#immediate jealousy and hating of change | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fushitoru · 6 months ago

Text

chapter 6: the house party a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you are bedridden, recovering from your wound, when gojo delivers season-changing news. the house party that follows buzzes with tension, and an unexpected arrival that sends ripples through the ton (7.4k)

a/n thank you as always to the pooks @/sinn-clair for beta reading this <333 i'll see you after the chapter is over!

prev. the fall | next. the rebound

general masterlist | series masterlist

Gentle Reader,

One query occupies this Author's mind, be it ladies or mamas alike—what exactly are Miss Itadori and Lord Gojo up to in the countryside? Perhaps a trifling dalliance of hearts, or will the ton bear witness to a scandal uncovered when they arrive for the house party? After having arrived a week early—and positioned as the diamond of the season—one must guess that if all goes well and Miss Itadori plays her cards right, she will be showing off her new surely lavish diamond engagement ring. Yet, she must take great care, for to err in this delicate matter would be to jeopardize a most significant match with Lord Gojo. Only time shall tell the outcome of this intrigue.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Upon waking, the physician informed you that you had been unconscious for some days. Though no immediate danger threatened you, it had been long enough to send both families into a state of great disquiet. It seemed that even before you’d regained full awareness, a servant—who had gasped upon hearing your feeble request for water—had swiftly spread the news, for not a moment later Yuji burst into the room.

“SISTER!” he exclaims, hurtling his way towards you with heavy steps. You flinch in your position on the bed at the sound of his loud voice. “You are awake! Mama seemed like she would faint, Choso had almost popped a bloody vein, he looked like he was about to challenge Lord Gojo to a duel—”

“Yuji! My dear,” you had to shout, interrupting the boy’s ramblings, giving him an uneasy smile. “Lower your volume, please. I might faint back into unconsciousness due to the strain, and this time you will be the one dueling Choso.”

The pout Yuji adopts is akin to a chastened hound as he grabs a chair to sit next to you. You take this moment to surveil your surroundings, now with a clear headedness granted to you that hadn’t been granted before. There were fresh flowers adorning a vase on the table on your bedside, and you seemed to be wearing a shift, cleaned and changed out of your dirty and mud-ridden dress. There was a gauze surrounding your head, and you could feel some similar cloth on your ankle.

You turned to your brother. “Now then, what were you saying?”

He perks up. “Well, you’ve been in quite a state, dear sister! It’s not every day you’re injured before breaking fast. Choso practically spat his tea when he heard! And, of course, Duchess Gojo has been endlessly apologetic. Between Mama, Choso, and me, we’ve all been in quite a state. I daresay you’re hardly known for clumsiness—although you do have your moments on horseback.” At the memories seemingly pooling themselves in his mind, Yuji sniggers while you shoot him a look to not be testy. “And Gojo has been nothing short of attentive. No doubt the man’s come in to change your flowers more than the doctor’s visited you. He’s so caring, he even cares for a worm like you!”

You ignore Yuji’s jab, instead forcing yourself not to be gripped by the fact that Gojo had been so…attentive to you. Of course, it was as an indirect result of his sheer vexing nature that you were bedridden in such a manner, so it should not set your heart aflutter like a foolish girl. But your traitorous heart seems to hate listening to reason.

You begin to nod slowly. “And how many days have I been out? When is the house party?” Taking a gander at the windows in the room you were situated in, you could see the moon and star’s light filtering the curtains. You weren’t sure if it was the evening or night or completely early in the morning.

He looks up to the ceiling, as if calculating something, brows furrowed. “Today.”

Groaning, you put your head in your hands, playing with your hair as it falls through the gaps of your fingers. “Mother is going to kill me.”

“Oh, indeed,” Yuji replied with a hum, stretching his arms in a cat-like yawn. “Now, I must get back to my rest. The servants were gossiping near my door, so I thought I’d see for myself that you weren’t dead.” He kissed you on the cheek before heading to the door. “Sleep, sister, for I expect Mama will tire you endlessly come morning.”

Later, a gentle nudge at your arm and a few soft “Miss! Wake up!”’s roused you from sleep. You opened your eyes to find a maid hunched over you, relief clear in her expression as you met her gaze with a drowsy squint. “Miss, Lord Gojo requests your presence. May I allow him in?”

With a nod, you fought off your annoyance at having been disturbed. The maid, visibly flustered, hurried to admit Gojo, who soon approached with quiet footsteps. As you propped yourself up, arms crossed, you gave him a mildly reproachful look. “Gojo, you’ve roused me from my slumber. I trust this is a matter of utmost importance—-” you began, then trailed off as you took in his expression.

He was taut, as though his very sinews were wound tight. Standing rigidly, his jaw clenched, his gaze flitted everywhere but to you. Troubled, you tried, “Gojo?”

At the sound of his name, he looked sharply at you and seemed to gather himself. “Ah… forgive me.” He took a seat and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, artificial. “How is your recovery?” You eye him suspiciously. His leg is moving up and down anxiously, the action minute in a way that makes you think he’s not aware of doing it. The tight and strained smile on his face seems uncanny, his concern seeming out of place. “Well, as much as it can be for me bleeding out pints and pints of blood from my head,” at that, you note that he subtly flinches, “but all is well!” You spread out your arms and give him a dazzling smile, and his eyes follow. “I’m sure my mama and my maid are itching to rush in here to prepare me for the house party.” Giving him a playful glare, you continue, “And just for the pain you caused me, you ought to have two dances and a few pastries prepared tonight.”

At that, he looks at you for a quick glance before quickly turning away, seemingly collecting himself. In what you could observe in his previous expression, you were surprised to see yearning present in his blue eyes, filled with feelings that perplexed you. Gojo was acting very odd.

Then, he drew in a measured breath, his jaw clenched as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. He finally looked at you, a shadowed intensity in his gaze that made your heart beat faster—not in the way it used to when his eyes sparked with wit, but with a sense of foreboding.

"Miss Itadori," he began, his voice lower, lacking the familiar, teasing cadence. "I must apologize for the trouble I have brought upon you. I was… heedless, perhaps even reckless, and it seems I have caused you nothing but suffering."

You frowned, confusion beginning to bubble beneath the surface as he paused, clearly struggling to continue. He seemed almost pitiable, looking down at his hands, which were tightly woven together, his knuckles pale. But pity was not a feeling you had patience for. Not now. Not with Gojo of all people.

"Trouble?" you repeated, folding your arms. "I do believe that's an understatement, my lord. A mere misstep, surely?"

His eyes flicked back to yours, the corner of his mouth tugging in a grim semblance of a smile. "Understatement or not, it remains the truth," he replied, his voice nearly a murmur. "I cannot in good conscience continue this… attachment we have formed. The position of courtship our mamas have placed us in. For I fear it is you who stands to lose most dearly if I remain by your side."

You stiffened, his words crashing over you like a cold wave. "Attachment?" you said, bitterness coloring the word. "Do not dress it up with such kind words, Lord Gojo. An attachment is something formed with care, with respect—qualities you seem to find inconvenient."

He winced but did not break eye contact. "I will not argue with you," he said softly, voice steady in its regret. "Perhaps I am no master of attachments, nor have I ever claimed to be. But know that I had never wished to see you harmed—"

"Harmed?" you interrupted, your voice growing louder as anger swelled within you. "Is this some twisted apology, then? A show of remorse for the inconvenience of your whims?"

Gojo opened his mouth to respond, but you did not allow him the chance.

"How very noble of you, Lord Gojo," you continued, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all this time, to simply say, 'Forgive me; I shall now remove myself from your life,' as if that makes up for the chaos you’ve brought upon me? As if I am but a pawn to be moved at your discretion?"

His face softened slightly, as if he were seeing something in you he hadn't fully expected—a quiet resolve beneath your anger, a dignity that refused to be bruised. "No, Miss Itadori," he said quietly. "I do not wish to see you as a pawn. After all, from what I understand is that you do not know what you desire—and I would only be exploiting that. I only… I only wish to relieve you of the burdens I seem to bring."

You laughed, the sound bitter and laced with fury. "Know what I want? As if you do, dropping pretenses with commoners and putting on your mask for the ton. And relieve me? I don’t think you understand what it is you’ve done, Gojo."

This conversation was dangerous. The emotions you hid under the air of nonchalance were steadily bubbling up, and it seemed that now, your sentiments were threatening to boil over at the sheer audacity of Gojo breaking off this arrangement, of what the ton would think today if he were to be avoiding you like the plague.

He flinched at the sound of his name on your lips, spoken with such venom. A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he made no move to respond, simply watched as you gathered your thoughts, your gaze piercing.

"All this time," you said, each word sharper than the last, "I was led to believe there was something more to your attentions. And now, you simply wash your hands of it? You think yourself a gentleman for doing so?"

"Miss Itadori," he said, his voice strained. "I am—"

"You are a coward," you spat, and his eyes widened, the faintest hint of pain flashing in their depths. "Yes, that’s right. A coward, for trying to protect yourself under the guise of protecting me. All this talk of 'relieving me'—do not act as if your decision was made out of kindness." (a/n: OH NO SHE DIDNTTTTT)

"Do you not understand?" he interjected, a sudden fierceness in his voice, his composure beginning to slip. "This is not some petty whim, nor a game. My intentions… they were never meant to bring you harm, but they did. And I cannot bear to see it continue."

"Bear to see it continue?" you repeated incredulously. "Do you think I am some doll, some trifle to discard at your convenience?"

"That was never my intent!" he exclaimed, voice rising in frustration. "If you would but see reason—"

"Reason? From you?" you laughed bitterly, barely able to contain the fury welling up inside you. "Your idea of reason is nothing more than self-preservation, Lord Gojo. How convenient it must be to absolve yourself of guilt by deciding I am better off without you."

He fell silent, the anger in his face ebbing, replaced by a kind of desperation. "You do not understand," he said, quieter, almost pleading. "If I were to stay… if I were to court you in earnest, it would not be the life you think it to be."

"Then let that be my choice to make," you shot back, crossing your arms. "But no—this is not about my well-being, not truly. It is about you, Gojo. It has always been about you."

A tense silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft, uneven breaths that escaped both of you. For a moment, neither dared to speak, both caught in the tangled emotions that hung thick in the air.

Finally, Gojo looked down, his eyes shuttered, his voice weary. "Then hate me, if you must. But I am done with this charade."

"Hate you?" you repeated, the word tasting strange on your tongue. "No, Lord Gojo. Hatred would imply I care enough to feel anything toward you."

Your entire body seethed with fury, every muscle trembling with the strain of keeping yourself upright, sitting on your bed. You couldn't storm out—not with your wounded leg refusing to bear even a fraction of the anger swelling within you. Instead, you pushed yourself up on shaking arms, glaring at him with such venom that he instinctively stepped back.

"Get out," you spat, the words laced with ice, your voice rising as if to fill the entire room. "Out! Now, Gojo—leave me this instant!"

He froze, his shoulders tense as he looked at you with something unreadable, but he made no move toward the door.

"I said leave!" you shrieked—your voice shrill—the strain of it making you nearly lose balance, but you didn't care. Hot tears stung your eyes, and you bit them back, forcing yourself to breathe through the betrayal clawing at your chest. "Take your false apologies, your noble pretensions, and get out of my sight. Go, and never, ever darken my door again."

His mouth opened, as if he might say something—perhaps even something that might soothe the jagged edges of your heart. But your furious gaze dared him to try.

With a pained expression, he finally gave a nod, stepping back toward the door. He lingered for a moment, one last helpless look crossing his face before he turned away, leaving without another word.

The door clicked shut, and you were left alone, shaking with fury, your breath ragged. Your eyes were still on that door, your heart racing, as though expecting him to come back, to take it all back, to be the man you'd witnessed yesterday. But deep down, you knew he would not return.

The first glimmers of morning filtered through the heavy drapes as you stirred awake, still dazed from the events that had left you bedridden. The memories of Gojo’s departure settled heavily on your chest, like a stone dropped in a lake, rippling outward and disturbing any possibility of calm. Your mind drifted over the previous night’s argument, replaying words, and then, with a cringe, the heated moments where you felt every last ounce of self-restraint slip from your grasp.

A small part of you reasoned that you may have been rash—that your anger and hurt had overtaken good sense. After all, it was you who deemed your and Gojo’s match impossible. So why were you so hurt?

Before you could linger on these thoughts, there was a soft knock at your door.

"Come in," you murmured, propping yourself up gingerly.

What followed soft footsteps was Choso, his gaze warm and steady as he entered, carrying the ease of familiarity that only he could. As he approached, he pulled a chair beside your bed and gave a faint smile.

Choso stepped in quietly, his face softened by a rare smile as he approached. “Awake at last,” he said gently, taking a seat beside you with the care one might afford a delicate flower. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep through the entire house party."

He reached out, his hand resting on the crown of your head, fingers slipping through your hair in a soothing rhythm. The fondness in his touch eased the last of the stiffness in your frame, a balm against the soreness both physical and emotional.

“You worry too much,” you muttered, allowing yourself to lean into the comfort he offered, your voice softening as his hand continued to gently scratch at your scalp.

“You look better today,” he said softly, continuing his familiar, soothing rhythm with his fingers. “Though, I’ll admit, you gave us all quite a scare.”

You managed a small smile, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly under his touch. “I suppose I was overdue for a bit of excitement,” you murmured, though the attempt at levity felt thin, even to your own ears.

Choso’s hand stilled momentarily, and his gaze grew searching as he looked at you. “What truly happened yesterday?” he asked, his voice low with concern. “There’s more here than an unfortunate fall, isn’t there?”

You stiffened slightly, glancing away from him. “It was nothing,” you replied, willing your tone to sound convincing. “Just… an ill-timed accident. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

But Choso was not so easily deterred. He watched you closely, his brow furrowing with worry. “You’ve always been a poor liar, sister,” he murmured. “If something happened, you know you can tell me. I only want to understand.”

The quiet earnestness in his tone gnawed at you, and for a moment, you considered confiding in him. But the idea of revisiting last night’s turmoil felt too raw, too immediate. “I’m fine, truly,” you insisted, meeting his gaze with as much steadiness as you could muster. “It was… nothing that can’t be mended with rest.”

Choso’s gaze lingered on you, his fingers resuming their gentle tracing along your scalp as if that alone could soothe whatever burden you were carrying. “Well,” he finally said, his tone filled with fond exasperation, “I won’t press you. But I trust you’ll speak of it when you feel you are ready.”

You gave a slight nod, grateful for his restraint. The quiet between you was comforting, grounding, as he continued his rhythmic motions, easing your thoughts in a way that words could not.

After a long moment, he broke the silence again, his tone lighter this time. “On a more cheerful note,” he began, a faint smile playing on his lips, “you’ll have another visitor tomorrow.”

“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though a part of you already guessed who he meant.

“Yes,” he confirmed, a knowing glint in his eye. “Sukuna received word of your injury and set off at once. He’ll be here by morning.”

You let out a small breath, a mixture of relief and trepidation filling you. “Tomorrow, then,” you repeated, feeling a hint of warmth at the thought. “It seems my brothers cannot resist making a fuss.”

Choso chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s what we’re here for. And perhaps Sukuna’s presence will help you feel a bit more at ease during the house party. He’ll see to it that no one bothers you unduly.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the thought of Sukuna’s reassuring, if overbearing, presence lifting your spirits slightly. “Well, at least there’s that to look forward to,” you murmured, and, with a soft sigh, leaned back against your pillows, letting Choso’s calming presence ease the lingering shadows of last night’s ordeal, even if temporary.

For you had a beast of a social gathering to deal with today, the same one where the ton would descend upon the outcome of your match, ready to laugh at you: the house party.

“He what?”

You flinched, scowling as you clutched your ears. Nobara’s shrill voice was not helping your recovery, nor were her rough combs through your hair; but alas, beauty has a price, and it’s one you’re reluctantly willing to pay. You oh-so terribly wanted to politely decline the formal invitation, but it seemed that the moment you woke, your mother was dead set on getting you ready for what she thought was your engagement party. Little did she know that her not so future in law had gotten rid of you as if you were a stray animal latched onto him, but who were you to burst her bubble?

Perhaps you ought to dread the inevitable fallout from your mother when the truth emerged, but you consoled yourself with the thought of drowning your sorrows in champagne tonight, delaying her wrath for at least a little while. Besides, the prospect of Sukuna’s impending arrival tomorrow brought you some comfort; his unruly nature often served as a distraction from your own troubles.

You sighed heavily, meeting Nobara’s furious gaze in the mirror. “He merely said he wished to absolve me of any trouble he had caused.”

“Good riddance!” Nobara shrieked, her hand furiously waving around the hair brush in a way that made you wary, for it would not be pleasant for it to make contact with your already tender head. “He was never the one for you to pursue, for he lacks the honor of a true gentleman! And yet—oh, heavens!” She gestured at you accusingly with the brush, her tone turning sharp. “Why, pray, do you appear so disheartened?”

You open your mouth immediately, indignant and expecting your wit, your usual ally, to conjure a response for you, only to be left open-mouthed when it came up short. Nobara seemed to sense your hesitance, opening her mouth to unleash yet another accusatory and reprimanding remark, but you quickly moved to fill your silence. “I suppose I am just…offended that he dare reject me, the diamond. The ton will seize upon this dissolution with glee. They shall revel in my supposed failure, for it will be indicative of my failure to the Queen.”

Nobara arched a brow, her skeptical silence speaking volumes. She clearly wasn’t convinced, and before she could level another charge against you, a knock sounded at the door.

“Sister, are you decent?”

“Enter, Choso,” you called out, hastily adjusting the neckline of your pale pink gown and straightening the strand of pearls around your neck.

Nobara opened the door, though she made no attempt to soften her posture. The hairbrush remained firmly in her grasp, poised like a weapon, and Choso cast it a wary glance as he stepped inside. His presence brought a sense of calm, even as his expression betrayed some inner turmoil. He hesitated for a moment before moving to sit at the edge of your vanity, his gaze flickering between you and Nobara.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious of his silence. “Well, brother? Out with it,” you urged, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness.

He sighed, clearly reluctant. “Very well,” he began. “Pray, hear me out. You know I have never hidden my disapproval of Lord Gojo.” At the sound of that name, you flinched, though you quickly masked it with a curt nod. Choso continued nonetheless, his tone steady but earnest. “In light of recent events, I have taken it upon myself to form…a contingency plan of sorts.”

Your curiosity was piqued, though Nobara snapped at you to sit still as she continued combing through your hair. “Go on,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Choso leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering as though to ensure Nobara wouldn’t interrupt. “I have had the pleasure of conversing at length with Duke Nanami.”

You arched a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “The Duke Nanami?”

“Yes,” Choso confirmed. “He is an esteemed gentleman of considerable character, and, as fortune would have it, he is not currently pursuing anyone this season.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Choso’s intent was clear, and the weight of his proposition settled over you like an unexpected storm. Nobara, meanwhile, had stilled entirely, her hairbrush forgotten in her hand as she turned to gawk at your brother.

“Is this,” she began, her voice disbelieving, “your solution to Gojo’s appalling behavior? To thrust her into the path of another?”

Choso shrugged, unbothered by her skepticism. “A better match by far, I would argue. The Duke has no such inclinations to trifling or dishonor.”

You sighed, leaning back as the tension in the room thickened. “And what makes you so certain the Duke would even entertain such an arrangement?” you asked, your voice tinged with a weariness you hadn’t intended to show.

Choso gave you a small smile, his hand reaching out to pat your shoulder. “Leave that to me, dear sister. For now, focus on enduring tonight’s ordeal. Tomorrow, you may take comfort in Sukuna’s arrival—and in the knowledge that your prospects are not as grim as they seem.”

You exhaled, unsure whether to feel gratitude or exasperation, as Choso rose from his seat. Whatever plans he had in motion, they would unfold in time. For now, you could only prepare yourself for the chaos that awaited.

Gojo had outdone himself. Truly, magnificently outdone himself.

From the moment you entered the house, your hand resting lightly on Choso’s arm, the stares began. They weren’t the polite glances reserved for new arrivals at such gatherings—these were sharp, lingering, and accompanied by a cacophony of whispers that only heightened your unease.

You straightened your back, chin held high, determined not to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing your discomfort. But it was impossible to ignore the way every eye seemed to follow you, every head turned to observe as you passed. Whatever it was that had stirred this interest, you were certain Gojo was at the heart of it.

Feeling the oppressive smog of stares, you knew where you could find solace: the drinks table, where you could down a flute of champagne alongside your stress. And right as you excuse yourself from Choso’s hold, who is now looking in the general direction of some men—particularly a gaggle of men that included Lord Geto and Duke Nanami, who were looking at something in the direction of the dance floor with interest. As you walk, you take in the scene: a beautiful chandelier, and red drapings and coverings embellished with gold, a bloody alternative to the Gojo icy blue. You’re not sure why today’s ensemble of colors didn’t include blue, but you believe it is fitting for what’s going to happen to you after this party is over and your mother finds out about the elephant in the room.

And as you glance longingly at the couples gliding across the floor, their movements synchronized with the lilting strains of the orchestra, your breath catches.

It is then that you see him.

Gojo Satoru is spinning a girl across the dance floor, his coat tails trailing like ribbons in the air. His lips move as he speaks, the tilt of his head paired with that too-familiar smirk. His partner laughs at something he’s said, a soft sound that reaches you even from this distance. You could almost identify her—there is no debutante in the ton you have not cataloged, no rival whose dossier you do not possess—but tonight, it does not matter. She is just a blur of chiffon and curls, another face in a sea of women enthralled by him.

Your chest tightens as you take in the scene, a memory unspooling unbidden.

Is this what your first dance with Gojo had looked like to others? Did you appear as enraptured as this girl, your steps as confident and sure beneath his lead? You remember his light touch at your back, his questions whispered so quietly you doubted even the orchestra could eavesdrop, his eyes full of a charm so practiced it felt like a spell cast just for you.

And yet now, the spell is broken.

He is steering her—steering everything—with such ease that it almost makes you laugh. Were he not so infuriating, you might have admired his grace, the way he seamlessly dominates both the conversation and the dance. His amusement is evident in the quirk of his brow, the corners of his mouth curling with every word she utters, no doubt answering his questions with meek enthusiasm.

She is simple. You can tell from the way he looks at her, the way he pauses before replying as if translating his own thoughts into something digestible for her. The way she beams at him—unaware of how deeply he calculates every move—is almost endearing. Almost.

He is drawing the same conclusions he did of you. Simple, lacking substance.

The thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

But then the girl laughs again, a little too loud, and Gojo’s expression flickers for just a second—long enough for you to notice. His smile tightens, his gaze sliding briefly across the room as though searching for something more stimulating. It is instinctual, this glance, and his head tilts in such a way that you know it will land on you if you linger a moment longer.

Your heart stutters in protest, your legs already moving.

Punch table. Right.

As you near it, you grab the closest drink and down it one sip, desperate for the cool of the liquid to calm both your throat and your heated mind, furious with thoughts and anxiety of those around you. And it was just as you begin to set down the cool glass that in your periphery comes the man who soon tests your resolve.

“Miss Itadori,” a voice drawled behind you, the unmistakable lilt of smugness weaving through it.

You turned, and there stood Naoya Zen’in, his grin as unctuous as ever. He bowed slightly, though the gesture felt more like mockery than courtesy. “I must say, you are positively radiant tonight.”

You inclined your head ever so slightly, each movement deliberate. “Mr. Zen’in. How kind of you to say.”

He grinned, and the sight was unsettling, a serpent preparing to strike. “Radiant, yes. A pity Lord Gojo has finally come to his senses and moved on. I thought the two of you might actually prove interesting.”

Your stomach churned, but you kept your expression serene. “I fail to see how my affairs are of interest to you, Mr. Zen’in.”

“Oh, but they are,” he said, stepping closer, his voice lowering as though he were sharing a confidant’s secret. “Everyone is watching, you know. Wondering why Lord Gojo is…otherwise occupied tonight.” He tilted his head, motioning discreetly toward the mantle, a few meters away, where Gojo stood, entertaining and welcoming another lady.

Your eyes betrayed you, flicking briefly in that direction. Gojo’s figure remained in your periphery, still close enough to notice but far enough to be unattainable. You tore your gaze away, unwilling to feed Naoya’s glee.

Naoya leaned in, his tone growing more audacious. “Quite the spectacle, wouldn’t you agree? Though perhaps it’s for the best. You have much to offer, Miss Itadori—breeding hips, for one.”

The words hit you like a slap, your mind reeling in fury and disbelief. Your breath hitched, but before you could muster a scathing retort, something else caught your attention.

Gojo’s hand, resting casually against the column, tightened into a fist. The movement was subtle, but unmistakable—a barely contained tension that you might have missed if you weren’t already attuned to his every breath, his every twitch.

Still, you refused to look directly at him. Whatever he felt, it mattered not.

“Mr. Zen’in,” you began, voice icy and measured, though the rage burned beneath the surface, “your comments are as inappropriate as they are unwelcome. I suggest—”

“Sister.”

Choso’s voice interrupted like a lifeline thrown to a drowning sailor. You turned to see your older brother approaching, his expression calm but his eyes sharp as they darted between you and Naoya. He came to your side, his imposing presence creating an impenetrable wall between you and the unwelcome intruder.

“Mr. Zen’in,” Choso greeted with a curt nod, his tone laced with a warning. “I trust you’ll excuse my sister. She and I were just about to take a turn about the room.”

Naoya’s grin faltered, but he recovered quickly, stepping back with a mocking bow. “Of course. Do enjoy your evening.”

Choso wasted no time, offering his arm to you. You took it gratefully, your legs unsteady as he guided you away from the scene and toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice gentle but firm, as though bracing himself for a truth he might not like.

You nodded, though the words escaped you. Your hands trembled slightly, and Choso placed his over yours, steadying you. “I saw the way you looked,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “At Lord Gojo.”

Your breath caught, but you said nothing, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your brother’s steps.

“Whatever he’s done—or hasn’t done—you are worth far more than his regard,” Choso continued, his tone resolute. “Do not forget that.” A pause. “Are you all right, Sister?”

“I am fine,” you lied, though your trembling hands betrayed you.

The evening only worsened from there.

More and more, you felt the weight of curious glances, the whispers growing louder as the night wore on. The absence of Gojo’s attention did not go unnoticed—least of all by your mother, who approached you and Choso with a determined expression, her fan snapping shut with a sharp flick of her wrist.

The warmth of the ballroom’s lights could not thaw the ice that slipped down your spine as your mother approached. Her movements were poised as ever, but the tightness in her lips and the fury barely hidden in her eyes told you everything. She stopped just short of you, her fan snapping shut with a sharp click that made you flinch.

“Explain,” she hissed, her voice low enough to avoid drawing the attention of onlookers but sharp enough to carve into you.

Your breath caught in your throat. You glanced towards Choso for reinforcement, but his furrowed brow and subtle shake of his head told you he would not intervene—not yet.

“I… don’t understand, Mother,” you murmured, though the words tasted hollow even as you said them.

“Do not toy with me, child,” she snapped, her tone still hushed but more cutting. “The entire room is whispering. Where is Lord Gojo? Why has he not so much as glanced in your direction tonight? Why is he—” Her eyes darted to the waltz floor, where Gojo had just excused himself from yet another partner. “Why is he dancing with others while you stand here like a forgotten debutante?”

The words hit like a slap, and you flinched again, your gaze falling to your gloved hands. You wanted to speak, to explain, but the lump in your throat grew larger with every second.

Her voice softened but grew no less fierce. “What have you done?”

Your chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, you considered telling her everything—about the garden, about Gojo’s words, about how utterly humiliated you had felt. But then the heat of the ballroom pressed down on you, the glances from curious onlookers prickling your skin like needles.

You couldn’t. Not here.

So, you said nothing.

The silence between you stretched thin, your mother’s patience fraying with every passing moment. Finally, she straightened, her lips pressed into a pale line. “This is how you repay all that has been done for you?” she whispered, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “Do you even comprehend what this will do to your prospects? To this family? You have disgraced yourself, and worse—you have disgraced me.”

Her words left you hollow, the guilt settling into the spaces where indignation might have taken root. Still, you could not look up, nor could you summon any defense.

Your mother’s fan snapped open again with a sharp flick, the motion more violent than graceful. “We are leaving,” she declared, turning abruptly on her heel. “Now.”

Choso stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against your elbow as if to steady you. You dared a glance at him, finding his gaze steady and quietly supportive. It was only his presence that kept your legs moving as you followed your mother toward the grand doors.

The weight of the room’s collective gaze bore down on you with every step. The music swelled in the background, mocking you with its cheerfulness. As you neared the exit, your feet faltered.

And then you saw him.

Gojo.

He stood near the edge of the dance floor, his posture uncharacteristically tense, his jaw clenched tightly, his usual easy confidence dimmed. His head tilted slightly, his eyes cutting through the crowd to meet yours.

Your breath hitched. In his gaze, you saw regret—yearning, even—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

But it didn’t matter.

You tore your eyes away, your jaw tightening as a steely resolve settled over you.

You would not break.

Not here. Not now. Not for him.

As you stepped into the cool night air, you drew in a deep breath, willing the ache in your chest to dissipate. Gojo Satoru had taken enough from you. Your heart, your dignity—no more.

If he thought you would crumble, he was mistaken.

He would regret this, you vowed silently.

And you would make certain of it.

The morning that came in a few days was no less disheartening than the night of the house party. The morning sun filtered weakly through the gauzy curtains of the drawing room, casting pale, lackluster patterns on the carpet. Even the sunlight seemed hesitant, as if it knew it had no place in the solemn atmosphere that hung over your family.

Even Yuji was solemn as you all sipped on your tea, the drawing room oddly quiet as you reflected in the aftermath of the past few days. The events of the house party still loomed over you. Your family’s hasty departure had been punctuated by the sight of your mother in whispered conversation with Duchess Gojo, their faces tight with the bitterness of dashed expectations. You had no doubt they had commiserated over your perceived recklessness and Gojo’s insolence, lamenting how the perfect match they had orchestrated had unraveled before their very eyes.

You had borne it all in silence.

But now, in the cold light of morning, your resolve felt brittle.

Your hands tightened around your teacup as you stared into the amber liquid, your reflection rippling with each shallow breath you took. Independence? That word felt hollow. You had fought for it, yes, but at what cost? The ton’s whispers had already begun. You could feel their weight pressing on you, suffocating in their judgment. The laughter and speculation at your expense would echo through parlors and ballrooms for weeks, if not months.

And yet, deep down, there was a spark of defiance. They thought this was your undoing. They thought you would crumble. But they had no idea.

"Why does it feel like we’re mourning?" Yuji muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but the sarcasm was unmistakable. "It’s not as though anyone has died."

Your mother’s sigh this time was louder, sharper, and followed by a pointed glance in his direction. “Yuji, do not jest,” she snapped. "This is no laughing matter."

Choso, who had been reclining with one arm draped lazily over the armrest of his chair, sat up straighter. “Mother,” he said cautiously, his voice soft but steady, “I think it’s time we address what’s truly troubling you.”

Her handkerchief stilled in her lap. For a moment, the room was silent again, the tension thick enough to choke on.

“Troubling me?” she repeated, her tone icy. “You think I am troubled, Choso?”

“Everyone is troubled,” Choso replied, his gaze flicking briefly to you. "But perhaps if you said what’s on your mind, we could all breathe a little easier."

Your mother’s lips thinned as she sat up straighter, her shoulders stiff. “Very well,” she said sharply, “if you must know, I am ashamed.”

The word hit you like a slap, even though you had expected it. You gritted your teeth, staring down at your tea to hide the flush of anger and embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“Ashamed of what?” you asked quietly, your voice tighter than you intended.

“Of you,” she replied without hesitation. “Of the scandal you have brought upon this family. Do you think your actions have no consequences? Do you think the ton will simply overlook your…” She hesitated, clearly searching for the most cutting word. “Your antics with Lord Gojo?”

You felt Choso stiffen beside you, his protective instincts clearly flaring, but you held up a hand to stop him. You wouldn’t hide behind your brothers—not this time.

“I have done nothing wrong,” you said, your voice low but firm. “Gojo and I made a mutual decision that we were incompatible. We—”

“You humiliated yourself!” she interrupted, her voice rising. “And by extension, this family. Do you think people are speaking of him? No! It is you they ridicule. It is your name they sully.”

Your chest burned with anger and hurt, but before you could retort, Yuji shifted uncomfortably, muttering, “This is getting out of hand…”

“You think I care about their opinions?” you snapped, finally lifting your gaze to meet your mother’s. “The ton has always been cruel. They would find a reason to gossip no matter what I did. I refuse to live my life pandering to their expectations—”

“And look where that refusal has left you,” your mother interrupted, her voice shaking with fury. “Unmarried. Ruined. Who will have you now?”

You flinched, the words cutting deeper than you thought possible. Your lips parted, but no words came out. What could you possibly say to that?

The silence that followed was deafening.

Until a voice, smooth and amused, broke it.

“Now, now, Mother. I know you’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, but let us not turn your theatrics onto our dearest sister.”

All heads turned toward the entrance, where a figure lounged against the doorway, his presence commanding without even trying. There he stood—Sukuna, your brother, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who had kept you waiting for days. Both you and Yuji involuntarily gasped in excitement, while Choso only shook his head in amusement and crossed his arms.

He strode into the room with an air of nonchalance, his tailored attire immaculate, his smile one of mocking amusement. His gaze flicked to your mother, then to you, lingering for a moment as if to appraise the damage left in her wake.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly, the corners of his mouth curling. “I trust I’ve arrived in time to save you from a most tiresome sermon.”

Your mother bristled, but her voice faltered, her ire now redirected. “Sukuna, this is hardly the time for your irreverence—”

“And yet here I am,” he interrupted, dropping into a chair with the kind of ease that only Sukuna could muster. He leaned back, his sharp gaze softening just slightly as it fell on you. “I thought you might appreciate a reprieve. You seem to have had enough lectures for a lifetime.”

You could feel tears welling in your eyes. You had severely underestimated how much you missed your elder brother, seeing his presence stir a fondness and comfort you hadn’t felt ever since he left for Europe. And it seemed that your brothers shared your sentiment; Yuji was basically on his haunches, doing everything he could not to leave his chair to tackle Sukuna, and Choso barely holding in an amused smile.

“Still causing chaos wherever you go, I see,” Choso said dryly, though there was no malice in his tone.

Sukuna smirked. “Someone has to keep things interesting.”

Your mother huffed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she rose from her seat. “I refuse to be made a fool in my own home. Sukuna, do try not to corrupt your siblings further while I attend to matters of actual importance.” She swept out of the room with her usual imperious grace, leaving a silence in her wake.

As soon as she left, you left your chair to basically jumping on him, hugging him tightly as he reciprocated your hug with wrapping his big arms around yours with equal fervor. “Kuna,” you whispered, burying your face into his chest as the tears started flowing. His presence surrounded you, offering you a comfort and familiarity that the eventful weeks, ever since your debut, hadn’t offered

Sukuna looked down to you with a raised brow as he patted your head affectionately. “Well, that was entertaining. Now, who’s going to tell me what truly happened while I was gone?”

prev. the fall | next. the rebound

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n hi everyone!!! so i lied and said the update wasn't gonna take as long #womaninmalefields BUT thank you for your patience <3

so uh....we are now gonna enter the arc with DRAMAA. there will be yearning, there will be angst, and soon after, there will be fluff. idk if anyone needs to hear this, but, again, this series will have a happy ending. if anyone is sad, don't worry. i'm going to make gojo grovel <3

SUKUNA IS BACK SUKUNA IS BACK what do we think?! spoiler alert this is what sukuna will wanna do to gojo after reader spills the tea

THANK U FOR READING!!! rest assured reader a BADDIE there will be some showing ankles and lowering bustlines to start our reputation era and infuriate gojo but u didnt hear that from me !!!

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

2K notes · View notes

jenscx · 2 months ago

Text

PLEASE LOOK AT ME ! — yu jimin

jimin has problems in life that can only be solved by your attention (screw her for loving her girlfriend)!

tags fluff, established relationship, college au, ex-playgirl!jimin, return of jimmy (yum!), jealousy, gawd i love down bad jimin, waiter waiter more yuri please!

wordcount 2.6k

🎙️ author’s note: happy rina day!!! hopefully this jiminful fic can make up for my rather long absence! heh sorry it’s rushed and short :// im kinda running out of ideas… title is from qwer’s t.b.h (pls go listen!) lab my league of legends girls (proud scuttle btw)

so jimin has a problem. a big, no, huge one. ginormous even. she doesn’t have many problems in life. her family takes care of her well, her friends are all very caring and she even has a loving girlfriend who she would do anything for.

and that’s where her problem starts— from her wonderful, gorgeous girlfriend. they’ve been dating for about a month or so, meaning they’re relatively new to this dating thing. before you even started dating, you were friends. jimin met you through another mutual friend and was stuck longing for your attention before she finally tried to ask you out.

her first confession left her rejected. jimin still pouts sometimes when she remembers it. after the words had left her mouth, you merely stared at her and asked if she was serious. when she said yes, you walked away! fortunately, jimin was already head over heels by then. if anyone else pulled that shit on her, she would have killed them and then herself. but anyway, long story short, you rejected her just because of her… generous past.

jimin wasn’t exactly the most stellar person when it came to dating and she definitely had her fair share of flings that ended up going nowhere. it wasn’t as if she slept around, she just had fun! fun that eventually resulted in a lot of people hating her guts but jimin didn’t do anything wrong. they came to her with unrealistic expectations and when she couldn’t provide that, they threw tantrums. and it just so happened that one of her unfortunate flings was in contact with you. group mates or whatever, jimin didn’t really care.

she only cared when that particular person started telling you not to accept her heartfelt confession! that was a crisis! after she found out, jimin immediately orchestrated a plan to change your mind. it started with bouquets of flowers that she watched you throw into the trash every time. then, it evolved into sweet notes she left on your desk and slipped in your bag (she never got a reply). and finally, after much effort, she got your number.

not directly from you of course. her best friend got it for her. jimin was a little peeved at how easily aeri managed to nab your number but whatever. it was for a greater cause (becoming your one true love!)

eventually, your walls fell. and jimin got a girlfriend. yahoo! everything was perfect the moment you officially started dating. the first date ended with jimin walking you home and you rewarding her chivalry with a kiss on the cheek. the second date went even better since jimin brought you to an aquarium. she managed to see her favourite fish and stare at a pretty girl. the third date, you had planned and hence, was already perfect in jimin’s books.

but now, she’s facing the worst days of her life. okay, she’s exaggerating. after one month of dating, you made the executive decision to introduce her to your friends. at first, jimin was excited. she had already met your parents (long story short, she somehow ended up at your house, in your bed, and met them when they abruptly came into your room) and that went splendid. they love her. but meeting your friends? that’s a whole different ballpark and jimin’s never been very good at sports.

in fact, she even tried to sign up for basketball after hearing that you were interested in becoming an assistant manager for the team. jimin had thought she was relatively tall, not to brag or anything, and she had long limbs. perfect for basketball, right? well, no. the moment you stepped into the court, jimin got smacked in the face by the ball and it hurt. she might have cried a little too.

anyway, everything worked out in the end since you brought her to the infirmary, chiding her cutely about the safety risks involved in contact sports. (not that her injury was caused by contact from others but jimin didn’t bother correcting you).

she’s just lucky that despite her lack of strength, she has a great personality and a handsome face. both suitable for wooing pretty girls. jimin tried going to the gym once and she succeeded in continuing for a few weeks. you would have to waterboard this out of her but truthfully speaking, jimin did not even graze the workout equipment there. she only visited the gym because for some reason, there was a fat orange cat that frequented it as well.

anyway, apparently your friends are very protective of you, meaning if jimin does one thing wrong, they might show up to her house bearing gifts. gifts of doom! jimin thinks she saw that once on tiktok. probably something you sent her.

sometimes you bomb her phone with videos that she has to spend at least ten minutes watching so that she can give her input. jimin loves the fact that she’s the one you think of when watching these silly little tiktoks. most of them are just memes of having a loser girlfriend (she doesn’t take offense, she wears that title like a fucking medal of valour).

occasionally though, there’s those sweet appreciation videos that make her heart soar. jimin just likes you so much. she doesn’t care if you’ve only been dating for a month and it’s too early for her to say but in her heart, you’re practically married.

jimin’s spent one too many nights thinking about white wedding gowns. she would never admit that though.

she sidetracked again. after much stalking by aeri, jimin found out that your friends weren’t particularly fond of her previous lifestyle either. bummer. but that doesn’t matter right? she’ll just charm the pants off your friends with her awesome personality! (not that she wants to see them without pants…)

“jimin-ah, stop rubbing your eyes.” jimin instantly drops her offending hands from her face, swiftly placing them obediently onto her lap. you chuckle, amused at how docile the former playgirl had become.

“you’re gonna mess up your makeup,” you sigh, brushing her cheeks gently with your fingers, “don’t you wanna look pretty for my friends?”

pouting, jimin whines, “only wanna look pretty for you.”

her response brings out another hearty laugh from you. jimin wiggles her feet, ashamed at her own compliance.

“you’re always pretty. the prettiest.”

jimin immediately swallows the giggle from escaping. god, what has she become? this is downright humiliating. jimin says, “we’re gonna be late.” by doing so, she’s choosing ignorance and denial over whatever the hell just happened. damn, she’s a lost cause.

she smoothly slides her hand into yours, grinning at the small smile on your face as you make your way to your car. like a true gentleman, jimin opens the driver’s door for you (just because she doesn’t know how to drive doesn’t mean that she has to be a passenger princess!).

when you reward her with a gleaming smile, jimin’s chest blooms with happiness. she spends most of the ride humming to your playlist and sneaking small glances at you. sometimes she gets caught but it doesn’t matter! jimin isn’t ashamed of staring! that’s her girlfriend!

you do tell her to stop, breaking her poor little heart. but jimin can’t really complain because you were getting too flustered and distracted. she wants to live for the foreseeable future and not risk a car crash, so she stops momentarily. that doesn’t mean she stops holding your hand though.

five minutes away from the restaurant, jimin fusses over her stupid flannel. she regrets wearing this whole outfit now. next to you, she probably looks like a silly loser with her baseball cap. while you were dressed like a deity, she was ten seconds away from asking her big sister if she had games on her phone.

“jimin, calm down,” you finally say after jimin unbuttons her flannel for the third time, “you’ll be fine. my friends will like you.”

will they? jimin doesn’t think so.

“you’re fine,” you repeat, folding jimin’s collar neatly when you stop at a red light.

jimin chuckles. heh.

“i’m fine?” she grins sleazily at which you roll your eyes at.

“i’ll leave you to fend for yourself when my friends interrogate you.”

nooooooo!

“that’s mean! you wouldn’t do that to your awesome girlfriend, would you?” jimin exclaims, distraught. you send her a playful glare before bursting into laughter.

“you’re silly.”

jimin shifts in her seat, nerves adequately relieved by the time you park the car. she doesn’t think about her sweaty palms or her parched throat until she’s three metres away from your friends.

“oh my god— y/n, they’re there— i can’t do this!” jimin whispers harshly, only to your amusement. jimin wants to bolt out of the restaurant now before your friends realise she’s there.

“jimin, if you walk out right now, i’m going to ignore you for a month,” you hiss, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back to your side.

one month?! without your attention?! jimin might as well die. with repercussions in place, jimin obediently follows you to the table despite her hesitance. after some awkward greetings, jimin sits down in the empty booth next to you.

“so, this is my girlfriend,” you start, gently nudging jimin forward. her throat tightens up and she wills herself to not stammer through her introduction.

“hi, i’m jimin.”

“nice to meet you, jimin. we’ve heard… a lot about you.” jimin gulps, cheeks heating up. she doesn’t say anything in return, choosing to stay silent than to embarrass herself further.

she roughly knows your friends’ names; minjeong and yizhuo. you had given her some background information beforehand, how minjeong takes part in math olympiad while yizhuo does cheer.

“have you guys ordered anything yet?” you ask, cutting through the tension.

jimin’s stomach growls at the mention of food. thankfully, both you and your friends are too engrossed with looking through the menu to notice her hunger.

“ooh, they have cheesy fries!”

“jimin, do you want anything?” you ask her.

“i’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

minjeong and yizhuo soon bombard her with questions. was she taking care of you? how many dates have you guys been on? what’s her salary like at her new part-time job? does uchinaga aeri need a girlfriend— that last one, asked by yizhuo. jimin takes note of her interest and makes a mental reminder to inform aeri at a later date. eventually, they stop asking questions and instead start catching up.

she shrinks back into her shoulders, eyes darting around as everyone but her talks. jimin doesn’t feel the need to interrupt at all while you catch up. it’s been a few days since you’ve last seen them (courtesy of jimin) and she would feel like an overbearing, possessive girlfriend if she inserted herself into your conversation.

despite her silence, jimin is still enjoying her time with your friends. she listens intently to the stories they tell and the complaints they have. she does have some gripes, however.

you haven’t looked at her once after sitting down!

jimin likes to think that she’s independent and self-sufficient but she still has her needs! she silently broods and watches you talk to your friends. occasionally, minjeong and yizhuo do spare her a glance and ask her questions but you barely even pay attention to her! and she’s your girlfriend!

someway throughout your conversation, jimin starts to doze off. but an offhand mention about your previous situationship has her straightening up immediately.

“chaeryeong mentioned about getting coffee someday, but like, ugh, i don’t think it’s a good idea?” you grimace while minjeong and yizhuo nod. jimin narrows her eyes.

“what’s she doing back in town? didn’t she go overseas for that dance scholarship?” minjeong asks, shoving another spoon down her throat. you shrug, “she posted on instagram a few days ago— how she’s home or whatever.”

jimin groans internally. dance scholarship? she didn’t know your ex went out of the country because she was good at moving her limbs! she barely knew anything about this chaeryeong girl! (jimin couldn’t bring herself to ask you anything— she would rather eat dirt than spend her time talking about your ex when she could very well be doing something better. like cuddling!)

“imagine she wants to get back with you,” yizhuo snorts. jimin’s heart jumps and she nearly flies out of her seat to tackle yizhuo for even suggesting such a thing. you glance at jimin knowingly, who’s just shaking in the corner like an angry chihuahua.

“well, that’s stupid,” minjeong scoffs, “doesn’t she still follow you on instagram? you post jimin on your story almost every day. i nearly blocked you.”

the weight on jimin’s shoulders lessens significantly. take that, chaeryeong!

“hm, i’ll see. maybe i’ll text her later.”

jimin pouts. she’s already spent a day without your attention (it was just an hour) and now she’ll have to watch you text your ex?! and it’s not to tell her to fuck off?!

“anyway, i gotta go. i have a presentation tomorrow and my group mates might as well be dead,” yizhuo sighs.

minjeong nods in agreement, “i’m gonna go too. jimin’s cool and i love you, y/n, but i don’t really wanna third wheel you two.”

jimin shoots a thumbs up. waving goodbye to your friends, she can finally heave a sigh of relief when they leave the door. you turn to her, amused.

“ready to go?”

she nods enthusiastically in response and basically bolts from her seat to go pay the bill. when bills are paid and tummies are full, jimin lets herself be pulled towards your car. she likes your friends but she still likes her alone time with you the most. jimin can barely contain her excitement, especially now that she can have your attention all to herself.

jimin leans her head against the window, resting her eyes. it’s only when you speak, then her eyelids flutter open.

“should i text chaeryeong? would you be okay with that?” you ask hesitantly. jimin nibbles her bottom lip in consideration.

“if you want…” her voice trails off. after a month of dating jimin, you were pretty well-versed with her habits.

“you don’t sound like you enjoy the idea.”

jimin purses her lips and stares out the window.

“i can’t control your life… i don’t like it though.” jimin doesn’t want to become that possessive and jealous girlfriend! even if she does have that ugly green monster wrenching her heart every time she thinks of you spending time with someone else.

after a few seconds of silence, jimin shrinks in her seat. your stillness makes her nervous and she resorts to tapping her foot in order to quell her anxiety.

“jiminie, don’t sulk, okay? i won’t text chaeryeong or meet up with her if you don’t like it,” you grasp her hand gently.

jimin instantly brightens up. her previous teary eyes morph into wide, surprised ones.

“seriously?! but— ah, if you want… you can… i’m not stopping you!”

shaking your head, you reply, “what i want is for you to be happy and comfortable. i’d rather see you smile than see chaeryeong at all.”

jimin swallows the choked sob from escaping. man, how did she get so lucky? she just stares at you gratefully before whining cutely, “y/nnie, i’ll get mad if you keep saying her name.”

“whose name? chaeryeong? lee chae-ryeong?” you tease before jimin starts to swat you with her hands.

“aah, y/n! stop it!”

jimin’s no longer facing the worst days of her life! she loves her life! and she loves her super awesome girlfriend too!

#aespa x reader #karina #aespa #yu karina x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #jimin x reader #karina day!!!

629 notes · View notes

etherrreal · 10 months ago

Text

"an inconvenient attachment"

Pairing: sae x fem!reader Genre: fluff with smut, fwb to lovers, minors dni! Summary: what you and sae have is completely casual— or at least it’s supposed to be. he’s fine with it at first, until he starts to realize how much he actually likes being around you. now he’s starting to wonder if casual is enough. WC: 20k+ (haha, i’m in danger) Warnings: nsfw, some pwp (mostly plot though), alcohol, casual/no strings sex (until it isn’t 😉), car sex, fingering, light choking, reader and sae are in their mid-20s, reader is also incredibly forward and kind of shameless lmao, pro!athlete sae, big time jealousy, misunderstandings, lots of pining but also lots of denial, sae being annoying and bad at feelings but also very much into you A/N: watched bluelock for the first time this past year and immediately fell victim to the itoshi brothers. consider this an ode to my suffering <3 -Dawn

Sae doesn’t really know what the two of you are to each other.

He knows you hate driving in the rain and love reading at the park, just like he knows how you take your coffee and what your voice sounds like when you first wake up in the morning, all sleepy and soft.

He also knows what you look like tangled in the sheets of his bed, just like he knows how to make you fall apart with his mouth and hands and tongue. He takes pleasure in leaving you bleary-eyed and breathless, in watching you grip at his sheets and drag your nails across his skin as you say his name again and again.

But when it comes to your current relationship, to what the two of you actually mean to each other? Sae has no idea. You’ve never bothered to put a label on it. He figures you’ve never felt the need to, even though normally you’re the kind of person who labels everything, from the colorful tabs in your planner to the glass containers in your pantry.

Not that Sae has any room to judge. He hasn’t made much of an effort to define things between you, either. He’s not one for titles or attachments, least of all romantic ones. He never has been, and that’s something he made clear to you from the beginning, long before the two of you ever shared a bed and started whatever the hell this thing is that exists between you now.

If he’s being honest, Sae didn’t really think much of you at first. He remembers meeting you, completely against his will, at a party he never wanted to attend in the first place, one that his teammates insisted on dragging him to.

In the beginning, you were just another face in the crowd, the best friend of Aina, Oliver’s notorious on-again, off-again girlfriend.

Sae never planned on seeing you again, much less actually getting to know you. In fact, he was fully content to forget you completely, but he couldn’t. And it wasn’t because he had a change of heart or because he was particularly interested in you, but because you made it practically impossible to ignore you.

You, with your ridiculous laugh and your know-it-all demeanor and your unreasonably animated way of talking. It’s no surprise that you were an instant hit amongst his teammates. They all took to you right away, captivated by your quick comebacks and witty humor, by your easy confidence and natural charm.

And though Sae will never say it out loud, he could admit, even back then, that he understood the appeal, at least in a general sense. You’re smart and funny, not to mention daring and lively, with the kind of effortless charisma that makes everyone want to be around you.

You laugh at his dry humor and unapologetic bluntness, but you also don’t hesitate to call him out when he’s being a dick. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re completely gorgeous, either, a vision in smooth satin and shimmery lip gloss whenever he sees you on nights when his teammates actually manage to bully him out of his apartment.

Soon you’re everywhere, laughing during game nights at Oliver’s place and rolling your eyes in the background of Shidou’s Instagram stories. Sae doesn’t accept their invitations to go out too often, but when he does, you’re always there, just as much a part of the group as everyone else is— even more than Sae is, most of the time.

You cheer him and the rest of the team on at games, send him new recipes to try and stupid videos he only sometimes replies to.

And inconveniently, inevitably, you start to grow on him.

Then one night, against his better judgment, he offers to drive you home from the bar, and to his surprise, you accept.

Sae’s not entirely sure why he does it. After all, it’s unlike him to inconvenience himself or go out of his way for the sake of others. But then he remembers the cheeky way you were acting with him earlier and decides it’s worth it, if only to see what you’ll do.

There’s always been a certain kind of tension between you and Sae, an unspoken chemistry neither of you has ever been able to replicate with anyone else. He’s never acted on it, of course. He’s never felt the need to, until now.

You’ve been flirting with him even more than usual tonight, brushing your hand against his arm and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

Sae has always appreciated how forward you are, how honest. You’re the kind of person who always speaks your mind, who never hesitates to go after what you want. It’s part of what makes him respect you so much.

It’s also why he doesn’t bother to stop you. Why he doesn’t push you away from him, no matter how close you get or how bold your hands become. It does something to him, he realizes, having you touch him so casually. Makes him possessive in a way he never expected he’d be over anyone, least of all you.

Still, he doesn’t take it as anything more than what it is. You’re always like this, all playful and coy, especially after you've had a shot or two. He knows better than to think it means anything. He takes it upon himself to drive you home anyway, the idea of you being so casual and touchy with any of his other teammates leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

You look unfairly beautiful sitting in the passenger seat of his car, all smooth skin and smokey eyes, jacket sliding halfway off your shoulders as you wave your hands around and tell a story he’s only half-listening to. You’re absolutely stunning and therefore annoyingly distracting, not that he’ll ever grant you the satisfaction of telling you that himself.

The lot behind your building is quiet when he pulls his car in, empty. You unbuckle your seatbelt and thank him for driving you home, but make no move to leave.

Sae notices but doesn’t call you out on it, dismissing your gratitude with his usual impassiveness. He also doesn’t stop you when you reach out to touch him. Your fingers brush against his collar, smoothing over the fabric on his shoulder.

He has makeup on his shirt, you tell him. It’s yours, of course, the shade of the smudge an identical match to the color staining your lips. It must’ve happened when you leaned in to talk to him earlier.

Sae isn’t surprised. You’re the only person he lets be that close to him, the only person he wants that close. And right now, you’re smiling like you already know, like you revel in it.

“Sorry about that,” you say, without an ounce of guilt in your voice, dragging your nail over the stain.

Sae watches the way you watch him, the way your eyes drift down to stare at his lips. There’s something wanting and possessive in your gaze, something he thinks has been there for a while now. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right.” The laugh you give is shameless, your smile brazen as you move your hand from his shoulder to his chest, fingertips skimming against the buttons of his shirt. “I’m not.”

You kiss him, then, a heated and hungry thing as bold and unapologetic as you are. He surprises himself by letting you, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and dragging your bottom lip between his teeth, a calloused hand moving up to cradle your jaw.

Soon you’re kicking off your heels and shrugging off your jacket, tossing it blindly into the backseat and climbing over the center console. You settle into his lap like you belong there, straddling his thighs with your bare knees. He trails his lips along your throat and chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your heated skin and pulling down the front of your dress so he can reach more of you.

His hands push the skirt of your dress up and over your hips, palms smoothing over your skin, and you tug at his hair, pressing your body firmly against his. The movement is exactly what you both need, your hips grinding into his lap.

You both groan when the head of his cock catches against your clothed center. You roll your hips into his again, chasing the friction, his grip on your hips turning bruising.

Sae presses a hand between your legs and pulls your underwear to the side, just enough to run a finger along your slit and gather the wetness there. He lets out a strained curse and drags his teeth along your throat when he feels how warm and wanting you already are, all because of him.

That’s all the convincing he needs to fuck you open with his fingers, while you grind yourself down against his hand, making breathy little sounds in his ear that he decides he wants to hear more of. You undo the buttons of his shirt and tear the material open, hands roaming over his chest as much as the limited space will allow.

It’s not long after that you decide you want more, undoing the button of his pants and yanking down his zipper with little restraint. He mutters something about you being an impatient brat under his breath, but he doesn't stop you.

Instead, he lets you pull his leaking cock out and wrap your hand around his shaft. He bites back a groan as you squeeze him at the base and move your hand up and down in slow, even strokes, smearing precum along the length of him.

You surge forward to kiss him again, and it’s all Sae can do to meet you halfway, curling his fingers inside of you and making you gasp against his lips. You cling to his shoulders and whisper into his ear, telling him how good he feels, how badly you want him inside of you— all of him, this time, not just his fingers.

Your words go straight to his already painfully hard cock, making him buck up into your hand and reach out blindly for the condoms he keeps in his car. You end up beating him to it, fumbling for only a moment before pulling one out of your purse and tearing the packet open with your teeth.

You don’t waste any more time after that, rolling the condom down over his length while Sae slips his fingers out of you and plants his hands on either side of your waist. You line him up with your entrance and sink yourself onto him with a gasp, hips pressing flush against his as you moan and dig your nails into his skin. He tightens his grip on your waist and muffles his own moan against your lips, the kiss he presses to your mouth all tongue and teeth.

You ride him, head thrown back and lips parted, while he leans back to watch you with half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock and pushing his hips up to meet yours.

You look absolutely breathtaking, hips rolling and circling as you gasp out his name and tell him how deep he is and how good he’s making you feel. One of his hands presses against your throat while the other squeezes at your hip, helping you lift yourself up and sink back down to take more of him.

With his lips mouthing at your neck and his thumb drifting down to rub circles into your clit, it isn’t long before you find yourself tipping over the edge. He follows you almost immediately after, spurred on by the scrape of your nails against his scalp and the tightening of your walls around him.

You’re both panting when it’s over, foreheads pressed together and hearts racing as you slump against one another and try to catch your breath. You recover faster than he does and press a parting kiss to his lips that feels almost too sweet after what you’ve just done, climbing off his lap and over the console on shaky legs.

You almost slip when you do, his hand shooting out to steady you at the last second. You laugh while he rolls his eyes and tells you to be more careful, keeping his hand on your hip until finally you settle back safely into the passenger seat.

You’re both quiet as you set to work on fixing your clothing and cleaning yourselves up, redoing zippers and clasping buttons in an effort to make yourselves look presentable again.

Sae finds himself grateful for the silence. It gives him the chance to process exactly what’s just happened between you, and —more importantly— to decide what’s going to happen after.

The sex was good, obviously. Better than good. The best he’s had in a while, maybe even the best he’s had ever— though he thinks he’d rather die than be caught saying any of that out loud. He imagines it must’ve been the same for you, if the way you moaned his name and fell apart around him are anything to go by.

Still, Sae knows himself, which is why he knows better than to allow it to mean anything. He doesn’t need a relationship right now, nor does he particularly want one. He likes you well enough, in a way that makes him view you as slightly less irritating than he does everyone else— but wanting you and wanting to be with you are two very different things.

And at this point in his life, Sae doesn’t want to actually be with anyone, not even you. He doesn’t have the time for it, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have the patience.

Sure, he’s dated before, but it was never anything serious. Never anything real. All of his previous relationships —if one could even call them that— were just for show, nothing more than publicity stunts orchestrated by his PR team with models and socialites he’s never really cared about.

Most of them understood the arrangement quite well, knowing it wouldn’t last. Some of them didn’t and tried to make it into something more, but it’s never worked. Sae’s never allowed it. As a result, he’s become an expert at shutting people down, at crushing their hopes of receiving anything more than what he’s willing to give them.

He tells you as much after you’re both dressed again, fully prepared to disappoint you and the hopes you’ve no doubt allowed to build freely inside your head. He’s not cruel enough to say it in a way that hurts you —at least not on purpose— but he wants to be honest. The last thing he needs is for you to get the wrong idea and start thinking that this is going to change anything between you.

“You should know,” he starts, serious and stoic as ever, “I’m not looking for a relationship. The only thing I’m interested in right now is soccer.”

He pauses, bracing himself for your reaction, for the moment when his words finally sink in and you realize that he has no intention of taking this any further. He watches your face carefully, mentally preparing himself for what he knows is going to be the inevitable fallout.

He’s spent enough time with you by now to know you’re not really the crying type, so he’s comfortable with knowing that he at least won’t see any tears. He does, however, expect some swearing on your part, maybe even a little bit of yelling, just enough to let him know that you think he’s an asshole.

To Sae’s surprise, none of that happens. There’s no anger, no confrontation, no fallout. Instead of shouting at him and telling him to go fuck himself, the way he initially expected you to, you smile at him and slip the straps of your dress back up over your shoulders, nodding like this is exactly what you were expecting, like you couldn’t agree more.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” you say, laughing lightly, casually, as you finish readjusting the rest of your clothing. “Your emotional unavailability kind of gave it away. Well, that and your apathy, though I’m starting to think the latter is less of a relationship deterrent and more of just you being yourself.”

You aren’t wrong, of course, but the bluntness of your words still makes him scowl, which in turn just makes you laugh even more.

“Hey, I never said I didn’t like it.” You slip your heels on your feet and lean down to secure the straps, though not before sending him a teasing grin from over your shoulder. “I’ll have you know, emotionally unavailable and apathetic is exactly my type. Helps if they have pretty eyes and great hair, too.”

Predictably, Sae ignores your blatant flirting in favor of rolling his eyes. Still, he doesn’t hesitate to help when he sees you struggling to retrieve your jacket from the backseat, reaching behind him to grab it and offering it to you with ease.

“Seems like an easy way to get yourself hurt,” he deadpans, before you get the chance to thank him.

“You’re such a pessimist, Sae.” You roll your eyes at his response, but the smile you give as you take your jacket from him is grateful and genuine. “My point is, if you’re worried about me reading into things, don’t be. I’m not expecting anything from you. If we’re being honest, I’m not really looking for anything serious right now, either.”

He knows you mean it —you’re too honest not to— but he raises an eyebrow at you, anyway, examining you carefully for even the slightest hint of doubt.

“So you’re really okay with things staying the same between us?”

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t. But you have my number if you ever want to do this again.”

You gather the rest of your things before leaning over and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. It’s light and offhanded, free of any pressure or expectations. Then you smile at him, lifting your hand to give a little wave.

“I’ll see you later, Sae.”

You leave his car with that smile still on your face and your purse in your hand. He watches you go, not taking his eyes off of you until you make it inside your building. You don’t turn back to look at him once.

And though he tries not to —though he likes to believe he’s above such baseless, lukewarm desires— he thinks about your offer on the way home.

It doesn’t take him long to make up his mind.

He texts you three days later. The messages are short and to the point —boring, he knows you’d call them— just a simple ’hey’ followed by a blunt ’wanna come over?’ that he regrets sending almost immediately after it goes through, mostly because he knows you’re never going to let him live it down.

You don’t disappoint, replying back a few minutes later with a ’damn already??’ and an ’it was that good huh 😏😌🤪’ that he pointedly ignores. He threatens to block you, you laugh at the message, and less than an hour later, you’re at his door.

This time, Sae’s the one who kisses you first, easing you onto his bed and pushing your thighs apart so he can slot himself between them. His lips trail down your neck, his teeth nipping at your throat. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your body and helping you slip out of your clothes until you’re completely bare beneath him.

He makes you cum twice with his mouth, another time with his fingers— and only then does he finally slide himself into you, hands gripping your thighs and chest pressing into yours.

Practice was cut short today in favor of a press conference Sae couldn’t have cared less about, so he has a lot of pent-up energy, which he immediately sets on using to throw your legs over his shoulders and thoroughly fuck you into his mattress.

You don’t complain about it, either, too lost in the pleasure of it all to scold him for the tight grip he has on your hips or the way he’s nearly folding you in half beneath him. You even make a joke about it afterwards, muttering something about how they should cancel his practices more often.

“But only on the weekends,” you add seriously, trying to catch your breath. “The last thing I need is my co-workers watching me wobble into my office because of it.”

Sae actually laughs, though he tries not to. You beam at the sound, only to end up flipping him off moments later, when you rise on trembling legs in search of your clothes and catch him smirking knowingly at you.

And it’s simple, he thinks, doing this with you. Simple and comfortable and not the least bit complicated, which is exactly how he likes it.

You must feel the same way, because the next time it happens, you’re the one who calls first, inviting him up to your apartment and latching your lips to his neck before he’s even fully through the door.

You never really talk about it, nor do you establish any real boundaries beyond that initial conversation you had that first night in his car, but Sae figures you don’t really need to. It goes without saying that this thing between you is completely casual, just a way to satisfy your physical needs and work off some stress whenever you both need it.

Neither of you wants an actual relationship, but that doesn’t mean you’re opposed to sleeping together every now and then, especially when the sex is as good as it’s been. So you keep at it, meeting up whenever you have some free time and fucking until you’ve both had your fill, all without ever expecting anything more.

Sae doesn’t tell anyone about your arrangement. Neither do you. You both agree it’s easier that way, in the name of keeping things smooth and uncomplicated.

He’s not ashamed of what the two of you are doing —he knows you aren’t, either— but neither one of you wants the headache of having to explain it to the well-intentioned but ultimately chronic meddlers you call your friends. So you keep it to yourselves, treating each other the same way you normally would without any extra consideration or kindness.

You both get really good at it, too, maintaining your composure no matter how many stupid and suggestive comments Shidou and Oliver make about the mystery girl he’s always texting, or how often Aina bugs you to show her a picture of the guy she swears has got you dickmatized.

Sae’s sure they have their suspicions, but he knows that he isn’t among them. As far as everyone else is concerned, you and him are just friends, even if you do have a habit of getting a little handsy whenever you think no one is looking.

It helps that you’ve been shamelessly flirting with him since the day you met, so no one ever bats an eye when they see you brushing your hand against his chest or leaning in close to whisper in his ear. Everyone just assumes that it’s you being your normal, bold and affectionate self, and that Sae —moody, stoic, emotionless Sae— will brush it off and ignore you the way he always does.

They have no idea that as soon as you’re alone, the exact opposite happens. That he’s trailing his lips along your neck and sliding his hands up your skirt, while you lock your legs around his waist and pull him in closer, the way you’ve been doing for weeks now.

Sae’s honestly a little surprised no one’s figured it out yet. More than that, though, he’s shocked that he’s still hooking up with you at all.

It’s not like him to stick with someone for so long, especially without his manager breathing down his neck to keep it up for the publicity. He thought your arrangement would last a week, maybe two weeks, tops— but here you both are, still going nearly two months later, with no signs of stopping anytime soon.

He was so sure he’d be bored of it by now, but he isn’t. He can’t be, not with you. You’re too good at distracting him. You’re even better at making him trust you.

And the more time he spends with you, the more he realizes just how easy it is to be around you.

The thing about Sae is that he’s never really been the kind of person who has a lot of friends. He has his teammates and his manager, his parents and sometimes his brother, but he’s never had someone who wasn’t obligated to be around him. Never someone who didn’t expect anything of him.

You, though— you spend time with him on purpose, not because of anything he can give you. Even if this thing between you ends tomorrow, Sae knows it wouldn’t change anything.

You’d still be there, still without expecting anything, because that’s just who you are. Because for some odd reason, you actually like being around him, despite his attitude and his indifference, despite all the things his teammates and the media are always giving him shit for.

He thinks you’ve always liked being around him, even before you started sleeping together. He knows he doesn’t make it easy, but you’re patient with him despite that, giving him space when he needs it and pushing him when he doesn’t.

And he’ll never say it out loud, but the truth is, he likes being around you, too. Almost enough to make him forget that this thing you have is only temporary.

Almost.

The first time you stay the night happens a week later.

You’re both in his bed, all bare skin and tangled sheets as you come down from your respective highs and try to catch your breath. Outside his penthouse, the rain drones on, quieting the city below you into a nearly imperceptible hum.

It’s well past midnight, so late that it’s early, and sure, Sae might be an asshole— but he’s not cruel enough to make you drive home in the rain, especially when he knows how much you hate it.

“You can sleep here if you want,” he says, without thinking much of it, right as you sit up to start looking for your clothes.

Understandably, the offer catches you off guard. Even in the dark, Sae can see the way you turn back and blink owlishly at him, eyebrows raised, like it’s the last thing you expected him to say.

It’s kind of annoying, honestly, the way you’re looking at him right now. He knows he’s far from being the most considerate person in your life, but the way you’re gawking at him like he’s grown a second head feels a little dramatic.

Not that he can really blame you for being surprised. You’ve been hooking up almost daily for two months now, but not once during that time have either of you ever spent the night at the other’s place.

Something about it feels different. More intimate, somehow, like it’s crossing a line that’s supposed to be there, if only the two of you had bothered to draw it in the first place.

Sae realizes it at the same time you do and finds himself regretting making the offer at all. He’s accepted the fact that the two of you are friends —albeit begrudgingly— but the last thing he wants is for you to think he meant anything by it.

“Or don’t,” he adds quickly, careful to keep his tone as blank and detached as possible. “It’s up to you. I don’t really care either way.”

From the corner of his eye, he watches you spare a glance at the window. The rain is still going, pouring unforgivingly against the glass, and it only seems to be getting worse.

The rumble of thunder that follows shortly after is enough to convince you to accept his offer. You shrug, murmuring a quiet thanks before laying back down and making yourself comfortable next to him.

Predictably, he says nothing in response to your gratitude. He moves over to give you some space and lets you tuck yourself back under the blanket, shutting his eyes as he settles onto his back.

When he feels your gaze on him moments later, he frowns, cracking an eye open to look at you. Sure enough, you’re staring right at him, a knowing, borderline smug smile on your face that lets him know you’re going to be completely insufferable about this.

“Don’t,” he warns, before you can even get a word out.

You have the audacity to look offended. “Wha— I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“Didn’t have to. Your face is saying plenty.”

He throws an arm over his eyes and does his best to ignore you, hoping you’ll get bored enough with his inattention to let the whole thing go.

(You don’t, of course, but he supposes you wouldn’t be you if you did.)

In the end, it’s Sae who gives in first, uncovering his eyes against his better judgment and turning to face you with a scowl.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you’re quick to reply, even as that smug little smile of yours curls into a grin. “I’m just— I’m surprised you offered to let me stay, is all. It’s not what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well, it was either that or wake up tomorrow to a ten-minute voice note complaining about how shitty your drive home was and how close you were to death.” He turns on his side, shifting so he can face you fully. “I figured if I was going to be annoyed anyway, I might as well get it out of the way now.”

That earns him a smack to the shoulder, along with a scowl meant to convey how unamused you are with his words. He can only hope you’re too busy rolling your eyes to catch the way the corners of his lips twitch upwards, barely suppressing a smile.

“You’re a dick. And for the record, if I did decide to grace you with one of my exciting and wonderfully detailed voice notes, it would’ve been five, maybe six minutes, max.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing you, and you sigh in defeat, relenting.

“Okay, fine, six and a half, but can you blame me? I hate driving in the rain. It’s scary and disorienting, and I always get paranoid that I’m gonna—”

“Spin out and end up on the side of the road,” Sae says, at the exact same time you do, making your eyes widen. “I know. I remember.”

And the crazy part is, he does. He remembers because he knows you, probably better than he knows anybody else, and it’s only now when he’s lying here with you, practically nose-to-nose in the dark, that he realizes just how much.

He’s not sure how or when it happened, but it did. And now, he knows you. He really, really knows you, enough to accept your good-natured teasing and playful smugness, enough to consider your comfort and offer you a place in his bed.

And honestly? He has no idea how the hell he’s supposed to feel about that, so he ignores it entirely, the same way he ignored how his stomach fluttered and his chest warmed when you showed up with a bag of groceries and made him dinner earlier, for no discernable reason other than the fact that you wanted to spend time with him.

His only consolation is that you seem to be as surprised by it as he is. He watches as you blink at him in the dark, wide-eyed and a little stunned, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

Then you smile at him, soft and sweet, and Sae feels something in his stomach shift all over again, something warm and unfamiliar he can’t name and honestly doesn’t think he wants to.

“And here I thought sleepovers were against our unofficial rules,” you tease, nudging his leg with your own. “You getting soft on me, Itoshi?”

“You wish,” he denies, scoffing for good measure. “This is a one-time thing. I’ll be back to my usual asshole self in the morning.”

“Bummer.” You nuzzle your face into the pillow beneath your head, stifling a yawn that betrays how tired you really are. “I kind of like you like this.”

“You like me naked and annoyed?”

“No, dummy. I meant sweet and concerned. It’s a surprisingly good look on you. A rare one, but a good one.” You close your eyes, lips curling into a playful smile. “Naked’s a pretty close second, though.”

In response, he flicks your forehead with his thumb and forefinger. You make a noise of protest but keep your eyes shut, swatting blindly at his hand, and for that, he finds himself grateful. He doesn’t think he’ll ever live it down if you catch the way his lips twitch into a smile.

“Just shut up and go to sleep, you little pervert.”

For once, you actually listen to him, bidding him a drowsy “goodnight” and knocking out almost immediately after. He falls asleep not long after you do, drifting off to the sound of your steady breathing and the patter of midnight rain.

Sae wakes before you the next morning, and the first thing he notices is how much closer you are to him now than when you fell asleep.

He’s not sure how it happened, but it seems that somehow over the course of the night, you’ve managed to curl yourself into his side. Now, your head is resting comfortably on his chest, your hand splayed against the muscles of his abdomen.

Sae wishes he could blame the new and compromising position solely on you, but sadly he can’t. At least not when he looks down and finds that his own traitorous arm has wrapped itself around your waist to keep you pressed against him, one of his legs tangled with yours.

It’s cuddly and intimate and most definitely against the unofficial rules of your arrangement, but still, he can’t find it in himself to wake you. He doesn’t shove you off, either, even though he knows he should, half because he thinks he’d rather die than talk to you about this and half because he doesn’t hate it nearly as much as he thought it would.

You’re pretty like this, Sae thinks distantly, completely unprovoked. You always are, but you’re softer when you’re asleep, more relaxed. It’s different from the version of you he’s used to, the one that’s loud and a little bit unruly, who talks a mile a minute and knocks back caffeine like it’s water because she always has a million different things to do.

He never imagined he’d get the chance to see you like this, all delicate and vulnerable. He never imagined he would want to, or that looking at you would make him feel this way, warm and fond and ridiculous. Human, too, in the way he so often likes to forget he is.

He spends longer than he should taking in the curve of your lips, the slope of your cheek. He untangles himself from you as carefully as he can manage and forces himself out of bed before he does something really stupid, like brush your hair out of your face or swipe his thumb against your cheek.

Sae takes a cold shower and runs through what’s left of his morning routine, willing all the strange thoughts he’s having about you to disappear.

It works for the most part, until you come padding into the kitchen and join him at the counter like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’re bare-faced and sleepy, dressed in one of his t-shirts and the sweatpants he let you borrow last night, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose and your hair pulled up and away from your face. He thinks fleetingly that it’s the cutest you’ve ever looked, which is not only ridiculous but also so unlike him that he has to resist the urge to vomit right then and there.

Somehow he manages, handing you a cup of steaming coffee as soon as you approach. You take it from him without hesitation, accepting the drink with a grateful smile and murmuring a quiet good morning.

If you’re surprised by the gesture, you don’t show it, too busy sipping gingerly at your coffee and letting it wake you up. Then you’re launching into your usual upbeat chatter, this time about your job and the co-worker who you swear you’re one “as per my last email” away from fist-fighting in the conference room.

It’s normal enough to distract him, allowing him to push away the memory of how you woke up this morning and all the sappy shit he’s been thinking about you as a result.

He almost forgets about it entirely, until later that night when he slips into bed and catches the scent of your shampoo on his pillow.

That’s when his mind begins to drift, completely against his will. He starts remembering all sorts of unwelcome things, like the weight of you in his arms, the curve of your lashes against your cheek, how tempted he was to brush your hair out of your face and pull you closer—

Sae huffs and flips the pillow over, somewhere between confused and annoyed, though whether it’s with you or himself, he isn’t sure.

He turns around and closes his eyes, forcing himself to sleep, but the thought of you lingers.

It’s Aina —and, by default, Oliver— who finds out first.

It happens on a Saturday morning, nearly four months into your arrangement with Sae. Aina shows up at your apartment completely unannounced, with a tray of coffee and a surprisingly dutiful Oliver in tow, carrying the rest of the bags. (Apparently, it’s an on-week for them.)

They mean to surprise you with breakfast, hoping to convince you over french toast and scrambled eggs to put a pause on your ‘no relationships allowed’ policy and agree to a double date with one of his teammates.

One could only imagine their surprise when they find you standing in your entryway with an entirely different teammate, one who apparently already has access to sleepover privileges. And with Sae in his clothes from the night before and you in your robe and absolutely nothing else, it isn’t hard for them to put two and two together and realize what you’ve been up to.

The silence that follows their discovery is the loudest Sae thinks he’s ever heard in his life. There’s an uncomfortably long moment where the four of you just stand there and stare at each other, not saying a single word.

Aina is the first to react, letting out an Oscar-worthy gasp loud enough to alert your neighbors. Her eyes go wide, jaw dropping as her gaze jumps back and forth between you and Sae, like her brain can’t fully make sense of what she’s seeing.

“Holy shit.”

Oliver, on the other hand, appears to be having the time of his life, leering at the two of you with the largest and most shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen on his face, like this is the best news he’s heard all week.

“No fucking way,” he says, two-toned eyes darting between you and Sae wickedly, before settling on you once more. “You bagged Itoshi?”

It’s a pretty spot-on assumption, Sae thinks, even if the way Oliver says it is stupid and irritating as hell. You are the one who approached him first, as well as the one who initiated things that first night you slept together. Not that it’s anyone else’s business, anyway, least of all nosy-ass Oliver’s.

You and Sae exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between you. It’s a testament to how familiar you’ve grown with one another over the past few months, where just one look is enough for the two of you to get an idea of what the other is thinking.

Having two of the loudest people you know find out you’ve been sleeping together isn’t ideal —neither Aina nor Oliver is exactly known for their subtlety— but it’s not the end of the world.

The two of you agreed to keep things quiet because you wanted your privacy, not because you’re ashamed of what you’ve been doing, so telling them won’t change much, as long as they don’t make it a big deal.

And besides, it’s not like you’re in any position to deny it, not when they’ve caught you red-handed.

Still, Aina and Oliver are more your friends than they are Sae’s, so he has no problem with you taking the lead on this one, which he attempts to communicate with a subtle nod of his head.

Thankfully, you seem to understand exactly what he means, clearing your throat and drawing all eyes back to you.

You pointedly ignore Oliver and his devilish smirk in favor of focusing on your best friend, who seems to be short-circuiting in light of the new information that’s been presented to her today. You take it all in stride, wielding that same easy confidence that Sae’s always admired in you, and nod at the tray she’s carrying.

“Is that iced coffee for me?”

Aina, for her part, still appears to be at a loss for words, but she makes an effort to answer you all the same, a confused but otherwise affirmative sound leaving her lips in response. You smile, reaching out to pluck the drink from its tray.

“Cool. Thanks.” You take a sip of your coffee before returning your attention to the midfielder beside you, offering him a warm smile and a parting wave. “Bye, Sae.”

It’s an easy out, of course, one that Sae is quick to accept, nodding at you and the stunned couple across from you before taking his leave.

The last thing he hears before your door shuts is the sound of Aina’s voice, baffled and utterly disbelieving as it rings out into your apartment.

“You’ve been fucking Itoshi Sae?!”

Her astonishment is a sentiment that carries over into the texts she sends you that same night, complete with various emojis and an assortment of reaction images she hopes will reflect her lingering shock. Oliver isn’t far behind her, though the texts he sends you are more teasing than anything else.

Still, they’re both strangely supportive about the whole thing. They even promise to keep what they’ve learned to themselves, though they still can’t quite believe it.

You show the texts to Sae the next time you’re at his place, letting him read them over your shoulder as the two of you lounge together in his bed, your back against his chest and his arm wound loosely around your waist.

The reaction images are sadly lost on him —Sae, as it turns out, really only cares about soccer, which means he has the social media literacy of a 70-year-old man— but he’s able to catch the gist.

You laugh about it together anyway, though for him it’s more of a little hum, followed by that tiny amused smirk you’re seeing more and more of every day.

“Did they seriously congratulate you for sleeping with me?”

“Yup. It’s a big deal, according to them. They’re both very proud of me.” You lock your phone and set it gently on his nightstand, twisting in his arms to face him with a teasing grin. “Apparently, I’m hooking up with the hottest midfielder in the league.”

He brushes off the comment at first, the way he seems to do with all of your obvious flirting, but he doesn’t stop you when you lift your leg and hike it over his hip.

And maybe it’s because he’s tired from practice, or maybe it’s because being around you relaxes him in a way he isn’t used to— but he ends up pulling you closer, palm smoothing over your skin and tracing a path up your leg.

“Well,” he mutters, hand squeezing appreciatively at your thigh, “it’s not like they’re wrong.”

“I dunno…” You let your voice trail off, fingertips skimming down his chest as you pretend to think about it. “I mean, ‘hottest midfielder’ is a really big title, and from what I’ve seen, your brother’s pretty hot, too.”

“My brother’s a striker, dumbass.”

“Even better. Think you can put in a good word for me?”

He shoots you a flat look, unimpressed by your joke, while you grin at him and crack up like you're the funniest person in the world. You’re still laughing when he reaches behind his head for a pillow and smacks you right in the face with it, squeaking out a “hey, wait, I’m kidding— I’m kidding!” between bursts of laughter.

And it’s ridiculous, Sae thinks, how easily the sound of your laugh softens him, how quickly it makes him forget about ever being annoyed. It shouldn’t, but it does, and right now he’s trying very hard not to think about what that might mean.

So he pushes it down and ignores it, the same way he’s forced himself to ignore how comfortable he’s gotten with you these past few months, hooking his hand behind your knee and rolling you both over so you’re laying on your back with him hovering above you.

He kisses you, then, deep and wanting in the way he knows you like, the one that leaves you breathless, half to distract himself and half because he wants to. You welcome him eagerly the way you always do, hooking your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair in an effort to bring him closer to you.

He breaks the kiss before it can go any further, drawing back just enough so that his lips are hovering above your own. You open your eyes, pupils blown out with desire, blinking at him expectantly as you wait for him to kiss you again.

When he doesn’t, you move for him, leaning up to press your lips back against his. He moves just out of reach at the last second, leaving you with a crease in your forehead and a pout on your lips that’s almost cute enough for him to give you what you want. Almost.

But Sae, as you’ve both learned, has a bit of a possessive streak. And while he’s already forgiven you for your earlier teasing, he hasn’t forgotten. And he intends, in true egoist fashion, to have the last word, even if it means having to stave off his own desires for a bit.

“You still interested in my brother?” he asks, and it’s pointed, goading. Probably the closest he’ll get to admitting how utterly disinterested he is in sharing you with anyone else.

“Wait, you have a brother?” You widen your eyes and pretend to be shocked, batting your lashes innocently before shaking your head. “Never heard of him.”

“Idiot,” he tells you, quiet, fond. Affectionate, too, if you’d listen closely enough. If he’d let you.

You merely laugh in response, bright and airy, before wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him down to you. This time, he doesn’t pull away, leaning down to kiss you and feeling your smile against his lips.

It’s not long after that your kisses turn heated and wanting, his tongue and lips tracing a path down your neck and over your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth and rolls the other between his thumb and index finger, your nails digging into his back as you moan, pretty and breathless into his ear.

One of the perks of your arrangement lasting so long is that it’s made Sae somewhat of an expert at taking you apart. He knows exactly how to make you feel good, knows your body and all of its little tells, all the ways you like to be touched.

It doesn’t take much for him to have you desperate and keening, just his tongue at your clit and his fingers deep in your cunt, curling against the spot that makes your eyes roll back.

Soon you’re pulling at his hair, your arousal dripping down his wrist and chin as you whine at him to fuck you, all trembling thighs and breathy whimpers. He obliges, half because you’re practically begging for it and half because he wants you so much, it’s starting to make him dizzy.

It’s not always like this. Most nights Sae prefers taking his time with you. He gets off on seeing how needy you get, how much he can make you want him. You never beg for anything, never want for anything from anyone else until you’re here, desperate and panting beneath him.

He likes seeing you that way. He likes being the one you seek out to give it to you even more.

Tonight, though, it’s different. He’s not sure what triggered it, but suddenly he can’t stop touching you, can’t stop thinking about you and how much he wants you. He’s always attentive, but right now he feels greedy, impatient. Wild in a way he isn’t used to. He kisses you, and it’s hungry, deliberate, like he has something to prove.

He helps you to your knees and fucks you with his hands at your hips and his chest at your back, hard and deep the way he knows you like. He makes you cum with your cheek pressed into the mattress and your hands digging into the sheets, and then he flips you over and pushes your knees to your chest, sliding back into you.

He makes you cum like that, too, with his name on your lips and your hands laced with his own, pinned above your head— once, twice more until he’s had his fill and begins chasing his own release, his face pressed against your neck as he finally lets go and falls apart inside of you.

You shower together afterwards, all slow kisses and languid touches as you stand beneath the warmth of his stupidly expensive shower head. It’s softer than it should be, too soft to be considered casual.

Sae knows it, too, just like he knows he should quit while he’s ahead and pull away from you before it’s too late, but he can’t, not when the scrape of your nails against his scalp as you lave shampoo through his hair feels as good as it does.

You exit the shower looking clean and refreshed, hair damp and skin glowing as you towel yourself off. You smell just like him, the scent of his body wash clinging to your skin.

It does something stupid to his brain, knowing that. Makes his ears red and his heart race in a way he immediately tries to bury. For some reason, this time it’s harder to do.

You get dressed in his bedroom and pack your bag. You tell him you have a big meeting at work tomorrow, so you can’t spend the night. You stay for dinner anyway, letting him treat you to takeout from your favorite restaurant.

The two of you sit on his couch and enjoy your meal together. As usual, you’re the one who provides most of the conversation, Sae preferring to nod along and listen, interjecting every now and then with a surprisingly thoughtful question or a sly comment that has you elbowing him in the side.

With takeout boxes littering his coffee table and a movie you’ve both already seen playing idly in the background, his apartment feels more lived in now than it ever has before, the way it always does whenever you come over. Sae does his very best to ignore how normal it all seems, how easily your knee presses against his as you sit beside him on the couch.

When it’s time for you to leave, he walks you to the door. You thank him again for dinner and smile when he brushes you off, reminding you to text him when you get home.

Then you kiss him goodbye and he lets you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it isn’t a big deal, even though you both know it is.

And though he knows he shouldn’t, though he knows he’s better off pushing it down and ignoring it, the way he’s gotten so good at lately— he thinks about it for the rest of the night.

Things get a little blurrier after that.

It starts slowly, at first. An extra toothbrush by his sink, your hair ties on his nightstand. Little pieces of you scattered across his apartment that reveal just how intertwined your lives have become, even if neither of you wants to admit it.

He gets into the habit of picking you up from work. Starts showing up at your door with a bottle of wine and your favorite comfort snacks whenever he knows you’ve had a shitty week. There’s a shelf in his bathroom set aside just for you, stocked with moisturizer, cleanser, and face masks he lets you slather on his skin every now and then, on nights when he’s feeling particularly indulgent.

Your place is just as bad, if not worse. There’s protein powder in your pantry now, his hoodies hung up comfortably in your closet.

You drive him to practice when you have some free time and send him voice notes when you don’t, ones he makes a fuss about but always listens to. And whenever he has a game, you’re the first person who Facetimes him in the morning, wishing him luck and letting him know how excited you are to watch him win.

These days, you’re together more often than you’re apart. Sometimes he invites you over, and you don’t even have sex at all— you just hang out in his apartment and tell him about your day, resting your feet in his lap while his hands roam up and down your calves, and it feels like enough. Having you there feels like enough.

It gets to the point that whenever Shidou or Oliver want to reach him, they call you instead, knowing that Sae will be with you, the way he always seems to be now. It’s so humbling that for a single, horrifying moment, he considers cutting you off completely.

But Sae knows, even before the thought forms in his mind, that he won’t be able to go through with it. You’re too important to him now, too familiar. You’re his best friend, and as confusing and annoying as his thoughts about you have become, he can’t stay away from you.

He doesn’t even realize how bad he’s got it until another two months later, on the night of your birthday, when a conversation with Oliver forces him to confront the feelings he’s usually a lot better at ignoring.

The evening itself starts off normally enough. Sae spends most of it on the field with his team, in preparation for a rivalry game that’s less than a week away. The other players leave as soon as their coach dismisses them, eager to hit the showers and get some rest, but Sae stays behind for some extra practice.

He’s still at it by the time Oliver returns from the locker room. The centerback looks surprised to see that Sae’s still there, but he doesn’t hesitate to approach, joining his teammate out on the pitch.

“Figures you’d be the last one on the field,” Oliver says, greeting him with his signature sleazy smile. “You trying to make the rest of us look bad, Itoshi?”

Sae barely spares him a glance, choosing instead to focus on the row of soccer balls lined up at his feet. “I’ve never had to try to do that.”

Anyone else would be insulted, but Oliver just laughs, too used to Sae’s attitude to take it personally. “Why’re you still out here, anyway? It’s your girl’s birthday tonight. Shouldn’t you be back at your place getting ready?”

You’re not his girl, obviously, but correcting Oliver would be more trouble than it’s worth, so Sae doesn’t bother. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, come on, man. No one’s that much of an asshole, not even you. Aren’t you coming to her party?”

Sae knows all about your party, of course. You invited him a while ago, though you made it clear it was a no pressure invitation. You knew he had that game coming up and that parties —especially the over the top and extravagant kind planned by Aina— aren’t really his thing, so you’d understand if he didn’t attend.

You’ve always been like that. Always more considerate than he or anyone else deserves. He picked up a present for you anyway, a simple necklace with a diamond sun pendant that made him think of you.

He planned to give it to you next week. Figured it would more than make up for his absence tonight, especially when he knows you’ll be busy with your friends. He’ll be shocked if you even notice he isn’t there, which is why he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about sitting this one out.

“I’m not going,” Sae states plainly, kicking the ball at his feet and watching it land in the goal. “She said I didn’t have to.”

“Well yeah, that sounds like her, but don’t you want to? It’d be a fun way to surprise her,” Oliver points out, as if Sae really needs the reminder. “Hell, even I’m going, and she only tolerates me.”

“She knows I’m busy.” Another kick, another goal. Sae lifts the bottom of his shirt and wipes at the sweat on his face, unmoved. “She’ll be fine.”

“Damn.” Oliver whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, somewhere between incredulous and impressed. “And here I thought the two of you were finally getting serious. Shidou’ll be thrilled you’re back on the market. Adrian, too— though for different reasons.”

That catches Sae’s attention. He pauses before his next kick and shifts his gaze to where Oliver stands, narrowing his eyes.

He isn’t sure what his teammate is suggesting here, but he already doesn’t like it.

“Am I supposed to care about who that is?”

“You tell me. See, from what I hear, he’s your girl’s— my bad, I mean your not-girl’s ex. Apparently they ended on pretty good terms. Aina told me he’ll be there tonight, along with the rest of their friends.”

Oliver waits for a moment, letting his words sink in, before he grins knowingly, mismatched eyes smug and goading.

“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t care, huh?”

Sae feels himself frown, eyes narrowing into a glare as something heavy and bitter settles over his chest. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut, too, one that makes his stomach twist with discomfort.

You’ve never mentioned Adrian before. You’ve never mentioned any of your exes before, at least not to Sae, and why would you?

Contrary to popular belief, Sae’s not your boyfriend. He’s not even someone you’re officially dating. He’s just a friend you fuck regularly and hang out with after, even if it has been going on for way too long to be considered casual.

The point is, who you choose to spend your time with, romantically or otherwise, is none of his business, because you never agreed to be exclusive. And it’s not like he cares if you’re seeing other people, anyway, because he doesn’t. He doesn’t care.

He’s just a little annoyed by it, is all. Just a little irritated by the fact that Oliver would waste his time by bringing it up now, even though he knows Sae has more important things on his mind, like the upcoming game everyone else seems to be forgetting about.

That’s what Sae tells himself, anyway. What he reminds himself of even after Oliver says goodbye and heads off to get ready, leaving him alone on the pitch with nothing but his thoughts.

He repeats it inside of his head, over and over again, telling himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care— even as the next ball he kicks misses, ricocheting off the goalpost.

So what if you’re seeing the ex you never mentioned tonight? And so what if the two of you ended on good enough terms for you to feel comfortable inviting him to your party? It’s your birthday, and you’re allowed to spend it with whoever you want.

Sae knows that, just like he knows you don’t owe him anything, least of all an explanation. And he doesn’t care— he doesn’t. He shouldn’t, because if he did, well— then that would mean he cares about you, maybe even has actual feelings for you, and that just wouldn’t make any sense, would it?

Because Sae doesn’t do this kind of thing. He doesn’t do feelings, or relationships, or anything else that puts him at risk of being vulnerable. He isn’t made for it. He never has been.

But then he thinks of you. Of your smile and your enthusiasm, of your quick comebacks and your laugh that turns into a snort whenever you think something is especially funny.

He thinks about the first time you spent the night at his place. He remembers waking up with you after and how easy it felt to hold you, how right.

You are thoughtful in a way that Sae is not, light-hearted and optimistic in a way he knows he’ll never be. You’re smart, too, smarter than anyone else he knows and more sensitive than you like to admit.

You’re stubborn to a fault, you hate admitting when you’re wrong, and you wouldn’t know how to relax even if someone paid you— but Sae can’t think of anything he’d like to do more than spend his time trying to keep up with you.

It hits him, then. The truth he’s spent the past few months trying to deny. All those sappy thoughts he’s had about you, the comfort and ease that settle over him whenever he’s around you— it’s not just because he likes spending time with you, or because he considers you a close friend.

It’s because he has feelings for you. Real, genuine feelings that he can’t ignore, at least not anymore.

It’s why hearing about your ex distracts him enough to make him miss the goal. Why the thought of you with someone else makes him feel sick to his stomach. And as much as Sae hates being vulnerable and honest about his feelings, he thinks he hates the idea of you cozying up to your ex even more.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, or what he’s going to say to you— but what he does know is that he can’t do it here, so he picks up his bag and leaves the field.

An hour later, he’s in his car and driving up to the lounge where Aina’s hosting your party, freshly showered and handing his keys over to the valet. The necklace he picked out for you rests inside the pocket of his jacket, tucked securely against his side.

It’ll pair nicely with his confession, he thinks, if he can find the words. If his logic will allow it.

Inside the lounge, it doesn’t take him long to find you. You’re exactly where he thought you’d be, smack dab in the middle of the dance floor, swaying your hips and singing your heart out with Aina and the rest of your friends at your side.

You look incredible, all smooth skin and glittery eyes, dressed in something soft and lacey he can’t wait to help you out of. You’ve always been beautiful, but here beneath the warm lights with your hair framing your face and your lips curled into that alluring smile, you’re easily the most stunning thing he’s ever seen.

Sae spends longer than he probably should just looking at you, watching you laugh and dance out on the floor, spurred on by the music and the enthusiastic cheers of your friends. He finds himself smiling before he can really help it, tender and fond in the way only you ever seem to make him.

You do a bit of a double take when you spot him, craning your neck past Aina’s head to get a better view. He sends you a short nod as a form of greeting, and you return it with an excited wave of your own, excusing yourself from your friends to join him where he stands at the edge of the crowd.

You smile as you approach, a little breathless from all the dancing, but still so beautiful. You look happy that he’s here, but you’re surprised, too, eyes wide, like he’s the last person you expected to see.

“Sae? What are you doing here?”

It’s a fair question, considering the fact that the last time you spoke, he told you he couldn’t make it, but he raises an eyebrow anyway, like he can’t believe you’d ask. “You invited me, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I did, but I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you say honestly, laughing a little. “I thought you were busy.”

“I was. Now I’m not.” When your eyes widen even more, your surprise giving way to disbelief, Sae’s eyebrows furrow. “Is it really that big of a deal?”

“That you’re choosing to spend your free time surrounded by everyone I know getting drunk off their asses? Kind of, yeah.” You reach out and smooth your hands over his chest, tugging at the lapels of his jacket to tease him. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

And Sae, too sure of his feelings to deny it, but too stubborn to agree, merely sighs, though he does nothing to move your hands away. “Look, if you want me to leave—”

“And rob me and the rest of my friends of the opportunity to ogle you in a button-down? On my birthday?” You put a hand over your heart and shake your head, looking scandalized. “That’s so disrespectful, not to mention selfish. I’m honestly offended that you even suggested it.”

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about you being the most dramatic person in the world, and you start to laugh, lips curling into that lovely little smile that lately he can’t stop thinking about.

Then you take his hand, sliding your fingers through his in a way that feels a lot more significant now that he knows he has feelings for you, and Sae feels something in his chest shift all over again, his pulse quickening beneath his skin.

“Come on,” you tell him, tugging on his hand to guide him forward, completely unaware of the effect you have on him. “I’ll get you a drink.”

You lead him to the bar and prop yourself up on one of the stools. Sae takes a seat beside you and watches as you order two cocktails— something simple for him and something sweet for yourself. The bartender makes quick work of your drinks, setting them down in front of you in record time and leaving you and Sae to chat.

“How was practice?”

“Same as always. How’s your party?”

“It’s been a lot of fun, actually. Aina really outdid herself. I’m thankful, even if it is forcing me to accept the sad reality that I’m basically a grandma now.” You let out a wistful sigh, stirring your drink with your straw. “When I was in college, I used to knock back tequila like it was water. Now it just kind of burns.”

That has him letting out an actual laugh, quiet but genuine, though he attempts to cover it up by reaching for his drink. You notice anyway and beam at the sound, unreasonably pleased with yourself, the way you always are whenever you manage to make him laugh.

He thinks of telling you that you’re the only one who can, the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do so. But the bar is rowdy and the music’s too loud, so he keeps it to himself, taking a sip of his drink and watching you do the same.

You chat for a while longer, catching each other up on all that you’ve missed in the week since you last saw one another. He tells you about the trip he took to the beach and the clothing sponsorship his manager won’t shut up about, and you tell him about the new pastry shop you tried and the comically large fruit bouquet your parents had delivered to your doorstep this morning.

And it’s easy, Sae thinks, talking to you like this. He’s never been a fan of parties, but sitting here with you, listening to your voice and hearing you laugh, it isn’t so bad.

He spent most of the drive here thinking of you and coming to terms with his feelings for you. These past few months have been filled with nothing but denial on his part, with Sae doing everything in his power to convince himself that he only saw you as the friend he was casually hooking up with, despite every one of his thoughts and actions proving otherwise.

But on the drive here, when he finally sat down to think about it, he found that what he feels for you was strangely easy for him to accept, despite the initial shock of it all.

Sae’s never been one for romance or relationships. He’s never imagined that’d be something he’d want, but looking at you now and wanting you the way he does, he knows it’s true. If he has to have feelings for anyone, he figures it might as well be you.

You, with all your sarcasm and your compassion and that soft little smile he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of.

He’s glad that it’s you.

If Sae were softer, more sensitive like Rin, he’d tell you. If he were better with words, if he knew what to say or where to start, he’d grab your hand and take you somewhere quiet and romantic, and then he’d tell you the truth. He’d tell you everything, all about the way you make him feel and all the parts of himself you make him want to give you.

But Sae isn’t like that. And while normally he wouldn’t hesitate to go after what he wants, he’s not going to risk ruining your birthday or the friendship you’ve built by telling you about the feelings he’s only now realizing he has, especially when he has no idea how to put them into words.

So he doesn’t.

He just listens to the sound of your voice and keeps his feelings to himself, pretending that absolutely nothing has changed even when it’s obvious that everything has.

Eventually, Aina and the rest of your girlfriends show up at the bar to steal you away. They’re shouting something about birthday pictures and ass-shaking that Sae only half-understands, but he doesn’t fight them on it. He knows how excited you are to spend tonight celebrating and letting loose with your friends, so he lets them whisk you away, nodding when you promise to catch up with him later.

Shidou and Oliver show up to harass him the second you and your friends are gone. They try to bully him into taking shots with them, but when that doesn’t work, they settle for setting him up with another drink instead. Then they each sling an arm around his shoulders and herd him over to the couches, where a handful of their other teammates are waiting.

The next time Sae sees you, you're back on the dance floor with your friends. He recognizes most of them, like Aina and Eri, Kenta and Misaki. The only stranger is the man standing behind you, the one Sae immediately decides he doesn’t like.

That’s when Sae notices how close this guy is to you and how low his hands are on your waist. All of a sudden, ignoring his feelings for you becomes a lot harder to do, especially now, when he’s almost positive that you’re dancing with your ex.

Sae doesn’t actually know that the man you’re dancing with is Adrian, of course. He’s too far away to hear what’s being said or to catch any names, but with how comfortable this guy seems to be with touching you, it isn’t hard to guess. He’s lean and broad-shouldered, too, with bright green eyes and silky dark hair, and well— you did say you have a type.

And when you glance over your shoulder to look at him, instead of being disgusted and telling him to get the fuck away from you, the way Sae is hoping you will, you smile. You actually fucking smile, accepting the bastard’s outstretched hand and letting him spin you around, like it’s normal, like you’re used to it. Like it’s something the two of you have done a million times before.

Quite frankly, it makes Sae want to fucking vomit.

It bothers him more than he cares to admit, watching you dance with Adrian and seeing how happy you look, how easily you welcome your ex-boyfriend’s touch. You aren’t even doing anything particularly scandalous, just laughing and letting him twirl you around, but seeing it happen still makes Sae’s stomach churn and his chest ache in a way he knows can’t be normal.

When the song changes, Aina ushers you and the rest of your group back towards the bar, ending your little stint on the dance floor. Sae finds himself grateful for the interruption, until he realizes that all it’s done is provide Adrian with the opportunity to get even closer to you, nestling himself between you and Eri.

Aina stands on your other side and waves down the bartender, but all Sae can focus on is the arm Adrian has wrapped around your shoulders, the way he leans in close and whispers in your ear.

Immediately, Sae decides he can’t watch anymore, not unless he actually wants to throw up. So instead of sticking around to see what happens next, he stands up and walks away, before the tension in his chest makes him do something stupid.

Shidou and Oliver call after him in confusion, but Sae ignores them, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.

There’s an outdoor section attached to the lounge, guarded by a set of clunky metal doors he didn’t notice until now. He pushes past them and is pleased to find the space almost entirely empty, save for the trio of smokers who are already on their way back inside, their cigarettes quickly blackening in the ashtray left on one of the tables outside.

Sae walks past them as they exit, ignoring the open chairs and couches in favor of standing closer to the balcony. He braces himself against the railing, nursing a drink he doesn’t even really want in his hand and a heaviness he isn’t used to in his heart.

It’s colder out here than it is inside. Quieter, too, though Sae hardly minds it. He welcomes the chill and the silence it brings, even if it does little to sort out his thoughts. All he knows for sure is that right now, he wants to be alone, and being out here can give him that, so he stays.

He enjoys about ten minutes of blissful silence before he hears the doors push open again. He braces himself with a deep sigh and looks over his shoulder, ready to tell Oliver to go back inside and leave him alone, but he stops himself when he sees that it’s you.

And it’s awful, Sae thinks, how easily the sight of you softens him, how happy he is to see you, even now. A few seconds ago, he was convinced he didn’t want to see anyone at all, but looking at you now, he can’t imagine ever asking you to leave.

The thought’s a little easier for him to stomach now that he’s accepted his feelings for you, but that doesn’t make it any less disorienting.

“There you are,” you say, greeting him with a warm smile and looking just as happy to see him now as you were when he first arrived. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I tried asking Oliver, but he wasn’t sure, either.”

Sae’s eyebrows raise at your words, his previous agitation forgotten. “You went looking for me?”

“Of course.” You join him at the railing, heels clacking against the pavement as you walk. You’re standing close enough now that your arm touches his, but he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. “I can’t exactly fulfill my promise of ogling you if you’re all the way out here, now, can I?”

“I’m sure you would’ve figured something out,” he says, bumping his shoulder with yours, even as the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “You’re persistent that way.”

“Can you blame me? You know what the sight of you with your shirt buttons undone does to the general public, myself included.”

“Weirdly enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that tonight.”

“Let me guess— Shidou?”

“He’s the only other person as dedicated to flirting with me as you are.”

You laugh, flipping your hair over your shoulder with a shrug. “What can I say? We have excellent taste.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” He raises an eyebrow at you and hums, amused. “And here I thought it was just the two of you being shameless as always.”

“Only for you,” you say, voice low and playful, punctuating your words with a ridiculous wink that he shouldn’t find nearly half as endearing as he does. “Well, you and Pedro Pascal, but he didn’t show up for my birthday the way you did, so— mostly you.”

“I’m flattered,” he drawls sarcastically, making you laugh.

A brief silence follows, though it’s far from uncomfortable. It never is, not when it’s just you and Sae. You know he isn’t exactly the most talkative person, but you’ve never seemed to have a problem with that, never tried to make him into something he’s not. It’s one of the many things he likes about you.

You blink when you catch him staring at you, but you don’t hesitate to smile at him anyway. “What?”

“Nothing.” He’s quick to change the subject, clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away from your own. That’s when he notices the way you’re shivering, your arms going up to wrap around yourself as a breeze passes and goosebumps rise on your skin. “You’re cold.”

“Only a little,” you admit, expression bashful as you rub your arm, “but it’s fine. I’ll adjust. Honestly, with how hot it was inside, I probably need the—”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and offering it for you to take. “Here.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. Really, you don’t have to—”

Your protests quickly go nowhere, Sae choosing to ignore you and all but shoving his jacket into your hands. You accept it from him somewhat unsurely, though that hesitance quickly disappears the moment you feel how warm his jacket feels around you.

You slide your arms through the sleeves and let the jacket rest comfortably around your shoulders, looking up to face him with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He nods in acknowledgement of your gratitude but says nothing else, too busy taking in the sight of you in his jacket and thinking about how much better it’d be if you were actually his.

Not for the first time, he thinks of confessing his feelings. He settles for bringing up the gift he got you instead, hoping it’ll be enough to make you understand.

“There’s something in it for you,” he says quickly, before he can talk himself out of it. “Inside the pocket.”

You blink, taken aback. “Really?”

When he nods, you reach inside his jacket. It takes you a moment or two of rummaging around, but eventually you find what you’re looking for, pulling out the dark velvet box that holds the necklace he got you for your birthday and cradling it gently inside your palm.

You meet his gaze briefly, eyes soft and searching, before opening the box with your other hand. You let out a tiny gasp when you see what’s inside, your eyes widening at the sun pendant that rests before you. It quite literally takes your breath away, and Sae knows, even before you meet his eyes again, that he’s done something right.

“Oh, my god. Sae, this is so— I mean, I don’t even know what to—” He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this way before, so at a loss for words. Usually you always have something to say, but right now you can hardly form a sentence, eyes wide as you all but gape at him. “Are you sure?”

“Happy birthday,” Sae says, as softly and sincerely as he can manage. “I hope you like it.”

“Are you kidding? How could I not?”

You laugh a little, voice disbelieving as you trace your fingertips over the necklace, gentle and admiring. Sae can’t help but smile to himself as he watches you, pleased by how touched you seem to be by the gift.

“It’s beautiful. Seriously, Sae, it’s gorgeous and wonderful— and way too fucking expensive.” You snap the box closed, shaking your head firmly. “I can’t accept this.”

Your words make him frown, brows furrowing slightly as you hold the box out to him. He had a feeling you’d be difficult about this, knowing how notoriously stubborn you are, but he thought you’d at least put the necklace on before trying to give it back to him.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?” You stare at him, bewildered, an almost comically serious look on your face as you lift the box in your hands and shake it around. “Sae, there are actual diamonds on this necklace.”

He resists the urge to laugh at your expression, shrugging his shoulders and raising an eyebrow. “So?”

“So?” you repeat, giving him an incredulous look. “That means it’s probably worth more than my freakin’ apartment! I can’t take this from you.”

“You’re not taking anything. I’m giving it to you,” Sae corrects, completely unbothered, even as your eye starts to twitch in a way that makes it clear you think he’s lost his mind. “You know, like that gift thing people do on birthdays?”

He tries to make a joke, but you hardly acknowledge it, evidently too occupied with having an internal crisis about the amount of money he spent to appreciate his rare attempt at humor. There’s a frown on your lips and a crease in your brow that reassure him it’s going to take a lot more than that to convince you to accept the gift, but thankfully, Sae has already prepared for that.

“I’m not bringing it back to the store,” he says, meeting your eyes so you can see exactly how serious he is. “I already got rid of the receipt, and I’m not giving it to anyone else, so either you take it, or it goes in the trash.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face must make you reconsider, because you’re closing it before you can say anything else. Realizing that regardless of your protests, he won’t be changing his mind, you sigh, relenting.

“Fine. I’ll take it.” You’re trying your best to pout, making a show of your begrudging acceptance, but the sparkle in your eye as you gaze down at the box in your hand betrays just how thrilled you really are to be keeping the gift. “But I would like the record to show that I think you’re a psychopath. A filthy rich, full-blown psychopath.”

“You know, most people would just say thank you.”

Sae expects you to make a quip back, maybe even return his snark with an eye roll of your own, but you surprise him by taking his hand in yours, using the other to cradle the box to your chest.

“Thank you, Sae.” You squeeze his hand and smile, gratitude and sincerity hanging off every word. “I love it.”

You give his hand another gentle squeeze before releasing it and turning your attention back to the box you’re holding, a distraction Sae finds himself grateful for. He’s not sure what kind of expression he’s making right now, but if the way his pulse is racing is any indication, he doubts it’s anything normal.

He watches as you open the box and remove the necklace from inside. Once it’s been freed, you put the empty box back in his pocket and let the necklace dangle from your fingertips, turning to offer it to him again.

“Will you help me put it on?”

For a moment, all Sae can do is nod. His pulse is still racing, drumming beneath his skin with the kind of adrenaline he thought he’d only ever get while playing soccer. He ignores it as best as he can, clearing his throat and taking the necklace from you.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, turning so your back is facing him and holding up your hair so it’s out of the way. He brings the necklace to your throat, fingers brushing against your neck in a way that makes you shudder slightly, goosebumps rising on your skin as you lean instinctively into his touch.

The sight is tempting enough to make him want to forget the necklace entirely and bring his lips to your throat, grazing the spot below your ear he knows drives you crazy, but somehow he resists the urge, clasping the necklace shut without any further incident.

“Well?” You let go of your hair and turn back around to face him, a smile on your face as you put your hands on your hips and strike a pose. “How’s it look?”

What Sae wants to say is that you look stunning. That you always do, and that it has nothing to do with the necklace at your throat or the clothes you wear and everything to do with the way you carry yourself, dramatic nonsense and all.

What comes out of his mouth instead isn’t nearly as poetic. “It looks better on you than it would have in the garbage can.”

It’s probably one of the least romantic things you’ve ever heard, but luckily for him, you’re too used to his personality to be offended by it. All you do is laugh, brushing it off without a second thought.

“You know,” you say, in the shittiest imitation of his voice you can manage, throwing his words back at him the way he’s sure you planned to from the beginning, “most people would just say it looks good on me.”

Sae huffs out a laugh, though he still makes a point to roll his eyes at your words. He watches you grin and laugh along with him, taking in the curve of your lips and the flutter of your lashes, and finds himself speaking again, before he can change his mind.

“It does.” It’s hard to say who the confession surprises more— you or himself. He keeps going anyway, even as your laughter fades and your eyes widen. “You look—” It takes him a second to gather himself, the words awkward and stiff coming from his mouth, but just as sincere. “—beautiful. You are beautiful.”

Understandably, the compliment catches you off guard. Sae’s called you many things before —stubborn, ridiculous, dramatic, even shameless— but he’s never called you beautiful. He’s never called anything beautiful, at least not on purpose. You probably didn’t even think it was something he could do.

Maybe that’s why you’re looking at him so strangely now, his words stunning you into silence. He can only hope you know he meant them. Then he notices the shy little smile on your face and the way you wrap his jacket a little tighter around yourself and realizes you already do.

“Thank you.”

Another silence falls between you, different from before. This one is a little more intense, the air between you thick with words left unsaid, but it’s still not uncomfortable, at least not yet. Sae knows it’s true, because when he leans back against the railing, you follow, settling into the space beside him and letting your arm press against his without a hint of regret or awkwardness.

“I’m glad you’re here, Sae.” You don’t look at him when you say it, eyes on the city skyline below you, all the twinkling, faraway lights blanketed by the cover of darkness. Your voice is quieter than he’s used to, but still undoubtedly sincere. “And not because of the gift, or because of the compliment, even though those were nice, too— but because of you.”

That catches him off guard. “Because of me?”

“Yeah, because of you.” You turn to look at him then, all easy smiles and undeniable fondness. “Just you. I mean, obviously you didn’t have to be here, and I know you probably haven’t been enjoying yourself too much, but still, it’s nice.”

“What makes you think I’m not enjoying myself?”

“You’re kidding, right? This whole thing is loud music and a big crowd, neither of which you’re fond of. Besides, you told me you hated parties.”

“I don’t hate you.” The words fall from his lips before he can stop them, soft and tender and way too fucking honest. Your eyes widen, even more now than they did when he called you beautiful, and immediately he clears his throat, backtracking. “...I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, so you do hate me, then?”

“What? No, that’s not what I—” He cuts himself off when he catches the smile you try and fail to hide behind your hand, any concern he had about hurting your feelings vanishing as he shoots you a scowl. “Oh, shut up.”

You give up on masking your amusement and begin laughing outright. Normally, the sound would annoy him, especially when done at his expense, but because it’s you, all it does is make him grow more fond, the corners of his lips curling into a smile of his own before he can stop them.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you say, your side pressing against his as you lean in close, whispering like you’re sharing a secret, “I don’t hate you, too.”

It’s nothing like an actual confession, nor can it be considered a real sign that you’ll return his feelings, but Sae hears you say it, watches the way you watch him, and suddenly he knows that if there were ever a time for him to tell you the truth, then this would be it.

But words have never come easily to Sae, so instead of saying it, instead of telling you, he decides to show you.

He brings his hand to your face, cupping your cheek in his palm with a kind of gentleness he didn’t even think himself capable of until now. He swipes his thumb along your bottom lip, his gaze never leaving yours, while you look on, startled by his sudden softness.

He knows as soon as he does it that the way he’s holding you now is something different, something real. He knows you’ll feel it, too, knows it’ll catch you off guard, even if it’s far from the first time he’s touched you. It’s why he isn’t the least bit surprised when your eyes widen, your voice a quiet, stunned murmur as you open your mouth to speak.

“Sae, what are you…”

He doesn’t let you finish that thought, closing what little distance is left between you to press his lips against yours. It’s a softer kiss than he usually goes for, every bit as tender and delicate as the way his hand cradles your cheek and filled with all the sincerity he can manage, all the longing he didn’t even realize he’d been feeling until now.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes fluttering back open to meet his, dazed, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

“What was that for?”

For a moment, Sae has no idea how to respond. You’ve always been the most observant person in the room —it’s how you found out about the ankle he sprained last month, having picked up on the strain in his voice the moment he answered your call— so the fact that you still haven’t realized he’s trying to confess his feelings for you is unexpected, to say the least.

Still, he doesn’t let it deter him, letting the hand he uses to cradle your face speak for him, thumb brushing across your cheek in a way he hopes makes things a little clearer.

“What do you think?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes locked with his own, stunned and searching. You reach up a hand and place it over the one he has on your face, but your touch is hesitant, unsure— much like your voice is when you speak again.

“Honestly, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be thinking right now.”

Sae is trying very hard to be sensitive for you, but he can’t stop himself from frowning at your words. He knew telling you about his feelings —or, in this case, showing you— wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard, either. And though he knows it’s probably unfair of him to think kissing you like this will be enough, your reaction isn’t exactly making him feel any better about it.

“It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve kissed you.”

“Well, yeah, I know that, but you’ve never—” You cut yourself off, brows furrowing as you fix him with a serious look. “You’ve never kissed me like that.”

“Maybe I just didn’t think you could handle it.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Sae knows, not to mention completely at odds with what he’s actually feeling, but it’s what comes out of his mouth, anyway. You frown as soon as he says it, eyes narrowing as you shake your head.

“You’re such a dick, Sae.”

“I know.” He moves his hand and brushes a piece of hair away from your face. You let him, your gaze flickering down to his lips then back up again to meet his eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

And though he knows as well as you do that you should say yes, though you have every right to push him away and demand he explain himself properly, all you do is lean in closer, your lips hovering against his as you answer, voice low and deliberate and just a little breathless, “...No.”

He closes the distance at the same time you do, your lips meeting in another kiss that’s as longing and passionate as the first. It’s just as soft, too, soft in the way you still can’t quite make sense of, but that hardly seems to matter to you now as you tilt your head and let yourself become lost in it, one of your hands going up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Then you’re pressing your body against his, your lips moving to nip at his jaw, and it’s all Sae can do to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you closer, his mouth finding yours once more.

There’s so much more the two of you need to talk about, so much he still has tell you so that you can finally understand the extent of his feelings, but right now, all he can focus on is the feel of your lips against his own and the weight of you in his arms, steady and solid, like it’s where you were meant to be all along.

He lifts a hand to cradle your jaw, and your lips part, tongue sliding against his as he walks the two of you backwards. Your back hits the railing, and you make a needy little sound in the back of your throat that just makes him kiss you harder, one of your legs going up to wrap around his waist.

His lips are halfway down your neck when your phone starts to ring. The two of you ignore it at first, too lost in each other to pay it any real mind, and eventually it stops, just in time for Sae to make his way back up to your lips, his free hand shifting lower to grip at your thigh.

Not even a minute later, the ringing starts back up again, a loud, chiming tone that’s a lot harder to ignore the second time around. Reluctantly, Sae pulls away, though he doesn’t go very far— just enough to meet your eyes, one of his hands still cradling the side of your face.

“You should probably answer that,” he mutters, even as his other hand smooths over the skin of your thigh, his lips hovering just a breath away from your own.

“What?” you ask, dazed and distracted, your eyes still focused on his lips.

“Your phone, dumbass,” he replies, soft and amused, the corners of his mouth curling up at your reaction. “Answer it before your friends start a tequila-fueled search party.”

“Oh, shit— yeah.” The reality of his words spurs you back into action, your eyes widening a fraction as you snap yourself out of your daze. “Good call.”

You work together to untangle yourselves from each other, unwinding your arms from around his neck while Sae guides your leg back to the ground to help you find your footing. When he’s sure you won’t fall, he lets his hands drop and takes a step back, giving you space to answer the call.

You, however, seem to have other plans, your hand shooting out to grab onto the front of his shirt before he can get too far. Your phone is still ringing, even louder now that you’ve pulled it out of your purse, but you don’t seem too concerned about it, your attention focused solely on Sae.

“This’ll be quick,” you reassure him. “So don’t— don’t go anywhere, okay?”

It’s cute, Sae thinks, how earnest you sound when you say it, how serious you look as you ask him to stay. He’s never been good at denying you anything, even before he realized he had feelings for you, and now? Now, it’s the last thing on his mind. “Okay.”

Your expression brightens, lips curling up as you smile, pleased by his response. Then you let go of his shirt and swipe at your phone screen, bringing the device up to your ear.

“Hello?”

There’s a brief pause as you lean against the railing, awaiting a response. Sae doesn’t think much of it, until he hears you speak again.

“Oh, hey, Adrian.”

That’s when the tension in his chest from earlier returns full force, every muscle in Sae’s body locking up the moment your ex-boyfriend’s name leaves your lips. You don’t pick up on it, either, too focused on your conversation to notice the frown on his face or the furrow of his brow.

(He can’t tell if that makes things better or worse.)

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just stepped out for a minute,” you continue, oblivious to the tension in his frame, the scoff he just barely manages to hide. “No, I’m not, I promise— I’m with a friend.”

A friend, you say, as if that’s all you expect from him, all you want him to be. Just a friend, as if everything that’s happened between you tonight doesn’t matter.

Needless to say, it doesn’t sit well with him at all.

Is that why you told him you were okay with him missing your party? Why you looked so surprised when he showed up anyway? Because you wanted to spend the night with your ex-boyfriend instead?

Earlier, Sae thought that the longing and urgency that poured from your lips as you kissed him back meant something, that you could actually want him the way he wants you. Not just as a friend or a hookup or whatever the hell it is you’ve been doing this whole time, but as something more, something real.

He understands now that it was all just wishful thinking on his part, a fantasy he should’ve known better than to indulge. He feels whatever softness you managed to bring out of him fade away, and with it his desire to open his heart and confess his feelings for you.

The logical part of his brain, the part he usually has no trouble listening to, knows he’s overreacting. It isn’t fair of him to assume there’s something going on with you and Adrian just because you answered his phone call, just like it isn’t fair of him to assume you’ll understand his feelings without him actually talking to you about them.

Still, it’s hard to be logical when all Sae can focus on is the churn of his stomach and the ache in his chest as he watches you chat with your ex. It’s a little easier than watching you interact with him in person, Sae supposes, but not by much. He still feels ready to throw up by the end of it, frustrated and annoyed for reasons he still isn’t sure how to explain to you.

Thankfully, you don’t stay on the phone for long. Your conversation with Adrian only lasts a minute or two, and then you’re hanging up the call, tucking your phone back into your purse without any further distractions.

You reach for Sae the moment your hands are free, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his. It’s muscle memory for him to open his arms and welcome you, his hands moving to rest at your waist before he can stop himself.

“Now,” you say with a smile, earnest and eager as you lean in close, “where were we?”

You kiss him, then, determined to pick up exactly where you left off, your lips warm and soft as they move against his own. And if it were any other day, then Sae would be kissing you back without a second thought, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you even closer.

But that was before your phone call with Adrian, before you laughed and said Sae was just your friend, right after he kissed you and held you in a way he thought would make it clear that he wanted more than that. Now it’s all he can think about, all that frustration and bitterness he felt earlier —and jealousy, he realizes now, begrudgingly, unfortunately— settling into his chest in the worst way.

It doesn’t take you long to notice his hesitance. You feel his lack of response and pull back, a look of concern on your face as you meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

If Sae were better, more honest, he’d tell you the truth. He’d tell you how much he hates the idea of you and your ex reconnecting, how he can’t stand seeing you with Adrian or anyone else for that matter, not because he actually knows him or because he doesn’t trust your judgment, but because he wants you to be with him instead.

But Sae can’t do that. In fact, just the mere thought of putting himself out there, of allowing himself to be that vulnerable without knowing exactly what’s going on inside your head makes him feel like he’s going to be sick, so he doesn’t.

He just shuts down entirely, closing himself off the way he always does whenever he starts feeling more than he knows how to handle. It’s probably the worst thing he can do at this moment, especially when it comes to you, but that’s of little consequence to him when he feels as raw and hopelessly human as he does right now.

“You should get back inside,” is what he tells you instead, distancing himself in the only way he knows how, though it’s the exact opposite of what his heart wants. “Your friends are waiting for you.”

At first, the bitterness in his tone is lost on you. Your lips curve into a smirk, your voice playful and coy as you lower your hands to his neck and tug at the collar of his shirt. “They can wait a little longer.”

You lean in to kiss him again, pulling on his collar so he can meet you halfway, your tongue sliding along his bottom lip. He ends up kissing you back despite himself, parting his lips so your tongue can meet his before he has the chance to think better of it.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to remember he’s supposed to be distancing himself from you, too lost in the feeling of your lips moving against his to recall why he was so upset in the first place.

Eventually, though, he finds it in himself to pull away, turning his head before you have the chance to kiss him again. “Something tells me Adrian wouldn’t agree with you.”

This time, you do notice the bitterness in his voice. You loosen your grip on his collar, drawing back to give him a funny look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just forget it.” Sae lets his hands drop, releasing his hold on your waist. You’re so caught off guard, you don’t even complain, your own hands falling back down to your sides as he takes a step away from you. “You can leave my jacket with Oliver. I’ll get it from him later.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t bother to hide your confusion at his sudden shift in mood, eyes wide as you stare at him in disbelief. “You’re leaving?”

“You said it yourself.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, the smile he sends you wry and humorless. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Yeah, well, neither is being passive aggressive, but you seem to be doing a great job of that right now.” You cross your arms over your chest and frown, your normally relaxed features twisting into a scowl. You’re definitely annoyed by his behavior, but he can see in your eyes that you’re hurt by it, too. He thought seeing that would make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “Why are you being like this, Sae? A minute ago, we were totally fine, and now you’re acting like you’re mad at me or something.”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“Yes, you are, and I want to know why. I mean, all I did was answer one phone call, so why are you acting so— oh. Oh, my god. Is that why you’re mad at me? Because of the phone call?”

Sae turns to scoff at you, acting as if he couldn’t care less, even though the problem is that he very much does. “You really think I give a shit that you spoke to your ex?”

“Why does it matter that he’s my ex?” You tilt your head, then, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, until slowly —despite his best efforts— the realization begins to dawn on you. All at once, your confusion disappears, replaced by a wide-eyed, knowing look that makes whatever hope he had of avoiding this conversation vanish. “Itoshi Sae, are you jealous?”

You’re right, of course —frustratingly enough, you kind of always are— but Sae thinks he’d rather chew concrete than admit it, especially when he’s already resigned himself to burying his feelings.

It’s why he kisses his teeth at your words, his lip curling up in disdain. “Tch, you wish.”

“Liar. You’re jealous as hell. In fact, I bet the whole reason you were even out here in the first place is because you saw me dance with him and got all sulky about it. That’s how jealous you are.” You’re confident enough about it to dare to take a step forward, raising an eyebrow as you meet his eyes with an expectant look. “Am I wrong?”

All Sae can do is scowl at you, irritated by both your smugness and the fact that it does nothing to change the way he feels about you. “You’re a pain in the ass, is what you are.”

And because you’re you, of course his words don’t offend you in the slightest. If anything, your satisfaction only grows, your lips curving into a smirk that’s as pleased as it is insufferable. “I still haven’t heard a ‘no.’”

Sae grimaces but remains silent, half because he’s stubborn and half because you aren’t wrong. You’ve always been smart, too smart, really —it’s one of the things he likes most about you— so of course you were able to pick up on his jealousy, despite his attempts at denying it.

He expects you to give him a hard time over it, maybe even chew him out for how immature and ridiculous he’s been acting as a result, but you surprise him by wrapping your arms around his shoulders. When he doesn’t push you away, you take that as a sign to continue, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You know you don’t have to be jealous, right?” Your voice is tender and comforting when you speak. There’s a certain seriousness in it, too, a firmness that lets him know how much you mean it. He wishes it didn’t affect him as much as it does. “Adrian and I used to be a thing, sure, but it’s not like that between us anymore. He and I are just friends now.”

“You mean the same way you and I are just friends?”

“Oh, wow, you really are jealous. Is that why you showed up tonight? You wanted to make sure there was nothing going on between me and my ex?”

“It couldn’t matter to me even if there was.” He tries not to sound bitter when he says it, but his efforts are hardly effective, the half-smile he forces tight-lipped and strained, even as he moves his hands to settle on your hips. “It’s not like I’m your boyfriend.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to be,” you admit, low and honest. And maybe he’s just imagining it, but he swears there’s a hint of disappointment in your voice, too, a sadness he isn’t quite sure how to make sense of. “I mean, back when we started all this, neither of us wanted a relationship. Has that changed?”

It takes all Sae has to keep himself from ripping his own hair out, because haven’t you been paying attention at all? Of course it’s changed. Do you really think he’d be here fighting with himself and agonizing over how to confess to you if it hadn’t?

He wants to tell you as much, can feel the words right there on the tip of his tongue, but his pride keeps him from saying them out loud, at least not until he knows exactly how you feel, too.

“Has it changed for you?”

“Not so fast, hotshot. I asked you first.”

He sighs. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” The look you give him is as unapologetic as it is pointed, the sternness in your voice leaving little room for argument. “You almost walked away from me on my birthday, asshole. The least you can do now is answer my question.”

It’s a fair point, he knows, especially after everything he’s put you through tonight, but Sae is nothing if not completely awful when it comes to verbalizing his feelings. He knows it most likely won’t be enough to satisfy you, but he gives your hips a gentle squeeze anyway, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer. “Isn’t this answer enough?”

“Not even close,” you tell him flatly, every bit as unimpressed as he thought you’d be. “I want you to tell me how you really feel about me. And I want you to say it with your words, not just hold me or kiss me and expect me to read between the lines.”

“Words aren’t really my strong suit,” he mutters, more honest now than he’s been all night, averting his gaze to the floor.

“Try anyway.” You lift a hand and run your fingers through his hair the way you know he likes. It’s disarming enough to have him meeting your gaze once more. Your eyes are soft, searching. Patient, too, despite him, the way you always seem to be. “Come on, Sae. Is it really that hard for you to be honest with me?”

He laughs, though there isn’t any humor to it. “You have no idea.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you okay with me dating other people?”

“Definitely not.”

“Why?”

Sae narrows his eyes, shooting you a flat look, because you know. You have to know. After everything he’s said, everything he’s done, there’s no way you haven’t pieced it together by now. “You already know why.”

“Oh, I do,” you confirm, smug and irritating as ever, smile bright and eyes knowing, “but I want to hear you say it, anyway.” You brush his hair out of his eyes, and he watches as your expression morphs into something softer, something fond and affectionate that makes his heart stutter the way it’s only ever done around you. “For me?”

And though it isn’t easy for him, though it goes against all of his better instincts and is quite possibly the last thing he’s ever wanted to do— for you, he decides to be sincere. “Fine.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to find the words, urged on by the weight of you in his arms and the tender, encouraging way you’re looking at him. It’s daunting for him to be this honest, not to mention completely unnerving, especially when you both know how bad he is with words in general— but for you, he’s willing to try.

“...I like you. I really, really like you, as in I have feelings for you, and this thing we’ve been doing, this casual, no strings, whatever the hell it is— it’s not enough for me anymore. And I want— I want to be with you. For real, this time, if— if you’ll have me.”

Sae snaps his mouth closed the moment he’s able to get the words out, bracing himself for your reaction. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting from you, exactly —rejection, reciprocation, maybe some backwards, nonsensical combination of them both— but he’s determined to be prepared for it regardless, determined to appear unaffected, even if it means he has to grit his teeth to do so.

But then you’re cupping his face in your hands, gaze soft and open and filled with the kind of affection he never once imagined he’d be on the receiving end of, and any notion he had of remaining unaffected is promptly cast aside, replaced by the warmth of your touch and the tender, fond way you look at him.

You lean in, and it’s all Sae can do to close his eyes as you press your lips against his in a slow, gentle kiss. The gesture is soft and surprisingly chaste, soft like the way he kissed you earlier, back when he was trying to communicate the extent of his feelings. It doesn’t last very long, but it doesn’t need to, not when he can feel it linger even after you pull away, delicate and deliberate, important in all the ways that matter.

When he opens his eyes, he finds that you’re already looking at him, your lips pulled into that soft little smile he doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of. Then you wrap your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his.

“I want to be with you, too,” you say, steady and sure, without a hint of regret or uncertainty, and Sae swears something in his chest cracks wide open, every bit of affection he’s ever felt for you pouring out until it’s all he knows, all he can feel. “As way more than just casual. I have for a while now.”

“You have?” The confession catches him off guard, makes his eyes widen a fraction as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze properly. “Since when?”

“Since your away game in France.” You say it naturally, doubtlessly, without any of the hesitation he would’ve had to grapple with to do the same thing. Not for the first time, he finds himself envying how easy you make it look, how effortless it is for you to be so honest and upfront about your feelings. “You were only gone for two weeks, but it felt like ages. Then you showed up to my apartment with pastries from that bakery your manager suggested, and they were amazing, but all I could think about was how happy I was that you were back. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

For a moment, Sae has no idea what to say. His away game in France was almost two months ago. You’ve had feelings for him since back then? If that was the case, then why didn’t you tell him? Had he really made you feel like you couldn’t talk to him about it?

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted to, but every time I thought about bringing it up, I’d remember what we said about keeping it casual. I figured if I said something, it’d scare you off. And I didn’t— I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t.”

You look down, then, averting your gaze, uncharacteristically nervous as you fidget with the buttons on his shirt. And as Sae watches you standing there in front of him, quiet and apprehensive in a way he’s never seen you before, he wonders if maybe he’s not the only one who’s been reluctant to be vulnerable, after all.

Things would be different if either one of you had said something sooner, he knows. If you’d been brave enough to let the other in. He imagines it would’ve saved you both a lot of time, knowing that it wasn’t just one-sided, that your feelings were returned.

But you’re still here. You both are, and that’s more than enough, he thinks. It’s everything.

(After all, Sae’s never wanted anything the way he wants you.)

It’s why he takes your chin in his hand, urging you to look up at him. For once, you don’t put up much of a fight, your eyes flickering up to meet his own.

That’s when he kisses you, soft and sweet, passionate and patient the way you’ve always been with him, the way he knows you deserve to have returned. He kisses you like he means it, like you have all the time in the world, because right now, you do. He kisses you, and he hopes you feel the promise in it, the one that this time, he won’t hesitate to say out loud.

“You don’t have to worry about losing me, dummy,” he tells you as soon as you break apart for air, breathless and sincere as he presses his forehead against yours. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You smile at him, then, knowing how much he means it, bright and beaming as you take his hand in yours and lace your fingers together.

“I’m not going anywhere, either,” you promise, and the best part is, you don’t.

When the two of you go back inside to rejoin the party, you do it together, your hand tucked securely into his, your fingers intertwined. You’re still wearing his jacket, still smiling at him in that warm, easy way of yours. He knows now for sure it’s something he’ll never get tired of, knows he’s going to spend the rest of the foreseeable future making sure he deserves it.

When your friends see you walk in holding hands with Sae, chaos ensues. Thankfully, the two of you are more than prepared for it, braving their onslaught of wolf-whistles and too-personal questions without missing a beat.

Somehow, Oliver and Aina are the loudest of the bunch, hooting and hollering in matching degrees of shock and excitement, despite already knowing what the two of you have been up to these past few months. Shidou isn’t far behind them, though he does lament Sae’s new taken status. He wraps an arm around each of your shoulders and very seriously offers himself up to the two of you as a willing volunteer for a threesome, should you ever find yourselves in the market for one.

You and Sae take it all in stride, enduring their teasing and answering their least invasive questions until finally you decide to use your birthday authority to put an end to their pestering, declaring in no uncertain terms that they all go back to celebrating. They complain about it, of course, well-meaning and meddlesome as they are, but still they do as you ask, cooing and waggling their eyebrows at you as they take their leave.

“I’m sorry our friends are all unhinged weirdos,” you apologize as soon as everyone else is gone, blunt and serious enough to make Sae laugh. You’re sitting in his lap on the couch, the two of you tucked away in a dark corner of the lounge in an attempt at finding some reprieve from all the chatter and excitement of the night. “And that they have no concept of what it means to mind their own business.”

He hums in acknowledgement, reassuring you with a kiss to your shoulder that there’s nothing you need to apologize for. You smile at the gesture and drape your arm around his shoulders in turn, using your other hand to press your palm against his cheek and make him look up at you.

It’s only then he notices the slight crease in your brow, the worry you’re trying your best to play off with a carefree smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “They didn’t scare you away, did they?”

“Not even close.” He shakes his head and squeezes at your hip, taking your hand in his to press a kiss against your palm. “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

“Good.” You wind your fingers through his, that smile he likes —maybe even loves— curving its way onto your lips. Happiness has always been a fickle thing for Sae, floating just outside of his reach, but he sees the way you look at him, feels the warmth of your skin against his, and he knows— it’s here. It’s you. It’s always been you. “I’m glad.”

Yeah, Sae thinks, shifting to meet you halfway as you lean down for his lips, only this time he doesn’t have to worry about hiding or burying his feelings. This time, he doesn’t have to do anything at all except kiss you, the girl he’s wanted for too long, the one he finally gets to call his. So am I.

Written by: Dawn Taglist link

#sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bluelock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #our writing #dawn writes #minors dni

2K notes · View notes

rafes-slut · 3 months ago

Note

Hi can you do a Rafe smut where him and reader “hate” each other and they are at a party. While reader gets a drink a random dude starts harassing/annoying her and he does something that makes her punch him in the face. She runs away while the dude chases after her and she spots rafe. She hides behind him and he’s like “wtf” but then sees the guy coming behind you. Then you tell him what happened and rafe beats the shit out of the guy and takes you upstairs for some sexy time😫🙏🏻

God i love this one

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: Smut (18+), rough sex, possessiveness, violence, jealousy, language, choking, spanking, unprotected sex, toxic dynamics.

You wanted to believe you hated Rafe Cameron. You really did. It was easier that way—easier to pretend like you didn’t feel his eyes on you every time you walked into a room, easier to act like you didn’t think about how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up and his jaw clenched. Easier to ignore the way your body reacted when he got close, the heat that burned beneath your skin when he muttered something cocky under his breath just to piss you off.

And you were sure he felt the same way. That was how it always had been between you two—pure hatred, always at each other's throats. You swore you could kill each other any second.

But tonight, everything changed.

The music was loud, the party buzzing with energy as Kooks filled the massive beach house. You were perched at the bar, sipping your drink, already regretting coming. The only reason you stayed was because you refused to let Rafe’s presence ruin your night. You weren’t about to leave just because he was here, brooding in the corner like he always did, looking too damn good for his own good.

Then, the creep showed up.

You hadn’t even noticed him at first, too busy nursing your drink and trying to drown out the annoyingly catchy music blasting through the speakers. But the second he sidled up next to you, his cologne too strong and his grin too cocky, you knew he was trouble.

“Didn’t take you for a girl who comes to parties alone,” he mused, eyes dragging over your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

“I didn’t,” you muttered, hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping an octave like he thought it was seductive. “Bet you just haven’t found the right company yet.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not interested.”

But he didn’t back off. If anything, he got bolder, his hand brushing against your arm as he chuckled like you had just played hard to get. “Aw, don’t be like that, baby—”

Before he could finish, his hand landed on your ass, a firm slap that sent a wave of disgust rippling through you. Your entire body tensed, blood boiling as you turned and smacked him across the face without thinking.

The crack echoed over the music, and for a split second, everything went still.

Then, his expression darkened. His jaw clenched, and his eyes flashed with something dangerous.

“Bitch,” he spat, taking a step toward you.

Panic flared in your chest. You knew that look. He was pissed, and you had no intention of sticking around to see what he’d do next. Your heart pounded as you spun on your heel, pushing through the crowd.

But he followed.

You could hear him behind you, his footsteps heavy, his breathing ragged with fury. Your stomach twisted, your skin crawling as you shoved past drunken partygoers, desperate for an escape.

Then, you saw him.

Rafe.

He was standing near the stairs, a beer in his hand, mid-conversation with Kelce. The second your eyes landed on him, you didn’t think—you just moved.

Before you knew it, you were behind him, gripping the back of his shirt like your life depended on it.

“What the fuck—?” Rafe turned, his brows furrowing as he looked down at you in confusion. “What are you—”

But then, his gaze lifted, and he saw him. The guy.

And Rafe immediately understood.

His whole demeanor shifted. His grip tightened around the beer bottle, his entire body going rigid. “He bothering you?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You swallowed hard, nodding. “He—he touched me.”

That was all it took.

Rafe saw red.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask for details. He just acted.

The bottle dropped from his hand, shattering on the floor as he launched himself at the guy. It happened so fast that you barely had time to react. One second, Rafe was standing in front of you. The next, he was on him, fist colliding with his jaw so hard that you swore you felt it.

People gasped, parting like the Red Sea as Rafe unleashed hell. His knuckles cracked against the guy’s face over and over, blood smearing across his skin.

No one tried to stop him. They knew better.

By the time Rafe was done, the guy was out cold on the floor.

His chest heaved as he straightened, fists clenched, rage still burning in his blue eyes as he turned back to you. “You okay?”

You were staring.

You couldn’t help it.

He looked—fuck.

Blood speckled his sharp jaw, his hair disheveled from the fight. His hands were bruised, knuckles split, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

And you wanted him.

Bad.

You didn’t even think. You just grabbed his wrist, tugging him through the party without a word.

“Where the fuck are we going?” he grumbled, confused.

You ignored him, pushing open the first empty door you found, pulling him inside, and slamming it shut behind you.

The second the door slammed shut, you barely had time to process what was happening before Rafe was on you. His hands were everywhere—gripping, grabbing, pulling—like he needed to touch every inch of you at once. His mouth was hot and demanding against yours, tongue sliding between your lips in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. You gasped when his hands found your thighs, gripping them rough enough to bruise as he hoisted you up.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, and your back slammed against the door, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“You like that, huh?” Rafe growled against your mouth, his teeth dragging over your bottom lip before biting down, just enough to sting. “Watching me fuck that guy up got you all wet?”

Your only answer was a moan as he rolled his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock right against your aching core. You were still wearing your dress, but it did nothing to dull the sensation of how thick he felt against you, how ready he was to wreck you.

“Fuck, I knew you were dirty,” he muttered, his hands sliding up your thighs, shoving your dress higher. “Knew you needed someone to put you in your fucking place.”

Before you could snap back, his fingers found your panties, pushing them aside. His thumb swiped through your wetness, and he let out a deep groan when he felt how soaked you were.

“Jesus. You’re dripping, baby,” he mocked, voice dark with amusement. “Bet you’d let me fuck you right here against this door, huh? Let everyone at this party hear how desperate you are.”

The thought sent a rush of heat through your body. You wanted to tell him to shut up, to slap that cocky smirk off his face, but when his fingers pushed inside you—two at once, stretching you—the only sound you made was a pathetic whimper.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head hitting the door.

Rafe pumped his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had your thighs shaking around his waist. He was teasing you, taking his time, knowing damn well how much you needed him.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” he taunted, his teeth grazing your jaw as he kissed down your neck. “Look at you—so fucking needy.”

You whined, bucking your hips against his hand, but he pulled his fingers away. Your whimper of protest was swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you hard, reaching down to undo his belt.

Then, he flipped you around.

Your hands caught against the door to keep yourself upright, but Rafe didn’t give you a second to process before he was yanking your dress up and dragging your soaked panties down your thighs.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” he growled, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you open. “Make sure you never look at another guy again.”

You barely had time to breathe before he was shoving his cock inside you, hard and deep, stretching you to the point of pain. You let out a strangled moan, your fingers digging into the door as he bottomed out in one rough thrust.

“Fuck—”

Rafe groaned, his forehead dropping against your shoulder for a second as he gritted his teeth. “So fucking tight.”

He didn’t start slow. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He just started moving, fucking into you with deep, bruising thrusts that had you crying out.

His grip was rough, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back onto his cock, forcing you to take every inch. You could hear the wet, filthy sounds of him slamming into you, feel the way your walls clenched around him, your body struggling to keep up with how hard he was fucking you.

“This what you needed?” he gritted out, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. “Needed me to fuck you like a slut?”

You moaned in response, too far gone to be embarrassed about how wrecked you already sounded.

“Say it,” he demanded, tightening his grip.

You gasped, your head spinning. “Y-Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He slowed his thrusts, just enough to drive you crazy, just enough to make you squirm.

“Yes, I needed it,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper.

He groaned, his free hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap that made you jolt. “That’s right,” he muttered, snapping his hips forward again. “Bet you’ve been waiting for this. Fucking brat.”

You felt yourself getting close embarrassingly fast. The way he fucked you—deep and rough, owning every inch of you—had your entire body burning with pleasure. His grip was relentless, fingers pressing into your skin like he wanted to leave marks, like he wanted you to remember this every time you moved.

“You gonna come already?” Rafe taunted, noticing how tight you were squeezing him. “Jesus, you’re fucking obsessed with me.”

“Shut up,” you panted, nails scratching against the door.

He chuckled darkly, hand wrapping in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips were right against your ear. “Make me.”

And then he fucked you even harder.

Your orgasm slammed into you so fast and so intense that your knees buckled, but Rafe didn’t let up. He kept fucking you through it, kept fucking you past it, his pace ruthless as he chased his own release.

Your overstimulated whimpers only spurred him on. His thrusts got rougher, more desperate, his groans turning into curses. “Fuck—”

Then, with one final thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his entire body going tense as he came inside you, filling you up with a low, guttural groan.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Your body was limp against the door, your breathing ragged, and Rafe was still pressed against you, his forehead against your shoulder, both of you spent.

Finally, he let out a breath, his grip loosening. “Jesus Christ.”

You swallowed hard, still trembling. You felt him pull out, his hands gently dragging your dress back down, as if he hadn’t just fucked you senseless against a door at a party.

When you finally turned to face him, his blue eyes were dark, filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

Then, that cocky smirk returned.

“Still think you hate me?”

811 notes · View notes

girllblogging777 · 9 months ago

Text

𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑇𝑆 𝑅𝐸𝐶𝐿𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸𝐷

↳ mattheo riddle x fem!reader drabble (fluff, angst)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1,02k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : mattheo’s jealousy causes an argument, but both find yourself comforting eachother

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"i told you i don’t care about that ravenclaw guy, he was just asking me about a potions assignment," you snapped, the frustration of your argument with mattheo finally reaching its peak. your boyfriend had found you talking to another boy in the great hall this morning, and he hadn’t let it go since, making you the main target of his pent up anger.

"well, i care! i care that my girlfriend was being all giggly with some guy in front of everyone, and i care even more that you’re brushing it off like it’s nothing!" he shouted back, running his hand through his brunette curls in frustration. you knew mattheo’s short temper well, how his mental health and past trauma affected his ability to express emotions, but he rarely lashed out at you like this. today had been different, and you’d sensed it the moment you saw that flicker of harshness in his usual soft brown eyes.

you sighed, trying to explain yourself calmly and hoping to ease his anger before things escalated, silently aware that it wouldn’t change anything. "look, i understand how you must be feeling right now, but—" he cut you off, his voice sharp and unyielding.

“no, you don’t ! stop playing therapist all the time. you don’t get it, and you’re never fucking going to." his words were harsh, and you tried not to let it get to your head, knowing he wasn’t thinking clearly. you braced yourself for what might come next, knowing he was too far gone to appreciate your gentleness. "maybe if you weren’t always trying to fix me, it would be easier. not my fault you’re oversensitive and can’t take anything !"

that was the breaking point. he’d crossed a line, and he didn’t even seem to care. mattheo knew how much you hated being yelled at, how it made you feel small and vulnerable, and yet, today he hadn’t held back. deep down, you knew the reason : he hated how much power you had over him, how easily you could mess with his heart. in this entire school, you were the only one who dared to stand up to mattheo riddle, to tell him the truth even when it hurt. it was why your relationship worked, but also why you ended up having those arguments so often.

something shifted in your gaze, and he noticed it : the tiny spark of pain mixed with the tears welling up in your eyes. you whispered pleadingly, "don’t yell at me like that, i can’t do this." your voice was small, but the impact was immediate. the anger faded away from his eyes, when he remembered you telling him the reason why you couldn’t stand shouting. he realised he’d just reenacted the past trauma you had told him about and his lips curved into a barely-there frown. you saw the regret settling in his expression.

"i know… i took it too far. i shouldn’t have." his voice was softer now, the anger draining from his features. you didn’t move or say anything, still reeling from the sting of his words. mattheo took a hesitant step towards you, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mixture of guilt and desperation. he hesitated, he saw the hurt he’d caused, the way your body tensed as if waiting for more. he hated himself for letting his temper get the better of him, for hurting the one person who had always stood by him.

“baby, please…” he said softly, his voice trembling slightly as he took another step towards you. he reached out, but you instinctively flinched, and he froze, the guilt getting to him. you turned away, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “mattheo, you know i care about you more than anything, but i can’t keep doing this. you can’t keep lashing out at me every time you’re upset. it’s not fair.”

“i know,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret. “i just… i don’t know how to deal with it sometimes. i get so scared of losing you that i get jealous and push you away. it’s messed up, i know that.” you finally looked at him, seeing the pain in his eyes, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. it was the side of mattheo that made you fall for him, the boy beneath the act who just wanted to be loved and understood. but that didn’t make the hurt disappear.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you said, your voice steady but soft as you tried to comfort him. “but i need you to be with me in this, mattheo. i can’t be the only one trying to fix it.” he nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek, though he quickly wiped it away. “i promise, i’ll do better. i don’t want to lose you. you’re the only good thing i have.”

the sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment, and then slowly closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. his arms enveloped you immediately, holding you tight as if you might slip away. you had never seen him cry before but that single tear on his cheek was enough to make you forget what had just happened

“i’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice muffled but heartfelt. “i’ll work on it, i swear.” you nodded against his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow as he calmed down. “i know you will. just… talk to me next time, okay? before it gets to this point.”

“i will,” he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “i love you, and i’m not going to let my stupid temper ruin what we have.” you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small, forgiving smile. “i love you too, mattheo. just… no more yelling, okay?” he nodded frantically, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “no more yelling. i’ll keep that in check.”

you both stood there for a moment, just holding each other, letting the tension melt away. the storm had passed, and in its place was a new sense of understanding and commitment. mattheo might not be perfect, but neither were you, and that was okay. as long as you faced your flaws together, there was nothing you couldn’t overcome.

“but you have to promise me not to let anyone get too close to you” he finally said, his voice lighter, almost playful. “and besides, you’re only supposed to laugh at my jokes.”

you smiled, chuckling. “he didn’t stand a single chance.” whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together, and that was all that mattered.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : thank you @reys-letters for your request !!! please like/comment/reblog and leave requests if you think of something <3

tell me if you wanna be added/taken off the tag list

@iris-qt @shiftingwithmars @shiftingwithleah @sylviaonyx @larmesdevanille @redeemingvillains @fluffycookies22 @yikesitslush @jolly4holly @helendeath @deadghosy @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @bellatrix-lestrange5 @enyway @elsie-bells @tateshifts @myunperfektstorys @icantkeepmyplantsalive @clar2aa @dexoq @justscrollinthrough

1K notes · View notes

voitier · 3 months ago

Text

Blame Morpheus for your sins - 02

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... you and jungkook had been attached by the hip since you were little toddlers learning how to live in your own bodies, which led you two to spend most (if not all) of your life together. one weird dream makes your whole view about your best friend change. how will you live with that?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [mini-series!] friends to lovers, college au, jungkook is whipped for reader but she's oblivious to it all, descriptions of wet dreams, second-hand embarrassment, learning how to deal with new found feelings, sex and all the good stuff, HEA.

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔... (18+) description of period pain and discomfort, mentions of medicine, unprotected sex, second hand embarrassment, explicit language, sexual tension, wet dreams.

▸ 𝓔𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮

▸ 𝔀.𝓬. : 2.5𝓴

first / next / index

There were some days that tired you out more than others for various reasons, but your number one excuse was that you were on your period. Hormones, stress, body working overtime, all reasonable causes for your discomfort, right? Then, on top of that, add your classmate and friend, Jimin, whom you absolutely loved but he was so, so hyperactive and chatty all the time which normally wouldn’t bother you, but today was not the day. At all. So it was no surprise when at the end of the second lecture you gathered your things and bolted out of the class, telling Jimin that you needed to go back home cause your period was killing you - which, by the way, wasn’t even a lie - and headed straight for home. Well, technically, not your own home.

Your feet dragged you around campus until you reached the dorms almost as if they got their own mind, knowing exactly what you needed. You fished around your bag in search of the spare key Jungkook had gotten you when he moved in, muttering a curse word when you really couldn’t seem to find them. Once your finger touched the cold metal you pulled them out immediately, jamming the key in the lock and twisting the knob. Upon entering, you let your body slump against the closed door, groaning as you felt the heaviness of the day weighting on you. Your bag slowly slid from your shoulders, falling to the ground with a soft thump.

Jungkook’s kind voice reached your ears from the desk in the corner of the room. “Petal, could you bring me the can that’s in the fridge?”

Petal. Petal was the nickname he had saddled you with when you were nine years old, and you used to doodle flowers and petals and leaves everywhere, even on top of his homeworks. He absolutely hated it, especially when you turned his little “essays” - if two rows of words about his dog can be called an essay - into your favorite canvas, giving the black and white paper a tinge of color with your best imitation of nature. What was that saying? Oh, right, “art imitates nature”. Also, it is known that every artist has a little bit of insanity, a little bit of being annoying in them, so were you really to be blamed? You were just… experimenting. Yeah, that’s what it was. Totally. It wasn’t to prove a point to that Rylee girl that Jungkook was your best friend and yours only, absolutely not. Truth to be told, you were a jealous girl growing up. You didn’t want anyone near your pens, your toys, your books, you didn’t want anyone near what was yours, Jungkook included. Part of the reason was probably because as an older sister you always had to share everything with your sibling, never truly feeling like something was a hundred percent yours even when it meant so much to you, and your possessiveness slowly creeped from inanimate things to people. Now, years later, you can affirm that the jealousy went down a notch, not having any problems with sharing things anymore; and as for Jungkook… Well, he wasn’t of your property, right? So, nothing to be jealous about.

You sighed, dragging your feet to the ground as you walked towards the mini fridge, pulling out the can of an energy drink before leaving it on his desk, groaning again for dramatic effect. You sat back on his bed, right next to the desk, immediately hugging your Hello Kitty plushie to your chest. You watched as he opened his can, gulping at least half of the drink down in one shot, his eyes never leaving the computer screen once. The blue light of the videogame he was playing highlighted his dark circles under his eyes, a clear telltale that he had been at it for hours with little or no sleep at all. A quick glance at what he was wearing, pajama pants and a white tee, was an easy confirmation that he hadn’t even showered yet.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” you asked, slouching your back against the wall. With a quick flick of his wrist he pulled one headphone to the side, giving you a quick glance up and down before biting back with “Shouldn’t you be at lecture?”. “Touché,” you sighed tiredly, adjusting your position on his bed so you could lay more comfortably. Your limbs ached in discomfort, and no amount of adjusting seemed to do the trick for you. You buried your head in his pillow, praying whatever god might exist out there to pull you out of your misery. “I have some tablets if you want,” he offered calmly, his voice a soothing balm to your mind. “‘s alright,” you mumbled, folding your legs up to your chest, “just need to rest and I'll be fine”.

Slowly, the pain in your body tired you out of all your energies, helping you fall asleep quickly while Jungkook kept playing by your side, stealing quick glances your way every now and then to check on you. At one point or another he got up, finally turning off his game as he stretched his body that almost went numb, placing his headphones back in their place carefully. He ran his hand through his hair, pushing his glasses up as he sat by you on the bed, watching with unease as your body looked tense even while sleeping. He sighed, figuring that there wasn’t much he could do; still he tried to do something, laying behind you and wrapping his arm around your body, hoping that the warmth of his hand and body could help you relax at least a little.

He loved little moments like this, moments where he could hold you and admire you and be true to himself without the fear of being too obvious and accidentally pushing you away. The soft scent of your vanilla shampoo hit his nose, and he dipped his nose in your hair to inhale more of it, almost feeling intoxicated. He couldn’t help but notice that you had started leathering your body in the same vanilla scented lotion you had gotten not too long ago, and, as if hypnotized, his nose traced the path between your nape and your neck, resisting the urge to cover your skin in kisses the more he went south.

“Fuck,” he whispered, a tinge of desperation in his voice. He needed to touch you, he needed to taste you, most importantly he needed you, now. He reached for the neck of his shirt, stretching it briefly to cool off, his skin seemingly on fire. He knew that he had never gotten this worked up around you, that this was new territory and it was dangerous, but he just couldn’t pull back, at least not when he was hyper aware of your ass pushing into his aching cock, almost in a mocking way. Then, the worst thing that could happen happened: with a little stir and a moan your body squirmed back, this time pressing firmly on his boner, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil of your best friend.

A stifled moan escaped Jungkook’s bruised lips, his patience finally snapping. He grabbed your shoulder soft but firm, shaking you awake while he hovered his body over yours. “Petal, please…” he had begged as soon as your eyes had peeked open, covering your neck and collarbones in kisses.

“What’s… what’s going on, Kook?” you groggily asked, rubbing your eyes as you tried to understand what you were woken up to. Jungkook groaned, grabbing your hips before pushing his boner onto you, letting you feel how pent up he was. “I’m sorry, I… just this once, please,” he begged, desperately rutting his hips into you. And how could you say no to him when he was so clearly worked up he couldn’t even think straight?

You grabbed a fistful of hair at his nape, gently tugging him towards your face as you locked your lips in a heated kiss, letting your hands explore each other’s bodies with no shame or restraint. A broken moan slipped from his lips and…

Oh.

That definitely did something to you, a swarm of butterflies breaking free in your stomach while the proof of your arousal pooled in your panties. Wait, weren’t you on your period just now? Jungkook’s hand snaked around your throat, squeezing gently until you whimpered from the lack of oxygen and lust. You closed your eyes, somehow managing to shut your mind completely and relishing in the comfortable warm and fuzzy feeling, knowing that the man on top of you would take care of you no matter what.

“Do you want me to stretch you out first?” he asked, his voice a low murmur while he undid your pants and pulled them down, freeing your neck from the firm grasp he had it in before. Cool air filled your lungs again, and you took a big breath in while shaking your head no. “Need you now,” you timidly admitted, working with Jungkook to free him from the constriction of his clothes until you were both naked.

He pulled back once your last piece of clothing, your bra, was on the ground with all the others, his eyes traveling up and down your body in a mix of admiration and arousal. “Fuck, petal, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, letting his warm hand stroke your sensitive skin, goosebumps rising all over as he cupped your breast and toyed with your nipple. You whined impatiently, lifting your hips to meet his in a desperate attempt to catch his attention and make him do something, anything, to soothe your ache.

Jungkook chuckled, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit teasingly. “Getting impatient, aren’t we?” you whined in response, another broken “please” escaping your lips as tears of frustration welled in your eyes. “I know, petal, I know,” he cooed, cupping your cheek in his hand, enjoying the way you seemed to melt in his touch. “Gonna make you feel good really soon,” he murmured, slowly easing his length inside your welcoming walls. You gasped at the delicious burn, his cock stretching you so he could fit in snugly. He moaned as pleasure washed over his senses, clouding his mind in the best way possible. He brought you in for a kiss, rocking his hips back and forth slowly while swallowing your sounds, each moan pulled out of you going straight to his already rock-hard cock. Slow, deep thrusts became fast un uncoordinated snaps of his hips as he chased his high hurriedly. You observed as a drop of sweat fell from his temple to your hair, his eyes hooded as pleasure surged in his veins.

“I… fuck, petal, I love- petal? Petal!”

You opened your eyes suddenly, your chest heaving up and down. You took in the scene before you: Jungkook, still sitting on his gaming chair with his headphones on his fluffy hair, shaking you by your shoulder gently. “You fucking scared me to death. Are you ok?”

You rubbed your eyes, humming a confused “hm?”, groaning in annoyance as you peeled off your clothes sticking to your sweaty body like a second layer of skin. “What are you talking about?” you groggily asked, slowly sitting up on the bed, taking in the deep red marks on your arms and hands. Oh yeah, you slept good.

“I’ve been trying to wake you up for the past five minutes, you were fucking hyperventilating in your sleep, I thought you were having a whole heart attack,” he rambled nervously, slumping back down in his chair once he realised that you were, in fact, well and alive. Still. You groaned, trying to wear off the tiredness that weighed on your limbs, burying your head in your hands. Suddenly, a flash of your dream came crashing down on you. “Petal, please…” had begged the man in front of you in your dream, but now here he was, blissfully unaware of everything. Your cheeks flushed a crimson red shade as the realisation of what you dreamed settled in, your whole body tensing in fear that he could detect anything if you even dared to move a muscle.

You couldn’t help but turn to look at your best friend. Did he look…different? Or was the dream messing with your head? You couldn’t help but take notice of little things you had never paid attention to before, like the way his slender fingers moved skillfully around the keyboard, pressing the right keys every time. The memory of his gentle grasp around your neck lingered on your skin, the ghost of something that never happened. You exhaled slowly, peeling your eyes from his hands just to land on his body, mouth watering at his relaxed and confident demeanor, his body lax against the padded chair, his legs spread apart just enough to be extremely attractive but not vulgar or annoying. He adjusted his position, not noticing his pants dropping slightly on his hip bones to reveal the white waistband of his underwear, the color of the fabric contrasting pleasantly his honey colored skin. You wondered how it would feel to run your fingertips right under his waistband, teasing him until- no, stop it. He was your best friend, for fuck’s sake.

“What are you staring at?” Jungkook’s question pulled you out of your train of thoughts, making you gasp softly as it startled you. “I’m not staring,” you immediately answered, planning to lie till you made it out. You couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t even needed to look your way to know that you were staring, and for some reason this realization turned you on more than you would have liked to admit.

Jungkook glanced confused at you for a second, asking “why are you acting so weird?” while clicking angrily the keys of the keyboard as the game lagged. You sighed, plopping down on the bed again, covering your rosy cheeks with a pillow. Bad, bad move. In the desperate effort of covering up your frustration, you didn’t think that Jungkook’s pillow would smell exactly like him, and your breath stuck in your throat once the smell entered your nostrils, filling your whole system. “Sorry, had a weird dream and I still feel off,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the plush pillow. You hoped he didn’t catch on the way you clutched the pillow harder, pushing it into your face more.

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head, “blame Morpheus, then.” The smartass always knew how to use his knowledge, and he hinted at it every now and then. “Yeah… yeah, I guess I should,” you mumbled, fingers itching to take the matter into your own hand and end your misery.

Silence fell again in the room, until Jungkook decided that he had enough for the day, turned off his computer, stretched and got up, throwing a quick “going to shower,” in your way before disappearing behind the bathroom door.

What you didn’t know, and he wouldn’t dare to say, was that Jungkook had to get out of there before he went insane, in his mind an image instilled wouldn’t give him peace: you, whimpering softly in your sleep, and a word falling from your lips in a soft moan every once in a while:

“Jungkook.”

first part / next part

taglist: @tastykookoonut @koooobi @hoseokteardrop

490 notes · View notes

cloudyluun · 3 months ago

Text

Ruin me, Love me, Lose me| fratboy&playboy!harry

Summary: You hate Harry Styles. Or at least, you really, really want to. He’s the frat house king, the campus playboy, the smug asshole who always has a girl (or three) in his bed. You swear you’ll never be one of them.

And then one night, you kiss him.

And then another night, you sleep with him.

And then suddenly, you’re tangled in his sheets, in his arms, in his world, telling yourself it means nothing.

Until it does.

Wordt Count: 5k

A/N: Ah, yes. Another classic case of let’s make this as toxic as possible but pretend it’s fine because the tension is hot. This was supposed to be a slow burn, and then my brain said, “What if they suffered immediately instead?” Anyway, enjoy the angst, the mess, and the self-inflicted emotional damage. Love you, mean it. 💔 Based on this request!

Warnings:

Smut (18+ only)

Toxic relationships

Angst (like, a lot)

Jealousy & possessiveness

Alcohol use

Slight degradation & rough moments

Heartbreak (sorry in advance)

Some emotional whiplash

Questionable life choices

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The party is suffocating.

It reeks of stale beer, sweat, and something obnoxiously expensive, probably the cologne of some guy who thinks dousing himself in Tom Ford will make up for his complete lack of personality. Bodies are packed together like sardines, moving in drunken waves, grinding against each other to the bass-heavy music blasting from the speakers.

You feel completely out of place.

And honestly? You couldn’t give less of a fuck.

The only reason you’re here is because your best friend practically dragged you. Come on, she had pleaded, hands clasped together like she was making a sacred vow. You never go out, you never have fun, and I swear to God, if you don’t start acting like a college student at least once, I’m going to lose my mind.

So, against your better judgment, you let her shove you into a dress and apply a little makeup, hyping you up like this was going to be some life-changing experience. Spoiler alert: it’s not. It’s exactly what you expected: obnoxiously loud, unbearably sweaty, and full of people who are so wrapped up in their own egos that they wouldn’t notice if the house caught fire.

You’ve only been here for an hour, and you already want to leave.

You retreat to the kitchen, seeking some kind of escape. It’s quieter here, if only marginally. The countertops are littered with half-empty cups and sticky spills that no one will bother cleaning up. A couple is making out against the fridge like they’re in a fucking movie, completely unbothered by the fact that people are walking around them.

And then there’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t have to look directly at him to know he’s there, you feel his presence before you even see him. It’s like the air shifts when he walks into a room, demanding attention without even trying. He’s exactly the kind of guy you can’t stand: arrogant, entitled, and so used to getting his way that he probably doesn’t even remember the last time someone told him no.

Everyone here worships him.

It’s disgusting.

You finally glance up, and there he is, standing just a few feet away, leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place. He’s wearing all black—ripped jeans, an unbuttoned shirt that shows off just enough tattoos to make girls swoon, and a smirk that tells you he knows exactly how good he looks.

His eyes flicker toward you, and in an instant, you know exactly what’s coming.

“Y’look like you hate it here, sweetheart.”

His voice is smooth, like whiskey on ice, laced with just enough amusement to let you know he finds this entertaining.

You exhale sharply, unimpressed. “That’s because I do.”

Instead of being deterred, his smirk deepens, like he finds your resistance amusing. He steps closer—not enough to be invasive, but enough to make it clear that he’s testing you, waiting to see how you’ll react.

“Then why are you here?” he asks, cocking his head slightly.

You don’t take the bait.

Instead, you roll your eyes, brushing past him with a dry, “Because some of us actually care about our friends.”

You expect that to be the end of it. Guys like Harry don’t waste time on girls who aren’t immediately fawning over them. He could have any girl in this house—hell, most of them would kill for the chance.

But he doesn’t let it go.

He follows.

And when you turn to glance back at him, you find his green eyes locked onto you like a predator stalking its prey.

It’s a look you’ve seen before—the kind that says he’s intrigued, that you’ve just become a challenge.

And you know, without a doubt, that Harry Styles never walks away from a challenge.

You should have seen it coming.

From that night on, it becomes a game to him—one you never agreed to play.

He makes it his personal mission to get under your skin, to test your patience at every opportunity. It’s not obvious at first, just small things that could almost be coincidental. A glance held for a second too long. A smirk thrown your way when you pass each other on campus. An overheard comment about some girl he hooked up with the night before, loud enough that he knows you’ll hear.

You don’t care.

(You do.)

But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

The second run-in happens at another party, because of course it does.

This time, you arrive more prepared—mentally, at least. You’ve made peace with the fact that these events are unavoidable, that your best friend will always drag you to them, that the college social scene is a relentless cycle of alcohol-fueled chaos. You can survive a couple of hours. You’ll drink just enough to take the edge off, then find a way to slip out before midnight.

It’s a decent plan.

Until you see him.

He’s lounging on the frat house couch like it’s a fucking throne, an arm draped lazily over the backrest, legs spread wide in a way that’s both infuriating and devastatingly attractive. He’s surrounded by girls—of course he is—all of them leaning in, waiting for his attention, laughing too loudly at things he hasn’t even said.

You roll your eyes and turn away.

You don’t care.

(You do.)

You tell yourself you’re imagining it, but you can feel his eyes on you as you move through the party, can sense the smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t call you over, doesn’t make a scene—he doesn’t have to. The air shifts when he’s near, gravity bending in his favor.

And then, just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed—

“Y’keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

The words send a sharp, unwelcome shiver down your spine.

You scoff before you even turn around, willing yourself to appear unaffected. “As if.”

His grin deepens, slow and lazy, like he enjoys watching you squirm.

You hate that it works.

You hate that the sharp cut of his jawline and the teasing glint in his eyes make your stomach twist in ways that aren’t entirely rooted in hatred.

You refuse to play his game.

You take a step back, ready to leave, but before you can—

His hand catches your wrist.

It’s not forceful, just firm enough to make you pause.

And then he leans in.

Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, close enough that his voice drops into something dark and slow, something meant only for you.

“You sure about that?”

The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne wraps around you like a noose, tightening around your resolve.

You rip yourself away from him, but it’s too late.

Your body has already betrayed you.

And it will again.

Another night. Another party.

By now, you should have learned your lesson. But somehow, you always end up here—another crowded house, another room filled with drunken laughter and cheap beer, another encounter with him.

It’s inevitable.

You don’t even know how it starts this time. It’s not some grand moment, not some life-altering realization. It’s just him—pushing, teasing, testing. Like he always does.

You’re in the kitchen again, arms crossed, a drink in your hand that you’ve barely touched. You’ve been avoiding him for most of the night, keeping your distance, but it doesn’t matter. He finds you anyway.

He always does.

“Y’gonna keep ignoring me all night?”

You don’t even look up. “That was the plan.”

A low chuckle, the kind that makes your stomach clench. “M’not that easy to ignore, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, he’s right.

You take a slow sip of your drink, willing yourself to remain unaffected. “Try me.”

And that’s all it takes. That single challenge.

His eyes spark with something dark and dangerous. His smirk sharpens. And then—

“You act like you hate me,” he murmurs, stepping in closer, “but we both know that’s not true.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass.

“It is.”

“Liar.”

You finally look up at him, glaring. “Go to hell, Harry.”

He grins, cocky and infuriating. “Take me there yourself.”

And then—

It happens.

Fast.

Too fast.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him. The next, his lips are on yours.

There’s no hesitation, no slow build-up, no moment to think. Just heat.

His hands are in your hair, fingers tangling, tugging. Your back meets the nearest wall, the cold surface a shocking contrast to the fire raging between you.

It’s rough. Desperate.

You should stop.

You should.

But his body is pressed against yours, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except feel.

Your fingers find their way to the hem of his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. His hands slide down, tracing over your hips, pulling you in like he can’t get close enough.

And maybe he can’t.

Maybe you can’t.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His lips are swollen, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he says, voice low, wrecked. “And I’ll stop.”

Your lips part.

To say what?

To tell the truth?

But before you can, before you even know what you want to say—

Your hands fist in his shirt.

And you crash into him all over again.

You pull away first, gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. Reality slams into you like a freight train, but Harry doesn’t move. He watches you, his pupils blown, lips parted, his breath warm as it ghosts over your face. His hands are still on you—one firm at your waist, the other curled loosely around the nape of your neck. Holding you in place.

Like he’s afraid you’ll run.

Like he knows you want to.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, something smug and knowing. “Told you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, dark, like he’s just swallowed gravel. “You don’t hate me.”

You should.

You should hate him. You should push him away, put an ocean of space between you before this turns into something irreversible. Something you can’t take back.

But your body betrays you before your mind can catch up.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt instead of letting go. Your legs feel weak, but you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline or the way he’s looking at you. His green eyes flicker in the dim lighting, unreadable, but there’s something behind them—something waiting, something burning.

Something dangerous.

“This is a mistake,” you whisper, the words shaky, uncertain. You don’t even know if you believe them.

His thumb drags along your jaw, featherlight, and his lips barely, barely graze yours when he speaks. “Maybe.”

That single word is enough to send your stomach into freefall. Maybe. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. Maybe you’re going to regret this the second the sun comes up.

Or maybe you won’t.

Maybe you’ll regret it more if you stop now.

Maybe that’s what terrifies you the most.

Your body makes the decision for you.

His fingers slide down your wrist, tracing the delicate skin there before his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they belong there.

And you let him take you.

The party behind you becomes a distant blur—flashes of neon lights, the thud of bass vibrating through the floor, drunken laughter echoing from downstairs. It all feels like it’s happening in another universe, detached from this moment. From him. From you.

Each step up the stairs feels heavier than the last, weighted with unspoken words, with history, with everything you’ve been pretending isn’t still there. The heat of his palm against yours sends sparks up your spine, and you squeeze your thighs together, ignoring the ache building in your stomach.

You don’t stop.

Not when you reach the landing.

Not when he leads you down the darkened hallway, past closed doors, past muffled voices, past all the chances you could have taken to turn back.

And not when he pushes open a door, guiding you inside.

Then—

The door clicks shut behind you.

The world disappears.

The second the lock turns, something inside you snaps.

There’s no hesitation this time. No second-guessing. No thinking. Just feeling.

Then he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and insistent, swallowing the gasp that slips from your lips. The kiss is nothing like the ones you’ve shared in the past—those were controlled, careful, measured. This? This is raw. Hungry. Starving.

His hands find your waist, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the way his chest heaves, the way his heartbeat slams against your own. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply, and he groans into your mouth, his grip tightening, like he’s trying to pull you even closer, like he wants to crawl inside you.

You barely have time to process before your back hits the wall.

You gasp at the contact, but he doesn’t let up. His lips trail down your jaw, hot and desperate, and when his teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a sharp whimper escapes before you can stop it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping at your thighs, hitching them around his waist like he can’t stand the thought of any space between you.

You don’t think.

You move.

Your hands push his jacket off his shoulders, and he shrugs out of it without breaking contact. Your fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, but he beats you to it, ripping it open in one swift motion, buttons scattering to the floor.

Then his skin is against yours, and it sends a shockwave through your entire body.

Heat pools low in your stomach, a coil winding tighter and tighter with every brush of his hands, every press of his lips, every ragged breath against your skin.

Clothes disappear—hurried, impatient.

Your dress slips down your shoulders, pooling at your feet. His belt clinks as he unfastens it, the sound cutting through the heavy air like a gunshot.

You don’t stop him.

You don’t want to.

His hands grip your thighs again, lifting you effortlessly, and your legs tighten around him. You can feel him—hard, straining against the fabric still separating you.

There’s a pause, just for a second.

A breath.

His forehead presses against yours, his lips barely touching, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to ground himself. His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him again.

And there’s no turning back now.

His body presses against yours, firm and unrelenting, as he walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t let go. His hands are still gripping your thighs, still holding you against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

Then he lowers you onto the bed.

The world tilts, and the air thickens as he leans over you, his weight bracing against his arms, caging you beneath him. His eyes flicker across your face—like he’s memorizing every inch, every breath, every little way you react to him. His fingers trace up your side, slow and teasing, and the way you shudder makes his lips twitch.

“Still think this is a mistake?” he taunts, voice low and rough as his lips brush against your collarbone.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t answer. You don’t have to. The way your fingers clutch at his back, the way your hips shift beneath him, the way your body is already arching into his touch—it’s all the answer he needs.

He smirks against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he stops talking.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

It’s messy. Desperate. The kind of passion that comes from months of unresolved tension, from too much history, from too many things left unsaid.

He kisses you like he’s trying to claim you. Like he’s trying to burn himself into your skin. Like if he kisses you hard enough, you’ll never be able to forget this—forget him.

His hands are everywhere. Exploring. Learning. Worshipping.

Every brush of his lips, every drag of his fingers, every slow roll of his hips is deliberate, pulling you apart piece by piece. He takes his time, but not too much time—because patience is a luxury neither of you have tonight.

You feel like you’re unraveling beneath him.

He notices.

He thrives on it.

His mouth moves lower, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. His fingers leave fire in their wake as they trail down your body, mapping out every inch, every soft curve, every sharp gasp he pulls from your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way he touches you—like he already knows what you need before you do.

He whispers your name against your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your hands are greedy, desperate as they roam over him—his shoulders, his chest, the firm muscles in his back. You want to touch all of him. Feel all of him.

And he lets you.

He lets you pull him closer, lets you tangle your legs around his, lets you drag your nails down his spine, leaving behind faint, red lines that he’ll wear like battle scars tomorrow.

The room is filled with nothing but heavy breathing, quiet moans, the rustle of sheets, the sound of skin against skin.

And when it finally happens—when he finally, finally gives you what you both need—it steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s not slow. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s raw.

It’s rough, desperate, punishing. It’s weeks of tension snapping all at once, a storm breaking, waves crashing, a fire finally given the air it needs to burn.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, like a curse, like something you were never supposed to say out loud.

He groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head. His body moves against yours in perfect rhythm—pushing, pulling, giving, taking.

It’s the kind of night that changes things.

The kind you won’t be able to take back.

The kind that leaves its mark.

And then—

Stillness.

Silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, filling the space between you.

His body is still pressed against yours, warm and solid and grounding. The weight of what just happened settles in, thick and undeniable.

You should get up.

You should leave.

But you don’t.

Instead, you stay.

Just for a little longer.

But "a little longer" turns into something else entirely.

Because it doesn’t stop at one night.

It should have. You tell yourself that over and over again. That night—the way his hands fit so perfectly against your skin, the way he pulled you apart and put you back together, the way his mouth made you forget your own name—it should have been enough. A single mistake. A one-time thing.

But it isn’t.

It’s never just once.

It happens again. And again. And again.

It’s always late. Always secret.

Always a text, a glance across the room, a lingering touch when no one is watching. Always a whispered come here against the shell of your ear, a door clicking shut behind you, a tangle of limbs in the dark.

It’s never soft. Never sweet.

It’s fast, desperate, all-consuming.

It’s hands fisting sheets, breathless moans swallowed into pillows. His body pressed against yours, heavy and unrelenting, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And he knows what he’s doing to you.

He’s filthy, cocky, teasing—he draws it out just to make you beg.

“Knew you’d be so fuckin’ sweet for me, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough, wicked, smug.

His rings feel cold against your burning skin as his fingers trail down your stomach, between your thighs, spreading you open like a secret. Like something meant only for him.

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

He chuckles, dark and knowing.

“This what you hate me for? Hm?” His lips brush against your jaw, down your throat, his breath hot and taunting. “’Cause I make you come harder than anyone else ever could?”

You hate him.

(You don’t.)

You hate that he’s right. That he knows he’s right. That he’s so good at this—at ruining you, at making you fall apart over and over again until you can’t think straight, until all you know is him. His name. His touch. His body moving against yours.

And every time, you tell yourself it’s the last.

That this is it. That you’re done.

That this means nothing.

And every time, you end up back in his bed.

But then you see him with someone else.

It’s late, the party is loud, and the music thrums through your body, drowning out everything else. You’re just stepping out for air when you spot him across the street. A girl is clinging to his arm, laughing at something he’s said, and his hand is low on her back as he leads her toward a car.

He doesn’t even look at you.

Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter. Doesn’t even pretend to care that you’re standing right there, watching him disappear into the night with someone else.

And it shouldn’t hurt.

Because you knew he wasn’t yours. You never asked him to be. Never wanted him to be.

Right?

So why does it feel like the ground just cracked open beneath you? Why does it feel like something inside you just snapped?

You go back inside, down a drink, let someone else pull you onto the dance floor. You lose yourself in the crowd, in the music, in the way someone’s hands settle on your waist—too light, too unfamiliar.

It doesn’t work.

Because when he finds you later, when he corners you in a dark hallway, there’s still fire burning in your chest, in your throat, in the way your hands clench at your sides.

He smirks, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just walk out of here with someone else a few hours ago. Like he knew you’d still be here.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice is low, amused. “Jealous?”

The word makes you snap.

“You’re disgusting.”

His smirk widens, but there’s something behind his eyes now—something sharper, more dangerous.

“Funny,” he murmurs, stepping closer, eyes dark, predatory. “Wasn’t what y’said last night.”

He reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist, but you yank yourself away like he burns.

“We’re done.” Your voice is ice, your eyes colder.

And his smirk falters.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for you to see something else flicker across his face—confusion, disbelief, something dangerously close to panic.

Then it’s gone.

And he laughs. Soft. Low. Infuriating.

“That’s cute,” he drawls, tilting his head. “Think y’can just walk away from me.”

You meet his gaze head-on, jaw clenched, shoulders squared.

“Watch me.”

Then you turn.

And this time—this time—you don’t look back.

Weeks pass.

You don’t speak.

Not a word. Not a text. Not even a glance when you’re in the same room.

And it’s fine.

It has to be.

You throw yourself into distractions—work, friends, nights out where the music is too loud and the drinks burn too much. You let other people flirt with you. Let hands that aren’t his touch you. Let lips that don’t taste like him press against yours in dimly lit corners.

You pretend you don’t miss him.

(You do.)

But you tell yourself this is better. Cleaner. Easier.

Until you start hearing things.

He’s been drinking more.

Fighting more.

Losing his temper over nothing.

You overhear his name in conversations, whispered between mutual friends. You see his face in the back of a blurry Instagram story, bottle in hand, eyes dark and unfocused.

And you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

You tell yourself he’s not your problem anymore.

Until he shows up at your door.

It’s late. Too late for him to be here.

The knock is sharp, impatient. Like he already knows you’re home. Like he already knows you’re going to answer.

You shouldn’t.

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

And then—

“Just let me in.”

His voice is quiet. Rough.

You open the door.

And he looks wrecked.

Tired. Haunted. Something’s different.

There’s none of the usual arrogance, none of the teasing smirk, none of the sharp-edged confidence that he wears like armor.

Just him.

His hands shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw tight, his eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable as they drag over you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

Your throat tightens. “Harry—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “I know, just—”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. His eyes flicker over your face again, and for a second—just a second—you swear you see something crack.

And then he looks at you like that.

Like you’re his last fucking breath.

Like if you tell him to leave, it’ll break him.

And you cave.

You step aside.

You let him in.

And maybe that should be enough.

Maybe the way he holds you like you’re something fragile, the way his breath stutters when you touch him, the way his lips tremble against yours—that should be enough.

But it’s not.

Because fear is still there. Lurking. Poisoning everything it touches.

And you should’ve known.

You should’ve known that no matter how much he wants this, no matter how much he means it in the moment—

He’s still him.

And you’re still you.

And happy endings don’t exist for people like you.

So of course, he fucks up again.

Not with another girl. Not with whispered names and lipstick stains and the kind of betrayal that you could at least understand.

No.

This time, he betrays you with his own fear.

It happens fast. A conversation that turns into an argument, an argument that turns into something worse.

Maybe it starts because you ask too much. Maybe it starts because he’s never learned how to let himself have something good.

But all you know is that suddenly—he’s cold.

Detached.

Suddenly, his walls are back up.

“I don’t do relationships,” he says.

Flat. Emotionless.

Like none of it meant anything.

Like you don’t mean anything.

And it hits you harder than any slap ever could.

You flinch, like you’ve been physically wounded, like he’s just driven a knife between your ribs and twisted it.

Your voice shakes. “Then why did you tell me you loved me?”

Silence.

His jaw clenches.

But he doesn’t answer.

And that’s the worst part.

Not the fight. Not the distance.

The silence.

The fact that he has nothing to say.

And that’s when you know.

That’s when you realize—

This is it.

This is the moment he chooses to let you go.

You shake your head, chest heaving, eyes burning, throat closing up around the words you don’t know how to say.

“You don’t get to do this to me.”

But he already has.

And this time, you don’t give him the chance to stop you.

You walk out.

You don’t look back.

And he lets you.

Weeks pass.

You try to move on.

You tell yourself that you’re better off. That you should hate him. That you do hate him.

But then, one night—he shows up.

At your dorm.

At your fucking door, looking like he hasn’t slept, looking like he’s been through hell and back.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his jaw is tense, his eyes are desperate.

And you—

You want to slam the door in his face.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t get to do this.

That he doesn’t get to come back.

But you don’t.

Because you need to hear what he has to say.

So you glare at him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, forcing your voice to stay steady. “What do you want, Harry?”

He exhales sharply. “I lied.”

Your stomach twists.

You swallow. “About what?”

He hesitates. Shifts his weight. But then—he steps closer.

“About not doing relationships.”

And suddenly, the air is too thick, too heavy.

Your head shakes. Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I know.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I know, I just—” He sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to—”

A pause. A beat of silence.

He looks at you, eyes searching, pleading.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your lips part. But you don’t say anything.

Because after everything—after all of it—how do you know?

How do you know if this time will be different?

So you stare at him, pulse hammering in your throat, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

And then—

“So prove it.”

The challenge hangs between you.

And for the first time in his life—

He doesn’t run.

He doesn’t push you away.

He doesn’t fuck it up.

Instead, he nods.

And he does. --

It’s not instant.

There’s no cinematic moment, no dramatic declaration in the rain, no sudden, sweeping realization that makes everything fall into place.

It’s slow. It’s awkward. It’s frustrating.

But it’s real.

The first time you see him after that night at your dorm, it’s different. He’s different.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t act like he already has you figured out.

Instead, he waits.

You’re the one who has to break the silence.

“You really think you can change?”

His jaw clenches, hands flexing like he wants to reach for you but knows he doesn’t have the right to.

“I know I can.”

And for the first time, you almost believe him.

It starts with the little things.

Like how he texts first. Every morning. Every night. Even when there’s nothing to say. Even when it’s just, Hey, eat something. Or, Are you sleeping? Or, I know you’re still awake, don’t lie.

Like how he shows up. Actually shows up.

Not just for the easy moments. Not just for the nights when he’s desperate for you.

But for the moments when you’re exhausted, when you’re in a bad mood, when you’re not the version of yourself that’s easy to love.

And he stays anyway.

The first time you test him, it’s almost accidental.

He calls, asks if you want to come over.

And for the first time, you tell him no.

A few months ago, that would’ve been the end of it.

A few months ago, he would’ve gone out, found someone else, let his frustration morph into recklessness.

But this time, he just exhales. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

A pause.

Then, softly— “Yeah, baby. That’s okay.”

And that’s when you realize—this isn’t the same boy who let you walk away.

He’s trying.

For the first time in his life, he’s trying.

It takes time.

Weeks. Months.

You make him work for it.

Because love shouldn’t be easy—not after everything.

Not after the hurt, the late nights spent waiting for him to choose you, the months wasted pretending it was nothing.

He should prove it.

And he does.

The first time he holds your hand in public, it’s instinctive. Thoughtless.

You’re walking down the street, talking about something unimportant, when suddenly—his fingers brush against yours.

And instead of pulling away, he just…takes your hand.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’s not even thinking about it.

Like he’s not the same man who once made you feel like a secret.

You don’t say anything.

But you don’t let go, either.

And neither does he.

One night, he’s driving you home when he suddenly pulls over.

You blink at him. “Uh. What are we doing?”

His fingers drum against the steering wheel. He won’t look at you.

“D’you know the last time I did this?”

You frown. “Did what?”

“Took you home.” He swallows, finally turning to face you. “Last time, I let you walk away.”

Your stomach twists. You remember. Of course, you remember.

He inhales sharply. “Not this time.”

And then, he says it.

“I love you.”

Not because he’s scared. Not because he thinks you’re slipping away.

Just because he does.

And for the first time, you don’t have to question if he means it.

Because this time, he’s not running.

This time, he stays.

And this time—so do you.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

current taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

@donutsandpalmtrees

@panini

@mads3502

@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

@one-sweet-gubler

@rizosrizos26

@ciriceimpera

@everyscarisahealingplace

@hello-heyhi

@sexymfharriet

@lizsogolden

@hannah9921

@chicabonitasblog

@huhidontknowstuff

@berrywoods1245

@jennovaaa

@angeldavis777

@prettygurl-2009

@almostcontentcreator

@run-for-the-hills

@maudie-duan

@dipmeinhoneyh

@harrrrystylesslut

@watarmelon212

@georgiarose94

@mypolicemanharryyy

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff

705 notes · View notes

artemisiasmuse · 3 months ago

Text

always known | CH.1

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem! kook reader

CW: 18+ mdni, smut eventually, angst, mean rafe, jealousy, possessive rafe, kook typical classism (not from y/n tho), abusive family dynamics, not really canon/au, swearing, drinking, no coke tho, ward cameron

SUMMARY: rafe’s childhood best friend y/n returns to figure eight by herself and finds rafe hates her for some reason, their friendship has gone down the drain and they can hardly remain cordial, and there’s one thing causing all of it: why can’t rafe just move on?

TROPE: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers

MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

next >

“when the fuck did you get back?” those are the first words you hear from your childhood best friend after almost five years of silence. you hadn’t even seen him walk up to where you and sarah were standing on the country club patio. if you were a bit tipsier, you might have even fallen over. the air is thoroughly knocked out of you, not just from his words but also his appearance. he’s grown into his features a bit too well and puberty has made him heads taller than you and fill out his clothes, he looks as intimidating as his word should be. you have to strain your neck to meet his eyes and there isn’t a small smile or any baby fat to soften the blow, rafe is all hard edges and harsh lines with a frown to match. there’s a small part of you that’s grateful he’s even talking to you. as pathetic as it is, you haven’t heard his voice since he dropped off the face of the earth.

the last time you heard it was his stupid voicemail message when you accepted the fact that you had been blocked. you let the familiar azure calm your nerves. even if so much had changed, the color of his eyes, your favorite color remained the same.

“it’s nice to see you too rafe.” as much as you were affected by his words, you didn’t let it show. there was something almost eery how you refused to let him win even now, to let him even see weakness. your response came out smooth and practiced, rafe hated how even now your voice rang between his ears and made his heart skip a beat. he was glaring down at you but the way you said his name, still honeyed by years of friendship, chipped away at his anger. god he was pathetic. he looked away towards the water, trying to remember that you’re the one who left, he should be angry, before looking back at you, willing away any ounce of love left from his stare.

“didn’t mayhew move into your place?” you vaguely remember the family that had bought your old home. rafe knew better than you since he mentioned how he had gotten into a fight with the kid a week after you moved. he’d said he just didn’t get along with him, sarah told you that rafe had it out for the kid as soon as their moving van showed up.

“i’m back by myself, i transferred to OBU.” that was always your plan, do two years at your state school and then transfer to OBU to finish up and stay there. OBU’s marine biology program was nationally recognized and even if he didn’t remember it, you had promised rafe you’d be back.

you remember how you both cried into each other's necks when you told him the news, as soon as your parents told you the only thing you could think of was your best friend. the walk, or in that instance the run, between your houses wasn’t long and you took off immediately. rose had long gotten used to leaving the back door open for you and she didn’t even acknowledge you when you came barreling through it asking for rafe’s whereabouts. “out by the dock.” when you found him you were already in tears, his arms coming around you instantly and holding you tight before you had even said a word. he smelled like seaweed and leather, he smelled like home. as the words left your lips, rafe knew he would never recover from them. three simple words that had somehow destroyed the fragile casing around his heart, piercing through them and leaving him broken forever. “i’m moving.” you both cried for what felt like hours, until you couldn’t any more and all that was left was hiccups, you promised him you’d be back. he promised to visit. rafe always knew those were empty promises. he knew it was over, you would leave and never come back. you’d abandon him like everyone else, he was a lost cause, he never deserved you anyways. but now you were here. and all he felt was anger.

“great another fucking problem to deal with.” you blinked at his words, watching his back as he abruptly left. by comparison the rafe who walked away from you now could never be the rafe who you left on that dock. sarah did her best to remedy the situation, your return was supposed to be a happy affair after all. while she was younger than you and you rarely hung out before, being stuck by rafe’s side mostly, you had stayed friendly over the phone. she knew you were coming back but kept it a secret from everyone like you asked, now she wondered if this was why.

“ignore him, he’s been pissy for…well years!” you shake it off as best as you can, sarah manages to corral all your old friends, but one is clearly missing. there’s a six-foot-something hole in your heart that you desperately try to ignore.

the next week passed with relative ease, you’re so busy adjusting to life in obx again that you hardly notice rafe’s absence. you’d signed on a place, with rose’s help, and your parents had shipped the remainder of your clothes. you met sarah’s new friends and while they don’t greet you with open arms they’re still good company. they’re younger than you and it’s hard to relate to high schoolers when you’re studying for your next exam but they’re less judgmental and superficial then your old friends. by the time the weekend rolls around you’ve moved into your new place and topper invites you to a party at the beach. the kids in figure eight were hardly similar to you but when you were younger you didn’t care where or who you were with, as long as rafe was there you would be okay. now you were standing in the same circle of friends, pretending that you didn’t know one another. you felt more out of place than ever, like the small child who waited for her best friend on the playground when no one else wanted to play with her. but your best friend wasn’t coming, he wasn’t even looking at you. the makeup on your face, the dress clinging to your body, all felt itchy and heavy on you. you wanted to go back to your new home and watch tv and pretend rafe still cared even a little about you even if he blocked your number.

kelce rattled on about some new girl he was talking to when topper started yelling. the “pogues” had crashed the party. you rolled your eyes as topper exclaimed that you should tell them to leave. he’d been on your ass about your new friends and you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“what?” he questioned, clearly taken back by how little you cared, rafe prepared himself for the inevitable argument to follow. even if he wasn’t looking at you he knew how you reacted. he’d told topper to back off when you went to get a drink, not that he’d ever admit it, but now the issue at hand was quite literally feet away.

“don’t you think it’s kinda corny, this whole ‘kooks’ versus ‘pogues’ thing? i mean we’re not in some shitty 80’s high school movie.” you swigged your beer and topper guffawed, incredulous and animated and you began to wonder maybe you were in a shitty movie. that would explain the nearly comical way rafe was turned away from you just a few feet away. on top of the shame and anger you were feeling from his cold shoulder, topper’s little outburst was solidifying how little you wanted to be here.

“wowww you switched up.” kelce chimed in from the peanut gallery, everyone was enjoying the small drama you provided. you supposed the rich kids of figure eight had little other entertainment.

“nah i always thought it was dumb, he knows.” you gestured towards rafe. it was a bit childish but you refused to acknowledge each other, until now. in hindsight you should have just continued ignoring him. rafe could feel his friend’s gazes turn toward him, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he turned slightly towards you, leveling you with a blank stare. focusing his full attention on you was a little jarring for both of you, he’d been trying to ignore the way your dress revealed curves he didn’t know existed and you’d been trying to ignore the urge to cry at the vacant look in his eyes.

“maybe you can just leave again since you hate it so much. ya know-go the fuck back to where you came from.” his voice was calm and gravelly, almost as if he didn’t care what you did or the fact that you were here at all. that stung more than his anger. you set down your beer and gained on him, almost chest to chest as your crossed arms lightly grazed his front. he seemed unaffected by your proximity, or the way you glared up at him but you knew him, you knew the twitch of his nose and brow meant he wasn’t. rafe would never concede that the sight of you small and angry, looking like a vision in your baby pink dress, had him thoroughly entranced. you were always beautiful but now that you’d grown up, into a woman, he could barely stand to look at you. his stomach coiled with that wretched feeling he’d spent years ignoring, the cause of it hadn’t been so obvious in a while but now it was glaring at him. the scent of your perfume and skin had put a spell on him, that must have been it.

“fuck you cameron.” he reveled in your anger, the way you practically growled at him. a sick and twisted thought consumed, at least you were looking him in the eye, looking at him at all. he was getting under your skin and he wanted to move in. at least then you couldn’t leave him.

“the door’s that way.” you shoved past him, your shoulder bumping against his chest, spilling a bit of his beer and convincing pope to drop you home in a matter of seconds. rafe’s thoughts spiraled, you could yell at him all night, but going home with pope may as well have been a stab in the back. not that you could have known that. he swallowed down the urge to drag you back by your waist and make you scream at him some more.

a/n: oh boy the angst :< rafe is so mean to reader! this one’s a short one but i wanted to ease everyone into the story, ch.2 will be out tmrw!

taglist: @clar2aa @ggraycelynn @rafestoothbrush @woweewoowa @mattyskies @always4tuesdayss @ashy-kit @chalahyung01 @rafeysslut

#artemisiasmuse #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe smut #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron hard thoughts

569 notes · View notes

mountaesan · 5 months ago

Text

boynextdoor when their s/o is on their period

pairing. ot6 x afab!reader warnings. period mention , therefore reader has a uterus but other than that no other terms are used to specify gender , period cramps & cravings mentions , jaehyun has women in his life ? , and woonhak is a feminist ( LMAO PLS DON’T TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY IT’S A JOKE ) notes. gave up on my constipated leehan x constipated reader fic and decided to write this banger on a whim more under the cut !

sungho :

he 100% tracks your cycle with you. if you don’t have him added to your tracking app, he has his own where he makes note of your different symptoms (safe to say you were deeply impressed and got emotional when you found out). also does a lot of research about menstruation and your cycle. he wants to know everything there is to know so that he can be there for you throughout all four phases of your cycle. genuinely becomes concerned sometimes when you’re doubled over in pain and you can’t get out of bed. sungho also has a tendency to stock up on hot packs/water bottles because he absolutely hates to see the love of his life struggling. always willing to wrap you up in his arms

riwoo :

says ‘miss bitch is back’ when you’re on your period. yes, he has nicknamed your period ‘miss bitch’ (mostly because it’s a bitch to you whenever it’s that time of the month). let’s you do anything and everything you want to do. if you feel like going to the nearest convenience store at 2 in the morning because you want to eat three bowls of buldak, he’s right behind you. if you feel like crying while watching ‘The Notebook’ for the thousandth time, he’s holding the box of tissues for you. to be frank, he enjoys it when you’re on your period (not when you’re in pain ofc) because that means he can bring home the gazillion different desserts he’s been meaning to try. the two of you have a taste testing on the bed, taking bites from different tarts, cakes, donuts (duh), and other sweets to your silly little hearts’ content.

myung jaehyun :

gets upset that you have to be in pain for a week every month. curses the menstruation gods and begs for the pain to be transferred to him (half joking, half serious). so, to prove his solidarity, he bought one of those period cramp simulators and tried it on himself. afterwards, he apologized to every single woman in his life. twice. he likes to cuddle up with you and pretend to punch your abdomen, saying he’s fighting the period cramps for your honor. it’s silly but you’re too tired to say anything. will immediately fix up any absurd cravings you have because if his baby is craving bacon and chocolate, his baby will be eating bacon and chocolate!

taesan :

he can recognize your period before you do, without the help of a tracking app (sungho is seething with jealousy). you’re impressed, but taesan doesn’t think much of it; he just notices the slight changes in your diet and attitude, and acts accordingly. wordlessly stocks up on snacks and junk food a couple days prior. once it’s leak week, taesan refuses to let you do anything. you’re basically in bed arrest. if he catches you waddling out of the bedroom with the hot water bottle pressed to your abdomen, he’s ushering you right back to bed. likes to push your hair back and kiss you on the forehead. it’s weird and random, but it’s something he only does when you’re on your period. otherwise, he’s back to usual kissing regimen.

leehan :

clueless #1. he doesn’t know much about periods or menstruation cycles so he does his best to research on it. he does know a thing or two about mood swings though, so if you’re ever in a mood, he just lets himself be yelled at until you’re feeling better. afterwards, he’ll give you a kiss and swaddle you with blankets to help you unwind and relax. you noticed that leehan liked to be the little spoon when you were on your period, which is weird because he usually likes spooning you. turns out, he liked the warmth of your hot water bottle and used cuddling as an excuse to warm himself up. likes to cozy up with you in bed and do netflix marathons, re-watching all your favorite rom-coms and tv shows.

woonhak :

clueless #2. woonhak cried the first time you cried when you were on your period. you weren’t even crying because of him, you were crying because you remembered cheesepuff, your pet hamster from the third grade, was dead. regardless, he was freaking out! researches and asks around a lot, especially his hyungs, about periods and what he can do to help. steals sweets from riwoo, hot packs from taesan, and uses leehan’s netflix account. oh he also stole borrowed jaehyun’s period cramp simulator and almost cried a second time that week. becomes a feminist whenever you’re on your period and whips out his copies of Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, and The Awakening to prove that he stands with you. ig it’s the thought that counts ?

ᰋ liked this ? consider liking, reblogging, or providing feedback !

ᰋ want more ? send in an ask to be added to my taglist !

635 notes · View notes

elikajinnie · 6 months ago

Text

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 2)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Pursuing, Obsession, Jealousy, Mentioned Murder, Possessiveness, Flirting, A tiny bit of manipulation, Ni-ki just wanna spoil you.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: part 2 was HIGHLY requested... soooo here it is!! :D i wrote this instead of studying..

part 1 here

After meeting Ni-ki at the club, there had been nothing from him. No texts, no calls, no slyly delivered gifts. Just silence.

Radio silence from him for days.

At first, you told yourself it was a relief, finally some peace from his attention. But eventually that relief began to feel less like freedom and more like… emptiness.

Every time you grabbed your phone, your thumb hovered over the screen, the urge to text him stronger than you wanted to admit. But then you’d stop, heart sinking with a mixture of shame and stubbornness. What would it even say about you if you were the one to reach out first? Ni-ki had always been the one to text first, always the one pushing, teasing, pulling.

And now, without him doing that, everything just felt weird. Off.

You sighed, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. The silence was eating you up in ways you hadn’t expected. It was ridiculous. Stupid. He was a criminal. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him, let alone missing him. But here you were, feeling that strange, hollow ache in your chest every time your phone didn’t buzz with a message.

And you hated how much it mattered to you.

The hours stretched on, the silence suffocating. No matter how much you tried to distract yourself, Ni-ki lingered in your thoughts. His smirk, his voice, the way he looked at you—it was all on an endless loop in your mind.

You’d find yourself overanalyzing every interaction you’d had with him. Did you say something wrong? Did your rejection at the club finally push him away? Was this… it?

You rolled over on the couch, staring blankly at the TV that played some mindless show you weren’t even paying attention to. Your phone sat on the coffee table, and you glared at it like it had personally betrayed you.

Why was this bothering you so much?

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the phone, your fingers hesitating over the screen. Maybe just a casual message? Something simple? But no matter how many times you typed something, it all sounded wrong.

Why haven’t you texted me? Is this some game to you? Are you okay?

You groaned, deleting every draft. Nothing felt right. Besides, if you texted him first, it would be admitting you cared. And wasn’t that the one thing you swore you wouldn’t do?

But as the days passed, the emptiness only grew. Even your friends noticed your distracted state, asking if you were okay. You lied, of course, brushing it off as stress or lack of sleep. How could you explain that you were hung up on a guy who was a literal criminal?

On the eleventh day of silence, you finally caved.

Just as you were about to type out a message, your phone buzzed in your hand. Your heart jumped, hope flaring so quickly it scared you. And when you saw his name, or rather the cryptic alias he used in your phone, pop up on the screen, you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

"Miss me yet?"

Your lips parted, a mix of annoyance and something dangerously close to joy bubbling up. Of course, he’d break the silence with something like that.

You stared at the message for a moment before typing back, fingers flying across the screen.

"What happened to you? Finally get bored?"

His response came almost immediately.

"Bored? Never. Just wanted to see how long it’d take for you to crack."

Your jaw dropped, a wave of irritation hitting you.

"You’re insufferable" you shot back.

"And you’re cute when you’re annoyed" he replied, followed by a winking emoji.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

"Don’t disappear like that again" you typed before you could stop yourself, your heart pounding as you hit send.

The pause between his messages felt like forever, but when his reply came, it made your chest tighten.

"Don’t worry, doll. I’m not going anywhere."

You leaned back against the couch, phone clutched in your hand, staring at his last message before you typed out a reply.

"Good. Because it was getting kind of quiet without you annoying me."

The typing bubble popped up instantly, and somehow, that made you feel lighter.

"Admit it. You missed me."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Don’t flatter yourself."

His reply came quick, like he was waiting on your response.

"Too late. Flattering myself is kind of my thing."

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head as you typed back.

"That’s obvious. But seriously… what have you been doing?"

There was a slight pause this time, and when his message came through, you could almost hear his voice in your head.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

You sighed, fighting the urge to play into his games.

"Yes, actually. That’s why I’m asking."

"Touché."

A few seconds passed, and then another message came through.

"Let’s just say I had some… work to take care of. But I’m all yours now."

Your heart skipped at his words, and you hated the way your stomach flipped at such a simple line.

"All mine, huh? That’s bold for someone who disappeared for almost a week."

"Bold is my middle name, sweetheart."

You snorted at that, trying not to imagine his cocky grin.

"Sure it is. Anyway, why’d you text me tonight?"

His response was instant again.

"Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you."

Your breath hitched, and you blinked at the screen, unsure how to respond. Before you could type anything, another message came through.

"Don’t look so shocked. You’re pretty unforgettable."

"You can’t even see me right now."

"I don’t need to. I know exactly how you’re reacting."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the blush spreading across your face.

"You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are, still talking to me."

You didn’t have a comeback for that. The conversation kept flowing, his words teasing yet always laced with something that felt too genuine to be ignored. Every time you thought it would end, he sent another message.

"Still awake?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"What’s your favorite place to get coffee?"

The questions weren’t just idle small talk. They felt intentional, like he wanted to learn every little thing about you.

And you let him.

You answered every question, sometimes throwing one back at him, and the hours ticked by faster than you realized. By the time you glanced at the clock, it was well past midnight.

"You’re keeping me up" you finally typed, even though you weren’t really upset.

"Not my fault I`m fun to talk to" he replied.

"You’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming, I know."

You laughed softly, shaking your head as your fingers hovered over the screen.

"Goodnight, Ni-ki."

The reply came almost instantly.

"Goodnight, doll. Dream about me."

You set your phone down with a sigh, but with a smile on your face.

It had been a slow day at work, the kind where you counted down the hours and prayed for something to happen. But you weren’t exactly expecting him to walk through the doors.

Ni-ki strolled in casually, hands stuffed into his pockets, but it was impossible to miss the dark bruise across his cheekbone or the small cut at the corner of his lip. His usual cocky demeanor was still intact, though—shoulders back, head high, like he hadn’t been in some sort of fight.

Your eyes widened as you instinctively took a step toward him. “What the hell happened to you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You gave him an incredulous look, quickly closing the distance between you. Your hands moved on their own as you gently touched the side of his face, your fingers brushing against the bruised skin. He winced slightly but didn’t pull back, his gaze steady on yours.

“Ni-ki, this isn’t nothing. Who did this to you?”

He tilted his head, clearly enjoying your concern. “You worried about me, doll?”

You huffed, pulling your hands back. “Of course, I’m worried! You look like you got hit by a truck.”

His smirk widened. “Not a truck. Just some idiots who thought they could take us down. We had a little… disagreement.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “A disagreement?”

“Yeah, you know, some guys in another town thought they could muscle in on our business.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “Let’s just say they won’t be trying that again.”

Your stomach twisted at the implication, but the relief that he was standing here in one piece outweighed everything else. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the sincerity in your voice. Then, that smug grin of his returned. “You’re really worried about me, huh? I knew you liked me.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back, but before you could retreat any further, his hands shot out and grabbed yours. His grip was firm but gentle as he pulled you close, so close you could see the faint stubble on his jaw and the glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I kinda like it when you fuss over me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to look anywhere but at him. “I’m not fussing. I just—”

“You just care,” he finished for you, his lips turning into a softer smile. “It’s okay, you can admit it.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, you wanted to pull back, to regain some semblance of control over the situation, but something about the way he was looking at you made it impossible to move.

“Thanks for worrying about me,” he said quietly, his usual teasing tone replaced by something almost… genuine.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “Just… be careful, okay?”

He grinned again, the playful Ni-ki back in full force. “Careful’s not really my thing, doll. But for you, I’ll try.”

You sighed, trying to focus on getting your work done, but you could feel his eyes on you. Ni-ki hadn’t left, of course. He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, like he had all the time in the world to loiter around and watch you. Every now and then, you’d glance up, only to find him smiling at you with that infuriatingly smug expression.

You huffed, brushing past him with a stack of folded clothes, determined to ignore him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you asked, not bothering to look at him as you placed the clothes neatly on a display table.

“Not really,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, recovering or something? You’re walking around like you didn’t just get into a fight.”

Ni-ki chuckled, his voice low. “I’m tougher than I look, doll. Besides…” He trailed off, and when you turned to glare at him, you caught him staring again, his gaze lingering in a way that made your stomach flip. “You make a great distraction.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as you moved to another rack. But even as you tried to focus on reorganizing the clothes, you couldn’t help but feel the heat of his presence. He was so close, always just within arm’s reach, and the empty store wasn’t doing you any favors.

“Do you just follow me everywhere now?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

“Not everywhere,” he replied, his voice dipping into something playful. “Just the places I know you’ll be.”

“Creepy much?”

He laughed at that, the sound rich and unbothered. “C’mon, admit it—you liked that I showed up.”

You turned to retort, but the look in his eyes stopped you. They were looking at you so fondly.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being with you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

The sincerity in his tone threw you off, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

Eunseo suddenly stepped out from the storage room, a bright smile plastered on her face as she noticed Ni-ki leaning casually against the counter. “Oh, hello there! Welcome to our store! Do you need any help?” she said, her voice taking on a tone that was just a bit too cheerful, her steps purposeful as she approached him.

Ni-ki, to his credit, barely acknowledged her, his dark eyes still lingering on you as if Eunseo didn’t exist. “I’m good, thanks,” he replied flatly.

But Eunseo didn’t seem to pick up on his disinterest—or maybe she just didn’t care. “Are you sure? We’ve got some great new items in stock. Maybe I can help you find something?” She gave a little laugh, leaning on the counter and tilting her head in a way that screamed flirting.

You stiffened, pretending to busy yourself with a rack of folded shirts, but your hands were a little too rough as you refolded them. The way she was looking at him, the way her voice dripped with sugary sweetness—it was irritating. And Ni-ki wasn’t exactly pushing her away, which only made it worse.

“Really, I’m fine,” Ni-ki said, his tone remaining neutral, though you noticed the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, come on,” Eunseo pressed, stepping even closer to him. “You’re just standing here all alone. Why not let me show you around? We’ve got some accessories that would look amazing on you.” Her hand brushed against his arm, and that was the final straw.

You slammed the shirts you were holding onto the rack a little louder than necessary, making both of them glance your way. “Eunseo,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm, though you could feel the heat of irritation bubbling beneath the surface, “don’t you have something to do in the back?”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by your tone. “Oh, um… I just thought I’d help out here. He looks like he could use—”

“I said,” you interrupted, your eyes locking with hers, “don’t you have something to do in the back?”

Eunseo hesitated for a moment before giving you a slightly puzzled look. “Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said and glanced back at Ni-ki as she retreated. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

When she was gone, you turned back to Ni-ki, who was now watching you with an amused expression.

“What?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

He raised his hands in mock defense, his smirk widening. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect you to get all territorial over me, doll.”

“I wasn’t being territorial,” you shot back, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, stepping closer to you, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly low tone. “But for the record, I’m not interested in anyone else. You’ve got my full attention, whether you like it or not.”

You huffed, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words.

“Now, will you finally admit you like having me here?” he said with a grin, leaning in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

You groaned, shoving him lightly toward the door. “Get out before I regret not letting her deal with you.”

Ni-ki laughed, his voice rich and unbothered, but he allowed you to guide him toward the exit. Before he left, though, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. “See you later, doll.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you to deal with the lingering embarrassment—and the undeniable fact that you did like having him around, no matter how much you tried to deny it.

The evening air was cold when you stepped out of the store, bag slung over your shoulder as you headed toward the bus stop.

You were halfway there when the low rumble of a car engine made you glance over your shoulder. A sleek black car slowing down to match your pace. The window rolled down, and you weren’t even surprised when you saw him—Ni-ki. His lazy smirk greeted you as he tilted his head.

“Need a ride?” he asked casually, his voice smooth and teasing.

You hesitated, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m fine. The bus is just up ahead.”

“Come on, doll,” he coaxed, resting one arm over the edge of the open window. “You really gonna make me watch you freeze out here? Just get in.”

You sighed, glancing around the empty street before finally relenting. “Fine,” you muttered, walking to the passenger side.

As you climbed in, the smell of leather and cologne hit you, mingled with the faint scent of mint. The interior was just as sleek as the exterior, glowing faintly from the purple neon underlighting. Ni-ki barely glanced at you as he started driving again, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the city lights. The way he gripped the wheel with one hand, the relaxed confidence —it was unfair how good he looked.

“See something you like?” he drawled, his tone playful.

You snapped your gaze forward, your cheeks heating. “No.”

“Liar,” he teased, and before you could respond, his hand slid from his thigh to yours, resting lightly. His thumb brushed against the fabric of your jeans, and the bubbling feeling in your stomach intensified.

“Ni-ki—” you started, your voice faltering.

He glanced at you briefly, his smirk deepening. “Relax, doll. Just making sure you’re comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Very,” he said, squeezing your thigh gently before returning his focus to the road.

You stared at him, speechless, as his fingers stayed on your leg, warm and steady. The fluttering in your chest wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you tried to will it away.

“So,” he said after a beat, his tone casual but still carrying that flirtatious edge, “how was your day? Other than me stealing all your attention at work, of course.”

You rolled your eyes, thankful for the change in subject. “It was fine. Slow, boring—until you showed up and made it worse.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You wound me, doll. But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”

You gave him a side-eye but said nothing, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

The car eventually pulled into the parking lot of a cozy yet elegant Japanese restaurant, the warm glow of lanterns hanging outside casting a soft light across the entrance. You furrowed your brow as Ni-ki parked and turned off the engine.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, your tone skeptical.

He leaned back in his seat and gave you a charming grin. “Dinner.”

You blinked at him. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you and me,” he said nonchalantly, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

Before you could protest, he was out of the car and walking around to your side. He opened the door, holding it like a perfect gentleman, one hand resting casually on the top of the car as he peered down at you.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Ni-ki, I didn’t agree to this.”

His face didn’t falter. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You didn’t say no, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the way he was looking at you—smug yet so effortlessly charming—made you groan. “Fine,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and stepping out of the car.

He stepped back to give you space, closing the door behind you. “There’s my girl,” he said teasingly, earning a sharp glare from you.

He only chuckled as he led the way into the restaurant, holding the door open for you.

The interior was warm and inviting, the scent of freshly cooked dishes wafting through the air. The restaurant wasn’t overly extravagant, but it wasn’t casual either. It struck a balance between elegant and cozy.

Ni-ki guided you to a table in the corner, away from the more crowded areas. The staff seemed to know him, greeting him with familiarity as he nodded in return. You followed reluctantly, sitting down across from him.

“Seriously, Ni-ki, what’s all this about?” you asked, frowning at him as you placed your bag on the seat beside you.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with that easygoing confidence of his. “Figured you deserved something nice.”

You gave him a look, not buying it. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Exactly.” He smirked, leaning forward this time, resting his forearms on the table. “That, and I like spending time with you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You looked away, pretending to study the menu placed in front of you.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, clearly amused by your flustered state. “Relax, doll. It’s just dinner.”

You bit back a retort, choosing instead to focus on the menu and your heart sank at the prices. Everything looked so luxurious—and expensive. You frowned, setting the menu down.

“Ni-ki,” you began hesitantly, “this place is... a bit much. I don’t think—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off. “Don’t even start.” His tone was firm yet playful. “You’re here because I brought you here. So, the meal’s on me. Order whatever you want.”

You still hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just go for something simple—”

Ni-ki’s expression shifted, his lips pressing into a thin line as he gave you a mockingly disappointed look. “Really? After I go through all this trouble, you’re going to pick the cheapest thing on the menu?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, betraying you. You blushed deeply, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Ni-ki’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“See?” he said, his tone gentle but teasing. “Your stomach agrees with me.”

Reluctantly, you turned your attention back to the menu, deciding to pick something that looked good rather than the cheapest option. After a few moments, you made your choice, pointing to a dish that caught your eye.

“I’ll have this,” you said, hoping it wasn’t too extravagant.

Ni-ki leaned over to see what you had chosen, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Good choice. I approve.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Well, I’m glad it meets your standards.”

He chuckled, signaling the waiter to take your orders.

Once the waiter left, you looked at him. “You really didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

He tilted his head, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Yeah, I did.”

You looked away and quickly busied yourself with adjusting the utensils in front of you, unsure how to respond. Ni-ki didn’t press, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he leaned back in his seat.

“Just sit back and enjoy, doll. You deserve it.”

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, but he was already leaning back in his chair, a relaxed, almost casual expression on his face.

After a few moments, the food arrived. The waiter placed the beautifully plated dishes in front of both of you. The smell was enough to make your stomach rumble again.

You hesitated for a moment before picking up your chopsticks, trying not to seem too eager. When you finally took a bite of the food, your eyes widened in surprise. It was incredible—perfectly seasoned.

Ni-ki watched you intently, a soft smile tugging at his lips as you took another bite. "Good?" he asked, leaning in slightly.

You nodded, your mouth full but your eyes sparkling. "It’s amazing," you said, before taking another bite.

He chuckled lightly, clearly pleased. "I told you. You deserve the best."

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you continued eating. The meal went on like this, with easy conversation between you two. It felt... normal, in a way. He asked about your work, and you told him a little about how things had been going.

Ni-ki, on the other hand, kept his answers short, more focused on making you feel comfortable than discussing anything serious. Every time he glanced at you, there was something in his gaze, like you were the most important thing in the room.

It was strange. Sitting here with him, eating this expensive meal, having casual conversation—it didn’t feel like you were sitting across from a criminal who had held you hostage twice. For a moment, it almost felt like you were on a normal date, one where you could let your guard down.

You paused, lifting your glass of water to your lips, trying to gather your thoughts. Could this really be the same guy? The one who had dragged you around and threatened your life?

Ni-ki’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just... this feels weird, that’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Weird good or weird bad?”

You thought for a moment before responding. “Weird good,” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed but also relieved to say it aloud. “It’s hard to reconcile... you know, everything that’s happened with... well, this.”

Ni-ki’s smile softened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I get it. I get it more than you think.”

"You’ll get used to it," he added softly, before taking another bite of his meal.

After finishing the last bite of your meal, you leaned back in your chair, feeling pleasantly full and a little more at ease than you had all night. Ni-ki caught your eye as he signaled the waiter for the check. The moment the receipt was handed to him, your gaze instinctively fell to the amount, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.

The total was outrageous.

You tried to keep your reaction in check, but your lips parted in disbelief, the number far higher than anything you’d ever imagined spending on a meal. It wasn’t just expensive—it was excessive.

Ni-ki noticed your expression and let out a low chuckle, his voice teasing. “You’ve got a look on your face, sweetheart. You okay?”

You quickly straightened up, trying to play it cool, but you could feel your cheeks turning slightly pink. “That’s... that’s a lot,” you muttered, trying to make it sound light, though you were still trying to process the shock of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied easily, waving a hand as if it was nothing. “It’s all taken care of.”

You couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t expect—”

“Relax,” he interrupted smoothly, smiling that smug little smile of his.

Before you could say anything else, he stood up, paying the bill and handing the waiter a generous tip. You watched him, still trying to wrap your mind around the amount he had just spent.

You weren’t used to this kind of attention, this kind of treatment.

As you got up from the table, Ni-ki took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours with an ease that almost felt possessive. You didn’t resist as he led you out of the restaurant, his other hand holding the door open for you.

The moment you reached the car, he opened the passenger door for you and gestured for you to get in. His hand lightly pressed against your back as you slid into the seat, and he closed the door after you, before going around and sliding in smoothly beside you.

“Relax, doll,” he said softly, as he started the car, the engine purring to life. “Let’s get you home.”

As the car sped down the quiet streets, you tried to focus but your thoughts kept spiraling. The money. It was stolen. Ni-ki was a criminal. Everything that had happened—the meal, the expensive gifts, the constant attention—came with a price. And that price was his life, his world. His actions were all tainted by theft, violence, and chaos.

You tried to remind yourself of that, to convince yourself that you should be repulsed. You should feel anger or disgust. But none of it bubbled inside of you.

It didn’t make sense. The pieces didn’t fit. You told yourself over and over again that you should hate Ni-ki, that you should despise the life he led, but each time you tried to convince yourself, you found your resolve crumbling.

Why didn’t that feel like a bigger deal?

His actions were a blatant disregard for everything you stood for, for the world you’d grown up in. He was a criminal. A dangerous one. And yet, as you glanced over at him in the driver's seat, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel disgusted or scared.

Why didn’t I feel any different?

He was using stolen money. He’d manipulated you into situations. And yet, somehow, here you were. And you were no longer asking why it felt wrong—you were too busy asking why it felt right.

When the car came to a stop in front of your building, Ni-ki didn’t waste a second. He stepped out, walking around to open the door for you, his expression unreadable as he gave you a soft nod. You hesitated for a moment, still trying to collect your scattered thoughts, but then you got out of the car, following him up to your place in silence.

When you reached your apartment door, Ni-ki made a soft sound—almost like a chuckle. You turned to look at him, expecting some joke or comment, but he was holding something in his hand.

A ring.

You blinked, confused, your eyes darting between his face and the small, shimmering band he was holding. It looked so familiar. A glint of gold, with a small diamond set in the center.

"What is this?" you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

He eyes darkened slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's the same ring you were eyeing before the robbery. Thought you’d like it."

You stared at him, a mix of emotions bubbling inside you. The same ring? You weren’t sure whether to be shocked or frustrated. But before you could voice any of those feelings, he nudged the ring toward you.

You didn’t move immediately, still processing what was happening. But Ni-ki wasn’t waiting for you to decide. His fingers gently closed around your hand, and before you could protest or pull away, he slipped the ring onto your finger.

You didn’t pull your hand back, though every part of you screamed to. For some reason, it felt... right.

"There," Ni-ki said softly, his voice low and purposeful. "It’s yours now."

You didn’t know what to say. How to respond. All you could do was stare at the ring on your finger. You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Ni-ki watched you, his eyes dark and intent, as you stood frozen, staring at the ring on your finger. He could see your inner turmoil, the hesitation in your eyes. "You know," he began, leaning in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear, "you're really quiet all of a sudden. That’s not like you, doll."

Before you could respond, he tilted your head up by your jaw, his fingers gently but firmly pressing against your skin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You felt your heart race in your chest as he held you there, steady and unyielding, making sure you couldn’t look away.

His other hand slid down, intertwining your fingers with his, his hold tight. You could feel the warmth of his palm against yours, the pressure of his fingers against yours. There was no room to pull away.

He leaned in so close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered softly, "You’re not going to run, are you? Not after all this. Not after everything we've been through."

You felt his other hand slide from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

Ni-ki's voice softened, his words nearly a purr as they slipped from his lips. "You wouldn’t leave me, would you?" he asked, his fingers trailing down the back of your neck, sending jolts of warmth through your body. His eyes, intense and piercing, never left yours. "After everything we've been through... after all the time I've spent making sure you’re safe, looking after you..."

You couldn’t speak, your chest tight, your mind a blur of confusion and emotions. You were caught—stuck between wanting to run, wanting to get away, and something else... something that made it hard to think, to move.

Ni-ki seemed to sense your hesitation, and he pressed in closer, his lips hovering near yours. "I’ve been patient with you," he murmured, each word carefully measured. "I’ve waited for you to see it, to see that I’m good for you." His voice purred as if coaxing you. "I want to be good to you. You deserve it. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted."

His other hand gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him, and only him. "You’re the biggest treasure in the world, doll," he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And I want you."

Your heart hammered in your chest, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, the shock evident in your eyes. His words felt heavy—almost too heavy to bear.

Could you even run now? Could you really?

You couldn't resist and your gaze landed on his lips.

He caught your gaze, and a smile tugged at his lips, slow and knowing. "Do you want it?" he asked, his voice rough.

You blinked, confusion flickering in your eyes. "What?" you whispered, unsure of what he meant.

Ni-ki didn't answer right away. Instead, he hummed softly, a sound that vibrated deep in his chest, before his hand cupped your face. In one smooth motion, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss so sudden, it stole your breath. His lips were warm, demanding, as he pushed you backward into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

You gasped into the kiss, the suddenness of it sending a wave of heat through you, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you melted into him, your hands reaching up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly, as if he was anchoring you to him.

You didn’t pull away, not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t. You were drawn to him in a way that felt too strong to fight.

Ni-ki’s hands slid to your back, holding you close. You could feel the way his body moved with yours, the way he wanted you, the way he craved your every touch. It was impossible to resist, even though a small part of you tried to.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, his hands roaming over you, pulling you closer as he murmured into the kiss, his voice low.

“You’re the only one for me,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. “Only you. Always you.” His hands slid from your back to your hips, gently guiding you toward the couch. You didn’t resist; instead, you let him pull you down, your body sinking into the soft cushions as he hovered over you.

His lips never left yours, his hands tracing the curves of your body. “I’ll give you anything you want,” he murmured, his words coming in short bursts as his lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Anything, baby. Just say it.”

You could barely focus on anything but the way his body pressed against yours, his lips were everywhere—your neck, your jawline, your ear. He whispered more sweet words, each one making your heart flutter despite the uncertainty you still felt in the back of your mind.

“I wanted you from the moment I saw you,” Ni-ki confessed, his voice rough, as if he couldn’t control the emotions spilling out of him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I need.” His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process everything that was happening. His words, his touch—they were consuming you, and it felt so good. It felt like nothing mattered but this moment, and it was so easy to get lost in him.

You pulled him back gently, your hands cupping his cheeks, holding him still as you locked eyes with him. His gaze was intense, searching yours.

With a small, teasing smile, you leaned in closer, your voice soft. “Show me how much you want me.”

A slow, pleased grin spread across his face as he closed the space between you. “I’ll show you that, and more,” he whispered, his voice husky with promise.

He slid close, his body pressed against yours as his lips found yours again.

As he kissed you, his words were a low murmur, barely audible against your skin. “I’m yours, doll. And I’ll make sure you see that.”

part 3

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny @kiripimaspillow

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash

Wanna be in the perm taglist? Lmk <3

607 notes · View notes