weight of everything unspoken between you.

“Another laugh? Wow, big night for me,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Shut up,” you replied, but the smile lingered on your lips, a reluctant acceptance of the warmth blooming in your chest. 

“Make me,” he challenged, stepping even closer, invading your space in a way that made you take pause.

The space between you had shrunk, and Jungkook  couldn’t remember when that had happened. His heart raced, the alcohol in his system blurring what he usually felt for you with something else entirely. What was worse was that you were also caught up in the same whirlwind of confusion and longing.

The only sound in the room was the muffled music drifting in from outside the door and the uneven rhythm of your breathing, mingling in the charged air around you. This is insane, Jungkook thought, his pulse quickening as he took in the way your eyes glimmered under the harsh bathroom lights.

Your gaze fell to his lips and then shot back to his eyes, so fast it was a fleeting moment, but he noticed. It felt like time had slowed, every heartbeat echoing in the silence between you. Is this really happening? Again? Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had shifted, and suddenly, you looked different too—more inviting.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence, desperate to dispel the thoughts swirling in your mind. Focus. It doesn’t matter. Except it did. Jungkook was looking at you with a hunger you recognized, a look that sent shivers down your spine.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with tension.

“Nothing.” He looked away, but the moment felt too heavy, too filled with unsaid words.

As soon as Jungkook averted his gaze, he found himself drawn back to you, the magnetic pull almost irresistible. You both stared at each other for a moment, your hearts racing in tandem, minds swirling with the same thoughts. What the hell are we doing? You knew you weren’t sober enough to think this through, yet a huge part of you was screaming… just do it.

“It’s not a good idea.” You say. The words felt forced, almost painful to admit.

“It’s not,” he agreed too quickly, as if the very notion scared him.

“We shouldn’t.” You stood up straighter, your defenses momentarily flaring.

“No.” Jungkook adjusted himself as well, clearing his throat, trying to regain some composure. “And it could be… a problem.”

“We’ve both been drinking. So we are just confused.” You kept your eyes locked onto his, desperate for him to understand every word you were saying, even as your heart raced in contradiction.

“We aren’t thinking straight.”

You looked down, feeling the urge to reach out and touch him clawing at your resolve. Get a grip, you thought, trying to pull yourself back from the edge.

“You repulse me. It’s not what I want.” You said, shaking your head to ground yourself in reality. Right? This is just the alcohol talking. I don’t really want this.

“I can’t stand you.” Jungkook said. Any other hour day or time this was true, except for right now.

You didn’t move, the silence wrapped around the both of you like a fog. You wanted it, you wanted to kiss him. Every second the two of you stood here the closer you were giving in. You wanted to give in so bad. He really was the serpent, and you were going to take the forbidden fruit he offered.

This didn’t feel the same as last time. Last time it was quick and rash. No thought, just an impulsive decision. Now it was like you were making a decision that was going to change everything. 

And yet you couldn’t help it.

“Kiss me.” You look from his eyes to his lips again, lingering longer. 

Jungkook paused. Asking himself if he should do this. Except he answered it for himself, and decided to go slow. He tilted his face to meet yours. Almost like he wanted to wait for you to meet him but he knew you wouldn't. You wanted him to chase after you, to come to you. So he didn’t wait a second longer. Pressing his lips to yours. 

That cigarette taste completely takes you over again. Not as intense as before, it was almost like a hint. Yet you could care less about it, because it was now familiar. You met him with as much need as he gave you. You needed more so you took it a step forward and begged for more. Each kiss was getting more desperate and somehow your hands managed to find their way into his hair. Jungkooks finding their way onto your hips.

One sober thought slapped you in the face, “What are we doing?” You pulled away from him breathless but you paused just looking at him. Then kissing him again, like you needed it to survive.

“We shouldn’t.” Jungkook just soon after, pulling so slightly away but kissing you again.His whole body betraying him.

 One of his hands hiking one of your thighs up around his waist. He pressed his body into yours. You were completely pressed into the wall behind you. 

“We… I,” you pull away again, you have to swallow for a second. You take a moment and are looking between his eyes. Somehow they were all shiny and sparkly in this terribly lit bathroom. He was breathing just as hard as you and his heart pounding even louder. He didn’t make any space between the two of you. “I don’t know what I was going to say.” 

You both felt extremely sober but drunk on this feeling, on this thrill. Completely clear about what was happening. 

“Probably some excuse about how awful I am.” Jungkook kissed along your jaw and down your neck. Your skin was so sensitive and you felt like every time he kissed you, every touch was electric. 

“You are.” You were trying to think of any reason to stop, you came up with nothing. 

“Yeah well, not awful enough that I can't kiss you.” Jungkook leaves a small bite on the skin of your neck, and you let out a small moan. Your eyes widen as soon as you do it and Jungkook is immediately filled with amusement.

“Don’t say a word.” 

“Don’t worry. I don’t feel like talking.” He pulled himself away from your neck and kissed you again, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He had you wrapped up in him all over again.

You thought the lip piercing would get in your way but it actually went unnoticed. Your hands found their way to either side of his face. If anyone was becoming addicted, it was you. Kissing him was like sipping poison from a decorated chalice, beautiful to view but bitter for the soul. Yet, you couldn’t get enough. 

It was painfully clear how turned on Jungkook was getting. With your leg that was wrapped around his waist, you use your leverage to push him into you. The pressure breaks him out of the kiss a bit, moaning himself. You smiled devilishly, his eyes were shut. You pull him closer, you take the chance to kiss down his neck. Sucking a little on each spot. He leaned into your touch. Enjoying each one. 

“We-… oh god.” He placed one of his hands on the wall steadying himself. “We should get out of here.” 

“Why?” You say and you kiss him again. He pulls away for a second breathing hard again. 

“As great as bar bathroom sex is,” he was being sarcastic, “I prefer a bed.” 

“Good point.” You pull away for a second. Wiping your mouth. You let the tiles hold you up again. Glancing over to the mirror, whatever lipstick you had on had completely transferred to Jungkook. You look at him and you wipe off any smudges you can see. Jungkook didn’t protest the action. Something almost domestic about it. 

Gross, he thought.

You watched his movements. He pushed his hair back, eyes closed for a second. His lack of contact now felt strange. You kept looking at his hands, how delicate his fingers were. You want them inside you. You wanted them on you. You needed him wrapped around you. You shook your head, you needed to get out of here. 

What the hell were you doing? 

You stepped around Jungkook. Before you could open the door Jungkook spun you around again, back against the door now. His hands on your cheeks. He kissed you again and you welcomed him without issue. Warmth invoked you all over again and it was almost like you could have let your whole body go slack. You couldn’t get enough, and it was clear he couldn’t either. It felt very easy and you didn’t hate it. 

“Jungkook.” You break away but he kisses you, you pull back again. “Let’s go.” 

“You’re right.” He breaks away from you and he forces himself to take the largest step back he can from you. 

You flatten your hair down, then you open the bathroom door and slip out. Luckily no one was in the hall. You assume Jungkook was going to wait a moment before following you so it didn’t appear that the two of you were in there together. There was no way you would be able to leave without saying goodbye to Ash or Hoseok, so you needed to find them first. You couldn’t even hear the music with how loud your heart was pounding in your ears.

After a minute of searching you found them both tucked in a corner looking at their phones. Probably texting you or three seconds away from calling the police. You cringed and approached them. 

Ash looked up and her eyes widened at the sight of you. “Jesus christ where have you been?”

“I’m so so sorry.” You hug her and then hug Hoseok. “I got swept away by the people and then I just needed to sit in the bathroom for a while. I was so dizzy.” Not a total lie but still bullshit not the less.

“Text next time okay?” Hoseok gripped your shoulder hard and gave you a small shake. You nod in return. 

“I promise. I will. I will never let that happen again. I do think I just need to go home. I’ve had a little too much tonight.” You nod. 

“Do you need one of us to come with you?” Ash face twisted in concern but you give her a reassuring smile so she won’t press further. 

“No I live so close and I will text you as soon as I get there.” You nod. 

It takes a little more convincing but the two of them let you go with some goodbyes. Once you break away from them you try to see if you can spot Jungkook maybe hovering close by or something. You don’t immediately find him but you decide if you leave he will have to come out the same way. You find your way to the exit and make it outside. You realize this meeting up thing would have been easier if you had Jungkook's number, but alas here you were. Just waiting and hoping he wouldn’t make a fool out of you.

After a minute of waiting on the street and watching people pass you by, Jungkook emerged from the door.

“So you didn’t run away.” He teased, you roll your eyes. Hugging your arms to protect from the cold. 

“Nights not over. Still plenty of time to get away.” Was this all a bad idea? 

“So…” he looked around, probably to see if anyone you knew was around. “Mine or yours?” 

Jungkook could care less where you went but he just want to go now. 

You hadn’t actually considered it. You weren’t sure if you wanted him in your place. You didn’t really bring people back home. You always went to theirs, made it easier to detach and never talk again. Jungkook was different, there was no detachment that could be done so easily here. 

“Yours.” You say. Stick to the normal routine. 

“Okay.” He didn’t protest.

Jungkook calls a car and it doesn’t take very long to pick you guys up. You both are quiet the whole ride. Jungkook didn’t live terribly far so it made it quick. Too quick, too quick for you to talk yourself out of going. The moment in the bathroom kept replaying in your mind. How you got from point A to B.

 It was like one second you two were magnets that were pushing each other apart and then the next you were desperately trying to stay stuck together. When it used to be you would push each other apart. 

After too long you arrived. Jungkook let the both of you inside and then you were going up the elevator. Still nothing, you had no idea what he was thinking. No idea if maybe he also was regretting his choice. He didn’t look like he had anything to say to you, which to be fair, he never did. You followed him down a hall a ways and he unlocked his apartment. 

Once you had made it inside Jungkook flicked on his lights. It was actually quite spacious. Everything was really clean and he had good taste in decoration. It had a large living room and a separated kitchen. There was a hall that connected off the living room that probably led to his room.

Jungkook tugged off his shoes and you followed, taking off yours. 

He stepped inside but you almost stayed glued. The mental roadblock had finally hit. Jungkook noticed and looked back at you. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He observed you for a moment, you clenched your fists out of comfort. 

“Something like that.” You sigh, you don’t look at him, “Your place is… nice.” 

“Then why aren’t you coming in?” He leaned on the wall next to him. “Do I have to invite you in, like a vampire?” 

“Haha, very funny.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, “More like I’m talking myself into it.” 

“I see. We’ll, doors right there, feel free to run.” He saunters back over to you, pointing to the door behind you. “Can get out now while you still can.” 

He came as close as he felt you were comfortable with. There was that feeling all over again, like everything in you was pulling you towards him. 

“Not a word to anyone?” You clear your throat. 

“Deal.” 

With that you pull him into you and you kiss him. One of his hands on the back of your neck and the other on your waist. Both of you walking backwards into the apartment. Each kiss was more and more urgent. Jungkook managed to spin the both of you around and was walking you back to his bedroom. Your hands found their way to get his jacket off and pulling his shirt over his head. He broke away from you to pull it off. Immediately kissing you again once he discarded it. Your hands wrapped around him, his warm skin welcoming the touch of your hands.

You both split again to get you out of your clothes until you were just in your underwear and bra. With your frenzied movements you have somehow made it into his room.  

Jungkook pulled away, then got his hands under your thighs and quickly laid you back on his bed. You yelped a little at the sudden movement. Jungkook was immediately on top of you again, placing himself between your legs most of his weight on you, he kissed you again. You felt like you hadn’t had a breath in several minutes. 

He paused for a moment though and leaned back a little, he just stared. . 

“Let me take this off.” He looked at your bra. 

“Okay.” You sat up on your elbows. “Why?” 

“I didn’t get to see them last time. I want to see all of you.” He looked down to the rest of you for a moment but then back to your eyes. 

“You really are obsessed with me huh?” You were the one desperate to have him closer. 

“Just for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll go back to not being able to stand you.” He finally gives in and start to suck on your neck, using one of his hands to keep your head in place. 

A quiet moan leaves you at the feeling. He had already had you figured out. Where you tick. He didn’t stay there long, he pulled himself away enough to get his hand under you to undo your bra. Pulling it down your arms and throwing it somewhere in the room. You lay back down flat on your back. Jungkook took no time to get his hands on your breasts. Holding them in his hands and massaging them. He leans his head down and takes one of your nipples into his mouth and continues to massage your other breast. You just watched him, you a little bit into the sight of him being all over you. He swirls his tongue around your nipple. You felt yourself getting wetter. You had moved your hips to find some pressure, you were dying to be touched.

“Jungkook.” It came out sort of whiny and strained. You mentally pounded yourself for how desperate you sounded. 

He pulled away from you. He also looked surprised. 

“Needy are we?” He had an amused smile, he held all the cards.. “What do you want?” 

“Just touch me. Please.” God you were pathetic. This was a new low. You needed it bad though, you want to cum whatever way he wanted you too. 

“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” he was very amused by the sight of you begging. He would have loved to see more of it if he didn’t really want to eat you out. 

Then Jungkook took the moment to take off his pants. He looked as if he was going to take off his underwear as well but then hesitated. 

He hovers above you again, Jungkook thought for a moment. Something that could work you up. Something maybe a little surprising even for himself to admit, “One more honest confession from me. You looked really good tonight.”

“What?” You were stunned, he sounded extremely sincere. 

“I have never met someone who gets on my actual last nerve.” He shook his head, “but I wanted to fuck you again so badly, didn’t matter how much you bothered me.” 

You didn’t realize words could turn on you on so much, but it was working. Let alone coming from Jungkook, 

“What did you think about?” Curiosity was getting the better of you.

“How I really want to eat you out, I wanted to make you cum on my tongue.” He moved back over you, kissing you and breaking away. “Plus I wanted to see your tits and they did not disappoint.” 

Jungkook hoping in his mind this was working. He wasn’t out of practice but you really were the only person he had slept with in a while, and the fact that he didn’t know how you worked made him a little nervous. What he didn’t quite understand is that it didn’t take much to work you up. 

“What else?” You wanted to close your legs, you needed some relief between your legs but Jungkook wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“I could have fucked you in the bathroom, no I would have fucked you in the bathroom. If you had kissed me any longer I would have.” He came very close to your ear. You closed your eyes, just listening to him. 

You swallow hard and nod. You wanted to play it much cooler than you had been. “I don’t see why I should care at all about that.” You start to chew on your bottom lip. 

“I keeping wondering how many times I could make you cum. How many times I could make you fall apart, with my hands, with my tongue, and my cock.” 

Yeah you were getting so high just on his words. 

“God please Jungkook,” you had enough though, “Please touch me, please just do something.”

 “Thank god.” He also couldn’t take it anymore. 

He kissed you but it was so quick because he kissed his way down your neck and then your chest and then your stomach. He started sliding off your underwear and you don’t resist him at all. It was painfully clear how wet you were, Jungkook was tired of not being all over you though. He examines you for a moment and then licks over your clit without much warning. You moan apprehensively. Your words were completely lost. 

Jungkook did it again a few more times. He wrapped his hands around your legs keeping them apart. You wanted to squeeze his head between your thigh so badly but you couldn’t budge under his grip. You placed your hands on his head. Jungkook licks your clit in a side to side motion. He had you in the palm of his hand now. He knew it. You were going to come quickly at this rate, he had gotten you so wound up. You grip onto his hair at the sensation, Jungkook then pulls back from to stick his tongue into your pussy. Immediately licking all of the arousal that been coming out of you. He kept moving his tongue in and out of you over and over. So warm and he found his way around you quickly.

“Fuck.” You said it long and dragged out as Jungkook continued fuck you with his tongue. “Don’t stop.”

He hums against you in response, he wasn’t going to give you any second of recovery. He wanted you to cum in his mouth, and he was going to take you to the end. Jungkook let go of his grip on your legs, allowing you close your thighs around him. You were getting close. You were a little impressed and so was he. You were starting to twitch a little with each touch. Moans just kept falling from you pathetically, you just didn’t care. Your hips began moving on his mouth subconsciously. He followed your lead. He loved every second of this. 

You managed to get yourself to look down at him to watch what he was doing, to your surprise he was already watching you. Mouth buried between your legs. His eyebrows furrowed, his stare so serious and full of lust. He was eating up every second watching you fall apart. 

“Shit.” You lay your head back, “Don’t look at me like that.” 

He paused for a second but spitting on your clit and taking his hand there to rub you. 

“Why not?” He hummed. 

“It’s… confusing.” It was confusing, you still hated him but that look. Your feelings of hate and lust we’re mixing dangerously together, 

“You’re just… so hot when you are about to cum.” He replaced his hand with his mouth again. He needed to make you cum. 

“Shut up.” You moan, as he presses his tongue flat into your clit, putting pressure on it and licking upwards. Then sticking his tongue back inside you.

You didn’t have time to think. Before you could get anything else out you felt your climax hit you like a truck, you twitch and tried pulling away from Jungkook but he held onto you pumping his tongue in and out of you as your walls tried to clench around his tongue. Your cum spilling into Jungkook's mouth. He kept a tight grip on your thighs and just continued his motions as you rode out your climax. 

After a minute you settled. You were breathing heavily and your eyes shut. Jungkook pulled himself away. It was really unfortunate how much he liked how you tasted. Jungkook took one of your hands and pulled you up so you were sitting up. You opened your eyes and looked at him but before anything he kissed you. Sort of tender at first, then his tongue was in your mouth. There was a new taste present, it wasn’t bad at all. It was definitely your cum. It was nice, maybe way too intimate for the two of you but you didn’t mind. He cupped your face in his hand. 

“It’s really annoying how good you taste.” He kissed down your neck to your shoulder. They were delicate little kisses. You were trying to come back down. After all it was a pretty good orgasm.

“I would say do that again but I don’t think I’ll stay awake after.” You lean your head to the side, giving him better access. “God this sucks.”  

“What did I do now?” He pulls back and looks at you unamused. 

“Because you are the most obnoxious person ever but this makes it much harder to hate you.” 

“I think it makes it more fun if you hate me.” He kisses you, you slide your tongue into his mouth and sigh comfortably.

You both were getting really impatient though. You really wanted to ride him. You needed to be fucked so you could be done with this so you didn’t have to admit you wanted him to eat you out again and again. Jungkook needed to come soon though, he was so hard in his boxers he was afraid he might explode. He had any number of ways he wanted you but didn’t care what you wanted to do to him. 

You pull back from him, “Let me touch you.” 

“Don’t say it like that.” he drops his head, resting it on your shoulder. 

“Why?” You were having the exact effect you wanted. He lifts his head and looks at you. 

“Like you said, it gets… confusing.” 

You smirk and you stand up with him for a moment but then you turn him and have him sit on the side of the bed now. He takes off his underwear almost like understanding your thoughts. He was really hard and his tip was all red. He didn’t take his eyes off your hands and just watched you every movement. 

You hold his chin in your hand and have him look up at you. He almost looked a little pouty and pathetic, almost cute. He placed his hands onto your hips but let’s you take the lead. You then take both of your legs and you straddle his lap, his dick sitting between the both of you. He took in a deep breath from the contact. 

“I guess I could just leave.” You tease, you kiss one side of his neck. “I got what I needed. Could just leave you to yourself. Since it’s so confusing for the both of us.” You tease. 

Jungkook had closed his eyes and was shaking his head. In almost painful desperation. “Don’t.” His hands moved to your ass, hanging on to you now. “Seriously, please touch me. I won’t last much longer.” 

“What would you like?” You hold yourself away from him so you can see his face clearly.

“Sit on me.” He chased your lips and kissed you again. 

You continue to kiss him but you sit up on your knees. Reaching between the both of you to grab his dick. You stroke him a few times. He groans into your mouth from the contact, his tip was leaking precum. You stop for a second. 

“Do you have a condom?” 

Jungkook nodded, he reached over to a drawer next to his bed and pulled one out. You take it from him, unwrapped it. Using both of your hands and slowly roll it over his length, squeezing him on the way down. 

“Fuck.” His head falls back. He squeezed your ass in one of his hands.

You then lift yourself up again and line him up with your entrance. You knew you were going to be pretty sensitive so you just sink down just onto his tip. You were a bit overstimulated so you hiss, but you kept going sliding yourself down his length. Jungkook was letting small moans fall from his mouth. Then you fully sit down on him, filling you completely up. You moan a little yourself at the feeling. Jungkook was in complete ecstasy. You lift yourself up and sink back down onto him again. You both moan into each other. 

“Lay back.” You whisper in his ear, “It’ll be easier.”

Jungkooks complys, you push him down with one of your hands. This way you are able to get your knees on the bed a little better, and it allows you to get more leverage.  So you push yourself up and down in a quicker motion now. You keep your hands on his chest. With each move of your hips you begin to build a rhythm, your clit grazing his pelvic bone every time you fully sink down onto him.

“God I hate how good this feels.” You groan but out of pleasure. You mouth falling open. 

He’s smirking below you, breathing heavily. Barely keeping his eyes open. Feeling every little movement you made. Why did it have to feel with you of all people? Let alone really good. You full sit down on him for a moment taking a second to breath, his cock buried all the way inside you. You grind your hips on him, you were trying to find your high again. 

“Shit. Don’t stop.” Jungkook pleaded, he looked down to where his cock was inside you. Loving the way your bodies were connected. 

“Oh yeah?” Lifting yourself up and sank back down onto him again and grinding on him again.

“God I fucking hate how good you look right now.” He sounded so annoyed but it was getting you hot. 

“Stop.” You sigh, you pause for a second. Your knees needing a second to recover. 

“What?” He eyes you for a moment.

“Stop talking.” You breath for a second, you were going to come soon. You could feel it, your wall were throbbing and you were breathing so heavily. You didn’t want him to be able to get you off so easily. 

Jungkook on the other hand seemed somewhat concerned, worried you may be in pain. “Is something wrong?” He sat up to meet your face. 

“Nope.” You almost cut him off holding a hand up to him, “I’m just really close.” 

“Oh yeah?” He lets out a breathy laugh and it caused his pelvis to shift under you and you moan softly. 

“Oh I see,” Jungkook reached his hands around to your ass. Hanging on to your hips for a moment. Forcing you up and down on him and a pathetic whine falls from you. “You want to cum again huh?” His voice was quiet and deep.

“No.” The word came out weak, It was a sad protest, very clearly a lie.

“Getting yourself all wrapped around my dick making you want to cum?” He kisses your jaw, you had yours eyes screwed shut. You managed to look at him through your tired hooded eyes.

“Yes.” You give in. Jungkook forced your hips up and down on him again and another whine falls from your mouth. 

“What can I do?” Jungkook sighs. 

“Keep talking to me, and I’ll keep fucking you.” You try to feel yourself back in, shutting your eyes again. You did not want to see his face. 

“You got it.” 

You go back slowly working up to the pace you were at before. Every once and a while sinking all the way down and grinding your hips on him. Jungkook breathing heavily, steadies his mind for a second. 

“You’re doing so good for me. Fucking my cock like this. God you look so sexy like that.” His hands were running up and down your back. “Hating me comes with some perks right?” 

“Fuck off.” You moan, you kept riding him though. Oh it was working, your high was building. You weren’t sure how long Jungkook had left in him. 

“If I had known a truce could lead to this I would have offered one sooner.” He forces you down onto himself for a moment and you gasp. “Cause now I can’t stop thinking what it would be like to see you suck me off and come in your mouth.” 

Jungkook would never get to see it but he was definitely thinking about it now. So were you, what it would be like to suck him until he came? Making him wriggle above you, forcing your mouth all the way onto him. 

“I’m gonna-…” you stutter, you keep your pace but you feel it coming. 

“Cum?” Jungkook fills in the blank, “Cum for me, brat.” He took the small moment to tease you.

“God shut up.” You go a little faster and before you can get anything else out, you’re cumming all over again. And Jungkook stopped you, forcing all the way down on his cock. You bite into his shoulder. Completely losing yourself. Your walls were fighting against being filled up by him. Squeezing him over and over. This one was a little quicker than the one earlier. You could feel some of your cum leaking down into his lap. 

You try to move again but it’s so sensitive you stop again. 

“Just give me a second.” You breathe, placing both your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. Jungkook had no issue waiting. 

“No worries, you’re a pretty good cock warmer anyways.” He jokes, you push him back down into the bed away from you. You just sit for a second. 

“God you’re annoying.” You push past the sensitivity and start riding Jungkook again. Going as quick as you can. You needed him to cum now. 

Jungkook let you. He let you fuck him. He was completely taken by the feeling. He was actually much closer than you thought because before long he pushed his hips up into you. You keep fucking him, pumping his dick for everything he has, you can feel him fill up the condom in you. Once he seems to be coming down you come to a slow stop. 

You both were spent.

You got yourself off of him. Sitting on the bed next to him for a second. Just breathing, your legs were shaking from the fatigue of the position you were in. You had to force yourself up though, Jungkook had his bathroom connected to his room. So you darted for it. Not saying a word, locking yourself inside. Jungkook watched you go for a moment but then got himself up to clean himself up. 

You take care of what you need too. You didn’t hear Jungkook moving around outside of the bathroom at all. You open the door sort of wishing you had brought your clothes in with you so you could redress. You step out of the bathroom and Jungkook was putting a new pair of boxers on. Then grabbing a shirt and putting it on, he then crashed out onto his bed. You understood the feeling. You tip toed in into the room putting your underwear on.

You had slept with Jungkook again…

You found your shirt and threw it on. Turning around and seeing Jungkook on the bed. He noticed you starting to redress yourself and managed to grab his phone looking at the time. It would have been way too late for you to get a ride home.

“What are you doing?” He asks. 

“What does it look like? I’m leaving.” You walk around and manage to find more of your things. Grabbing your pants with the intention to put them on but getting stopped.

“Why? It’s going to be too late to get a ride.” 

“Because this was just a hookup and I should go home.” You point between the two of you. You pull your phone out to see the time. God it was so late.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s like 2 am, just… stay.” He waves his hand to the spot next to him. 

You hesitate at the offer. “No no no,” you almost laugh. “That’s not… no.” 

“Y/N…” he looks at you seriously, very tired, but serious. “Stay.”

For a brief moment you thought about protesting. About fighting him on it but the more you stood the more your exhaustion was hitting you. The bed was tempting and it would be easier just to stay. 

So, you lay yourself down. Jungkook then pulls the covers over you. Moving and making as much space in the bed he can for you. You stayed glued to your side with your back to him, and his back turned to you as well. It didn’t take much for either of you to pass out soon after.

Just for tonight. 

You woke up to sunlight hitting your face—a surprising sensation since your room never caught the morning sun. Disoriented, you blinked against the brightness, and the events of last night came rushing back, crashing into you like a tidal wave. Your eyes shot open, heart pounding as you glanced around the unfamiliar room. Panic set in, and you bolted upright.

“Oh my god…” You whispered, feeling the dread seep into your bones. You looked to a still sleeping Jungkook beside you; the bed was a mess of tangled sheets. You threw the covers off discreetly and quickly realized that, yes, you were right—you hadn’t put your pants back on. The sight of your bare legs only confirmed the mess you’d gotten yourself into.

“No, no, no...” You buried your face into your hands. Not again. You wanted to blame it on drinking, but you were sober enough to make this decision and so was he.

Your head throbbed, partly from the brewing headache and partly from the sheer disbelief at your own actions. Jungkook began to stir next to you with a groan. He flipped over so he was facing you. He opened his eyes for a brief moment and looked at you and closed them again. 

But then Jungkook took a moment to realize, yes you were in fact in his bed, so his eyes shot open and he pushed himself up with horror written on his face.

“Awe crap...”

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Taglist!: @akkhddhfairys @njcxlewxrld @kooklovee @ericawantstoescape @pitchblack0309 @rpwprpwprpwprw @lanie97 @httpjeonlicious @jollis87 @oopscoop @rinkud @deepikhaprakash @chuuritoz @jkslvsnella @eisthv @bangatanily @smwhrinthehaze @jjkologys @nono13bnd @vantelover1306 @jalexad @sadgirlroo @chimmisbae @smoljjks

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[rosiebbydoll]

The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader - Chp. 5

Chp. 4 - Chp. 5 - Chp. 6

summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies(ish) to friends to lovers, mechanic!sukuna x librarian!reader, slow burn, fluff, smut, crack, angst, toxicity, Sukuna is emotionally constipated, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, manga spoilers? (more tags will be added)

wc: 10.3 k (a lot happens)

chp warning: fluff, tension, angst, crack, toxic traits, mentions of violence, the kids being cute, LOTS OF TENSION

a/n: buckle up! we have a lot to un pack this chapter! enjoy! <3

It’s been two days since you asked Sukuna to go to dinner with Hiromi and his girlfriend. Two whole days since those ridiculous words slipped out of your mouth. Since you basically invited him on a date, even if it’s so totally not a date. But you asked, and he said yes.

On one hand, you’re relieved. Sukuna’s actually been really nice, surprisingly easy to be around. He’s been making jokes, texting you about random stuff, and generally being a pretty great “friend”—his own words, not yours, though it rings in your ears every time you remember it. You keep telling yourself it’ll be fun to hang out, to get to know him, to have backup at dinner with Hiromi and his perfect, intimidating girlfriend.

On the other hand, you’re freaking out. You’ve been denying this crush for a while now, stuffing it down every time it bubbles up. It’s so obvious, but you’re still pretending it doesn’t exist. Sukuna’s not the kind of guy you fall for. He probably has a girlfriend anyway. At least, you think he does? You haven’t really heard him doing anything through the walls in a while.

To make matters worse, it’s also been two days since Toji has said a single word to you. Not a call, not a text, nothing. Usually, you spend every other Sunday together. Sometimes you guys would just watch TV or make dinner with the kids. This week, nothing. Monday came and went and you figured maybe he’d text you first, but he didn’t. You didn’t even catch a glimpse of him around the complex.

Now, you’re just getting pissed. The anger simmers under everything you do, snapping at your nerves. If he’s actually mad about Sukuna, it’s ridiculous. Dumb as fuck, actually. Toji has no right to be mad at you for talking to your neighbor, for having your own life. You spend a lot of time with Sukuna now, sure, but Toji is a grown man. He could at least act like it and talk to you.

But this is different. This isn’t like your usual fights, the ones that blow over after a few hours or a night of sulking. You can always count on Toji to come around, to grumble an apology or make some half-assed joke that tells you it’s okay. But now it’s been more than 48 hours. This silent treatment is new, and it’s eating at you.

You find yourself replaying every conversation, every look, every tiny moment from the past week, trying to figure out when things shifted. The longer it drags on, the more unsettled you feel—like the ground under your feet is a little less stable than it used to be.

You’ve been working all day, fueled by a simmering anger toward Toji that somehow pushes you to get more done than usual. Every task you check off the list eases the stress a tiny bit. And you made sure to talk to Ino, because if you didn’t, he’d probably have exploded by now.

“So now it’s Toji? What the hell is up with the men in your life?” Ino teases, sliding a fresh cup of coffee across the table to you with a grin.

You snatch it up and take a grateful sip. “I sure know how to pick ’em, huh? But I don’t get why he’s just ignoring me. Look at this.” You hold up your phone, revealing the fifty-plus unread messages sitting there.

Ino leans in, eyebrows raised. “You think he’s got his read receipts turned off?”

You chuckle softly. “Doubt it. The guy took forever just to figure out emojis and reactions. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even heard of read receipts.” You sigh and rest your head on your folded arms, feeling the weight of it all settle in your bones.

Ino’s face softens, and he reaches over to pat your head. “He’s probably just worried. Doesn’t want your new boy toy to hurt you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes blazing. “Not my boy toy,” you growl.

Ino bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Not boy toy. Friend. The friend you talk about nonstop.”

You roll your eyes but stand up, gulping down the last of your coffee. “Get back to work,” you tell him, trying to sound annoyed but not really mad.

He just laughs again, settling back into his chair to sip his coffee like he owns the place.

You shake your head and head back to your desk, the tension still simmering but somehow lighter from the brief distraction. The workday is finally winding down. You’ve spent the afternoon training some new staff, but you make sure Ino takes the lead on showing them how to close properly. He’s a natural at that kind of thing— bossy, confident, and just chaotic enough to keep things interesting.

You gather your tote, planner, and the basket of books you’ve collected for the kids and head toward the door. It’s just shy of three o’clock, and you’ve got to pick up Nobara before the afternoon melts away completely.

“Bye, Ino! See you tomorrow!” you call quietly as you step out.

He gives you a thumbs-up without missing a beat, pretending to know exactly what he’s doing with the new hires who are watching him like a hawk.

You breeze out the door and head straight for your car. It starts on the first try, and you smile a bit too hard, thinking of a certain someone who fixed it. You pull out of the parking lot and merge into the steady flow of traffic. The streets are busy but not overwhelming, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.

As you drive, your mind drifts to Nobara— imagining her little face lighting up when you pick her up, how she’ll probably chatter nonstop about her day, about Megumi, and the adventures they’ve had. You glance at the basket of books on the passenger seat, knowing it’s probably going to be a challenge to keep her calm through the car ride home.

The school comes into view, a sprawling complex of brick buildings and playgrounds. Cars are lined up along the curb, parents pacing with tired kids, some chatting, others scrolling on their phones.

You ease your way into a parking spot near the entrance, kill the engine, and let the quiet settle over you for a moment. Time to switch gears from work mode to mom mode and face whatever the afternoon has in store. You step into the school hallway, offering warm smiles to parents gathering their kids. The buzz of laughter and chatter fills the air, a blissful soundtrack to the end of the day.

At the far end of the hall, you spot Kento— surrounded by a small crowd of mothers fluttering their lashes and trying their best to flirt. He stands like an unshakable fortress, politely but firmly brushing off their flirtations. His cool, unbothered demeanor only makes him more magnetic.

He’s so freaking loyal and perfect.

You approach slowly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey, Kento!” You glance over to see Nobara and Yuji absorbed in the toy kitchen, the clatter of plastic pots and pans filling the space. Megumi is nowhere in sight.

Kento turns toward you, a soft smile brightening his face. “Hey, pretty lady. I’ve got something for you.” He pulls an envelope from his desk and hands it over.

You peel it open to find a wedding invitation inside. Your eyes sparkle with happiness as you give him a quick side hug. “Ahh! I’m so excited for you guys! I can’t wait!”

Kento’s cheeks flush slightly. “She told me to make sure I hand-delivered the invitation to you.”

You tuck the invitation carefully into your tote. “You better be careful, or I’ll snatch her up from you,” you tease.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Let me go get Nobara.”

You raise a hand to stop him before he moves. “Hey, did Toji already pick up Megumi?”

Kento hesitates, knowing technically he's not allowed to say, but it’s you and Toji so he’ll budge this time. He shrugs and exhales. “Yeah, Fushiguro picked him up early today. I didn’t ask any questions.”

Your eyes widen, and you nod softly. “Oh, uh, okay. Thanks, Kento.” You watch him walk toward Nobara, whose eyes light up the moment she spots you standing in the doorway.

Suddenly, a presence looms behind you. “Hey, baby.” Sukuna’s warm breath brushes your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You jump, startled.

“Jesus, Sukuna! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you frown, trying to sound annoyed.

He laughs, low and teasing, as Kento approaches with Nobara and Yuji trailing behind.

“Hi, Mommy! Hi, Uncle Sukuna!” Nobara beams brightly.

You raise a brow at her calling him “uncle.”

“How’s my girl?” you ask, bending to hug her. She immediately launches into showing off the several art projects she’s proudly completed.

“Hi, Yuji!” you say, waving to him.

Yuji toddles up, yawning softly, and gives you a soft wave back, still looking very sleepy.

Kento leans close and mutters to Sukuna, “He didn’t take a full nap today.”

Sukuna sighs, bending down to ruffle Yuji’s hair. “Come on, brat. We’ve gotta go get Choso.” Yuji nods eagerly and gives you a quick hug before following Sukuna.

Nobara and Yuji clasp hands as they walk down the hall, and you wave goodbye to Kento, who stays behind talking with Sukuna.

You give them both a confused look. It’s weird to see those two conversing with one another. Sukuna seems like the kind of guy Kento would hate. But Kento loves Yuji, and so does Sukuna.

Maybe that’s how they get along.

Sukuna catches your expression and grins devilishly. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You frown, and Kento’s eyes widen in surprise. “Did he just call you ‘baby’?”

“Yes, ignore him-” you begin, but Sukuna cuts you off with a smirk.

“Yeah, she’s taking me out on a date this Friday.”

His smirk is lethal, and you fight hard to keep your face neutral.

“That is not what’s happening,” you say sternly.

Kento raises a brow skeptically while Sukuna laughs softly.

“Whatever. Bye, Kento,” you say with an eye roll, picking up your pace toward the kids.

Behind you, Sukuna and Kento’s laughter echoes down the hall, but you hold your head high as you leave the school, heart pounding faster than you’d like to admit.

Sukuna catches up behind you easily, his long strides matching your own as you both head toward the parking lot. You notice his car is parked right next to yours—which was not subtle at all.

The late afternoon light casts long shadows across the pavement, and the air is heavy with a silence that’s anything but comfortable.The kids trail between you two, their chatter replaced by quiet glances at the ground, fingers entwined as they swing their hands back and forth.

Sukuna’s gaze flicks over to you, his usual smirk softened by something more serious. “Hey,” he says quietly, falling into step beside you. “You okay?”

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek before nodding. “Yeah... just tired, I guess.”

He doesn’t press, but you can tell he’s not fully convinced. The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread, taut and ready to snap. After a moment, you force yourself to shift the focus, hoping to break the tension before it suffocates you both.

“Have you talked to Toji lately?” Your voice sounds smaller than you intend, brittle with the weight of all the things left unsaid.

Sukuna’s eyes darken for a fraction of a second, a shadow flickering across his face. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to smooth out the knots inside. “Not since I drove him over to pick up his car Sunday.”

You glance sideways at him, heart tightening. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air. “Did he… uh, say anything to you?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing just a bit. “Like what?” His tone is flat, but you catch the edge beneath it. Even if Toji had said something, Sukuna wouldn’t tell you. He knows it would only make you more upset. Toji should be open and honest with you.

You mutter a quick, “I don’t know,” and turn to buckle Nobara into her car seat. Sukuna’s brow furrows, but he moves quickly, strapping Yuji into his own car. When he shuts the door and turns back to you, his gaze lingers, sharp and searching.

He can see the tight line of your mouth, the way you’re holding everything inside like it might spill out and drown you if you let go. He wishes, with a fierce, sudden ache, that he could pull you into a hug and let you unravel all the frustration, the confusion, and the ache you’re stuffing down.

You let out a heavy sigh, fists clenching at your sides as the tension coils tighter in your chest. “I just wish he’d talk to me. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Sukuna’s voice drops, low and almost a murmur, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “Sometimes it’s not about what you did. Sometimes people just shut down.”

You swallow hard, the knot in your chest tightening until it feels like your ribs will cave in. “Yeah... I just hope it’s not permanent.”

He glances at you, something soft and rare flickering in his eyes, his vulnerability laid bare. “Hey, whatever happens, you’re not alone.”

For a moment, the world narrows to that fragile promise, hanging between you like a lifeline in the dark. Your chest tightens so much you feel like you want to cry.

You take a deep breath and force a smile. “Thanks, Sukuna. With all this sucking up, I might just have to take you on an actual date one of these days.” You laugh, and Sukuna chuckles, trying to distract you from his blushing.

You both quickly say your goodbyes, waving to the other kids who are still buzzing with leftover energy. You get in the car and smile at Nobora before you pull off.

As you drive, a strange sense of déjà vu settles over you. Your thoughts drift back to Sukuna—how weird it is that he’s become such a normal part of your everyday life. It feels natural, almost effortless, for him to be there as a friend. A steady presence. Another guiding light in the chaos.

You take friendships (actually, any relationship) very seriously. Time feels too short, too precious, to waste on anything less than wholehearted. So it stings all the more that the best friend you adore and cherish is shutting you out over what feels like the dumbest reasons.

Now, by some twist of fate, you’re forced to lean even more on Sukuna. It’s a lot to process. Too much, honestly.

You turn up the radio, letting the music wash over you. Nobara sings loudly in the back seat, and you smile at her sweet little voice. Another moment you don’t dare take for granted.

Sukuna slides into the driver’s seat after buckling Choso in the back and helping Yuji settle in beside him. The boys start to talk about their day, and Choso shows Yuji his Pokémon cards he traded at school. Sukuna listens to the boys’ chatter and his mind wanders, drifting inevitably to you.

He catches himself thinking about you—the way your eyes light up when you smile, the effortless way you carry yourself even when the world’s weight is dragging you down. Gorgeous and perfect in a way that makes his chest tighten. Not just your looks, but the fierce kindness you hide beneath your tough exterior. It’s maddening how much you’ve become this constant in his thoughts, a presence he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries.

He blinks, shaking off the feeling. Doesn’t mean anything. It’s just…you.

Pulling into the apartment complex parking lot, Sukuna kills the engine and steps out. Choso and Yuji stumble out behind him, rubbing their eyes, clearly ready for bed.

As Sukuna starts up the stairs, he spots Toji coming down from his apartment, hands jammed deep in his pockets, jaw clenched tight. Toji tries to avoid eye contact, but Sukuna’s not about to let him slip by.

He steps in front of Toji, blocking his path. “Hey.”

Toji freezes, then tries to brush past him, already starting to say something like “Hey, I’m kinda busy right now-”

But Sukuna holds up a hand, cutting him off. “She’s worried about you.”

Toji’s eyes flicker with surprise, a flicker of guilt. He stands there for a long moment, silent, the words sinking in deeper than Sukuna expected.

Without another word, Sukuna turns and walks away, leaving Toji standing alone on the stairs, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

It’s now been another two days since Toji last spoke to you. That’s four days with no contact. You even stopped by his office, but he wasn’t there. Whatever’s going on, he’s really making the upmost effort to avoid you, and it’s driving you insane.

By now, you’re beyond pissed. You’re fuming, actually. What the fuck is his deal? Is he jealous? Or just having a meltdown no one can explain but him? Either way, you would’ve been a nice, understanding friend, but now you’re planning the inevitable screaming match you’re going to have with him.

Nobara has been begging nonstop for Megumi to stay after school with her, but you keep making excuses, dodging the inevitable. You even considered just picking Megumi up yourself the other day, but your guilt kicked in hard. You couldn’t shake the feeling you’d be crossing a line.

Now it’s Thursday. Tomorrow’s the night—your “date.” Not a date, really, just a hangout, or whatever you want to call it to calm your nerves. But you still haven’t told Hiromi. You planned on telling him right after you asked Sukuna, but you were still in such a state of shock from your boldness. Now, the week has gone by so fast you have to tell him, or you could just show up with Sukuna?

No, that would be bad. Hiromi would pick on you the entire time.

Plus, you have to ask Hiromi to get his parents to watch Nobara. Toji is nowhere to be found, and you refuse to tell him you’re going out with Sukuna—he’d probably start a war. So, you have to bite the bullet and tell your baby daddy you’re bringing your very hot, annoying neighbor on this double date—that is so not a date.

You pull out your phone, hesitating for a second before dialing Hiromi’s number. The line rings and he picks up quickly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Hiromi’s voice is bright, but you detect a teasing edge.

You clear your throat. “Hey, so excited for tomorrow! I am going to bring someone with me.”

“Found you a little piece to bring so we can have a double date?” He hums in satisfaction.

“No! I’m bringing my neighbor…..Sukuna. I honestly didn’t want to be by myself and I kind of owe him dinner for fixing my car.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Hiromi bursts out laughing. “Wait, you’re actually bringing him?”

Your stomach drops. “Wait, do you not want him to come? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

Hiromi immediately interrupts you, “Of course I do. I’m just a little shocked. You have never listened to me the entire time we have known each other. This guy must be doing something right.”

You groan. “Hiromi, don’t start.”

He chuckles again. “When you two are married, I’ll be the first to say I told you so. And we are both excited to see you. It will be a great night, don’t stress.”

You smile despite yourself. “Alright, and can your parents please watch Nobara tomorrow? Toji’s busy.”

Hiromi’s tone softens. “Yes, I will text my mother right now. They will be more than happy to.”

You breathe out, relieved. “Thanks, Hiromi. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He laughs. “See you tomorrow.”

You hang up the phone and let out a deep breath, the weight of the conversation settling around you. Well, that’s one thing down. You tuck the phone away, a small flicker of relief mingling with the nerves still buzzing through your veins.

Nobara had Art Club until five again, and she somehow convinced Yuji to join. Without even bringing it up, Sukuna had offered to pick them both up, and you’d gratefully accepted.

Sukuna pulls up to the apartment complex with Nobara and Yuji buzzing quietly in the backseat. The sun is slipping low now, casting long shadows across the parking lot, but the warmth of the day still lingers in the air. Nobara’s fingers fidget with the straps of her bag, her latest art projects safely tucked inside, while Yuji watches the passing cars with wide-eyed curiosity.

Sukuna kills the engine and steps out, opening the back door with practiced ease. Nobara practically leaps out, chattering about the art club and how Yuji was surprisingly good at drawing. Yuji follows more cautiously, still clutching his crayon stained notebook as if it’s his most prized possession.

You’re standing just inside your apartment door when you hear the familiar thud of the car door closing. Turning, you see Sukuna approaching with the kids—his relaxed confidence somehow grounding even the chaotic energy of Nobara and Yuji.

“Hey,” he says quietly, nodding at you with that faint smirk you’ve come to recognize.

Nobara rushes forward, practically throwing herself at you. “Mommy! Guess what I made today!” You listen to her yap as you carry her inside the apartment.

Yuji tugs at your sleeve, shy but eager to show off his drawings.

Sukuna stands back, watching the exchange with a softness that’s easy to miss if you’re not paying attention.

“Where’s Choso?” you ask as you set down a plate of snacks on the low coffee table—an assortment of cut up fruit, cheese cubes, and Nobara’s favorite animal shaped crackers, all carefully arranged on a colorful tray.

The kids bolt off, giggling and yapping, disappearing into Nobara’s bedroom like a little storm of energy.

Sukuna stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the chaos with a faint smile. “The old man picked him up right at three, took him to get a haircut and some food.”

You nod, then notice Sukuna lingering, still standing just inside the door. You raise an eyebrow and grin, “Hey, you know you can come inside, right?”

He pauses, then smirks. “Oh? Drunky’s letting me in her house.” His laugh is low and amused, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics.

“Actually, scratch that. No Sukunas allowed. New rule.” You say in a mock-serious tone, and you both burst out laughing.

He raises his hands in playful surrender and steps inside, the moment awkward for a beat before he smoothly settles onto your couch like it’s his usual spot.

“You can have some snacks! Just don’t eat them all,” you holler as you change out of your work clothes and slip into some sweats and a baggy off-the-shoulder graphic tee.

You walk over to Sukuna, who is munching away on some cheese and crackers, and wittily take the plate away from him so you can have some fruit. Sukuna frowns as you take the plate away but almost watches you too intensely as you eat that strawberry.

“So, what should I wear tomorrow?” he asks, picking at the skin around his nails.

You plop down on the floor in front of him, smiling. “Honestly? I don’t even know what I’m wearing yet.”

Your eyes meet, and the tension breaks with a giggle. “Maybe skip the work clothes,” you joke, nodding toward his grease-streaked shirt. “You’re going to get my couch dirty.”

Sukuna throws his head back and laughs, sinking comfortably into the cushions.

“My poor couch.” You frown and toss a pillow at him.

He just smiles, and for a moment, you find yourself locked in his gaze. Just then, Nobara and Yuji burst back into the room. “Mommy! Uncle Sukuna!” they shout, rushing over and jumping onto your lap.

Nobara’s landing is light and quick, but Yuji’s enthusiastic hug nearly knocks the wind out of Sukuna.

Sukuna groans theatrically, clutching his ribs as laughter bubbles from all of you. Before you can catch your breath, he grabs a pillow and throws it right at you.

The pillow hits your side with a soft thud, and you immediately retaliate, grabbing the nearest cushion and smacking Sukuna across the face. His surprised laugh turns into a grin as he lunges forward and pushes you onto the couch.

Nobara squeals with delight, ducking behind the couch, while Yuji shrieks and dives at Sukuna’s legs. The living room erupts into a whirlwind of laughter and pillows being thrown in every direction.

You duck as a pillow sails toward your head, narrowly avoiding the blow, and fire back with a well aimed toss. Sukuna catches it midair, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re going down, Drunky,” he teases, voice low and playful.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” you grin, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

He nods, eyes locked on yours. “Absolutely.”

The kids cheer from their hiding spots, egging you both on. For a moment, everything else falls away—no worries, no unspoken words, just the pure, chaotic joy of the moment.

Pillows fly faster, laughter gets louder, and you find yourself drenched in the warmth of this strange, unexpected family you’re building.

After a few more rounds of pillow tossing and laughter, the fight starts to lose steam. Nobara collapses onto the couch, breathless but grinning ear to ear, while Yuji flops down beside her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You sink onto the floor, catching your breath and wiping the sweaty hair stuck to your face.

Sukuna sits back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watches the kids settle down. Then, his expression shifts-sharp and focused. He glances at his watch and suddenly sits upright.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I need to get Yuji back to the apartment before the old man drops Choso off.”

You nod, already standing and gathering the scattered pillows. “Yeah, I need to make dinner and give Nobara a bath.” Nobara and Yuji pout as they realize they have to leave each other.

Sukuna stands, brushing off his pants and moving toward the door. “C’mon, Yuji.”

You smile tiredly and watch Yuji run to the door while Nobara leans up against you.

“Night, you guys! Tell Choso we said hi!” you and Nobara wave.

He looks back at you, eyes softening for a moment, with Yuji holding his hand. “Night.”

The kids wave goodbye as Sukuna leads Yuji out the door, the quiet settling back into the apartment once more. You take a deep breath, already counting down the hours until tomorrow’s “date”—whatever that might really mean.

“Is Uncle Sukuna your girlfriend?” Nobara asks suddenly, and your eyes widen in surprise before your mouth bursts open with a laugh.

“Sukuna is a boy, Nobara. And he’s not your uncle,” you say gently, watching her nibble on her snacks spread across the coffee table.

She raises a brow, considering your words, then nods slowly. “So he’s your boyfriend. ’Cause Daddy has a girlfriend, and they smile at each other just like you guys do.” She hums thoughtfully, shoving another piece of cheese into her mouth.

Your eyes widen again as she climbs up onto the couch beside you. “And Yuji and Choso call him uncle, so why can’t I? I call Toji uncle.” You can’t really argue with that logic-especially coming from a five-year-old.

You roll your eyes and stand up from the couch. “He’s not my boyfriend, baby. He’s just Mommy’s friend. Like Uncle Toji.”

Nobara nods solemnly, then walks over to you with a bright smile. “Can we go see him and Megumi?”

“We can soon, baby. They’re just busy right now.” Your gut twists at the thought of Toji, and you wonder when the silence between you will finally break. You’ve given up calling or texting. It’s just not worth the heartbreak anymore.

Changing the subject quickly, you pull over Nobara’s little kitchen stool and pat it. “Wanna help me make dinner?”

Her eyes light up, gleaming with excitement as she nods vigorously.

“I was thinking ramen sounds good,” you say, heading to the kitchen to gather ingredients and ramen packets.

“Yummy!” Nobara chirps happily, following you eagerly.

Together, you start preparing the meal-boiling water, adding noodles, chopping green onions, and stirring in broth packets. Nobara tries to imitate your every move, her small hands carefully helping where she can, occasionally stealing a noodle to giggle about.

You and Nobara settle at the small kitchen table, steam rising from the bowls of ramen warming your hands. She slurps enthusiastically, noodles hanging comically from her lips as she giggles every time you pretend to scold her.

Between bites, she chatters about her day—how she showed Yuji a new art trick, how Megumi was funny, and how she wants to draw a picture for you. You smile softly, heart swelling at her innocence and energy.

But beneath the surface, your thoughts keep circling back to Toji and Sukuna. The silence with Toji weighs heavy on you, like a knot tightening in your chest. You wonder when—or if—that wall will come down. And then there’s Sukuna, whose presence both comforts and confuses you.

You watch Nobara’s bright eyes, her carefree laughter, and remind yourself to hold onto this moment, this small pocket of peace. Tomorrow’s “date” looms ahead, and with it, a whirlpool of emotions you’re not quite ready to face.

For now, though, there’s just warmth, noodles, and the soft happiness that only comes from being here, now, with her.

After dinner, you gather the bowls and stack them in the sink, the warmth of the meal still lingering in the cozy kitchen. Nobara bounces on her toes, her energy barely contained, but you know it’s time to wind down.

“All right, baby, let’s get you cleaned up,” you say, taking her hand gently.

She giggles, skipping ahead as you lead her to the bathroom. You run the bath, adding a generous splash of sleepy time bubble bath. The scent fills the small space, wrapping around you both like a soft hug.

Nobara climbs in, splashing happily as you help wash away the day’s dirt and crayon marks. She hums a little tune, the bubbles tickling her skin and her eyes growing heavy.

“You’re gonna stay with Nana and Papa tomorrow, okay?” you tell her as you scrub her body.

She nods her head and continues to try and count every single bubble. “’Kay, Mommy.”

You rinse her hair carefully, avoiding the tears and the protests, and wrap her in a fluffy towel, rubbing her dry with slow, soothing strokes.

In her pajamas, Nobara curls up in your arms. You carry her back to her room, tucking her in under soft blankets. She looks up at you with sleepy eyes, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Mommy, I love you,” she murmurs.

You kiss her forehead, heart swelling. “I love you too, baby. Sleep tight.”

As she drifts off, you sit beside her bed for a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall with steady breaths.

Over on the other side of the walls, Sukuna is struggling to get the boys to bed.

Choso arrived home with Wasuke just as Yuji and the others were stepping through the door. Wasuke, always thoughtful, brought takeout, which everyone devoured in record time-no leftovers in sight.

After their grandpa left, the boys begged for some time on the Wii. They begged to play Just Dance, and the apartment quickly filled with laughter, shouts, and the sound of plastic controllers clacking against each other.

Somehow, instead of winding down, Yuji and Choso found a second wind. Within minutes, they were running wild around the apartment, shrieking with laughter—completely butt ass naked. Clothes lay abandoned in the hallway, a trail of shirts and socks marking their path.

Sukuna scowled as he watched Yuji and Choso chase each other around the living room, their laughter echoing off the walls. The takeout containers were already empty, stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. He’d barely finished cleaning up when the boys—now stripped down and shrieking—dashed past him.

“If you break something, you’re cleaning it up,” he warned, voice low and even. They ignored him, of course. “And put some damn clothes on!”

Sukuna prided himself on his patience with the boys. Sure, he could be a bit of an ass sometimes, but he usually kept his cool. Right now, though? He was one minor disaster away from losing it.

With a deep breath, Sukuna finally rounded them up, grabbing Yuji first and then Choso, who squirmed and giggled like little eels slipping through his fingers. He herded them toward the bathroom, his voice firm but calm. “Bath time, now. No more running.”

The boys protested briefly, but the promise of warm water and their favorite dinosaur bath toys softened their resistance. Sukuna filled the tub with comfortably warm water, just right to soothe and relax them after the chaos. He helped them climb in and let them tire themselves out in the tub.

The bath was short but effective, just enough to wash away the day’s dirt and burn off the last of their energy. When the bath was over, he wrapped them in fluffy towels and guided them to their beds. Yuji’s eyelids drooped, and Choso snuggled close, finally still.

Sukuna exhaled, a tired smile tugging at his lips. The apartment was finally quiet, the chaos of the day fading into silence.

He headed for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the exhaustion from a long day spent juggling work and wrangling the boys. After drying off, he slipped into a clean pair of boxers, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a little.

He hadn’t checked his phone all day—too busy, too distracted. Now, as he picked it up, the screen lit up with a barrage of notifications. Most were from Yarozu. Her persistence was almost impressive. He’d thought ignoring her would be enough to send the message he was done fucking around, but clearly, she didn’t get the hint.

Rolling his eyes, he left her on read and scrolled until your name appeared. The sight of it made him pause, a small smirk crossing his face. He typed out a quick message: “See ya tomorrow for our date, Drunky.”

Satisfied, he locked his phone and set it aside. The annoyance he once felt over how much you occupied his thoughts had faded; now, thinking of you was oddly calming as he drifted off to sleep.

Your phone buzzed, and you glanced at the screen. “Asshole,” the contact read, making you smile despite yourself. You typed back, “Not a date,” and set your phone down, the warmth of his message lingering as you slowly nodded off too.

Now it’s Friday morning. The day of the date—or whatever the fuck we are calling it—has finally arrived. Hiromi sent you a cheerful good morning message, telling you how excited he is for tonight. You lied and replied that you’re excited too, but in reality, your stomach is doing somersaults as you drive Nobara to school.

As you walk her inside, you spot Toji. He’s never here before you. That son of a bitch. You can’t help but frown as you keep walking. Nobara, however, doesn’t hesitate. She darts over to him immediately.

“Uncle Toji!” she cries, running straight into his arms. Of course, he picks her up and gives her a big hug.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he says warmly. Nobara wriggles out of his arms and rushes toward the classroom to find Megumi, but then she suddenly stops, realizing she forgot something important.

“Bye, Mommy!” she calls, waving as you’re already halfway down the hall. You smile and blow her a kiss.

You pause for a moment, watching her disappear into the room, then glance over at Toji and Kento. You give a quick, polite nod to the blond, but you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge your so-called best friend.

You turn on your heel and march out, your mind racing with all the things you’d planned to say if you saw him again. You were ready to tear into him, but now your heart just sinks. Maybe it’s time he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Kento lets out a low whistle and clicks his tongue. “You’re in trouble,” he murmurs.

Toji groans, “Big time.” He waves goodbye to Megumi and Nobara, then gives Nanami a nod as he heads out.

As Toji walks down the hall, he spots Sukuna with Yuji. Sukuna grins, “Oh, you’re alive? I thought you’d died since you decided to ghost me. Honestly, my heart’s a little broken,” he teases.

Toji scoffs and ignores the jab. “Hey, Yuji.”

Yuji beams. “Hi, Toji! Is Megumi here?” Toji nods, and Yuji gives Sukuna a quick hug before sprinting to the classroom.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow. “Ya finally going to be a big boy and talk to us?” he says, waving at Nanami before heading out with Toji.

“You still up her ass?” Toji retorts, pulling out two cigarettes-one for himself, one for Sukuna.

Sukuna pulls out his lighter and lights both, taking a deep drag. “More than ever, since you haven’t been around,” he chuckles.

A heavy silence settles between them. Toji knows he messed up. It isn’t fair to either of them. He needs to face his problems and grow the fuck up. Well, that’s exactly what his wife would have told him.

Sukuna breaks the tension with a smirk. “You’d better talk to her before she decides to marry me,” he jokes, heading toward his Mustang.

Toji just nods, watching the gravel shift beneath his feet as he slowly trudges to his Camaro, feeling the weight of everything he’s left unsaid.

Sukuna pulls out of the parking lot, dread hanging over him. Toji is his friend—has been for a long time. Not as long as you, but Sukuna still considers their relationship solid. He respects Toji enough not to try anything underhanded here.

He thinks he’s been on his best behavior around you, even if you make his heart ache and his mind go blank. He’s terrified for tonight. He knows you aren’t calling it a date—he doesn’t even think of it as one—but he’s still nervous to be around you. It takes everything in him to keep up that façade.

When he arrives at his shop, his employees are already busy opening up and working on cars. Sukuna lets out a groan and heads into his office. He genuinely enjoys owning the shop, but the one thing he hates about being the owner is the endless paperwork. Most mornings, he’s stuck behind his desk, handling paperwork and answering phone calls, instead of working with his hands.

But when the paperwork is done, he gets to do what he loves: working on cars and talking to customers face-to-face. That’s when he feels most at home. As the day drags on and evening approaches, his nerves return. He can’t stop thinking about tonight.

Meanwhile, at the library, you’ve been dodging Ino all day because he won’t stop teasing you about the so-called date. He keeps asking for every little detail and just won’t let it go.

You finally find some peace at your desk, cataloging the last of the books before you leave. Ino is busy giving a tour, and the new hires are being trained at the front desk. It’s been a smooth day. You even approved an elementary school field trip for next month and sent a few emails.

As you pack up to leave, Ino waves and winks at you. You roll your eyes, wave back, and head out to your car, trying to swallow the nervousness as the evening draws closer.

You get a text from Hiromi’s mom letting you know she’s picked up Nobara, and they’re taking her to see a movie. You quickly reply, then head straight to your apartment.

As you step through the front door, you slip your tote bag off your shoulder and hang it neatly on the hook by the entryway. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Hiromi said you’d meet at 7:00 p.m., and it’s just now 4:00 now. You only have three hours to prepare. You’re determined to look and smell your absolute best for this evening, especially for this mystery woman—definitely not for anyone else

You walk into your bedroom and carefully lay out several outfit options across the bedspread, each one a possibility for the night ahead. Then, you make your way to the bathroom to begin your routine. You wash your hair thoroughly, letting the warm water relax you, then shave and exfoliate your skin until it feels smooth and refreshed. You massage oils into your skin and apply a soothing face mask, letting it work its magic while you brush and floss your teeth with meticulous care. Afterward, you check your reflection for any blemishes, quickly tending to any that you find.

Wrapped in a soft robe, a towel twisted atop your damp hair, you return to your bedroom and study the outfits you’ve arranged. Hiromi only said you were going to dinner, and you don’t want to be too overdressed. After some deliberation, you decide on a pair of light denim jeans, sleek black boots, a crisp black crew neck, and your favorite leather jacket.

For your makeup, you opt for a minimal, natural look: you brush your brows into place, dust on a bit of powder and blush for a healthy glow, and finish with a swipe of your favorite gloss. Then, you blow dry your hair making sure every piece is in place.

For accessories, you choose delicate gold earrings and the gold bracelet Nobara gave you last Mother’s Day—a sentimental touch that always makes you smile. You swap your bulky library tote for a sleek black purse, feeling the smooth leather in your hands.

Before leaving your bedroom, you make sure to slip your wallet into your purse because you promised Sukuna you’d cover dinner tonight. The clock just turned six, giving you plenty of time to get Sukuna and head to the restaurant, and Hiromi just sent you the directions.

You take one last look in the mirror and smile.

Okay, I’m ready.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp knock at the door. The sound jolts you out of your thoughts. Sukuna must be ready. Heart pounding, you grab your fanciest perfume and spritz it over your neck and wrists. You barely give yourself a second glance in the mirror before rushing to the door, not even bothering to check the peephole.

You unlock it in a hurry, swinging it open with a practiced smile, only for your face to instantly fall flat. Toji stands there, leaning against the doorframe, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

���Well, what’s got you all dressed up, pretty?” he drawls, eyes flicking over your outfit. His gaze lingers a second too long, and you scowl, tension snapping through your body like a live wire.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap, voice low and sharp.

He shrugs, trying to look casual, but there’s something restless in his eyes. “I’m just worried about ya, pretty.”

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Yeah? So you ignore my calls, refuse to let me see Megumi, and then just show up at my door like nothing happened? What the fuck is wrong with you, Toji?”

He shifts his weight, jaw tightening. “I was stuck in my head. I’ve been meaning to talk to ya. I should’ve answered, but I didn’t want to yell at ya ‘cause I was upset.”

Your anger flares hotter. “Why the hell are you even upset? What did I do? Do you even realize the things you’ve done lately? I let it go because I love you, Toji! But you-” You cut yourself off, breath shaking.

Toji sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not right for ya, pretty. At least, I don’t think he is.”

You glare at him, in shock. “You have no right to tell me who’s right for me, Toji. And he’s your friend, too.”

“That’s exactly why I know he ain’t right. I know how him and Yarozu are.”

You arch an eyebrow, shaking your head in disbelief. “He’s a friend, Toji. And honestly? He’s been acting like a better one than you these past few days.” You shoulder past him, your anger simmering.

Toji’s face darkens, frustration etched deep in his features. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” you spit back, voice trembling with hurt. “He’s even coming with me tonight to meet Hiromi’s girlfriend.”

He scoffs, bitterness creeping in. “You’ve barely even been with anyone before, so how the fuck do you know he’s just acting like a friend?”

You freeze, fingers tightening around your purse strap. “What did you just say?”

Toji exhales, voice softer but strained. “You’ve barely been with-”

“No, I heard you,” you cut in, voice icy. “Just making sure I wasn’t imagining it.” You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay calm.

He bites the inside of his cheek, regret flickering in his eyes. Fuck.

You open your mouth, ready to unleash another retort, but Toji interrupts.

“Look what happened with Higuruma. It was just one night and you didn’t even know him.”

Your eyes widen, the old wound reopening. “Are you serious right now?”

Toji sighs, looking away, trying to avoid your deathly glare.

“I was young, Toji. I barely knew what life was. I think I have a better grasp of things now. Sukuna and I are just friends. That’s it.”

He tries to speak, but you cut him off, voice trembling with conviction. “I’m not the same girl I was back then. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’m not a fucking kid you have to keep worrying about.”

He looks at you, pain flickering in his eyes. “I just don’t want something like that to happen again.”

“Something like what?” you demand, stepping closer, your voice cold as stone. “Me getting pregnant?”

He stands there, not knowing what to say. You see the sadness in his eyes, but you’re ignoring it.

You glare at him, every muscle in your body taut with anger. “Get out, Toji. I don’t want to look at you.”

His face goes blank, the smirk wiped away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“Pretty-” he starts, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get the fuck out,” you repeat, voice shaking but unyielding.

He hesitates, searching your face for something—anything—but you hold his gaze, unflinching, until he finally turns and walks away, leaving you standing in the doorway, heart pounding and hands trembling.

You feel the hot sting of tears welling up, sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them. Panic rises as you rush back to the bathroom, desperately dabbing at your face, trying not to ruin the makeup you spent so long perfecting. The last thing you need is for anyone to see you like this.

Suddenly, you here another knock at the door. Annoyed, you snap, “Toji, I said leave me-”

But when you yank the door open, it’s not Toji standing there. It’s Sukuna. He leans against the frame, looking unfairly good in a worn leather jacket, black jeans, his signature boots, and a crisp white t-shirt. His hair is styled just right, and tonight, his sharp features look even more irresistible than usual.

Your eyes widen as you immediately realize who it is. “Did you just called me Toji?”Sukuna’s lips curl into a smirk, but the moment he notices your tear stained face, his expression softens.

 “What’s wrong, drunky?” he asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. You close the door behind him, grateful for the excuse to hide your face for a second longer.

You wipe your eyes, glancing in the hallway mirror to check the damage. “Toji stopped by. I made him leave,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

Sukuna doesn’t buy it. He can see right through you, but he doesn’t push. Not yet.

He leans in, voice low. “Should we call your baby daddy-?”

You cut him off with a sigh. “No, I want to go. I need to meet his girlfriend. He’s always there for me, always does whatever I ask. It’s the least I can do.”

Sukuna nods, but you catch the way his eyes linger on you. Then you notice you both are literally dressed the same. “Hey, look! We’re matching,” you say, forcing a smile as you show off your jacket.

He laughs, a deep, warm sound that makes your heart skip. “I make it look better,” he teases, eyes glinting. He tries to hide how much he’s staring at you, how he could get lost in every detail of your face, but you catch the way his gaze lingers a little too long.

You roll your eyes and head for the door, locking it behind you. When you turn around, Sukuna is waiting, holding out two motorcycle helmets.

You groan. “We are not taking your bike.”

He just grins, ignoring your protest as he hands you a helmet. “My hair will get messed up!” you protest, but you can’t help but smile as you follow him down the hall.

Sukuna glances over his shoulder, eyes dark and playful. “You’ll still look good, even if it���s a mess,” he says, holding out a hand to help you onto the bike.

Your stomach flips, heat blooming in your cheeks. You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips—or the way your heart races as his fingers brush yours.

You swing your leg over the bike, the leather of your jacket warm and familiar against your skin as Sukuna steadies the machine beneath you. The city lights blur softly in the visor’s tint, casting a golden haze over the streets as the engine rumbles to life—a deep, steady growl that vibrates through your bones. 

When you finally pull up outside the restaurant, the engine’s growl fades. Sukuna helps you off the bike and secures the helmets in the bin. You take a deep, nervous breath and glance at him. “Okay, now I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly.

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Why the hell are you scared?”

You fidget with your jacket zipper, looking down for a moment. “I want to make sure she likes me. Hiromi talks about her like she’s amazing, and if she’s going to be part of my life, I want to make a good impression.”

Sukuna’s expression softens, and he mutters, “I think it’ll be hard for her not to.” You catch the quiet sincerity in his voice and can’t help but smile.

You quickly pull out your phone to check your hair from the stupid helmet you had to wear. “You look fine.” Sukuna tries to sound annoyed and you softly smile, feeling the fire forming on your cheeks.

Together, you step inside the cozy restaurant, the warm glow of amber lights and the murmur of quiet conversations wrapping around you. It’s not fancy, and you’re grateful for that. Your eyes find Hiromi, who stands and waves you over with a bright smile.

 Without thinking, you reach out and grasp Sukuna’s arm, tugging him close as you make your way to the table. Hiromi greets you both with a broad, genuine smile before turning to the woman beside him. She rises with effortless grace, her serene expression and gentle eyes immediately soothing your nerves.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she says, her voice soft but sincere. “Nobara and Hiromi have told me so much about you!”

You return her warmth, though your heart is pounding. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Hiromi’s only ever had the nicest things to say.”

But Sukuna’s presence looms at your side, impossible to ignore. You suddenly realize you need to introduce him—except, as what? The question sends a jolt of panic through you, but before you can act, Hiromi is already extending his hand to Sukuna.

“Good to see you again,” Hiromi says cheerfully, and Sukuna flashes a grin in return and nods. You can’t help but stare—kinda a bizarre moment for you. Hiromi turns to his girlfriend, gesturing toward Sukuna. “This is the neighbor friend I mentioned,” he explains, but you know his big mouth probably told her more than what he’s letting on.

Sukuna then takes Hiromi’s girlfriend’s hand. She blushes faintly as he offers a surprisingly polite, “Nice to meet you.” He literally had that effect on everyone.

As everyone settles in around the table, Sukuna and Hiromi quickly slip into conversation, their voices low but lively, punctuated by the occasional laugh. Meanwhile, Hiromi’s girlfriend turns her attention to you, drawing you into an engaging discussion about her work. She shares intriguing stories about the unique challenges of teaching, her passion evident in every word. Her warmth and genuine curiosity make it easy for you to open up, and soon the conversation flows naturally, leaving you both smiling and eager to learn more about each other.

As the server arrives with menus, everyone takes a moment to decide. Hiromi opts for a classic miso soup, while his girlfriend chooses a delicate seaweed salad and a light grilled salmon dish. You settle on a comforting bowl of udon noodles that looked too good to pass up. Sukuna, scanning the menu with a sharp eye, orders a sizzling plate of teriyaki beef. Which surprised you because you thought he’d get the most expensive item on the menu. With all the orders placed and menus set aside, the table feels even more lively, the anticipation of the meal blending seamlessly with the easy flow of conversation.

Soon, a waiter arrives, expertly balancing trays laden with beautifully presented dishes. Vibrant colors and artful arrangements catch your eye. The air is thick with the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meats, fresh herbs, and subtle hints of ginger and soy that mingle invitingly above the table.

Everyone digs in, the first bites are met with appreciative murmurs. Laughter bubbles up naturally, breaking through any lingering awkwardness. Across the table, Hiromi’s girlfriend launches into a hilarious story from her latest psychology lecture. You can’t help but be drawn in by her and you honestly understand why Hiromi has fallen so hard for her.

You are pulled in by her gestures and infectious laughter. But beneath the table, something else demands your attention. Sukuna’s knee brushes against yours, just lightly at first, as if by accident. You glance at him, but his face is the picture of innocence, focused on the story.

A moment later, as the laughter around the table swells, his leg nudges yours again, firmer this time, lingering just a second longer. Your pulse quickens at the silent exchange, a secret current of energy passing between you. You try to focus on the conversation, but your heart was pumping so fast you were worried it would burst out onto the table.

Calm down. 

The evening continues lin a blur of lighthearted teasing, shared memories, and easy smiles. With each passing moment, the nervous tension that once knotted your stomach dissolves, replaced by a comforting sense of belonging. Between bites and conversation, you catch Sukuna’s gaze lingering on you. He decided on that instead of nudging your leg after you gave him a death glare.

As the hours slip by, the plates are picked clean and you’re all so full, stomachs about to burst. You all have now turned to a very expensive bottle of wine you all decided to share—Hiromi’s girlfriend insisted. The sweet red liquid coats your throat and the buzz is making you feel as bubbly as ever.

“So, how did you two meet?” She asks, swirling her wine and flashing a curious grin.

Hiromi stifles a laugh, and you shoot him a quick glare. “Oh, he’s my neighbor,” you reply, unsure how much to share.

She giggles, her cheeks flushed from the wine. “That’s so cute!” Her words slur just a bit, and you can tell she’s getting tipsy.

You smile politely while Sukuna and Hiromi exchange glances, both struggling to hold back their laughter.

As you all stand to settle the bill, she suddenly pipes up, “Do you guys wanna go play some pool?”

Hiromi raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. You echo his confusion. “Pool? You mean, like, at a bar?”

She nods enthusiastically and links her arm with Hiromi’s, already heading for the door. The rest of you look at each other and shrug, amused by her spontaneous energy.

As you walk out, you start chatting with her about a book you just finished, getting animated as you describe your favorite parts. In the midst of your conversation, you realize Sukuna and Hiromi have already paid the bill. You turn, ready to protest, but Sukuna holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” he says flatly.

You huff, crossing your arms. “I said I would owe you,” you mutter, but he just waves you off with a smirk.

You all thank the restaurant staff and step out into the cool night air. Right across the street, neon lights flicker above a narrow doorway—a hole in the wall bar you’ve never knew was there before.

Inside, the bar is dimly lit and smells faintly of old wood and spilled beer. A couple of regulars nurse their drinks at the counter, and in the back, a battered pool table sits beneath a buzzing fluorescent light.

You and Sukuna team up against Hiromi and his girlfriend, the two of you standing side by side at the battered pool table. The bar’s dim light casts a warm glow over the felt as the balls are racked.

Sukuna cracks his knuckles with a confident grin. “Alright, rookie, watch and learn.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I know what I’m doing.” (Even though you haven’t played pool in years).

He just smirks, chalking his cue. “Whatever you say.” He lines up the break, and with a practiced stroke, sends the cue ball smashing into the rack. The balls scatter across the table, and a striped one drops cleanly into the corner pocket.

“Guess we’re solids.” Higuruma states as he claps his hands together.

Sukuna glances over, nudging you with his elbow. “See? That’s how it’s done.”

You pick up your cue, trying to mirror Sukuna’s stance, but the awareness of his eyes on you makes your hands clumsy. “Alright, coach,” you say, forcing a playful tone, “What’s the secret?”

He steps in behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands slide over yours, gentle but firm, guiding your grip. “Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “You’re holding it like you want to choke the life out of it.”

His breath fans against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The bar seems to shrink around you. His fingers linger a moment too long, his chest brushing lightly against your back as he leans in to adjust your arms.

You try to sound annoyed, but your voice comes out softer, almost breathless. “What happened to personal space?”

“Can’t help it if I’m a hands-on teacher,” he smirks.

You roll your, eyes ignoring Sukunas cocky remark as you watch the ball sink in. Sukuna gives you a proud smile and you suddenly have a burst of confidence in your pool skills.

Hiromi and his girlfriend take their turn. Hiromi moves with the easy confidence of someone who’s played before, while his girlfriend giggles, clearly a little more than tipsy now but just happy to be included.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is laser focused. You notice the way his jaw tightens every time he lines up a shot, and how his eyes narrow with determination. He hates losing and it’s obvious. It’s oddly attractive, though a little intimidating, watching him calculate each move with almost predatory precision.

The game flows with playful banter. When you suddenly miss an “easy shot”, Sukuna throws his hands up in mock despair. “Seriously? That was your shot?”

You glare at him, feigning outrage. “I’m tipsy, alright? Cut me some slack.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You can’t blame everything on the drinks.”

Hiromi chimes in, grinning. “She does that a lot.” His girlfriend giggles, not quite following, and you shoot Hiromi a look. You would flip him off if you weren’t trying to make a good impression.

When your turn comes around again, Sukuna leans in, voice low. “Aim a little left. Trust me.”

You take a breath, line up your shot, and with guided ease, the ball drops into the pocket. You spin around, grinning. “Hey, look! I did it!”

Sukuna’s eyes light up. “Told you. You’re a natural,” he says, his tone half-teasing, half-proud.

Hiromi’s girlfriend claps from across the table. “You guys are killing it!”

You flash Sukuna a playful smirk. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

He just shakes his head, pretending to be exasperated. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the game goes on, Sukuna’s skill and your growing confidence help your team pull ahead. When the final ball drops, Hiromi’s girlfriend claps her hands, her smile bright and a little wobbly. “That was so much fun! You guys are seriously good.”

Hiromi stretches, looking genuinely relaxed. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I needed this.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of the evening settle over you. “Me too. We should do this again.”

His girlfriend laughs, swaying slightly. “Next time, let’s try something I’m actually good at.”

Sukuna grins, cocky as ever. “I’m ready to win again whenever you are.”

She winks back. “We’ll see about that.”

Then she leans in for a quick hug. “Take care, okay?” You give her a hug right back and nod.

As everyone gathers their things, Hiromi pulls his girlfriend close, giving you a grateful smile. “Thanks for tonight. It was great to see you both. I’ll call and check on Nobora when we get home!”

Hiromi waves as you and Sukuna head for the door. “Alright, text me and let me know how she is!”

Outside, the night air feels even cooler after the warmth of the bar. You and Sukuna walk side by side letting the city consume you both.

“Not bad for a rookie,” Sukuna says, bumping your shoulder with a sly grin.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “You’re just lucky I was on your team.” He laughs, and for a moment, everything feels exactly right.

As you both continue your walk, a comfortable silence settles between you. The only sounds are your footsteps echoing in sync along the sidewalk. Above, the city lights shimmer and dance, casting a glow on the streets and painting your faces with flecks of gold and silver.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You simply share the quiet, each lost in your own thoughts, yet somehow perfectly attuned to each other’s presence.

After a few moments, Sukuna clears his throat, the sound breaking the spell of silence. He glances over at you, his expression uncertain but earnest, as if searching for the right words before he finally speaks.

“Hey.”

You turn to look at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Yeah?”

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the pavement for a moment. “I’m… sorry.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side. “Sorry? For what?”

He lets out a breath, almost as if he’s been holding it in for days. “For when I first met you. I shouldn’t have said any of that bullshit. I was out of line.”

You stare at him, surprised by the unexpected apology. “Wait, what? So you do know how to say sorry!” A teasing smile tugs at your lips. “I thought you were just being nice to me because you’re the type who can’t apologize without it hurting your precious pride.” You giggle and give him a light pat on the back.

“It’s fine, Sukuna. Honestly, I got to let off some steam by yelling at you.” You flash him a genuine smile.

He stops in his tracks, momentarily breathless. His heart pounds in his chest, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you.

This is bad. So fucking bad. He’s down bad—worse than he’s ever been in his life. Nearly two months have passed, and still, you haunt his every thought. He’d told himself it was just a passing crush, something he could shake off with a few cheap distractions and a little time. But now, standing here, staring into your eyes, he realizes just how wrong he was. He’s past infatuation—he’s drowning in you, pulled under by a tide he doesn’t want to escape.

You notice he’s no longer beside you and turn, confusion flickering across your face. Before you can even ask what’s wrong, he closes the distance between you with a few quick, purposeful steps.

Suddenly, he’s right in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body. His presence is overwhelming, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The world seems to shrink, focusing only on the intense connection between you.

He closes the remaining space between you, every heartbeat thunderous in your ears. His hand lifts—fingers trembling slightly before they graze your cheek, brushing away a stray strand of hair. The air feels charged, your breath caught as his touch sends a shiver racing down your spine. He leans in, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, lingering there. Your pulse stutters as his lips hover, barely a breath away, the world narrowing to this single, suspended moment. All of a sudden, your phone buzzes sharply in your pocket.

You pull away, startled, fumbling for the screen. The electric connection with Sukuna snaps, leaving you breathless and disoriented. 

It’s Hiromi.

“Hello?” you answer, voice tense.

His voice is tight, urgent. “Nobora’s at the ER.”

summary: ahhhh! please don’t hate me for leaving it on a cliff hanger lmao. I promise everything will be answered and hopefully Toji can start acting right soon enough🙂‍↕️

I think I have a pretty good updating schedule planned for this. i’ll usually post by the end of the week. if not, i’ll try to update you before hand. your girl has the summer off and you bet your ass I’m going to try to write as much as I possibly can before I start work again. I will also be uploading this on A03! once I get it uploaded I will update my links.

as always, please let me know how you felt about this chapter. I really hope you enjoyed it. I love you all so much and I’ll see you next week for chapter six! I hope you all have the best week <3

taglist is open: please comment and let me know if you want to be on it!! (:

@sukubusss @poopooindamouf @emochosoluvr @777pluto @bookfreakk

@withtanxp @pandabiene5115 @fava-boi @not-aya @jkslvsnella

@saltypuffin1040 @zeppelid @miakxn @iseeyouuu @storiesbyparadise @flowerpot113 @mullermilkshake

@bestwomanalive @nessca153 @puran-poli

[moonstruckme]

omg i just saw only thawing out requests are open and I had this thought yesterday we're mind linked i swear

i though about sirius having a ✨fun✨ dream with reader and then rem shows up in it and he wakes up sooooo confused

We are mind linked! Ty for requesting ;)

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: smut mndi, modern au, chronic pain

note for minors: smut is between the red lines, so please scroll past those to read. You don't need it for the plot and there's an sfw summary at the end of the chapter. There is some suggestive content outside of the red lines, but no smut

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

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Your hands are in Sirius’ hair, and his face is in your neck. 

You make a breathy, needy sound, tugging at his roots, fingernails scraping his scalp. He chases the source of the noise. Finds the flutter of your pulse and sucks at it to feel your heartbeat between his teeth. 

“Sirius,” you pant. Your lips brush across his hairline, baptizing him. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises. Your thighs tremble with little shivers, his fingers filling up your cunt. “You’re so good for me. So sweet, and pretty, and perfect, my perfect girl.” 

You giggle half deliriously, hips twitching into his touch as your walls flutter around him. Sirius moans. 

“I love you,” you murmur by his ear. Hurried, desperate kisses in a path down from his temple. “I love you, Sirius.” 

“I love you.” Sirius catches you mouth with his. The taste of you floods through him like the feeling of coming home, like coffee and sweetness and lazy Sunday mornings in bed. 

He eats up your moan when his fingers curl inside of you, your gummy walls made to fit him. Your hand presses over the tattoo on his ribs. 

You break away from him with a gasp, and Sirius opens his eyes to see you. You’re encompassed by bedsheets, soft pillowcase against your softer cheek, buttery afternoon light filtering through. Your face, cast half in shadow, is the only thing in the world. 

You grind into his hand again, expression tightening in a way Sirius hasn’t seen before and makes his cock twinge to witness. You’re close.

“There you go,” he urges. “Come on, sweetheart.” 

“Sirius.” Your grip on him tightens, “Fuck, baby.” 

Sirius has fantasized about you calling him that, but when you do your voice isn’t yours. 

He blinks, and the eyes peering at him are a warm amber, strands of tawny hair falling into them. A concentrated little divot between the brows. Sirius’ fingers are wrapped confidently around an entirely different sex organ. 

“Good,” Remus grunts in that heady, approving timbre. “Good, just like that.” 

“That’s good?” Sirius asks, uncertain but eager to please. 

Remus hums. His hand draws up Sirius’ side, cupping his face. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, drawing closer until his lips cover Sirius’. “Just like that, love.” 

───────────────────────────────────────────

Sirius snaps awake as the plane jolts. 

“Whoa, we’re okay,” you say, turning to grin at him. Sirius realizes he’s grabbed your hand, pinned harshly underneath his on the armrest. On your other side, Remus seems to have been jostled awake, too; he’s blinking blearily, lifting his head from your shoulder. 

“Sorry.” Sirius looks down, then takes off his neck pillow, setting it over his crotch. He tries to make it look casual, hopes neither of you have seen. 

Unfortunately, you know Sirius too well not to recognize the oddity of him being alert so soon after waking up. “It’s fine.” You smile, giving his hand a little squeeze. “Everything okay?” 

Behind you, Remus turns to look at him too, eyes perceptive, discerning. A pursed mouth Sirius now imagines he knows the feel of. 

“Yeah.” Sirius squeezes your hand back before retracting his. “Just a weird dream.” 

You give him a sympathetic look. “Plane naps are always weird, aren’t they?” 

He makes a disgruntled sound of agreement. 

In the airport, you pace back and forth in front of the baggage carousel while Sirius and Remus watch from seats nearby. Remus is stretching one leg out in front of him self-consciously, his expression tense with discomfort. Sirius knew it hurt his hip to stand for too long, but apparently the long stint of stillness on the plane hadn’t been kind to it either. 

“She looks nervous,” Remus hums. 

Sirius nods absently. His mind has been spinning ever since the plane. Dreams about you, he’s more or less used to. They make him feel like the scum of the Earth afterwards—no matter his feelings for you, it feels wrong to fantasize about you in his bed with the real you none the wiser—but they’re a fairly regular occurrence. But Remus…that’s new. Sirius hasn’t dreamt, fantasized, or otherwise mentally cavorted with anyone but you in a long time. Now, echoes of your voice in his ear are all tangled up with the feeling of Remus’ fingers dragging over his skin, your mouth morphing into his, your cunt—

“Come here, love.”

Remus is beckoning you towards them, that endearment—the one from Sirius’ dream, from the day he hurt his ankle and Remus soothed him with soft words and softer touches—flowing easily from between his lips. Sirius finds he likes it much the same when Remus says it to you as when he does to him, which is…confusing. 

The upset in your expression becomes clear as you get closer. You rub your lips together, brows pinched tight. “They’re not here,” you say. 

Sirius glances behind you. The bags on the carousel are few now, yours not among them. 

“We need that stuff.” You’re pacing again, now in front of them, your breaths shortening. “Our skates are in there, our costumes, all our backups. Shit, I knew we shouldn’t have checked them!”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Remus says. “Did you check with baggage claim?” 

“Yes!” Your eyes are growing glossy. “They said they should have come down by now. But they’re probably back home, or on their way to Cambodia, or—”

“Alright, alright.” Remus stands, taking your shoulders in his hands. His gaze pins yours, firm and steady to contrast the gentle stroking of his thumb over your collarbone. Sirius watches with an odd feeling in his stomach and below. This unshakeable calm is proving to be an oddly attractive quality. 

Not that Remus needs any more of those.

“It’s going to be fine,” Remus says evenly. “Just sit down and I’ll handle it, alright? Sit down.” 

He encourages you towards his seat, giving Sirius a look. Help her. 

“Take a breath, doll,” Sirius says, slotting you underneath his arm as you sit. “Our luck can’t be that shit, can it?” 

“I don’t know,” you say miserably, scooting closer to him. He’s acutely aware of all the places your body is touching his. Aware of the places Remus has just touched you. Fuck, what is wrong with him?

But then you sniffle, resting your forehead on his shoulder, and a familiar, affectionate warmth floods through him. “I’ve just wanted this for so long,” you murmur. 

“You’ll have it,” Sirius promises you. “We’re gonna do this, even if we have to go out there in rental skates and the clothes we’re wearing now.” 

You give a half-hearted puff of laughter at the image. Sirius rubs your shoulder, pressing his lips to your head. 

“And we’d still win.” 

“We’d be putting on an unusual show,” you say softly. 

“It’s the twenty-first century, babe. Originality is everything. We’d knock their socks off in our airplane sweats.” 

Remus looks pleased to see you smiling when he comes back, wheeling both of your suitcases behind him. You gasp and launch yourself out of your seat, throwing your arms around him tearfully. He looks even more pleased then. 

“I’ve had to travel a lot,” he says to your flurry of questions, patting your back. “There are some common miscommunications. Everything’s alright, see?” 

Sirius drags you off of Remus before you can knock his hip out of place again, but nothing can shake the good mood you all share the rest of the way to the Olympic Village. Possibility seems to richen the air particles around you. Your leg and Remus’ are warm on either side of his in the back of your cab, the breeze is cool where it whistles through the crack in the window to ruffle Remus’ hair, and in two days’ time you’ll be competing on the world stage.

nsfw content summary: Sirius has a dream where he's engaged in sexual activity with reader. He expresses some of how he feels about her, and they both say they love each other. Then, reader transforms into Remus, and Sirius is engaged in the activities with him instead. Sirius seems slightly confused by this but is happy to go along, and appreciates when Remus praises him and calls him "love". Remus kisses him, and Sirius wakes up. Thank you for respecting Elle and I's mdni rules <3

[sixeyesonathiel]

love thy neighbor — m.list

pairing – boy next door! gojo x fem reader

summary : you grew up with the boy next door, the one with wild white hair and a grin too sharp for someone who always left dirt on your doorstep. satoru lived to rile you up, stealing your snacks and outrunning you in backyard chases, weaving himself into your life despite every glare you threw. through the chaos of shared summers and endless spats, he became a constant you couldn’t quite escape.

college stretched you apart, states away, the silence of distance swallowing your usual bickering—until summer drags you back. nothing’s the same. the air feels heavier, the days stranger, and satoru’s still all smirks and sly glances, but his eyes linger now, carrying a quiet ache you’re only starting to notice. college has you questioning everything, and he’s waiting, like always, for you to catch up to something you’re not ready to name.

status : ongoing (2/4 chapters, 24.6k word count) ✦ tags –> fluff, tiny bit of angst later, eventual smut, neighbors au, childhood frenemies to lovers, suburban warfare (moms edition), mutual pining, domestic in the pettiest way possible, slow burn, growing up together, long term pining, yearner satoru, summer vacation tension, alternating POVs.

playlist. | red string of fate collection m.list.

— chapter index

chapter one : sprinklers and spiteful glares

you’re just a kid with an inherited grudge, armed with a hose and a fierce loyalty to your mom’s perfect tulips. satoru gojo, with his bunny slippers and smug grin, is the enemy you didn’t ask for—yet somehow, he’s always there, turning your runaway schemes and backyard brawls into something that feels like a game you don’t want to end. between juice box thefts and playground tumbles, the line between rivals and something softer blurs, and you’re not sure if you hate it—or him—as much as you claim.

chapter two : romeo’s reckless heart

satoru gojo’s world tilts the moment you, his backyard rival, trade dirt fights for gloss and skirts, flipping his smug confidence into a mess of stumbles and stares. freshman year’s a fever of basketball drills, cheer stunts, and your sharp quips, each clash—hoses spraying, lemons flying—pulling him deeper into a crush he can’t shake.

chapter three & four tba <3

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @lilychan176 @n1vi @myahfig4 @here4dafics @stfusatoru @mintcheery @44ina @twinkling-moonlilie-reblogs @getoicious @flowerpot113 @satoruxsc @whytfisgojosohot @emoedgylord @your-mum3000 @chich1ookie @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @drunkenlionwrites @katsukiseyebrows @heartsforseo @beabamboo @bnbaochauuu @cupidsfrost @ethereal-moonlit @arabellasolstice @captainhoneythebunny @scryarchives @fancypeacepersona @anathemaspeaks @ilovebeansyay @satokitten

plz comment if u want to be added on the tl xx

[xuchiya]

accidentally have 8 pets || ateez || chapter 3

| genre: fluff. slice of life. small tinge of angst. kind of supernatural(?) | mentions: doctors. vets. needles. adoption. a bit cruel. magic starts. abuse to animals. laws. douyin saving the day. TAGLIST: CLOSED

back to masterlist || chapter 4

The next morning, I carefully place the final batch of croissants onto a baking tray, ensuring each one is evenly spaced to allow for a perfect rise. The dough, layered with butter and proofed overnight, already carries the promise of a golden, flaky texture. With practiced ease, I brush a thin coat of egg wash over the delicate layers, knowing it will create the crisp, glossy crust that makes each bite irresistible. The scent of warm yeast and butter lingers in the air as I slide the tray into the preheated oven, setting the timer for twenty minutes—just enough for them to reach that perfect balance of crispness and softness.

As I straighten up, I run my hands over my apron, brushing off the fine dusting of flour clinging to my fingertips. The kitchen is quiet except for the steady hum of the oven and the faint sounds of movement from the front of the café. Making my way toward the sink, I let out a soft sigh, feeling the slight ache in my arms from the morning’s work. The cool rush of water soothes my skin as I rinse away the remnants of flour, butter, and dough, watching as the cloudy mixture swirls down the drain. These small moments—cleaning up, resetting before the next task—are just as much a part of baking as the mixing and folding. They give me a chance to pause, to take in the comforting stillness of the kitchen before the day fully begins.

The café has always carried a quiet, almost serene ambiance, with the only consistent sound coming from the gentle hum of the air conditioner. The occasional murmurs of customers blend into the background, their voices never rising above a comfortable lull. Yet, beyond the front counter, the kitchen remains untouched by the world outside—an isolated sanctuary where the rhythmic sounds of baking are the only disruptions to the silence.

It is in this very corner that Hongjoong has found his own place of respite. Whether it’s the warmth of the ovens or the peaceful solitude of the backroom, he often curls up there, lost in thought or drifting off into light naps between breaks. Meanwhile, at the front of the café, Wooyoung upholds his role as manager with an intensity that keeps both the business running and any potential troublemakers at bay.

The thought of the café ever being robbed never truly crosses my mind—not because we are immune to such threats, but because Wooyoung himself serves as an unshakable deterrent. His sharp eyes catch every movement near the counter, and his reflexes are faster than most would expect. Any customer who lingers a little too close to the register is met with a sharp hiss of disapproval, followed by a swift, precise bop to the offending hand. His vigilance has become so notorious that it even caught the attention of the local authorities after a viral clip showcased his aggressive yet oddly effective boundary enforcement. While some argued about his methods, the overwhelming support from customers—and the undeniable proof of his effectiveness—ultimately silenced any critics. If anything, Wooyoung had become something of a legend, his presence alone enough to keep any would-be thieves at bay.

I let out a soft sigh, pressing a gentle kiss to Hongjoong’s head before making my way back to the counter. There, Douyin stood, casually chatting about asynchronous classes as he assisted a customer with their order. His voice was steady, effortlessly switching between casual conversation and professional service.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, had claimed his usual spot at the waiting counter, his presence effortlessly drawing attention. Customers watched him with quiet adoration, their gazes following the slow, rhythmic sway of his tail as it flicked lazily in the air. Completely unfazed by the attention, he remained curled up, indulging in one of his signature midday naps.

As a woman collected her order and turned to leave, I offered her a polite smile. “How’s it going?” I asked, my tone warm as I watched her depart.

Douyin hummed in approval, finishing up a transaction before glancing at me. “It’s going well. Your croissants are still the number one favorite among customers,” he mused, tapping the register lightly. “Not surprising, though. I already knew they were good—I had a taste before you even opened up.” His smirk held no shame, only firm confidence in his judgment. “And trust me, they’re definitely worth the hype.”

I smiled at his words, feeling a sense of pride—until his last remark fully registered. My expression froze before vanishing entirely, my head snapping toward him in disbelief.

“Wh-What?!” I sputtered, my voice rising slightly. Douyin only responded with a sheepish grin before swiftly turning his back to me, pretending to focus on preparing a cup of coffee. My mouth hung open, struggling to process his casual confession.

I distinctly remember warning Wooyoung—repeatedly—not to steal sweets. It wasn’t just about his health; I didn’t want to attract pests that could ruin the integrity of the kitchen. And yet, here I was, about to accuse my cat again for something that wasn’t even his fault.

“Kang Douyin—”

“Hey,” Both of our heads snapped toward the familiar voice. Taehyun stood near the counter, giving us a small wave. At the sound of his voice, Wooyoung’s ears perked up before he bolted toward him, his tail swishing excitedly as he meowed in greeting.

“Hello, Taehyun. The usual?” I asked, already reaching for the ingredients to prepare his drink. He nodded, offering a small smile as Douyin assisted him with the payment. Meanwhile, Taehyun busied himself with Wooyoung, scratching behind his ears as the feline purred in contentment.

A soft, inquisitive meow chimed from below. I glanced down, only to see Hongjoong staring up at me with round, expectant eyes. Chuckling, I bent down and gently picked him up, placing him beside Wooyoung. Taehyun let out a quiet gasp upon noticing the cat’s new look. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Hongjoong’s freshly groomed fur and the tiny bell attached to his pearl collar.

“Hongjoong, hello—how have you been?”

The Persian cat let out a soft meow in response, nudging his nose against Taehyun’s hand. A fond smile graced Taehyun’s lips as he ruffled the fur of both Wooyoung and Hongjoong, his touch gentle and familiar. The moment felt peaceful, a rare kind of serenity in the café’s usual routine.

Of course, peace never lasted long.

“Don’t hold up the line with your sappy little family reunion,” a sharp voice cut through the moment.

The warm atmosphere shattered like glass as our heads turned toward the source of the interruption. The same man from the apartment across our apartment door, stood right behind Taehyun, his impatient scowl evident as he tapped his fingers against the counter. Taehyun instinctively stepped aside, murmuring a quiet apology, but the second he moved, Wooyoung and Hongjoong reacted.

Their relaxed posture stiffened instantly, fur bristling as they arch their backs. A deep, guttural hiss escaped both cats as they fixated their sharp eyes on the man. Their tails flicked aggressively, warning signals flashing through their body language.

The café, which had been filled with soft murmurs and the hum of the air conditioner, grew eerily silent.

Surprisingly, the entire café fell into a tense silence, all eyes subtly shifting toward the man as he clicked his tongue in irritation. A flicker of disgust crossed his face, but I ignored it, choosing instead to prioritize the safety of my cats.

I scooped up Hongjoong while Douyin swiftly grabbed Wooyoung and Hongjoong from my arms, retreating toward the kitchen. The two felines continued to hiss in protest, their ears flattened against their heads. I exhaled through my nose, forcing a tight smile as I turned back to the man, unwillingly preparing myself to take his order—despite every fiber of my being wanting to kick him out.

“Sorry about that, sir. Is there something you’d like?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

The man scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as if personally offended by the minor inconvenience. He was just about to speak when a familiar sound reached my ears—a whining, pitiful cry.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was the same husky from yesterday.

My eyes instinctively darted downward, and sure enough, there it was. But my stomach twisted at the sight. Unlike yesterday, when I had only heard its cries, I could now see the full extent of its suffering.

A thick chain, rusted and heavy, was wrapped tightly around the poor dog's neck instead of a proper collar. The once-beautiful fur was matted, stained with grime, and bearing marks where the chain had rubbed against its skin for too long. To make matters worse, a muzzle was strapped over its snout—too tight, restricting its ability to breathe properly. The dog whimpered again, its dull, exhausted eyes flickering up to meet mine.

I clenched my fists beneath the counter, my nails digging into my palms. A wave of anger and disgust surged through me, stronger than before. A deep frown etched itself onto my face as I looked back at the man, my voice escaping before I could stop myself.

“He’s not aggressive.”

The owner’s expression twisted in irritation, his grip tightening on the chain as he yanked it harshly, causing the husky to whimper. His teeth clenched, his voice low and venomous.

“Shut it, boy!” he snapped at the dog before turning his glare on me. “Listen here, lady, just take the damn order and mind your own fucking business.”

I fought the urge to hurl his drink straight into his face. My fingers twitched, my nails biting into my palm as I forced myself to remain composed.

Douyin returned from the kitchen, his sharp gaze immediately landing on the husky. His brows furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes.

“As much as animals have instincts,” he said coolly, “this looks a lot more like animal abuse.”

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes, before yanking on the chain once more. The husky let out a sharp cry—this time, unmistakably in pain.

Taehyun moved instinctively, stepping forward as if ready to intervene, but the man shot him a warning glare. Taehyun halted, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he leveled the man with a burning glare of his own.

“Animal abuse?” The man barked out a harsh, mocking laugh. “What the hell do you know about abuse?! Are you fucking with me, boy?!”

I stepped between him and Douyin, my own glare unwavering as I met his fury head-on.

“Sir, I strongly suggest you drop that chain. You’re hurting the dog. And keep your voice down—this is a café, not a goddamn alleyway.”

The man scoffed again, but after a tense beat, he let go of the chain. For a split second, I thought he might actually listen.

Then, he did something so vile, so beyond comprehension, that the entire café seemed to freeze in place.

With a cruel sneer, he kicked the husky.

Gasps rang through the café as the poor dog yelped, its body skidding across the floor, colliding with the stools by the barista counter. A pained howl escaped from its muzzle as it curled into itself, shaking violently.

My breath caught in my throat. My heart clenched so tightly it hurt— like hurt hurt— something similar when I first found Wooyoung in that alley with a wound on his paw and then Hongjoong all alone and small. It’s not because I am a pet lover like anyone here— no but because I suddenly felt like there’s a string attach between me and the pets I meet.

My entire body burned with fury, my hands trembling at my sides as my gaze snapped back to the man. He had the audacity—the sheer gall—to smirk as if he found amusement in the suffering he had just caused.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Taehyun shouted, already rushing toward the injured husky. My head snapped towards Taehyun as he held the husky in his arm. My gaze returned to the man, I was about to speak up, my anger bubbling over, when Douyin suddenly stepped in front of me. His posture was rigid, his shoulders squared with quiet authority, and for the first time since I had met him, a severe expression was etched onto his face.

Then, in a firm, unwavering voice, he spoke.

“Republic Act No. 8485, Section 6,” he began, his words sharp as a blade cutting through the tension. “It shall be unlawful for any person to torture any animal, to neglect to provide adequate care, sustenance, or shelter, or to maltreat any animal. It is also illegal to subject any dog or horse to dogfights or horsefights, to kill, cause, or procure to be tortured, deprived of adequate care, sustenance, or shelter, or to maltreat or use the same in research or experiments not expressly authorized by the Committee on Animal Welfare.”

A hushed silence fell over the café. Every customer, every worker—everyone had their eyes locked onto Douyin. His words rang familiar in my ears. I had never heard him speak like this before, reciting laws with such precision, such confidence. It was something I had only ever heard from public servants—police officers, lawyers, advocates.

Unless—My gaze trailed to Douyin, suspicion creeping in. “Do…?”

But before I could even finish my sentence, Douyin cut me off, his voice growing even colder, “Section 7,” he continued, his piercing stare never wavering from the man. “It shall be the duty of every person to protect the natural habitat of wildlife. The destruction of said habitat shall be considered a form of cruelty to animals, and its preservation is a means of protecting them.”

The man’s expression darkened, his mouth twitching as if ready to argue, but Douyin didn’t give him the chance. He took a step forward, his voice lowering into something dangerous—something that sent a chill down even my spine.

“And you, sir,” Douyin seethed, “have not only violated Section 6, but you have also shown a blatant disregard for Section 7. No animal—no living creature—deserves to be under your care.”

The café was deathly silent. And for the first time since he had walked in, the man looked uncertain. The man scoffed, jutting his chin at Douyin with a sneer, his arrogance thick in the air. “You must be good at talking nonsense because all I hear is shit. You just made that up. To what? Scare me?”

Douyin remained still, his expression unreadable, but before he could respond, a shaky voice broke the tense silence, “A-Ah, actually… that’s true.”

The café’s attention shifted toward the source of the voice. A young student, barely out of his teens, stood near one of the corner tables. His hands trembled slightly as he clutched his phone, his face pale but determined. His eyes flickered nervously between Douyin and the man, but he swallowed hard and pressed on.

“H-He’s talking about Republic Act No. 8485… I-It was enacted in February of 1998…” The student gulped, his voice gaining a bit more steadiness. “I-I’d advise you, sir, not to speak to a prosecutor like that.”

A cold chill settled in my chest. I snapped my head toward Douyin, my breath catching in my throat. “P-Pr… Prosecutor?” The word echoed through my mind, the realization hitting like a sudden crash of thunder.

The man’s confident demeanor instantly faltered. His smirk wavered, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. His foot slid back instinctively, his bravado crumbling under the weight of the revelation.

“Y-You’re—” he stammered, his voice cracking.

Douyin didn’t move. His shoulders remained squared, his expression calm but unyielding. His voice carried a weight that sent shivers down my spine, “You’ve committed a serious act of animal cruelty.” His words were sharp, like a blade cutting through the tension. “You will face the authorities for what you’ve done.”

The man scoffed, attempting to regain his composure. He straightened up, feigning confidence, but his shifting gaze betrayed him.

“That’s if they can catch me.”

He pivoted sharply, ready to make a run for it. Only to slam straight into an immovable wall of people.

The café patrons had moved—subtly but effectively—forming a human barricade between him and the exit. Their expressions ranged from firm determination to outright disgust. Some had their phones out, already recording the scene, capturing every detail. Others stood with their arms crossed, blocking any possible escape route.

And standing at the very center of the blockade was Taehyun. His arms were folded, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes gleamed with an edge of amusement, as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.

He tilted his head slightly, voice light but filled with finality, “Welp,” he said, “a little too late for that.”

The flashing blue and red lights painted the street outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of the café. The weight in my chest never lifted, even as the officers pushed the man’s head down, forcing him into the back of the police car. His protests were useless, drowned out by the chatter of witnesses and the hum of justice finally being served.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong sat patiently on either side of me, their tails twitching as they silently observed the scene unfolding before them. I let out a slow breath, reaching down to stroke their fur before calling them to follow me back inside.

The café was empty now. The customers had left, but not before giving their statements—each of them eager to ensure that the man would face the consequences of his actions. If a trial happened, there was no doubt he’d lose.

Near the entrance, Douyin stood talking to one of the officers, his usual calm demeanor intact. A few feet away, Taehyun spoke to another officer, hands in his pockets, but his expression was unreadable.

My gaze was drawn to the cage near Taehyun’s legs. Inside, the husky lay curled up, his small body rising and falling with each breath. Wooyoung and Hongjoong climbed up the bars, their noses pressed against the metal as they peered inside. The husky remained still, shivering slightly even in his sleep.

My heart twisted painfully at the sight.

He’s still scared.

Taehyun noticed my expression and spoke gently. “You can visit him, you know.”

I looked up, meeting his soft gaze.

“Douyin found out that this husky’s been in and out of adoption… every time, the owners treated him the same way.” He sighed, shaking his head. “He had a companion before, but they got separated during his second adoption. After that, it was just one bad home after another.”

The more I heard, the tighter my chest felt. I clenched the fabric of my shirt, trying to steady my breathing, but each word made the weight heavier.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

And I—

A sharp inhale.

My lungs refused to expand properly.

My vision wavered as a rush of dizziness clouded my thoughts. My knees buckled before I could stop them, and the floor rushed toward me.

Somewhere in the haze, I felt strong arms catch me before I hit the ground.

Muffled voices—Taehyun’s? Douyin’s?—echoed in my ears, laced with concern. Their faces blurred in my swaying vision, but the last thing I saw before everything faded was the soft glow of the café ceiling above me.

The soft beeping of a nearby machine and the gentle pawing at my arm stirred me from my sleep. My body felt heavy, as if weighed down by exhaustion, but the cold, sterile brightness of the luminescent lights overhead was enough to coax my eyes open. This wasn’t home.

I blinked sluggishly, taking in the unfamiliar setting before my gaze landed on my right side.

Hongjoong was curled up beside me, his small body pressed close, breathing steadily in deep slumber. Wooyoung, on the other hand, was awake, his round eyes filled with concern as he pressed a paw firmly against my arm. The moment he noticed I was conscious, he let out a sharp meow—louder than usual.

The sudden noise startled Hongjoong, causing him to jolt awake. His head snapped up, disoriented, eyes darting wildly before landing on me. My lips parted, but my throat was dry, and the words scratched painfully as I whispered, “Hey, you two…”

Hongjoong let out a small, relieved sound and nuzzled into my neck, his warmth a stark contrast to the sterile coldness of the hospital bed. Wooyoung, still pressed against my arm, looked like he was trying to comfort me in his own way, his soft fur rubbing against my skin as I stroked his head absentmindedly.

For a brief moment, I let myself revel in their presence. The weight pressing against my chest was lighter now, though the ache still lingered. Then, the sound of the curtain being pulled aside broke the moment.

Douyin stepped inside, his face etched with concern, followed by a nurse. The second our eyes met, his lips parted in surprise, “Noona! You’re awake!”

His voice was filled with so much relief that it made my chest tighten again—this time, with guilt.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I tried to push myself up. The nurse was quick to assist, adjusting my pillows as she began a routine check-up. Her questions were simple, but I barely processed them, answering on autopilot as my attention remained on my younger brother.

Douyin watched me carefully, his usual playfulness absent.

The nurse soon stepped away, mentioning something about preparing my discharge, but I barely heard her. Instead, I turned to Douyin, my voice still hoarse as I asked, “How long was I out?”

He hesitated.

“A few hours…”

I gave him a pointed look, sensing his reluctance.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before muttering, “Almost twenty-four hours.”

My brows furrowed. “What?” Douyin pulled a chair closer and sat beside my bed, crossing his arms. He looked tired. His usual energetic presence was dampened, replaced with quiet worry.

“They said it was due to stress, overwork, and dehydration. Nothing life-threatening, but… still.” His voice trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line. I exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair, “I’m feeling okay, don’t worry Do.” He nodded yet not convinced. I sigh, that made sense. I had been running on fumes for a while now. 

But for it to get this bad…

I glanced down at Hongjoong and Wooyoung, who were still curled up against me, refusing to move from my side. It was clear that they had been worried too.

Douyin sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Taehyun-hyung took care of the husky. He’s being transferred to another facility for proper treatment.” I nodded absentmindedly, but at the mention of the husky, the ache in my chest returned, sharp and unforgiving. For a brief moment, my breath hitched—just for a second—but it was enough to send Hongjoong and Wooyoung into alert.

Before I could react, they immediately perked up, their ears twitching. Then, in an instant, they rushed toward me, their movements frantic. I blinked in surprise, instinctively raising a hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wooyoung, who normally had a more playful nature, pressed himself against my side, his purrs unusually loud, snout near my right wrist. Hongjoong was no different, rubbing his head insistently against my neck yet he moved underneath my right hand. They had never reacted this way before.

 Douyin, watching the scene unfold, frowned. “That’s… weird.” I glanced at him. “What do you mean?” He nodded toward my right wrist. “They keep going for the same spot when you are asleep.”

I looked down, confused.

Then, I saw it.

A black ink mark near my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat. I raised my arm, staring at the mark with wide eyes. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t a smudge of ink or something that could be wiped away—it looked like…

“A tattoo?” Douyin’s voice was laced with curiosity. I pressed my thumb against it, rubbing at the skin, but it didn’t fade. It wasn’t ink. It was real.

But… I didn’t have any tattoos.

“I—I don’t get it,” I murmured, my pulse quickening. Douyin observed my reaction, his expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, he smirked—his usual teasing self peeking through.

“If you’re afraid of needles, that’s pretty brave of you.”

I scowled, lightly kicking his shin. “I didn’t get a tattoo.”

His smirk softened, and he leaned forward, resting his arms on the bed. His gaze flickered to my wrist again before meeting my eyes. “Then what is it?”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “I don’t know.”Silence stretched between us, only interrupted by the sound of Wooyoung’s purring.

Douyin sighed, then reached out, placing a hand over mine. His grip was firm, steady, “Whatever this is, whatever’s going on…” His voice was quiet but certain. “I’ll listen. Until you figure it out.”

I met his gaze. The worry was still there, but so was something else—an unspoken promise. And despite the whirlwind of confusion swirling inside me, I managed a small, genuine smile, “Thanks,” I whispered, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

The past two weeks had blurred into a haze of forced rest, reluctant healing, and the ever-watchful eyes of my younger brother and two vigilant felines. I had been advised—no, practically commanded—to stay home and recover before stepping foot back into work. Douyin, usually the more easygoing of us, had turned into a strict enforcer, refusing to let me even lift a pan without supervision.

It had been a battle. A losing one.

The moment I even thought of getting up to cook, Wooyoung would arch his back, tail fluffed like a bristling duster, while Hongjoong sat near my feet, unwavering in his silent judgment. If Douyin wasn’t scolding me, my feline companions took turns ensuring I stayed put.

I sighed, shaking my head at the memory as I placed my things inside my locker, finally back in the comforting space of the café. I ran my fingers over the cool metal, a sense of normalcy washing over me. No more bed rest. No more guilt-ridden stares from my brother. No more being treated like fragile glass.

It was good to be back.

Grabbing my apron, I tied it around my waist with a practiced motion, making sure my hair was tucked neatly under a net. The moment I turned around, two familiar figures hopped up onto the counter.

I chuckled, already knowing what they wanted.

Reaching back into my locker, I pulled out Wooyoung’s tiny necktie and ID, fastening them around his collar. He let out a small, satisfied trill, his tail flicking in delight. Then, I retrieved the small apron I had specially made for Hongjoong, draping it over him.

“There. Are we all clocked in?”

Wooyoung meowed in response before hopping off, squeezing through his designated door to reach the cashier’s counter. From there, he settled himself on his usual perch, surveying the café like a miniature manager.

I chuckled, glancing at Hongjoong, who had already curled up on the counter where I had set out today’s pastries. His fur blended seamlessly against the soft linens, his tail flicking lazily as he made himself comfortable.

“Will you be giving me a hand today?” I asked, amusement lacing my tone.

Hongjoong blinked at me slowly before resting his chin against his paws. A nap, it seemed, was more important than assisting me. I let out a mock sigh, shaking my head with a smile. “Well, thanks, Hongjoong.”

Despite his lack of assistance, their presence made the café feel even more like home. After everything that had happened, after the worry, the stress, and the lingering confusion about the strange tattoo on my wrist…

This moment—this small, simple routine—was enough to ground me again.

The rhythmic pressing of my palms into the dough, the soft give of the flour-dusted surface beneath my fingertips—it was supposed to be comforting. The repetition, the familiar motion, the scent of fresh yeast in the air. And yet, my mind betrayed me.

A sudden shift, like a thread pulling too tightly in my chest, made me pause. My breath caught, my hands frozen mid-knead as a memory—no, a vision—flashed through my mind.

The husky. Alone.

Curled inside his kennel, his body trembling—not from the cold but from something far worse. The kind of anxiety that sat heavy in the ribs, that clawed at the heart with an invisible force, making every breath feel shallow, every moment feel uncertain. His blue eyes, usually so piercing, looked dulled by fear, by confusion.

A gasp slipped past my lips. My fingers twitched over the dough, but the warmth of something soft brought me back.

A paw.

I blinked, vision clearing as I looked down. Hongjoong.

He was awake now, his large, doe-like eyes peering at me with quiet understanding. His paw rested gently over my hand, grounding me, tethering me back to reality.

I swallowed, exhaling shakily before looking back down at the dough. It felt lifeless under my touch. The energy I once had, the flow of creation that usually ran through my hands—it had dulled. Even as I finished shaping the first batch, sliding the tray into the oven, there was no satisfaction. No warmth of accomplishment.

Just emptiness.

With a quiet sigh, I sank to the floor, watching the oven’s glow flicker against the steel tray, illuminating the soft rise of the pastries as they baked. The warmth should’ve been comforting, but my mind was still elsewhere—trapped in the unsettling connection I couldn't quite explain.

Hongjoong settled beside me, pressing his body against my arm. Then, a nudge. His nose brushed against my wrist. My right wrist.

Frowning, I raised my arm slightly, tilting it towards the light. My heart stuttered.

The tattoo.

Or what should have been a tattoo.

I had already come to terms with its mysterious appearance—an incomplete mark of black ink, etched onto my skin like a secret I wasn’t meant to uncover yet. But now, I watched, breath hitching, as it moved.

Before my eyes, new strokes appeared, forming intricate patterns like ink seeping into parchment, slow and deliberate. Not a hallucination. Not a trick of the mind. The lines curled and extended, shifting into something more defined yet still unfinished. Like a puzzle slowly revealing its image.

Revealing something like a sign. A symbol. Something I didn’t remember choosing… but was undeniably becoming a part of me.

Minutes passed as I continued to stare at the tattoo that had just… changed. I could still remember the first time I saw it—weeks ago, in the hospital. Back then, it was nothing more than a small, black-inked circle near my wrist. An odd mark I didn't remember getting.

New lines had appeared, forming something almost geometric. A triangle? No, not quite. It had connections, lines that extended beyond its edges. Something about it resembled the shape of an eight, yet it has edge sharp, structured—more like a symbol rather than a mere design. It felt deliberate. Almost… calculated.

A strange chill ran down my spine. Before I could process anything further, hurried footsteps pulled me out of my daze.

“Are you okay?” Taehyun’s voice snapped me back to the present. I barely had time to lift my gaze before he was in front of me, kneeling, his sharp eyes scanning my face. His sudden closeness made my breath hitch—not out of fear, but out of surprise.

His hand was under my chin. I stiffened. My face grew warm under his scrutiny, yet he seemed oblivious to what he had just done. His concern overpowered any other thoughts he might’ve had.

“I—I’m good, Taehyun.” My voice came out uneven, but I managed a small nod. Satisfied, he pulled away, standing up and extending a hand. I hesitated for a second before placing mine in his, allowing him to pull me to my feet with ease. Dusting off my pants, I kept my gaze anywhere but on him, yet he still didn’t move.

He cleared his throat. “Did I come in at the wrong time?” I shook my head quickly, finally meeting his gaze. “No, are you here for your coffee?”

Taehyun nodded, but there was something off. His body language, the way he shifted his weight slightly, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. It was subtle, but it was there. He needed more than just coffee.

Raising an eyebrow, I crossed my arms. “Do you need pastries too?” He tilted his head slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “Sorta, but… I need you.”

My breath hitched. From the counter, Hongjoong perked up, blinking as he glanced between me and Taehyun. I looked back at him, confusion evident in my expression. “Need me for what?”

Taehyun exhaled, his jaw tightening slightly as if preparing himself, “It’s the husky.”

The room felt colder. I swallowed, feeling my fingers twitch against my sides. The husky. That same strange sense of unease returned, curling into my chest, heavy and suffocating. Something told me I wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say.

MEET THE NEIGHBOOR'S FRIENDLY VET DOCTOR:

TAGLIST: @soso59love-blog . @yoongisgirl69 . @forever-atiny . @ateezswonderland . @fr34k4c1dr41n . @breadedloafs . @k1xiara . @nkryuki . @beabatiny . @berryguks . @miniverse-zen . @fight-me-uwu . @xh01bri . @eclipwze . @blue-angel24 . @nkryuki . @matchahintonagar . @asyamonet22 . @szakias . @sanaegi . @notyaelly . @wolviejex

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ my boyfriend ranks... ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, cursing, TikTok trend, sex related joke)

It had been a lazy Sunday spent rotting away in fratboy!Jaehyun's bed while he and the brothers had a chapter meeting downstairs. Technically, you weren't even supposed to be in the house, but you were tens of feet away and realistically, who were you going to tell about all the stuff you might happen to hear a whole floor away? Absolutely no one. They only ever talked about boring shit anyway. No one would be interested.

All that paired with the fact that you had had a splitting headache shortly after you arrived and you were knocked out cold when the meeting started. None of the guys had the heart to wake you up to ask you to leave. Plus, you were a member of the frat, even if it was a sort of honorable title.

You scrolled through your for you page, stopping to watch as a couple tried out a filter. The guy ranked different types of physical touch he'd be ok with guys doing with his girlfriend. You laughed at the boyfriend's reactions quietly, deciding that you wanted to try it with Jaehyun.

Just a few minutes later, you heard steps as the brothers returned to their rooms. Jaehyun's door creaked open slowly as he crept in, probably thinking you were still asleep.

"Hey, baby," you greeted in a hoarse voice.

He flinched in surprise before he turned to you with a soft smile, "hey sweetheart, feeling better?"

You nodded, "tons better. It doesn't feel like someone is whacking the back of my head with a sledgehammer anymore. Come cuddle me?"

You didn't have to tell Jaehyun twice, he was kicking off his sneakers and getting rid of his jeans as fast as he could. He was at your side and pulling you to rest against his chest as fast as he could. He was breathless as he flicked on the lamp on his bedside table before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I want to do something with you," you started, grabbing your phone from your side.

"You have to change your password before we make a sex tape. I don't want Haechan accidentally watching you like that or to watch us go at it intentionally," Jaehyun casually interrupts.

You swat at his chest, "I don't want to make a sex tape you pervert. I want to do another tiktok with you."

"This is going to be bad isn't it?"

"It depends on the filter," you giggle as you tap away at the screen. You click the filter and choose the appropriate length of time while Jaehyun ruffles his hair to perfection.

You start the video, holding it at an appropriate distance away, "so you have to rank different forms of affection you'd be ok with another guy doing to me."

"Like a family member or a random guy?" Jaehyun asks while the filter cycles through different options.

"However you decide to think about it-- ok, so the first one is a bath."

"Fuck no, number 10. Immediately," Jaehyun mumbles. "Next is hair... mmm number 3 I guess. You and Yuta do each other's hair all the time, so I'm already used to it."

You smile at him as the filter then lands on tickling, immediate 9 since you hate to be tickled. A comforting hug? A 5 as long as it's a quick one. A piggy back ride? 6 since you ask Johnny for those when you start drinking a little too much. Getting your cheeks squeezed? No, too cutesy-- number 8. A pat on the cheek? Too weird, number 7.

As he starts running out of open ranking spots, he starts to get more frustrated. "A massage? No, I don't want anyone massaging you! 4! Riding on someone's shoulders, no-- but ugh! I guess it has to be 2."

You both watch as the final form of affection comes to a stop on Jaehyun's forehead, you immediately burst out into laughter. Jaehyun laughs with you and the phone shakes.

"Oh this would have been number one anyway," Jaehyun manages to get out, "Mark would love this shit."

"Freak!" You screech as you end the video.

You both calm down, catching your breath as you rewatch the video, your free hand wiping away the tears at the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard.

Jaehyun nuzzles the top of your head with another groan, "don't make me do one of these again, please."

"As if you can tell me no," you snort out a laugh, "you know I will. And you'll say yes, because you love me."

"You can't keep using that against me."

"You act like I torture you. Oh noooo! My girlfriend makes me do funny videos with her, boohoo. I can walk out of this room and find at least three people, probably more, to do them instead of you."

His hold tightens around you as you hit post, "you're not doing these videos with anyone else."

"Jealous baby," you tease, placing a kiss to his t-shirt covered chest.

"You're annoying."

"Yeah, yeah, you love me."

-

visual of Jaehyun's rankings below the cut

[byhuenii]

Romcom 101 w/ reluctant super soldiers

Pairing James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Reader

Synopsis When Nick Fury assigns you and Bucky Barnes to pose as an engaged couple for a diplomatic infiltration, neither of you expects the charade to stick. But when the team catches wind of your “relationship,” things spiral out of control.

Now, thanks to Sam Wilson’s relentless teasing and Peter Parker’s obsession with 2000s romcoms, Bucky is roped into recreating every iconic love scene—from the rain-soaked kiss in The Notebook to the stadium serenade in 10 Things I Hate About You—all in the name of keeping your cover.

The problem? The line between pretend and real is blurring fast.

And the more Bucky falls for you, the harder it becomes to call it an act.

Notes + Tags faking dating, mutual pinning, found family feels, friends to loves (kinda), angst (kinda), based on 2000s romcoms, slow burn // I just wanted to do a Bucky Barnes x reader recreating the iconic rain scene from The Notebook and then it turned into a full fake dating trope…

- Romcom 101 w/ reluctant super soldiers A Fake engagement. real Connection, And a mission that spirals into a cinematic fever dream.

(THE MASTERLIST)

CHAPTER 0 – “For Optics” → The Setup

Fury assigns you and Bucky to go undercover as a fake engaged couple.

Everyone (especially Sam) loses their mind about it.

You and Bucky start getting way too good at pretending.

CHAPTER 1 – “It Wasn’t Over. It Still Isn’t.” The Notebook

The iconic rain scene. Screaming. Kissing. Confessions that weren’t supposed to be real.

Sam, Peter, Kate, and Yelena absolutely watching through the window.

CHAPTER 2 – “I’m Just a Girl…” Notting Hill

Post-rain kiss chaos. Avengers start to suspect the “fake” might be real.

Reader tries to stay chill. Bucky is spiraling.

One soft, desperate hallway moment that changes everything.

CHAPTER 3 – “Love Ferns and Frostbite” How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

A mission forces you two into a date night disaster.

Fake bickering turns very real jealousy on Bucky’s part.

You say something you didn’t mean to. He hears everything.

CHAPTER 4 – “You Jump, I Jump” Titanic (ft. Sam Wilson as Rose)

Sam forces Bucky to do the Titanic pose with him just to annoy him.

Bucky actually does it... but only to make you laugh.

Later that night? You recreate it with him—for real. And it gets spicy.

CHAPTER 5 – “You Don’t Even See Me” 10 Things I Hate About You

Bucky serenades you during a stakeout.

Peter sets it up. Yelena films it.

You nearly cry. Bucky is red for an hour.

CHAPTER 6 – “Princess Diaries: Foot Popping” The Princess Diaries

First “real” kiss under cover. Soft and slow and dizzying.

“Did your foot pop?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

CHAPTER 7 – “13 Going on 30” Childhood feelings resurface

Bucky finds a photo of you two from before the mission.

Something in him snaps in the best way.

CHAPTER 8 – “She’s All That” Transformation, my ass

You clean up for a mission gala. Bucky is destroyed.

He thought you were beautiful before. Now? He’s not breathing.

CHAPTER 9 – “The Proposal” Accidental strip scene + forced marriage trope

Sam signs you up for a relationship interview with SHIELD HR.

Shirtless Bucky. One bed. “We had to make it convincing.”

CHAPTER 10 – “To Me, You Are Perfect” Love Actually Confession Scene

Bucky shows up at your door with cue cards.

Every single one of them ruins you.

Bucky finally says it: “I don’t want to fake it anymore.”

(Tags) @bbsbrina @captainannatheweirdo

[esmedelacroix]

04 - Party 4 U

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse,

fic radio ! party 4 u by Charli xcx

You sat in front of your vanity, some random music was blaring from a speaker, and Suguru and Shoko were pre-gaming and getting you ready for the first party they successfully dragged you to.

You stared at yourself, wondering if this was all a good idea. You suddenly felt large, cold hands on your exposed shoulders. "You look cute," Suguru complimented, smiling at you through the mirror.

"Thanks," you replied, looking up at him. "Your breath stinks."

He chuckled and grabbed a mint from your desk that you kept solely for him and Shoko. Somehow, Suguru convinced you to take two shots before all three of you walked to the Kappa Phi Epsilon house. Most of the football players were in the same frat. This one always threw the craziest parties. They only ever ended if the cops stopped it. "Who the fuck are you," Aoi Todo spat. "Name three brothers," he demanded as he sized you up.

"Enough, Todo, they're with me," Gojo said in a warning tone.

Gojo led you through the crowd, introducing you to the football guys. Some of them already knew you. You had a couple of classes with Choso Kamo, and his younger brother, Yuji, was well known because of how good he was at football as a rookie.

"Where's Ryomen?" you tried to ask in the most casual way possible. Gojo pretended not to catch on.

"Oh, Ryo doesn't really come to these functions. Just stays in his room. Or he just flat out leaves the house after seeing who's here," he explained.

"I can let him know you're here," Satoru offered.

"Let who know she's here?" Sukuna asked, appearing behind them.

"No one," Satoru lied, "Yuji, get down from there!" he exclaimed before running off.

"Hey," you greeted, unable to stop the stupid smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

"You came," he stated.

"How dirty," you quipped. He chuckled showing teeth.

"I don't usually see you at these parties," he pointed out as he poured two Vodka Lemonades. He could barely make out what he was pouring with the electronic lighting and the disorganized sea of alcoholic drinks, mixers, and chasers on the kitchen island.

"They're not really my scene. But you won your big game today, so I thought I'd pop out," you admitted.

"You usually don't come to those either," he said, handing you a dubious drink in a red Solo cup.

"Are you trying to roofie me?" you questioned before bringing the cup to your lips. He rolled his eyes and downed his drink. To your surprise it tased okay.

Just when he was about to joke back, you were pulled towards the livingroomdance floor by Shoko. "I'm gonna steal her away for a second!" she called out to Sukuna.

His piercing gaze followed your movements on the dance floor. You went from feigning annoyance to dancing in a matter of seconds. You and Shoko were in your own worlds. Not even aware of the subtle attention you were attracting. You were wearing dark-wash jeans and a black lacy “going-out top.” So basically the same thing every other girl was wearing. But for some reason it looked different on you and you were all Sukuna could focus on.

How could he be annoyed by Todo making advances on you? You painted your lips the perfect flushed shade. They were begging to be kissed as always.

Your hair looked amazing. How could Todo not feel inclined to offer you another drink? It's what Sukuna would've done. Just for the chance to spark another conversation with you. To see you looking up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. He eyes tracked Todo’s lips slightly brushing your ear as he whispered something in your ear handing you a beer. He noticed the way you squirmed and giggle as the hot air touched your ear.

Sukuna couldn't blame Todo for spinning you around and dancing with you. For shamelessly checking you out the way he often did. You were perfection personified. Rich, beautiful, respectable, with a killer personality.

If he could peel back your skin and feast on the fruits of your insides until it made him somewhat on the same level as you, he would, without a second thought.

He felt like the universe was being cruel to him. The only reason why he stayed for the party was because you were here. But there you were, swaying your hips to the beat of a song with another guy. As much as he hated to admit it, you made Ryomen nervous.

"You gonna keep bein' a creep or are you gonna ask her to dance with you instead?" Toji grinned, handing Ryo a beer.

Sukuna rolled his eyes, staying quiet. He finished off his chilled beer and turned back to the dance floor, where you were nowhere to be found.

His eyes scanned the room, but he couldn't find you. He pushed past a group of drunk freshman he had to kick out and couples shoving their tongues down each other's throats. So much time had passed looking for you when he finally made his way down to the basement you were nearly shit-faced and knee deep in a game of truth or drink.

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru spotted Sukuna descending the stairs and smirked. "Smash or pass, Ryo," he purred. There was a flurry of smashes, passes, and shots being taken amongst the group.

"Smash," Gojo slurred, half-joking.

"C'mon, are you gonna drink?" Shoko whined as the whole group turned to hear your answer.

"Sma-" you started before vomiting all the contents of your stomach on the ground. The group winced and got up. Sukuna appeared from the shadows of the stairs, helping you up.

"Some friends you are, letting her drink past her limit," he muttered under his breath before putting a big hand around your waist and helping you up the stairs.

"Where are you taking me?" you hiccupped as he helped you up more steps to the rooms. He didn't answer.

Your eyes were barely opened, but you could tell you were entering a bedroom. It was dimly lit, and you were placed on a bed. You lay down on it and got comfortable.

You could hear Sukuna opening drawers in the background. "Is this how you usually get women in your room? Look for the drunkest ones?" you asked in a small voice.

"No?" he answered in disbelief.

"How many women have you had on this bed?" you asked.

"Just one."

"Who?"

"You."

You shot up in surprise. "Don't get up to quic-" he started before pausing as you vomitted all over yourself and his sheets.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered.

"Come here," he sighed as he took your wrist in his hand, guiding you to his bathroom by the small of your back. Thankfully, it was connected to his room, so he didn't have to worry about the couple he could hear having a fight right outside of his door.

He brought you to kneel before the toilet. Sukuna held your hair back as you 'let it rip' as he said. He then wet a towel with warm water and handed it to you. You brought it to your mouth as he briefly left the bathroom, trudging back in with a colossal T-shirt and PJ pants.

He left the room to change his soiled sheets as you wiped yourself clean. Despite having to fold the pants over eighty times and tighten the drawstring, his clothes fit you so nicely. They were large, but comfortable.

Sukuna could barely look at you in his clothes without getting flushed. He left the room to clean your mess that sat in the basement, which had been completely evacuated soon afterward.

"Hey, where's my friend?" Shoko asked, tapping his shoulder as he threw out dirty paper towels.

"She's recovering in my room," he answered.

"Alright, Suguru and I are going to head out," she answered, patting his shoulder.

"Nonfunny business," Suguru almost warned, grasping Sukuna's shoulder as he walked past him and led Shoko out of the party. Sure, he wasn't nearly as buff as Sukuna, but he was slightly taller than him. With his personality adding about three more inches, he was pretty intimidating in that moment.

When Sukuna walked back up to his room with a bottle of water and medicine in hand, you were spread out on the bed with the sheets and comforter in disarray. You had also somehow kicked the PJ pants off in your sleep(you were a sleep stripper, you couldn't help it). He placed the things on the nightstand and grabbed a pillow before leaving the room.

Somehow, there were still people downstairs, but Sukuna simply ignored them. He opened Gojo's door to find him surprisingly not doing anything weird, but his usual activity, playing "Hello Kitty Island Adventure."

"Yo," Satoru called out, eyes glued on the Sanrio characters dancing around his screen.

Sukuna stayed silent and stood at the doorway with his pillow in hand(Looking too cute). Gojo's head turned, but his eyes stayed on the screen for a moment. After peeling his eyes off his screen, he saw the big, hulking Sukuna standing in the doorway with a pillow in hand.

"Ryo, is someone hooking up in your room again?" he asked in disgust.

"Nah, _____ is sleeping in there," he answered.

"Oh, well, I have someone coming over, so you can't sleep in here," he lied.

"Bruh, it's two in the morning," Sukuna deadpanned, before leaving.

He walked back into his room. Somehow, you completely changed positions, and you were now on one side of the bed. I'm going to have to make this work, he thought to himself, seeing that your bra was now on the ground. You lay in just your panties and his shirt now. He tried not to look at your soft, exposed bits of skin, tucking you in and taking the side of the bed you weren't occupying.

His weight made the mattress depress a bit as he settled next to you, sleeping in his boxers. This would be odd to explain to you in the morning.

. . .

-> next part

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