carlosainzgf

[carlosainzgf]

a lifetime of summers - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which every summer, at the villa your families rent together every year, gives you a version of charles OR you and charles are childhood best friends with a complicated history. warnings: angst, language, childhood friends with complicated history, smut, angst, yearning, etc... idk what I'm missing, NOT PROOFREAD (prob typos or things that might not make sense), lots of back and forth, messy messy messy, also cute, jealousy jealousy, seriously lots of YEARNING, them being stupid also word count: ~8k author's note: this idea came to me a few days ago and i've spent as much time as possible working on it since (in between carlos version). y'know when the creativity just hits right and the words pour out of you?? that was me with this. i hope you guys like it!!!! xoxo ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Age 7.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

The villa smells of sun lotion and salty air.

Your dad’s playing music through some tiny old speaker he brought. And the adults are laughing too loud over their drinks.

The sun is beginning to sink, but it’s still hot. 

You’re sticky with juice, hair tangled, and bathing suit clinging awkwardly.

Charles is chasing you. A water balloon in his hands.

You shriek, running against the hot stones. Smiling so hard that it hurts.

“Y’already got me twice!” You shout in between giggles. “S’not fair!”

Charles appears closer. Face sunburnt. A smile tugged on his lips. “You cheated at Candy Land!”

“You cheated first!” 

“Because you always win!”

And he raises the balloon over his head.

“If you throw that, I’m telling maman you said a bad word the other day.”

His smile drops. “I did not!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Uh huh…you said ‘shit’ when you hit your funny bone.”

“It hurt!” He argues.

You stick your tongue out. 

And then he hesitates. Looking at the balloon. Then at you.

Throws the balloon anyway.

It explodes against your stomach. Cold water soaking you.

And you gasp. 

Then lunge for him. Chase him all the way into the back yard, shrieking. Laughing so hard that you both struggle to breathe properly. 

And eventually you both collapse into the grass. Side by side. Near the lemon tree. 

There’s a few moments of silence. Both of you panting from trying to catch your breath. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny. And you like ice pops. And you beat me at Mario Kart once.”

You look at him. And he’s staring at the leaves above your heads. Arms touching.

“I don’t think that’s how marriage works,” your voice soft.

“Don’t care.” He shrugs. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay. But I don’t want to wear a dress.”

“Fine. But you have to split the cake with me.”

“Only if it’s chocolate.”

“Well duh.”

And you both fall asleep like that. In the grass. Smelling like chlorine. Sticky with sugar.

-

Age 12

“Why are you being weird?”

The summer heat is burning.

Heat clings to you like a second skin. And you’re still dripping from the pool. The stone tiles are too hot to stand on for too long, so everyone moves around them quickly. Your hair is wet. Trying to read a book, but can’t focus.

Because Charles won’t stop staring at you.

Well, he’s technically not staring. But he’s in the pool in your direct eyesight. Hands behind his head as he sits on a float. Sunglasses almost too big for his face. Smirking.

And every so often, he splashes water your way.

“Would you stop?” You snap. Wiping the water off your ankles.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Blinking. Innocent.

You groan, falling back on the lounger. Trying to ignore him.

He floats closer. “You haven’t turned the page in almost twenty minutes.”

“That’s because you’re distracting me.”

And he grins. A full sheepish grin. “You think I’m cute.”

You don’t answer. Keep your eyes on your book.

“Y’gonna tell your friends I have a six pack now?” He calls out.

You raise your eyebrows, “Six pack of what?”

“Muscles.” He says. Dead serious.

And your mouth twitches. “Your voice still cracks.”

Charles slips off the floatie. Swims to the edge and rests his arms on the ledge. Chin on his forearm as he looks at you.

“Yeah? And what does it do to you when I say your name?”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s the sun.”

He laughs. And you throw your book at him. 

He ducks under the water. And when he resurfaces, grinning…you’re trying so hard to not smile. And he knows it.

“Why are you being so weird?” you ask.

He shrugs. 

“You’re just starting to notice me now.”

And you don’t answer.

And later that night, when you’re brushing your teeth. Still burnt from the sun. You wonder what he meant.

You don’t ask.

But you do start to.

-

Age 15

“That didn’t count.”

“So kiss me again.”

The villa is quiet. 

Your parents and his mom stay up talking. Your siblings long asleep. Arthur passed out on the couch. 

A few candles flicker near the steps, but most of the light is coming from the moonlight.

You’re barefoot. The grass cool and soft beneath your toes as you walk to the lemon tree. The one where you and Charles always meet when its too late and you’re supposed to be asleep.

He’s already there. Leaning against it. 

He looks different this year. Taller. A little bit sharper. More grown into his body.

He glances at you. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to sneak past my sister.”

He grins, holding up a bag of chips. 

And you sit beside him. Your shoulder brushing his. 

Talking about nothing for a while. Catching up on the weeks you aren’t together. How he kissed a girl in Monaco and it was fine but also kind of awkward. And you pretend you don’t hate hearing it.

You tell him about the boy from school who tried to hold your hand during a movie when you went with your group of friends.

Charles almost immediately demands his full name. And address.

And you laugh.

He tosses a lemon up and catches it. Again and again.

“I heard you tell Joris that I was in love with you.” You say.

And he glances at you. “I did not.”

You narrow your eyes. A smile on your lips.

And he shrugs. “I said you were obsessed with me. S’not the same.”

And you laugh. Then scoff. “You wish.”

You shove his arm. And he grabs your wrist before you can pull it back. Fingers wrapping around you. Warm. Familiar. But somehow different.

Neither of you speak for a few moments. Just take in the sound of the cicadas, the faint chatter of the adults on the terrace.

“Y’ever kissed anyone?”

And your stomach twists. Look away. “No.”

He nods. “Me either…at least, not really.”

Silence.

And then he says, “Wanna try?”

You look at him. But he’s already looking at you. And he looks nervous. Hopeful. Like he’s been thinking about this for a long time. Nothing like the boy who used to throw water balloons and stick paint in your hair.

You nod.

And it’s awkward. Your noses bump. One of you breathes too loudly. His hands tremble at your cheek. 

But it’s sweet. Slow.

And his lips are soft.

And when you pull apart, you both stare at each other. Lips a little rosier than before.

“That didn’t count.” You whisper.

And he blinks. “Why not?”

“There was no tongue.”

And he grins. Slowly.

And then pulls you back into him.

And this time….it’s real.

-

Age 17

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

The villa’s light glow behind you. Laughter echoing from the kitchen where your parents and his maman are finishing a bottle of wine.

You and Charles are on the terrace. Barefoot. A shared bottle of win between you. Practically empty. And his leg brushes against yours every time he fidgets.

It’s the first summer where you’ve both been allowed to really drink. Not just a stolen sip of a half-empty bottle found on the kitchen counter. Or a watered down spritz. Real drinks. Poured and given to you like adults.

And you’re a little tipsy. Cheeks warm and rosy. Limbs loose. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” you glance at him.

He nods. “Jus’ thinking.”

“You do that?”

And he laughs. “Shut up.”

You smile. Taking a small sip straight from the bottle before placing it back down. “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates for a little. “Uh…that night last year.”

You don’t have to ask which night. You already know.

The night behind the lemon tree. His mouth on yours. And you think about it often.

“Me too,” You admit. Soft.

And he looks at you. Watch as his gaze dips to your mouth.

And then he’s leaning in.

The kiss is soft. Deeper. Not rushed. And his lips are warm. Tastes of wine and something sweet. Like the fruit you guys were picking at earlier.

When he pulls back, his voice cracks a little bit. “I want you.”

You don’t answer. Just smile soft. Pulling his hand into yours as you drag him into the villa. Into the bedroom. 

Your clothes peel off slowly. Clumsy. And he’s careful. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, it’ll ruin the moment. 

“Y’sure about this?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yeah…want it to be you.”

And he closes his eyes for a second. Like his heart is in his throat.

And then it happens.

It’s slow. Messy. You both laugh when your arms bump. And he curses softly when he cant get the condom wrapper open. But then he’s inside you, and your laughter becomes hushed gasps. Fingers digging into each other.

“Y’okay?” He mutters. His forehead pressed to yours.

And your nails dig into his back. “Yeah.”

And then he kisses you again. Harder. Holds you closer.

Later, when you’re both lying tangled in the dark…you feel his fingers tracing your skin. Both of you enjoying the silence.

Then a good few moments later.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah.”

-

Age 19

“Y’gonna dance with him again?”

“He asked.”

“You let him kiss your cheek.”

“You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night.”

“That’s different.”

You’re barefoot in the sand. Music loud. And Luca…or maybe it was Leo? You weren’t sure. Had his hands lightly on your hips. Flirty.

You’re laughing at something dumb he said into your ear. And then you feel it.

The heat. The stare.

Glance over your shoulder and…

Charles. Leaning against the beach bar. Beer in hand.

Eyes on you with a glint in his eye like you’ve offended him.

You try not to react. But the next time Luca spins you, you pull away with a smile and a I’ll be right back.

You only make it a few steps before Charles intercepts your path.

“Having fun?” He says. Trying to be casual. But his voice is too tight. Too bitter.

“Yes.” You brush past him. And he falls right into step with you.

“You’ve got weird taste in music.”

“That’s not my music taste. It’s called dancing.”

And he scoffs.

You walk to the side of the bar. To a more private area. Grabbing his shoulder to face you.

“Are you okay?” Voice sweet. Gentle. Caring.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re glaring too much.”

And looks at you. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I mean, you don’t even like that song.”

You cross your arms against your chest. And he steps closer.

“You let him put his hands on you.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“So…you let him touch you. Kiss your cheek”

And you laugh. Soft. “You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night, Charles.”

His jaw clenches. Hands twitch. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

You take a step closer. Testing him, And he doesn’t budge.

“It’s not the same.”

You stare at him. His cheeks are sunburned. And his eyes are so green it makes your heart rate spike. So handsome.

“So I’m not allowed to dance with a guy I’ll never see again?”

He runs a hand over his face. Grazing the slight stubble on his jaw. “You’re not just dancing.”

“No,” You admit. “But you’re not just fucking me either.”

His eyes widen. Slightly stunned.

And you don’t back down. Step even closer until your chests are touching.. “You don’t wanna talk about what this is? That’s fine. But you don’t get to act jealous then.”

“I’m not jealous.”

And you grin. Snort. Just a tiny bit.

“Okay,” he says. Throwing his hands up. “Maybe I am.”

Your stomach twists.

“I just…I don’t like seeing you with other guys.” His voice is low. 

“Well…it’s not like you don’t talk to other girls, Charles.”

And then you leave him standing there. Alone.

-

“Wanna go out for a bit?” He asks. “Just us?”

And you say yes without even thinking.

You’re on a light blue towel, sunglasses over your face, pretending to read a book. Charles is stretched out next to you. An arm tucked under his head. Throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.

You glance over just as a grape hits his forehead and falls into the sand.

“Impressive.”

He laughs. “The wind interfered!”

He tosses another grape. Misses again. 

And you burst into laughter.

“I’m warming up.”

He laughs with you. Giving up and rolling onto his side to face you.

He squints his eyes at you. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

“I think that….” His hand reaches for the bottle of sun lotion, flicking it open. “That you missed a spot.”

He squirts some into his hand, a smirk on his lips.

“Back off.”

And he reaches for you, smearing it all over your chest. You shriek, tossing your book into the sand beside you.

And somewhere between this sun lotion assault, you’re both breathless and laughing so hard.

He pins you down, dropping heaps of sun lotion onto your skin.

“Truce,” You laugh. Stomach burning from laughter. 

He nods. Smiling. Rubbing the sunscreen into your skin.

“Don’t want you to burn.”

You throw a pile of sand at him. And he doesn’t even flinch.

-

His cock is already buried inside you. Deep. Thick. Fucking aching.

“God, you’re fuckin soaked.” He groans into your neck. Hand pressed into your stomach. 

You claw at his back. Back arched. Legs spread. Shaking every time he hits that spot in your tummy just right.

He looks down at you like he’s overwhelmed. Like he doesn’t understand how you can feel this fucking good.

“Swear to God,” He grunts. Pulling back slow, then snapping his hips forward. “S’like your pussy jus gets tighter every time.”

Your mouth falls open. Gasping.

His hands slip under your thigh, pushing your knee into your chest. Fucking you deeper.

And then he moans.

“Jesus….fuck.” He chokes out. “Y’feel that?”

You sob out. 

“I’ve been inside you like a hundred times this summer and it still feels like fuckin heaven.”

His forehead drops and presses into yours. Voice rough. 

“M’not gonna last.” He huffs. “You’re too wet. Too fuckin tight.”

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. “Don’t stop…”

“You’re fuckin milking me.” He cuts you off. “Y’gonna come? Please come on me. C’mon baby…please, yeah? Please let me have it.”

And you fall apart. Gasping. Shaking. Coming so hard around his cock it makes his head fall back.

And he swears. Filthily. French tumbling out go his mouth.

And then he’s spilling inside of you. Chest pressed to yours. Hips jerking.

He buries his face in your beck. Collapsing on you. 

And neither of you speak for a bit.

Just catch your breath. Comfortable silence. Holding each other.

Eventually, he reaches up. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then whispers into the dark.

“I like it here.”

And he doesn’t elaborate.

You don’t ask him to.

-

Age 21

“He seems tense.”

“He’s fine.”

“He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that guy from Madrid.”

“I told you not to bring it up.”

Your best friend’s been here for five days and already the villa feels different.

She means well. But she talks fast, drinks fast, and has no filter. 

She also loves to talk about your love life.

The one that you’re apparently “thriving in”.

“So wait,” she says over breakfast, digging her fork into her food. “You never texted that guy from Madrid back? Y’know the one with the sexy voice?”

Across the table, Charles is picking at his plate. Fork pausing. Just for a little bit. Enough for you to notice.

You look at her, “No.”

“Why not? He was so hot.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“But he was so into you…” She takes a sip of her drink. “What about the Italian one? The one you really liked.”

Charles cuts into his eggs. A little bit harder. Knife scraping the plate.

“He ghosted.”

“Ugh, yeah total loser.” She laughs. “Oh my god, remember…what was his name? From the bar crawl.”

“Liam.” You choke out.

“Yes! Liam!” She snaps her fingers. “Didn’t he pick you up at the bar? Like just threw you over his shoulder?”

You laugh, slightly embarrassed. Nodding.

Charles sets his mug down a little too hard.

And then he stands. Takes his plate to the sink. 

And walks out.

“Was it something I said?” Your best friend asks.

-

You find him in the kitchen later. Your best friend is lounging out by the pool and you slipped inside to grab a water.

He’s rinsing the plates. Back to you. But his jaw is clenched tight.

You lean against the counter by him. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps scrubbing the dishes. A little harder than before.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” He says. “Just didn’t realize breakfast started with a running list of every guy you’ve fucked.”

You wince.

And he breathes deeply. Dropping the dish in the sink. “Sorry…that was, uh harsh.”

You give a tiny nod.

“I just…” He turns off the water. Looks at you. “Didn’t know it was like that?”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. 

“Is it a problem?”

He stares at you. Sucks his bottom lip in for a moment. Like he’s deep in thought. Before finally saying…

“No. It’s not my place.”

And there it is. 

You step back. “Right.”

And then you’re turning around, reaching in the cabinet for a glass. “Still going to the bonfire later?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, if you still want to.”

“Cool,” Your voice is light. 

-

Age 22

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

The long table on the terrace is full.

Extra chairs from inside scattered around it, one of your younger cousins crawling underneath it.

Your dad is asking your mom if there’s more grilled vegetables. Meanwhile your sister insists on telling the story about the jellyfish sting again.

“And she was crying so hard, she had actual snot bubbles on her face,” She says. Laughing.

You lift your hand, “I was six!”

Charles laughs. “You thought you were dying.”

“I thought it was venom!” You laugh. “And no one even helped me.”

“We were too busy laughing at the snot,” He says. Looking at you. That familiar grin pulled on his face, eyes crinkled. Like it was just you two.

And then Alex leans into him. Whispers into his ear. And whatever she says makes him smile wider. Makes him shift toward her without even thinking.

You chug your wine.

“I love that photo,” Alex says softly. And you glance at her to find her already looking at you. “The one of you and everyone in the inflatable pool. You’re the only one not smiling.”

You curl your lips. “We were sinking.”

“It’s so funny though,” She says. “You look so unimpressed by them.”

“She always looks like that,” Charles chimes in. “Probably came out of the womb judging people.”

You narrow your eyes, but the smile pulling on your lips gives you away.

Alex laughs. And your mom’s already popping open the next bottle of wine. 

And it would be perfect.

If it weren’t for Charles sitting across from you, arms wrapped around another person. Like he’s not yours anymore. 

You ask Alex about her job, and you mean it. She answers so soft and kind that it almost makes you hate her. Almost.

But you can’t. Because she’s nice.

“She’s good for him,” Your sister whispers under her breath, leaning toward you. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You nod. “I’m just tired.”

Eventually, dinner ends. Alex excuses herself to help your mom bring out dessert. And Charles follows.

And when they come back, head thrown back laughing. 

He sets a slice of cake in front of you without a word.

And you thank him like its normal.

-

Someone suggest drinks at the beach bar. Something to do. The one with the bulbs on string down the street. 

You come barefoot, some sweet drink already in hand. Alex walks beside you, her wedges hooked in her fingers, hem of her dress brushing her knees.

She’s pretty in a way that doesn’t feel threatening. Not showy. Just perfect.

Inside the bar, you spot Charles leaned against the bar with a beer, grinning at something Arthur’s saying. And he’s wearing that linen button up that you used to tell him he looks like a recently divorced rich guy in. 

You find yourself smiling.

Alex touches your arm. “Hey…you want a new drink?”

You shake your head. “I’m good for now.”

She nods. A small smile on her lips.

“I was really nervous to meet you.”

You blink. Eyes slightly wider. “Me?”

She nods. “Charles talks about you all the time.”

You freeze for a moment.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Not like in a weird way. Just like you’re part of the picture. In his life. Almost every story he tells involves you.”

You don’t know how to respond.

“I’m just glad you’re not..uh, like intimidating.” She laughs.

And you laugh back. “I save the intimidation after a few weeks.”

She smiles. “So I’ve still got time?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And for this moment, you like her. Even if it hurts.

Because she’s kind.

Because she doesn’t know that you and Charles shared a bed when thunderstorms were scary.

Because she wasn’t there the summer he kissed you against the sand and told you he’d never want anyone else.

You chug your drink.

Later, you’re all gathered near the back of the deck, huddled around a wooden table and wobbly stools. Someone ordered a side of fries. Someone else ordered a round of shots no one really wanted but drank anyways.

You’re pressed between Charles and your sister. You’re laughing. Tipsy. Warm.

Charles is teasing your sister about something but you’re not really listening. 

And that’s when another guy slides in.

Not dramatically. Just casual. Confident.

He’s tall. Tanned. Cute. 

He talks to the guy beside him, someone you’ve definitely seen before, and then turns to you. 

“Did I hear something about you getting stung by a jellyfish?”

You smile. “Unfortunately.”

He nods. A grin. “Survival stories always get me.”

“Tragic,” you say.

He laughs. “I’m Nick.”

You take a sip of your drink, tilting your head. “Do you open with tragedy stories for flirting a lot? Or is it just me?”

“Only for girls who look like they bite back.”

You grin. Slow. “You say that like its a challenge.”

“Depends,” He shrugs, gaze dropping to your bare legs, then back to your face.

“On?”

“Depends how hard you bite.”

And you laugh. Like really laugh. Hard. Head falling back. And then you feel it. The way Charles stills beside you. The way his fingers grip his cup just a little bit tighter.

And Nick leans in closer. More private. “So…what other tragedies should I know about you?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want facts or warnings.”

He raises a brow. “Any preference?”

You place your cup down on the table. “I like a little risk.”

And Charles says something to your sister now. A little louder. Like he’s trying to distract you.

You don’t bother to look at him.

Nick grins. “And just how dangerous are you exactly?”

You grin back. “Pretty dangerous.”

He laughs. “Good.”

You both just stare at each other for a little. Grinning.

“You dancing?” He asks, nodding his head in direction of the dance floor.

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m hoping.”

You slide off the stool.

“Let’s go tragedy boy.”

And as he takes your hand. Leads you into the crowd. You catch Charles’s eyes.

Watching.

Burning.

-

The music’s slowed a little. Just swaying to the music, instead of the rapid jumping you were doing earlier. 

Nick’s hand rests at your hip. His other is holding your drink while you talk with your hands.

“You can’t seriously think pineapple belongs on pizza,” You yell over the music.

Nick grins. “It’s good.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

And you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. He leans in, speaking into your ear.

“You know your friend’s been staring at us for like ten minutes, right?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tips his head. Over your shoulder. And you turn just a little bit. Just enough to see Charles still sitting at the table.

Drink in hand. Not talking. Not even blinking. Just looking.

You breathe out, turning back. “That Charles.”

Nick raises a brow, nodding. “Ahh.”

“Don’t read into it.”

He watches you.

“He has a girlfriend.”

Nick hums, a teasing grin. “He doesn’t look like he remembers that right now.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Cool.”

You shrug. “You don’t believe me?”

He smiles. “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Just means if I kiss you, he might kill me.”

You laugh. “You’re awful.”

“You’re still here.”

And you look at each other. Smiling.

You kiss him. Not because you’re falling for him. But because you’re single. Because Charles brought someone else. Because he gets to have her. Because you’re tired of thinking about him.

So you kiss him to feel good. To forget. To remind yourself that you’re free.

Hands in his shirt. Hands on your waist.

And you let yourself lean into it.

Enjoy the uncomplicated.

And for a few moments…it almost works.

-

Age 23

“You brought him here.”

“Yeah. Remember you said he wouldn’t last.”

You’re late this year.

Flight was delayed. Rental car place was too busy. And by the time your feet hit the familiar stone of the villa’s terrace, the sun is already low in the sky.

Theo’s beside you. Rolling your suitcase like a pure gentleman. He’s good. Kind. Gets along with your parents. Laughs at your sister’s jokes. 

And still, your heart flutters when you hear his voice.

Charles.

Laughing louder than necessary. As if he wants you to hear it.

You follow the sound. Trying not to think about the last time you saw him. A few months ago in Monaco. A hotel room you both swore you wouldn’t end up in. Both seeing other people. Both pretending it didn’t count.

And it wasn’t even the first time.

Since last summer, it’s happened a few times too many. Whenever him and Alex called it off. On and off. On and off. You slipped between the cracks. A quiet fuck in your apartment. A drunken make out at a birthday party. You pressed against the shower tiles. Bent over his kitchen counter.

Always followed by soft smiles and easy goodbyes. A promise to act normal. 

Best friends first.

And the moment you step further into the terrace, you see him.

Charles standing against the bar, shirt unbuttoned. Tanned. Holding a drink with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how hot he looks.

And worse…Alex is next to him.

Beautiful of course. Sundress swaying. Hand on his chest like it belongs there.

He notices you before you can even speak. Smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Just enough for you to really feel it. And then it’s back.

And he lifts his glass in a salute. “You’re late.”

Alex smiles. “We thought you weren’t coming til’ tomorrow!”

You smile back. She was always so nice. “Surprise!”

Theo steps forward. Hand extended with that charm that always made it hard to hate him. “Hey…Charles, right?”

And Charles doesn’t hesitate. Shakes his hand. But its the same one he uses with driver’s he never liked. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

And it hits you like a knife to the ribs.

You remember that night clear as day. Theo was still new. Only a few dates in. And you invited him to a party. 

Charles showed up late. And barely looked at Theo. Offered him a lazy smile before finding you later into the night. Pulling you into his car thirty minutes later and fucking you in the back seat.

And Theo’s smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

Charles smiles. But his eyes stay on you. Never leave your face.

Alex swings her arm into his. “So glad you made it. Saved you the good room too.”

You smile at her. “That’s sweet of you.”

Charles lifts a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a good room to enjoy yourself here.”

And you hum. “Guess I’ve gotten a little pickier.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Since when?”

And you shrug your shoulders. “Since I started dating someone who doesn’t forget my birthday.”

And it hits him like a bullet. You see the way his jaw shifts. Swallow.

Theo’s hand slips onto your lower back. Whispering softly into your ear. Nothing specific. Just something that makes you smile.

And Charles swear’s he might just vomit.

-

The ocean is calm. Waves hitting the rocks. A few birds chirping. Air cool before the sun is fully up.

You slip out of bed, letting Theo sleep. Making your way down the stony path that you walked hundreds of times. Towel slung over your shoulder. Hair twisted up in a clip.

And you’re halfway across the sand when you see him.

Already waist deep in the water. Back facing you. 

You freeze. Debating if you should turn around. 

But it’s too late. He see’s you. And his face shifts into something. Longing? Guilt? You’re not sure.

“You’re always here early,” He calls out.

You drop your towel, walking into the water without glancing at him.  “Not always.”

He watches you. You can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. “You do when you’re avoiding me.”

You glance up. The water cool against your skin. “Who said I’m avoiding you?”

He shrugs. “History.”

You reach him in the water. You both stand there, not touching. Not moving.

Eventually…he speaks.

“He’s staying the entire time?”

You raise a brow. “Are you asking as my best friend or something else?”

He doesn’t answer. 

You move a little closer. “You said he wouldn’t last.”

“I was wrong.” His voice is low. “Clearly.”

He swallows. Looks away from you. “Does he know?”

And your stomach twists. “Know what?”

He doesn’t say anything. Lets the silence tell you.

You feel your throat tightening. “He know’s we’re close.”

“Close.” He repeats. Half snort, half laugh.

“Best friends.”

He turns to fully face you now. Jaw clenched. 

“Right. Just best friends.”

You don’t respond. Because what else are you supposed to say? That you still feel his fingers dig into your skin. That no matter how many nights pass, you still wonder what this could’ve been if you both spoke up all those years ago.

He steps closer. Too close now.

“Y’still taste like that shitty rosé we used to drink.”

And you blink. Trying not to smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

His fingers brush against your shoulder. 

“You have a girlfriend.”

And his eyes look sad. He breathes loudly. “And you have him.”

-

The villa is loud tonight. Music is blasting. Too many drinks are being poured. Bowls of snacks turning stale.

All of you are packed into the living room. Sunburn. Sprawled into chairs or the floor. Hoodies thrown on. 

Your families are here. Everyone laughing and shouting. Bickering. Like its still 15 years ago.

Theo sits behind you on the rug, legs wrapped around you. Hand resting on your hip. And he’s been sweet all evening. He fits.

Yet every time you crack a joke. Or win a game. It’s Charles who looks at you first. Like he’s your person.

His leg bounces restlessly. 

“Alright,” Arthur announces. “We’re playing that game again. The one with the acting.” He holds up a deck of cards.

“Y’mean charades?” Alex asks. Soft.

“No.” Charles says. “The one I always win.”

And it’s you rolling your eyes now. “Y’mean the one you always cheat during?”

He leans forward. “I win.”

Theo laughs behind you.

Your sister tries to act out like Snow White. Falling over and laughing when Arthur misreads a motion. Theo keeps guessing too many times. And Alex’s impressions are almost too good.

And later…when the game’s over. You find yourself in the kitchen, stacking freshly cleaned glass and bowls onto the drying towel.

Humming to yourself.

And Charles leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you with a lazy grin. 

“You two are cute,” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

“M’not.” He shrugs. Pushing off the archway and stepping closer. “It’s just…uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You let him touch you a lot.”

You pause with a glass in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And he smiles. Tight. Not genuine. “Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

He raises his hands. Says something mocking of Theo.

And it has you gasp lightly. “You’re such an asshole.” You try not to smile.

He steps even closer.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “But I’m still your favorite.”

And then he’s stepping beside you, taking the glass from your hand and dries it.

Finishes washing the dishes with you in silence.

-

“You’re staring again.”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re having fun.”

“Jealous?”

“Of him? Never.”

Silence.

“But of you? Maybe.”

The bar is tucked into the cliffs. A grand view of the sea. Well lit by bulbs on strings.

Everyone’s dressed for the night. Sun-kissed. Hair soft and flows. Laughter echoing. 

You’re on your second drink. Lightly buzzed. Your dress clinging to you just right. And you feel good. Happy.

Theo’s spinning you around. His hands warm on your waist as you move slowly in the corner of the makeshift dance floor. He’s not much of a dancer. But he’s trying. And in the end…that’s all that really matters.

He leans in close. “Y’look so beautiful.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“I mean…y’always do.” He grins. “But-“

You don’t let him finish. Kiss him. Easy. Soft.

And when you pull back, you catch him in the corner of your eye.

Charles. At the bar.

Sitting with Arthur and Alex. Drink in front of him. Head tilted.

And he’s watching you. Not listening to either of them.

And when you’re eyes meet, he lifts his drink.

A challenge.

And later when you slip away from the loud music. He’s there. Leaning casually against the table. Shirt undone just enough to make your throat dry. 

“You’re having fun.” He says. A statement. Not a question.

“Isn’t that the point?”

He nods. “Theo’s a big fan of spinning you around like you’re some prize.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called dancing.”

“More like claiming.” He huffs under his breath.

And you look at him.

Hard. 

Trying to read him. 

“What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Eyes dropping to the floor. Then to his half empty drink. 

“You kissed him.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You squint your eyes a little. “Yeah. I did.”

He swallows. Harsh. “Cool.”

You laugh. Dry. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” He finally looks at you. “You’re out here making heart eyes at a guy you know won’t last more than another year.”

Your mouth falls open. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. I know you.”

And he steps forward. Voice dropping.

“And I know that’s the same dress you wore the night I…”

“Charles.”

You both go quiet. 

Alex’s frame flickers by. Laughter erupts. People keep dancing.

“Whatever. You’re right. Have fun with your fling.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jealous?”

He smiles. Sad. “Of him? Never.”

A moment of silence. And his gaze drops to your mouth. Stays there.

“But you? Maybe.”

-

The trip is winding down. Bags are beginning to be packed. Towels still damp. Nights slower. Everyone pretending that they’re not ready to be home.

The sky’s dark. Everyone’s inside finishing up packing. Winding down.

You slipped out.

Without thinking, ended up here. The lemon tree.

The same as always. 

You hear footsteps. Uneven. Dragging.

And you turn. Charles.

He’s drunk. Swearing under his breath as he loses his footing. A bottle dangling from his hand. Shirtless. Barefoot.

His eyes meet yours and there’s something bitter in them. “Of course you’re here.”

You breathe. “You’re drunk.”

“A lil’ bit,” His words slur. “Celebrating your last night as someone else’s girl.”

You cross your arms. “We’re not doing this.”

But he’s already walking closer. 

“Y’know….s’kinda funny.”

You don’t speak.

“How he holds your hand like its somethin’ delicate. Like you’re some untouchable thing.” He takes another step closer. Voice shaking.

“I’ve had you on your knees on the kitchen floor.” He says, bitter.

Your heart pounds. “Stop.”

“In the pool too,” He slurs. “Begged me to not pull out. Said you wanted to feel it. Feel me.”

He doesn’t even let you speak. Just rambles on. Slurring. Drunk. Angry.

“Had you in every room in that house,” He grunts. “Fingers shoved in you while our parents set the dinner table. Bent you over the bathroom sink. Panties still halfway up your thighs because you were too desperate to wait.”

“Charles…”

“The pantry…remember that one?” His voice drops lower. “You were so wet it dripped onto the floor. Had to stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one would hear you cryin while you came.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I fucking have to.” He snaps. “Because I can’t fucking sleep this entire trip knowing he gets to touch you.”

You swallow. “I’m not some prize.”

“No. You’re worse.” He spits. Stepping close enough that his chest is close enough and you have to crane your neck to look at him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and you handed it to someone else like I never fucking existed.”

“Stop it.”

“He doesn’t know what its like to hear you lose control. How you cry when you come. Shaking and begging.”

And your breathing hard now.

He leans in. Bending down to be eye to eye.

“He gets to hold you in public.” His eyes are glaring. “And I got your thighs shaking around my face while you said my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

You don’t speak. Can’t.

Silence for a few moments.

And then…

“Tell me.” He slurs, small grin tugged on the corner of his lips. “Tell me which of us you think about when you touch yourself.”

You slap him.

Hard.

And his face whips to the side. He breathes heavily. Like he’s trying not to cry. Or scream. Or grab your face and kiss you.

He swallows.

“He gets you in the daylight.”

You don’t speak.

“He gets the sunlight.” 

And you whisper back. Soft. Heart breaking. “You only met me in the dark.”

You walk away barefoot. Tears forming in your eyes.

And Charles?

He stays at the lemon tree until sunrise. Alone.

-

You don’t talk for three months.

Which is considered a lifetime for you and Charles.

And then on a random weekday at nearly three in the morning, he sends a photo of the lemon tree in the winter.

No message beneath it.

You don’t answer.

Not for a day. Not even for three.

But then, on a random day the following week, you send a photo back.

A shot of your bedroom wall. A blurry photo of your hand holding a book in the corner.

Can’t sleep.

And the three dots appear before you can overthink it.

Me either.

And that’s how it begins.

You don’t FaceTime each other. At least, not at first. 

You fall back into a rhythm neither of you thought would come back. Almost normal. The funny kind of banter you guys always had.

Charles broke up with Alex. You broke it off with Theo.

Neither of you really said why.

-

Age 25

“Don’t sit in my chair.”

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“You haven’t either.”

The sun is long gone. You’re curled up in one of the cushioned chairs on the front patio. A half finished glass of wine on the stone table beside you.

The front door swings open.

“Don’t sit in my chair”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Charles drops into the cushion next to you. Barefoot. Hoodie swallowing him.

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

He makes a funny face. “You haven’t changed.”

And you smile. “You haven’t either.”

And its easy. The way he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. Like nothing ever happened. 

You sip your wine.

His knee bumps into yours. Gaze on you.

“Thought it’d feel weird.”

“It did…for like,” You pause. Whisper. “For like a day.”

He holds your gaze. Doesnt look away. Smiles.

You break the tension first. “Maman said you still haven’t unpacked.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get there.”

“It’s been almost a whole week. That’s psychotic.”

“You’re just mad I haven’t asked to borrow your good smelling shampoo yet.”

“You are so not borrowing that.”

“I already did.”

You elbow him in the side. Laughing. Body shaking. He laughs with you. Head falling back.

He clears his throat. “I missed this.”

And you bump your knee back into his. “Rematch tomorrow?”

“Candy Land?”

“Don’t cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

You narrow your eyes, smiling so hard. “You’re the worst.”

-

Monaco, Age 26

Your back hits the wall of his apartment. 

Urgent. Focused. 

Like he’s waited for forever to get you alone again. And doesn’t want to waste a single second of it.

His mouth is hot on yours. Hands at your hips. Your thighs. Slipped under your dress. And you’re clinging onto him like he’s a lifeline.

You can still taste the champagne on his skin. Skin warm from the race. But his mouth is desperate against you. 

He groans against your lips. “Thought about this almost every night.”

You gasp when his fingers curl around your thigh. “Stop thinking.”

And he’s about to take you right there. Dress bunched at your waist. Pants halfway down. But then you press your hand to his chest.

He stills. Panting. Flushed.

“I need to say something first,” You breathe.

He waits. Hands still gripping you.

And you look up at him. The man who just won Monaco. The boy you’ve known who’s been chasing that dream since you can remember. The one you loved. Hated. Missed.

“Your dad would be so proud of you.” You whisper.

And you feel his chest rise. Jaw clench. Fingers curl harder into your skin.

“I’m serious.” Your voice is soft. “Not just because you won. But because of how you’ve carried him with you.”

And his eyes are glassy.

He swallows hard. “I heard him.” His voice soft. “Right after I saw that checkered flag.”

You bring your hand to his check, pressing your palm. And he leans into you.

And then he’s kissing you again. But its different.

Still hungry. But more grateful. More claiming.

He whispers I love you into your mouth. Again and again. 

He whispers it when you tug his shirt over his head. When you lift your hips to pull your panties off.

Whispers it into your skin when he touches your bare skin. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time again.

And when he sinks in, he groans. Leaning over you, gripping you like you might just slip through his fingers.

“Y’feel like fuckin heaven.” He mutters against your lips. “You are heaven.”

And then he starts moving. Not fast.

Slow. Deep.

“Squeezing me like you missed it,” He huffs. “Did you, hm? Did you miss me?”

“Yes…” You pant. “Fuck…yes.”

He kisses your throat. Hot open mouthed kisses at the corner of your jaw. Hips rolling into you. Each thrust making you cry out.

“I love you.” 

He thrusts.

“I love you.”

Another.

“Not just tonight. Not just now. Always.” He cries out.

And you clench around him. Yelling out as your orgasm builds too fast.

“C’mon that’s it..” He breathes. “Come for me. Let me feel it, yeah? Let me have it…please baby.”

“I love you,” You gasp. “I love you…I love you..”

And then you’re coming. Body shaking, mouth falling slack as he fucks you through it.

Following seconds later, spilling into you.

He collapses over you. “Fuck. You’re it for me.”

You hold him close.

-

“You still take it with milk?” He asks, voice soft. 

You nod.

He hands you a mug. His fingers brushing against yours.

You sit on the couch together. Close.

“I keep thinking about the lemon tree,” You say. Cradling the mug in your hands.

He looks at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “How many summers we sat there pretending everything was normal.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “We were idiots.”

You smile. “Still are.”

“I’ve loved you since we were kids.” He says quietly. “Since you made me sleep outside by the lemon tree because you said it wasn’t fair that only the birds got to live outside.”

You laugh, heart clenching.

“I’ve loved every version of you.” He continues. “The snot version. The barefoot version. The one who laughs too loud after a few drinks. The one who tried to date other people. The one who…the one who kissed other people in front of me because I waited too fucking long.”

You pause. Placing the mug down on the side table.

“I was scared that loving you would ruin everything.”

He pushes you hair behind your ear. 

“I love you too.” You whisper. “You idiot.”

He laughs.

Leans in.

Kisses you.

-

Age 28

“This is where I almost lost you.”

“And now it’s where you’re asking to keep me?”

“No. Not asking.”

“Oh.”

Its late. 

You’ve changed into one of Charles’s old shirts. Barefoot. As usual. 

He finds you standing at the edge of the yard. 

Where the broken stone path curves. Where the grass bends. Where the lemon tree leans.

You hear him before you see him. His footsteps always so loud.

Neither of you speak. He wraps his arms over your shoulders from behind. Your back to his chest as he nudges his head into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You hold his arms. Swaying to the light breeze. Staring at the lemon tree together.

“This is where I almost lost you.” He says.

And you glance at your side to him. 

“And now it’s where you’re gonna ask to keep me?” You say, laughing. Teasing. Soft.

He smiles. Small. Shaky.

“No.” He says. Unwrapping his arms from you. “Not asking.”

And then you’re turning towards him. 

And he drops to one knee.

Just like that.

Just him in the grass. Kneeling by the lemon tree. Choosing it to be the place where he does the most important thing he’ll ever do.

Your breath catches. And his hands tremble as he pulls a ring from his pocket.

“I wanted to do this right.” He says. “I want to choose you the way I should’ve all those years ago. Not just when it’s easy..or when we’re alone. But in front of every version of us we used to be.”

Your throat burns.

“I want every summer.” He whispers. Eyes glued to you. “Every winter. Every fight. Every make up. I want to kiss you goodnight when we’re tired. Want to raise mini versions of us.”

You laugh. You cry. And you’re nodding before he even finishes.

“I want you forever.”

And then finally, “Will you marry me?”

You fall to your knees right there in the grass. In front of the lemon tree. And kiss him hard enough that you both fall into it. Laughing. Like little kids again.

“Yes.” You whisper against his lips. “Always. In every lifetime…yes.”

taglist: @softtdaisy @zicosbitch @esmeextraa @evie-119 @teamnovalak @leclercmylove @skylyn-vais @tabisswag @annaswrites00 @chaconadine @sassy-persona @im-an-overthinker @ptrickbateman @angelique-rose-valentine @agmoon03 @whistlef0rthechoir @bvbyacid-666 @jenxjar @crazynyctophilia @theoriginalsfan124 xoxo love u all :)

[carlosainzgf]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

summary: being oscar piastri's pr manager is... uneventful, to say the least. that is, until your most recent ex winds up the mclaren garage. in an attempt to prove him something, the arm you end up grabbing is oscar's. now the word is spreading around the paddock that you're his (fake) girlfriend and it turns into a beneficial pr opportunity for him and a perfect cover up for you. except oscar gets a little too good at it, and all the reminders in the world are not enough for you to keep in mind that this is fake.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x pr manager!fake gf!reader

wc: 19.2k

cw: not proofread, past toxic relationship, annoyances/colleagues to lovers, fake dating, he falls first, sort of third act breakup, oscar is slightly ooc, very light angst, season timeline is fucked but who cares! romance! clichés! drama!

note: requested here, i know nothing about pr, this was supposed to be short but i couldn't stop myself so you have this monster of a fic! i kinda hate this. anyways, enjoy!

WHEN YOU FOUND out you’d aced your interview, you thought to yourself, the sleepless nights carrying group projects every other member had procrastinated were worth it. The number of social events you passed on to finish top of your class─valedictorian, Communications major with a Journalism minor─had paid off because you had just landed a job as PR manager in Formula One. Not just in any team, either: McLaren. You were ready to dive into the glamour, the glitz, and the hardships of the sport. To thrive in the pressure, the politics, the media storms. You were ready to shine.

Except you were managing Oscar ‘No Emotions’ Piastri, and nobody thought about telling you that.

Oscar Piastri, a quiet semi-rookie when you first crossed the headquarters’ threshold, who gave you five words max per interview, had a sarcastic comment to every command the team social media manager threw his way, and disappeared at every media opportunity like a ghost, deadpanning instead of showing enthusiasm. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for you to manage.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You nudged him gently at first: helpful suggestions, friendly reminders to loosen up a little. Be more engaging. Play the game. But every time you did, he looked at you as if you'd sprouted a second head and proceeded to swiftly ignore you. The first time it happened, you were offended, and maybe a little concerned. You complained to Charlotte, Lando’s PR manager at the time, and she gave you the wisdom of a woman who had seen some things: “Assert yourself,” she’d said.

It was your first month on the job. You were fresh out of university. You didn’t even know where the best coffee machine was. How were you even supposed to do that?

Still, you decided to try again.

During a long and taxing car drive to the McLarens’ HQ, one you were sharing with Oscar after a last-minute driver swap and a logistical disaster, you figured it was now or never. Assert yourself, Charlotte had said. Be firm. Be confident.

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

“You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence that had stretched across three roundabouts, “you’re kind of boring.”

Oscar simply glanced at you, expressionless, so you clarified. “I mean, you’re not even letting me do my job. Throw me a bone here.”

And it was supposed to be playful. Oscar was supposed to quietly snort, asking how he could finally help you, and boom, you’d finally get to apply all that polished knowledge you’d studied for years.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, puzzled, as if you’d just spoken in Morse code aloud, and said, “Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.”

“What?” You blinked. Saying you’d been taken aback would have been a euphemism.

He didn’t even look away from the road.

“You talk in your sleep. Don’t nap in the common room again.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful. It was personal.

That was the moment you decided, with startling clarity, that you very much disliked Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t know you talked in your sleep. You didn’t even know he’d stumbled upon you squeezing a thirty-minute nap in the common room of McLaren’s headquarters. And you certainly didn’t remember the dream you’d had─ or why exactly it had featured your ex out of all people. All you knew was that, no matter what he heard, it was a low blow.

Especially when it came to the one man who somehow slithered his way into your heart just to shatter it from the inside out.

Disliking the person you were assigned to manage wasn’t unheard of in the world of public relations. It was practically a rite of passage. Most of the time, it came with celebrities who were a walking headline: strippers, drugs, arrests, rumors of twins with three different people. That, you could’ve handled.

Oscar wasn’t like that at all. Oscar was just… rude.

Not loud rude, or messy rude. Just… quietly, unbotheredly rude. He was unreadable, dry, and too clever. Not a PR nightmare, just a PR black hole. Just to you.

And if there was one thing you happened to be very good at─besides the job you weren’t even getting the chance to do─it was holding a grudge.

After that episode, you kept your interactions with Oscar to the bare minimum, or as much as you could without being fired. The paycheck was just too good, especially as a fresh grad still recovering from student debt.

Any advice or directions you had for him came during team meetings, always surrounded by enough people that he couldn’t hit you with his usual blank stare. When he messed up during interviews, which was sometimes inevitable, and you followed up with a politely scathing email, bullet points and all. Face-to-face convos were reserved strictly for emergencies… or if you happened to be seated beside him, in which case you communicated via foot. Strategic, silent, and sharp. You’d step on his sneaker under the eyes of all, and he’d keep smiling at the camera like nothing happened. Except for the tiny, throbbing vein on his temple─ oh, you lived for it. 

It was a perfect arrangement. Passive-aggressive peace, mutually tolerated detachment. It worked for both of you.

Sometimes, you caught him glancing your way, wondering why you were still here. But you didn’t care. You had a system, and it was stable. It would’ve stayed that way for a long time, until your or his contract expired, whichever came first.

But then your ex decided to show up, and that messed everything up.

It was a very nice Thursday, dare you say. The kind of morning that made you think the season wouldn't be so bad.

You’d expected Bahrain to be hotter, considering the furnace it had been last year during the start of your first season with McLaren. But today, the air was warm without being unbearable, a soft breeze threading through the paddock and playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, but it didn’t cling or suffocate─ just draped like it was meant to be styled that way.

Oscar had just rolled out of the garage, off to log laps and data and whatever mysterious things drivers did during testing, which meant you were officially off-duty for the next three hours. You had time for yourself, maybe for a proper coffee and a chocolate croissant. Eventually, a little conversation with Lando, if you ran into him.

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

It should have hit you when the coffee machine didn’t work, so you had to walk all the way to Lando’s side of the garage to fetch yourself a cup. It should have hit you when you didn’t even see Lando, and they were out of your favorite chocolate croissant. It should have hit you when you passed by grown men in their forties gossiping like schoolgirls about the new additions to Oscar’s car engineering team, you never heard anything about. It should have hit you when the feelings in your gut made you hesitate near the orange-colored walls.

But it really, really hit you when he grabbed your elbow.

“Y/N?”

Your body locked up like someone had flipped your off switch. The voice was familiar in the worst way─ like a nightmare you thought you’d finally grown out of. You didn’t even need to turn around. Your body already knew. Still, you did, as if asking the universe for confirmation.

And there he was. Theodore Silva, in full McLaren uniform, lanyard slung around his neck. Dark brown hair, messy, tied up in a bun, with his characteristic three o’clock shadow. Your ex-boyfriend. Your heartbreak origin story that, somehow, had the nerve to smile.

You would have backhanded him if the shock didn’t make your mind go blank.

“Wow,” he said, and you felt like a funny coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you there. Always knew you were the ambitious one.”

Oh, you knew that tone. That patronizing little tone he used when he wanted to seem impressed while reminding you he could always do better. As if you hadn’t told him a million times about your fascination with motorsports and all of its scandals. You weren’t 19 and easily diminished anymore.

You slapped on a polite, seething smile. “I could say the same. I wouldn’t have guessed they hired people with so little… experience. Or the grades to back it up.”

Theodore Silva wasn’t the richest man alive. No, that title was reserved for his father, who owned a few businesses that took off in the early 2010s and left him with an outrageous amount of money and too much to do with it─ including sending his incompetent son to a prestigious business school even though he could barely manage to keep up half of the average required. Even his father’s money couldn’t get him to graduate the same year as you.

But after another year, it could apparently get him a job at McLaren.

Yet, Theodore still chuckled, brushing off your remark as if it were just another inside joke you two shared. “They just brought me on- engineering for Piastri’s car. Funny how life works out, huh?”

He was on Oscar’s team. You’d be obligated to see him, be near him, every day. You didn’t answer, just stared at him blankly, too busy cataloguing every sharp object in the vicinity, trying to ignore the twist of your heart.

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

You tried to smile again, but you knew it came out weird when the words that came out of your mouth sounded more like a screech than anything else. “Smaller than I’d like.”

Theodore tilted his head, studying you with calm eyes, as if he hadn’t watched you, arms dangling near his side, as you broke down in his apartment’s parking lot. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

You stared at him.

Hell no. He had that voice, wearing guilt like an optional accessory, looking at you like he was the one that got away. The nerves. You hated how your chest tightened, the smell of his cologne, and how he thought he could just waltz in, throw some compliments around, hoping to win you back.

Fuck him. “I’m doing very well, Theodore. Loving my job. How’s Anna?”

That landed. He physically winced, scratching his neck. “We, uh─ We broke up, actually.”

How surprising.

“So─”

You weren’t about to let him finish. You weren’t about to let him think he even had the sliver of a chance. He wasn’t about to wreck the life you built for yourself by simply being here, no. Instead, you did the sanest thing anyone would have done in your place.

You lied.

“I have a boyfriend, actually.” The words came out so fast you almost flinched, not registering them yourself.

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, wildly too sharp for the context. “He’s great. Amazing, supportive. Emotionally available. You know─ faithful.”

He blinked, and his fake-casual mask slipped for a second. “What’s his name?” He asked, all lightness gone from his expression. 

That’s when it hit you. Unspoken panic rose in your throat because, believe it or not, you didn’t have a boyfriend. You barely even had a social life─ you spent most nights in bed with a sheet mask and Youtube videos. If you hesitated now, even for a second, Theodore would know. And he’d never let go, flashing you his smug little grin of his, strutting around the garage for a season, thinking he had a chance.

Not today, Satan.

The garage door behind you creaked open and footsteps echoed in your direction.

You didn’t look, didn’t think. You just grabbed the first arm that brushed against yours.

“This is him!” You said, an octave too high. “My boyfriend.”

And Oscar Piastri, your emotionally repressed, sarcasm-saturated PR headache of a driver, froze mid-step. As much as you wanted it, there wasn’t any way to back out now. His eyes dropped to your grip, white-knuckled, around his bicep. Then to you. Then to Theodore.

“... Sorry, what?” He said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Babe,” you hissed between your teeth, eyes still set on Theodore and smiling like your life depended on it. “Go with it.”

Finally, your ex managed to speak up. He was frozen, mouth half-opened in shock. “This is your─ You’re dating─ Oscar Piastri is your boyfriend?”

Oscar opened his mouth, definitely to ask what was going on, but you beat him to it. “Yes! Yep. It’s, um─ it’s very new. A few months.”

You finally turned to face him fully.

His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable as ever, flicked across your face─ first your eyes, then your mouth, then down to where your fingers were still digging into his arm. There was confusion there, definitely, but also a kind of calculation unique to him.

“This is Theodore,” you added, swallowing thickly. “He’s one of your new engineers.” You hesitated. “... and my ex.”

That’s when something clicked.

You felt it. The subtle shift in Oscar’s expression─ the way his shoulders straightened or the brief flicker of understanding behind his eyes. He glanced at Theodore just once before looking back at you. You pleaded silently. With your eyes, with your fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve of his fireproof top, even with the part of your lips that whispered please without making a sound.

But the longer you stood there, the more the panic crept up your spine. Oscar didn’t owe you anything. The man barely liked you. He could’ve thrown you under the bus without blinking, called you out right there and made your life ten times harder.

Which is why you almost jumped when his hand, much larger, reached up and gently settled above yours.

“Ah, Theodore,” Oscar said, like the name physically bored him. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about my reaction,” he added, fingers tightening just slightly over yours. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

He turned to glance at you. An innocent smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Theodore snapped out of the shock that froze him into place, and his smile flickered. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said casually. “All the highlights.”

You blinked up at him, heart in your throat, unsure whether to laugh or sob. Was Oscar Piastri helping you?

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

Oscar hummed, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your hand─ just once, like punctuation. You weren’t dreaming, he was playing along. And the look on Theodore’s face was worth every single of it.

“Funny, she never mentioned you, or the fact she was dating an… F1 driver, as a whole.” As if you even talked to him anymore!

Oscar shrugged, way too relaxed. “That’s all right. We’re keeping it on the down low for now, I’m sure you understand. And we don’t do much… talking, anyways.”

Your jaw nearly hit the tarmac. You stepped on Oscar’s foot, a habit by now, and he barely flinched. Apparently, that was enough for Theodore. “Well,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Guess I’ll see you two around the garage.”

“Guess I’ll see you around my car,” Oscar answered, a little too quickly.

Theodore just glanced at him before muttering, “Small world.”

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

The second he was out of sight, you yanked Oscar by the wrist like a woman possessed, dragging him to the nearest utility alleyway─ dim, slightly greasy smelling, and blessedly empty. For how long, though? You didn’t know. “Okay,” you hissed. “Wow, what the hell was that line?! We don’t do much talking?!”

Oscar raised a condescendent eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest. “I don’t know, you tell me, Mrs. This Is My Boyfriend. I just followed along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, looking up to the ceiling, hoping answers will fall off it and solve your life, simultaneously pacing a short line across the floor. “I know what I did, alright? I just─ I panicked! That guy─ he… he cheated on me. With my best friend. In my own bed. And I just─ he looked so smug and self-satisfied standing here like I’d run back to him. I needed to shove something in his face, show him I’m fine. Better. And I didn’t look and you were there and your arm was right there and now I’m going to have an aneurysm─”

Oscar blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot of information, considering we barely know each other.”

“Thank you so much for the support, Oscar. I wonder whose fault that is, exactly!”

“I’m just saying. That was a whole soap opera act in thirty seconds,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes.

You exhaled harshly. “Whatever. I didn’t actually mean to drag you into this, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll… tell him it was a misunderstanding or… I’ll figure it out. I’ll PR my way out of this, because whether you like it or not, it’s actually my job─”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off, eyes closing briefly like he needed to reboot.

You paused. “Huh?”

“I said it’s fine.” His eyes opened again, locking onto yours. “Now that he thinks you’re dating someone, his delusional ego’s going to spiral and he’ll leave you alone. Especially if it’s someone… above in station, let’s say. Not to stroke my own ego.” He tilted his head, tone flat. “He looks like the insecure type.”

“He is,” you aggressively agreed, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code, and you swore you saw his lips pull up. “So we just… leave it alone?”

“Let it die down,” Oscar continued with a casualness you could only hope to replicate. “Maybe have a conversation here and there for consistency, but that's about it. It’s not like he’s going to go around bragging that his ex-girlfriend is dating the guy he’s working for.”

You snorted. “I think he’d rather die.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Exactly.”

You sighed, finally letting your shoulders drop as the tension bled out of you. The adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, waterfall-like, but slowly softening, giving way to a quiet panic that you could make do with until the end of the day. It’s fine, you told yourself, it’ll be fine. “Okay,” you murmured, giving him a small nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oscar replied, already turning away. “Literally.”

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

The plan was to return to your regularly scheduled programming─ distant and professional. With the way Theodore worked (or more accurately, didn’t), you were pretty sure he wouldn’t last long in the McLaren garage anyway. Life would go back to normal soon enough. You were sure of it.

Rule number one of PR management: never assume anything. Certainty was a myth. Because as long as there was even a sliver of doubt, it could all go wrong. Maybe you’d gotten complacent in your ways, Oscar never gave you anything to work with after all, but you really thought that this time, it would be fine. You slept like a rock that night, the kind of sleep where your mind recharged so hard it forgot you had responsibilities in the morning.

That’s probably the reason it took you so long to notice. First, it was the way people lingered as you passed. How engineers muttered behind their coffee cups and went dead silent when you got too close. You weren’t used to this level of attention─ as a whole, you were a pretty discreet presence in the paddock, so when the smiles came and the knowing smirks got thrown your way, you started becoming suspicious.

“Morningggg,” Lando sing-songed as you entered the McLaren hospitality tent.

“Good… morning?” You muttered, narrowing your eyes as you plopped down next to him. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” You asked as you bite into the chocolate croissant you’d been craving since yesterday.

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

The curly-haired man sighed dramatically, as if your question alone had aged him. “No, but I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong, since I had to hear it from my race engineer. During briefing.”

You blinked. “Okay, what the hell are you on?” you admitted. “Have you been doing crack? Is that it?”

“Whatever, keep your secrets, Y/N,” Lando conceded, a smug little grin on his lips. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. Or I’ll just get the truth from Osc’. He seems… chatty, lately.” 

You couldn’t imagine Oscar Piastri being chatty to save your life. “What? What does Oscar have to do with anything?” But Lando was already up and walking off.

Alone with your chocolate croissant and your detonated sense of peace, you scanned the room, eyes darting in panic.

Across the tent, Oscar stood by the coffee station, talking to a staff member with his hands-in-pockets casual disinterest. His eyes met yours, and he paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow raised in that really? kind of way that made you want to slap him. There was a silent question in it. 

One you didn’t have an answer to.

The answer actually came knocking that night─ quite literally. Loud, incessant, unforgiving knocks at your hotel room door.

You were in the middle of taking off your makeup, cotton pad in one hand and dabbing at your under-eye concealer like it personally offended you. “Seriously?” You audibly commented, exhausted. It was nearly 10 PM. You’d done your job, answered more emails than anyone should in one day. The very least the universe could offer was twenty-four uninterrupted minutes of peace.

But the knocking didn’t stop, so you opened the door with a groan and a complaint on your tongue, only for the sound to die the moment you registered who was standing on the other side.

Oscar Piastri. In a hoodie, track pants, socks that did not match, and looking far too calm for someone who’d just banged on your door as if the apocalypse was tracking him down. You stared in confusion, words refusing to come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried.

“Sooo… we might have a problem,” Oscar finally spoke in the silence stretching between you.

He walked in your room with no hesitation, without you even inviting him in─ the audacity! Sure, yeah, come on in, ruin my night, you thought. He glanced around, sizing your room and seemingly expecting paparazzis behind the mini-bar, before turning to face you with a flat look.

“What’s this problem that has you acting so dramatic for─”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter. Well, we are,” he said simply, tone measured. “Someone took a photo. You holding my arm next to your ex. In the garage. And the caption is─”

He pulled out his phone. A screencap of big, red, capital letters: IS OSCAR PIASTRI SOFT-LAUNCHING HIS PR MANAGER?

It took a while for reality to set in. 

You stared at the screen blankly, eyes flicking from Oscar to the headline, erratic. Soft-launching. Soft-launching. You tasted blood in your mouth. Oh, no─ it was actually just your soul leaving your body. “This is not happening,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly. “It’s fake. This is fake. I’m hallucinating.”

Oscar hummed. “Want me to read you the quote tweets?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged and put his phone down. You sat down on your bed, hands flying to your temple. “Okay, okay. No big deal. I’ll just tell the team we were talking about… a car issue. A steering problem. Brake pedal feedback. That sounds fake, right? Like, real-enough fake.”

Oscar gave you a look. “You could try that,” he said slowly, “but your ex has apparently been sniffing around the garage asking people if we’re actually dating.”

“No way.”

“I overheard Lando’s race engineer telling him. He asked five different people.” A beat. “He’s not subtle.”

You could feel your eyes twitch. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the mini-bar, staring at you. “So I don’t think your little oh it was just a brake issue! excuse is going to cut it.”

“I’m going to end it all,” you said, dropping your face in your hands. “I’m going to crawl into my media kit and live there forever.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll bring you snacks.”

“How are you not freaking out? Like, at all? It’s your face on every headline, and my job on the line!” You didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have on any future jobs you might want, or your actual one. Future employers were going to Google you and find dating rumors about a fake relationship with a driver you were managing.

“Oh, I freaked out,” Oscar cut in smoothly, walking toward you. “Trust me, I had a whole mini-existential crisis in the elevator.”

“That’s good for you, Oscar. Why aren’t you still freaking out?”

“Because I figured this might be a job for my PR manager,” he said, toned laced with sarcasm. “Who also happens to be the cause of the PR disaster in the first place.”

You opened your mouth just to close it, and to open it again. “That’s fair.”

“And you said I was too boring.” Oscar gave you a dry smile, and weirdly, that was the moment it clicked.

You were his PR manager. This─whatever mess the universe had decided to dump in your lap─wasn’t just a disaster. It was an opportunity. A viral, narrative-controlling opportunity. The kind of chaos you could work with. You’d complained that Oscar gave you nothing: too quiet and acidic. Well, he certainly wasn’t that anymore, or almost.

You straightened up, the panic slowly morphing into focus. Your heart was still pounding, but now to the rhythm of the plan puzzling itself in your head. No one had trained you for what to do when you were the story but if anyone could improvise, it was. Your idea was wild, unhinged, even. But you knew better than anyone that the line between unhinged and brilliant was just the execution. And if you played this right, it could be exactly what the both of you needed.

You turned to Oscar slowly, the corner of your lips twitching into something almost insane. “Oscar,” you said carefully. “What if we didn’t let this go to waste?”

“Come again?”

“I mean, this,” you gestured vaguely toward his phone, screen down on the counter. “Oscar Piastri’s mystery romance unveiled, blah blah blah. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “... You’re about to say something crazy.”

You got up from your spot on the bed to face him fully. “Fake dating.”

“There it is.”

“No, seriously, hear me out,” When he started taking a few steps back, you rushed toward him, hands animated. “People are already talking. We can’t undo the articles or stop the whispers, but we can own the story. It’s simple PR strategy: if the narrative’s out of our hands, we grab it back, shift the focus and make it work for us.”

“And what, exactly, would we be gaining from this?” Oscar looked deeply, deeply unconvinced.

You got closer to him and his eyes widened discreetly, quickly shifting from your eyes to your lips, and to the one finger you were holding up in front of his face. “One, you get press engagement. You’ve been called the human spreadsheet by more than one person─”

“Never heard of that.”

“Okay, maybe it’s only me, but my point still stands. This? It gives you dimension. Warmth. Personality. More people of all age groups rooting for you.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m dating you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Two,” you continued without missing a beat, “I get a break from Theodore. He’s more likely to leave me alone if he thinks you’re in the picture long-term, or as close as we can get to it.”

“Isn’t that the reason you picked me in the first place?”

“I was desperate. You were here and tall.”

Oscar shrugged at your words, quietly agreeing with you, which egged you on for the last point of your argument. “Three, if this all goes up in flames, we just say we broke up. That wouldn’t be the ideal outcome until Theodore’s out of the picture, but if push comes to shove, we do this quietly. Classic ‘we ask for privacy during this time’, then ghost the media. End of story, and we go back to our ways.”

The silence stretching between the walls of your hotel room seemed to last a lifetime too long as the Australian studied you carefully, arms crossed on his chest. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Actually, I just did. I’m that good.”

He exhaled loudly at your comment, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and you tried your best not to let a little quip past your lips. “And how long would this have to last?” Oscar asked, voice muffled by his palm.

“Until Theodore goes away, which shouldn’t be more than a few weeks knowing his talents. Enough to let the story peak and settle and it would include a couple public appearances, some social media crumbs─ low effort, maximum payoff for you.”

Hope swirled in your chest with the intensity of a storm when he dropped his hands, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“And your ex leaving you alone would be the only thing you’d gain out of all this?”

You didn’t hesitate a single second when you answered. “That, and peace. Maybe a little petty revenge over him and honestly? A challenge.” Because this is what you’ve been dying to do ever since you stepped foot in the paddock a year ago.

And maybe Oscar saw the hellfire of determination in your eyes as he scanned you, either that or you sold your reckless idea with the confidence of a politician, because after long, skeptical minutes. He held out his hand, and the overwhelming weight pressing against your shoulders seemed to evaporate in the flight of a hundred butterflies.

“Fine, count me in,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “but if it all goes to shit, you’re taking the blame.”

You hastily took his hand, his rough palm fitting into yours, and you blamed the electricity rushing in your spine and the powdery pink of his cheeks on the ridiculous situation and the relief coursing through your body. “Deal, but it won’t go to shit if you keep up with me.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips, which made you smile. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest and the heaviness of what you’d just agreed upon settled over you like a second skin.

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

First thing you did the next morning was to warn a handful of team members: there was no world in which running a fake dating scheme in secret wouldn’t come back to bite you and frankly, your job and reputation were already hanging by a thread due to yesterday’s PR earthquake. You and Oscar pulled Lando, Zak, and a few key staff members─social media, comms, and PR support─into the smallest available hospitality room you could find, locking the door behind you.

You explained the situation as fast as you could, hands raised in surrender under their gazes. How the rumors were technically true but not real, what conclusions you came to in such little time, and the thought process behind your idea, carefully excluding Theodore’s implication.

“Wouldn’t lying to the public make it worse?” Someone from comms piped up, deadpan.

You winced. “Damage control isn’t always about truth. It’s about optics, controlling the narrative before it controls us. We’ve assessed the risk, this buys us time to refocus headlines onto the cars, not the garage drama all while boosting Oscar’s popularity.”

Zak blinked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “You assessed the risk?”

“With me,” Oscar added from his chair, facing you. “I see the strategic upside. I’ll blow over in a few weeks, it’s fine. No harm done.” You sent him a silent thank you, holding his eyes just long enough for him to notice.

“Soo, when’s the wedding?” Lando piped up, leaning forward. “Or do we just have the break-up arc planned?”

You ignored him, preferring to explain the conditions of you and Oscar’s little agreement: no posts unless you greenlit them, no press comments and if anyone asked, yes, you were together. Happy. In love, but still casual. Social media staff were already scribbling notes or rapidly typing on their keyboards, and Zak looked like he might die of a heart attack.

So were you. Still, when you glanced at Oscar during one of McLaren’s CEO's silent breakdowns, you couldn’t help but share a silent laugh.

The following days were catastrophic, to say the least. Navigating the Bahrain paddock for the last of testing and media obligations for the first Grand Prix of the season the week after had turned into a minefield of knowing looks and suspicious stares. You and Oscar were learning how to walk the tightrope of fake affection with the grace of two toddlers. A few shared smiles, a shoulder brush, but every interaction felt rehearsed, taken off a badly written script. By some given miracle, it did work on some people but not all, and especially not Theodore. You could feel his eyes on you everytime you walked through the garage, narrowed as if waiting for a slip-up, but you’d rather die than prove him right.

By the end of the first few days, Oscar’s social media manager handed you a photo of the both of you to approve for Instagram─ one where Oscar had his arm slung around your shoulder awkwardly while you stood next to the car, all too aware of the massive lens pointed right at you. It was…

“It looks like we lost a bet,” you muttered, horrified.

Oscar leaned in over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh. Yeah, that’s bad.”

You threw your hands in the air, movements more powerful than words to transcribe the frustration elevating your blood pressure. Before a flurry of complaints and insults could slip past your lips, Oscar spoke.

“Okay, maybe it’s not very convincing, but it’s also because we haven’t figured out how to sell it correctly.”

“What a revolutionary thought.” He shrugged your comment off. 

“Well, I figured since we skipped the whole dating part and went straight to the whole madly-in-love thing, maybe it’s time we… backtrack?”

You felt the lightbulb switch on in your mind, eyes widening in realization. “Backtrack… like a backstory?”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “A timeline, yeah. How it started, how it’s going, first dates and everything. The whole fake fairytale.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You hated to admit he was currently beating you at your job, but Oscar was right. People were already speculating about the two of you a week in your fake relationship; everyone, including you, needed some foundations to be settled and fast. “Okay, alright. We can figure this out tonight, preferably in my hotel room since it apparently became the headquarters of this,” you made circle hand gesture between the two of you, “operation. Also because nobody will bust us in there.”

Oscar showed up at an ungodly hour of the evening─ the clock showcased numbers that hurt your sleep cycle, but nothing made the press talk more than going to your girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night, right? He knocked once before letting himself in, dressed in the same sweats and hoodie as a week ago, and holding a suspiciously large energy drink. “I come bearing poison,” Oscar announced, lifting the can.

You squinted at him from your spot on the bed-your hotel room lacking a desk-surrounded by a battlefield of notebooks and your wheezing laptop that was one short breath away from the grave. “Perfect, that’ll keep us up. We have work to do. Welcome to the Ted-talk-slash-lie-building meetup.”

Oscar kicked off his shoes, walking toward you. He eyed the chaos with a low whistle. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

You handed him a purple glitter pen without even glancing in his direction. “Sit your ass down and write with honor, Piastri.”

“Glitter? Really?”

“Don’t patronize me. I love glitter gel pens. Better memorize that if you want to be a good fake boyfriend.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t protest as he took the pen, sitting down next to an open notebook on the edge of your bed. He cracked the energy drink open with a hiss, and you took it from his hands before he had the time to bring it to his lips. “Jesus, you’re bossy.” You shot him a look. “Alright, alright. Where do we begin?”

You exhaled, eyes settling on your computer screen. A bright, pink page was showcasing Date Idea: Where To Take Your Beloved For A First Date? “With the basics. When we started dating, how we met, how many fake months we’ve been in fake love, which side of the bed you sleep in for continuity purposes.”

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

You gradually settled in a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Between the quiet clicking of the keyboard, the buzzing of Chinese nightlife outside your window, and the rhythmic scratch of the glittery ink on paper, you and Oscar brainstormed.

Ideas came slowly at first, awkward and stilted the way two kids forced together in a group project would work─ which it was, in a way. It didn’t take you long to realize you didn’t know Oscar at all, and he didn’t know you either, and the recognition of that fact put a certain strain on your interactions, as much as there already was. Yet, the tension softened as the minutes from midnight trickled away. You found yourself building a history out of thin air, questions after questions and jokes after jokes─ inside jokes that didn’t exist and justified why you laughed so hard at ‘soft tyres’, a first date that involved a tragically undercooked lasagna which Oscar and you had to fight over because neither of you wanted to look like a bad cook. You chose May 21st as the anniversary date because it sounded cute. Oscar protested, “How can a date even be cute? It doesn’t make sense.” He still settled on it.

Snorts, teasing looks as you drew a clumsy timeline in the middle of your designated ‘Relationship Basics’ notebook. “What about our first kiss?”

“Mmh, that’s a good one. People are going to ask.”

“Duh,” you fought the smile on your lips with little effort. “C’mon. You were wearing that hideous orange puffer, it was raining, and I was mad because you didn’t share your umbrella.”

“Oh right, and you were soaked and… okay, you said I owed you a kiss for compensation. Sounds like something you’d do,” Oscar replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness.

You made a sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You do remember!”

He laughed. A real one, warm and easy, going right through your chest. You quickly joined him, and his eyes lingered on you a second too long after the joke faded. “I made it up with hot chocolate later, though,” he added with a lazy smile that didn’t belong in any scenarios.

You scribbled that in your notebook. “Ew. We are sickeningly cute.”

And somewhere between a fabricated ski trip and the great debate of who said ‘I love you’ first, something shifted, just a little. Oscar had moved from the edge of the bed to sit beside you, arms behind his head against the headrest, legs stretched on the covers. His knees bumped yours every now and then, but you didn’t flinch away. The notebooks laid abandoned now, pens scattered across the duvet. Your laptop screen dimmed after an hour of neglect and your limbs were heavy with the sweet stickiness of fatigue that only came when you laughed too much and too hard.

You glanced over at Oscar and his hair was a little messy, eyes a little sleepy, softened by the light of the space. He was already watching you. “You know,” he spoke up. “For a so-called meeting, it suspiciously looks like a sleepover.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, tiredness winning over your resolve. “It’s almost four,” he continued,  voice lower in the hush of your hotel room. “We’ve officially survived our first week of fake dating. Well, we did four hours ago, but…”

“And we haven’t accidentally gotten married in Vegas like they do in movies. I’d call that a win.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely not because of our amazing chemistry.”

A huff escaped you again, and your head fell back against the pillows. Shanghai still hummed outside the window, quieter this time, and the city lights threaded through the thin curtains you pulled. The room was just as still, if warmer─ you could feel the tired blush on your cheeks and the heat of Oscar’s thigh against yours. “You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought,” you said, a lazy sigh curling into your words.

It came out like an offhand casual observation, but you didn’t meet his eyes. Truth be told, you were ashamed. The whole year you’d convinced yourself Oscar Piastri was a nuisance and a stain on your work life had been shattered in the shine of glitter pens and the drafting of a romance novel-worthy story. Because he was actually kind of funny, and even though he delivered his jokes like he was bored half the time which you used to interpret as condescance, they still made you laugh. He listened when you spoke. He had a dry, understated charm you were starting to recognize as very authentic.

And he hadn’t complained once tonight. Not when you made him pick an anniversary date for the third time, or reenact a fake first meeting with your best friend. He was just… there.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, but his voice melted at his usual edges. “You’re alright too. Surprisingly.”

When you turned your head, you found he was already looking at you for the second time, and a moment passed. You gave him a smile, barely there, and he looked away. “Guess we do make a decent team,” Oscar mumbled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mimicked him. He snorted.

You walked him to your door after an exchange of soft chuckles and breathy goodnights. Fake dating Oscar would be harder than you thought, but it definitely wouldn’t be as bad as you made it out to be.

You weren’t sure what it was between the sleep deprivation, the amateur acting, or the emotional whiplash of building an entire relationship with a guy you were only acquainted with, but something about it shifted the rhythm you’d gotten used to. Whatever happened during that night, being Oscar Piastri’s fake girlfriend became easier after it.

It started with texts. You couldn’t remember which one of you sent the first non-work related one, but it became a daily occurrence of linking the other pictures the press took of the both of you.Oscar would often comment something along the lines of Do I look like a man held hostage or a man in love? Be honest. You’d roll your eyes everytime, answering: All I can say is that I’m not flattered. At first, it was mostly logistical─ scheduling photo ops, making sure neither of you veered your scheme off the track. But somewhere between sarcastic captions and oddly flattering candids, the conversations grew longer. It became a way to kill time, a habit.

Oscar was easy to talk to, which was a thought that would’ve originally terrified you. Except the conversations carried off screen, and you found yourself enjoying them an awful lot.

Along the lines of your ruse, you started saving seats beside each other during lunch breaks or waiting up for the other to go back to the hotel together─ not for the cameras or Theodore’s heinous stare, but for a reason as simple as the enjoyment of the other’s company. Oscar was more than a colleague by that point, he became something else that you couldn’t quite call a friend the way you called Lando one. You stopped overthinking every step you took beside him, every glance and sentence. You had your script, sure. But more than that, you had a quiet kind of understanding. He knew when to press his hand to the small of your back when it was needed, and you knew when to lean in just enough to sell the look of something intimate. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was practiced. Comfortable, even. Maybe, just maybe, a little fun. Which is why you couldn’t tell when the little things started to feel not as little anymore.

Rare were the times you arrived late to a team briefing, but a late-night spiral reviewing articles about your little charade had stolen more sleep than you’d expected, and for the first time since you started out at McLaren, your alarms lost the battle. You slipped in your seat next to Oscar, a movement you barely thought about anymore, breathless, cheeks warm from your run across the paddock and the drizzle misting your hair. Your pants were drenched, there was a pounding behind your eyes and you were thirty minutes away from biting someone’s head off if they even dared mention your tardiness.

Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just glanced your way as he often did, eyes flicking up and down once. You braced for a comment, a joke, preparing to hold yourself back from doing something you’ll regret doing to your fake boyfriend in public.

Instead, he leaned down, reaching for a paper bag next to him, from where he pulled out a steaming paper cup and a chocolate croissant that he slid toward you without a word. Your name was scribbled across the side of the wrapper along with your very specific order, down to the temperature.

You looked at Oscar. At your breakfast. Then at Oscar again. “How─”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, still looking forward. “Figured you’d be late, so I got you this. You get cranky with no sleep or caffeine in your system.”

“I don’t get cranky,” you muttered, wrapping your cold hands around the hot beverage. “You get sassy when you don’t sleep.”

“Sure,” Oscar said casually, meeting your eyes for the first time since you sat down. “There’s extra vanilla, by the way.”

You didn’t answer, just rolled your eyes, but his gaze was still on you when Zak burst through the door. The fact he remembered that you took extra vanilla syrup in your extra hot latte and that your favorite pastry was a chocolate croissant should be nothing, because you’re sure you told him at some point during your many one-on-one briefings. Except it wasn't. Not really.

Then, there was the flight. There was nothing the fans and the media loved more, and Theodore despised just as much, than couple apparitions at airports, which led to Oscar’s social media manager to nudge you into the believable. That’s how you found yourself catching the same flight as Oscar, Lando and a few others on their jet. It had become recurrent in the past few weeks and you’d never admit it out loud, but there were non-neglectable perks: fewer crying babies, more space, and the occasional poker game where you absolutely obliterated Lando’s ego. You know I’m just that good at acting, you’d said, throwing a cheeky smile at Oscar that he gave you right back.

This time, though, none of you had the energy to talk, let alone play cards. It had been an exhausting and emotional race weekend─ back-to-back media obligations underneath the fire of reignited on-track rivalries, rain delays, and disputes amid the team you couldn’t legally disclose. The jet was unusually quiet as it took off into the night sky, everyone slipping into their respective silence.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You usually didn’t in airplanes, they stressed you out too much─ you’d just leaned against the window for a little moment, eyes fluttering closed. The buzz of the engine and the soft cabin light blurred the world into static and you drifted away in a split second, as soon as the city was turned to insignificant holes in the black tapestry underneath you.

After a while, you felt a warmth, subtle at first. There was something solid against your shoulder, enough to make you crack one eye open.

Oscar’s head was resting against yours, and you were tucked comfortably against him. At some point, he’d dozed off too, and the both of you had slumped toward each other in your sleep. You could’ve moved, you know you would have a few weeks back, but you didn’t. You let your eyes close again and let yourself drift in and out of sleep along the quiet sync of your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, your legs rested on his knees, and you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed like that─ten minutes, an hour─but when you finally woke up again, it was to the obnoxious flick of Lando’s phone camera and his barely contained laughter.

It was the accumulation of those little things, the seemingly insignificant moments that, piled together, made them bigger than they should have been. It was when Oscar took the habit of sleeping in your hotel room after qualifications to watch a movie under the pretense of simulating ‘passionate encounters’. It was when, one morning, bleary-eyed, you accidentally threw on his hoodie with his number printed on the back, and his hands lingered on the small of your back a little more possessively that day. It was when you were running low on your orange glitter gel pen and a full set was mysteriously delivered to your door, even if you didn’t need one. In the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when you caught him staring, when he pointed right at you after his podiums, how your skin fizzed with heat for hours after he kissed your cheek in front of the cameras.

But what really blurred the line was the night in Spain.

It hadn’t been a particularly thrilling race─ tame from lights out to chequered flag. Oscar had finished P3, Lando snagged P2, both holding their qualifying positions with sharp determination. But the crowd had been wild, the champagne flowing and before you knew it, Lando dragged you and Oscar into Carlos’ plans for the night. All that happened after was a blur of neon lights and ear-shattering singing.

The walk back to the hotel was your idea- just a short stroll through warm cobblestone streets, the air sweet with late night chatter and the slow beginning of summer. You and Oscar snuck out the back entrance of the club, the latter clearly not fitting in the Spanish nightlife, your heels dangling from your fingers and his cap pulled low to hide the flush of his cheeks. Both of you were just tipsy enough to feel invincible, shoulders brushing as you exchanged anecdotes and very real inside jokes, something about not-much-talking, laughter echoing against the dead of the night.

It was quiet for a moment after that, the comfortable kind that sometimes settled between you. Oscar decided to break it.

“You know,” he started, softer than usual. “I’ve been meaning to ask─ why didn’t you like me at first?”

You turned your head up slowly, the reality of the question dawning on you. You raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like you?”

“Come on.” Oscar gave you a look, and in the dark of his eyes you swore you saw the polite, Shakespearean insults you sneaked in your emails, the harsh tap on your foot on his, flashing in the quarter of a second. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

He kept his eyes on you, waiting. You sighed, tipping your head back to look at the night sky─ no stars were visible, but it didn’t take away from the beauty of it. “You were just─” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Honestly, you were rude, smug and condescending. I felt like you were trying to make my job harder than it should be by just- not doing anything. People were talking about you as this nice, quiet boy and I secretly wanted to bash your head against a wall.”

A beat. “Wow. That’s brutal,” he simply answered. “I don’t get how I gave that impression. I always thought you were the one being rude to me.”

Your head whipped in his direction and you could physically feel the disbelief splashed across your features. “Me? You started it!”

“How?”

“That one car ride in my third month,” you deadpanned. “You made a very snobbish comment about a dream I had about my ex. You said, and I quote─” you cleared your throat dramatically, dropping your voice to the flattest Oscar impression known to man, “‘Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.’” Oscar was half-laughing by that point. “Oh, don’t you dare! You also said something about how I shouldn’t sleep in the HQ again, but for the record? It was my first triple-head─”

He held a hand up in mock surrender, mouth agape in stupor. “Is this what started this whole… passive-aggressiveness?”

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

Oscar made a face. “Unnecessary, sure. I get it. But you know what was also unnecessary? The intimidating, pretty new girl at McLaren─who also happened to be my new PR Manager─calling me boring to my face.”

The words hung in the air between the two of you. Your froze, caught off-guard by the ease with which the compliment slipped out. Oscar was continuing with his rant, either completely oblivious or choosing not to care. You cut him off. “... You thought I was pretty?”

That’s when he faltered, his lips parted in a half-word as if he hadn’t realized what he said before you pointed it out. Oscar’s gaze flicked to yours, then away, suddenly far more interested in the cracks of the sidewalk than anything else. “Well, yeah,” he took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair like it might undo the sentence. “I mean, you still are. It’s not like that changed.”

It would be lying to say you had considered the possibility that you caused the tension between you and Oscar in the first place. While your sad attempt at humor might have been the catalyst, something must’ve already been simmering under the surface for things to go cold so quickly after it. Your heart gave the tiniest, traitorous jump, chest pulling in a reluctant way, at the thought he’d noticed you then. You despised how easy it was to smile, to fall into the warmth of the possibility.

“Oh,” you said softly, and it explained everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar added quickly, flustered, “it didn’t feel great.”

You couldn’t tell if the red of his cheeks was from the heat, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, but what you could tell was how hopelessly cute you found him in this moment. You tried to play it cool, despite the fact your heartbeat had skipped a full chord. “Noted. And for the record, now I know you aren’t boring,” you added, teasing, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re just… private. Or mysterious. A sardonic brick wall, if you will.”

It successfully had him looking up, a light-hearted scoff slipping past his lips - you could see the relief in his facial traits. “I’ll take mysterious. It’s better than boring.”

When you got into your hotel room, Oscar slipped past your door as he normally would, and you collapsed onto the bed with your legs tangled together like always─ but something was different now. The air around the mattress was slower, stuck in time, warm in the way his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck when he settled beside you, eyes already fluttering shut.

For the first time since this whole agreement began, you had to consciously remind yourself that it wasn’t real. The comfort in your chest wasn’t made to stay. The steady rhythm of his breathing next to yours, the way your body naturally molded into the other─ it was all pretend. 

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Like silk curtains flowing with the breeze, the change was discreet but there nonetheless, in the shared silences that felt less like pauses and more like instances captured with a polaroid. There was hesitation, once again, but unlike the one you chased away before─ in how you touched, how you laughed, how you glanced at each other and closed the gap under the bright flashes. You were both tiptoeing around something fragile and new.

Neither of you said anything, but it was something too heavy not to notice─ at least, you hoped Oscar did as well: the reluctant awareness of how hazy the lines had started to get and the stunned realization that maybe they’d never really been that straight to begin with after Oscar’s tipsy confession in Spain. You were still doing everything to showcase your relationship to the media, Theodore’s presence in the paddock still overwhelmingly present and Oscar’s popularity sky-rocketing. You were still holding hands and tucking yourself to his side in the garage between two meetings, carefully weaving the continuation of the story you made up together. Yet, when no one was watching, it didn’t feel as plastic. Not when Oscar whispered in the crevice of your ear in a crowded room, or when your heart jumped at the sound of his laugh. When it started to hurt, just a little, when he pulled away.

The day he called you at five in the morning from Canada was confirmation enough. The switch from the heat of Spain to the rainy weather of the United Kingdom for work had taken its toll on you, and you had to call in sick for the Montreal race weekend. Tucked in your covers with a cup of coffee and an inability to sleep due to your clogged nose, you watched your phone screen lit up with his name. You answered with a hoarse, “Why are you awake?”

Oscar chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the hotel air conditioning in the background. “Why are you?”

“Respiratory betrayal,” you said, dragging your blanket further up your chin. “What’s your excuse? The race’s tomorrow.”

You talked about everything and nothing for a little while. Oscar told you how the track felt a little underwhelming, how the social media team messed up with their main Instagram account, and of Lando’s endless complaining about the lack of your presence─ apparently, the paddock was too quiet now. You nodded in your pillow with a smile like he could see you.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away, like it always did now. Oscar asked what you were listening to lately and you told him of a song that sounded like spring and reminded you of long drives at night, especially the instance when he drove you home after Monaco. He said it sounded like something you’d play to get out of your own head. You said it was. He told you about this stupid childhood habit he had of organizing cereal boxes in alphabetical order and you laughed so hard it triggered a coughing fit.

Oscar’s voice dropped. “I wish you were here.”

It wasn’t dramatic or purposeful in the slightest. He said it as if he was realizing it at the same time he pronounced the words. It was your case too when you answered, “Yeah, me too.”

Your chest ached, because there was no camera to capture the softness of the moment and you just found out you preferred it that way.

And then you came back for the Austrian Grand Prix. You didn’t see Oscar much that weekend. You’d barely touched the ground before you were swallowed whole by emails, debriefs, documents you missed during your sick leave and Theodore side-eyeing you every time you so much as coughed next to him. There was no time for soft moments, not even time to stop and just glance at Oscar even if you wanted to.

He crossed the line in P1 that day. You were mid-conversation with Zak, animated with excitement even during your lengthy talk about the following media duties, when arms pulled you in so strongly you lost track of what you were saying. You recognized him by touch alone: Oscar was wrapped around you, body sweaty and warm from his maddened laps. He held the helmet in his hand, still catching his breath when his head dropped on your shoulder. 

“You’re back,” he said, voiced laced with something a lot like relief.

“Of course I’m back,” you whispered back, fingers twitching on the back of his race suit. He sounded like you were gone for years and somehow, it really did feel like it. You could’ve stayed there for hours, you thought, until Zak obnoxiously cleared his throat next to you.

Oscar pulled back, eyes brighter than his usual post-race exhaustion, the glint of something you couldn’t name just yet dancing in his pupils. His hands came to rest on your wrist, barely brushing your hands. “Stay with me?” He asked, and your heart might have stopped just there. Realizing how it sounded, Oscar quickly corrected, “For the interviews. I’ve been dodging the media since you weren’t there.”

“I will,” you smiled. Your feet were already moving anyway.

He kept glancing sideways everytime the journalists asked about strategy and pace, and the little tug in your guts told your mind you were enjoying it, even though shamefully missing the feeling of the circle his thumb drew on the inside of your hand. When the interviewer asked about the less than discreet glances, making a comment on the obvious chemistry you two shared and how well you worked together─as colleagues and as a couple─Oscar didn’t laugh it off like you always practiced. He nodded, bashful and sure.

The sentence kept blinking in the back of your head like a warning sign: this was all fake. But even telling yourself that wasn’t enough anymore because your heart apparently didn’t get the memo. The touches and the sleepovers made your dreams spiral and your cheeks warm. You became his phone wallpaper for authenticity and his picture became yours as well without as much as a second thought, every little attention as natural as the cycle of seasons.

You were falling for your own fake dating ruse. Which meant you were quietly, miserably falling for Oscar Piastri in the process, in the realest and most literal way known to man. That was terrifying.

Never, in your short but hectic PR career, had you ever experienced that.

Not the newfound feelings you were harboring for your fake boyfriend, no. You tried your best to think about that as little as possible─ if you didn’t look at them, maybe they wouldn’t look back. Right now, you were talking about the diplomatic ambush you and the F1 grid and staff just walked into. The hotel hosting the drivers and half the sport’s staff for the Silverstone weekend had decided to organize a charity gala. Last minute. Mandatory, if you had any desire to keep your reputation intact.

It was a smart move─ brilliant, even: Host a fancy event for a cause, pick a night when the entire motorsport world is under your roof, and leak just enough information to the press so no one can afford to skip it. Declining? Not donating? Refusing to schmooze with the hotel owners? You’d be crucified online by breakfast. Genius, really. You respected the play. 

But damn, give a girl some warning. You didn’t have anything to wear.

Apparently it was the case of everyone else as well, which made you feel less self-conscious. When you walked out your hotel room the morning of FP3 and qualifying, the hallway wasn’t buzzing with race talk but with chaotic murmurs about last-minute outfits, shoes emergency and the drama of Max Verstappen only packing team merch─ which, much to his dismay, was absolutely excluded from the dress code.

You were promptly swept away by a group of female staff members from different teams, mostly working in comms or PR, determined to save you from showing up in jeans and a prayer after a heated conversation around the breakfast table. It turned into a surprisingly wholesome mission: shared complaints, budding friendships, and a chorus of tender laughter when you found the dress. “Your boyfriend’s going to be a happy man!” one of the older women teased, earning cackles from the others and a fiery blush from you.

You were, admittedly, very lucky─ as much as someone in a fake relationship could be.

Especially when Oscar knocked on your hotel door later that evening, fresh from his post-quali shower, hair a little messy, still buttoning up the blazer of his suit and eyes flickering with something unreadable when you opened the door, ready.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a reaction. When you were tearing down your skin with your scented body scrub and carefully smoking out your eyeliner in the mirror, you told yourself it was for you only─ but faced with Oscar’s eyes roaming over you, you knew you were clearly lying to yourself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He silently took you in, and you feared that maybe you didn’t achieve the effect you hoped for. Maybe a hair was out of place, or the dress looked awkward on you. But Oscar’s lips parted in a discreet intake of breath and the way his mind blanked out was painfully visible on his features. Quietly, “You look…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as if he could try to scrub off the red climbing out of his collar. “You look really nice.”

Really nice. That wasn’t quite what you expected, but his reaction was telling enough for you and knowing Oscar, you knew you weren’t getting anything more unless he was under a copious amount of alcohol or sleep-deprivation. You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a satisfied smile. “You don’t look half bad either.”

And he did. Devastatingly so. His suit was tailored within an inch of its life, cinched right at the waist and the lapels hugging his chest, his frame striking in the color. It was all very James Bond of him, minus the reckless charm─ though tonight, he seemed to be toeing the line. Your gaze dropped to his tie, and your fingers twitched at your side when you realized the shade was an exact match to your dress. You hadn’t said anything about your outfit ahead of time so you didn’t believe it was on purpose, but when your eyes met his again, there was a flash of something knowing and boyish─ almost proud that you noticed.

“Come on,” Oscar finally broke the silence. “You’re setting the bar too high. Everyone’s going to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

“That’s because you are.”

The hallway was quiet as you two walked down together. You could feel it again─ that invisible thread pulling tighter, a weightless tension lodging in your chest and the incessant smile pulling at your lips. This was fake. Totally fake, you repeated to yourself again as you stepped with Oscar in the elevator, arm slithering around his bicep, ready to make your entrance.

The hotel hall was drenched in gaudy decorations, shimmering chandeliers and overly sparkly dresses, the kind of excessive elegance that only made sense in photoshoots and unnecessarily overpriced galas. Everywhere you looked, sequins caught the light and laughter echoed over the clink of crystal glasses. You weren’t in your element at all, Oscar wasn’t either and clearly, none of the drivers or the team principals who showed up wanted to be there. But in the name of keeping up appearances, you spent the evening with Oscar and a glass of champagne, stepping on his foot from time to time for old time’s sake. You knew how to mingle, after all it was everything you studied for four years.

You drifted through conversations in tandem. His hand stayed on the small of your back, occasionally brushing lower in ways that felt more unconscious than performative, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. When you’d lean into him to talk, he always dipped his head to hear you better on instinct. When Lando started tagging along, he was quick to complain about third-wheeling.

The whole evening was spent like that: finding amusement where you could in the middle of obligations, which was often spent sending sharp comments Oscar’s way, which amused him greatly, or Lando’s with Oscar’s help, which definitely amused him less. But gossiping could only get you so far, and soon enough the height of the heels you chose and the weighty ambience was enough to uncomfortably tighten your ribcage. You were quick to excuse yourself to the empty entry of the hotel, where you collapsed on a chair with a sigh.

You took a slow sip of your almost empty glass, letting the fizz of the bubbles distract you from the uncomfortable twist in your chest. Oscar would have followed you if you didn’t ask for some alone time, and God knows you needed some away from him. You were trying to find a distraction, anything to make you stop thinking about the brush of his fingertips or how you could have sworn his gaze lingered a second too long on your lips when you laughed at one of his jokes.

You didn’t expect, and especially didn’t want, Theodore to be that distraction.

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

The glass nearly slipped from your fingers. Your body tensed, and you jumped to your feet out of reflex, ready to leave at any given moment. “Oh wow, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he raised his hand in mock surrender. You rolled your eyes.

Theodore had the same haircut, same smug face, same cologne that lingered like melted plastic. The longer you looked at him, the longer of an eyesore he became─ nothing about him stood out: not his suit, the false casual way he was holding his blazer in his hands, and certainly not his demeanor. You couldn’t help but draw a silent comparison to Oscar.

That’s when you realized: you hadn’t seen much of Theodore the past week around the paddock. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention to his presence in general, too caught up in Oscar and the torment of your own conflicting feelings to even grace him with acknowledgement. You voiced the first part of your thought, casually sipping your drink.

His expression tightened as he forced a smile. “Ah. Yeah, well, they… they let me go. Budget cuts, you see.”

It took all your will and decency not to explode in laughter. Budget cuts. Ah, yes. Incompetence must have had a change of definition in the Oxford Dictionary recently. “So… why are you here?”

“My dad knows the hotel owner. I got an invite last minute.”

“Oh,” you said with a mocking tilt of the head. “So nepotism and unemployment. Got it.” The fake niceness you sported on during your first interaction at the start of the season had vanished out of thin air─ you weren’t going to put up with this pathetic excuse of a man any longer than you had to, precisely now that you had no reason to anymore.

Theodore laughed. Your hand prickled with the need to punch him in the nose. “You know, it’s not even that important that I lost my job at McLaren.” Said no one ever, you thought. How far did his privileges go? “I─ well, I only took it up because I learned you were working there. I thought… maybe if I was around again, we could fix things.”

You must have hit your head, this had to be a fever dream. The words reaching your ears made no sense to you whatsoever. 

“Fix─?” You scoffed, eyes widening. “That job was supposed to be your redemption arc? Is that it? Oh my god, Theo. You slept with my best friend and you thought I’d fall back in your arms because you barged into my career?”

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter this much to you!”

“Did I not cry enough the first time or do you want me to reenact it? Were you really hoping I’ll welcome you with open arms, open legs and a memory loss?”

“Well─”

“Don’t answer that. Actually, stop talking.”

Theodore threw his arms in the air, taking a step forward as he hurled his jacket on the chair you sat on a few minutes ago. “I just thought maybe seeing me again would remind you of what we’ve had!”

Rage and indignation alike rose in your throat like vomit, and your hands shook imperceptibly as you answered. “It did. It reminded me that what we had was never good enough to keep me from building something better. So thanks for the little nostalgia trip, but I’ll pass.”

Something in Theodore’s gaze darkened, dangerous and petulant, and before you could step back, he leaned in. “Oh, I get it now,” he snarled at you, voice dropping into something bitter. “It’s because of Piastri, isn’t it?”

“Back off, Theodore.” Your back had straightened instinctively. Discomfort crept under your skin like cold water─ you didn’t like the way he hissed his name and how close he was getting.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he took another step. “Didn’t realize you’d fall for the first man who gave you attention after me. Guess I underestimated how lonely you─”

“Everything alright there?”

His voice, warm and familiar, sliced through the tension and your shoulders slumped in relief. Oscar.

He was standing just behind Theodore, who turned around comically slow. Oscar’s expression was unreadable. You never saw him angry, but you did know how to recognize the calm before a storm.

“Yeah,” Theodore answered, too fast. “Just… catching up.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I think you’ve done enough catching up for tonight.”

He walked toward you, and you subtly stepped to his side, his heat grounding in the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t look at you─ his eyes were locked on Theodore’s, cold and measured. “If you’ve said your piece,” he started, “I think you should head back to whatever table your father pulled strings to get you to.”

Theodore scoffed, his features twisting into something ugly, but he didn’t push his luck. He wouldn’t be winning this fight. After a beat of tense silence, he turned and stormed off the entry hall, muttering something beneath his breath you didn’t bother catching.

The moment he was out of sight, you could feel the rigidity in your body melt away. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, standing frozen in place. You reached out instinctively, gripping Oscar’s sleeve in order to keep you on your feet. “Shit,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect him.”

Oscar’s hand closed gently over yours and how thumb drew slow circles across your knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you attentively. “You okay?”

You sniffled, breathing fast as a breathy, nervous laugh slipped past your lips. “God.” You wiped your cheek, pausing when you saw the glint of moisture on your fingers, “I didn’t even realize I was crying.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away─ he reached up with his other hand and brushed your tear track, cradling your cheek with the gentlest touch, like you’d break if he pressed too hard. “He’s a real dick,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “Trust me, he’s never coming near you again.”

That made you laugh─ quiet, and undeniably tired, but real. You looked up at him, something vulnerable sitting openly between you now. “Thanks for stepping in,” you breathed out. “You know, you’re awfully good at being a fake boyfriend. You nailed the attitude down.” You tried to make light of the situation, but the words stung when you got them out. You regretted uttering them as soon as you felt the frail openness in the air retract. Something in Oscar’s eyes dimmed a little, but they didn’t move from yours. 

“Always, that’s my job,” his tone dripped with a strange kind of acerbity. “Now, let’s get you to your room. I think we’re done for the night.”

You couldn’t agree more.

The way to your room was spent in silence, apart from the click of your heels on the carpet and the faint sound of breathing. The quiet was now oppressing, seeping with an anxiety that took you back to when he shook your hand in a similar hotel room a few months ago. When you released his arm as you reached your door, you half-expected him to mutter a polite goodnight and disappear at the end of the hallway.

Instead, Oscar leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You gave a small nod.

“What made you say yes to him?” He asked. Faced with your confused expression, he clarified, gaze flicking down. “Theodore. Why did you date him?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his voice, just a searching sort of curiosity. The answer sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and painful, but still, the question pulled something sharp through your chest─ you didn’t know why you were suddenly so self-conscious about it. 

“I’d like to say I don’t know but…,” you leaned back against the wall next to him, folding your arms to hold yourself together and eyes fixed on a point somewhere past his figure. “I think… I was tired. I used to put everything into school, so much that I skipped out on everything else. I didn’t even know who I was beside the pressure and achievements, and Theodore… just happened to be there during that confusing time of my life. My roommate’s, and ex-best friend’s, friend. I thought he was charming, in his own sort of way. He was persistent, used to leave flowers by my dorm room every morning.” You chuckled sadly. “They weren’t even my favorite - turns out they were hers.”

You heard Oscar exhale. “It still made me feel noticed, like I mattered to something outside of studies. Like someone actually saw me, you know? So I fell in love. And turns out he didn’t see me at all─ he sure as hell doesn’t now either, if he thought showering Zak with dollar bills and side-eyeing me across the paddock would be enough to win me back. That’s without mentioning the cheating.”

The silence of the hallway was deafening, your words echoing against the walls. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. Until Oscar broke it.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, “how anyone could cheat on you. It doesn’t make sense.”

It made you look at him. You’ve gotten used to turning around and finding his eyes already on you; it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but your chest still tightened when you met the darkness of his irises. You waited for him to reply, lacking any explanation yourself of why it couldn’t meet the simple principles of logic in his head, why he couldn’t find the flaws in you that lead Theodore to another woman.

Oscar’s answer came under a different form. “For what it’s worth,” he said, gaze steady. “I like to think I see you.”

You blinked. “Do you?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, the answer came rushing in. He did. You knew it in the way his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was still trying to see more of you, even now.

Oscar knew your coffee order by heart, the temperature and how much milk to ask for when you were too tired to speak it aloud. He knew which bakery carried your favorite pastry and what time he had to sneak away from media duties to grab it for you─ especially when the paddock version tasted like cardboard. He noticed when your hands got cold before you did, kept spare hand warmers in his bag in colder countries because “you’re always freezing.” He sent you stupid memes during long flights because he knew take offs made it hard for you to sit still. He carried spare glitter gel pens in his bag, and never teased you about it─ just handed you another one when you absentmindedly noticed yours was running out.

He remembered that you always got motion sick if you sat in the backseat of a car for too long. That you needed silence when thinking. That you hummed when you were concentrating and tapped your pen when you weren’t.

And suddenly, you weren’t just asking if he saw you the way you’d always wanted to. You were asking if he’d always been seeing you, even when you weren’t looking.

“I do,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. There couldn’t be anything more true than that.

Just like that, the air tilted. Toward him, engulfing you both in a fragile, sacred space. Everything narrowed down to Oscar and the small buzz between your two bodies─ dense and electric, full of every feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Back to your eyes. 

He moved subtly, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, the idea of losing the moment scarier than not having it at all. Your body was still, breath hitching and heart racing, as his hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, memorizing the shape.

And when he finally leaned in, he hesitated just inches from your lips, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath and the tremble in yours. “Is this okay?” He whispered.

You closed the space.

The kiss was gentle at first─ careful and tentative. The gentle, kind sweep of two people trying to find their footing, but the electric shock of the feeling brought everything back to you: the months of tension, the stolen glances, the fumbled excuses to stay close. Your mouths crashed over each other, deepening in the split of a second, slow and aching in the pants you let out and the touch of roaming, curious hands. You breathed into his mouth, seeking his air to make it yours.

Oscar’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and your back flush against the wall as your fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and desperate, mirroring yours. His tongue demandingly slipped past your lips, and he kissed you like he had wanted to for a long time, and there was no denying he had. Raw and needy, you felt stripped bare by the small whine he let out when you bit down on his bottom lip.

You thought, the world could fall apart tomorrow and this would have been everything you needed to go peacefully.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, he didn’t move far. You wouldn’t have let him anyways, the heat of his body too comfortable, the weight of his mouth branded on your own. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with honesty.

You fingers tightened in his jacket, and you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “Trust me, I think I do.” He laughed against your lips and you kissed him again. Because after all of it─all the pretending, the teasing, the overthinking─you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, to convince yourself. You couldn’t make up the way he was kissing you back.

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

You hadn't planned on it─ well, not exactly. After the emotional whirlwind of the evening, the kiss, the honesty, the confession, you’d invited Oscar into your room without really thinking. It had been an instinct, comfort-driven by the nights already spent together, even if everything was entirely different─ including your intentions and his. But Lando had to barge in, clumsily looking for his room next to yours, doing a double-take at the sight of you tucked into Oscar’s side, your makeup smudged from tears and kisses like a hormonal teenager, Oscar looking all too rumpled and embarrassed next to you.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered. “I’m just─ you know what, we’ll unpack that later. Good night. Please don’t make too much noise.”

Oscar laughed, arms wrapping tighter around your waist when your friend disappeared, whispering, “I’ll come back tomorrow. After I take you out on a date. A real one, this time.”

You’d smiled. “You better.” He kissed you again, quick and soft and annoyingly perfect, more than your dreams made it out to be, and you went to bed glowing, with his name lighting your phone screen with sweet nothings and promises of conversations tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came, because the knocks that woke you up were giving you a sickening déjà-vu. They were urgent, a trumpet announcing the complete turning of your world just like they had done a few months back, in February, and loud enough to slice through the sleepiness in your bones along with the drowsy haze of your mind.

You got up with difficulty and barely had the time to wrap a blanket around yourself before answering the door. You half-expected to find the Grim Reaper himself waiting on the other side with how early it was for anyone else to be knocking. Instead, you were faced with Oscar. Your heart gave a small, automatic jolt when you saw him. After how last night ended, he should have been the best thing possible to wake up to.

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

Oscar, who rarely wore his emotions so plainly, looked visibly shaken. The sharp lines of his face were pulled tight with worry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. And that─more than the hour, more than the knocks─was what stopped you from throwing yourself into his arms.

You opened the door wider to let him in, which he did with hurried steps. “What’s happening?”

“Can you close the door first?” You did without much of a question.

Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, phone cradled in hand. He looked up at you, and distressed wasn’t enough to describe it─ he looked wrecked. “Have you checked your phone this morning?” He asked.

Dread pooled in your stomach. “No, I─ I just woke up,” you answered. “Oscar, I─”

“Someone leaked it. Our agreement, the fake dating. It’s all out.”

The world tipped.

The air in your lungs vanished and, for a moment, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. His words repeated like static, a taunting echo getting louder and louder the more you realized what it meant. “What?” You whispered, eyes locked on his. The truth could have looked different there, but didn’t.

You sat down next to him, every limb leaden, cinching the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How─? Who even─? We were so careful and─”

“Nobody knows, they’re searching for it right now,” Oscar replied, but it came out strained. “Everyone's trying to trace it now, but it landed on DeuxMoi and basically everywhere after that. They’ve got… receipts. Pictures, testimonies, photos- and a very incriminating audio recording.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Of you. Saying something like… how good of a fake boyfriend I am. From last night, before we went up.”

Your stomach flipped. “But─ we were alone.”

Different scenarios flashed in your mind, engulfing you both in a spiral of questions and worry. Someone could have been filming you, and the lights were too low to spot the silhouette. Maybe Theodore’s jacket, draped over the chair you’d sat on, had a recording device on it in an attempt to prove himself something, or to get revenge on you. But how would he have guessed? There were so many possibilities, and Oscar’s silence didn’t help you feel any better about any of them─ not knowing burned hotter than the betrayal itself.

He took your hand in his, your intertwined fingers resting between the two of you. The contact made you flinch.

Your breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I mean… it was going to end anyways, right?” Oscar’s frown deepened, so you pushed forward. “The whole relationship. Theodore left. That was the plan, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to last past him. It’s a very shitty way to end, sure, but… you can work with it.” You were tearing up by the time the last word left your lips.

Oscar winced. His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You let out a wet, pathetic laugh. “It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and it sounded a lot like a plea. “We can figure something out─ Zak, the rest of the PR team-someone will know what to do, there-”

You scoffed─ not at him, never, but at the cruel absurdity of it all. Your incapability of keeping something good for yourself. “You don’t get it, Oscar.” Your voice wavered. “Apparently, we’re everywhere. There’s an audio recording. People feel like they’ve been made fools of. They won’t forgive that so easily─ they’ll turn on you. They won’t believe in something that’s already been exposed as fake, even if─”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Because that was the worst part, wasn't it? You weren’t faking it anymore. Neither of you were, and hadn’t been for a really long time. You could have stumbled around, trying to figure out what it meant, searching his mouth and holding on to the feeling long enough to put a name on it, but the headlines didn’t give you that chance. They took it from you, carved it out of your hands before you even got to claim it as yours.

A beat.

“It was real for me,” Oscar said. “It is.”

You looked at him, the details of his eyes that made promises you were sure he could have kept under different circumstances. You tried to smile, but your face cracked under the weight of it, tear tracks shining under the early morning light. “They don’t know that,” you whispered. “They won’t care.”

Oscar’s gaze fell on the floor, and you shook your head gently. “You still have a career to protect. Just say it was my idea, you were helping me out and I got you into all of this─ which is the truth, technically. You just got too caught up. They’ll forgive you eventually, they’re here for the racing.”

“And what about you?”

The silence spoke for itself, heavy with the undeflectable nature of the situation. Carefully, as to not startle him, you took back the hand he was holding and folded both of them on your lap. There would be no other outcome to this story. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my job.”

He didn’t believe you, you could see it in the lopsided curve of his mouth, the prominent vein near his temple you traced with your eyes before falling asleep. You realized you never had the opportunity to pass a night in his arms.

“You go get ready for your race, Oscar. Don’t worry about me.” Your chest ached as your mouth shaped the words, barely hearing them yourself. The only thing that mattered was the low lights in the Australians’ eyes, how his mouth opened and closed around something. He never said whatever was pending at the edge of his tongue, but he closed his eyes when you put your lips on the skin of his cheek.

Oscar just left quietly, in the imperceptible click of a hotel door. You couldn’t watch him go─ if you did, you might not have had the strength to let him.

You were let go by McLaren before the race even began.

The decision had been clear from the get-go. Still, it didn’t make sitting in that sterile room any easier knowing the lanyard around your neck would be up to grab for someone else in seconds. It wasn’t cruel or personal─ it was just business.

You spent over three hours with members of staff, going over the facts and projected damage. You nodded along and asked questions you could predict the answers to, but the conclusion was written into the walls: the scandal was too loud, and you weren’t quiet enough to survive it─ at least, not with a badge that read McLaren on your chest.

You gave it back, sliding it over the table to the chief of staff. They booked you a flight home as discreetly as they could manage and it wasn’t until you stepped in your apartment, suitcase dropped by the door and keys shaking in your hand, that the overwhelming silence caught up with you.

And with it, everything else.

Your face was headlining the front pages of multiple websites and you’d just lost the best job you’ll ever have─ if not the only one, because a simple search would now lead every possible employer to the failed scheme you tried to put up.

You collapsed onto your bed, entirely dressed and only one shoe off, still wrapped in the airport chill. They made you hand-over your team-issued phone, along with the contacts of everyone that mattered back at Silverstone. You didn’t even have a chance to explain yourself or to say goodbye.

Oscar would finish the race and find out you vanished, and you had no way of telling him 

You let the weight of it all crash down on you.

If you had to estimate, you’d say you let yourself rot in your own misery for about a week, give or take. You weren't counting the days, but you knew you hadn’t opened your curtains since you got home. Your eyes were red, rubbed raw every time another wave of emotion struck you, and you hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror. Instead, you moved through your apartment like a ghost, sidestepping your own reflection as if it might reach out and confirm what you already knew─ you’d lost something you didn’t realize mattered this much until it was gone.

The past year had been everything. You successfully worked your way into a world that worked too fast for second chances where you found a rhythm, built friendships and connections. As tiresome as the lifestyle could sometimes be, you fell in love with what you were doing and what you came to be. In the past months, your life had mirrored the tracks─ swift and brutal, with enough turns to break a few wheels. Now, you were left with nothing but the emptiness in your stomach and for someone who always strived for more, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth was enough to keep you from wanting.

Your wake-up call came in the form of your rent.

Turns out heartbreak didn’t pause rent or the cost of groceries rising due to inflation. McLaren paid well, but not well enough so that you could afford to disappear off the grid and wallow in self pity with your last check. So you did what you always did, reminiscent of your past college superhuman efforts: you opened your laptop and got to work.

You applied to everything you set your eyes on─ LinkedIn, obscure websites, Facebook Ads, no one was safe. You didn’t dare touch anything remotely F1 related, or even F2, F3 or F4, the wound was still fresh and your name was probably too much of a touchy subject for you to be accepted anywhere near. You stuck to motorsports-adjacent companies, agencies, development programs, even local circuits. Just… something, anything that would let you keep your toes in the world you loved.

Eventually, it came.

A small karting company in the Netherlands, of all places. Barely enough to fill a spreadsheet on a good day, but they had promising talents and were expanding, so in need of someone to help build their communications structure from the ground up. Preferably someone who knew how to handle press and build narratives, connect people to stories. They were desperate, which means they probably didn’t even look you up when they interviewed you. You took the opportunity with your first real smile in a minute.

It wasn’t as glamorous. The office had flickering lights, and you hadn’t come with the most adapted wardrobe. But it was something─ so you got to work.

You were surprised by how much you ended up loving it.

The people were awkward but nice, you went out with a few of your colleagues by the end of your first week, and the kids racing under your name were awfully sweet and their parents just as kind. The work wasn’t overbearing, but you put every ounce of your attention in building its perfect image with your team. Your new apartment was small and comfortable, and the city you settled in a neverending discovery of wonders. You felt fine─ which was a step away from the state you had been in not so long ago.

But even though you tried to build yourself another life, you still couldn’t shake the memory of Oscar. He was still there─ not in person, but in every memory you were not capable of erasing just yet. You caught yourself ordering his coffee order alongside yours as a force of habit, and accidentally took the notebooks with the overly precise details of your fallacious history with you to work. There was so much of him in you now, you had trouble picking apart the pieces. You scanned articles for his face but skipped race reports in case his name hurt more to see.

You tried to bury the ache in your schedule and the excitement of the company’s mediatic expansion, you wrote press releases, attended networking events with a tight smile and let small wins feel bigger than they were. Yet you knew your heart was sitting in his hands, thousands miles away- and you refused to wonder if, without knowing, you were still holding his. It was a hope you couldn’t entertain, all in the name of letting go. It was an act of healing of some sorts. Putting Oscar behind you was growth, not grief, and letting go of something that had no chance of being anymore was the most adult thing you’d ever do.

Except you have a history of your past catching up with you─ deep down, you should’ve known this time wouldn’t be any different.

It happened when you bumped into someone on your way out the café, hands full with the Communications team’s comically large coffee order. It was the end of August, and your mind was anywhere but on the street─ mostly focused on not spilling anything. Of course, that’s what made the crash even more cinematic.

Cold drinks flew in the air, splattering across the pavement and down your pants in dramatic, sticky rivulets. You were halfway into a curse when someone said your name in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Y/N?” You looked up from your drenched legs, and there he was.

Lando Norris in the flesh, unruly mullet and all. “Oh my god,” you muttered, halfway between disbelief and horror. “Hi?”

He stared at you like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. You’d feel offended if you couldn’t understand where he was coming from- you did disappear suddenly, those two months ago. “You’re─ holy shit, what are you doing here?”

You awkwardly wiped your hands on the napkin that came with the order, glancing at the wasted money on the ground. “Clearly failing my duties. I work for a karting company just outside the city. Communications consultant.”

“No way, seriously? In the Netherlands?” Lando asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah. It’s not McLaren, sure, but I like it there.”

The mention of the team brought an icy breeze to the conversation and had Lando shuffling on his feet before you changed the subject. “And what are you doing here?” You asked, too enthusiastic for it to be spontaneous.

“Zandvoort race this weekend,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Oh, true.” With the drastic changes in your life and the newfound popularity the company had gained, you’d forgotten all about the fast-paced calendar you had become so accustomed with. The fact there was even a race taking place in the Netherlands, despite Max Verstappen being Dutch, had completely slipped your mind.

It should feel like a win, but your heart twisted to punish you.

Faced with another silence, Lando spoke up again. “You know, it’s not the same without you there, Oscar’s new PR manager is an old man.” That made you chuckle, although bittersweet. “We miss you. A lot.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words. The air suddenly felt a bit thinner in your lungs than it did a few minutes ago. “He shouldn’t,” was all you could manage to reply in the tightening of your throat.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, forcing your voice to stay level. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It ended. He has to focus on his career.”

Lando opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, only giving you an hesitant smile in return. “Well… I’ll tell him I saw you. If you want.”

“No,” You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just… good luck, alright? For the Grand Prix.”

It got Lando to smile wider, at least, something warm in the spreading of his lips. “Thanks. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I bumped into you. Let me make up for the spilled coffee.”

He did. Brought the entire order again and handed it over with a sheepish shrug, reminiscent of the friend you had two months ago, before disappearing down the cobblestone street. You stood there a bit too long, dazed by the improbability of it all. The universe decided to shake you a little, but somehow it had to be just when you made peace with the fact it had moved on without you.

You went back to the karting center where reality demanded your full attention. The rest of the day passed in a blur of last-minute adjustments─ tomorrow, you were hosting a little event in order to showcase the rising talents driving in your colors, which needed your immediate attention, no matter how divided by the episode this morning. You didn’t even notice everyone else leaving until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting gold across the windows and casting long shadows on the now-empty space.

You exhaled slowly, closing your computer and feeling the soreness in your back from being hunched over too long. The cons of being a workaholic, you guessed, but you’d done your part. You gathered your things, slid your jackets over your shoulders, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

You could have missed him if you hadn’t hesitated a second too long in the doorway, but you could also recognize Oscar anywhere, eyes closed or blindfolded.

He was leaning against a car, parked a few meters away from the entrance, hoodie loose around his shoulders and hair tousled by the breeze. His gaze was distant, unfocused as he was watching the distance. The second the door thudded shut behind you, the sound cutting through the quiet evening, his eyes snapped up, finding yours.

He looked lost, beautifully so. It froze you in your tracks. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Oscar, as he pushed off the car and took careful steps forward.

“Hi,” was all he said, soft and steady.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the silken casualness of his voice before it reached your ears. It hit you harder than you’d expected. “How─?”

“Lando,” Oscar cut in gently. “He said you worked at a karting company near the city. I… looked it up. Thought maybe, with a little chance, you’d still be here.” He scratched the back of his neck and he looked away for a second, just one, before his eyes snapped back to yours.

Neither of you moved, unsure how to cross the canyon that had cracked open between you.

“I wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Me neither. It was, uh, pretty impulsive. But I couldn’t just…” He trailed off too, shaking his head.

You nodded, even though you didn’t understand. This whole conversation made no sense. “How’s it going? Life, I mean. At McLaren?” you asked, desperate to ignore your heart clawing at your ribs.

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

He took a step closer, so very little you could have missed, and so slow it gave you the opportunity to step back. You didn’t take it. “And you? How’s─ all this?”

“It’s… something. I like it. I do.” You laughed, and it came out wrong.

“I’m glad.”

Silence fell, weighty on your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t guess how to act when Oscar looked so closed off, out of reach─ something he hadn’t been to you in a long while. You chose to let it stretch, unsure of what else.

Finally, it came down to Oscar. “You left.”

The words stung with the strength of a slap, and heartbreaking enough to put you back in front of your apartment door, two months back. You gripped the hem of your jacket, bringing it closer to your body in hope to substitute for the warmth his tone lacked. You inhaled sharply, fighting the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice. They made it very clear there was no place for me anymore, and it would be the better option for one of us to come out unscathed.” Your voice faltered despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to leave that way, Oscar. Not without saying goodbye.”

You couldn’t help the comment that bordered on your lips. “But I figured you weren’t too concerned. You didn’t look too hard to reach me either.” Not an e-mail, no nothing. You were deprived of his contact information due to your work phone being taken away, but he wasn’t. 

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his side. “I couldn’t. If I did, they assured me it could make everything worse if someone leaked it again, for the both of us.” A scoff escaped him. “Told me I had to wait until they found the person who took the audio recording in the first place before I could try anything.”

“And did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t really care.”

Again, he took a step forward. Oscar was close, not overly, but close enough for you to see the wild and desperate edge etched in his delicate traits, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. “I wanted to reach out. Every day. I just─” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I thought that’s what you wanted. I kept thinking that maybe you hated me for how it ended, or─ maybe you regretted it.”

Your laugh broke out sharp and ugly, more hurt than anything else. “Hated you? Regretted it?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Oscar, how could you even think-?”

He didn’t interrupt you. You had to do it yourself, because Oscar just watched as if waiting for a confirmation between the lines. “You really think I’d regret you?”

He still didn’t move. “I mean…,” he finally rasped out, barely carrying over the wind, “it cost you your career in F1. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I cost me my career, Oscar. Not you. The fake relationship was my idea. I told you from the beginning I’d take the fall if it came to it. You were just helping me.”

You watched his jaw contract with the need to argue back, but you wouldn’t let him. Oscar was wrong on all accounts in his reasoning, blinded by whatever had been clouding his mind during your disappearance, and you were making sure it stopped there.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. Well, not now at least- you were pretty insufferable at first.” His shoulders shook in the semblance of a laugh. “And if there’s anything I regret, it’s not realizing that it stopped being fake a lot sooner.”

There it was, the hefty topic you had been dancing around─ the kiss, gentle in its unearthing, and the whispered promises of explanations in the morning. Something that had been stolen from you and was now coming back to the surface for a last gasp of air. You could either take it or let it drown.

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a second you believed he’d apologize and leave.

But that’s not what he did.

“It was never fake for me,” he said. “When- When you walked in and introduced yourself as my PR manager, and you were all smiles and nerves and─” he huffed, breathless, shaking his head, “and I was gone. I didn’t know how to act around you or what to do with myself.”

He got so close, you had to tilt your head to look up at him. “I kept thinking it would pass,” he continued. “That it was just a stupid fixation. But you kept being you, and you got close to Lando, and you stuck around. It just kept getting worse. Or better, I guess, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Then there was your ex,” He said, breaking into a soft laugh. “You took my arm and called me your boyfriend and all I could think was, yeah. I’d like to hear that again.” His fingers grazed the inside of your wrists, a ponctuation in his confession. “I didn’t fake a single thing. Not once. It’s been real from the beginning.”

Almost delirious, you broke into a cackle that had your hand flying to your mouth─ a half-sob, half-choke ripped from your chest. “So you were a douchebag… because you liked me?”

Oscar’s mouth quipped, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“And you acted like an idiot because you didn’t know how to show it?”

“... Yeah.” Now he sounded embarrassed.

Another watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh my god, you’re such a man,” you said, voice wobbling between amusement and heartbreak, and Oscar’s smile cracked wider at the sound of it. You sniffled, rolling your eyes to try and hide the hopeful pain in your chest as you asked, intertwining your hand with his. 

“So… what do we do now?”

The pad of his fingers trailed up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He cupped your elbows gently, steadying you like you were at risk of breaking at any minute. “Well,” Oscar murmured, the ghost of a demand parting his mouth. “Now that we got everything out of the way, I’m here for a reason. Only if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t need any more convincing, the days spent in his company during the tired mornings  and warm nights gave you ample amounts of reasons not to deny him.

As if you had the strength to even think about it.

You surged up, and your mouth caught up with his in the same way a puzzle piece would fit into another. It felt like homecoming, how the weight of his lips balanced against yours. Oscar hands went up your sides, painfully slow, wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flushed against him. You curled your fingers in the air at the nape of his nec, tugging slightly, and he sighed into your mouth─ broken and hopelessly in love.

The world shrank to just this: the press of his chest to yours, the warmth of his skin and how intensely Oscar Piastri kissed you back.

When you broke off contact for air, Oscar chased after your mouth. You tried to contain a giggle, unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe it took a whole fake relationship, messy break up and all, for you to do and say all that,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and before you could react, the hands resting on your hips pinched your sides. You yelped, stepping on his foot. Old habits die hard, apparently, no matter what may have transpired in between.

“Well, I think you wouldn’t have liked me as much without that fake relationship.”

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

You kissed him again. And again, and again, until the sun was well gone and stars were the only witnesses.

That night, you made sure to take Oscar back to your apartment. There was no awkwardness in the small talk made in the car, no hesitation in your movements. It was a slow series of quiet laughs against skin, not rushed or frantic in the slightest, whispered confessions tangled between languid kisses. You were curled up against him, a blanket thrown haphazardly on your legs and you talked. The way you wanted and needed to.

He murmured you might need to lay low for a while into your hair, eyes already closing with tiredness, in order to let everything die down and you agreed, brushing his knuckles with the featherlight touch of your lips. You could always come out with the truth later on, and you were content with your life in the Netherlands─ even more so if Oscar could share it with you in some hidden place in his heart. Your palm rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slowing down by sleep and lulling you into Morpheus’ arms just the same.

He kissed you one more time. The taste of home and future lingered in your mouth. Oscar will be there in the morning, when the sunlight will shine through the window. And then you could discuss it, about you, more in detail around a cup of coffee, when he’ll drive you to work before disappearing in his orange car, feelings less raw and more authentic.

Real didn’t have an expiration date. You had all the time in the world to figure it out.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[carlosainzgf]

Cat and Mouse

Chishiya x F!Reader x Niragi

Summary: A sexy game of cat and mouse, but how fair is it when there's two cats and just one mouse?

Content Warning: NSFW (18+); porn with some plot, smutty smut, just smut fr, threesome, Chishiya and Niragi are both dominant with reader; Niragi is more dominant with Chishiya, curse words, this is smut in case I didn't mention it

I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️

A/N: I should be put down for this immediately

You had asked for this.

No, you had begged for this. It was all a part of your carefully crafted plan to get both of your boyfriends in bed with you together. To cultivate that final connection to complete your little love triangle.

Because having two handsome, smart, sexy boyfriends was a miraculous thing in such a bleak world, but having the three of you all be together would be next level. Earth shattering, even. You wanted it so much that it hurt. Everyone at The Beach knew that you were Niragi's girl. That kept you safe, ensured that no one looked at you without good reason much less hurt you in any way. They also knew you were Chishiya's girl. That made sure they respected you, that they knew you were smart and cunning to be able to draw emotions from a man like him. Most people referred to you as a throuple, always together, rarely one without the others. What they didn't realize was that while there was a line connecting you to each Niragi and Chishiya, you were missing that third line. The one that connected the men together.

It was there, you knew it. Felt it. But along with their similarities came a deep stubbornness to remain in quiet competition over you that you needed to break. You knew they cared for each other; you saw it in the way Chishiya's eyes softened in worry when his steady hands patched Niragi up after a particularly challenging game. You saw it in the way Niragi's jaw tightened when someone said something snarky in passing about the blonde - "Wanna say that again?" Of course they didn't. And you? You felt partially empty every time you laid down with just one of them at night, having just one of them between your legs, being filled with cum by just one of them. You needed both of them. All the time.

And tonight, you were finally doing something about it. "Hunt me," you'd said seductively to the two of them, "Catch me if you can, and whoever does gets to have me tonight." Chishiya had scoffed, the simplicity of the task you were asking of them hardly worth the effort if it meant that he'd just have you tomorrow night instead. But Niragi's eyes had sparkled in amusement, a predatory grin spreading across his face, "Fuck yes." So similar those men of yours, but so different too. But if Niragi was playing your game, Chishiya would play too and he would win, no matter how frivolous it seemed.

So that is how you found yourself creeping quietly through the thorny brush at the edge of the resort's fencing. You have no plans of getting caught by either of them, no. Your game is slightly more fixed than you'd let on. You're in your skimpiest bikini, the one that neither of them are thrilled about you leaving the room in. They'd both laid eyes on you once already, their pupils dilating to shining black orbs when they had. You plan to keep letting them get just close enough to get excited a few times, then nimbly slipping through their fingers. Waiting for them to get hot, flustered, and irritated. Then they'll come storming back into your room ready to fuck you. And hopefully each other.

Niragi is not difficult to avoid. The man is loud, behavior spontaneous and erratic. Every once in a while he shoots his rifle in the air or at the ground, loving the way adrenaline flows through him at the loud cracks. You want to roll your eyes at his childlike behavior, but right now it is working in your favor. 

Based on the sounds echoing out through the courtyard, you know the man is about to round the corner of the building in search of you. Lucky for you, the strange overgrowth of plants and vines that have been taking over Tokyo have recently extended to this back area of The Beach; coating even the colored gingko trees that stood majestically around the property. Double lucky for you, you are a deft and skilled climber.

Testing one of the vines hanging from a tree to your right, you prepare yourself to swing on it up and away from your boyfriend. But first, you stand enticely with a hand at your hip, twirling the vine playfully in your hand like it could be a whip in another life. Niragi whistles out as he sees you in the courtyard. "Fuck, angel. Wanna show me what you're planning to do with that?" he drawls in a gravelly low tone, the sound traveling straight to your core. You nearly crumble, coming close to waving your metaphorical white flag.

A sweet, playful grin spreads on your face as you let out a chuckle, "Perhaps another time? Looks like I have to go!" You pull back with the vine, getting a running start to swing up into the tree as Niragi reaches to snatch you. He snarls as he barely misses your ankle, and you land gracefully in the neighboring tree. Niragi is not particularly fast, so you are able to deftly move from tree to tree in pursuit of your next destination - the pool. You hear him call out from below, "Just wait until I get my hands on you, angel!" You can't wait.

The crowded pool deck was not a good place to hide from Niragi; his presence made people part like the Red Sea, and especially so if he was looking for you. No, those jerks had no loyalty - they'd hand you straight over to him in a second. It was, however, a fine place to hide from Chishiya. Your shorter blonde boyfriend would never have the patience, nor the height to look for you in a crowd like this.

The flashing strobe lights streak bright colors across your face as you carefully filter your way through the sweaty bodies bumping and grinding against one another. Eyes shift in every direction, searching for his characteristic white hoodie - you need to be on high alert now.

That little performance should be enough to have your boyfriends' pants fitting a little bit tighter, so you sneak away toward the side of the resort that houses your room. You jump up on top of the air conditioning unit to scale the wall, grabbing onto the window ledges to swing yourself up. Luckily, you're only on the third floor, and you stealthily climb back through the unlocked window to your room with ease. Releasing your hair from the ponytail it had been in, you sprawl yourself just so across your cozy bed to wait for your cats to return to you.

Unlike Niragi, Chishiya is like a little ninja; covert and stealthy. You've often considered putting a bell around his neck because of the number of times he's nearly given you a heart attack just appearing beside you. You reach the outdoor bar, pulling yourself up to sit on the granite bar top. Tatta smiles when he sees you, coming over to see what's up. "Tatta! Have you seen Chishiya?" He nods knowingly, eyes focusing behind you but not responding.

"Looking for me, sweetheart? I thought we were looking for you," his monotone voice drawls, approaching the bar from behind you. You squeal in anxious anticipation, thinking you might have let him get a little too close this time.

Tatta, who is decidedly an incredible friend, looks between the two of you rapidly before reaching out to pull you onto his side of the bar. You flash him a dazzling grin of thanks, dropping to the floor and crawling out the open back of the bar. You disappear into the brush once more, but not before hearing the blonde call out to you, "You'll be back on your knees just like that when I catch you!" Fuck yeah, Chishiya, you're in.

You begin to get antsy after about thirty minutes, the anticipation of them finding you building in your chest and pooling in your core. At long last, you can hear Niragi's booming voice berating Chishiya in the hallway, the two of them arguing already about who was closest to winning. Showtime.

The door slams open, both men spilling into the room in irritation. Niragi is already shouting nonsense about how he'd been closest to catching you, so he was the winner; his pent-up frustrations obvious in his jeans. Chishiya is in no better shape and retorts sharply but at a much lower decibel.

"Join me, both of you," you command, patting the spots on the bed on either side of you. "You both found me, and now I want you both to have me. Together," you breathe. Chishiya sucks in a breath, turning away from you and Niragi's face snaps to yours in disbelief. This was not a new conversation; you've tried before to bring them together. Stubborn.

You giggle from the anxiety, "Please, just this once - we'll go slow, I promise. I have to know what it's like to have you both here at the same time. I'm begging." Chishiya chews on his cheek in thought, Niragi glancing in annoyance between the two of you. You can see through both men; they're both horny as hell, and neither are likely to deny you, their princess, something that you want so badly.

Despite their relentless hesitation, both Niragi and Chishiya obey your whims and sit on either side of you. The former glares at you, arms crossed over his chest as he waits; the latter facing away from you toward the window instead. A heavy blanket of lust is spread over the three of you, the tension feeling thick enough to slice through with a knife.

You pull yourself up against the velvety headboard of your bed, crossing your legs underneath you and wrapping your arms around Niragi's neck to drag him into a wrathful kiss. You can feel the quick thump of his pulse in his neck, your kiss quickly turning to all tongue and teeth. His large hands easily slip under your tiny bikini top, thumbs rubbing roughly over pebbling nipples. A salacious moan escapes you as Niragi bites your lower lip, taking the opportunity to lick sensually into your mouth. Your stomach clenches as you notice how Chishiya finally turns towards you in response, obviously wanting to make you moan like that too. Your left arm reaches out to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

Your pulse thunders in your chest in anticipation as you pull away from Niragi and lock your spit soaked lips with Chishiya's. He is much more patient in his kisses, taking his time in mapping out every inch of your plush lips with his own. Niragi licks and nips his way up your right arm, pressing the cool metal of his tongue ring against the crook of your neck. The contrast of his warm, wet tongue and the cool metal never fails to leave your head spinning.

Chishiya's dexterous fingers find the waistband of your bikini bottoms, dipping easily underneath to spread your dripping folds for him. He smirks between open-mouthed kisses, "So wet, sweetheart. Desperate for us, hm? Tell us what you want, baby." Your head falls backwards in a needy moan, because fuck yes. This is exactly what you've been waiting for. You nearly wail, "Please, Chishiya!" Niragi halts his ministrations on your neck - where you're certain he's left multiple colorful bruises - to study your desperate face. "Please what, babe? Use your words," he coos almost mockingly. You feel utterly wrecked by the two of them already; both men staring at you expectantly, eyebrows furrowed, and swollen lips parted.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, your arousal blooming more urgently in your belly. "Fuck me with your fingers, baby, pleaaaase," you whine, any shame of telling the men what you wanted dissipating as the burn of your longing courses through you. Chishiya is quick to oblige, slipping two fingers into your cunt, an obscene squelching noise giving away just how turned on you've become in such a short amount of time. A growl rumbles in Niragi's chest, the man pushing your bikini top to the side, taking one of your perky nipples into his mouth and massaging the other between two fingers. His left hand snakes down to join Chishiya near your core, swirling his middle finger on your clit.

Both men feel foggy, heads clouded with desire just listening to your lewd mewls and cries; pride that they have ravaged you like this without even undressing yet. When Chishiya curls his fingers toward your spongey spot, you reward him with a low, broken moan that brings Niragi's attention back up to your face. You have never looked more stunning to him than in this moment, eyes half-lidded and mouth agape as Chishiya works you ever closer to your release. He looks up at the blonde, too, a familiar longing burning in his core. The way the cat-like man looks at you, his angel, as he expertly drives his fingers in and out of your pussy. Niragi realizes that he is so fucked, he does want both of you. More than anything.

Even through your haze of nearing your peak, you see the way Niragi looks now at Chishiya. It's now or never, you decide. One hand comes to gently caress Niragi's face, your left one doing the same to Chishiya, both men maintaining their pace on your core. You press your lips seductively against the former's lips first, moaning at the taste of him on you, before turning your head to the left to capture Chishiya's lips once more. It's now, while both men are watching you hungrily, that you tenderly guide their faces to each other.

Your heart drums in excitement, pressing another chaste kiss to the corner of Chishiya's mouth and then the same to Niragi. After what feels like a century of you waiting with bated breath, the two allow their lips to crash together fervently. Mentally, you squeal and cheer for them. Outwardly, Chishiya is still working you on his fingers, Niragi circling your sweet spot; both men moving more urgently as they lick experimentally into each other's mouths. Your orgasm crashes over you at the sight of your two boyfriends joined together in a passionate kiss, both of them turning back to you to watch their favorite show when you squeal for them.

Niragi's eyes are black as charcoal, grabbing onto your hips to keep you from writhing away from them, "Good fucking girl, baby. Such a good girl when you cum for Chishiya." His praise makes your pussy flutter around Chishiya's fingers, the man groaning as he continues to pump in and out, guiding you gently through your orgasm.

When Chishiya pulls his fingers out of you, your arousal dripping down onto your silky sheets, a wicked idea comes to you. Gripping Chishiya's wrist, you pull his fingers to Niragi's mouth to let him suck your arousal off of him. You groan when Niragi wraps his lips around Chishiya's long digits, maintaining first eye contact with you and then shifting eye contact to the blonde in front of him. Fuck. You see how Chishiya's breath hitches at the intimate contact, clearly surprised by how much he's enjoying it.

You don't think you've ever whined so much in your life. You've certainly never been this turned on, your pussy dripping through your bikini bottoms and soaking the bed under you. Your neighbors absolutely know what's going on in here, and you don't care; you hope they're listening. Niragi releases Chishiya's fingers with a wet pop, grinning down at you. "Now that I've got a little taste, I want the whole thing," he growls, hooking his arms around your thighs and dragging you roughly to the edge of the bed pulling a high pitched yelp from you. He kneels with his torso pressed still against the end of the bed, pulling your soaked through bottoms off and tossing them somewhere in the room. It doesn't matter. You are never wearing that suit out of this room again. The man takes his time, biting and kissing every inch of the soft, supple skin of your inner thighs, making you whimper out in excited anticipation.

Chishiya strokes a thumb over Niragi's swollen marks on your neck, leaning down to claim your lips once more and silence your whining. His warm hands wander to help remove the tiny bikini top still clung to your chest, goosebumps trailing in their wake. Your entire body jolts as Niragi finally licks his tongue up through your folds, his metal piercing catching deliciously against your clit. He hums against you as his tongue cleans up the mess Chishiya made of you - that they made of you -  the vibrations traveling through you like an electric current.

The pleasure of their combined ministrations against your body brings you near the edge of your orgasm once more. Niragi feels how your pussy floods with arousal, talented lips coming to suction around your clit, suckling deeply and slipping two fingers into your wet heat to give you something to squeeze around. He knows his angel needs to have something for her tight hole to cum around.

Chishiya, who was busy sucking marks into your belly and massaging your super sensitive nipples, looks up at your blissed out expression, smirking. "That feel good, sweetheart? You like the way Niragi eats your tight little pussy?"

That filth is all you need to hear, crying out desperately for both men, nearly crushing Niragi's head between your legs as you approach overstimulation. Niragi presses his hands firmly into your thighs, keeping you against him in the aftershocks of your peak. Your hands claw desperately into Chishiya's hair, pulling his head impossibly closer to you to deepen your kiss. His tongue takes the lead against yours, your orgasm washing over you entirely and swallowing you whole.

"Damn, angel. You taste so good, I could lay between your legs all day. Wanna taste?" He asks the man to your left, raising a pierced eyebrow. You think you've died and gone to heaven when Chishiya pulls Niragi's lips to meet his, instantly deepening the kiss to taste your arousal on his tongue. Yep, you knew this would be the hottest encounter on the planet.

You lay beneath the two men completely bare and panting still from two orgasms crashing through your body, watching in awe as Niragi runs his fingers through Chishiya's locks, pulling the blonde closer through them. Chishiya responds earnestly, wrapping his arms around Niragi's neck as their mouths move in tandem. You watch with widened eyes as the blonde enjoys the sensation of Niragi's tongue ring against his own, something you completely understand.

You realize that everyone in bed is overdressed except for you, and sit up to try and change that. You start with Chishiya, unzipping his white jacket the rest of the way to expose his chest and abdomen. The man assists you by shrugging the garment off his body, letting it pool to the floor. Your lips connect like magnets to his neck, running your hands over him as you suck colorful bruises into his porcelain skin.

Your fingers deftly find their way underneath his swim trunks, finally capturing his hard, leaking cock in your hand. A whimper escapes his mouth, only spurring you on further. Niragi watches your movements curiously, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He knew what he wanted, and why would he not take what he wants?

He grips onto your wrist, halting your movements against Chishiya's hardened member. You look at him questioningly, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. "Let me," he says, voice low and gravelly. Both you and Chishiya feel that in your cores, breathily moaning in tandem. Niragi's hand joins yours on Chishiya's cock at first, both of you pumping him as you find a pace that makes the blonde needy in the best way.

Your brain is starting to short circuit, watching your two loves finally coming together in pleasure. Your now empty hands come to work on removing Niragi's belt and unzipping his dark jeans. His cock springs out, hitting his abdomen when you finally release him from the restraint of the material. Your mouth salivates staring at the hardened member, flattening yourself to the bed between the two men to take his cock in your mouth without hesitation. Tongue swirling the tip, you taste the salty sweetness of his pre-cum dripping into your mouth. Chishiya's fingers easily find your clit, rubbing circles in pace with the rest of your motions. For the first time in your relationship with the two, all three of you are finally connected together.

Through heavy pants and delectable moans from all three of you, you decide you don't want to cum again like this. If this will be a one time encounter, you have a different idea.

You sit up, wrapping an arm around each of their necks, pressing a quick kiss to each of their lips. When you pull back to look at them, both are looking at you with a glazed, far away look. You rub a thumb on each of their cheeks, glancing between both of them as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Nerves are fluttering in your belly as you prepare to tell them what you want.

Chishiya notices your hesitation, pulling you closer to the two men to provide comfort. His hand comes to your cheek, stroking it gently. You feel Niragi's hand come to rest at your waist, also stroking gentle patterns into your skin.

"Go on, sweetheart. Tell us what you want," Chishiya coos. Niragi nods, "You know we won't say no to you, angel." You let out a shaky breath, heat pooling again in your core at how sweet and generous your lovers are. "It's just, I've waited so long for this, and I really really want to feel you both inside me. Together." Your eyes look down to study the soaked sheets, embarrassed despite all three of you literally being nearly naked together on the bed.

Niragi needs to hear no more, unbuttoning his shirt quickly and letting his jeans pool to the floor. The man lifts you easily with him to carry you to the couch against the wall. "Come on pretty boy, our princess needs us." Chishiya rolls casually off the bed to follow the two of you, allowing his swim trunks to fall to the floor as well.

Niragi sits on the couch, legs spread slightly. You whimper kneeling over him, feeling the blunt tip of his cock tease your entrance, your dripping pussy already soaking his length. "Fuck babe, so wet for us," he growls, wasting no time splitting you open on his hard cock. The man reaches out toward the blonde as you wail in pleasure, pulling him by his hand to join you.

Chishiya moves your hair out of the way to suck on your sweet spot from behind you, bringing one hand around to rub tight circles on your clit as Niragi pounds deep inside your pussy. You feel your body temperature rising, sweat starting to drip down your face, your walls fluttering tightly around his cock. Niragi reaches a hand down to gather your arousal, a ring of white already forming around the base of his cock. His soaked fingers wrap around Chishiya's hardened length to coat him in the slick that they've both pulled from you.

The blonde gasps at his touch, but doesn't shy away. No, it feels amazing having Niragi coat him in your slick. And Niragi? He could get used to the weight of Chishiya's member in his hand. Drooling at the thought of taking it into his mouth.

And you? Have died and gone to heaven.

"P-please Chishiya. Need to feel you too," you whine pathetically. So fucking desperate to have them both inside you. The man hums, still sucking on your neck while also bringing his hand to gather more of your slick, fingers grazing Niragi's balls as you continue bouncing on him. Niragi's pace stutters when Chishiya touches his balls. Holy fuck.

You've never felt so full in your life, Chishiya gently working his way into your other tight channel. Your head falls back on the blonde behind you, face contorting with the pleasure they are giving you. The two men move closer together, joining their lips once more as they find a pace that works for all three of you. Niragi smirks when he feels the way your cunt squeezes around his cock.

You are absolutely cockdrunk for them, head lolled back on Chishiya's shoulder, skin coated in a gorgeous sheen. Their absolute goddess. Niragi can feel his balls tightening, knowing it won't be long before he's filling your tight pussy with his cum. Chishiya is a sight for sore eyes too, eyebrows furrowed and sweat dripping. Your tight little hole squeezes his cock in a way that he's never felt before.

You wail incoherent strings of words to your boyfriends, the pace you've created together is brutal and you aren't going to last. Sweat is dripping from all three of you, desperate to keep moving. "N-niragi . . . C-chishiya . . . s'too much, gonna cum," you stutter, you are so fucking full.

Both men groan in response to your words, cocks throbbing deliciously inside you.

"Me too, angel. Gonna fill you up so well, my baby."

"Fuck, sweetheart. Can't hold it any longer."

Your entire body goes electric, your orgasm exploding through every nerve ending in your body. You're vaguely aware that you're screaming out, but you can't hear it, can't feel it. All you can feel is the blissful tingle of your high, and the incredible warmth blooming through you as your loves fill you to the brim with their cum.

You can just barely hear the men talking around you, your body falling limp against Niragi on the couch. "Good fucking girl, baby. You are such a good girl for us, we're so proud of you angel." You can feel his nails scratching down your back soothingly, your eyes unwillingly falling shut.

After you've all been cleaned up and are dressed for sleep, you lay cradled between the two. "Can we do that again sometime?" You ask hesitantly, unsure if maybe the two would regret what had just happened between you all.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

"Are you kidding?" Niragi speaks, "Now that I've had you both, I'm never letting either of you go."

Your triangle was complete, at long last.

[carlosainzgf]

Unwanted Bodyguards

Pairing: WooJin + GunWoo x Reader

Word Count: 14.4k

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Bodyguards x Reader

Warnings: Smut!, Under 18 DNI!, Swearing, Pet names, voyeurism, cum play, overstimulation, threesome, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, , masturbation, swearing, motions of violence and wounds

Note: FINALLY! I made it! Worked on this quiet a while. I could hardly choose between them, so why not both? Hope you like it and I could meet your expectations. Let me now what you think.

Summary: After a failed assassination attempt is made on you to harm your grandfather Mr Choi, he locks you up against your will for your safety. Even the incredible luxury villa with pool does not lift your spirits as you can no longer join forces with your sister against your grandfather's enemies. And to make matters worse, he also forces two ridiculously hot boxers on you who are supposed to keep an eye on you all the time and protect you. Soon the forced quarantine with the two young men turns out to be more exciting than you expected.

"Shit, I'm gonna kill you! Let me go! God damn it!"

"Yeah yeah. Sure.”

All the tugging and kicking did nothing against Yang-Jun's firm grip. The knife fighter dragged you out of the car you had refused to get out of by yourself only minutes before. Doo-Young stood in front of the car, waiting as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Please don't make this harder than it is," he sighed, and you glared angrily at him as the older one tried to hold your hands.

"Why are you going along with this? I can help! You know I can!"

"Orders from the boss," Yang-Jun growled, then grumbled:

"Arms up!"

"What are you doing?" you snapped at him, giving the mansion behind him a disparaging look.

This was going to be your dungeon for the next few weeks. The white walls with black shingle roofs stood out elegantly against the trimmed lawn and box trees in the front yard.

Without hesitation, he yanked your arms up and scanned your body. First your torso, then your hips, down your sides, and finally your legs, where he looked carefully in every pocket of your cargo pants.

"We need to take any weapons from you so you don't do anything stupid," Doo-Young explained, and you leaned against the car they had used to drag you here. When your grandfather's two hit men showed up at the bar you had been secretly observing for days, you knew something was wrong.

Three days ago, you had snuck out of the hospital because Choi would never have let you go off on your own.

"This is ridiculous! Are you into groping young girls Oppa? Let Doo-Young do it, then at least I'll get something out of it!" you said with a typical evil glint in your eyes.

Both of them just snorted and Doo-Young quickly averted his eyes. He'd never been able to handle your flirting, and that made it all the funnier for you.

„Don't worry, you're not my type. I'm not into ungrateful brats", the older one mumbled grumpy as always. You chuckled and looked at him with those devilish eyes.

„I'm everybody's type, right Doo-Young?"

He just sighed overwhelmed, because you were not wrong. In fact you had that thing about you, that let every guy crumble in front of you and beg for even the tiniest bit of attention.

The two of them had not only become your mentors after all these years, but something like friends. They had watched you grow up, rescued you from the orphanage with Mr. Choi, and molded you. That's why they weren't surprised when he pulled out a pistol from your belt, three throwing knives and a baton from the hidden holster on your back.

Yang-jun threw everything into a box on the back seat and looked at you inquiringly.

"Was that all?"

You jutted your chin defiantly and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"Yes. That was all."

But Doo-Young interfered and turned back to you, arms crossed.

"Back pocket," he said simply, and by then Yang-jun was already whirling you around again and pressing you hard against the car.

Cursing, you bared your teeth as he pulled the folding knife from your pocket and looked at it, shaking his head. Then he tossed it to the rest of your weapons.

"Now she's your problem," he said, turning to his colleague and patting his hands on his pants.

As Doo-Young approached you, you raised your hands defensively.

"Don't you dare put me in that golden cage!" you growled dangerously, but he unceremoniously grabbed you by the hips and threw you over his shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, little one, but the order came from the very top."

Cursing, you slammed your fists on his back, but his grip was so tight that you couldn't do anything. Not only was he one of the best fighters you knew, unfortunately he was also your friend and you didn't want to hurt him.

So he carried you to the entrance, unlocked the door with a key card and an extra code, and didn't let you down until you were in the living room.

Offended, you threw yourself on the big red velvet sofa and pouted.

"Hey, there are worse places to be safe," he said carefully, looking around the luxury mansion. The pool in the backyard glistened through the large windows, and the huge kitchen made quite a impressive impact as well. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor, where your room, a guest room and a dressing room was. As well as another bathroom with a whirlpool and walk-in shower. A fitness area on the patio, huge bookshelves crammed with stuff for years. The house had everything you could want, and yet you just wanted to get as far away as possible.

"Just get out!" you hissed without looking at him, pressing your face deeper into the pillow.

„Traitor..."

"Y/N... You have to understand Mr. Choi. He's worried about you. You got busted and killed three of Myeong-Gil's men. Just a few days ago, you woke up in the hospital. If he gets hold of you, he will not only torture you to get information, but also kill you to harm your grandfather."

Silently, you tried to ignore him. Everything he said was true and yet you hated him for saying it out loud.

"I'm going to leave now. If anything happens, call me! Please!"

You groaned in annoyance and sat up before he could just leave.

"I'll have to. You took away my weapons, after all," you replied, and he was clearly relieved when you stopped looking at him with such hostility.

Then he spread his arms and grinned in amusement.

"Come on. It's going to be okay."

Sighing, you scrambled to your feet and hugged him. Satisfied, he smiled and stroked your back. It was inconceivable to him how such a slender girl had cut down three armed men in cold blood with only a knife. Maybe they had trained you too well.

"Take care of yourselves and let me know if there's anything new" you murmured against his chest, looking up at him pleadingly.

"I promise," he replied, then let go of you again.

As soon as he disappeared through the door and the alarm was turned on, such a loneliness seized you that you trembled. Sighing, you wrapped your arms around your knees and lay on the couch in the huge house. Like a lonely kitten, abandoned in a huge forest.

The very next morning, you heard someone at the door and with a glance at the camera, you scrunched your face. Mr. Choi, Hyun-Ju and two young men were standing in front of it.

Astonished, you let them in and greeted your grandfather briefly before wrapping your sister in your arms.

"Shit, when you disappeared from the hospital, I thought something bad had happened to you," she said, hugging you a little tighter than necessary.

As soon as you got your breath back, you went ahead into the living room, where you took your seats. Except for the two young guys. They seemed to be a little older than you and both of their eyes almost fell out of their heads as they looked at the mansion from the inside. They elbowed each other excitedly in the sides like little kids, yet they remained silent.

"Is your shoulder better?" asked Choi worriedly, eyeing you intently.

You were wearing sweatpants and a cropped top under which the white bandage peeked out.

"It's not that bad. Who's that?" you asked directly, pointing at the two men.

Hyun-Ju raised her eyebrows meaningfully and stared at the ground, as if she knew what was coming next.

"Those are two young men I trust very much," the old man began, and you frowned.

"I'm Gunwoo," said the one who had shoulders so broad you could hide behind him. He had warm eyes and a really adorable face. Then the other one bowed as well:

"My name is Woojin, nice to meet you."

He too was unnaturally attractive. Curly hair, a sharper face, higher cheekbones and mischievousness in his eyes. They seemed completely different and yet they harmonized without saying a word.

"What's all this about?" you asked without answering them, looking to your grandfather. Both of them eyed you inconspicuously and looked at each other in surprise. Neither of them had expected such a young and attractive lady when they agreed to the job.

"I am worried about you. This mansion has not yet been discovered by Myeong-gil. But if he finds you here, I want you protected. These two men will do that job. They will be your bodyguards."

Stunned, you jumped up and stared back and forth between him and the boys, as if waiting for someone to break up this bad joke.

"What, no! I don't need bodyguards. No way! Those two aren't going to follow me all day!" you shouted a little louder than you meant to and looked to Hyun-Ju. You searched for any kind of help in her gaze, but she just shrugged apologetically.

"This is not negotiable. They will move into the guest room until this is all over!"

Mr. Choi's tone brooked no argument, and you pressed your lips together, seething with anger.

"They are for your protection. You almost got killed! It's not a bad thing!" your sister said and you slowly shook your head.

"You mean they are here to prevent me from leaving and to keep an eye on me?"

You didn't get an answer to that. Stunned, you snorted and looked at them again. Yes they were damn good-looking, trained, and if you ran into them in a club or bar, you would have had your fun with them for sure.

"We're boxers and used to fighting. We can protect you if it's necessary," Gunwoo said then, almost seeming to wince under your piercing gaze.

The way they looked at you, wide-eyed and trying to hide their staring wandering up and down your body, gave you naughty ideas. Maybe this whole thing could get pretty interesting after all.

"All right... I don't have a choice anyway," you muttered, and that's when your grandfather exhaled in relief.

He said goodbye shortly after and at the door your sister said a little louder than necessary:

"Don't devour them both at once."

You grinned knowingly and she just smirked. Hyun-Ju knew very well that they both suited your taste and she also knew that hardly any man would last longer than 24 hours near you without weakening.

You were self-confident, a flirt and loved attention. You also knew how to use your advantages and how to wrap men around your finger.

As soon as the old man and Hyun-Ju disappeared, you turned to the boys and put your hands on your hips. That's when you also spotted the suitcases they had smuggled in with them.

"What are your orders?"

"Orders?" asked Gunwoo meekly, and you rolled your eyes.

"What did grandfather tell you to do? Are you here to watch me? Report to him on my daily routine?"

Gunwoo looked like a scared bunny by now and you doubted his ability as a fighter a little. At least if his biceps weren't twice the size of your head. Woojin stepped in and smiled charmingly.

"He just asked us to watch over you and keep an eye on you so nothing would happen to you of course."

"So you're supposed to spy on me all the time?" you asked, walking past them into the living room. They followed you up to the second floor with their bags.

"Uh no. We're supposed to stay close to you, but we don't have to watch you... like… All the time", Gunwoo mumbled a bit overwhelmed.

"We're not stalkers or perverts or anything," Woojin quickly added.

"We didn't even know you were so young and.... and looking like...", Gunwoo stammered, obviously lacking the right words.

That's when you glanced over your shoulder and when your eyes met, no sound at all passed his lips anymore. Woojin jumped in and put a hand on his shoulder:

"We didn't know you were a young pretty lady. Hyun-Ju told us you were hot-tempered and dangerous to men..."

Gunwoo elbowed him in the side and gave him a warning look but you smiled knowingly with your back to them. This was going to be fun.

Hyun-Ju was not your biological sister. Like you, she was from the same orphanage, and the two of you had been inseparable since the day you saved her from an older bully by stabbing a fork through his hand.

Through her, you eventually came to the attention of Mr. Choi. He was quickly taken with your courage and emotionality, which is why he adopted you as his own flesh and blood, just like Hyun-Ju.

But unlike her, he could not keep you under control. You learned how to use weapons from his best assassins and as soon as Myeong-Gil reappeared, you were the first to spy on him. Your sister soon joined in and one thing led to another until you stupidly ended up in the hospital.

You opened the door to the guest room and stretched out your arm invitingly.

"This is for you. We only have a kingsize bed, but I think that will be enough."

The two looked around the room in amazement, Woojin directly pawing at the decoration in the form of scrolled sculptures and both of them seemed unaccustomed to such luxury. If they worked for Choi they were probably poor wretches from the street in his debt.

You leaned against the doorframe and looked at the two of them.

Gunwoo's smile was really cute and Woojin had that attractive charisma of a daredevil. They both made a nice sight and so at least you wouldn't get bored anytime soon.

"My room is right next door.... If you want to stop by," you said and they both froze and looked at you questioningly. As you grinned in amusement, you could see that they were both breaking out in a sweat.

You were making them nervous.

After all, they already agreed without words that they had never seen a prettier girl. Your long lashes framed your mysterious eyes and your body stood out softly under the fabric of your loose clothes. Likewise your features were engaging and the beckoning smile on your red lips was beguiling.

"I'm going to order some food. Do you like pizza?" you asked and they both nodded quickly.

Then you left them alone to get settled.

As soon as they heard you on the stairs, Woojin whirled around to Gunwoo and stared at him meaningfully.

"Dude!"

"She's hot..."

Gunwoo swallowed emphatically.

"Yeah, but she scares me."

"Hell yes. She's scary!"

The next morning, you had almost forgotten that the two boxers were still here, but when you saw Woojin already sitting on the patio with a coffee in his hand and Gunwoo standing by the punching bag, you sighed softly.

"I see you found the punching bag..." you said and both heads flew in your direction.

You were wearing a sports bra and tight leggings that showed your round curves underneath. You put down the yoga mat you were carrying rolled up under your arm and tied your hair in a high ponytail.

"Good morning," Gunwoo greeted you and you eyed him not exactly inconspicuously.

He was shirtless and sweat glistened on his remarkably defined muscles. He looked really really sexy with the bandaged fists, the focused expression on his face. So now you got a much better picture of the boxer.

Woojin was waving air at himself and had probably exerted himself on the punching bag just before.

At your glance to Gunwoo, he also pulled his shirt over his head and you grinned slightly as he stretched emphatically and also presented his muscles.

"Did you sleep well boss?" he asked, propping his elbows on his knees as you stretched.

"Yes. It's nice not to have to sleep in the hospital bed anymore. How about you guys? Do you like it here?" you asked, and as you stretched to loosen your muscles and tendons, Gunwoo flopped down next to Woojin on the cream-colored couch and they both watched your elegant movements.

"It's incredible. I've never been in a mansion like this," Gunwoo said in awe and Woojin nodded in agreement. How cute.

"You can make yourself some breakfast in the kitchen," you said and started your work-out.

They both looked at each other silently and then disappeared inside. There, Woojin leaned against the counter and looked at Gunwoo:

"This is insane..."

Gunwoo nodded and prepared sandwiches with ingredients he found in the refrigerator.

"There's a huge tub with jets in the bathroom!"

"I think it's called a whirlpool," Gunwoo smirked ironically, as Woojin mimicked his know-it-all manner mockingly and stuck his head into the fridge. However, he found only healthy vegetables, fruits and little meat. Astonished, he glanced at Woojin, whose gaze was transfixed on something behind the window.

"She seems to be eating very healthy. Takes care of her body, I guess."

"I can tell..." his buddy replied, and that's when Gunwoo got curious. He placed the toasts on the sideboard and stood next to him to also get a look at what had him so enthralled.

"Look at this... Would you have expected that?" asked Woojin, and Gunwoo's eyes nearly fell out.

You sprawled elegantly on the mat, stretching until you landed loosely in the splits. With your back to them, they had a perfect view of your body and especially your ass. Sensual curves paired with toned muscles without losing your femininity.

You were steaming hot and under those tight gym clothes, they could easily imagine what you would look like without them.

"No... Not in a thousand years. With that view, I'll never complain about getting up early again."

They watched you for a while through the big window doing different yoga exercises and both of them automatically imagined how you would feel under them. All flexible, with the slim waist and round breasts.

The next few days did not get any easier for them.

Often you caught their eyes wandering longer along your curves, holding their breath as you pushed past them in the kitchen, your butt grazing their crotch, your fingers touching their arms, or you accidentally brushing along their shoulders while passing by.

It was fun to tease them and with each passing day they became more restless. By the third day at the villa, your head was nearly bursting.

No call, no message from Hyun-Ju or Choi. There was complete silence and that was important, but it drove you crazy to be without knowledge of what was happening in the outside world right now. Myeong-Gil was dangerous and the thought of something happening to your family and you not noticing anything because you were stuck in that luxury hell was horrible.

Besides, your wound was almost completely healed, you were more flexible again and you got bored and that was even more dangerous.

One evening you were sitting on the couch, stretching and trying to loosen the bandage that was wrapped around your shoulder, but no matter how much you twisted around, you couldn't get it off. Woojin watched this for quite a while and then poked Gunwoo hard in the side, who looked up from his cell phone, startled. Woojin pointed his chin in your direction and pushed him toward you meaningfully.

"Do you need help?" he asked then, and you glanced at him briefly before exhaustedly blowing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

"That would be nice," you murmured, even if it scratched your pride.

He moved closer while Woojin watched you curiously.

"Can you just loosen the bandage and take it off?" you asked, turning your back to him. He nodded, taking in your flowery scent that surrounded them the whole time and played with the guys senses. You pulled your shirt over your head and held it in front of your bare breasts. Woojin, who was sitting across from you, quickly turned his gaze to the floor. That you had no sense of shame was something he would probably never get used to. You always ripped your clothes of before going in the shower, without a second thought about him being also in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He would also never get used to your body, which he wanted to look at all the time and trace every line with his fingers.

You smirked and Gunwoo exhaled loudly before tampering with the clamps with shaky fingers, carefully loosening them and beginning to roll the bandage off your arm, shoulder and torso.

"How did this happen?" he asked into the silence, trying to drown out the nervous tingling in his fingers stroking your soft skin and Woojin's nervous foot tapping. "Myeong-gil somehow found out that I was a spy.... I had snuck into his place, been a spy among his people, but before I knew it, I was exposed. His goon and three men ambushed me in my apartment."

"Shit," Woojin gasped, looking at you now after all, full of enthusiasm.

"Three of them I was able to take out with my knives.... Kang In-Beom I didn't manage. He plunged my own knife into my back from behind and left me to die. If it hadn't been for Hyun-Ju, I would have bled to death there," you recounted, and both of you could see how you shuddered at the memory of the pain, the adrenaline of the fight, and the fear for your life.

Gunwoo had removed the bandage and was looking at the stab wound on your shoulder blade, which by now gave off a red scar, too fine for the act of cruelty with which it was forced on you.

They were equally surprised and awed that the girl before him was so different from what she seemed after all.

"You have also had experience with the gorilla and his master?" you asked, pointing to Gunwoo's scar that ran across his jaw and was not unlike the one on your back. Then you pulled your shirt back over your head.

Gunwoo nodded slowly:

"Myeong-gil trashed my mother's cafe and gave me the scar. He brought ruin to my family and Mr. Choi saved us. For that, I am eternally grateful to him."

The loyal expression in his eyes and the strength, the indomitable courage they both exuded was refreshing. Attractive.

"Yes, he is always like that..." you murmured, tilting your head slightly as you raised your hand. You expected him to flinch, but he just looked you serenely in the eye as you ran gentle fingertips over his scar.

"It suits you. Our scars remind us about what's really important."

The boys were always amazed by you anew. Behind the tough, intelligent facade was a deep, emphatically girl who made an impression on both of them.

They admired you, were soon crazy about you. You also liked to be around them, to be looked at, to glare at them when they weren't looking.

Just playing with the boxers, like with small dogs, embarrassing them or making them nervous was not enough anymore.

So you decided to leave. You had already escaped from the hospital, so the ivy-covered wall around the estate was not a problem, was it?

Without thinking much about it, at noon you headed for a place in front of large stones that served as decoration around the pool.

You swallowed hard as you looked up. It was at least twenty feet you had to climb.

You had told the boys that you wanted to take a bath and therefore needed your privacy. They hadn't questioned it and Gunwoo had just rushed out of the bathroom with a red head when you just started to undress in front of him.

You had snuck past Woojin, who was doing push-ups and lifting weights in the living room, just like every morning. The guys were working out so much that you feared an apocalypse was coming. However, you didn't complain about the sight. Quite the opposite.

Confidently, you grabbed an ivy vine and pulled yourself up until you found a foothold with one foot. Just as you were about to pull yourself higher, you lost contact underfoot and felt two strong hands on your hips, plucking you from the wall like a ripe grape.

A startled squeak escaped you and you tried to free yourself from the tight grip by kicking.

"Let me go right now!" you yelled, and Gunwoo set you back on the floor, but not without pressing you firmly against his chest.

Cursing, you resisted, trying to shake off his hands until he wrapped both arms tightly around your torso and you barely had room to breathe.

"I'm really sorry, but we can't let you go. This is for your own safety!" he pressed out strained as he pulled you away from the wall.

Snarling and flailing like a cat gone wild you tried to move his arms away, Gunwoo looked around frantically for Woojin, who had already rushed across the yard to help.

"Stop that right now! You're both fired!" you shouted and a desperate yelp escaped you as Woojin tried to grab your wrists.

"I'm pretty sure you can't fire us," Woojin said and you tried to fight off his hands.

Together they tried to drag you back to the house where the big canapés were lined up.

You were startled yourself when in the heat of the moment you hit Woojin on the lip with your fist, but he didn't even flinch, instead pressing your hands against your body, his chest pressed tightly against yours.

You could see blood flashing at his mouth and tried to ignore your guilty conscience. Still, your resistance weakened a bit. Your muscles were already burning from the tension.

Finally, they managed to throw you onto the cream-colored canapé with the red cushions and before you could jump up, Gunwoo pounced on you and pinned you with his massive body underneath. His hands pressed your wrists firmly into the mattress next to your head and he was between your legs, so you couldn't even begin to fight his weight.

"Stop that! It's no use!" he said, and that's when you paused for a moment. Angrily, you glared at him and stared him straight in the eye.

"You guys are really pissing me off! Just let me go!"

Gunwoo sighed loudly and braced himself so he wouldn't hurt you with his weight. Like a wall, he cut you off from the outside world, and only when your pulse calmed down again did you begin to realize what position you were in.

Silently, he watched you, perplexed, as a strand of hair fell into your eyes, as the strap of your top slipped off your shoulder, revealing your white lace bra. He felt your soft body under him, your breasts, how they nestled against his chest and how your skirt had slipped up.

Directly he became insanely hot and indecent thoughts crept into his head.

"What are you going to do now?" you asked sharply, blinking at him through your thick lashes. He was even more handsome up close and you could feel his hard abdominal muscles against your body.

"Wait until you calm down and promise not to run away again."

You sparkled at him and jutted your chin a little. As you spoke, his warm breath brushed against your face and his eyes wandered aimlessly across your face.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because Mr. Choi will kill us if you don't."

The two of you were silent for a few seconds until the patio door opened and Woojin came back out with a cloth pressed against his bloody lip. You hadn't even noticed that he had disappeared, so focused were you on each other.

Gunwoo made no effort to move, and when his gaze fixed on your lips, you smiled slightly.

Teasingly you stretched your pelvis towards him until your middle brushed against his crotch and he noticed that your dress had ridden up so high that your panties were visible. However, you didn't seem to mind. His grip loosened on your wrists and his cheeks flushed as you felt a glint of it, causing arousal to shoot between your legs.

Your pretty face with deep-set eyes drove him crazy and he automatically had to imagine what it would be like to fuck your brains out in that position. Hearing your moans as he thrusted into you.

"You know I like it rough, right?" you mumbled and Woojin swallowed loudly.

"...Excuse me?"

Gunwoo looked completely overwhelmed, but his body's reaction spoke volumes. You rolled your hips at him again and this time he clearly felt your cunt against his now hardening dick.

"Well, considering the position we're in, I think we can take advantage of that, no?"

He exhaled loudly and let go of you.

Head flushed and clearing his throat, he turned away and sat down next to you. Seeking help, he looked at Woojin, who just stared at you.

Then he pressed a pillow to his middle and mumbled a curt apology before disappearing into the house.

Amused, you tilted your head and brushed your dress back into place.

"Is he always this uptight?" you asked, and to be honest, you wanted them even more now.

Woojin swallowed and then put on a grin.

"With beautiful women, you can sometimes lose your composure."

"Charming," you replied, stroking his shoulder as you passed, which made him freeze.

Then you settled down next to him on the couch and took the cloth from his hand.

Carefully, you dabbed at his lip, leaning against his bare chest as you did so, and said in a honeyed voice:

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He held your wrist tightly, thus catching your gaze. The amber of his eyes was streaked with golden speckles. He was stunningly beautiful, too, and his muscles tensed under your fingertips.

"Half as bad. As a boxer, I'm used to worse."

You gazed at him through your thick lashes and as he took the cloth from your hands and leaned forward to set it aside, your gaze traveled over his broad shoulders and the muscles on his back that were tensing.

You noticed the tattoo on his back and touched it with feathery fingertips.

"You served?" you asked curiously, and he shuddered as you stroked along the lines. His entire body tingled as you leaned against him and he felt your tits against his torso.

"Yes. You know about this sort of thing?" he asked incredulously. You smiled slightly and ran your fingers over the tattoo.

"Not really. But I'm interested. It's hot..."

Woojin's eyes lit up and his enthusiasm was contagious.

"Do you have a girlfriend or Gunwoo?" you asked then, and he stumbled over his words:

"No... There's not much time besides boxing."

You nodded and ran your fingers down his shoulder, over his biceps, to his inner arm. He watched how you bit your lip and wanted to touch them.

"As bloodhounds, it's hard to find someone?"

He tracked your movements, fidgeting restlessly. He wanted to grab you, kiss you to know what your lips tasted like, and he wondered if you would still look so confident stuffed with his cock.

"We're not bloodhounds."

You raised your eyebrows, wandered your fingers over his palm, and rested his hand on your thigh.

"You work for my grandfather, you're my bodyguards.... He would never hire any men off the street. If you're not bloodhounds yet, you will be soon."

Woojin pressed his lips together, slowly closing his hand around your inner thigh, just centimeters from where you actually wanted to feel his long fingers. Sighing, you leaned forward a bit, placing a hand against his chest until he had a good view down your cleavage.

"What did he tell you to do? What are the rules?" you breathed, and Woojin increasingly lost his self-control. His hand closed tighter and tighter around your thigh and you could see him struggling with himself.

"Don't let you out of our sight. Protect you with our lives. No touching." he enumerated the rules Choi had drilled into them, and now he finally understood what Hyun-Ju had warned them about. When she talked about you being dangerous, cunning, and a temptation, he hadn't believed her. But now he could hardly stop himself from pushing you down on the couch and ripping your clothes off.

He wanted your sweet voice moaning his name and touching you everywhere he shouldn't.

You nodded slowly. Of course Choi had ordered them not messing around with you. He knew you and your charm too well. You had a temper. You were uncontrollable. Everyone was afraid and enraptured by you at the same time.

"What if I want to touch you?" you whispered in his ear and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Agonizingly slowly, you let your fingers travel down his stomach, to the waistband of his pants. Your lips brushed his jawline and his hand wandered up your leg. The temptation was too big and he struggled with himself.

"He'd kill us..." he whispered with the last bit of resistance he could muster.

He... Your grandfather knew you well enough to know that one stupid rule wouldn't stop you from asserting your stubbornness.

"What if I want you to touch me?," you continued, pressing your thighs together so he could feel the heat between them on his hand, trapped just finger-widths away from your cunt.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he furrowed his eyebrows in agony, and you wanted to fall to your knees to see if he looked as stunned when you took his dick into your mouth.

But before you could slide your fingers into his waistband, you stood up and left him sitting there, dumbfounded.

Gasping, he also pressed his hand between his legs as you disappeared into the house. It was a game for you and you were the master at it. Like chess. You were the queen. The boxers were your pawns, the pawns with which you passed your time, and both had to admit that they liked it more and more to walk for you on the board.

You retreated to your room for the rest of the day, until in the evening you resigned yourself to not getting out of here anytime soon.

The next few days your games became more and more dangerous and both Gunwoo and Woojin expected you to lose their mind every time you came into the room in skimpy pants, a dress that barely covered your breasts or skirts that showed glimpses of your underwear.

You made the time in the villa so much more interesting and they caught each other raving about you, losing themselves in mind games, only to be jilted in the end.

The danger surrounded you like the smoke of a cigarette and yet it was so seductive that Gunwoo did take a peek through the crack of the open door of the bathroom when you went to shower. He hated himself for it, but his curiosity and dirty desire to see more, to not always be kept at a distance, overwhelmed him.

He opened the bathroom door just enough to peek and catch you slipping out of your clothes.

He saw through the crack how you took off your skirt, threw away your top and looked at yourself in the mirror only in your underwear. He felt disgusting, but the line of your thighs as they merged into the perfect curve of your ass made him pause until you took off your underwear too. The way your tits spilled out of your bra when you undid the clasp made his cock hard in an instant and only when you turned on the water in the shower and faced the door did he tear his eyes open in shock and twirled away, pressing his back against the wall next to the door and gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Gunwoo never been more thirsty in his life. Although he should just leave, he risked one more look. Just one last one. He wanted to suck on your skin, let his tongue lap up the water that dripped from your nipples, trickled down your calves. Your back is sexier than he realized, the slope of your spine incredibly pleasing to the eye, especially as you began to lather up your soft skin with the shower gel.

His pants were uncomfortably tight and he wanted to slap himself.

As soon as you walked past his room, wrapped in steam with only a towel around your body, a soft sound made you freeze.

The strained gasp came from the boys' room and you dared to look through the crack of the open door, which had hastily not been closed properly.

You recognized Gunwoo's broad back on the bed, muscles straining to him jerking his cock off, sighing your name. Your lip twitching up as fast as you clenched your legs together.

Another time you tried to take a cup from the top shelves in the kitchen. However, you were too short and the modern cabinets were placed way too far up. When Woojin saw this, he came to you, stood behind you and enveloped you in a shadow as if a tree had grown out of the ground right behind you.

He took out the cup and held it out to you, but you made no move to take it. You glanced coquettishly over your shoulder, leaned back a little until your ass was pressed firmly against his crotch and said:

"Thank you. Very thoughtful."

Immediately all color drained from his face and he grabbed your hip with his other hand to prevent you from making his dick even harder by wiggling your butt.

"It's all right," he dismissed it and wanted to flee, away from your seductive body and mesmerizing eyes.

But you turned, looked up at him through those long lashes you could swat flies with, and smiled sweetly:

"What do you think of the top? It's new, but I'm unsure if the color suits me."

Although you looked innocent, everything in him screamed trap! Still, he dropped his gaze and took a rattling breath as he clearly saw the curve of your breasts through the thin, almost transparent lilac material nestling to your body and your nipples forming little mounds on the fabric.

"It's pretty. Very pretty..." he stammered, trying to resist the urge to push the stupid thing up and hold your breasts in his hands.

He had big hands and they would fit perfectly.

As soon as the heat made him hard again, he watched you go, teeth gritting and jaw flexing as he lusted over how smoothly you walked away. You had to know you drove him crazy, that you were so beautiful and just out of reach that it made him want to crush the mug in his hand. Before Gunwoo could ask him, if he wanted to help him work out, he disappeared into the bathroom, with the excuse that he still had to shower.

Instead, he tried to get rid of his hard-on by ignoring it or even silently praying for it. But when he made the mistake of looking through the window, which offered a direct view of the pool and the loungers in front of it, an incredulous sigh escaped him.

You were just lying down in the sun, in the top and short skirt that accentuated your long legs. With big sunglasses on your nose, you tied your hair in a bun and to his horror, you unceremoniously pulled your top over your head. Your breasts in the bright sunlight looked soft and Woojin couldn't look away. As if caught in a curse, he stared at your body as you made yourself comfortable on the lounger, slipping out of your skirt and tanning only in black panties.

A wave of heat flashed in his gut, one that told him he was doing something wrong, that he should look away. He wasn't a pervert who secretly stalked women, though it was really hard not to look at you when you were prancing around in front of their noses all day. He shook his head, looked at himself in the mirror and mumbled a few curses. Fresh, hot blood flowed straight between his legs, made his dick thump against his lower stomach, the flushed tip peeking out of the waistband of his boxers.

Then he looked out again, eyeing the lines of your thighs as they converged between your legs, and as he pulled his now rock-hard dick out of his shorts, he tried to block out the accusing voice in his head.

Your skin glowed like the skin of a peach and he wondered if the tan-lines were as lighter where the panties were as they were around your breasts.

He wanted to touch your nipples, no he was so desperate, he wanted to take them in his mouth, suck on them and kiss you until you begged for him to fuck you. The fat of your boobs looked so soft, plush, and he imagined the weight of one in his palm as he started to stroke his cock. The sight of you naked and unaware made his head go fuzzy, garnet eyes glazing over as he shoved his boxers into the floor and kicked them away.

His cock laid heavy and demanding in his hand as he palmed himself to the sinful thoughts.

He sped up, imagining you kneeling on all fours in front of him and him slamming into you from behind, your pussy sucking him in, gripping him way better than his hand could. The naughty fantasies played like movies in his head and didn't let him go anytime soon. He gasped overwhelmed, imagining your naked body under his, stretched out just for his satisfaction. When you turned onto your stomach, he had to brace himself against the wall, panting. He had been plagued by images of you since day one, as if trying to burn the curves of your naked body into his memory. He loved how round your ass looked like this, how the length of your thighs begged for his hands to reach into each one. His fingers longed to feel soft skin between them, to sink into flesh and pull you back against him. His orgasm felt dirty, sultry, a long strand of ecstasy pulled from his cock and dripped onto his hand, splattered on the windowsill.

He cleaned it all up, put his pants back on, and tried to forget what he had done.

Meanwhile, you slid the sunglasses on your head and smiled slightly as Woojin's curly head disappeared out the window.

You made life harder for the two of them with every hour that passed.

Always the treat in front of their eyes, but they didn't dare to grab it. Yet.

The boxers were way, way too curious about you since they entered the luxury villa. Not to mention it was still late summer, so they caught you making dinner or doing yoga in the tiniest shorts and prancing around with no bra, nipples always hard and tempting from the breeze of the air conditioner.

It was way too much fun for you, however, you also became impatient. All this was soon not enough.

It was already dark and the round lanterns in the garden bathed everything in a pleasant orange light. Together with the blue of the pool, it made a dreamlike contrast. Woojin and Gunwoo were sitting on the loungers and talking quietly, but when you appeared, the conversation stopped and they looked at you attentively.

As soon as you took off your bathrobe and stood in front of them in just a sinful piece of bikini, Woojin clawed at Gunwoo's leg. They examined every little movement you made, the way you cocked your hip, how you cupped one of your breasts as you turned to them while you got into the water.

"Do you want to just watch or join?" you asked, letting yourself slide into the deeper water. They looked at each other, puzzled, and Gunwoo said:

"I don't know if we're allowed to..."

"What if I drown? Don't you have to protect me from drowning? You can't do that from there."

They looked at each other, not sure what to do, and before you waited any longer, you poured a gush of water over the edge of the pool, hitting them both. Startled, they jumped up and you giggled as your attack left them dripping and soaked.

When they heard you cackle so gleefully, something playful entered their gaze.

"Are we going to let this pass?" asked Gunwoo and Woojin shook his head, coming to the edge of the pool, but before he realized, Gunwoo had seized the golden opportunity and pushed him into the water from behind.

Woojin, however, clung to his arm in a flash and pulled him along. Gunwoo frantically rowed his arms, but it was all to no avail as they hit the surface of the water next to you with a loud splash.

Drops of water splashed you completely wet and you held your hands in front of your face. When they resurfaced, Woojin coughed, Gunwoo rubbed his eyes, and you held a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

As Woojin tossed his hair out of his face, he fixed you and pulled his wet shirt over his head in one fluid motion. At the sight of his trained body, you raised your eyebrows slightly and bit your lower lip, however, as he walked up to you and muttered:

"Well now you're laughing!"

You tried to run away squealing. However, he caught you and splashed water on your face, though in the process he also hit Gunwoo, who also began to tussle with him. He tore off his shirt and threw it to the edge before grabbing Woojin and wrestling with him.

You were laughing like little kids, splashing water at each other, and you felt more free and like yourself than you had in years.

The sound of your bright, high-pitched laughter as Gunwoo dove between your legs, lifted you up and threw you into the water with a loud splash was like music to the boys' ears.

You wrestled for quite a while, holding each other, pulling your legs away and dunking each other under the water until you could take no more.

Your heart was light, the water pleasantly cool, and the boys' hands firm on your soft skin.

You finally landed between the two of them. Woojin had his arms wrapped around your belly, pressing you tightly to his chest, Gunwoo grabbed your wrists, pulled you to him and held you by the waist. You paused in the position, breathing heavily. You brushed a wet strand of hair out of your eyes and you suddenly realized how close you were. You looked up at Gunwoo, who had a sweet smile on his lips, Woojin's arms were tight against your stomach and you leaned against him. You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from him. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, and your heart raced in anticipation.

"Do you really want to fight us?" asked Gunwoo with a smirk, your skin tingling excitedly. Woojin tried not to look down too long at your ass pressed against his crotch and instead pinched your sides playfully.

"Maybe she has a chance," he said, and you tilted your head a little, like a curious cat.

"I think you can use those strong arms of yours to do plenty of other things with me," you replied, delighting in the stunned reactions. Gunwoo froze and looked a lot like one of those greek statues of a god and Woojin's grip on your hips tightened.

With a silky voice and seductive aura, you took Gunwoo's hands and slowly guided them up your sides.

"Or is that not what you want?" you asked, as if asking his opinion on his choice of ice cream.

Gunwoo could no longer take his eyes off your slender fingers guiding his hands along your curves.

"Or this?" you asked, placing his large hands on your breasts.

In parallel, an overwhelmed gasp escaped Woojin as you rubbed your ass harder against his crotch. His hands flew to your hips and he could think of nothing but the heat gathering between his legs, pressing against the soft curve of your ass.

Gunwoo cupped your breasts tentatively, but they felt too good, too perfect to let go. He wanted to get rid of your bikini, to feel them whole and complete.

Your words were like a spell that made the boxers take off completely:

"Or don't you want me?"

Gunwoo's eyes snapped back to your face and he looked almost panicked as he said:

"I want it! I want you!"

Woojin grinded your ass against his bulge and would have loved to pull your bikini bottoms down right then and there to thrust into you.

"We want all of it!" he added, and you smiled triumphantly.

It was so simple.

"Then take it."

Gunwoo gave Woojin a questioning look over your shoulder, he nodded curtly at him and by then he was already leaning down to you, pulling you closer by the face and kissing you tempestuous. Woojin began kissing your neck, continuing to rub his increasingly hard length against your soft skin.

The kiss was sunny, warm, full of desire and you melted, pressed between the two muscular men. Gunwoo began kneading your breasts, sighing into your mouth as the water seemed to boil around you.

As soon as he broke away from you, Woojin turned your head to the side by the chin and already his lips were pressing to yours as well. Sweet as honey, hot as fire and much more impetuous than Gunwoo.

He greedily pushed his tongue into your mouth, turning you over until your back bounced against Gunwoo and he could push his knee between your legs.

"Free her tits!" murmured Woojin, and his hands reached for your ass, kneaded your soft flesh until you gasped into his mouth. Directly you felt Gunwoo's fingers pull open the loops of your bikini and the top fell off of you. He tossed it aside and Woojin was finally able to touch what he had been dreaming about for nights. Directly he kissed down your neck, sucking on your skin until he reached your nipple and ran his tongue around.

You took Gunwoo's hand and placed it on your other breast as you leaned against him, sighing comfortably.

"So pretty for us," he murmured, twirling your nipple between his fingers while Woojin sucked on your other and groped your ass.

The water lapped around you and you felt detached, weightless.

Gunwoo's fingers wandered over the waistband of your bikini panties, hesitantly, as if weighing whether to cross that line. However, it was all too late now anyway.

"Touch me! Please go on!" you gasped, your fingers in Woojin's hair, working red marks into your skin.

Gunwoo's lips brushed your neck as he exhaled and slid his fingers into your bikini. He played with the little bundle of nerves, rubbing it until your knees went soft. You gasped, your lips swollen and your face enlightened with desire.

You looked into Woojin's eyes as you did so, and he was equally incredulous by the immense horniness. You stroked down his abs, over his crotch, and there he lifted you out of the water with ease.

"Woojin... What...?"

But you didn't get any further, because he was already carrying you onto the canapé, the cool air on your wet skin gave you goosebumps and when he leaned over you and kissed you wildly, you let out a loud gasp.

In Gunwoo's eyes, too, a fire burned in the meantime that could no longer be extinguished. Whimpering, you pressed your body against Woojin and the stormy kissing ended only when you both could no longer breathe. He tilted his head a bit and his hand wandered down your belly into your bikini bottoms where he stroked through your folds. His eyes lit up and a blush shot up your cheeks as he felt how wet you already were.

"Shit have you been this horny all this time?" he muttered, biting the crook of your neck, making you whimper softly. As he did so, he pressed his thumb flat against your clit. Quickly, you grabbed his wrist and held it ironclad so you didn't immediately come over his fingers.

"Don't act like I'm the only one.... I know you've been watching me," you replied, glaring piercingly at both of them. Gunwoo actually laughed softly and sat down next to you on the canapé, while Woojin knelt between your legs, the sun sparkling on his wet abs.

"Do you really think we haven't been thinking about fucking you since day one when you're always running around in those skimpy clothes, getting us hot and worked up obviously with pure intention?" he growled and started spreading wet kisses along your collarbone. Your head was already floating in the clouds, so you looked up to the star studded sky and when Gunwoo firmly kneaded one of your breasts, you let out a sigh:

"Oh God..."

"He won't be able to help you now," Woojin chuckled and that's when you felt him roll your bikini panties off your legs and toss them carelessly aside. Since he was kneeling between your legs you couldn't squeeze your thighs together and hide your soaked cunt from Woojin's intense gaze.

"Look at how wet she is!" he said with a grin at Gunwoo, pushing your knees even further apart. Gunwoo eased off your neck for a moment and stroked two fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness on his fingers and the smile on his lips turned your head. Gasping, you pushed through your back as he suddenly sank two fingers into you and began pumping them into you.

"Gunwoo... Oh... Fuck," you moaned as you clawed at his biceps and moved your hips against his hand.

"You like that, huh? My fingers deep in your pussy?" he murmured in a soft voice, as if he was talking to a puppy or a kitten.

Woojin watched as Gunwoo's fingers disappeared into your wet cunt, creating naughty wet sounds, while your whole body trembled and by now his cock was so stiff that he could hardly stand it anymore. Gunwoo suddenly pulled his fingers out of you so that you were forcibly thrown back into reality and could only watch as he pushed his fingers into his mouth and licked your wetness off of it.

"She tastes like candy," he gushed, and Woojin grew more impatient.

"I need to taste her so bad..." he growled, kneeling down in front of the canapé. Without further ado, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you to the edge so that his face hovered in front of your exposed cunt.

When his tongue met your clit, your eyes were already rolling backwards and when he then also sank two fingers into your hole and pumped them into you at an unholy pace while sucking on your clit, you couldn't stop moaning his name. He ate you out as if his life depended on it and as your hand sped into his curls and you pulled on his strands, he growled into your pussy. Gunwoo meanwhile went to work on your breasts, taking your nipples in his mouth, sinking his teeth into your sensitive skin and groping your whole body with his big hands.

"You're god damn gorgeous," he grunted, sucking so hard on your neck that you trembled. You felt your high rolling in record fast and Woojin worked your throbbing pussy only more intensely. His tongue slid over your bundle of nerves and his fingers hit the spots that drove you crazy every time.

"Faster... Woojin please," you begged and the sound of his name spilling from your lips had his cock aching against the fabric of his way too tight boxers, shoulders aching as he hammered his fingers into your pussy even faster, almost hoping you'll break for him.

Gunwoo palmed himself through his shorts by now, as he was more than aware of the sounds of Woojin devouring your pussy and your naked body just stretched out and ready for them.

Your vision was blurry by now, but when you felt Gunwoo's hand in your hair you looked up at him.

"Are you our good girl, princess?" he asked in such a low voice that you could only nod breathlessly. All you could do was cry in gargled whimpers, writhing around as Woojin focused on sucking the life out of you, his hands now on your hips, holding you still.

"Then open your mouth suck my dick, like the little slut you are," he purred, kneeling beside you, pulling down his shorts and holding his massive cock in his hand. A strangled gasp escaped you as Gunwoo put the tip to your lips and spread precum on it. Overwhelmed, your eyelids fluttered as you licked his slit and he tangled one hand in your hair, slowly pushing his length into your mouth. As he nudged your throat, a gag escaped you, making him groan loudly. You braced yourself against his thighs as he began to rut into your mouth. He was so thick that you quickly stopped breathing. In addition, your whole body tensed as your orgasm threatened to wash over you. Desperately, you squinted your eyes as Woojin didn't let up. He noticed how your legs began to tremble around his head and sucked hard on your clit. your whimpers stuttering as he continued to suck, flicking his tongue against it before sucking again. You gripped the pad beneath you, shutting your eyes tight and moaning repeatedly around Gunwoos dick as Woojin devoured you. Gunwoo noticed it too and paused from his slow but deep thrusts into your throat, holding you by the hair, his tip still pressed tightly against your lips as you came whimpering loudly. He studied your expression closely, trapped in the cage of pleasure and pure bliss.

As you slowly came back down from your high, Woojin licked clean everything he had caused and looked up at Gunwoo.

"Fuck you have to taste her! Her pussy is addictive."

Woojin chuckled contently between your thighs, his fingers pulling your folds apart to show Gunwoo the way your juices dribbled out of your leaking hole. He teasingly blew a puff of air over your sopping cunt, enjoying the way you writhed beneath him.

Completely attuned to each other, they changed places while you swam on the edge of reality, unsure if you would ever forget the feeling if pleasure flashing through your veins like lightning. You had never come so hard and that had only been Woojin's finger and mouth.

Gunwoo took a seat between your legs, grabbed a handful of your ass and pulled you closer to the edge until his mouth met your pussy. Directly you saw stars and when his tongue penetrated you, his deep humming filled your body. Somehow you felt Woojin's mouth on your neck, nibbling on your skin, stroking your tits and you were closer to heaven than ever before.

An unintelligible mass of words, curses and their names escaped you as you pushed his face deeper into your cunt with one hand in his hair. His nose bumped against your clit as he licked deeper and deeper into your hole and the knot in your belly tightened burning.

That's when you felt a rougher grip in your hair than Gunwoo had before. When you looked up at Woojin, you already saw that he was holding his cock and palmed himself. It wasn't as thick as Gunwoos length, but longer and even now you didn't know how to survive it.

"Don't leave me out, open up for me baby!" he demanded and pressed his tip against your lips. You saw how you got him worked up and as he tilted his head, taking in the sight of your fucked out facial expression, even though they hadn't really done anything yet, he was sure not only to be satisfied with a blowjob today. He tapped at your lips with his angry red tip, his eyes wide with demand.

You couldn't help but obediently obeying like the good girl you were, you parted your lips for him, taking the tip of his cock with ease. With uneven whines of pleasure, you stuck your tongue out to lick up his length. Slobbering messily, you smeared a mixture of precum and spit all over your chin.

Woojin tangled his fingers into the strands of your hair, guiding your head, watching your lips stretched around his dick as he pushed himself down your throat.

Tears welled up in your eyes and the naughtiest sounds escaped you as he began to snap his hips against your face. Your slurping noises and stifled whimpers only seemed to spur Gunwoo on, as he gripped his hands tighter into the flesh of your thighs and sinked his whole face into your pussy, licking as deep as he could.

Woojin grunts, feeling you swallow around him. He liked the way your eyes clouded with tears, the way you looked at him with such urgency when you needed to breathe.

"I think she's about to cum," Woojin gasped between his deep thrusts into your throat, and Gunwoo hummed in response, continuing to penetrate you with his tongue.

"Gunwoo tongue-fucking you real good, huh?", Woojin pressed out and pushed you all the way onto his cock so that your nose bounced against his lower belly and the world around you blurred. Gunwoo meanwhile withdrawing his tongue from your pussy and spreading your lips to start sucking on your clit again, a scream ripping from your throat from how amazing he was making you feel, as Woojin roughly pulled you back by the hair in time and pulled his dick out of your mouth to look at your face as you crumbled beneath him. Gunwoos mouth and tongue still torturing you. You'd long accepted that you were going to have to just cum for them. It's something they made sure you understood from the beginning. You came not for your own pleasure but because they wanted to see it. Like hungry lions they were just waiting until they pushed you over the edge each time. Your high shook you and your eyes rolled back as Gunwoo obsessively pressed his mouth on your pussy again. Woojin watched with satisfaction as you recovered from your climax, continuing to hold you by the hair so as not to miss any detail of your flushed face.

When you were gradually able to think clearly again, your legs were still shaking and the boxers were looking at you with a gentle smile.

"Holy shit," you sighed, running your hands through your hair and looking Gunwoo in the eye as he climbed back up to you.

"Was that good?" he asked, though he could read the answer on your face and body.

"That was sick," you murmured, and that's when his lips crashed down on yours. You could taste yourself on him, his hands tight on your hips and your head fogged with lust and desire.

"You didn't think that was it, did you?" asked Woojin suddenly, after the boxers had exchanged a meaningful glance. Even if you saw clearly again, your head was still filled with absorbent cotton. Before you could inquire, Woojin grabbed you by the hips and threw you over his shoulder. Grumbling, you drummed on his back as he carried you into the mansion, Gunwoo close behind you.

"Put me down! I can walk myself!"

He didn't even seem to have a little trouble carrying you up the stairs, and when he just laughed throatily, you got all hot.

"Don't act like you don't like being bossed around. You were just fucking begging me to finger you faster," he said and your head glowed with shame and arousal. In truth, you had never experienced anything hotter than being used by the two of them and everything inside you was screaming to finally be fucked.

He carried you to his and Gunwoo's room, threw you on the kingsized bed and climbed between your legs to kiss you. Demandingly, he slid his tongue into your mouth without hesitation, grabbed your hips and rubbed his hard dick through the fabric of his shorts against your thigh.

You sighed softly and your cunt contracted demanding. You wanted to feel him, deep inside you even if his size was already scaring you.

Gunwoo closed the door behind you and sat down on the chair beside the bed, watching you intently. Woojin kissed the red marks he and his best friend had worked into your skin all over your neck and breasts, then looked at you.

"What do you want, princess? Tell us so we can make you feel good. We're here just for you."

His voice was rough with lust and you melted under the gaze of his gemstone eyes. He couldn't get enough of the sight of your soft skin, pleading eyes and legs spread over the bed. He looked at you through half hooded eyes.

"Oh yeah? You're selflessly dragging me into your bed?" you asked cheekily, wandering your fingers down his stomach until you slid them into his waistband. He smelled seductively woody and of honey, which immediately gummed up your mind. Worse than any alcohol.

Woojin grinned crookedly and put a hand around your neck to push you back onto the mattress. You could feel how impatient he was.

"Answer him!" sounded Gunwoo's voice, low and rough, and you shuddered.

It was enough to make you gulp and the heat between your legs pulsate.

"Fuck me. I want my bodyguards to fuck me until I can't walk," you whispered and immediately fire shot into Woojin's eyes. He looked to Gunwoo, whose dick was massive and powerful in his hand.

"You want to start?" he asked him, and you got goosebumps. Gunwoo shook his head and smiled gently:

"You start. I'll take her after you stretched her for me."

Woojin nodded with a dirty grin, looked down at you with an intimidating stare, and flipped you onto your stomach by your hips with lightning speed. With a gasp, you felt him grab your hips, pulling you toward him until you were propped up on your elbows and your ass was sticking up in the air in front of him.

With one hand he pushed your torso into the mattress, with the other he pulled off his boxers. Your body trembled when you felt his tip at your entrance. He covered it with your juices, letting it brush up and down between your folds, and his tip alone would stretch and ache you, you knew for sure. He wasn't as thick as Gunwoo, but he was longer and you'd never had such massive cocks before.

"Look at the little princess..." he said teasingly to Gunwoo as he continued to tease you with his tip at your entrance, rubbing along your clit.

"Ready and desperate for us to fuck her brains out."

He had wanted you like this since he saw you that morning, ass in the air as you did your early morning exercises. But now you were even hotter, pussy messy and dripping and already spread from his fingers. He had an urge to spank you, punish you a bit for being so dirty, for teasing him for so damn long, but his balls are so heavy with cum that he needed to pound into you, like he needed to breath.

"I'm trying not to break you," he growled, and that's when he started to penetrate you. You whimpered softly as he began to push his tip inside you.

Your face was pressed into the mattress and you could only look at Gunwoo, who was watching intently as Woojin sank inch by inch deeper into you. Your body trembled and your walls began to pulse painfully.

He dug his fingers into your hips so you couldn't get away and pushed his length incessantly into your aching hole. Directly your field of vision veiled as inch by inch he seemed to tear your insides apart, regardless of your whimpers and gasps.

You clawed at the bed sheet and just as he disappeared halfway inside you, he paused to sigh softly:

"Holy shit. Your so tight. The best pussy I ever felt..."

You managed to take a quick breath and adjust to his size as a naughty moan was ripped from you as he thrusted completely into you unannounced. Your widened eyes met Gunwoo's as he palmed his hard dick and watched you in overwhelm, moaning softly.

"Oh fuck... Woojin it's too big," you pressed out overwhelmed, between whimpering and gasping. Subdued, you moaned out, clawing your hands into the mattress until his thighs bumped against yours. You felt his balls pressed against your clit and he pulsed deep inside you. Then he leaned over you until his mouth hovered next to your ear. He kissed your shoulders reassuringly and murmured:

"Shh. I know baby girl. Take it like the little whore you are."

Your breath caught as he slid out of you and slammed into you again. This time faster as your arousal was already dripping out of your cunt and as soon as he started thrusting into you, your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck so good," he gasped and Gunwoo started moving his hand up and down his cock, turned on by the way his best friend was destroying you from behind.

Then he started moving his hips steadily, he gripped your hips tightly and after just a few thrusts you thought you were going to burst. Every movement electrified you and soon all you could hear was your moans, the slap of his hips against your ass and his low growl as he took you hard and deep from behind. He could feel the thick veins that ran along the length of his cock rubbing against your walls with every plunge, and knew you could feel them too. Your hands were already slipping against the sheets, searching for some kind of sanity to cling on to as he fucked you senseless. All the while, you watched Gunwoo who couldn't take his eyes off of you, and as you narrowed your eyes at your third orgasm, Woojin grabbed your hands and yanked them out from under you, leaving you fully at his mercy.

"Look at Gunwoo and show him how good I'm fucking you!" he panted, seeming to reach deeper with each thrust. He moved his hips roughly and quickly. By then he was holding your wrists with only one hand, reaching for your face with the other, bending over you and turning your head until your lips collided. He was starving, keeping your face in his iron grip so he could take what he wanted so bad. Your lips were soft but eager, following his movements, trying to keep up. It was sloppy, a clash of tongues and spit smearing across cheeks. But you tasted so good, felt so fucking good bouncing against him. He twisted one of your sensitive buds, thumb and forefinger plucking and pulling as you moaned all breathy and light.

He gasped and clawed his fingers into your hips so hard it hurt, but you were hardly aware of anything except the enormous bliss that mixed with the pain into a pleasant mass.

He filled you up completely, messed up your insides and with every thrust you were more on fire.

The room was filled with slapping skin, the wet sound of your cunt and your sinful noises. You were seeing stars by now and he was just stepping it up a notch, slamming into you like he was trying to win a race.

Your cheek rubbed against the sheets with each time and your mouth was open as his name rolled from your lips like a desperate prayer.

The knot in your stomach tightened firmly and you could see Gunwoo's heated gaze as he watched closely as Woojin's cock disappeared into your tight hole and penetrated it.

Your back ached and Woojin was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful than your cockdrunk face, your body bent just for him and your ass slapping steadily against his hips.

"How does she feel?" asked Gunwoo, sliding his hand along his dick, edging himself.

"Incredible. So wet... So tight. Fuck she's crushing me," he gasped between thrusts, letting his hips snap deep inside you several times, hitting the sensitive spot each time, sending you into a different atmosphere.

With your hands behind your back and Woojins cock squeezed at your tense walls, he snapped his hips hard against yours a few more times before his movement became chaotic and sloppy.

By now your arousal was flowing down your thighs and had he not held you upright by your arms, you would have simply collapsed while the orgasm almost overtook you like an avalanche. The world was enveloped in a glistening white light and Woojin pushed you over the edge as you moaned his name so sinfully that he would probably never forget it. He felt your walls tighten around him and your body spasmed.

"It's okay baby girl! Come around my cock! Let me fill you up," he moaned and that's when the knot in your belly snapped into white glowing hot pleasure. You screamed, your next orgasm explosive your eyes rolling so hard it hurt, your entire body shivering as you tried to handle the pleasure.

Your orgasm made your entire body tremble and the expression on your face, pressed against the bed sheet, your eyebrows drawn together accusingly and your features contorted with desire, that's when Woojin came too.

With a loud grunt he came deep inside you, but he didn't stop, not even as thick ropes of hot cum filled your already gushing pussy and spurting out onto his stomach, onto your thighs. He was unrelenting, keeping you both within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. His hot cum mixed with your juices and spilled out of your cunt as soon as he pulled out. The sight made Gunwoo clench his teeth. Sweat stood on Woojin's forehead and he looked at what he did with satisfaction.

Taken completely by surprise, you stayed flat on the bed, trying to calm your breathing, but the orgasm left you drained and shaking, your eyelids fluttering and your fucked out face. It was a glorious view and he gently turned you over onto your back, brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your lips with so much affection that you felt quite comfortable.

"Are you all right?" he asked, kissing your neck, stroking your sides and calming you.

You nodded weakly and gradually you came back to reality. Gunwoo stood beside the bed, his throbbing cock heavy in his hand, and your body immediately responded by letting the arousal run between your legs again.

"Do you think you can really take both of us?" he asked challengingly and the mocking grin on his lips, made the pride and lust return.

"Of course..." you said, and Woojin tilted his head a little, his eyes shining energetically, and he grazed your neck with his lips.

"So you want Gunwoo to fuck you too?"

Quickly you nodded and looked at Gunwoo, who looked impatient.

"Such a good girl...", Woojin purred and stepped back to make room for Gunwoo, who was lunging over you as he did at noon today, spreading almost innocent kisses along your jaw. You felt his tip at your entrance and your body responded without you being able to do anything about it.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and there he pressed his tip into your aching hole. "Fuck, I guess we're wrecking her tonight?", Gunwoo chuckled , biting his lip at the sight of your pussy spread so wide open for him.

As he stretched you open, the initial thrust inside is slow and sharp. He smelled pleasantly sweet of fresh strawberries and cinnamon, which immediately got you hooked. He was big, shifting his hips slowly for you to take it all in. He intercepted your moans with kisses until you were moaning into his mouth, fingers clutched tightly in his back and barely able to perceive the world around you anymore. He moved his hips fluidly, almost artistically, finding the sensitive spots that made you fly every time. There he worked it down your body again. His eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, nibbling on your heated skin and swirling around your nipples, fast and rough until you were whining, your cries came with every thrust. You were the perfect picture, everything even more incredible than either of them had ever tried to visualize. He felt unlike anyone you had ever been with. Beside his kind nature there was a sadistic edge to his slowness, dragging each stroke as if he wanted to slide over every nerve in the tight depth of your cunt. Your body was out of your control by now, the coil in your belly so tense that you feared fainting with the next orgasm, while your brain was just mush.

"Gunwoo, you're gonna fucking break me!", you sighed and moving your hips against his, without a chance of resistance.

His muscles under your skin felt warm and protective. You sucked him right in, all tight and warm, gummy walls spreading to fit snugly around him. Your moan was swallowed down his throat as he pressed his mouth to yours again, brutal and quick. But somehow sweet and intense.

"Don't act all surprised, you wanted this. You were the one driving us crazy all along," Woojin said from his place on the chair where he watched you two fucking tightly entwined.

He was right. You wanted this, but you never thought that both of them were so good in bed and fucked your mind out with ease. Gunwoo smiled and his breath bounced against your lips as he held your hips as your body's were completely melted into each other. He lifted your hips a little with both hands to sink even deeper. Directly your eyes rolled back and only incoherent sounds passed your lips anymore. Enchanted by your beauty, the warmth of your cunt and your body that he never wanted to let go of, he pressed his lips hard on yours again as he felt your body trembling beneath him and your fingernails digging deeper into his back.

You gasped into his mouth, unconsciously raising your leg up to wrap around his waist tighter as he supported you with his arm, your fingernails clawing at his shoulders as you felt yourself reach your climax, the coil in your tummy snapping.

"Fuck she's crushing me," he moaned, coming deep inside you moments later. Overwhelmed, your breath went rattling and you tried to gasp, clutching tightly. You didn't know if minutes or hours had passed as Gunwoo rolled off you and stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. You could not yet comprehend what had just happened. Only when Woojin slipped into bed next to you and pulled you in by the waist until your back was pressed tightly against his chest did your pulse gradually calm down. It was pitch dark outside and their bed seemed more comfortable than your own right now. Gunwoo moved close to you so that you could lay your head on his chest and feel his heartbeat with your hand. So you fell asleep tightly embraced, exhausted and overwhelmed. You felt safe and secure. A Feeling that you had been missing for a very long time and that was all the more beautiful now that you perceived it again.

You fell into a dreamless deep sleep and when you opened your eyes the next morning, it took you an eternity to realize that the ringing noise did not come from you imagination. Sighing, you felt Woojin's arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and Gunwoo was also still fast asleep, one hand on your hip.

The events of last night were burned into your memories like brands and you would probably feel the traces of that night for days to come. But then the front doorbell rang again and finally even the boxers slowly woke up grumbling.

You managed to free yourself from Woojin's grasp and push Gunwoo's massive arm aside to slip out of bed. Quickly grabbing your robe from your room, you sleepily hurried down the stairs as the doorbell continued to ring.

"Yes, yes! I'm coming!" you called out, and when you saw your sister on the display outside the door, you breathed a sigh of relief.

As soon as you opened the door, she was already rushing in.

"You're not awake yet?" she asked incredulously, heading straight for the kitchen to make herself some coffee.

In fact, it was unusual for you not to be up at this hour. You were an early riser, always full of energy. But after last night, you were glad to be able to walk upright. Hyun-Ju turned to you and leaned against the kitchen counter. She looked around the apartment in wonder.

"Where are your bodyguards?" she asked curiously, and you automatically pulled your robe tighter around your body.

"They're still asleep."

Suspiciously, she looked at you properly for the first time. There from second to second the questioning look turned to recognition then to disbelief.

"What's that on your neck?" she snapped, and you jerked back a step as she tried to touch a spot the boxers left on your neck with her finger.

"Nothing!" it escaped you too panicked, too quickly. She furrowed her eyebrows and grabbed your robe, pulling it down a bit. Her eyes went wide and her mouth was open in bewilderment.

"Holy shit!"

Directly you slapped her hand away and took her now full coffee cup to drink it yourself.

"Which one did you lure into your bed?" she asked directly and you tried to hide your grin by taking a big gulp from the coffee mug.

Because you couldn't answer without grinning like an idiot, she scrunched her nos in disbelief.

Slowly she began to realize it. She could always read your thoughts on your face.

"Don't tell me you have...", but she didn't get any further, because now Gunwoo and Woojin also came strolling down the stairs. Their hair messed up, yawning and Gunwoo wearing sweatpants while Woojin was only in his boxershorts. When they saw you they greeted curtly and Hyun-Ju could almost grab the smell of sex in the air as they smiled amusedly at you as you passed.

"Good morning Hyun-Ju. Boss," Woojin said, and Gunwoo pressed his lips together to avoid looking too guilty. But Woojin's satisfied look in your direction was enough to prove what was obvious anyway. The hickeys on your neck, your hair all messed up and the tiredness on your faces was proof enough. She even got a good view of the scratches all over Gunwoos back, as he walked out of the door.

As they sat down with their coffee outside, your sister whirled back around to face you.

"Both of them? All at once?" she hissed and you laughed softly.

"You're unbelievable..." she exhaled heavily, shaking her head. The two of you looked out onto the terrace where the two boxers were chatting, offering a picture like something out of an erotic novel. Upper bodies exposed, muscles glistening in the sun and hair a mess from sleep.

"For not wanting them, you like your bodyguards quite a bit now, don't you? I must admit they are quite pretty toys" sighed Hyun-Ju, and you cleared your throat with rosy cheeks.

"Maybe. Just don't tell Grandpa... Otherwise, he'll take them away from me."

When your eyes met, you grinned like an idiot and you two couldn't help but snorting with laughter at that.

Taglist:

@be0mluver @lola2004sworld @ilyilykaeya @badwicht @marked-unknown @peachy-aisha @etherealcherrie @mel-onthemoon @heisoemi

[carlosainzgf]

𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ bloodhounds . kim gun-woo

˚ TITLE 𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ polymyxin b. ˚ WORD COUNT 𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ 9005 (i am so sorry).

“stop pressing it, you dumbass!”. you exclaim in discomfort, but shamefully not because of you.

“it’s just a bruise, some nebacetin will do it”. your boyfriend’s reaction was pissing you off more than his colleague’s grunting behind you.

“it’s not just a bruise, that was metal they were hitting you with”. your angry tone left space for your saddened one and gun-woo did not like it at all. “why did you guys agree on that anyway?!”.

“it was his idea”, they both said it simultaneously, pointing fingers at each other making you roll your eyes.

“ya, y/n”. woo-jin called you. “don’t be so mean to him, he dodged almost every punch wonsuk-subaenim threw at him”.

was that supposed to calm you down? a middle finger was pointed at the older man next to your boyfriend, gun-woo laughing.

"aish-", woojin gets up to grab a towel and you laugh a little seeing woo-jin's response. "i miss when your girlfriend wasn't a professional doctor, gunwoo-ya". gun-woo smiles shyly and you return to your job on your boyfriend's abs.

"shut up, old man". you ignored him.

"see?! she doesn't respect me!". it was your turn to laugh, ignoring him once again.

“i can’t work properly without some soothing paste, gun-woo, look at this mess”, the frustration was evident in your voice, manicured hand tracing his right side carefully which made the boy a little sad and impatient.

“it’s okay jagiya, don’t worry too much”. he turned to you after throwing a nasty looking at his best friend for not helping and held your face in his hands. he hated to admit that he could see tears forming in your eyes. “we can take a look after napping today, what do you think? you must be exhausted”.

the brutal difference between your little hand and his almost pierced skin shamefully stole his attention for a couple of minutes. without even noticing, your other hand grabbed his shorts so tightly it was starting to color your knuckles white.

worriedly, gun-woo laced his fingers with yours and made him eye-level with you, damp hair and sweaty armpits ticking his brain saying you should shower after a training session that long but his mind was nowhere near worrying about himself.

“hey, look at me”. his voice sounded lenient enough that even woo-jin got quiet on the other side of the room. "it's okay, baby, i'm gonna be fine".

“you’re the one that should be exhausted, not me”. you complain about his kindness, starry eyes becoming glossy minute after minute, making the man in front of you almost panic.

“don’t think i don’t know you worked the whole day”. he says brushing your hair behind your ear. “mr. seo said you’ve been taking your colleagues' shifts too”.

your pout only grows like a kid being caught stealing candies at a party. it was so frustrating dating a boxer when you built your whole life around saving people's lives, choosing the most efficient predicament to help someone on the verge of dying, or physically taking matters into your own hands to avoid any nasty side-effects that could change a person's life forever.

leaving patients behind to suffer wasn't an option for you, let alone postpone the pains and unattended injuries of your loved ones.

“the skin, gun-woo”, you return to ramble and point at the purple bruise on his body. “it needs bacitracin and polymyxin b otherwise it’s going to get pretty ugly. imagine the metal pierced your skin? that would be the end, god".

“baby, stop thinking about it”. he lifts your chin so you’d stop looking at the bruise. “i won and that’s what matters, right? just one more week and we’re going to the finals half, it’ll be over soon”.

a pout was formed and your lips quivered. you’ve never cried in front of gun-woo before and his reaction was pure terror. you didn’t know what got you so worked up after the match against his stupid coach and that stupid ugly machine, but you winced every time his grunts on the ring got louder and louder.

a couple of minutes into the last round, you regretted coming to see his training, he kind of forgot to tell you that it wasn't the usual gym sessions anymore, and now they were approaching a more realistic season of monthly fights coordinated by his coach.

you hated his coach from now on and that was final.

gun-woo’s eyes were round and full of stress when you cleaned the first tear that have fallen on your left cheek, averting your gaze to the table behind him and trying to distract yourself.

“people with skin infections have a higher risk of low immune responses and vice-versa”, you continue, “they can vary from mild to serious”. gun-woo grips your arm.

"baby".

"are your vaccines up to date?". you asked him and he nodded. "god, that could've turned into a fucking lockjaw or something, gun-woo". he looked at you with pity and panicked.

"i'm okay, see?". he points to his sweaty chest. "we came to the doc appointment last week and we were all good, right, hyung?". gun-woo glances at woo-jin silently asking for help.

unfortunately, gun-woo was inexperienced in this dating thing and sometimes needed the help of his dramatic hyung.

"oh, yes, yes, yes. the doctor said we were new as a baby and wonsuk-ssi even congratulated us". the boxer held his thumbs up in an exagerated sign and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "the diet has been doing good for us! stop worrying too much kid, you're sounding like his mom".

you looked at your boyfriend with glassy eyes and a red nose, turning your back to woo-jin so he couldn't see your crying expression and hopeless state. you trusted the man with your life just as gun-woo did, but something about the ugly-looking bruise on your boyfriend's side was starting to look too scary for you.

"neomycin, compression, elevation, and a bruise-healing diet can also help speed up the healing process, but that looks scary". breathing deeply, you point to the injured local and grimace. "15—20 minutes of ice packs for 3—4 days will do it unless the skin is pierced". you pause, talking to yourself. "we better get going or you'll start bleeding soon".

"baby".

"arnica gel is useless here". you take a step forward and breathe deeply again. "fuck it, i'm applying vaseline if it gets worse".

"y/n". gun-woo called you but none of that was working.

"tell me if it starts bleeding, please? do not press it or else the blood will fuck everything up".

“woah, she is a stress-talker i can see”. on the other side of the changing room, woo-jin's comment made you think he deserves death.

“aish-, will you stop?”. gun-woo hugged your head in his chest and grimaced at his best friend next to the door. he was starting to get frustrated with your state and didn't know what to do.

woo-jin also came to see the fight but it turns out he was only making things worse in this moment.

“what? i am too!”. woo-jin defends. “i get all talkative when i’m stressed, but just not all of that smarty stuff she sayin’”.

“baby, we’re going home yeah?”. gun-woo patted your shoulder, dismissing his friend and looking at you. “there you can take a closer look and then we order food, hm?”.

your boyfriend was waiting for your response when he got a change of plans.

“sounds good!”. woo-jin exclaimed and you could feel your boyfriend rolling his eyes.

you swear to god woo-jin wasn’t usually this persistent.

gun-woo ignored him, which you found a little cute in your opinion, and even laughed a little.

“okay, but you’ll have to promise me to rest tonight”. you look up at his eyes and your boyfriend smiles. it was different to have someone other than his annoying best hyung or his mother worrying about his well-being, and for sure it was the first time someone this 'brainly' took care of him.

after being alone for so long, gun-woo appreciated your nurturing nature like no other and wanted to stop the negative feelings blooming in your chest right now.

“okay, i promise”. he presses a quick kiss on your lips, which was accompanied by a little wince since he had to bend down to your height to reach your face.

"ooh, i'm sorry". you grimaced apologetically.

he smiled and turned to reach for his shirt beside you, putting it on while waiting for you to pick his things up. gun-woo had to admit that was the most intense fake match his coach had put him into. maybe you were right and he should rest tonight.

"i met him first". gun-woo can hear woo-jin's voice threatening you at the door. he only went to wave his coach goodbye and came back for a bickering woo-jin and a pouty y/n. "he was just fine when it was only me and him".

"you smell like belly pork and not in a good way". you replied.

"aish-, respect your elders, kid". woo-jin's eyes were round and menacing. "i saved his life more than once, okay? we are brothers at heart, we even share our clothes!".

"his mom loves me, she even cooked me bulgogi when we first met!". that was you on your tip-toes beckoning woo-jin to the door, a man at least seven inches taller than you. his face was frightened and his hands were defensively in front of him. "and i know exactly when to turn the grill on when we're going out!".

gun-woo's shirt was too tight for him to keep listening to your argument, and he definitely was starting to feel his right side itching when the tissue came in contact with the bruise.

"aish-, that was one time!". woo-jin defended. "and you'll never know how a boxer's spirit works because we invented it".

"liar! you said you preferred mayweather when you guys first met, and i know this because he told me himself".

"oh please i am a manny pacquiao enthusiast at heart and forever will be. and! i've also seen his d-".

"ya, would you both stop?". gun-woo interrupted his friend with a glare, warily pulling you back so you wouldn't hit his friend across his face. "i'm tired and it's getting late".

"he started". you pointed at the older man. "and i've seen more than his dick, you old".

"ya!". gun-woo looks at you affronted and woo-jin starts laughing, hiding his mouth when gun-woo pretends to hit him.

"she gots quite the temper, bro". woo-jin had to point it out. "woo, i'm excited! finally someone who matches my energy".

"you both should stop". your boyfriend tsks and you look at him smiling. "and you shouldn't listen to him". he says.

"don't say it like we're finished, boxer". you threaten woo-jin with your eyes and gun-woo has to stand between both of you so you wouldn't jump the man scaringly.

"ya, take good care of my lil bro for me, yeah?". he taps gun-woo's shoulders and they both smile at each other intensively.

"aish-, it looks like you're both exactly in love, stop that".

"yes! she's getting jealous!". woo-jin exclaims.

"hyung, you're wife is waiting for you, just go". gun-woo whines at the man and he smiles, seeming to finally remember he has his own real lover. "woah, that's true, i'm going!". woo-jin starts running down the hall and waving at both of you goodbye, finally letting your boyfriend go smiling like an idiot.

gun-woo takes his bag from your shoulders and you both start walking down the hall hand in hand. for now, you choose to silence your concerns about the big boy and just plan a peaceful ride back to your home.

"take your clothes off". your voice sounded a little too low for gun-woo's liking and he couldn't suppress a smile. glancing at you, he couldn't help but find his all-black gym set a little out of place in your all-pink bedroom. to no surprise, you perfectly fit in the pastel colors you were wearing.

"buy me a dinner first, sailor". he had to joke looking at you and taking his tight gym shirt off. instantly, he felt his side ache. something damp ran down his ribs and gun-woo cursed when he spotted blood in the rem of his shorts.

well, wasn't that just great?

looking at the bathroom mirror, he grimaced pressing the purple and red spot with his other hand.

"don't". you came from nowhere, taking his bigger hand off of him and analyzing the situation with - what your boyfriend liked to call - doctor face. a first-aid kit was on your arms the instant you glanced at the little blood accumulating on the bruise. gun-woo attentively stared at your facial expressions worried about what you were going to do.

to his surprise, only a sigh escaped your lips, and the boxer was guided to sit on the bathtub behind him, your little hand holding two of his fingers so he could follow you. it was funny how larger his frame was compared to yours in the small white bathroom.

"does it hurt a lot?". you ask worriedly wiping his skin.

"no". he wasn't necessarily lying, you both knew how pain tolerance worked for gun-woo. "just itchy". he made a face and clicked his tongue boringly.

you looked attentively at the injury while avoiding your hands on the more reddened area.

gun-woo thought your size was the perfect complement to your cute personality. when he first met you, your height was the first thing that he noticed after your soft hair. of course, accompanied by your scary father he didn't dare to even look at your way properly, but his first impression of you was something the boy held dearly in his heart.

your smart brain was when everything became blurry to the boxer. for a recently graduated student, gun-woo knew your knowledge was freshly put into place, and added to the great things he had heard about your intellect before meeting your father, he knew you were smart. but imagine the surprise when he first saw you dealing with your father's disease from up-close, admiring your basically perfect approach and ripeness to everything handed to you.

it didn't click him. how could someone so delicate-looking be so splendidly clever and loveable at the same time. he thought it was unfair the fact that you were so effortlessly sexy in his eyes. and that was a first for the boxer.

you were his first everything.

"this has to have knocked the air out of your lungs". you state while kneeling on the floor in front of him, making the boy gulp and avert his gaze suddenly embarrassed.

“hm, yeah”. he gulped even harder. “but just for a moment, though. coach didn’t want to stop”.

between his parted legs, you were insinuating things he had trouble forgetting, and with one more glance at you, he had to part his lips surprised because jesus christ, why were you tying your goddamn hair?

"i'm talking to wonsuk-subaenim about this no matter what". you looked up at him and he quickly averted his gaze. "that stupid machine has to go away".

two weeks ago. in this same bathroom. you were wearing your pink PJs late at night and he swore he had never seen your lips that glossy. the position was the same. he remembers it all too well and has to shake his head to not make things harder for him.

"jagi-".

"i'm serious, gun-woo". now was his turn to sigh. why were you pretending this didn't do anything to you? was he the creepy one? oh god, he definitely was the creepy one. 

his eyes were as round as a golf ball as he looked at your innocent expression and silently cursed his inappropriate thoughts.

gun-woo swore he wasn't like this before meeting you. he was a decent young man with respectable beliefs and a proud mother that admired and trusted him blindly.

being an athlete, gun-woo was often proclaimed for his self-control and disciplined routines. now, only a glance at your smooth skin without too much clothing was enough to have the man spiraling and sweating.

four months ago he wasn't like this.

"it's the second time this happens. remember that day in your mom's apartment? you told me you'd take more care of yourself". you continue to speak nonchalantly, rambling your frustrations to the man.

"it was a snap kick i wasn't ready for". he clears his throat hoping to not sound too raspy. "coach didn't tell me on time". you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"i am going to need an elastic bandage for this". you say more to yourself, warm hands inspecting the swelled area while your boyfriend examines your face panicked. because why were you so close to his fucking crotch? "and also a heating pad to clear up the trapped blood. will you hold it for me?". you ask him to hold the warm cloth while you searched for more things for help in the first-aid kit.

"baby, could you work on this side first?". he shyly asked, thick thighs trapping you in place to gather your attention. the boxer had to summon all the courage in the world to politely ask you this. the little yelp you let out because of the sudden touch made him blush involuntarily. "s-sorry".

his voice was so low and raspy that made you question what the hell was going on. even involuntarily, his voice always gave him in.

"oh my god, did i hurt you?". you worriedly questioned, getting up quickly so you could examine him from afar.

"no, no". he waves it off, gulping a few times so the embarrassment could pass.

it wasn't working.

"it's just that... that position". he pointed to the floor where you were previously sitting and saw exactly the moment your expression changed.

"what?". your confusion was clearly shown by your knitted brows and opened mouth.

"the position you were in... you know...". he gulped more times than he could count and could feel the fire his cheeks were on at that moment. only when his hands fled to his crotch area as if trying to hide something that your brain finally clicked.

"kim geun-woo, is that a boner? oh my god". he grimaced embarrassingly. "how could you think of things like that when your skin is basically peeling?!".

"c'mon, baby, i was trying to be discreet". he interrupts you, dying to pull your hands so he could properly apologize to you but you kept getting away. "i'm sorry, it's just that it triggered a memory of us a while ago and you tied your hair and everything and my brain stopped braining".

"you need to go to church, you pervert". his pout was something you were accustomed to, and his shy whines were a great reminder that, even if your boyfriend looked like a war trunk and sculpted by the sky itself, he still was stupidly timid when it came to things like this. "i'm joking". you laugh and he rambles.

"i'm not asking for anything! just s-stay here". he points to the floor next to his right leg, a different space from where you were before. "please".

"how long have you been like this?". a shit-earing grin was starting to adorn your face, almost forgetting about the important task you had at hand.

"i-i'm not asking anything, i swear". he repeats in despair. "i don't want you to feel uncomfortable, please".

"uncomfortable?". you approach him laughing. "baby, you're my boyfriend for a reason, you could never make me uncomfortable. that happens sometimes, no need to feel embarrassed about it".

"well, i'm just worried sometimes because of... you know what". instantly, your heart grew all soft.

"oh my god, are you talking about what i told you the other day?". your round eyes were glued to the man in front of you, hands swiftly caressing his sweaty hair while you fought the urge to kiss his forehead.

"you said you didn't have great experiences in the past and, even though i wonder sometimes, i don't feel like it would be nice to ask you which ones. so i try to just avoid situations like this so you won't think of me as just another dirty-minded creep". he explains and you kiss him.

you wanted to cry. and suck the life out of him. at the same time. because that's just how dating kim geun-woo makes you feel.

"i'd never think of you in that way, oppa". you hugged his head on your chest and he nosely laughed, finally relieved for not completely fucking things up. "i would suck you anytime, anywhere you want, you know that". you say and he looks up at you seriously.

"ya, stop teasing".

"i'm serious, i literally am in love with you and your co-".

"oh my god, you need church". he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to take control of his own body.

"you're like the most romantic and sweetest guy a girl could ever want. and then your dick had to be big too!".

"ya!". gun-woo looked serious and you smiled at that. what he didn't notice was that he was gripping your ass unconsciously in his nervous state.

"pervert". you whispered in his ear and he immediately stopped.

"i'm going to go, woojin-hyung is not so mean to me as you are". he pretends to start getting up and you hold his arms laughing. his whiny tone was so cute you could die.

"i'm sorry, sorry! it's just so easy to mess with you". he glared at you and you smirked. "i can't let an injured man run around the streets alone, especially an uncontrolled one".

"just wait for this fucking thing to heal, y/n". you opened your mouth in shock. was that veins popping on his temples?

"language!".

"sorry, sorry, can you please do your job?".

you laughed at that and kneeled at his side, sensing that he was starting to become frustrated. you weren't sure why, but at this beginning of your sexual life, you found yourself often giving in to his wishes afraid that you are stepping into a hole with no way up.

gun-woo made you feel safe - not uncomfortable in any way. but sometimes you doubted the man was engaged in this type of thing at all because he seemed to skip any opportunity he has to rock your world daily. you trusted him and respected his slow pace.

you made the order in your head, soothing the area with some polymyxin b and nebacetin, soothing oils for the itchy feeling to go away, and vaseline to keep the wound moist. after that, you wrapped the bruise with an elastic bandage and gently pressed the heated cloth there for a few minutes.

too tempted, you sneaked a glance at your boyfriend's shorts.

"oh my god, it's huge".

for one second, you thought you were flying across the bathroom and the other you realized gun-woo had got up so fast you fell backward and hit your head on the marble floor. the pain shoots straight to your neck and ear almost instantly.

"omo!". gun-woo came to the rescue in panic, seeing what he has done. "are you alright?". he asked worried.

"it was a compliment, idiot!". you screamed at him, grimacing at the new feeling in your head. "what is wrong with you?".

"so now it's my fault?". he defended. "you're not supposed to be saying things like that when is not sexy time!".

“don’t say ‘sexy time’!”.

“you can’t keep doing this, i’m trying to be polite here!”.

"i was just teasing you!". you glanced at his stoic face and got up with his help, patting your head where it hurt most, thankful to find no blood in the area.

"it turns me on!". he confessed and for a minute you were glued to the ground. "it makes me want to take you to bed and have sexy time when you're all bratty and mouthy". his raspidly voice said and you had to grip the counter behind you so you wouldn't fall again.

what did he just tell you?

"oh". it was your turn to feel the fire on your cheeks. "i-i didn't know, i'm sorry, i thought...". you guiltily gulped staring at gun-woo's chest before looking him in the eyes.

"i'm trying to take things slow but you don't help, y/n". the sincerity in his raspy voice made you almost want to shy away. forwardness never looked so sexy in someone like it does to him. "i'm not that experienced, you know that, so i don't know what you like and don't like and that makes me scared to fuck it up. and, god, that makes me fucking insane because all i can think about is you all the time".

your sweaty palms gripped the bloodied rem of his shorts and you closed the gap between the two of you, steading your wobbly feet with gun-woo's help. the proximity made him crazy and you could see the mental battle he was going through in his head. you pecked his lips three times before whispering.

"why be scared?". your starry eyes locked him in place and gun-woo swore he couldn't move, your question making him confused. "i also want you all the time, oppa. i think of you all the time, that's why is so hard for me to see you getting hurt and i want to cry my eyes out when it happens. you drive me crazy, oppa".

"i'm sorry". you didn't know he was talking about what have happened in the ring or about what he was going to do to you because suddenly his expanded pupils made his eyes get darker and darker and you were almost crying from the anticipation of feeling him anywhere.

"i'm worried you'll get more hurt". one of your hands traveled to his injured side, never leaving his gaze. "you should... i'm sorry, gun-woo, we shouldn't-".

"you promise to tell me if anything feels wrong?". he cuts you off by arching your back and locking his eyes with you, entirely invading your personal space. "if you don't like something, do you promise to make me stop? because i swear to god i can't take it anymore, y/n". he whispered the last part on your mouth and you swore the cat got your tongue for a minute.

"uhum". you nod your head and gun-woo stayed still, arching his brows as if challenging you not to finish the sentence. "i promise, oppa". you said breathly, eyes focused on his and nowhere else.

you could feel all of gun-woo's desire pulsing deliciously beneath him, hard and voluminous, inciting your intimacy to slowly release lubricant.

you were curious. his face was cute and his body was a sin, but not all of the morals and good mannerisms in the world could hide the true desire of a person. you knew he always wanted more and you were so curious to find out what exactly his innocent brain had conjured in all these months of dating you.

gun-woo panted softly, having complete control of your body now that your toes were barely touching the ground, back arching even more while he took a deep breath next to your ear. and then he started teasing his own body as he rocked back and forth, slowly, in search of relief. and using you.

you kissed his neck, and there was when you worked him up with little kisses and shy licks, making him more and more susceptible to pleasure. gun-woo was such a selfless person that he felt scared of taking instead of giving and you wanted to prove him wrong. you wanted to prove to him that sex is good regardless of your position.

you didn't count on his strength in moments like this, but he was a boxer, after all, so you were silly to think he would take it easy on you. only one minute in and his grip was so strong on your skin that you were certain your ass was battered, squeezed, and still under the fabric of your slacks.

you knew his body all too well, you saw him naked countless times and so did he with you in the last 4 months. but never he did what he wanted with you. too shy, too aware, too scared to ask you. because that's just what gun-woo was.

selfless.

he pulled your face away from his neck so that he could bring his full lips to yours. you were kissed at the pace he dictated, in the way he wanted, fast and wild. both of your tongues collided in a hot, pleasurable slide.

you swore this wasn't the same man who had blushed at remembering you sucking him off minutes ago.

gun-woo sucked hard on your voluminous lips every time he withdrew his tongue, which you insisted on sucking in the most erotic way possible whenever he invaded your mouth. meanwhile, your hips were manipulated by the boxer's hands, which made them rise and fall slowly on his still-covered cock.

your hips were placed on the counter and you finally realized you didn't have much place to run after that. you were trapped between your sink and a 6ft tall man in front of you with sirened eyes that could kill you.

your pants gradually gained moisture, and the moan you let out when gun-woo gripped your ass with more force maddened the boxer even more, making him stop the kiss and go down with his stimulations on your neck and collarbone, seconds later capturing one of your clothed nipples between his lips and sucking it.

you bit your bottom lip and intertwined your fingers in gun-woo's hair, with his head tilted up, eyes closed and lips parting as he let out gasps of pure delight. the moan you let out when he invaded your pants with his hands and started unbuttoning your jeans and unconsciously scraping your clit was so purely erotic that even he grunted.

"sorry". his gruff voice was rushed as if he felt bad for you but at the same time didn't actually give a shit and was only trying to be polite - trying not to lose his complete sanity.

which was slowly faltering.

you pushed his head against your chest in response, undulating your hips over his hard prominence and the boxer's reaction was to feel a painful twinge in his pelvis and moan.

he raised his head, eyes even darker, then glared at you. he touched your chin with his thumb and slid it across your lips while breathing deeply.

you reached into his pants and touched him, initiating continuous movements along his entire length. gun-woo's lips parted and his brows furrowed, giving you the most obscene view you've ever seen of his face.

hot scar glowing in his sweaty skin and cutting the right side of his entire cheek. 

his body was getting hotter, your body was getting hotter, his cock getting harder and your pussy getting wetter. it was painful to repress his own urges.

"fuck". you brought his dick out of his shorts and jerked it off, hands almost trembling with so much tenseness your crotch area was feeling. getting him off made you want to cry.

gun-woo closed his eyes and gasped when you massaged his glans wet by pre-cum.

"gun-woo". you called him in such a whiny tone that made him go crazy, hiding his face on your neck and biting his lips until it draw blood to his mouth. "i c-can't". you tried to say and his ears perked up. "i'm too wet, i d-don't know what to do". it was embarrassing for you to confess something like that, but hearing gun-woo's grunts and quiet moans was making you wetter and wetter. and you weren't lying, you actually didn't know what to do because you've never been this turned on before.

what the hell?

"fuck, don't call me that, baby". he breathed on your neck and for a second you were afraid he could smell your fucking pre-cum pooling on your panties.

"stop moaning in my ear, for fuck's sake". you didn't know where the strength to say a full sentence came from suddenly but you were afraid a simple touch of the man was going to make you fucking cum.

is this how you feel when you fuck someone you love? mighty skies above, you'll have to do this every day now. 

"what do you want me to do when you won't stop squeezing my fucking dick, princess?". his voice sounded more like a growl than an actual human sound and you whined even louder in return.

you arched your body as he trailed his fingertips along your back, intensifying the contact of his thigh against your intimacy. you parted your lips and let out a high moan in response to his touches.

suddenly, you were so sensitive you could cry.

gun-woo felt your grip on his dick falter as if giving him a break. finally, the man could breathe properly again.

the next second, you felt your lips numb with such force that gun-woo sucked them, your body limp as he ultimately took control of your body.

not platonically, but literally.

"fuck, gun-... please".

like a ragdoll, he manhandled you in a position where your cunt was pressed directly on his flexed thigh, making you cry. frustratingly kicking your pants off of you, gun-woo helped you strip the rest of your clothes off before positioning you in the same place as before and teasing your bare pussy lips with his muscles.

you felt him capturing your left nipple and massaging it with his thumb, hearing your sighs between the kiss. as he stimulated the areola, he felt it getting rigid. gun-woo introduced his tongue into your mouth and played with your whiny moans.

your body was tactful to the boxer's touch, and when you felt the digits tightening around your areola, you couldn't help but dig your toes into his butt and moan muffledly, with gun-woo's tongue entering and leaving your mouth, slowly.

a trickle of saliva ran down the corner of the man's mouth. he closed his eyes to focus on the sensations. your excited pussy continued to be stimulated by his thigh, as well as your chest. he was still sucking your tongue when he felt his member pulsate painfully, brushing on your other thigh and moving a little farther to the left, bringing both of your crotches together and beginning a slow rub, undulating his hips in such a way that you stopped sucking his tongue and gasped in delight, squeezing his biceps tighter.

"gun-woo".

he kissed your lips and bit the bottom one, slowly pulling it away from your teeth.

his mouth moved down your jaw and onto your neck, where he could hear your gasps more audibly as he tongue-kissed the warm, milky skin of your throat, careful to leave pretty marks in his travel. his fingers were sadly no longer playing with your nipples, now they were on your bent thigh, holding it firmly as he rubbed himself shamelessly against your body.

gun-woo was using you to get off.

sensing what your boyfriend was finally doing, you cocked your head and with heavy, fluttering eyelids, watched your boyfriend's unholy face in pure delight. parted lips, messy hair, and one of your legs wrapped around him.

you watched, full of lust, as the boxer rubbed himself on you. kissing your neck ardently to the point of trembling eyes.

you already felt your opening releasing natural lubrication and wondered why haven't this man done this to you before.

"i can't anymore, gun-woo. p-please".

"please? do you need something, princess?". he spoke softly but with full of warning.

"fuck... you. need you".

"yeah right, you do". his comment was so lowered that you wondered if you had imagined it for a second. "need you too, princess, don't worry".

in a swift moment, your torso was thrown directly in his chest, your arms circling his neck for purchase while gun-woo hugged your body and finally walked towards your bedroom. when you said you were a ragdoll was because you felt like one, being tossed in the bed without an ounce of strength in your limbs and you weren't even fucked yet.

he then grabbed your waist again and kissed you, meanwhile, you took his shorts off completely, admiring the messy state he made with his liquids. gun-woo grabbed your ass once again and squeezed them, sliding his fingers through the partition between them and smearing all over your ass with his own lubrication.

oh my god. this man was sick.

"gun-woo". you called him whiny.

he climbed off the bed and pulled you to the edge simultaneously, manhandling your body as he wished. when both of your feet hit the floor, he tore his lips from yours and looked at you.

"do you mind?". for a second, his old innocent eyes shined in the pink light your bedroom had on. sincerely, your mind was too sex-hazed to even process he was talking to you in the first place, so you just tried to focus on his face and smile. "turning around?". he motioned with his fingers a cute circle and your eyes rounded dangerously.

"back?". you pointed to the bed and then at you, voice hoarse from all the torturous moaning.

"uhum". his smile was so pure you wanted to punch him in the face, nodding his head excitingly as if he wasn't asking you to expose your cunt in the air for him.

"a-all f-fours?". you asked him again, surprised and feeling your brain all fluffy inside.

"if you don't want, that's okay". for a moment, you felt his uncommon confidence falter and you were quick to reassure him.

"no, i want to". your doe eyes held all the stars in the sky, gun-woo was sure of it.

"ok". he smiled like a kid.

"ok?". you were too stunned to form coherent sentences.

"ok?". he asked confused, waiting for you to turn around with expectant eyes and arched brows.

"ok". you nodded your head finally.

again, he grabbed your waist, pressing his pelvis to your ass as you turned around. gun-woo started attacking your nape with chaste kisses that made their way to your neck, where he left hickeys and bites. you cocked your head to the side, leaving your neck completely free for the man to make as many purple and red marks as he wanted.

quickly, gun-woo left you to search for his shorts on the floor. when he came back, he surprisingly handed the condom to you, a silent request for you to put it on him which almost made you choke.

upon receiving it, you opened the package and took your hands back, touching the boxer's length. simultaneously, gun-woo slid his hands along your curves and massaged your breasts, making you fail on the first try of putting the condom on. a low moan escaped your mouth, but you didn't stop concentrating on holding your boyfriend's cock and positioning the condom on the glans, then holding the tip and unrolling it completely to the base.

you positioned the glans between your heat and thrust it into yourself, having to bite your lower lip to contain your murmurs due to the burning sensation. gun-woo hugged your body and let himself slide in slowly, with his forehead pressed against your shoulder. you opened your mouth and a breathless groan left your mouth painfully.

"gunw-".

gun-woo's eyes opened slowly, just to enjoy the view from below, where his cock slowly came out of your hole, and seconds later, it went back inside a little faster.

"fuuck". his voice was gruff, head empty, and only the feeling of your walls gripping his member inside of you running through his mind. "fuck, princess”.

you threw your head up and brought your right hand back, tangling your fingers in his hair. your brows shaped like your entire face in a set of pained and pleasurable expressions. you felt the heat every time gun-woo entered and exited, but it also felt wonderfully good to feel his cock opening you.

"fuck you". you couldn't help but curse, vaginal canal struggling to keep his member inside as he slide out of you every time. "gun-woo, please, i c-can't". you felt your cheeks wet, confirming to both of you that you were crying over a man's cock.

gladly.

"breathe for me, princess, fuck". he stopped inside you, letting you accommodate him calmly. your moan when he pinched your clit was feral.

"big, big, big". was all you could say and the boxer started to want to laugh.

"hey, princess, you're hearing me?". you breathed deeply. “c’mon, don’t be so cock-dumbed already”.

“fuck you”. was all you could say, twitching around him like crazy.

"we can't stop if it's not what you like-".

"i swear to god, i'm going to kill you. don't stop!". you screamed. painfully.

"hey, you're too tight, jagiya. you need to breathe for me first, yeah?". gun-woo himself was struggling to contain his urge to fuck you relentlessly, but he wanted you to enjoy this as well. "fuck, you're squeezing the fuck out of me, prin-".

"i c-cant. too fucking stretched, gun-woo".

"we've done this before baby, remember? i know you can, now relax for me. i'm feeling a bump on your stomach here". he pressed the bulge and you keened, juices leaking everywhere between your legs.

“i’m so wet”. you didn’t know who you were talking to anymore if it was to him or yourself.

again, you were crying and involuntarily relaxed your lower half, turning limp in your boyfriend's arms and arching your back more making him hit a new angle.

"shit-". you moaned and he felt his member twitch because of the contraction. "that's it, that's it, good girl". he breathed deeply when he could move again, relieved to have some breathing space.

without warning, gun-woo penetrated you fast and rough, making your small body propel forward, and the only thing that kept you from falling was his firm hands on your waist.

a moan escaped your lips and the rest of them died on your throat when your eyes rolled back and gun-woo hit a new angle.

the boxer smirked. gun-woo knew perfectly well how to tease you.

he then squeezed your hips and wrapped his digits in your hair. for the next moment, he withdrew from inside you and came back again, fast and hard, eliciting moans from your drooling mouth. as much as your eager moans were constant, gun-woo continued to fuck you mercilessly, without chastity, inserting himself completely without stopping. the erotic noise of your bodies colliding became frequent, echoing throughout the room and almost moving your bed from its place multiple times.

the moans became louder and more constant, and if it weren't for the firm touch of gun-woo's hands in your hair and hips, you would certainly collapse on the mattress. a trickle of lubricant ran down between your legs, and the excess made gun-woo's cock penetrate more easily into you.

you let out a high-pitched moan, the loudest yet.

gun-woo smiled happily, almost proudly, starting to thrust in the same place, which generated a sequence of loud and tearful moans coming from you.

"fuck". he cursed once, twice, and countless times with how good your pussy felt. gun-woo was losing his mind with no restraints and overthinking.

you moaning his name was beautiful, too wonderful not to be heard and appreciated, and gun-woo wished you would call his name louder and louder so everyone would know you were his.

as much as he was yours.

"princess, you there?". he worriedly asked, sensing your lack of words and quiet whines while he fucked you.

"hmm". you couldn't speak, that was on period. it didn't matter how much you tried, your eyes were too rolled back in your head for you to make sense.

and gun-woo being the wonderful boyfriend that he was, started kissing your shoulders and the back of your neck, silently saying to you that it was okay to feel so good you turned completely non-verbal.

you bit your bottom lip and, glancing over your shoulder at the worried boxer, you threw your hips back and forward, repeating the same movement signaling you were okay.

gun-woo, on the other hand, had to tightly close his eyes and suppress a growl at your hips undulating while he was still inside. the veins on his neck, arms, and hand were surely evident while he hold his breath.

somehow, you sped up your movements, and little by little, the noise of both of your bodies colliding became louder, more frequent, hotter. you whimpered when gun-woo's glans hit your sensitive spot again, and it didn't take long for your orgasm to threaten to come.

you stopped bouncing and rolled slowly, contracting, the boxer's entire cock inside you.

"i'm cumming". you exclaimed. "can i cum? fuck, gun-woo".

he then grabbed your hair again and put the side of your face against the mattress, and in that position, you were able to see the reflection of your bodies in the wardrobe mirror. and when you thought that your pleasure could not increase, the opposite was proved when you watched gun-woo's hips investing quickly in yourself, while his face was a mixture of pleasure and lust.

your small doe eyes rolled back and your vision became more blurred, your fingers dug hard into the mattress, pulling it and squeezing it between your hands. your eyes water and you mentally asked him not to stop.

"so good". gun-woo grunted in your ear and that was your last thread, squirting everywhere your pussy reached and making a mess of gun-woo's legs. the heat you felt on your cheeks was so intense you started to feel embarrassed.

panting for air, your body couldn’t stop twitching and your muscles couldn’t stop contracting around gun-woo’s member. for a moment, your brain was only white and you were certain you were crying for fuck’s sake.

"jesus christ, what was that?". the man was marveled and lust-hazed, too surprised to notice you were almost passing out.

"baby, please". you whispered weakly, gun-woo slowing down his movements and reaching for your face.

"princess?". his tone was worried for a minute too long. "are you good?".

"squirt". you try to say, feeling your brain too hazed to work properly. "i just s-squirted".

"oh", gun-woo's face was too innocent for someone who had his cock deep inside you, in your opinion, and you hated it. "you gripped me so tight, i thought i was dying". he laughed meaningly and you glanced back at him through the mirror with horror. how could he react like that?

the next thing you know your eyes were as round as your mouth and your lungs were burning with the lack of air. you moaned uncoordinated, finding it hard to distinguish when your pussy stopped spasming and gave him room to move again.

"what do you think you're doing, gun-woo-!?". your scream was cut short by the man thrusting into you again. with full force.

your legs trembled with pleasure, and then they failed to hold themselves together. seeing that you would collapse on the bed, he laid down on top of you and held both of your closed fists, accelerating the penetration even more, which, due to the position, made you tighter.

your clit pressed against the mattress caused friction that only added to the maximum overstimulation. gun-woo took your hands to your pussy lips and made you pull the bands one on each side.

"keep it open for me please, princess?". he asked menacingly, another orgasm starting to build inside you.

"gun-woo!". this man was sick.

"cum with me this time, yeah, baby?". he whispered in your ear, face turned to your reflection in the mirror and staring right back at your eyes.

"i'm gonna cum-". you affirmed.

"c'mon baby, just a sec, will ya?".

you closed your eyes and tried to hold back, however, gun-woo continued to fuck you deliciously. couldn't hold it anymore. that was final. having your clit constantly hit and neck kissed was too much to delay your orgasm any longer.

the overstimulation was killing you.

"gun-woo, i can't".

"i'm cumming, baby". he grunted out of breath. "cum with me, princess".

and as if it were magic words, you reached your orgasm right when he closed his mouth, followed by a slick and louder moan, making your whole body tremble with the wonderful spasms. breathing was frantic, and his hands were lying at your sides. gun-woo was still fucking in search of his own orgasm.

you contracted around him, squeezing him and, consequently, increasing his pleasure, and that was the climax for the boxer, who finally came deliciously inside the condom.

he was in heaven. searching for something to hold his sanity onto.

his nonexisted sanity.

you kissed him, in an attempt to distract both of you from the thoughtless state of mind. gun-woo turned your body with one hand and collapsed on top of you just after. your yelp was soundless to the boxer, head too pleasured for not stuffing his nose on your hair and trying to compose his fucking mind.

"you there?", gun-woo's voice was muffled by your skin, body too subtle under his.

"everything burns". you admitted in a whisper, throat flaming for moaning so loud.

"i think your neighbor will have complaints tomorrow". the man on top of you smirked and nosely laughed.

"don’t laugh, it’s your fault. you're crashing me, oppa". you whined trying to pull him off of you but not being able to move one muscle.

"omo, 'm sorry". he got off of you and smiled looking at you, almost shy to see your flushed face.

you smiled weakly in return and gun-woo took the condom off of him, making a knot and throwing it on the floor, next to the bed, to throw it away later. he settled on top of your body again and leaned on his forearms, and after facing you and smiling tenderly at your disorientated state, he kissed you tenderly.

you cupped his face and returned the kiss, calm but as delicious as any other one you both had. your hands were shaking while holding his chin and the man seemed to notice. his breathing was still labored, and because of that, he stopped the kiss but continued with both of your foreheads together, noses brushing against each other and lips open.

the two of you were sweaty, you were tired.

"you were amazing, oppa". your raspy voice came in contact with his ears and gun-woo tried to hide his burning cheeks on your neck again, you stop him and stared right back into his eyes.

"really?”. you giggled and he laughed at your hazy gaze. he then started sliding the digits of his right hand by your waist. "you're the one to blame".

"i love you". gun-woo smiled widely and you followed suit, without much exaggeration.

gun-woo tilted his head down and stared at your face; rosy cheeks, closed eyes and chest rising and falling with some frequency. he smiled small and kissed your slightly sweaty forehead, starting to stroke your damp soft hair.

"thank you, princess. i love you too". he whispered drowsily. "can't believe you squirted yet".

"stop". it was your turn to feel shy.

"it was hot".

"you sex beast. i am afraid of not being capable to get up to change your bandage". gun-woo almost choked.

oh god. the bruise.

"a-ah y-yes, totally". he looked down on his side and made a face at the kneaded band-aid.

you could not see that now.

"it's okay, though. i'm okay".

"are you?", your hazy doe eyes glanced at his sirened ones and gun-woo was quick to nod his head dramatically. "'kay". you replied tiredly, eyes almost closing. "can i take a nap, oppa?".

"of course, babygirl". the boxer keened, worried about your dimmed state and praying that he'd have the time to fix your bandage before you woke up.

his high pain tolerance scared him sometimes too, but gun-woo was sure that when the adrenaline left his body, he would feel the consequences of his actions the next day.

"want to shower with me first?". he asked before seeing your eyes completely closed.

"'m tired". you murmured.

"i'll be quick, okay? you don't have to do nothing, we can use the tub", gun-woo suggests.

you surprisingly laughed, and your eyes reduced to two tiny lines. it was so admiring the unique beauty of your joy that, spontaneously, your boyfriend also smiled. it was infectious and refreshing to see your smile so huge and genuine.

"are you suggesting that you shower me like a kid, sailor?". your voice was filled with happiness and the man next to you was quick to reply.

"no, no, no, that's creepy". his brows were arched and his eyes round, you wanted to laugh because of his pure reaction. "i just wanted you to rest... to not be tired and sticky".

"okay, baby. you can take care of me".

gun-woo opened a huge smile and left your body on the bed so he could turn on the bathtub and quickly come back to you.

staring at you sprawled in your element, kim geun-woo realized that he had never been more happy in his entire life than right now.

and he didn't give a fuck if his right side was completely numb when he had you.

don't normalize arguing with your boyfriend's best friend while he is injured and horny ! that might have consequences... hope you guys enjoyed and i'm so sorry for any misspelling 🥺 (this is how sex with kim geun-woo post ep.6 would be and you cannot prove me otherwise)

this blog is desactivated, if you want to reach me, follow me on my new account ( @zerocoded ) new kdrama content there soon, xx.

[carlosainzgf]

this is who I’m talking about when I say that I want two boyfriends that are also boyfriends with eachother </3

[carlosainzgf]

[carlosainzgf]

Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

[carlosainzgf]

♫ ཻུ۪۪͎ ̼̻♥︎̼̻ tease and tonic : su bong / thanos X club dancer mc

checkmate || CHAPTER 3

previous chapter

৻ꪆ authors note : sorry for the one day late update :( food allergies got me ‹/𝟹 anywaaaaays hii !! thank you to everyone who’s been reading & liking/rb this fic, ily sm mwah !! without further ado … enjoy xoxo

৻ꪆ pairing : jealous, possessive su bong / thanos x club dancer / bottle girl (JEALOUSY + angst n … more making out *twirls hair*)

৻ꪆ warnings : drug n alcohol use , cursing / profane language n behavior , suggestive description

৻ꪆ w/c : 8.2k ! (#omg?!)

৻ꪆ summary : Selene is on her dancer shift, the men in the club are all under her spell. Su Bong shows up and a subtle game of jealousy begins to brew as he notices another man takes interest in her. What starts as a playful confrontation turns into something more intense when Su Bong’s possessiveness takes over. As the night progresses, they both can’t seem to stay away from each other or off each other. A sudden shift in their dynamic leaves everything on the edge.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| playing :

You Know - Jay Park

A languid hip-hip bass throbbed through the air like smoke inside Pentagon, the night club—Red and blue lights flashed overhead, projecting flowing shadows over the stage, where three figures moved in perfect sync.

At the center, Selene commanded the space, fully intending to. Her every motion was precise but fluid, practiced yet natural. She controlled the atmosphere and managed to draw and hold every gaze to her.

Her black long-sleeved top clung to her form, draping just enough to reveal the elegant slope of her shoulders. The navy blue micro mini shorts sparkled under the lights, the transparent sequins catching flashes of color with every twist of her hips.

Black heels elevated her movements, adding an edge of finesse; while gold jewelry, subtle but daring, glinted against her skin, accentuating the the delicate flick of her wrists. Her bobbed hair, cut into soft, layered waves, swayed as she moved, framing a face that was equal parts alluring and mysterious.

The VIP section sat in near silence, as if collectively holding its breath. Glasses clinked faintly and hushed murmurs passed between admirers, but their attention never derived too far from her.

Among the front table watchers was Ji Hoon, a twenty five year old wealthy and regular client, whiskey glass in hand, his posture relaxed but attentive. His gaze never wavered from Selene, A small, knowing smirk played at the corners of his lips.

Unlike the other men, his interest wasn’t just physical, it was more like emotional fascination. He’d seen countless women throw themselves into this world just to chase fleeting power, But Selene didn’t chase anything. She was lucky enough to attract it all.

Other men watched too, some murmuring low, others shifting forward in their seats, drawn in as if under a dark feminine spell. But Selene barely acknowledged them, her gaze never settled on any one man for too long.

Then, just as she executed a sharp turn, her body arching into the next beat, something knowing shifted in the air, She had a feeling.

A few heads turned subtly, a ripple effect through the crowd. The energy of the room tensed, Someone had arrived.

And though she didn’t look, she already knew who it was.

The entrance of the club exhaled a rush of cold air as the doors parted, Su Bong stepped inside. His eyes scanned the room, until they settled on the stage and on her.

Selene.

She continued to move under the lights like she owed them something, yet they bent to her will. Her body rolled to the rhythm, she had everyone’s attention without so much as sparing a glance—Su Bong let out a slow breath, his lips barely parting as he watched her, his gaze was that of a doomed man.

He’d waited a full day to see her again. And it had taken everything in him not to show up at her doorstep the second the sun rose. After last night, the feel of her lips, the way she’d left him hanging by walking away, he needed more.

But he had held back. Not because he lacked the desire, but because he refused to look desperate; Control. He needed to have it. He needed to show it.

Still, watching her now, moving like that, with the entire club entranced by her presence, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend to be indifferent.

Holy shit-

“You’re late” Nam Gyu greeted, stepping forward with a sly smirk, Su Bong barely acknowledged him. His attention remained stuck elsewhere, on Selene.

Nam Gyu followed his gaze, exhaling a quiet chuckle. “Ah… yeah. That tracks.”

Su Bong didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers idly brushed against the cross resting against his chest, a habit he barely noticed. The charm was cold against his skin, a contrast to the heat rising in his blood.

The red of his coat stood out against the dimly lit club, purposefully extravagant, draped over the crisp white of his button-up. His purple hair caught the faintest hint of neon glow, a signature look that made him impossible to ignore

Or in selene’s case: Forget.

From across the club, Min Seo leaned against the bar, her eyes flicking between Su Bong, Ji Hoon, and Selene with poorly concealed amusement.

She had seen what had happened last night, all of it; The way Selene had played Su Bong at his own game, the way he had nearly chased after her like a man starved. And now? he was finally standing there, trying so damn hard to act unaffected while his eyes told a completely different story.

Min Seo pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing. This was about to get interesting.

Nam-Gyu was talking—Su Bong barely heard him.

Something about the best table, the drinks on the way, the usual. It didn’t matter—He followed out of habit, stepping through the club’s dim haze as Nam-Gyu led them toward the VIP section, but his mind was indefinitely elsewhere.

Selene was completely in her element, she seemed untouchable. And then, just as she curved into the next beat, her gaze lifted, her dark lashes fluttering up toward him.

Su Bong inhaled sharply. He felt ridiculous but had no time to register it.

The eye contact was brief but intentional. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at her lips, not a full smile, something worse. A tease.

I see you. I know you’re watching me.

Su Bong felt it like a slow drag of heat down his spine. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t dare to move, didn’t react, just stared. The intensity of it should’ve unsettled her.

It didn’t.

Her smirk deepened, the smallest tilt of her head. Then, without hesitation, and without breaking eye contact, she bent over.

A smooth, controlled curve of her body, hips rolling in a slow wave that matched the heavy pulse of the bass. A move for the stage and for the crowd, but somehow, in that moment, it felt meant only for him.

His jaw flexed and he didn’t even feel himself sit and lean back against the chair. His entire body felt tight, like a wire pulled too thin. He had never wanted a woman this bad before. Not just for the chase. Not just to win. But because it was her.

But then—her attention shifted.

Her gaze slid over to someone else.

Something sharp and hot flared inside Su bong, coiling tight in his ribs as he leaned forward in his seat.

The guy who had Selene’s attention was seated comfortably at the front. He lounged in his seat like he belonged there, like he had earned the right to sit front and center, a smirk ghosted his lips as he watched Selene with something far more concerning than lust.

Admiration? Fucking Respect?

It wasn’t the usual desperation of the men who begged for a single moment of her time. Ji Hoon didn’t beg. He didn’t even try. He enjoyed her. He appreciated the show. And judging by the way Selene subtly played into his attention—she fucking knew it.

The realization sent a slow burn through Su Bong’s chest, his stare became hooded & unintentionally, resentful.

Selene looked up and sent Su Bong another glance, quick but cold, her lips parted slightly, just enough to be noticed, enough to be felt.

He exhaled slowly, absentmindedly gritting his teeth as he leaned back against the chair again.

She was fucking with him.

Without shifting his gaze, Su Bong’s hand shot out, catching a passing waitress by the wrist—The sudden halt made the girl jolt, her tray wobbling as she turned, wide eyed.

“Yes?”

“Henessy Xo ” he muttered “Don’t fuck around with the ice”

A pause. His grip loosened.

“Hurry”

The waitress nodded quickly before scurrying off, leaving him to settle back into his seat, exhaling slowly through his nose.

Across the club, that motherfucker sat like a king on his throne, shoulders draped, his glass balanced between two fingers and he was prying on Selene with the kind of confidence that only came from knowing he belonged there.

The waitress approached with a practiced smile, setting a glass in front of Su Bong “Here you go, Mr. Su Bong–“

Before she could even finish her sentence, Su Bong’s hand shot out, grabbing the bottle from her tray with a swift motion—His crew exchanged confused glances, but none of them dared to speak up.

They watched as Su Bong unscrewed the bottle, his eyes locked on the stage and He sipped straight from the bottle, not bothering with the glass the waitress had so carefully prepared.

Then the song finally came to an end. The group of people watching, erupted in applause and cheers—Su bong could only hope:

If I drink this fast enough, maybe I’ll black out and forget this shit.

But then, Selene leaned in. Close enough that Ji Hoon tilted his head, listening—her lips parted, as if whispering something just for him.

Su Bong lifted the bottle to his mouth again, but the glass barely touched his lips when he lowered it again—“Damn” Nam-Gyu’s voice came smooth from above him, the sharp lilt of amusement unmistakable “I think the one you chose… already has a fanclub.”

Su Bong exhaled sharply through his nose, a scoff barely leaving his throat. But the way his fingers tapped against the glass, gave him away.

Nam-Gyu smirked. He had seen Su Bong walk away from beautiful women without so much as a glance. Seen him brush off attention like it meant nothing.

But now? Now, he was sitting there, shoulders drawn tight, gaze locked, watching a girl he had spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about

Ji Hoon’s smirk deepened at whatever she had whispered. Then, he laughed. A real fucking laugh. Not some empty, half-assed chuckle.

Su bong tipped the bottle back in one motion, the alcohol scorched his throat, but it did nothing to cool the fire licking up his ribs—he slammed the bottle down. His mind was already shifting gears, thinking beyond the crowd, beyond this moment.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| playing :

Runners High (Demo) - Tabber

He spoke without looking at Nam-Gyu, the words dripping with arrogance “Get her to my lounge”

Nam-Gyu blinked, but didn’t question the order. He’d seen Su Bong act like this before—As Nam-Gyu leaned in to respond, Su Bong pulled out a thick roll of cash, slapping it down on the table.

“I’m reserving the whole damn room” Su Bong remarked, without throughly thinking out his actions

Nam-Gyu hesitated for a split second, but when he saw the cash on the table, the words died in his throat. He pocketed the money without saying another word and left.

Su Bong didn’t wait around. He stood up, adjusting his coat, and moved toward the VIP booth. He didn’t even need to rush; he knew how this would play out.

Selene and the other girls started to head off the stage. The buzz from the crowd was still in the air as the other girls chatted and caught their breath, but Selene? She was already walking toward the back, eyes scanning the room.

Before she could make it past the bar, Nam-Gyu appeared at her side, flashing a usual smile that never quite reached his eyes. He had the air of someone who knew they had the upper hand.

“Hey, Selene” he greeted, voice casual, almost mocking, “You’ve got a VIP lounge waiting for you. Private room, just for you.”

Selene paused, her expression unimpressed. “I’m not going anywhere. My shift’s not done.”

Nam-Gyu clicked his tongue, a bit of frustration leaking into his tone. “I don’t make the rules. I’m just doing my job” He leaned in “If you want to keep yours, you might want to learn how to follow orders”

The intention in his words was razor sharp, Selene wasn’t fazed. She leveled a cool, nonchalant look at him “Yes, sir” she replied with a taunting tone, brushing past him.

Selene stepped into the private lounge, the door closing behind her with a soft click. The room was dimly lit, red plush velvet furnishings giving it an air of exclusivity, but all she cared about was the man sitting at the far end, lounging with that cocky, borderline infuriating air she was starting to recognize all too well.

“What’s with you ordering me around like you’re entitled to my time?” Selene shot out, her tone sharp as she glared at him

Su Bong, who’d been leaning back in his seat, tilted his head slightly. His lips twisted into a wry smirk, but there was something in his hooded eyes that told a different story.

Jealousy. He was trying, and failing, to mask it.

“What’s with your fanboy?” he shot back, his voice tainted with something that sounded like frustration.

Selene raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing her face, though she hid it quickly. She’d caught on to his vibe, and a part of her enjoyed it. “What do you want, Su bong?” She’d looked him up earlier, his name was too interesting not to, but she wouldn’t admit that. Saying it aloud now felt like a slip-up, and she’d never let him know she’d been curious enough to search.

Su Bong’s chest tightened, his heart stuttered at the sound of his name falling from her lips. He didn’t ask for it. He hadn’t even thought to, but hearing her say it stirred something grave in him.

“What’s your name?” he asked, suddenly and for the first time.

Selene gave him a long look, her gaze flat and unbothered, took him long enough. She casually stepped further into the room, her heels clicking on the polished floor. “Selene” she replied with a bored drawl. She wasn’t exactly lying. But that wasn’t her real name.

Su Bong stood and approached her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Having fun? Selene?” His voice was lower now, like he was enjoying the sound of her name, rolling it over his tongue. It wasn’t a name he’d heard often, and he found himself caught up in the way it sounded when he said it.

Selene tilted her head up at him slightly, finally meeting his gaze. “Oh? You were watching?” she teased, her lips curling into a faint smirk.

Su Bong didn’t answer right away. He let out a low sigh, his gaze unwavering as he leaned in just a little. “You know I was” he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The words felt like they had weight, and Selene knew it.

She took a slow step toward him, her fingers brushing over the lapel of his red coat, her touch light, almost innocent. But there was a playfulness in her eyes. She teased him, brushing her hand down his coat as if she was about to kiss him, leaning in just close enough for the air between them to throb with electricity.

But then, with a quiet smirk, she whispered, “Just because we made out… doesn’t mean anything” She knew exactly what she was doing to him. She was pushing his buttons, messing with him.

The words hit him like a slap, and Su Bong’s expression faltered. He looked away, a sigh escaping him, but there was something in his posture that betrayed how bothered he was. He had to force the words out, trying to suppress the frustration boiling inside him. “I don’t care” he muttered, there was no conviction in his voice.

Selene’s heart raced.

She almost gave into the pull, almost let herself respond to the way he was looking down at her. His indifference to her condescending attitude was getting to her, but she stopped herself.

Instead, she flipped the script.

She stepped back, eyes locking with his. “But I do” Her voice dropped low, too dangerous to be playful, but her eyes were cold, and valculating. “Don’t get caught up, Bad boy”

The line of agony between ego battling, was blurring, their shared desires thundered, loud with bruising tension. He was irritated but too stubborn to let it go.

A night ago she had practically melted into him. With clothes on and everything.

Su Bong’s gaze met hers again and Without saying a word, he reached out and lifted the sleeve of her off-the-shoulder top and lifted it up her skin, with a single, fluid motion; his fingertips brushed her skin.

Selene’s breath caught, an involuntary shiver running down her spine as the touch sent goosebumps rippling over her skin. She smacked his hand away instinctively, her lips curling into a smirk of irritation. “Don’t get cute” she taunted, clicking her tongue as she reached out to slap him on the arm.

Su Bong grabbed his arm, his movements theatrical as he pretended the smack had done more damage than it actually did. “Hey, Is that what it’ll take for you to touch me?” he muttered, rubbing at the spot like it had stung

Selene rolled her eyes and turned toward the door, hoping to make an exit. But her fingers fumbled at the doorknob, and it wouldn’t budge. Panic flashed in her chest. The damn thing was jammed. She tugged harder, but it refused to move, her frustration rising.

Behind her, Su Bong chuckled internally, he took a step closer, watching with quiet amusement as she struggled. With a barely audible sigh, he reached past her, his hand brushing against her arm as he gripped the knob and twisted it effortlessly, opening the door for her.

Selene shot him a sharp glare, her eyes filled with a mix of annoyance and defiance as she quickly flinched away from him. “Move” she snapped, moving past him. One more touch of his and she could practically show him what real sensations he brought out of her.

Su Bong’s lips curved into a smug smile, his gaze flickering to hers for a moment longer before she made it out of the room—He stood there, silently, watching her leave. Only after the door closed did he realize that he hadn’t confronted her about the guy.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| playing :

Of all days - T.O.P

As Selene stepped out of the lounge, her heart was still pounding in her chest, the intensity of her moments with Su Bong replaying in her mind. Her knees had gone weak, as if the meaningless encounter between them had drained the strength from her limbs. She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she thought to be in control, but damn, he was good at messing with her.

Just as she walked across the club, a voice called out behind her “Selene, hey!”

She turned to see the bartender waving at her from across the bar, a hint of urgency in his expression “Can you cover for me for a minute? I’ve got to hit the bathroom”

Without missing a beat, Selene’s smile softened, and she gave a nod, her usual confidence settling back into place “Yeah, sure. Go ahead” she replied, heading toward the bar without hesitation.

As she slipped behind the counter, her hands already moving to take over, she felt the smile tugging at her lips again.

Su Bong stood behind the closed door, his hand instinctively reaching for the cross charm hanging around his neck. With a quiet flick, he flipped it open, revealing the small pills inside, he popped one into his mouth, feeling the bitter taste linger for a moment before the drug began to take hold.

The familiar warmth spread through him, dulling the sharp edges of his mind while sharpening the senses he couldn’t escape. He didn’t even like partying anymore, but the euphoric dopamine brought to him by her, let him know not to stay away.

Su Bong didn’t move right away. Instead, he stood there for a moment, letting the pill settle in, feeling the rush of heat in his veins.

He exhaled, feeling the tension melt from his shoulders and he pulled the door open making his way into the loud club, he scanned the room, eyes narrowing until they locked on her: confidently handling the bar.

He smirked, and started walking toward her with a purpose, every step intentional. The drug had loosened him up just enough to turn his usual cool confidence into something more playful, almost teasing.

“Señorita” he blurted out as if this was his first time greeting her, he slid onto a stool across from her “You’re making it hard for me to stay away, Selene” he shook his head at her

Saying her name was euphoric on itself. Damn.

Selene raised an eyebrow at his approach, the playful energy in his step catching her attention. She leaned in slightly, her arms crossed as she eyed him “What’s it gonna be?”

Su Bong grinned “A bottle of Hite, something light to match the mood” he replied, leaning back slightly in his seat. He waved a hand casually, then slid a bill across the counter, one of the bigger denominations. “Keep the change” he remarked with a playful smirk, confident in his own bravado.

Selene glanced at the bill, raising an eyebrow. “You’re missing 2,000 won” she pointed out as she tapped the bill. “Big spender, huh?” she quipped, eyes still calculating

Her mocking tone entertained Su bong. She had him wrapped around her pinky. She practically could do no wrong.

Actually.

Su Bong leaned against the bar, his voice low “So… you always give your fanboys front-row seats?” he had a topic to return to

Selene tilted her head, her smirk widening as She leaned forward a little, mirroring his movement. “Does that matter?” she responded, she was back to toying with him.

Su Bong narrowed his eyes at her unseriousness. It mattered. And they both knew it. But before he could press the issue, Nam-Gyu came up behind them, checking in on Selene’s ‘job’

Su Bong ignored him, still locked in on Selene, his flirtation taking on a sharper edge. “You know” he began, his voice a bit more intense “you’ve got a way of making a guy wanna buy more than just a drink”

Selene was holding back a laugh, this wasn’t a laughing matter but she couldn’t contain herself, she felt giddy, embarrassed, clearly entertained but played it cool “Is that so? Lucky for you, I’m not in the market for your type.”

Su Bong laughed softly, unfazed. “Yeah? Funny, ‘cause I was just about to say the same thing” His eyes lingered on hers

Selene’s smirk deepened, her tone playful yet sharp. “The same thing? That I’m not in the market for your type?”

The words hit Su Bong like a cold splash of water. He paused, blinking for a moment, his eyes shifting upward as the gears in his brain clicked into place. His lips pursed, a thoughtful expression taking over his face.

Selene noticed the shift in him and for a brief moment, she couldn’t help but find it… cute. It was the kind of reaction that made her admire him for a split second, her gaze lingering as she took in the details of his face, those little shifts in his expression that showed he wasn’t as arrogant as he liked to pretend.

The DJ’s voice blared over the mic “All you lovely platform dancers, last shift” His voice echoed throughout the space, sending a signal to Selene and the other dancers to take their positions.

But her attention derived almost immediately and she watched the chain around his neck. Her eyes traced the curve of the necklace, stopping when she noticed the cross charm … slightly opened, revealing something inside. A curiosity bubbled inside her “What’s in the cross charm?”

Su Bong stiffened, a flash of discomfort darting through his expression. He immediately made himself look indifferent, the soft expression wandering off his bitter face “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about” he unconsciously and harshly brushed off her question like it was an insult

Selene clicked her tongue at his response, she reached out and gave him a light smack on the cheek as punishment for his unnecessary cursing toward her before making her way out from behind the bar and walking away to the dance platform.

Nam-Gyu moved to intercept “Selene-“ his clear intent to scold her—but Su Bong cut him off with a sharp motion. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder, quickly turning his neck to catch her walk off, and without thinking, muttered under his breath as he watched her disappear into the crowd “Wow. I think I love her”

Nam-Gyu blinked, completely caught off guard. He stood frozen for a second, unsure if he had heard right. “What” he stammered, voice full of disbelief.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| playing :

EVITA! - DeVita

Su Bong’s eyes remained fixed on Selene as she made her way toward the platform. His thoughts drifted for a moment, lost in that pull she managed to have on him.

“You here for her, huh?” a voice interrupted from beside him. A guy, tall, with a confident air, stepped up next to him, glancing over at Selene, his tone casual, as though the answer was obvious.

Su Bong’s gaze flicked to the guy, and his gut twisted. It was the same man Selene had been flirting with earlier, the whisper guy. He couldn’t answer, he was too busy controlling the impulsive dares screaming at him in the back of his mind.

The man, undeterred by the silence, ordered a drink from the bartender, giving Su Bong a friendly nod. “It’s on me” he added, introducing himself with a forced politeness. “Ji Hoon”

Su Bong’s stared at him through a condescending stare “I’m good” he muttered

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard by the random impoliteness, and after a beat of awkward silence, stood up and moved toward a table.

The noise of the club; the laughter, the cheers—faded into a distant hum in Su Bong’s ears as his focus narrowed entirely onto Ji Hoon, sitting at the table, glancing occasionally toward Selene. Su Bong couldn’t ignore him, nor could he stop the primal urge that gripped him.

His gut twisted into a knot of possessiveness, the thought of Ji Hoon lingering, watching, even just thinking about Selene ignited something territorial deep inside him.

Su Bong stood abruptly and walked away from the bar, The rhythmic beat of the music felt like a dull backdrop to his thoughts. His mind was consumed with one thing only.

The crowd began parting for him, most too caught up in their own revelry to pay attention to the figure threading through them. When he reached Ji Hoon’s table, he didn’t even bother with pleasantries. He stood over the man, who had barely noticed his approach

“I Hope you’re not thinking of staying here for long” Su Bong’s voice was, deep, casual with a cold edge to it, a warning type of comment

Ji Hoon turned, caught off guard by the tone, his lips parting in mild surprise. “Excuse me?”

Su Bong didn’t wait for another word. He slid into the seat across from Ji Hoon with an easy grace, without being invited to sit, his eyes locked onto the man’s “I know you heard me” his voice was lower this time as he downed whatever drink the guy had ordered for himself “I don’t think you’ll be staying for much longer” His gaze flicked toward the dance floor where Selene moved, carefree and lithe, unaware of the conversation unfolding just a few feet away.

Ji Hoon’s face shifted, unease growing in his features as he caught the weight of Su Bong’s stare. He looked around briefly, trying to assess the situation, but there was no mistaking the raw, tangible threat in the air now.

“What’s your problem?” Ji Hoon finally asked, attempting a calmness that didn’t match his widening eyes. He fidgeted with the glass in his hand

Su Bong’s lips curved into something resembling a smirk, but there was nothing remotely friendly about it. “You. Think I haven’t caught onto the way you stare her up, down and through her?” His voice carried something defensive beneath the taunt. His gaze drifted to Ji Hoon’s wallet on the table. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. “Ki Joon, right?”

Ji Hoon watched him, unfazed. “Ji Hoon.” He corrected, his tone clipped, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes now, his jaw twitched, the color draining from his cheeks as he fully registered the situation. But before he could respond, Su Bong leaned in closer

“You can either leave now” Su Bong murmured “Or I can make sure you don’t come back here. Or go anywhere else. Ever”

For a long beat, Ji Hoon hesitated. The world around them pulsed with sound, bass-heavy beats, the dull roar of conversation, but to them, everything else faded into a suffocating silence. Su Bong’s gaze was still and intimidating but Ji Hoon began to understand.

A slow smirk crawled onto Ji Hoon’s face, a sneer that carried the arrogance of someone who had never been put in his place. He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What’s wrong, Thanos?” he taunted, using Su Bong’s stage name deliberately, mockingly. “You think you can control her? She’s not yours—she’s ours.”

The words barely left his lips before Su Bong moved. In an instant, he stood and his hands shot out and forward, fingers curling around Ji Hoon’s collar in a grip, yanking him up from his seat so fast that Ji Hoon’s head snapped forward “You don’t fucking know what i’m capable of, man” Su Bong spoke through gritted teeth, his intention wasn’t measured. The tendons in his hand flexed, his knuckles white with tension. “Get the fuck out of here–“

“Ah … she’s not yours yet, is she?” Ji Hoon interrupted, trying to mask his unease with defiance. He pried at Su Bong’s grip, his smirk faltering.

That was all it took—Su Bong’s fist connected with Ji Hoon’s jaw in a brutal, unrestrained punch. The impact cracked through the air, sharp and raw, cutting through the ambiance. Ji Hoon stumbled back, knocking over a chair, his head snapping to the side as pain exploded across his face.

The club reacted instantly. Gasps and shouts rippled through the crowd, heads turning toward the sudden eruption of violence. The pulse of music still thumped through the speakers, but now it clashed with the chaos unfolding near the bar area.

Ji Hoon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, blinking in dazed disbelief before realization set in—humiliation burned hotter than pain. He lunged, throwing a retaliatory swing that barely grazed Su Bong’s cheek before Su Bong shoved him back, sending him sprawling into a table. Glass shattered, drinks spilled, and the growing tension tipped over into full-fledged disorder.

Security was already moving. A bouncer stormed in, grabbing Su Bong’s arm in a crushing grip. “That’s enough.”

Su Bong jerked his arm back, eyes blazing “Don’t fucking touch me”

Another bouncer appeared, doubling down. “Get out.”

“Fuck you” Su Bong cursed right at him, his chest rising and falling with adrenaline-fueled rage.

Ji Hoon, still recovering, dusted himself off, shaking his head with a low chuckle. The smugness had returned, curling at the edges of his bruised mouth. “You don’t have the balls for a woman like her—”

Su Bong lunged again.

It took both bouncers to restrain him this time, dragging him backward “You’re dead.” he murmured under his voice “And wrong!” he yelled out finally ripping away from the bouncers “Get your hands off me, you know who I fucking am?!” he yelled out the last six words in english

Selene watched him, frozen in place too, she should’ve assumed he’d Cause a scene—The club had turned into a spectacle, onlookers whispering, phones out recording, the energy shifted.

A bouncer approached Ji Hoon coming between him and Su bong, who scoffed and fixed his coat before turning and making his way out of the club; his crew was quick to follow right after, they murmured amongst themselves but they’d seen this before. They knew him.

Once he’d stepped out into the cold night, Su Bong’s mind raced. He tried to shake off the rush of anger and possessiveness, but it lingered like a bad taste and he strode toward the club’s entrance again, pushing past his crew, intent on forcing his way back in.

Su Bong’s eyes narrowed as he approached them. His hand gripped the door handle, and without a second thought, he tried to shove his way back in. His body tensed in preparation for a fight. He wasn’t done.

“I’m not leaving until I get what I want” Su Bong called out shamelessly—Just as his hand reached for the door, a voice cut through the tension. A voice that sent a jolt through his body. “You’re acting like a jealous little boy”

Su Bong froze, his chest tightening. His head turned sharply to see Selene coming out from the side door, her eyes alight with a mix of frustration and disbelief—He didn’t know if it was the anger clouding his judgment or something else, but her words didn’t make the situation better.

“If you want attention” she continued, her gaze cutting through him like a razor sharp blade, “book a fucking table like everyone else.”

Her words were harsh, blunt, and they made his blood run cold. He could feel the familiar sting of resentment rising up inside him, and something about her cold tone, her refusal to meet him halfway, ignited a fire that surged through his veins. He felt everything, anger, jealousy and rejection—they were all churning inside him like a storm threatening to tear him apart.

Su Bong’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak right away. The right words, didn’t come. Instead, a quiet rage simmered inside him; resentment that Selene, of all people, would call him out in front of everyone. He had done this for her.

His hooded eyes narrowed at her, there was nothing playful left in his gaze, only raw frustration. “You think I’m some kind of kid who needs to buy your attention?” he shot back, his voice low, tight with barely contained rage “You and this place–“

“Go home” Selene spoke out loud again, her gaze briefly scanning over his whispering crew—Su bong was trying to be mad at her but the brightness in her eyes worsened every emotion in him, her attitude: cold and secure, enticed some alluring aura that pulled him right back in as she left him out there.

Selene had no idea how far he was willing to go for her.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| playing :

2049 - Tabber

The back hallways inside the club were quieter, muffled by thick walls and the distant pulse of bass bleed through the doors. Selene walked through them, her heels clicking against the sleek floor.

The adrenaline from minutes before still hummed in her veins, but she forced herself to shake it off. She had dealt with men like Su Bong before—territorial, as they were convinced they owned what they wanted.

But even through that, she knew he was different. She had reasons to see it in his eyes, in the way his anger wasn’t just shallow rage—it was something deeper, like his inability to stomach the idea of her choosing someone else.

And even as she turned the corner, stepping into the dimly lit hallway that led to the back rooms, she still felt the sharp twist of something between shock and expectation when she saw him.

Su Bong was already there.

The emergency exit door was slightly ajar behind him, evidence of his way in, the red glow of the alarm light flickering against his sharp features. He was still riled up, still restless.

His eyes locked onto hers immediately, and Selene barely had time to register the sharp inhale she took before he moved “You don’t listen, do you?” her voice gentler, but no real surprise in it.

Su Bong scoffed, stepping toward her, his presence swallowing the space between them. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see the tension ripple through his neck. “You think I was just gonna leave?” His voice was still rough, low, scraped raw from the earlier fight.

Selene held her ground, chin tilted slightly as she looked up at him. “You should have”

He huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head, his hands twitching at his sides like he was restraining himself. “You think I’m gonna walk out of here while some fuck like Ki Joon is running his mouth about you being anyone’s–?”

Ki joon? … Selene exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders as if to shake off the weight of his presence. “Who gives a damn, Su bong” The words came out heavy, unthought.

Su Bong couldn’t help but smirk at the mention of his name, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. His head tilted slightly, he looked down before his gaze trailed over her face, searching for anything; that betrayed what she really felt beneath her ice-cool exterior “So tell me to go home now, alone”

Selene’s lips parted, but before she could retort, he moved again—faster this time, making her dodge his proximity by stepping back a feet or two but he only followed, even as she raised her hand between them, he practically walked right into her palm

Su Bong barely reacted to the barrier of her hand, his chest pressing against her palm like it was nothing more than a suggestion rather than a warning. His smirk was still there, but it was playful again, tempting “Tell me” he insisted, quieter this time

Selene felt her pulse in her throat, in her wrists. His gaze burned through her, unrelenting and waiting. She could say it, she could tell him to leave, to walk out that back door and never come back.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she held her ground, tilting her chin higher, fingers pressing just slightly against the fabric of his shirt. “You won’t listen”

Su Bong exhaled sharply through his nose, an almost-laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “I’ll listen now”

The space between them felt suffocating. The scent of his cologne clung to him. He was still wound tight, he held onto that anger, whether it was to prove something to her, to himself, or to the whole damn world, she wasn’t sure.

Selene parted her lips to speak, but he moved again, one step closer, his fingers curling around her wrist, the one still pressed against his chest. His touch wasn’t harsh, but it was firm, like he wasn’t willing to let her put any more distance between them.

“I should be more careful” he murmured, his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist, where her pulse was hammering against her skin.

She could feel it all, the anger that simmered beneath his skin, but there was also something desperate “You don’t get to do this” she murmured, though her voice wasn’t as sharp as she wanted it to be.

Su Bong’s heartbeat was becoming unsteady “Do what?” he murmured back, gaze flicking between her lips and her eyes.

Selene clenched her jaw, she felt a cold shiver down her spine and suddenly she was self conscious again “Act like you have any say in who I talk to, who I—”

His mouth was on hers before she could finish.

The kiss wasn’t all rough and cold, it was gentle with a sense of distance, a silent ‘let me in’ wrapped in heat and frustration— Su Bong threw her wrist over his shoulder and his hands found her hips, gripping tight, pulling her pressed against him like he needed to feel every inch of her.

Selene could’ve pushed him away. She could’ve slapped him, told him to leave; But instead, she kissed him back just as intently, her arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair. The compromising senstation of lust between them was unbearable and suffocating, neither of them could pull away.

His hands slid up her sides, gripping the fabric of her top, he stepped even closer to her, makinh Selene backtrack, a gasp of hers escaping against his mouth—Su Bong took it as an invitation, he further deepened the kiss, his tongue swept over her lower lip before slipping into her mouth, slow and daring.

Selene shuddered against him, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she mirrored him, her tongue meeting his, teasing, drawing out a deep, guttural sound from the back of his throat.

Fuck. A pill high had never hit this hard.

His fingers dug into her hips, gripping her like she might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. The air around them was hazy, pulsing with something heady and cynical

Selene let out a quiet hum at his grip on her, the sound slipping past his lips and making his head spin. His hands slid up, teasing the hem of her top before slipping underneath, just barely grazing her bare skin.

She was warm. So warm that it made his pulse stutter, it made him tighten his grip like he could brand the feeling of her into his palms.

Selene exhaled sharply, her fingers curling into the back of his neck, manicured nails scraping lightly against his skin but she broke the kiss slowly and reluctantly, her forehead resting against his chin as she caught her breath—His hands were still on her, his fingers just barely brushing the soft skin of her waist beneath her top. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles there, like he was committing the feeling to memory.

Selene looked up, her gaze flickering over his face, cautious, studying him like she was trying to decide what to do next. Her lips were slightly parted, still wet and swollen from his kiss.

And fuck, did she look good like that.

Su Bong smirked, lazy and knowing, before leaning in again. This time, he didn’t go for her lips. Instead, he dipped his head, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the curve of her neck. He felt her shiver against him, felt her fingers flex against his biceps: she smelled of sweet and tough seduction.

He smiled against her skin before murmuring “When are you taking me home?”

Selene let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking her head as if he were unbelievable.

Su Bong pulled back just enough to catch her expression, watching the way amusement flashed behind her gaze, the way she was trying to keep herself composed.

She wasn’t pushing him away. She wasn’t telling him no.

He grinned at her, slow and self satisfied, he knew exactly what he was doing.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ ི♥︎ ྀ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ ི♥︎ ྀ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ ི♥︎ ྀ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ

The clatter of keys hitting the floor barely registered.

The door had barely clicked shut behind them before Su Bong had her pinned against it, his hands already firm on her hips, pressing her flush against him—Selene didn’t hesitate, she didn’t need to. Her fingers curled into the collar of his shirt, yanking him down into another desperate kiss.

His hands wandered, skimming over the curve of her waist, but she wanted more. She grabbed his wrist and guided it under her top, pressing his palm flat against her bare skin. The heat of his hand made her stomach clench, a sharp breath catching in her throat.

Su Bong groaned against her lips, rolling his hips into hers—she was on cloud nine—He was still high, still buzzing from the last few pills he popped before sneaking back into the club. But this? This felt stronger than anything he’d ever swallowed down.

Selene, impatient, reached between them and tugged at his belt, the clinking of metal lost in the sound of their heavy breathing—He smirked against her lips. Proud that she wanted him.

She pulled him away from the door, leading him deeper into the apartment. They barely made it to the living room before he caught her again, pulling her close, his lips trailing from her mouth to her jaw, then lower, down the slope of her neck.

Selene’s fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, nimble and sure—until her hand brushed against the cross hanging from his necklace.

A quiet click. The pendant snapped open. Small, colorful pills spilled out, tumbling down his chest and scattering onto the floor.

Selene froze.

Su Bong barely registered what had happened at first, too caught up in the haze of her touch. But then she pulled back, putting space between them that hadn’t been there all night.

Her expression was unreadable at first, then, slowly, her gaze flickered between the fallen pills and his face, something cold settling in her eyes “What is that?” she asked, her voice sharp, breaking through the thick heat between them.

Su Bong’s jaw tensed. His breath was still uneven but the air had shifted in an instant. He followed her gaze to the tiny, colorful pills scattered across the floor.

Fuck.

Selene took another step back, her eyes flicking up to his face, searching for an explanation he wasn’t ready to give “Su Bong” her voice was quieter now, a sharp contrast to the heat they’d just shared.

He exhaled hard through his nose, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek before bending down to scoop up the pills. His movements were almost careless, as if minimizing their presence would erase the moment entirely. “It’s nothing.”

Selene didn’t move, didn’t look away. “That’s not nothing.”

His fingers clenched around the small handful he’d gathered, When he looked back at her, the hunger in his eyes was gone, replaced by something colder, more guarded. “You gonna lecture me now?”

Selene inhaled, but something in her chest had already started to tighten, something deeper than frustration. She knew this scene. Had lived it before—hands scrambling to hide the evidence, a voice turning defensive, an easy smile stretched too thin over something rotting underneath.

She kept her expression steady. “I didn’t take you for a liar”

Su Bong scoffed, standing up straight. “What do you wanna hear, huh? That I need it? That I like how it feels?” He tilted his head, his gaze turning sharp. “Or do you just wanna hear me say I’ll stop? So you can feel better about letting me in your bed?”

Her stomach twisted. For a split second, she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was standing in another dimly lit room, the air thick with something sour, the smell of sweat and perfume unable to mask something else. She was gripping someone’s wrist, nails digging into skin, voice shaking as she begged them to stay awake, to just—wake up.

Selene inhaled slowly, pushing the memory back. Instead, she reached down, picking up one of the stray pills between her fingers, rolling it over her palm.

“Is that what this is?” she murmured. “Something you need?”

His eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing through them before he shrugged. “Keeps things easy.”

Easy. Her fingers curled around the pill.

Selene exhaled sharply through her nose, a quiet, humorless sound. She reached up, brushing her fingers against his jaw, soft, fully intentioned.

Su Bong stiffened, caught off guard “What—”

“I liked you better before” she murmured

His breath caught. Before what? Before the drugs? Before he knew he needed her too?

She let the pill in her hand slip through her fingers, hitting the floor with a quiet tap before she stepped past him, heading toward the door.

Su Bong stood there, staring after her, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Her movements were direct, decided. She didn’t look at him when she reached for the handle, fingers curling around the cool metal. Instead, she exhaled softly, and with a quiet click, she pulled the door open.

The air outside felt colder than before. Su Bong’s jaw tightened. “What are you doing?”

Selene finally turned to him, her expression assuming. But her eyes—they were different. No longer teasing or unbothered. There was something quieter in them now, something heavier.

“Go home” she murmured, this wasn’t sharp like before.

Su Bong felt the real weight of it sink in his chest. He huffed out a laugh, but it was empty “You’re serious?”

Selene didn’t answer.

His hands itched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for her, like he wanted to take back the last five minutes and rewrite them, undo the way her expression had changed, undo the fucking pills on the floor.

But she was standing there, at the door, waiting for him to leave. His jaw flexed. “Fine.”

He buckled his belt, took a step forward, then another, his shoulder barely brushing hers as he moved past her. He hesitated for half a second, lingering in the doorway, like he thought she might stop him.

She didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind him.

❤︎ 😬😔😭 I KNOW — #trust the process and #trust me too. ps : thank you so much for reading ‹𝟹 thank u so much for liking / rb & thank u for the wait — this is for you 🍭ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི if you made it this far / working on a neeeew thanos request btw omg ❤︎

[carlosainzgf]

FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

summary: after late-night sexting with your best friend, everything changes. the bond you thought was purely platonic starts to feel deeper. were these feelings always there, hidden beneath the surface? or did something just… click? is this the start of something real, or the beginning of a mistake that could ruin everything?

warnings: aged up female reader (they’re both in their late twenties) (MDNI), smut (masturbation, fingering, public sex, p in v, oral sex (f and m), sexting, edging, praising, unprotected sex (don’t be silly)) semi and minsu are victims of the reader’s and subong’s freakiness, angst (name calling, miscommunication, pushing, throwing things, lying, deception, fear of commitment, reader refuses to help him at some point, slapping, slutshame remarks), overuse of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ (lmaoo), subong should be a warning himself, fwb dynamic, reader uses someone to forget subong, drug use and addiction.

a/n: i’ve never ever written anything here on tumblr before, so i don’t really know what i’m doing, help. also, english isn’t my first language, so mistakes should be present!! lowercase is intentional. this is an au with no games. text messages are in different colors (orange for the reader, purple for subong). the reader’s dialogue is in bold. mind you, this is LOOOONG (it’s a whole fic)

songs that inspired me to write this: friends — chase atlantic || back to friends — sombr || heartbeat — childish gambino || casual — chappell roan

this fic was also inspired by @jedisupernova ‘s writing, check out her page and fics!!! (they’re soooo good)

you’re still thinking about what that guy said. it wasn’t even a big deal, not really. just some random jerk at the club who’d had a few too many drinks and decided to share his unfiltered thoughts about your body. “you’re not really my type,” he’d said, like you’d asked. then he’d laughed and added, “not many guys would go for that.”

it shouldn’t bother you. you know it shouldn’t. but now, a few nights later, it’s stuck in your head, looping like a song you can’t turn off. so, lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly, you do what you always do when something’s bugging you—you text him. your best friend.

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

i got a random question. but like, it’s not that deep

???

do you think i’m attractive?

you fire it off without overthinking, like it’s no big deal. it’s not weird to ask your best friend something like this. right?

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

omfg can you just say yes or no? please? but be honest, i promise i won’t get mad

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

okay you think i’m attractive but like… what kind of attractive? cute attractive? like awwww. or i’d-fuck-you-raw attractive?

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

you stare at the screen, mentally deciding whether you should tell him about what happened or not. you hadn’t told him before, not wanting to give it more attention. but this time, you decide to.

ugh, remember i went clubbing the other day? well this dude was being an asshole to me and he said some stuff and i can’t stop thinking about it so just be fucking honest and answer my question

some stuff? what stuff?

he said, and i quote ‘not many guys would go for that’. ‘that’ is me, btw💀

who tf is this dude?

bruh idk, some random guy, it doesn’t matter

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

good, good, you think to yourself. his reply makes you relax a little, the knot in your stomach loosening. he thinks you’re attractive. of course he does—he’s your best friend, and best friends are supposed to hype you up.

for a moment, you stare at your phone, chewing on your bottom lip. you know you should leave it there, let it go. but something keeps tugging at you.

so, hypothetically, would you… yk, with me?

the second you hit send, panic sets in. your pulse skyrockets, and you almost want to throw your phone across the room. why did you do that? why couldn’t you just shut up? but you don’t have time to spiral, because the dots appear almost immediately.

are u serious?

and you freeze. your fingers hover over the screen, but you can’t bring yourself to type anything back. what kind of answer is that?

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

your heart stops. you blink at the message, reading it again and again, like the words might change if you look long enough. you weren’t prepared for this.

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

you want to lie, to brush it off, but your fingers move before your brain can stop them.

maybe

the dots pop up again. then disappear. then pop up again.

maybe?? that means yes. cmon i’m hot as hell, baby, u know it. u’ve probably touched yourself thinking about me at least once

wtf bro you’re giving me the biggest ick rn 💀

but have u?

and you? i bet you jerk off to my insta photos, perv. don’t even start lmaoo

can’t help it when u look that good💯

you stare at his message, your mind scrambling to process it. you feel your breath catch in your throat. the shock should be overwhelming, but instead, you feel a strange warmth spread through you.

you didn’t expect this. the idea that he’s been thinking about you like that… it sends a shiver down your spine. you should probably tell him to stop, tell him it’s too much, but instead, you feel yourself leaning in, pulled toward this conversation in a way you didn’t think you would be.

i may or may not have done the same with your insta pics

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

no fucking way, just two????????

you think it’s not enough or what???? how many times have you done it?

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

so bad i’ve lost count. u really want me to get into details?

maybe i do

bro, let’s just say that everytime u post i’m over here fighting a battle

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

so aren’t there any girls to jerk off to instead of me???

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

you stare at the screen, your heart pounding, your legs squeezing together instinctively. what the hell is happening right now? and then another message comes through.

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

yeah bro, what's a guy supposed to do when his best friend asks if he would fuck her?

it was hypothetical

hypothetically speaking, if a guy was attracted to his best friend, he'd probably be rock fucking hard right now. so yeah, i'm fucking hard, girl

your stomach flips at the bluntness of his words. you can feel the blood rushing to your face as you stare at the message.

too much info, subong

nahhh, u asked. u wanted details, so here they are

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

help you out?????????????

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

no one asked for that, stupid. just a pic of u

just a pic of you. the request feels so simple. he’s your bestfriend—it’s not that big of a deal, right? especially after everything you’ve both just confessed to each other.

your eyes flick toward the mirror in your room. you’re in your pajamas. no bra. you know how it looks. it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t think twice about wearing around him in person, but now, with this conversation, it feels different. your legs carry you to the mirror almost on autopilot. you pick up your phone and angle it toward your reflection. you shouldn’t even be entertaining this. but instead, you snap the picture. you stare at it for a moment, biting your lip. it’s not explicit—it’s just you. but still… you know exactly how he’ll see it.

your thumb hovers over the send button, hesitation gripping you. a hundred reasons not to do this race through your head, but one single thought drowns them all out: you want to know how he’ll react. before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send. the moment it delivers, your stomach drops, a mix of adrenaline and regret washing over you. you sit down on the edge of your bed, staring at the screen, waiting for his response, your heart pounding louder with every passing second.

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

and i’m hornier now, if that’s even possible

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

well, glad i could help your horny ass🫡 enjoy or whatever

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

you watch the dots—flickering like they're mocking you. you can't help but wonder what he's typing—or if he's second-guessing whatever bold thing he's about to say. but then, they disappear. nothing. you frown, staring at the screen, waiting a few more seconds. still nothing. you realize exactly what he's probably doing. you bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as the image forms in your mind: him, sitting there, hand wrapped around his dick, staring at the picture you sent.

you feel like you need to do something—anything—to distract yourself. you toss your phone onto the bed and reach for the remote, flipping on a random tv show. you let the noise fill the silence, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. it's a few minutes later when your phone dings. the sound cuts through the room like a knife, and you hesitate for a moment, staring at the screen, before finally reaching for it.

it's him. he sent a picture.

these are my pajamas. now we’re even, baby

him, standing in front of the mirror, shirtless and wearing only a pair of tight black briefs. the way he's posing is so over the top... he's trying way too hard. his expression is almost comical, like he's not really sure if he's pulling it off but is hoping you'll think he is. you can't help it—you stifle a laugh. but then your eyes drop, and that laughter dies in your throat. the bulge is so obvious, pushing against the fabric in a way that's impossible to ignore. it's not just visible, it's big. big enough that your pulse spikes, and you forget to breathe for a second. that laughter you were holding back? gone. you glance back at his goofy grin in the mirror, but it's no longer funny. shit. you’re wet.

you don't even know how it happens. one moment, you're staring at his picture, then a teasing comment here, a bold reply there—and before you know it, you're lying on your bed, your phone clutched in one hand and your other slipping between your thighs, pressed against the growing ache he's stoked with every message. you've never gone this far with him before—always ignoring his obvious flirting. but you can’t stop now. and he isn’t shy about it either, telling you with detail everything he would do to you.

u'd look soooo fucking good begging under me, baby

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

fuck, i’d bury my face between those thighs and eat u out until u can’t take it anymore

a soft gasp escapes your lips as you read, your body reacting to the vivid images his words paint in your mind. you know you shouldn't be doing this—not with him—but the way he's describing everything makes you forget about all the reasons why. you’re far past the point of feeling shy too. you bite your lip, barely believing yourself as you hit send.

i wish you could feel how wet i am just thinking about you fucking me from behind

god damn girl, i’d stretch that pussy so good my dick is the only thing u’d think about for weeks

and then, it's not just texting anymore—you're sending pictures, even though you swore you wouldn't. the first one is a close-up of your fingers, glistening with your juices. his reply comes almost instantly, not as a text but as a voice message. “shit, baby, you're f-fucking killing me... mhmm... look at that. you're so fucking wet f’me, I can almost taste it through the screen... fuck...” his voice is low and rough, broken by soft, shaky breaths. you can hear him stroking himself, moans slipping out between words. you're losing your damn mind over it, replaying the voice message again and again—fingers curling inside of you as you push them in and out, wishing it were his fingers instead of yours.

he sends a pic too. this time, he leaves nothing to the imagination. it’s a selfie, his face barely visible at the corner. the center of attention is his hard dick, hand wrapped around it, tip leaking precum. and the only thing that comes to your mind right there and then is just how badly you want to take him in your mouth.

one picture leads to another, the messages growing dirtier with every exchange. his words are filthy, his photos even filthier, and the way he talks about your body—what he'd do to it, what he's imagining—fucking hell. your breathing quickens, your body burning with need, and before you know it, that familiar tension starts to coil low in your stomach.

shit, subong… i’m close

u’re gonna cum for me? cmon pretty girl, let me hear you

you hit record just as your orgasm crashes over you, moaning his name loudly as you cum on your fingers. after a few minutes, he sends a voice message back “you sound so fucking good… shit, look what you’ve done t-to me… mmm… fuck, fuck, fuck… i’m gonna cum thinking about fucking you, baby. i’m gonna cum thinking about you making those… s-sounds while i fucking pound into you.”

the next few days are a blur. he hasn’t texted, and you haven’t either. but no matter what you do, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. no matter how hard you try to shake it off, it’s there. his voice, the way he sounded saying your name, the damn nudes, the way your heart raced as you typed those things to him.

you don’t know how to feel about it. on one hand, you can’t deny how much you wanted it in the moment. but now? now you’re not sure. did you cross a line? did he? part of you regrets it, wishes you could just rewind and stop yourself before things spiraled. but another part—one you’re trying to ignore—remembers how good it felt, how right it seemed in the moment.

and then there’s the friendship. years of it. he’s been your best friend for a few years now. he knows things about you no one else does and he’s seen you at your absolute worst. like that night you showed up at his door after a horrible breakup. mascara streaked down your cheeks, and he didn’t say a word—just handed you a blanket, put on your favorite movie, and sat there with you until you fell asleep on his shoulder.

but it wasn’t always serious. like the time he tried rapping one of his freestyles for you, all cocky, and you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. or like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing at the mall, and he laughed so hard he cried, then spent weeks reenacting it whenever you were around. or when he clogged your toilet and tried to fix it himself instead of just telling you. or when he picked a fight with some guy at a club because the guy bumped into you and didn’t apologize. he got all puffed up and said, “you got a problem, man?” like he was some kind of action movie hero. but the guy was huge, like, rugby player huge, and before you could drag subong away, he swung and missed, and the dude took him down in one hit. he spent the rest of the night with a bloody nose and ice pressed to his face, grumbling, “he got lucky.” you still remind him of how he ‘lost a fight in one punch,’ and it always makes him groan.

you’ve got a thousand stupid inside jokes that no one else would understand, like how you always text each other ‘don’t die’ instead of ‘goodnight’ because of some dumb horror movie you watched together. or the fact that he nicknamed you ‘señorita’ when you said you wanted to visit spain one day.

he’s a walking disaster, an endless source of secondhand embarrassment, and somehow, that’s what makes subong… subong. being around him has always felt easy, like slipping into your favorite hoodie—comfortable, familiar, safe.

but friends don’t do… that. what if it’s never the same again? you’ve always been comfortable with him, never overthinking what you said or did around him. now, you can’t imagine looking him in the eye without thinking about what you two did together. you keep telling yourself that things will go back to normal, but deep down, you’re scared they won’t. because you’re not sure you can go back—not after knowing what it felt like to be wanted by him in that way. not after letting yourself want him back.

one day, out of the blue, he texts you like nothing happened. just casually, like you didn't have your hand between your thighs while listening to him moan your name a few nights ago.

yoooo, wanna hop on call and play videogames? i’m bored

at first, you stare at the text, because... what does this mean? is this his way of brushing it under the rug? of pretending nothing ever happened? still, you say yes. because what else can you do? you hop into the call, and there he is—joking, laughing, completely normal. like the two of you didn't cross every possible line. he's so good at acting like nothing's changed, it almost convinces you. you match his energy, responding with the same casual ease. maybe this is fine. maybe you're fine.

then the group chat lights up a few days later: a cinema meet-up. everyone's throwing out ideas for what movie to watch, talking about snacks, debating over showtimes. he's there, throwing in jokes about popcorn sizes and his infamous sweet tooth, and you're sitting there trying to decide if you can handle seeing him face to face. you hesitate, debating if you should just make up an excuse not to go. but then he replies to the chat, tagging you specifically.

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

the day arrives faster than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing outside the cinema, stomach flipping as you spot namgyu, minsu, gyeongsu, and semi waving at you. you force a smile and walk over, doing your best to focus on their chatter and ignore the nerves crawling up your spine. but then you see him—subong, leaning against the wall, vape in hand. and when his eyes land on you, he smirks. he knows damn well. he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s not going to make this easy for you. “finally,” he says when you’re close enough. “i was starting to doubt you’d come.” “why wouldn’t i?” you reply. he shrugs, taking a puff from his vape “thought you might’ve had better things to do.” the way he says it feels loaded, but he doesn’t give you time to respond, turning his attention to namgyu instead.

when it’s time to head into the cinema, you try to position yourself far from him, making a beeline for a seat between minsu and semi. you settle in, thinking you’re safe, but of course, subong has other plans. “yo, minsu, my boy,” he says as he walks down the aisle, stopping directly in front of you. “mind scooting over? i’ll sit here.” “uh, sure,” minsu says, shifting down without hesitation. you open your mouth to object, but before you can say anything, subong is sliding into the seat next to you, drink in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. “hope you don’t mind,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer than necessary. you grit your teeth, keeping your gaze locked on the screen as the previews start. “not at all,” you mutter under your breath.

you think that’s it. but, of course, it doesn’t end there. he shifts in his seat, his arm brushing against yours every now and then, like he’s waiting for you to react. you swear you catch him smirking out of the corner of your eye multiple times. you try to focus on the movie, but it’s impossible when his presence is so loud. every little movement, every tiny glance, has your nerves on edge. and he knows it.

then, you feel it. his hand—light at first— rests on your bare thigh, the heat of his palm sending a jolt through you. you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. what the hell is he doing? his fingers trace a soft line along your skin, caressing just above your knee. you stay still, unsure of what to do, but your body betrays you, not pulling away.

his touch grows bolder, creeping higher up your leg, slipping under your skirt. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. he's still watching the movie, acting like nothing is happening, like his hand isn't inches away from your clothed pussy. “what are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns his head toward you, looking innocent, like he's just minding his own business. “nothing.” “subong—” “i'll stop if you want me to.” you don't answer, torn between wanting to push him away and not wanting him to stop at all. “do you want me to stop? be honest,” he says, still waiting for your response. “no,” you reply, looking away with embarrassment. he chuckles softly—hand rubbing the inside of your thigh.

you drape the thin jacket you brought over your legs, a flimsy attempt to shield his hand from semi’s view. every nerve in your body screams that you shouldn’t be letting this happen, but you don’t stop him. he spreads your legs with his hand for better access, and soon you feel two of his fingers pressing against your clit over the fabric of your panties. your breath hitches, and you try not to move—not even a sound escapes you—but your lips part at the feeling of his touch. he moves them slow—too slow—in a way that has you shifting against him, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. and he gives it to you. his hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and a low chuckle leaves him when he feels just how wet you are.

subong knows what he is doing. he rubs your clit in circles, gently but with enough pressure to have you biting your bottom lip. and god, his fingers feel so much better than you ever imagined. when he quickens the pace, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, pretending to be focused on the screen. but the rapid rise and fall of your chest betrays your so-called calm. before you can collect yourself, semi leans in. “are you okay?” “mhm,” you nod quickly, forcing a smile. “yeah, don't worry, i—” your words falter when his fingers move faster. you bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but he's clearly enjoying watching you struggle. “i-i'm fine,” you manage to stutter. semi raises an eyebrow. “you sure?” “yeah,” you nod. “alright,” semi says before shrugging and turning her attention back to the screen.

you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. your head snaps toward subong, eyes narrowing in a glare that’s meant to convey exactly how ridiculous he’s being right now. you dig your nails into his wrist, “are you crazy?” but he only pauses for a second, leaning in close enough to whisper, “relax, girl. no one noticed.” the audacity of him sends heat rushing to your face. but he doesn’t back down, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous movements. and just as you’re about to reach your orgasm… he stops. your body jerks in frustration, and you whip your head toward him, confused. his smirk only deepens as he pulls his hand from under your skirt, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean. “what the fuck?” you whisper, a soft groan escaping at the loss of his touch. “what?” he whispers back, feigning innocence. “you know what.” “i don't. you'll have to spell it out for me.” “subong—” “tell me what you want.” the frustration wells up in your chest. to him, this is probably hilarious—you being so desperate. but for you? it's humiliating. pathetic. begging your best friend for something like this. still, the need outweighs your pride. you lean in, your lips almost brushing his ear, “i wanna... i wanna cum. please, make me cum.” “yeah? be fucking quiet, then.”

his fingers slip back under your skirt. your breath catches, and you press your lips together, your body already trembling from how close you were before—gripping the armrest, barely able to keep still. every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire, and when his fingers circle just right, you're done. the release hits hard, and you muffle your moans by biting down on your lip so hard it stings.

the days after are... strange. again. no texting, no acknowledgment, no teasing, nothing. it's like it never happened. and when he does text again, it's so casual it throws you off. he sends a random picture, a meme he has found on instagram.

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

you reply like everything's fine because, well, isn't it? you don’t even know at this point.

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

the replies come fast. namgyu’s working that night. semi has plans with her girlfriend. gyeongsu says he’s too exhausted for it. minsu doesn’t even reply. everyone has an excuse, and eventually, the chat goes dead. then, a private message from subong popps up.

wbu? still down to go?

you and subong had gone clubbing together hundreds of times. hell, most nights it was just the two of you, dancing until your legs gave out, taking blurry selfies, and laughing over cheap drinks. it was normal. so, you type:

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

when the night comes, your phone buzzes as you’re double-checking your look in the mirror.

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

you grab your jacket and head out, the bass from his car already thudding through the air when you step outside. you see him leaning against the passenger door, dressed in his usual baggy style—a loose graphic tee, cargo pants, and sneakers that probably cost more than your entire outfit (the only damn thing he saves up for…)—vape dangling lazily from his fingers. when he sees you, his eyes trail over you for a second too long. “you’re overdressed,” he teases with a smile. “you’re underdressed,” you shoot back.

the drive to club pentagon is easy, filled with a mix of rap tracks and subong’s singing. when you finally pull up, the line’s already stretching down the block, but subong doesn’t even blink. “namgyu’s working, right?” he asks, sliding out of the car. you nod. “yeah, he’ll let us in.” inside, the music is already pulsing, bass heavy enough to shake the floors. subong grabs your wrist. “drinks first?” “obviously,” you answer. you follow subong to the bar, the pounding music buzzing in your ears. “what are we starting with?” he asks, leaning against the bar. “shots,” you say, already reaching into your bag. he raises an eyebrow. “you’re paying?” “you’re broke,” you remind him, rolling your eyes before ordering four shots of tequila. when the glasses arrive, he grabs two and hands you one. “guess i’ll owe you,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “you already do,” you reply, downing the first shot without hesitation. the familiar burn of tequila trails down your throat, and you chase it with a quick breath.

you can feel his eyes on you as you throw back the second shot. you don’t meet his gaze, but you can feel it—the weight of it, the way it makes your stomach flutter. shaking it off, you slam your glass on the counter and signal for one more round. “last one,” you say, mostly to yourself, pulling out more cash. he doesn’t argue, just picks up his shot, watching you as you pick up yours. you both toss back the final shot, and the alcohol is just enough to loosen the knot in your chest. but the way his gaze lingers as he sets his glass down makes it tighten again. “dancing?” you ask. he nods. you push through the crowd till you find a spot on the dance floor. the techno track thuds through your chest as you sway to the rhythm. subong moves with you, not particularly in sync with the beat, but in his own way that somehow works. every now and then, his eyes catch yours, and you have to force yourself to look away.

the music builds, and you let yourself get lost in it, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the haze of the moment. after a while, he stops moving and pulls his phone from his pocket. you glance at him, curious, as he squints at the screen. whatever he sees makes him smile faintly before he shoves the phone back into his pocket. “i need to hit the bathroom!” he says, leaning close so you can hear. you blink at him, confused. “right now?” he nods, gesturing for you to follow. you don’t argue—it’s not exactly safe to hang around the dance floor by yourself. reluctantly, you let him lead you off the floor.

he disappears into the men’s room, leaving you standing against the wall, arms crossed. you tap your foot, watching drunk strangers stumble past. a few minutes later, the door swings open, and subong walks out, a small smirk playing on his lips. “what took you so long?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. instead of answering, he holds up a small plastic bag between his fingers. your stomach flips when you see the little colorful pills inside. “what the hell is that?” you ask, but you already know. he grins, tilting his head. “new stuff.” your brows furrow. “what?” “my plug got these,” he says, holding up the bag slightly. “said they hit different. figured i’d try.” he slides one pill between his fingers, studying it like it’s no big deal. then he brings it to his mouth, about to toss it back. “wait,” you say, grabbing his wrist. he scoffs. “what? you want it instead?” you glare at him. “no, subong. what are you even doing? you don’t need that!” he rolls his eyes, freeing his wrist from your grip. “come on, it’s nothing. we’ve had worse.” “worse?” you scoff. “you’re really gonna compare getting blackout drunk and smoking pot to this?” “you’re fucking overthinking it. it’s just one pill. just tonight. trust me.” he says.

you glance at the bag again, at the little pills that seem so harmless yet scream bad idea. “subong…” you start, but your voice trails off. “look,” he cuts in, his voice softer now. “we’re having a good fucking time, yeah? it’ll be just this once, okay? i promise.” “okay,” you say suddenly, lifting your chin. “but if you do one, i’ll do one.” his smirk falters for half a second. “no.” you frown. “what do you mean, no?” “i mean no. you’re not taking one.” “but you can?” you challenge, crossing your arms.“yeah.” you scoff. “that’s bullshit.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “this isn’t your thing, señorita.” “since when it’s yours?” you snap. “if you’re gonna do it, then so am i.”

he looks at you, really looks at you. then, with an exasperated groan, he reaches into the bag. “fucking stubborn,” he mutters, pulling out another pill. “just this once.” he holds it delicately between his fingers before stepping closer. “open up,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. you hesitate for a second but eventually part your lips, sticking out your tongue. he places the pill gently on it. “there you go,” he says, stepping back and popping his own pill. you swallow it quickly, trying not to think about what you’ve just decided to do.

you move back onto the dance floor, the pill's effects creeping in like a warm wave washing over you. the flashing lights seem brighter now and everything blurs together—colors, sounds, the heat of the crowd—but it feels good. better than it should. your limbs feel lighter, like you're floating, and the energy buzzing inside you pushes you to move. subong is right there beside you, dancing with his hand raised, and you can't stop staring at him. his messy hair sticks to his forehead, sweat glistening on his tanned skin.

before you know it, your arms are around his neck, pulling him in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. his eyes burn into yours for half a second, like he’s daring you to close the distance. then his hands are on your waist, rough fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and he drags you closer until you’re pressed against him. the music is pounding, but it feels distant—like the only rhythm you can hear now is the way your bodies move together, hips rolling in time, every brush of his skin against yours making you burn.

his breath fans across your lips, hot and tasting of tequila and something bitter—maybe the pill he took earlier—and it makes your head spin. then your mouth crashes into his. there’s nothing soft about it. it’s messy and sloppy, urgent—like you’re both too far gone to think about anything but this. his lips part against yours immediately, and your tongues meet in a dizzying clash of heat and need. his hands slide up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

you tilt your head, chasing the kiss even deeper. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your bottom lip, a bite that makes you whimper before he soothes it with his tongue. the sound you make pushes him further—he groans into your mouth, his other hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face exactly how he wants it.

you’re not sure where the desperation is coming from, but it feels like if he stops touching you, you’ll shatter. your fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric as you grind just a little closer, a little harder. he’s breathing just as heavy as you are, lips red and swollen from kissing you like he never wants to stop.

you’ve kissed people before but nothing’s ever felt like this. nothing’s ever felt this fucking good. the two of you stumble out of the club. your legs feel like jelly as you hold onto subong, and his arm wraps around your waist to steady you. his car is parked a few streets over, tucked away in a dark, hidden corner under some trees. “thank god for this spot,” he mutters as he unlocks the doors.

you barely make it into the backseat before he’s on you again—his lips crashing into yours like he’s been waiting for this forever. his hands are all over you, rough and desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. but you’re not going anywhere. his fingers dig into your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, and the second you straddle him, you feel it—hard and thick, pressing right against the heat between your legs. a soft gasp slips out of you, but he swallows it with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. fuck, he’s good.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling as your hips start to move, grinding down on him. his grip tightens immediately, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he guides your movements, rocking you against him harder. the friction creates a delicious, aching pressure that makes you whimper against his lips. “fuck,” he breathes, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his head fall back against the seat. his fingers squeeze your ass, dragging you down against him rougher. “keep doing that.” so you do. you roll your hips, slow at first, letting yourself feel everything. you’re already soaked, already throbbing for more, and from the way his hands are gripping you, the way his breathing is getting heavier, you know he feels it too. “i need to eat you out,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck. “want you to cum on my tongue.” you do exactly what he wants—legs spread wide, thighs trembling as his head dips between them. his breath is hot against your soaked pussy, teasing, before his tongue finally makes contact—slow at first, a long, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit that makes your whole body jolt.

you gasp at the feeling, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard, but it only makes him groan against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure straight through you. he doesn’t hold back. he devours you, eating you out like a man starved, his tongue flicking against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. and when two of his fingers slip inside you, curling deep, pressing against that perfect spot, you swear you see stars. “you taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, his lips slick with your arousal before he flattens his tongue and laps up every drop. the way he’s working you—his mouth, his fingers, the filthy sounds coming from between your legs—it’s too much, too good, and your whole body is trembling, hips rolling against his face, chasing more. “shit—subong!” your voice breaks as the pleasure crashes over you all at once. your thighs clamp around his head, your body arching off the seat as you cum hard against his mouth. but he doesn’t stop—his tongue keeps moving, drinking you in, dragging out your release until you’re shaking.

when he comes back up to kiss you—chin shining with the evidence of your release— your hand instinctively moves to rub him through his pants, the hard outline of his dick impossible to miss. he hisses at the contact, his hips bucking eagerly against your touch. “you got a condom?” you ask. he pauses. “yeah, hold on.” reluctantly, he pulls away and starts patting his pockets. his brows furrow in concentration as he checks one side, then the other. finally, with a relieved grin, he pulls a condom out and holds it up. “got it,” he says before kissing the wrapper, making you chuckle.

he looks so fucking hot as he rolls the condom onto his cock, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. but nothing gets him off more than watching you climb back onto his lap, your soaked folds teasing the head of his dick as you line yourself up. his breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs, barely holding himself back. “fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice tight with restraint. then, slowly you sink down onto him. inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you up until there’s no space left between your bodies. “shit,” he hisses, watching as your slick coats him, making every movement easy, effortless—like your body was made to take him. and when you start moving, lifting your hips before sliding back down, a broken moan escapes his lips. “fuck, baby,” he breathes, hands roaming up your back, gripping your ass, anything to ground himself as you ride him. “you feel so f-fucking good—look at you, taking me so… mmm… so fucking well.” his voice is needy, and when you slam down harder, his hips jerk up to meet yours, pushing even deeper. “oh my—fuck, subong!” you cry out, your walls clenching around him so tight it makes his whole body tense beneath you.

he almost fucking loses it the second he feels you clench around him, his face twisting in pleasure, jaw going slack. his hands grip your hips, guiding you—faster, rougher—eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again. he forces himself to meet your gaze, even though his eyes keep threatening to roll back. “fuck, if i’d known how fucking good this pussy is… i would’ve f-fucked you sooner.” he moans as you move faster, bouncing on his cock—every thrust making obscene, slick sounds that only turn him on more. his eyes drop to your tits, bouncing perfectly in time with your movements, and fuck, he can’t decide what he wants more—to keep watching you ride him like this or to flip you over and ruin you.

but then you tighten around him, your rhythm stuttering as you throw your head back, moaning so loud he swears the whole damn neighborhood can hear you. “fuck— i’m gonna—! i-i’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your whole body trembling, thighs shaking as you cum around his cock. and that’s it. that’s all it takes to break him. “shit—ngh!” his body jerks beneath you, his abs tensing as he spills into the condom, his head falling back, mouth open.

his hands are still gripping you, holding you down against him as he rides out every last pulse of his release, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. and fuck—you’re still wrapped around him, warm and wet and perfect. you end up laughing for a solid twenty minutes after that, still too high to fully process what the fuck just happened between you two. but even in your haze, every single detail stays with you the next day.

fucking your best friend while high as fuck one night might’ve been an accident. but then it happens again. and again. and again. and you can’t call it an accident anymore.

it happens everywhere.

in his car, where the windows are always fogged up, your moans echoing in the tight space. in your apartment, where he barely gets the door shut before he’s got you pinned against it, hands rough and greedy, yanking your clothes off like he’s been waiting all fucking day for this. sometimes he doesn’t even make it past the kitchen—he just lifts you onto the counter, knocking over whatever’s in his way, too impatient to care as his mouth moves down your neck. in his bed, where the sheets are always a mess, tangled from how hard he fucks you into the mattress, his hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head. even in a club bathroom, right after he gives a show, still high off the energy, sweat dripping down his temple. you’re barely inside before he’s got you bent over the sink, hiking your dress up, shoving your panties to the side, fucking into you so deep you have to bite your hand to keep from screaming his name.

wherever. the second you’re alone, it’s happening. it becomes a thing. a need.

you always figured subong would fuck good. he never shut up about the girls he’s been with, the shit he’s done, bragging like he was the best lay any of them ever had. and every time he talked about it, you’d feel heat pool between your thighs, wondering if he was really that good or just full of shit.

now you knew. and fuck, he wasn’t lying.

he’s rough and passionate—the kind of lover who takes without hesitation but gives just as much, maybe even more. he loves watching you squirm, loves the way your body responds to him like it was made for this. like it needs this. his fingers trail down your skin, barely touching, making you shiver before he finally gives you what you want. and fuck, he lives for it—the way you gasp when he finally presses his mouth between your legs, the way your back arches when he fills you up, stretching you wide, making you take every inch.

some days, he drags it out, torturing you with slow touches, lazy kisses, making you beg before he finally gives in. he’ll tease you until you’re trembling, hands gripping at him desperately, “please, subong… need you so bad.” and then, maybe then, he’ll give you what you’re begging for. other days? he doesn’t bother waiting. before you can say a word, he’s got you pinned to the mattress, yanking your legs apart, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. “been thinking about this all fucking day.” then he’s inside you, fucking you like he’s been starving for it.

it’s been months now—this thing between you and subong. but you don’t talk about it. not once. there’s no late-night confessions, no whispered ‘what are we?’ between tangled sheets. he doesn’t ask who else you’re seeing, and you sure as hell don’t ask him. but the uncertainty lingers. because he’s still your best friend. you still laugh at his dumb ass jokes, roll your eyes when he’s being his cocky self, and feel that weird, warm twist in your stomach when you catch him watching you from across the room.

and yet, there are a bunch of little things that scream something more. like that time you sat on his rumpled bed while he was writing a song, and you helped him hammer out stupid-ass verses—even when he swore they’d never work. you teased him for his cheesy lines and then watched his face light up like he’d just discovered a new fucking world. hell, he even calls you his muse sometimes, and you hate how damn proud that makes you feel.

or that stormy night. the rain was lashing against the windows, and you two were locked in his tiny studio apartment. one minute you were laughing, taking silly pictures of him with a digital camera while he smoked, and the next, he had your face pressed against the wooden table as he fucked you from behind—your ass cheeks burning from his vigorous spanking. after, he pulled you close, running his fingers through your hair as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

that one night he showed up at your door at 2 a.m., high off his ass, slurring your name with that cocky grin, his knuckles tapping too fast against the wood. “couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. “fucking missed you.” you should’ve told him to fuck off, should’ve rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face because he promised he wouldn’t do that shit again. instead, you let him in, let him collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, pulling you down with him. his arms caged you in, the scent of his cheap cologne filling your senses.

then there was the time you caught him staring at you while you were getting ready. you were fixing your hair in his mirror, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and when you turned around, he was just standing there—arms crossed. “what?” you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. he just shook his head, smirking a little. “nothing,” he said. “you just—you look good in my clothes, mama.”

and when you called him crying after a shitty day at work, voice shaking so bad he could barely understand you. you didn’t even have to ask—he just showed up, no questions. drove way too fucking fast to get to you, and pulled you into his chest so tight it felt like he was trying to hold you together. “who do i need to punch?” he asked, half-joking, half-dead serious. and you laughed, even through your tears, because that was him—always trying to make you smile. he let you cry into his hoodie, let you hold onto him like a fucking lifeline, and then, when you finally calmed down, he kissed your forehead like it was second nature. “you’re okay, baby” he murmured. “i got you.” he always had you.

or the night he took you to some shitty underground concert, knowing damn well you didn’t even like the band. “it’s not about the music,” he told you, grinning like an idiot. “it’s about the experience.” you rolled your eyes, but you still let him pull you into the crowd, still let him wrap an arm around you when the pit got too wild, still let him hold your hand. afterward, sweaty and breathless, you sat on the curb outside, sharing a cigarette while he rambled about how sick the show was. “you should play up there one day,” you told him, nudging his shoulder. “your songs have gotten better.” “you think?” “yeah. you’re good, bong-bong.” the nickname made him laugh. a week later, he showed you something he wrote. something raw and messy and fucking beautiful. he let you hear a part of him no one else ever did.

you even helped him rebrand himself. it started with him pacing his room, muttering to himself, stopping every few seconds like he was about to say something, then changing his mind. eventually, you sighed, rolling onto your stomach while watching him from his bed. “are you having a breakdown or just being dramatic?” he ignored you, still pacing. and then, out of nowhere, he stopped. snapped his fingers. looked at you like he just discovered the secret to life itself. “i’m gonna dye my hair purple.” you stared at him for a long second, waiting for him to laugh or tell you he was joking. but he just stood there, completely serious, shoulders squared like he was about to go to war.

within twenty minutes, you were in his bathroom, gloves on, a box of purple dye sitting between you. you didn’t even ask how he got it so fast. knowing him, he’d probably been sitting on this idea for weeks, just waiting for the right moment to drag you into it. he sat on the closed toilet lid, legs spread, while you stood over him, parting his hair and working the dye through. up close, he looked smug as hell, like he knew he was onto something. the whole rap game was about standing out, and he was done waiting for people to notice him.

the name ‘thanos’ caught on faster than you expected. at first, it was a joke—you called him that to be annoying, and then he used it in a song, and suddenly, people were saying it back to him. dms started piling up. more people started listening. before you knew it, subong wasn’t just some guy making music in his bedroom—he was thanos. and, of course, he acted like he knew it was gonna work all along.

and fuck, the time he brought you home to meet his family. his mom fussed over you like you were the perfect daughter-in-law, laying on your favorite dish and insisting you have seconds. then, saying, “he talks about you a lot”, making subong choke on his food while his sister goaded him about how he treats you like his damn girlfriend. you felt so out-of-place and yet so damn loved by the way he proudly introduced you to everyone, as if you were the missing piece in his fucked-up puzzle. he even opened up to you about his dad—how he never gave a shit about him, never looked at him unless it was to point out everything he did wrong. maybe that was why he kept stealing glances at you like he was trying to make sense of it—of being wanted, of being next to someone who actually cared.

and later that night, when you were both lying on his couch, full and sleepy, he nudged your knee with his. “thanks for coming, señorita,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “they liked you.” you turned your head to look at him, saying, “of course they did. i’m fucking amazing.” he smirked, but it faded quick, his gaze lingering on you a little too long. “yeah,” he murmured. “you are.”

nights that weren’t about sex at all. the ones where he just wanted you close, his hands resting on your back, his lips pressed to your shoulder, his voice low and sleepy in the dark. “you’re warm,” he’d mumble, pulling you closer. “don’t leave.” “i work tomorrow, baby,” you’d say. “i’ll drive you… stay with me,” he’d always replied.

and you did. every single time.

and there were the nights he fucked you like he meant it. not just like you were some girl he was hooking up with, but like you were the only one who had ever mattered. like he was trying to prove something with every touch, every kiss, every time he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours and whispered your name like a prayer.

like he loved you. but he never said it. and neither did you.

so instead, you settled for the quiet moments—for the way he always pulled you into his lap at parties, his hands resting lazily on your thighs; for the way he let you pick the music when you drove anywhere, even though he always bitched about your taste; for the way he let you steal his fries, let you doodle on his lyrics notebook, let you wear his hoodies even when you didn’t ask; for the way he texted you ‘good morning, baby❤️,’ and it made you smile for no damn reason; for the way you woke up to find him still asleep beside you, hair a damn mess on the pillow, and traced lazy circles on his chest while he mumbled some half-remembered melody. for the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

you can’t help but hope that one day you’ll both just say the damn words and finally admit that all these little moments mean something. you hope that maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll stop wondering if you’re more than just friends with benefits.

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

who gives a shitttt, i sure as hell don’t, mama

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

oh

alr cool👍🏼💯

can i still come over tho? we could watch a movie or something

yeah okayyy, bring snacks (or else i won’t let you in)

i’m the only snack u need, girl

you don’t expect him to show up with anything, but when you open the door, subong’s standing there, hands full—one holding a plastic bag, the other gripping a bottle of soda. “what’s all this?” you ask, raising a brow. he steps inside without waiting for an invite, kicking off his shoes. “you said ‘bring snacks’, didn’t you?” he says, dropping the bag onto your coffee table. “figured you’d want something sweet.” you peek inside—chocolate bars, a pack of strawberry pocky, even a container of sliced fruit. your chest tightens at the thought of him actually remembering the little things you like.“what, no painkillers?” you tease, flopping onto the couch. he scoffs, collapsing next to you, way too comfortable in your space. “what do i look like, a pharmacy?”

you give him a knowing look, and his lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. grabbing the remote, you ask, “so, what are we watching?” “something i won’t fall asleep to,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “which means no boring indie shit.” you nudge his thigh with your foot. “first of all, my movie taste is elite. second, if you fall asleep, i’m taking pictures.” he grins, lazy and cocky. “yeah? what will you use them for?” heat rushes to your face, and you smack his arm without thinking. “shut up.”

the movie plays, and for a while, it’s normal. easy. you snack on the pocky while subong steals pieces of fruit from the container, acting like he’s doing you a favor by eating the ones you don’t like. he stretches out on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. goddamn.

it's barely been a few minutes when you find yourself on your knees in front of the couch, his strong hand fisting in your hair as you hungrily suck his dick like your life depends on it. you couldn’t help it. he just looked too fucking good. you take him deep, your nose pressing against his abs, gagging slightly but refusing to back off. he lets out a groan as you take him, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your head up and down. “fuck, just like that baby... show me how much you love this dick.” his hips thrust forward, making you gag slightly. “you're so f-fucking good for me... mmm such a pretty little mouth, choking on my cock.”

drool slips down your chin as you struggle to breathe but maintain eye contact, wanting him to see how much you love taking him in your mouth. the wet, obscene sounds of you slurping and gagging fill the room. he watches you intently, pupils blown wide with lust, his dick throbbing against your tongue. moaning around him, the vibrations make his thighs quake. "shit... you’re gonna make me fucking c-cum," he breathes out. “you gonna… you gonna let me cum in that s-sweet mouth of yours, hm?” “mhmm,” you purr around his length, looking up at him with hooded eyes. you double your efforts, sucking him hard and fast, your hand pumping what you can’t reach. he holds your head in place as he comes, making you to swallow every last drop. you take a moment to catch your breath, wiping your mouth before sitting back up.

the bathroom lights hum to life as you rinse your mouth and splash cool water on your face, trying to shake off the heat thrumming through you. you press your palms against the sink, inhaling deep in an attempt to look less flustered. the movie’s still on when you come back. you get comfortable, leaning into subong just slightly. he doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm and lets you settle in against his side. the warmth of him seeps into you, and you rest your head on his shoulder. subong smiles at you before kissing your forehead, something that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow does.

you shift slightly, but he just pulls you in closer, his body solid and warm against yours. your heart stutters in your chest, and the thought of what you are—what you actually mean to him—becomes impossible to ignore. the longer you sit there, the harder it is to pretend this is normal. your heart is beating too fast, your mind racing with thoughts you’ve been shoving down for months. finally, you tilt your head to glance up. “subong,” you start, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. he hums, eyes still on the screen, but you can tell he’s listening. you swallow, suddenly nervous. “what… what are we doing?” that gets his attention. “what do you mean?” you sit up a little, putting some space between you—enough to see him clearly. “this. us. it’s been months, and we’ve never talked about it.” “what’s there to talk?” “i mean, is this just sex to you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tenses, his eyes flicking away for a second like he’s weighing his words. “does it feel like just sex to you?” he finally asks. your chest tightens. “no.” his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. like maybe he’s been trying to convince himself of something different. “right. it’s not just sex, we’re friends, too,” he says. “then why are we acting like this?” you push. he rubs a hand over his face. “i don’t know.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees. the silence stretches thick between you, but you refuse to let it suffocate you. you need to know. “what do you want this to be?”

subong exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. he looks frustrated, like he doesn’t even want to have this conversation. like you’re ruining something by asking. “why do we have to call it something?” he says finally, and your stomach twists. you blink, sitting up a little. “because it’s been months, subong. because we’re not—we’re not just fucking and then going our separate ways. because we’re sitting here, cuddling, watching a damn movie, and it feels like more.” his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around his knee. “it doesn’t have to mean anything.” that stings. worse than you were expecting. you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “it does to me.” his face twists, like he hates hearing that. “shit, don’t fucking do this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “why can’t we just keep things the way they are?” “because i’m tired of pretending this is casual when it’s not,” you snap, your voice cracking. “not for me, at least.”

he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, like he’s trying to hold something back. when he looks at you again, his expression is unreadable, but his next words hit like a punch to the gut. “then maybe you shouldn’t have let it get this fucking far.” you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. “what?” “i never promised you shit.” the words cut deep, sharper than anything he’s ever said to you before. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. because he’s right. he never did. but the way he touched you, the way he held you after—none of that felt like nothing. you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he hesitates for a second too long. and that’s all you need to know. you force yourself to nod, pressing your lips together. “okay.” his brows furrow, like he wasn’t expecting you to take it like that, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything else. you grab the remote, press stop on the movie, and push yourself off the couch. “you should go.” “are you fucking serious?” you cross your arms over your chest, fighting to keep your composure. “yeah, i’m serious. get the fuck out.” “we have one fucking shitty conversation, and now you don’t want me here?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “what the fuck do you want from me, subong?” your voice shakes, and you can feel it crack, but you force it out. “sit here and pretend like i didn’t just fucking tell you how i feel? pretend i’m not fucking hurt because you—” you stop yourself, biting your lip so hard it almost bleeds. his jaw clenches. “what?” you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “because you don’t fucking care.” “i never said i don’t care.” “you might as well have,” you snap, voice breaking with frustration. “you just don’t give a shit enough to do anything about it.” he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, breathing hard through his nose. “just because i care doesn’t mean we have to slap a fucking label on it!” “and i just have to be okay with that?!” you snap, your voice rising. “i have to sit here like a dumbass and pretend this is fine when it’s not?”

he throws his hands up, his face twisting in frustration. “for fuck’s sake, why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” “difficult?!” you let out a humorless laugh. “you’re the one acting like a fucking idiot, subong! you want to fuck me, cuddle me, act like i’m your fucking girlfriend, but the second i ask you to be honest about what this is, suddenly i’m the problem?! you even introduced me to your damn family!” he freezes for half a second when the words leave your mouth, then he stands up, jabbing a finger in your face. “what the fuck did you just call me?!” you swat his hand away, your glare burning into him. “don’t fucking point at me like that!” his jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare like he’s barely keeping himself from snapping. “you wanna talk about being a fucking idiot?! look in the fucking mirror!” he spits. “you’re the one acting like some needy little bitch because i won’t say what you wanna hear.” “fuck you, subong!” you don’t say anything else. you just turn on your heel and walk out of the living room, heading straight for the kitchen. your hands are shaking, your chest tight, and you just need to put some distance between you and him before you completely fall apart. behind you, you hear him scoff. “seriously? you’re just gonna walk away mid-fucking-conversation?”

you grip the edge of the counter, squeezing your eyes shut. maybe if you stay quiet, he’ll take the fucking hint and leave. but of course, he doesn’t. you hear his footsteps as he follows you in. “you always do this shit,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “running off the second things don’t go your way.” you whirl around, your eyes burning. “what should i do, then? hm? get on my knees and suck your fucking dick again?!” he clenches his fists at his sides, his mouth opening like he’s about to argue—but then he hesitates. because the truth is, you do mean something to him. he just doesn’t know how to fucking deal with it. subong has never done this before—never been in something that wasn’t just fucking around, never had to deal with real feelings, real expectations. and the idea of fucking it up? it scares the shit out of him. but instead of admitting that, instead of being honest for once in his life, he just does what he does best—pushes, lashes out. it seems easier than dealing with what he feels when he’s around you.

“why do you care so fucking much about not calling it something?” you ask, your voice softer now. “if we’re not seeing other people, if we’re always together, if you do care about me, then why?” his throat bobs as he swallows hard. and then—because he’s a fucking coward—he lies. “who says i’m not seeing other people?” you freeze. his face is unreadable, but you can see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he already regrets saying it. “you’re lying.” your voice is quiet. he just shrugs, “i’ve been seeing this girl.” “who?” you raise your voice, taking a step closer as tears start falling down your face. “who?!” “i’m not fucking telling you!” “are you serious?! aren’t we supposed to be friends too?! we used to tell each other everything!”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a second—just a second—something flashes in them. something like guilt. but then he shuts it down, scoffing as he shakes his head. you continue, “but we’re not even friends anymore, are we?” “don’t say that.” “why not? it’s true, isn’t it? friends don’t do what we do,” you wipe at your face, even though the tears won’t stop fucking falling. he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, pressing it against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to hold something back. but then he just shrugs again, voice flat. “guess we’re not fucking friends either, then.”

your vision blurs as you cry, no matter how hard you try to keep it together. “get the fuck out, subong.” your voice breaks on the last word, and you hate how fucking weak you sound, how pathetic. and the second the first real sob rips out of your throat, something in him shifts. “fuck. no, i—” he exhales, raking a hand through his hair, his voice softer now, like he’s realizing he went too far. “i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry—i’m sorry, baby.” “don’t fucking call me that!” “you gotta listen to me!” you shake your head, taking a step back, your whole body trembling. “no. i’m done listening to your fucking bullshit.” “baby, please.” his voice cracks, and his hands reach for you—hesitant, like he doesn’t know if you’ll let him touch you. “please.” you slap them away instantly. “don’t fucking touch me.” “you’re really just gonna shut me out like this?!” “you shut me out first!” “i fucking care about you!” “not enough!” his breath catches in his throat, and for a second, he just stares at you. “you’re being fucking dramatic.” “get the fuck out of my house, subong.” “why are you being such a fucking—” “say it.” your voice is a challenge, daring him to go there. he doesn’t hesitate. “bitch. a fucking bitch. you—you’re acting like a bitch.”

you’ve had enough. without thinking, you shove him—hard. he stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but you don't stop. you shove him again, your palms flat against his chest. “you’re a fucking asshole! fuck you! get out! get the fuck out!” his jaw tightens, like he wants to argue, like he wants to throw something else back at you, but you're already stepping forward again, grabbing his arm and shoving him toward the front door. subong wrenches his arm away, but you don't let it stop you. you push him again, shoving him past the threshold. but he’s not moving, so you grab the nearest thing—his damn sneakers—and chuck them at him, one after the other. the first one bounces off his chest, the second one catches him square in the shoulder. “what the fuck, man?!” subong barks, flinching back, his face twisting in irritation. he barely catches the second shoe before it can hit the ground. “you’re a crazy bitch!”

“fuck off!” your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. you’re already stepping forward, already reaching for the door—and you slam it in his face. the sound echoing through the room. for a moment, silence. a long, awful pause where your breath hitches, where your chest tightens so much it feels like you’re suffocating. then—“open the door. c’mon, open—open the fucking door!” he slams his fist against the wood. “stop being so fucking childish!” “you’re calling me childish?! grow up, subong! you’re twenty six, you don’t know what you want and you still dress like a fucking kid!” he bangs the door. “you’re one to talk, girl! always dressed like a damn slut!”

you squeeze your eyes shut and stumble to your room until your knees hit the bed, and then you’re collapsing onto it. the first sob breaks out of you before you can stop it, and then another, and another. you curl into yourself, pulling the blanket over your head, pressing your hands against your ears. but it doesn’t block him out. “fucking talk to me!” another bang. you hear the doorknob rattle. “baby, please! i’m sorry, okay?! c’mon, don’t do this! we’re fucking friends!” your voice is muffled when it finally comes, thick with tears, but loud enough for him to hear you. “go away!” “not fucking happening! open the damn door!” “go away or i’m calling the fucking cops, motherfucker!” that seems to work. you curl tighter, press your face into the pillow, and sob until the sound of his fists against the door fades away. he did this. he made you feel this way. and he fucking hates himself for it. but it’s too late.

the next few days are absolute shit. you barely leave your bed at first. your body feels too heavy, your chest too tight, your eyes too sore from crying. when you do finally move, it’s only to go through the motions—brushing your teeth, pulling on the same oversized hoodie, forcing down a few bites of food even when everything tastes like nothing, and going to work. you don’t check your phone at first. you can’t. but eventually, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who it is. subong. you let it ring. he calls again. and again. when it finally stops, the texts start.

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

you turn the phone face down. but he doesn’t stop. every time you glance at your screen, his name is there.

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

years and years of friendship man and u throw it all away like that?

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

the texts keep coming. always at random times. but the worst ones come at night. one day, at 4:12 a.m., your phone buzzes against your nightstand. you try to ignore it, try to pretend you’re asleep, but something tells you to look.

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

its fucking 4am. i wake up at 6 to go to work, stfu and leave me alone

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

fuck you, subong. i don’t want to see you again

come bsck

i loveyouy

you block him, roll over, and squeeze your eyes shut. but sleep doesn’t come easy. not when the last words he sent are still glowing behind your eyelids, burning into your brain.

blocking him should have brought peace. should have been the final step, the clean break. but it doesn’t feel like that. instead, it feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting to resurface, except there’s no hand to pull you up this time. the first few days, you keep checking your phone out of habit. unlocking it without thinking. but there’s nothing. you still reach for him in small ways—almost texting him when something funny happens, almost turning to tell him about your day. but you can’t do that. you won’t do that. so you keep yourself busy. you pick up a book, let your eyes scan the words without really absorbing them. go on long walks, let the cold air bite at your skin, hoping it shocks you out of your thoughts. start journaling, writing down everything except his name, except the way your chest still feels hollow. you even try new things—take a yoga class with a friend, bake cookies at 2 a.m., cut your hair just to feel something different. but memories of him are stitched into the fabric of your life.

you hear his voice on the radio sometimes now, when they play a song of his that went viral. see him in the reflection of dark car windows, like he’s just a step behind you. hear a joke and immediately think about how he���d laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the edges. you tell yourself that eventually, you’ll forget. but some nights, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’s staring at his too. if he’s thinking about you. and the ache doesn’t go away.

your phone rings one night, when you’re already in bed. you almost don’t answer, but when you see semi’s name flash across the screen, you pick up. “hello?” your voice is groggy, tired. “hey,” semi says. “sorry, did i wake you?” “no,” you lie. “what’s up?” there’s a pause. hesitation. then, “it’s subong.” your stomach drops. “we’re worried about him.” she rushes the words out, like she’s been holding them in for too long. “he’s been acting weird lately—worse than usual.” you close your eyes, already knowing where this is going. already knowing what she’s about to say before she even says it. “he’s been taking those pills,” she continues. “the ones he used to mess with sometimes, but now he’s on them all the time. it’s like he’s not even—shit. he was out,” she says, frantic. “namgyu couldn’t wake him up at first, it was fucking bad, dude. and now he’s still high as hell, barely making sense, and he keeps—” she hesitates. you frown. “he keeps what?” “he keeps mumbling your name.” you feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. you press your fingers to your temple, trying to stop the pounding in your head. “fuck.” “he’s not okay,” she says. “he’s barely sleeping, barely eating. he looks like shit. well, he always does, but you know what i mean. and when he does talk, it’s like he’s—like he’s not there.”

you take a shaky breath. you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. he’s not your problem anymore. but your stomach still twists at the thought of him like that. “maybe you could talk to him?” semi says, hopeful. “when he feels better. i think he’d listen to you. gyeongsu is gonna take us to the hospital in a few minutes, maybe you could come too? we’ll pick you up. we’re at namgyu’s apartment, we had to take him—” “we’re not friends anymore, semi,” you cut off, swallowing down the lump in your throat. silence. “what?” she says. “what do you mean?” “he hasn’t told you?” “told us what?” “it doesn’t matter,” you say finally, letting out a heavy sigh. “i can’t help him.” “but—” “i can’t, semi.” the words come out sharper than you mean them to. she falls quiet. after a long moment, she sighs. “alright, okay,” she says, voice heavy with disappointment. “i just… i didn’t know.”

and even though you tell yourself it’s not your problem, even though you tell yourself you did the right thing—you don’t sleep that night. maybe you’re the most horrible person ever. for not helping him. that’s what you think to yourself as the days go by. you don’t go to see him. you don’t text semi back. you tell yourself that there’s nothing you could have done, that he made his choices, that you’re not responsible for saving him. but the guilt sticks to your ribs.

you keep moving forward. and then, somewhere along the way, you meet him. he’s nothing like subong. not really. but sometimes, in the way he leans back in his chair, in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, in the way he laughs when he’s had one too many drinks—he almost is. (he even likes rap!) and maybe that’s why you let him take you out. why you let him kiss you. why you let him press his hands against your skin and pretend it feels right. it doesn’t. but you let it happen anyway. because it’s easier. because when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend it’s subong. it’s fucked up. you know it’s fucked up. but you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that this is what moving on is supposed to look like. but it’s not fair. you know you shouldn’t be doing this. and when he asks what’s wrong, why you get quiet sometimes, why you look at him like you’re seeing someone else—you just smile. shake your head. press a kiss to his lips and hope he never realizes that you don’t mean it. hope he never realizes that no matter how hard you try—subong is still the only one you see.

he invites you to a show one night, says it’ll be fun. you don’t really know much about it—just that it’s some rap battle tournament called ‘rap battlegrounds’—but you’re bored, and it’s something to do. you don’t ask too many questions because, honestly, you don’t care that much. he picks you up, and you follow him through the neon-lit streets to a club you’ve never seen before, the bass already thumping from inside. he leads you through the crowd to a small corner of the club. it’s dark, gritty, with exposed brick walls and dim, flickering lights that barely cut through the haze of smoke hanging in the air. the floor is sticky. it’s the kind of place you usually avoid, but tonight, you let it slide.

you're barely paying attention, your eyes drifting over the crowd, the noise just background filler. the battles blur together, the hype not really doing anything for you. you're zoning out, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the beat, hoping this night will pass quickly—regretting all your life choices when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. when suddenly, a voice crackles through the mic, cutting through the noise. “yo, yo, yo, we got a real one up next! fresh off that new heat, straight killin’ the game—make some noise for ‘thanos’!” you freeze, snapping your head to the stage as the crowd cheers. “…and he’s goin’ up against the beast, the local legend, the one and only jace ‘the hammer!’”

there’s no way. you blink, trying to process it, but everything’s too dark, shadows everywhere, making you second-guess yourself. but then, you hear it—his voice. your stomach sinks. this is real. subong is here. for a second, you think you might pass out. he’s standing there, center stage, all cocky confidence, rapping like he owns the room. you wish you could ignore it, wish you could pretend he’s just another guy on stage, but he isn’t. and you can’t. and then it happens. his eyes sweep across the crowd, like he’s eating up the attention, and then they land on you. he freezes. just for a second—just long enough for his flow to falter, the words dying on his tongue. the beat keeps going, but he doesn’t, and the guy he’s battling jumps in, taking advantage of the opening. subong blinks, shakes his head, tries to recover—but it’s too late. he’s lost the rhythm, lost the momentum, and the battle ends with subong’s opponent eating up the win. the crowd erupts, but subong doesn’t hear any of it. he stands there for a second, chest rising and falling like he can’t believe it—like he can’t believe he actually lost. then, without another word, he shoves the mic into someone’s hand and disappears behind the stage.

someone else takes the spotlight almost immediately, the next rappers stepping up, music booming through the speakers again. you turn to the guy beside you, grabbing his wrist. “i wanna leave.” he frowns. “what? why?” you glance toward the side of the stage, your stomach twisting. subong won’t just leave it alone—you know him. “i’m just—i’m kinda tired.” the nervousness in your voice alarms him. “are you okay? what’s wrong?” “nothing. i just don’t wanna be here right now.” he studies you, and you can tell the exact moment he realizes how tense you are, how your shoulders are stiff, how you haven’t stopped glancing over your shoulder. his expression softens, just a little. “hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “it’s okay. i’ll take you home.” “yeah?” “of course.” you don’t move when he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. and it feels like… nothing. just lips on lips, a fleeting warmth that barely registers. your chest feels tight, like you need to shake something off, drown something out. so you kiss him back, harder this time, pressing in, searching for something. maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the way seeing subong on that stage messed with your head, knocked you off center. maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you can feel that rush with someone else. but you don’t. no matter how deep the kiss goes, no matter how much you try to lose yourself in it, there’s nothing there.

and just a second later, he’s ripped away from you—shoved back so hard he stumbles, nearly knocking into the bar behind him. and when you look up, you already know. subong stands there, shoulders tense, and his eyes locked on you. “what the fuck are you doing?!” “me?! what the fuck are you doing, subong?!” the guy composes himself and goes back next to you with a strained expression, one of his hands caressing his side. “what’s your problem, man?!” “who the fuck is this?” subong demands, his eyes never leaving yours. you exhale sharply. “just leave me alone.” disbelief flashes across his face like you’ve just insulted him. “nah, what the fuck is this?” he gestures vaguely between you and the guy. “this who you’re with now?” the guy straightens up. “is there a problem?” subong laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah, there’s a fucking problem. who the fuck are you?” “just go, subong.” you cut in quickly. “no. i’m not fucking leaving.”

the guy beside you steps in, placing himself between you and subong. “you know this asshole?” he asks you. you sigh, “he’s… we used to be friends,” you reply. “yeah, and i’ve probably fucked her more times than you have, bro,” subong adds, a smirk on his face. “don’t listen to him,” you tell the guy before redirecting your attention to subong. “you’re being more than ridiculous right now. stop it. leave us alone.” he just stares, like he didn’t even hear you. like you didn’t just tell him to fuck off. “ridiculous?” he repeats, like the word itself it’s funny to him. “you wanna know what’s fucking ridiculous? you showing up here with—” he finally looks at the guy, eyes dragging over him like he’s barely worth acknowledging “—this.” “enough! i said… leave us alone.” “no, we need need to talk.” “she told you to leave, man.” the guy interrupts. wrong move. subong’s lips curl into something mean. “and who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” he sizes him up, scoffing. the guy doesn’t back down. he squares his shoulders, keeping himself between you and subong like he actually thinks that’ll stop him. subong steps closer, just enough to invade his space. you step forward, grabbing the guy’s arm. “seriously, let’s just go—”

subong’s hand shoots out, grabbing his collar. the guy shoves him back instantly, and that’s all it takes. subong’s always been quick to anger, and now he’s pissed. “relax,” the guy says, lifting his hands like he’s trying to de-escalate, but subong’s past that. “relax? you want me to relax when you’re out here kissing my girl?” the guy exhales through his nose. “you wanna fight me over her that bad?” he shakes his head. “man, you already lost once tonight.” subong’s expression shifts in an instant. his shoulders go tense, his nostrils flare, and his jaw locks so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind. he snaps, swinging first. it’s fast, a punch aimed straight for the guy’s jaw, but he dodges, stepping back just in time. the guy doesn’t waste time. he drives forward, ramming his shoulder into subong’s chest, sending him stumbling back. for a second, you think it might end there—but of course, it doesn’t. subong recovers quick, too quick. he surges forward, grabbing the guy’s shirt and yanking him down just to throw a knee into his ribs. the guy grunts, shoving him off, and then they’re both swinging. fists connect, curses fly, and you can barely keep up. the guy tries to hold his own, landing a few hits, but subong barely flinches. he’s fueled by something else, and he’s not stopping. one punch lands hard against the guy’s cheek, snapping his head to the side. another follows, a brutal hit to his jaw that makes him stumble. then another. and another. the guy grunts, arms coming up to shield himself, but subong doesn’t let up. he grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him forward just to slam his fist into his face again.

blood splatters. and that’s when you snap out of it. “subong, stop!” he doesn’t hear you. “subong!” he pulls back for another hit, and you move before you even think. you grab him by his shirt, using all your strength to shove him back. he stumbles, losing his grip on the guy, his eyes wild when they snap to yours. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, chest heaving. subong’s nostrils flare, hands still clenched into fists like he’s seconds away from going back for more. the guy groans, wiping blood from his face. “you broke my fucking nose, man! you’re insane!” he yells. “shut the fuck up,” subong spits, but before he can go at him again, you shove him harder. “leave him alone!” his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark, burning into yours. for a second, you think he might listen, that the fight might finally be over. but then, in one swift movement, he grabs your wrist. “what are you—” you barely get the words out before he pulls you with him, dragging you through the crowd, past the stage. “let go of me!” you struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t stop. people turn to look, but no one moves to intervene. they just watch. before you know it, you’re backstage, away from the lights, away from the eyes—trapped in a space that feels too small.

subong finally stops, shoving you back against the wall. you barely have a second to catch your breath before you’re shoving him off. “what the fuck is wrong with you?! what the fuck was all of that about?! huh?!” you slam your hands against his chest, but he barely moves. his jaw clenches, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “what the fuck is wrong with me?! you’re really asking me that?! when you’re the one out there acting like a desperate fucking slut?!” your head jerks back, a bitter laugh ripping from your throat. “are you fucking serious right now?! you just beat the shit out of him, and you’re mad at me?! for what?! for moving the fuck on?!” “yeah, i fucking am!” he snaps. before you can react, he steps in, closing the space between you in an instant. his hands come up, slamming against the wall on either side of your head. your whole body tenses. he’s seething, breath ragged and reeking of cheap liquor and god knows what else. “why?!” “because you’re mine!” “yours?! fuck off!” you shove at him again, hard. “and take a goddamn shower while you’re at it. you smell like a fucking alleyway.”

his nostrils flare. “yeah? well, you smell like a cheap whore.” rage flares hot in your chest. “right, because you’d fucking know, wouldn’t you?” you sneer. his head tilts, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “at least i don’t pretend to have fucking standards. what’s his name, huh?” your stomach turns, but you don’t let it show. instead, you smile. “why? you jealous? go cry about it, asshole.” he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “you know he’s just using you, right? you’re nothing but a warm hole to him.” your hand flies up before you can think better of it, shoving his face away. “yeah. like that wasn’t exactly what i was to you too, motherfucker.” he stumbles back a step, running a hand over his jaw. “we never talked about what the fuck we wanted, or what we expected from each other. so don’t—don’t—” “that’s what you tell yourself? that you didn’t lead me on? that you didn’t fuck with my head for months?!” you cut him off. “you’re a fucking coward, subong. too fucking scared to admit you wanted me, but the second i move on, suddenly you give a shit?” “move on? to who? that fucking loser? you think he actually gives a shit about you?” “and you do?” “you can’t just act like we never fucking happened!” “we didn’t happen, that’s the thing!” you shoot back. “you didn’t want to be with me like that,” your voice wavers, but you force yourself to hold your ground. “so you don’t get to fucking act like this. you don’t get to be jealous, you don’t get to start fights over me, and you sure as hell don’t get to drag me back here like you own me.”

his throat bobs as he swallows. he looks away for a second, like if he doesn’t meet your eyes, this won’t sting as much. like he can pretend this isn’t hitting him the way it is. his fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold onto something—maybe the last shred of whatever this used to be. his breath comes sharp through his nose, the kind that’s meant to steady him but doesn’t do a damn thing. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “i don’t—i don’t own you.” but there’s something bitter in the way he says it, like he hates that it’s true. like he hates that he ever let it get to this point. you’re not his anymore. you never were, really. “then stop acting like it! don’t try to ruin everything just because you can’t handle the fact that i moved the fuck on!” for a second, he doesn’t say anything. his eyes flick over your face, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something worse. but then— “if you had, you wouldn’t have let that motherfucker shove his tongue down your throat right in front of me.” you scoff. “you think i did that on purpose?” he steps in, too close, and you instinctively take a step back. “fuck yeah, you did. you wanted me to see it. you wanted to fucking piss me off.” “you piss yourself off, subong! newsflash! not everything is about you! get over yourself.” “get over myself? you made me look like a fucking idiot out there!” “what the fuck are you talking about?” his eyes flash. “you made me lose the fucking battle, man!” you blink, caught off guard for half a second, then roll your eyes. “first of all, i’m not a man. second of all, don’t blame that shit on me.” “right. it’s never your fucking fault, huh?” he shakes his head. “you just get to do whatever the fuck you want and act like it doesn’t affect me.” you throw your hands up. “if you weren’t such a fucking asshole, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!” “yeah?!” “yeah!”

and then there’s silence. thick, heavy silence. his breathing is still ragged, his hands still curled into fists at his sides. your heart is pounding, your own fists clenched just as tight. then subong scoffs, shaking his head. “you’re so fucking full of shit.” “excuse me?” “you wanna talk about me being an asshole when you’ve been ignoring me for months? like i didn’t fucking exist.” the pain in his voice is evident and it catches you off guard. “i wasn’t—i didn’t ignore you. i was trying to heal. you’re seriously throwing that in my face right now?” “yeah, i am. don’t act like you’re the only one who got hurt.” “don’t do that.” “do what? tell the truth? you fucking blocked me, girl!” “no! don’t—don’t twist shit around just to make yourself feel better,” you snap. “you know exactly why i did it. don’t act like you’re the fucking victim.” “who is it then? you?” he scoffs. “oh, eat shit, subong! you never fucking came to see me!” you throw your arms out, exasperated. “not once! you could’ve fixed this, but you didn’t.” his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “you think i didn’t want to?” “i don’t know what the fuck you wanted!” your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “i called! and texted you every single fucking day!” “and you think that’s enough?! after everything?!” "i almost fucking overdosed!" he yells. "i was at my fucking lowest, and you—" he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you weren't there." you shake your head, anger bubbling in your chest. "don't put that on me, subong. you did that to yourself," you snap, voice sharp. "don't fucking guilt trip me with that." "are you serious?" “what do you want me to say? did you expect me to just forget everything and come back to you like nothing happened? you promised me—how many times?—that you weren’t gonna do that shit anymore, and here we are! and not only are you trying to make me feel like a fucking piece of shit for it, but you’re also acting like this—all of this—is my fault? when you were the one who decided i wasn’t good enough to be anything more than a fuck buddy?”

his expression falters—just a flash of something almost guilty—but then he scoffs, masking it with anger. “you’re really trying to act like you didn’t fucking replace me the second i was gone?” “replace you?” you repeat, incredulous. “you can’t be serious right now. i wasn’t the one fucking other people when we were…. whatever we were!” he freezes, his face draining of color for a split second. “don’t bring that shit up.” “oh, I’ll bring it up, alright. because you can’t say that shit to me when you were too busy screwing around while i was waiting for you to call me your fucking girlfriend.” he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a group of people walk past, glancing over at the scene. a couple of them whisper, eyes flicking nervously from you to subong. his face hardens, irritation flashing across his features, and without warning, he grabs your wrist. “what the fuck are you looking at?” he snaps at them. the group quickly averts their gazes, pretending they weren’t just watching him. he yanks you away and you struggle for a moment, trying to free yourself from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. you’re too caught up in the heat of the moment to really think about where he’s taking you. before you know it, you’re being shoved through a door into a dimly lit room backstage, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that echoes in the silence. the room is small, cluttered with his belongings—bags, jackets, and scattered items. a mirror with round vanity lights casts a dull glow over the space, reflecting the mess on the counter: a half-empty water bottle, energy drink cans, his vape, a lighter, a bunch of candy wrappers and a few crumpled papers.

“you need to stop doing that!” you snap. “dragging me around like i’m—i don’t know—like i’m some puppet!” he ignores your words. “listen,” he says, “i tried to make it right, okay? i did.” “calling me? texting me?” you scoff, disbelief laced in your voice. “that’s what you think making it right looks like? all you ever did was send bullshit messages—half insults, half nothing at all.” you shake your head. “if you actually meant it, you would’ve come to me. you know where i live, where i work—you had every chance to show up, to prove that you actually gave a damn. but you didn’t.” his voice shakes now. “i thought… i thought you didn’t fucking need me anymore! i thought you’d be better off without me!” “better off without you?! that’s the dumbest excuse i’ve ever heard!” before you can stop yourself, you shove him, hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “you were my fucking best friend, you idiot!” your voice cracks as a tear rolls down your cheek, and you have to look away. “and i…” the words tangle in your throat. you swallow hard, forcing them out. “i fucking loved you.”

the words hit him like a fist to the gut. he swallows, his throat suddenly dry. because he knows. he knows exactly how that feels. he’s loved you too—probably longer than he even realized. but he’s never said it. not properly. not in a way that mattered anyway. and now? now it sounds like it’s too fucking late. “loved,” he repeats. “past tense?” you don’t answer. “you don’t—you don’t love me anymore?” the words slip out before he can stop them, and he hates how pathetic they sound, how fucking vulnerable they make him. “subong i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i can’t do this,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “answer me,” he presses, stepping closer, his pulse thundering in his ears. “please.” “i’m not talking about this,” you say firmly, reaching for the door. but he moves faster, pressing his hand against it, keeping you trapped in the small room with him. you squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply. “i don’t want to see you again, subong.” “i do.” “well, i don’t.” “why not?” “because it fucking hurts!” the words barely leave your lips before the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once. “it… it hurts.” your throat burns, and suddenly, you can’t hold it back anymore. a choked sob rips through you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

subong’s eyes widen for half a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with the sight of you breaking down in front of him. but then, without hesitation, he reaches for you. “i know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “i know, baby.” the warmth of him, the familiarity, the way he holds you…it all feels too fucking good. too safe. too much like home. you sob into his shirt, fists clutching at the fabric, body shaking as months’ worth of pain and anger pour out of you. he holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting firm against your waist. “i’m sorry,” he breathes.

you suck in a sharp breath, realization slamming into you. and just like that, the warmth turns suffocating. “no,” you whisper, pushing against his chest. he stiffens. “what—” “get off me.” he hesitates, grip loosening slightly, but you shove harder, forcing space between you. “fuck, subong, what the hell am i doing?” he looks at you, confused, almost dazed, like he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly pulling away. “baby—” “don’t call me that,” you cut him off. “i can’t—i can’t do this with you.” his jaw tightens. “you don’t mean that. you know you don’t.” “i do! because you fucking broke me!” you yell, hands trembling. “and i hate that you still make me feel like this!” you pause, trying to catch your breath, wiping at your face furiously. you hate the way the tears cling to your skin. you hate even more that he’s standing there, watching you cry. you force yourself to steady your voice. “i’m leaving.” “no, you’re not.” he’s there—blocking the door. you let out a frustrated breath, shoving at him again, but he doesn’t move an inch. “subong, move.” nothing. he doesn’t even blink. “is he your boyfriend?” the question throws you off balance. your brows furrow, and for a moment, the anger is eclipsed by confusion. “what?” “that guy. is he your boyfriend?” you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you glare at him. “jesus christ, subong, really?” “is he?” “it’s none of your business,” the words are clipped, laced with venom. his eyes darken. “none of my—?” he drags a hand through his hair, like he’s barely keeping himself together. for a second, it looks like he might actually lose it. “seriously? you can’t even say no?” “why does it matter?!” you snap. “it fucking matters to me!” your heart pounds. you don’t know why it’s so hard to answer, why the words feel like they’re lodged in your throat. his patience wears thin. “fucking hell, just—” “no!” you cut him off. “he’s not my boyfriend, okay?!” you shake your head. “did you fuck him?” “are you serious right now?” “answer the fucking question,” he demands, stepping closer. you scoff, shaking your head. “you’re actually insane.” “fucking answer!” “yes!” the word rips out of you before you can stop it. “yeah, i did. happy now?”

for a moment, he doesn’t react. he just stares at you, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare. but nothing can stop the thought from sinking its claws into him—someone else touching you, having you, getting what he let slip through his fingers. it makes him sick. and it’s his own damn fault. he knows he has no right to be angry. no right to feel this way. but the jealousy curdles in his stomach, and before he can stop himself, the words tear from his mouth like a whip. “you’re a fucking whore.” the second he says it, he hates himself for it. but he doesn’t take it back. your fury is instant, white-hot.“fuck you! don’t call me that!” “i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want!” he snaps. he needs to hurt you, to make you feel even a fraction of what he’s feeling. “you really don’t see how fucking pathetic that is? spreading your legs for some guy who doesn’t even matter?” the words taste like acid in his mouth, but he spits them out anyway. he doesn’t know how else to deal with the anger, the self-hatred he feels. it’s easier to take it out on you than to admit the truth—that he ruined everything, that he’s the reason you were with someone else.

your vision goes red. before you can think, before you can stop yourself, your hand swings up and smacks across his face. his head jerks to the side from the impact, and for a moment, everything is dead silent except for the sharp sound of your ragged breathing. then, slowly, he turns back to you, his jaw tightening, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s tasting the sting of your palm. “did you just hit me?” his voice is low. oh, he’s angry. “yeah, i fucking did,” you say, your hands trembling. “because you’re a fucking piece of shit!” “you’ve got some fucking nerve!” he seethes, shoving your forehead with two of his fingers, forcing your head back slightly. you slap his hand away, your own anger doubling at the touch. “do that again, and i’ll break your fucking fingers, motherfucker,” you warn. “you just slapped me!” “and you called me a whore twice, subong! i wonder how the fuck i was ever friends with you! you’re a hypocrite!” he steps closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “don’t fucking talk to me like that!” “and i told you many times not to fucking point your finger at me!” you yell, shoving his hand away harder this time. so hard his arm jerks back. “who the fuck do you think you are?! you can’t fucking judge me when you’re the one who—”

his patience snaps. he grabs a nearby chair and hurls it at the wall. it hits with a loud crack, rattling from the impact before toppling over. you flinch, but you don't back down. “real fucking mature.” “you don’t fucking get it.” “why do you even care, huh? you have plenty of other girls to fuck, don’t you?” you spit. “so why the fuck does it matter who i’m with? why is it a problem when you do the exact same shit?” he doesn’t say anything. fine. you’re done here. you reach for the door again, shoving past him. “i’m leaving—” “i lied.” his voice stops you cold. slowly, you turn back, brows furrowing. “what?” he swallows hard. “i lied about it. there was never another girl.” you stare at him in disbelief. “i just—i said that shit to piss you off. to make you hate me. but i never—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i never touched anyone else when i was with you.”

your mind spins, struggling to piece together what he’s saying. he’s lying again. he has to be. “you expect me to believe that?” your voice is defensive. “i don’t give a fuck if you believe me,” he snaps back. “it’s the truth.” your throat tightens. there’s something in his eyes, something desperate, something you’re not used to seeing. “why?” he hesitates. his lips part, then press into a thin line. “because i—” he exhales sharply, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to look at you again. “because i love you. i’ve—” “don’t fucking lie to me, subong.” frustration flashes across his face. “i’m not lying, okay?! i’ve—” “sure as hell you aren’t.” “jesus—can i fucking talk?!” you huff, arms crossing tightly over your chest. your jaw aches from how hard you’re clenching it. but you don’t interrupt again. you let him speak. “i’ve loved you for so fucking long, and it scared the shit out of me. you were my best friend and i didn’t—i didn’t know how to do it. how to be with you without fucking it all up.” you shake your head, gripping your arms tighter. “you can’t just say this shit and think it fixes everything,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you loved me, and you never told me. you preferred this… this shit between us rather than just… being fucking honest. you—” your breath shudders and you stop to breathe for a moment. “you’re confusing me, subong.”

he sighs. you can see it in his eyes—the regret, the pain, the anger at himself. then, he steps closer. his hands find your face, fingers gentle as they cup your cheeks. his thumbs move carefully, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling. his touch is soft—so fucking soft it almost breaks you. you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in your throat. you shouldn’t let him do this. shouldn’t let him hold you like this, shouldn’t let yourself sink into the warmth of his hands. but you do. because it’s him. “i’m sorry, baby” he murmurs, his breath warm against your face. “fuck, i’m so sorry.” his voice is lower now, and when you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you—his brows furrowed. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues, his hands steady on your face. “i swear to god, i didn’t.” “but you did.” “i know,” he whispers. “i was a fucking idiot.” his thumbs still trace slow paths along your skin, like he’s trying to ground himself in the feel of you. you try to look away, but he won’t let you. his grip isn’t forceful, but it’s firm—just enough to keep you there. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his brows furrowing deeper, like it physically hurts him to admit it. “no matter what i do—it’s always you.” “don’t—” “it’s the truth,” he cuts in, his hands sliding down to your jaw, his fingers just barely brushing your neck. “i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep thinking about you. every fucking song i write is about you. every stupid little thing reminds me of you.” you shake your head, blinking back tears. “stop it.” “i can’t,” he breathes. “i don’t know how.”

he leans in slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours. “tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll go.” your heart pounds so hard it hurts. he’s so close… and the way he’s looking at you, like he’s daring you to push him away, makes something snap inside you. before he can say another word, you grab his shirt and yank him down, crashing your lips against his. subong freezes for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he groans into your mouth, his hands gripping at your waist as he kisses you back just as hard. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s backing you up, walking you straight into the wall. the impact makes a sharp gasp escape you, but he swallows it down, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth moves against yours.

then it happens—your breath catches, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. he stops. his lips hover just over yours, his chest rising and falling against you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you. “are you okay?” you don’t answer. instead, you pull him back in, your fingers curling around the back of his neck. you kiss him harder, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you pour everything you can’t say into this. his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to pull your head back before pressing his forehead to yours. “tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips. in a broken whisper, you finally say it. “i need you.” he’s been waiting to hear that. for months, it’s been the only thing on his mind—you. every time he got high, every time he tried to flirt with someone else, every time he told himself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter. but it was all a lie. because you did. you always did. and now you’re here, in his arms, needing him. and he’s so fucking mad at himself for wasting all this time, for pushing you away, for pretending he didn’t want this when you’ve been the only thing he’s wanted.

that’s all it takes. he’s on you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours. he walks with you, never breaking the kiss, his fingers pressing into your sides, guiding you until your legs bump against the edge of a small table. before you can steady yourself, his hands move to your hips, helping you up until you’re perched on top of it. his lips leave yours, dragging along your jaw and your neck. one hand slides up, fingers curving over your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. the touch alone makes a soft moan slip past your lips. he swallows the sound with another kiss, deep and greedy, before tugging your shirt up, his palms skimming your skin as he pulls it over your head. his other hand moves with purpose, working the clasp of your bra. the second it falls away, his mouth is on you. you gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you. “gonna make you feel good, baby,” he promises, his breath hot on your skin as he switches to your other breast, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you squirm. his free hand slides down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease before slipping between your thighs. you spread them instinctively, your breath hitching when his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your panties. “you’re so wet for me already,” he says, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark with hunger.

subong takes his time peeling your pants off, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your knees, your ankles. once they’re gone, he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down at the same agonizing pace, his lips following their path. he tosses them aside without a second thought. then he’s on his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as the cool air hits your skin, making you shiver. “let me show you how sorry i am, yeah?” you nod slowly in response. subong leans in, his breath hot against you, and you bite your lip, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. and then his tongue is on you, licking a long stripe up your center, parting your delicate folds, exploring your wetness. you gasp when it finds your clit, your hands flying to his purple hair as his tongue swirls around it in slow circles. “f-fuck, yeah, right there,” you whimper, and he hums against you in approval.

he focuses all his attention on it, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub before sucking it gently into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out as he applies gentle pressure. you feel one of his fingers slide inside you, then two, curling them upwards and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. his tongue never leaves your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with his fingers, and you can feel that familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. your hand travels to the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek as he works you. moans grow louder, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. “subong—” you try to speak, but the words die in your throat—the pleasure too strong. he smirks, feeling you tightening around his fingers. “that’s it, baby” his voice is muffled against you. “cum for me.” and you do, your back arching, knuckles white from gripping the side of the table, a cry tearing from your throat as you fall apart. his mouth never stops, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re boneless, panting.

you try to catch your breath as he stands, pulling you into him, his mouth claiming yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. your fingers tremble slightly as they find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. he shudders under your touch, muscles tensing before he exhales, letting you lift the shirt over his head. it falls somewhere behind him as your hands roam his chest. this isn’t like before. like the other times you’ve had sex. there’s something different in the way his fingers brush your skin, in the way he watches you like he’s afraid to blink, afraid to miss a second of this. you reach for his waistband, tugging at it, and he lets you, his breathing uneven as he watches your hands work him free. his pants and boxers slip to the floor, and he steps out of them, never once breaking contact.

“do you… do you have a condom?” you ask quietly. he stills, his hands resting on your hips as he looks at you. his brows pull together slightly. “no,” he admits, then asks, “do you?” you shake your head. “no.” “shit,” he exhales, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you can tell he’s frustrated—not at you, but at the situation. “it’s… it’s okay. we don’t need one,” you add softly. his head snaps back up. “you sure?” he asks, and you nod. “i want to feel you.” your words are the confirmation he needs. he grabs your thighs before pulling you closer to the edge of the table, spreading them apart to find room between them. his raw tip presses against your clit and you take a deep breath when he starts grinding against you, his stiff dick sliding across your wet slit. you both moan at the feeling, but nothing compares to the gasp that escapes both of your lips the moment he slides inside of you.

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust to the feeling, his hands holding you in place as he sinks in deeper, stretching you around him. you try to steady yourself, holding onto the side of the table with one of your hands again. his breath is uneven, and each slow, measured thrust makes you ache for more. but then his pace shifts. his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back and thrusts in harder and faster. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space between you, mixed with your breathless moans and his ragged groans. when you meet his gaze, his brows are furrowed, his lips parted. you can see it all written on his face: how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s been waiting, how badly he’s yearned for you. he looks like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s afraid he won’t last because you feel too fucking good. “fuck,” he grits out, voice strained, his fingers flexing against your hips. “i missed you s-so fucking much…” his words cut off in a groan, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing to yours as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time. “i missed this… mmm… missed this pretty pussy of y-yours.” he drives into you harder, like he’s trying to claim you, like he’s trying to erase every trace of anyone else who’s ever touched you—muttering curses under his breath like he’s punishing himself as much as he’s fucking you. your nails scrape down his back, leaving red streaks in their wake, and he groans at the sting, at the way you cling to him. “fuck, baby—” he gasps, voice rough. “was he better than me? tell me,” he demands, his thrusts turning brutal, each one punctuating his words. “did he—did he fuck you like this? mmh? shit… did he make you cum like i-i do?” there’s anger in his voice. not at you—at himself. for waiting too long, for not telling you the truth when he had the chance, for letting someone else have you. you shake your head in response. his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “answer me.” “n-no!” you whimper “he… he didn’t, baby. only you—mmph!—only you make me f-feel this good.”

his grip on your chin tightens for a second before he releases you, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat instead. not squeezing, just holding—just feeling you. his pace doesn’t slow, if anything, it gets rougher, like your answer wasn’t enough to satisfy the anger. “that’s right,” he grits out, sweat slicking his skin. “he could never…he could never fuck you like this.” his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into you, making you cry out. you hold onto him, and he loves it—loves feeling you claim him the way he’s claiming you now. and fuck, he needs this, needs to remind himself that you’re here, wrapped around him—that you’re his. “look,” he mutters, commanding. “look how fucking g-good you’re taking me.” your breath hitches as your eyes drop, and fuck—seeing it is different. watching the way his dick disappears inside you, the way your body clenches around him, the way he’s completely buried in you, over and over again… “see that?” he pants. “you were made for me. this was fucking made for me.” his hand moves again, sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, precise circles. “shit—subong!” you let out a broken moan. “y-yeah… fuck, yeah, just like that!” a whimper slips from your lips when subong fists your hair, tugging your head back up until your eyes meet his again. “say it,” he practically pleads. “say that you're mine.” “i-i'm yours!" you gasp, your voice shaking, your whole body trembling from the intensity of him. “i'm fucking yours…mmm… always been.” “i’m yours too, baby.”

his thrusts grow frantic and his breath comes in harsh, uneven bursts. all he can hear is the sound of his name falling from your lips in desperate, breathless moans. he swears he’s never heard something as beautiful. you can tell he is close, holding you in place as he leans over you, his forehead pressing against yours. your body tenses, your gummy walls clenching around him, his fingers still pressed on your clit as he pounds into you, making it impossible for you to hold back. your body tenses, and your free hand clings to the back of his neck with desperation as you kiss him, trying to muffle your whimpering. “gonna cum for me, b-baby?” he whispers, pulling away for a moment. “gonna—mmh! gonna cum on my cock?” you can’t even nod. his words are like a spark, and you can’t hold it back anymore. your body snaps, the pleasure flooding you. “subong!” you cry out, legs shaking. he watches you, his name on your lips, and the sight of you completely undone drives him to the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he follows you, quickly pulling out, his release spilling into your lower stomach. his face contorts, a strangled gasp escaping him as he rides out his own climax. he stays there for a moment, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily, sweat-slicked skin sticking together. “i love you,” you whisper, hands running through his messy hair. “i love you too, señorita,” he smirks, his hand cupping your cheek before leaning in to give you a small peck on the lips. “i missed you.”

subong is a good boyfriend. or at least he tries to be. he still messes up sometimes, still says things without thinking, still gets into fights he shouldn’t, but he’s trying. you see it in the way he waits for you after work, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying to play it cool, but you know he’s been standing there for a while. in the way he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, even though you never asked him to. you see it in the way he always grabs an extra drink when he stops by the convenience store, handing it to you without a word, like he just knew you’d want one. in the way he texts you did you eat? before he even says hello. in the way he always grumbles about carrying your bag when it looks too heavy, but takes it anyway. in the way he lets you steal his hoodies, rolling his eyes when you show up wearing one but never actually asking for it back. you see it in the way he lets you mess with his hair, even when he pretends to hate it. in the way he looks at you, like he still can’t believe you’re his. in the way he says your name, soft around the edges. in the way he tells you he loves you—not just with words, but in a hundred different ways, every single day.

there’s no confusion anymore. no second-guessing, no wondering where you stand with each other. he wants you, and he’s not afraid to say it. he tells you all the time, in every way he knows how. sometimes it’s casual, like when he looks at you in the middle of a conversation, something soft in his eyes, and says, “you know i love you, right?” like he just needs you to know. and then there are times when he’s shameless about it. like the time he made it his entire mission to embarrass you in front of both of your friends, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning as he declared, “isn’t my girlfriend the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen? no offense to you, semi.” there’s a beat of silence before half of them go “what?!” while the others just exchange knowing looks. “wait—dude, since when?!” namgyu asks. “oh, come on,” semi scoffs, rolling her eyes. “like we didn’t all see this coming.” subong just smirks, pulling you a little closer, dropping a kiss to your cheek. he’s here, and he’s yours, and he makes sure you know it.

you’re still best friends. you still laugh until your stomach hurts, still steal food off each other’s plates, still shove at each other like you’re kids. except now he kisses you after. or before. or sometimes instead of shoving you back. he’s still stubborn, still gets on your nerves more than anyone else. he’s not perfect, but he never pretends to be. and maybe that’s what makes it feel so easy. there’s nothing to prove, nothing to question. just the two of you, exactly as you are, exactly as you’ve always been. just you and him.

if you’ve read this far, i love you, let’s get married pookie ong

[carlosainzgf]

A Home (part 11)

Part 1 Part 10

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

From you breaking plates to Niragi breaking down math problems, it’s not that bad is it?

You were supposed to be in the kitchen by now, making breakfast like you always did. But instead, you stood in your bathroom, your fingers curled around the cold edge of the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror.

You didn’t recognize the person looking back at you.

Your eyes trailed over your reflection, the curve of your cheeks, the softness in places that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t much—just a little weight, a little change—but it felt like everything. You hadn’t been eating right. Some days, you forgot to eat at all. Other days, you ate too much, and the guilt sat in your stomach like a stone.

Your hand lifted to press against your skin, fingers hesitating before pinching, testing. You knew it wasn’t healthy. You knew your body was trying to adjust, to survive. But it didn’t feel like survival. It felt like failure.

You exhaled, shutting your eyes for a moment, trying to clear your head.

You killed someone.

Your breath hitched.

You were fine with it yesterday.

You had been fine. You had gone to sleep last night with the weight of it settled in your chest, pressing down but not crushing. It was manageable. You were okay. And now? Now you weren’t. Now it was curling in the pit of your stomach, spreading through your veins like something toxic, something wrong.

What was it? What changed?

Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink harder, knuckles going white. Maybe it was always like this. Maybe this was how it worked—grief, guilt, whatever the fuck this was. Maybe it was supposed to come in waves, rolling in and out, sometimes shallow, sometimes pulling you under so fast you couldn’t breathe.

You opened your eyes again, staring at yourself, searching.

They told you it wasn’t your fault. Niragi said it so easily, so confidently, like it was fact, like it was law. Chishiya already knew you’d come crawling back to him for reassurance, for answers, for comfort in his silence. And when you did, when you curled up beside him in his room, he’d just breathe, slow and steady, and let you believe that if he wasn’t judging you, then maybe you were still worth something.

They told you that you were fine.

You sucked in a shaky breath.

You believed them.

Didn’t you?

Your reflection blurred as your vision turned watery. You shook your head, gripping the sink harder, as if that would anchor you, as if it would stop the thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to be okay.

You were supposed to make breakfast.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you forced yourself to straighten, to take another breath. You pressed your palms against your cheeks, willing yourself to feel something solid, something real.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You forced yourself to turn away from the mirror, not letting yourself look back. You couldn’t.

Instead, you focused on what you could control—your steps, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the way your hands smoothed down the oversized sweater you’d thrown on before bed last night to cover your body up. You walked through your bedroom, fingers briefly grazing the soft fabric of the curtains as you passed, before stepping into the hallway. The apartment was silent, the kind of quiet that always felt too heavy, too unnatural. But you knew better. They were awake.

Niragi was sprawled out on the couch, one arm resting behind his head, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. Asshole. His shirt was wrinkled, like he hadn’t even bothered changing from last night, and his eyes flicked toward you the second you walked in. Chishiya was seated at the counter, cup of tea in hand, his posture relaxed.

But none of that mattered. Not the weight of their eyes on you, not the cigarette smoke curling through the air, not the gnawing in your stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

“Morning.” you chirped, stepping into the kitchen like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t barely holding yourself together.

Niragi smirked, tilting his head as he exhaled a slow drag of smoke. “You look like shit.”

“That’s the first thing you say to me? After I slaved away making sure you two don’t starve every morning?”

He laughed, the rough, low sound of it making something in your chest loosen just a little. It was easier this way. Easier to joke, to tease, to fall into it.

Chishiya hummed from the counter, lifting his cup to his lips. “You’re up later than usual.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful, but you knew him well enough to hear what he wasn’t saying.

Are you okay?

You just smiled, stepping past him to pull ingredients from the fridge. “Guess I needed the sleep.”

That wasn’t a lie. You had needed it. Not that it had done much.

“Or maybe,” Niragi drawled, dragging the word out as he sat up, resting his forearms on his knees. “you were busy dreaming about me.” He flicked his tongue out for a second. “You don’t have to be shy about it.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed things. “In your dreams.”

“In yours, actually.”

You turned your attention back to the stove, heating the pan. “What do you guys want? The usual?”

“Obviously.” Niragi stretched, rolling his shoulders as he stood. “Not like you’d make anything else.”

You hummed, focused on cooking, pretending you didn’t feel his presence getting closer until he was leaning against the counter beside you. He was too close—he was always too close—but you didn’t move away. You never did.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he mocked.

Your hands froze for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to keep moving, stirring the food like nothing had changed. “No.”

Niragi studied you, but before he could say anything else, Chishiya cut in. “Leave her alone.”

Niragi clicked his tongue, but you could feel the way his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he finally stepped back. You swallowed, ignoring the way your heart felt unsteady, the way Chishiya’s gaze was still heavy on your back.

It didn’t matter.

You smiled again, bright and sweet, and turned to place their plates on the counter.

“Eat up.”

~

The shattered pieces of porcelain lay scattered across the floor, sharp edges glinting under the kitchen lights. You stared at them, unblinking, your breath uneven, hands trembling at your sides.

It was an accident.

Just a stupid accident.

You had been washing the dishes—mindlessly scrubbing, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the way your thoughts had been spiraling all day. But then, your fingers slipped. The plate had hit the counter before crashing onto the floor, breaking apart in an instant.

And for some reason, that was what did it.

Not the thoughts, not the memories, not the way your stomach twisted every time you ate, not even the fucking guilt that had been clawing at you since the moment you woke up. No. It was this. A fucking plate.

Your breath came faster, shallower, and your nails dug into your palms as anger surged through you so violently it made your muscles ache. It crawled up your throat, hot and suffocating, making it impossible to breathe. You could feel it in your chest, in your hands, in your legs—this unbearable, burning frustration that made you want to scream, to throw something, to break sixty more plates over your own head just to make it fucking stop.

You wanted to move. Wanted to run. Wanted to destroy something, anything.

But all you did was stand there, staring, shaking, trying to force yourself to calm down. But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t working. It wasn’t—

Niragi stepped into the kitchen, brows furrowed, alert. His face was cautious, not the usual asshole one. You knew why. He could tell. He could always tell when you were on the verge of snapping.

His gaze flicked from you to the shattered plate, then back again.

“You good?” His voice was even, lacking its usual mocking tone.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Your hands twitched at your sides, and you felt yourself unraveling, the words fumbling in your throat, breaking apart before they could even form. You weren’t just angry. You weren’t just upset. You were wrong—off-balance, unstable, unable to even fucking speak properly because the frustration had consumed you whole.

Your breath hitched, and you clenched your fists harder, shaking your head once—sharp, jerky, desperate.

That was all Niragi needed.

His expression shifted instantly. The sharpness in his eyes softened, and his posture changed—less tense, more inviting, like he was making himself safe, warm, just for you.

“Hey, hey.” he murmured, stepping closer, voice low and careful. “It’s just a plate, sweetheart. It’s not a big deal.”

But it was. It was a huge fucking deal. You didn’t know why, but it was.

You shook your head again, trying to get the words out, trying to explain, but they stuck in your throat, twisted and tangled. Your breathing was uneven, your chest felt too tight, and you were so angry that it hurt.

Niragi didn’t push. Instead, he reached out—slow—and curled his fingers around your wrist.

“You’re alright.” he said, voice smooth, easy. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

His words were like a hook, dragging you back before you could fall any deeper into the rage bubbling under your skin. Your pulse was pounding, your muscles were still tight, but—fuck—you listened. You sucked in a shaky breath, and then another.

Niragi hummed, pleased. “Good girl.”

You exhaled sharply, your fingers uncurling, the tension in your shoulders loosening just slightly.

“There you go.” he murmured, stepping even closer, his body a solid presence in front of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but gentle, his thumb brushing over your skin in lazy, slow strokes. “It’s not worth it, is it? Getting this worked up over some broken plate?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head—not in disagreement, just in… something.

Niragi tilted his head, eyes scanning your face like he was reading every little crack, every little weakness. And then, in that sickly sweet voice of his, he said, “You know I hate seeing you like this.”

That made something in your chest stutter.

You blinked up at him, lip trembling just barely, and he took that as his win. He loosened his grip on your wrist, but only so he could trail his hand up your arm, his fingers feather-light as they traced over your skin. It was gentle. He was gentle.

And because of that, you felt the anger start to drain away, slipping through your fingers like water.

“See?” he murmured, dipping his head just enough to catch your eyes again. “You’re okay.”

You let out a breath, shaky and uneven.

He was right.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Niragi had always been good at this. Too good.

It was effortless for him, slipping into the exact role he needed to play, twisting his voice into something soft, his touch into something reassuring. He had spent his whole life mastering control—learning how to push, how to pull, how to break and rebuild. With you, it was no different.

At first, you had just been fun. A challenge. A pretty, fragile thing he could poke at, prod at, just to see what you’d do. And fuck, you had been so easy to figure out. Soft hearted, desperate for connection, a little too quick to forgive. The kind of girl who would rather suffer than let the people she cared about feel an ounce of pain.

It had been so easy to get inside your head.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

He liked the way you trusted him, the way you always came back, the way you never pushed him away even when you should’ve. He liked the way your voice sounded when you worried about him, the way your hands brushed over his bruises without hesitation. He liked the way his name sounded when you said it—not a threat, not scared, but like it meant something.

And right now, looking at you, he hated the way your body was still shaking, the way your hands were trembling, the way your eyes—usually so warm, so full of life—were burning with something ugly.

He hated that you had gotten this angry without him there to stop it.

But most of all?

He hated that it wasn’t because of him.

So, he did what he always did. He fixed it.

His hand trailed up from your arms, slow and careful, until he was cupping the side of your face, his fingers barely brushing your skin. He could feel the heat beneath his palm, the tension still holding you tight, but he didn’t rush you. No, that wasn’t how this worked.

“Breathe.” he murmured again, voice so low, so gentle that it almost didn’t sound like him.

You let out another shaky exhale, your lashes fluttering as you looked up at him.

There it was. That moment of hesitation. That second where you weren’t sure if you should lean into him or pull away. And Niragi? He fucking lived for that moment.

Because you never pulled away.

Not from him.

Not even when you should.

His fingers stroked over your cheek, feather-light, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “You’re too sweet to be getting this worked up.” he murmured, tilting his head. “It doesn’t suit you, baby.”

Your breath hitched, and his smirk almost returned—but he kept it at bay, kept his expression soft, open, safe.

And when he felt your body start to relax, even just a little, he knew he had won.

“There we go.” he hummed, voice dripping with something close to satisfaction. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the broken plate on the floor before quickly darting away.

Niragi followed your gaze, letting out a small breath. “It’s just a plate.” he reminded you. “You’re not gonna cry over it, are you?”

The way you tensed made his stomach flip—like he had almost pushed too far, almost cracked that fragile, delicate thing inside you. But then you took a slow breath, shaking your head, and he knew he still had you.

“That’s my girl.”

You let out a breath, still unsteady but no longer on the verge of ripping yourself apart. Your muscles ached from how tightly you had wound yourself up, but Niragi’s touch was grounding you, pulling you back to something steadier.

You had to talk.

So you tilted your head slightly, looking at your fingers as you flexed them, and let out a soft, almost absentminded hum. “I’ve been growing my nails out.”

Niragi blinked.

You didn’t look at him, just kept turning your hand in the light, examining the way your nails had gotten longer, stronger. “I always used to keep them short, but I kinda like them this way.” you murmured. “I think I might file them into a sharper shape, though.”

There was a beat of silence, and then—

“Yeah? What, so you can scratch my back up real nice?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of your head. “Oh my god, Niragi.”

He grinned. The real kind, not just the usual smirk—an actual grin, the type that made his eyes glint with something wicked. “What? You’re the one bringing up your nails.”

You groaned, but there was no real irritation behind it. Just… something lighter. Something closer to normal. And he could see it, could tell it was working, which only made him push further.

“Bet you’d look real nice with long nails, though.” he mused, tilting his head as if actually considering it. “You could dig ‘em into my shoulders real deep—”

You reached out and smacked his arm before he could finish, but the small, exasperated laugh that slipped out betrayed you completely. “Niragi.”

“What?” He smirked, clearly satisfied with himself. “You want me to shut up?”

“I want you to act like a decent human being for once in your life.” you shot back, but it lacked any real venom.

His smirk widened. “You know that’s not happening.”

You rolled your eyes again, shaking your head, but the tightness in your chest had lessened, the pressure behind your eyes no longer threatening to spill over. Your hands were steady now, no longer shaking.

And Niragi? He fucking knew it.

He watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a small breath. “You do this on purpose, huh?”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“This whole little distraction thing.” He gestured vaguely at your hands. “You talk about random shit when you’re trying not to lose your mind.”

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out.

Because—fuck. He was right.

You did.

You always did.

But before you could even think of a response, Niragi shrugged, acting like he hadn’t just read you completely. “Hey, whatever works.” he said lazily. “At least you’re not about to start breaking shit anymore.”

You scoffed, but the corner of your mouth twitched—just a little. “Does it feel that good to bring it up?”

He grinned. “Are you kidding? You were this close to going completely feral.” He held up two fingers, barely any space between them. “Would’ve been hot, though.”

“Oh my god.”

You groaned again, but it was different now—lighter, easier. You hated to admit it, but… it worked.

Niragi had worked.

When the fuck did he get so wise?

For a moment, there was only silence.

The anger had drained from your body completely now, replaced with something calmer, something warmer. You weren’t sure if it was because of Niragi’s presence or just the exhaustion that followed your outburst, but either way, you felt… better.

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned back against the counter, your fingers brushing over the cool surface. Then, softly—almost hesitantly—you murmured, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

You glanced up at him, tilting your head slightly. “For stopping me before I lost my mind.”

He blinked. For once, he actually seemed thrown off, like the idea of you thanking him was so foreign that his brain was struggling to process it. But then, after a beat, he snorted, shaking his head. “Wow. You’re welcome or what the fuck.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. With a small huff, you pushed yourself up onto the counter, swinging your legs slightly as you settled in. Niragi watched, his eyes flicking down to your bare thighs before quickly dragging back up, and for once, he didn’t immediately say something filthy.

Instead, he leaned against the counter beside you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re seriously thanking me?” he asked, arching a brow. “The guy who makes your life a living hell on a daily basis?”

You let out a small, breathy laugh. “Yeah, well. You’re the same guy who just talked me down from losing my shit over a broken plate, so…” You shrugged, giving him a look. “Credit where credit’s due, I guess.”

Niragi huffed, shaking his head. “Fucking weird.”

You smiled, and then—almost absentmindedly—you murmured, “When did you even get so good at this?”

That made him pause. His gaze flicked to you, something flashing through his eyes. “At what?”

“This.” you said, gesturing vaguely. “At knowing exactly what to say. At calming me down.” You gave him a curious look. “When did that happen?”

For a moment, Niragi didn’t answer. Instead, he just stared at you. His lips parted slightly, like he was going to say something, but then he stopped himself, rolling his tongue over his teeth as he looked away.

You frowned. “Niragi?”

“Dunno.” he muttered, glancing back at you. “Guess I just pay attention.”

You blinked.

That was… weirdly honest.

And coming from him? Even weirder.

Before you could even process it, though, Niragi suddenly smirked, the shift so fast that it was like a switch had flipped. “Or maybe I’m just a fucking genius. Hard to say.”

You groaned. “There it is.”

He laughed, full and unapologetic, and—fuck—you couldn’t help it. You smiled.

So, without warning, you lifted your leg and kicked him.

Niragi barely reacted. He just glanced down at your foot like it was the least concerning thing in the world before slowly dragging his gaze back up to you, unimpressed. “Really?”

You grinned. “Really.”

He snorted. “You really wanna start that?”

You just kicked him again.

This time, he let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head like you were the biggest pain in his ass. “Fucking brat.” he muttered, but he still didn’t move away.

If anything, he leaned closer, resting an elbow on the counter beside you, one hand tucked into his pocket. He was acting all nonchalant, all indifferent, but you knew better. He liked this. He liked your attention, liked that you weren’t upset anymore, liked that you were giggling instead of fighting off the weight of your own thoughts.

You grinned wider. “You deserved it.”

“For what?”

“For being you.”

Niragi scoffed, but before he could fire back, you kicked him again, and this time, it actually startled a chuckle out of him. It was quick, barely there, but you heard it. And it only made your own laughter bubble up, light and easy and genuine.

You had forgotten what that felt like.

And Niragi had given it to you.

“You two are insufferable.”

Your head snapped up just as Chishiya walked into the kitchen, his usual deadpan expression in place, looking bored as fuck.

You were still giggling.

And that? That caught Chishiya’s attention more than anything else.

His gaze flickered to you, briefly scanning your expression, the slight flush on your face from laughing, the lingering sweetness in your eyes. And then, just as quickly, he looked at Niragi.

There was no immediate shift in his expression, no clear reaction, but you had known Chishiya long enough to see the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit.

Because Niragi had gotten to you first.

Niragi had pulled you back from the edge.

And Chishiya hadn’t been there to do it.

You didn’t notice the tension, too caught up in the lingering warmth in your chest, too distracted by the way Niragi was still leaning against the counter beside you like he belonged there.

Chishiya did.

And he didn’t fucking like it.

He leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his eyes flicking between you and Niragi. “You have to play today.”

Your breath caught.

For a second, everything felt like it froze. The laughter in your throat, the warmth lingering from your conversation with Niragi—it all vanished, snuffed out in an instant.

Shit.

You hadn’t forgotten about the game, exactly. But you had pushed it to the back of your mind. And now, with one simple sentence, Chishiya had ripped you out of it.

“Oh, right.” you said, keeping your tone light. “Thanks for reminding me.”

But it wasn’t real.

Chishiya saw it immediately. Your smile, your easy response—it was all a front, a desperate attempt to push away the thing clawing at the back of your mind. Because the last time you had played—

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

Chishiya didn’t move. He just watched you, gaze flicking over your face, your posture, the slight tension in your shoulders that you probably thought you were hiding.

And then his eyes trailed lower. It wasn’t intentional, at first. Just another quick, practiced scan, the same way he always read people, analyzing every shift, every detail. But this time, something caught his attention. The slight curve of your stomach, the softness in your arms, the way your clothes fit just a little differently.

Chishiya’s mind immediately pieced it together. You hadn’t been eating right before. He had noticed it, but he hadn’t said anything—had just kept quiet and watched as you fell deeper into whatever self-destructive spiral had taken hold of you. But now? Now you were different.

You looked… fuller.

Healthier.

And—fuck, he wasn’t about to dwell on it—but there was something undeniably attractive about it. Something real. Something that made his stomach twist, just slightly.

But beyond that, beyond anything else, it told him one thing:

You still needed time.

Your mind was not in the right place for this game. You were still hurting, still recovering, still so fucking fragile beneath all that fake lightheartedness. And even if you weren’t breaking apart right now, Chishiya knew better than anyone how fast things could unravel.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly. “Are you?”

You blinked. “Am I what?”

“Fine.”

Your stomach twisted again.

Fuck, you hated how he did that. How he could just look at you and know, how he could say one word and make your entire act feel pointless.

But you refused to let him see you crack. So you forced a smile, a little too quick, a little too bright. “Of course.”

Chishiya said nothing.

He just watched you.

You knew he didn’t believe you. Not for a fucking second.

You hated that look. Hated how easily he saw you.

“Fine, whatever.” Niragi muttered, rolling his eyes. “Go play your stupid fucking game. Maybe you’ll finally get your shit together.”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

He smirked, all teeth and arrogance, his tone lazy. “What? You still getting all weepy over that guy? It’s not like he was anything special.”

Something cold twisted in your chest. Because—fuck. It was so easy for him to say that, so easy for him to brush it off like it meant nothing. And maybe to him, it was nothing. Just another casualty in a world where people died every fucking day. But you had killed him. You had watched the life drain from his eyes, felt the weight of it settle into your bones, felt it fucking consume you. And now Niragi was sitting here, acting like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t the reason you could barely look at yourself in the mirror some days.

You clenched your jaw. And then, instead of lashing out, instead of letting it get to you, you tilted your head, voice dry and unimpressed. “I literally let you smoke inside this morning.”

Niragi blinked.

Chishiya blinked.

For a second, there was a beat of silence, like neither of them knew how to process that completely random, yet somehow perfectly timed response.

And then Niragi scowled. “The fuck does that have to do with anything?”

You shrugged, expression neutral. “I let you. Which means I could’ve told you to take your ass outside, but I didn’t.” You crossed your arms. “And this is how you repay me?”

Chishiya let out a quiet breath through his nose, looking away like he wasn’t entirely entertained.

Niragi narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I mean,” you continued, pretending to think. “I could just stop letting you smoke in here, you know?” You sighed dramatically. “Maybe that’s what I should do. Since you clearly don’t appreciate me.”

Niragi gawked at you, like you had just personally offended him on a spiritual level.

And then—“You bitch.”

Chishiya actually laughed. It was quiet, barely there, just a small amused exhale—but it was real.

And Niragi hated it.

His scowl deepened, and he pointed an accusatory finger at you. “You loved it when I smoked inside.”

You blinked, face blank. “I hated it.”

“You didn’t.”

You tilted your head, looking unimpressed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.” Niragi huffed. “You made a face, but you didn’t tell me to put it out. And you cracked the window, like you’re pretending you don’t care, but you do.”

You blinked. Then narrowed your eyes. “That’s a lot of detail for someone who claims I love it.”

Niragi opened his mouth. Closed it.

Chishiya smirked.

You crossed your arms, giving him a smug, knowing look. “You notice that much about me?”

Niragi scowled. “Shut up.”

Chishiya let out another quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to. Because you won, and you all fucking knew it.

You were so smart.

~

The waiting area was tense, filled with people you didn’t know and people you didn’t want to know. Some looked desperate, eyes darting around like they were already planning how to run, how to survive. Others were cold, detached—just waiting for the game to start, waiting to see what fresh hell they’d be thrown into.

Chishiya stood at your left, hands in his pockets, looking utterly unimpressed with the entire situation. Niragi was at your right, already talking shit before the game even started, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder as he scanned the room.

“Fucking look at that guy.” Niragi muttered, jerking his chin toward a skinny man hunched in the corner, visibly shaking. “Dude’s already about to piss himself. Bet he doesn’t last five minutes.”

“Niragi.” you hissed, giving him a look.

“What?” He grinned, waving you off. “I’m just saying. Some of these people are practically dead already. Just speeding up the process.”

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t like he was wrong—you had played enough games to know that hesitation got people killed—but hearing him talk about it so casually still made something deep in your chest feel sick.

Chishiya hummed beside you, barely sparing the man a glance. “He’ll probably panic early.” he murmured, tone detached. “Draw attention to himself. If it’s a team game, he’ll be the first one thrown under the bus.”

Niragi snorted. “Good. One less idiot in the way.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

But Niragi wasn’t done. His gaze flicked to another player—a woman standing near the entrance, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She looked strong, confident, but Niragi’s lips curled into a smirk anyway.

“Think she’ll cry if I point this at her?”

Your head snapped to him just in time to see him lift his rifle, not aiming it, but still waving it in the general direction of the woman, as if it were some kind of toy.

“Niragi.” you hissed, reaching for his arm.

Chishiya didn’t even blink. “Probably.”

“Oh, come on.” You shot both of them a glare, gripping Niragi’s sleeve and yanking his arm down. “Can you not?”

Niragi chuckled, letting you pull his gun away like it was no big deal. “Relax, baby. I’m just fucking around.”

“You’re going to get us killed before the game even starts.” you muttered.

“Not us.” Chishiya corrected, still completely unbothered. “Just him.”

“Ha, ha.” Niragi rolled his eyes. “You’re both a couple of fucking buzzkills.”

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “You’re an asshole.”

He grinned. “And?”

You didn’t dignify that with an answer.

Chishiya just smirked, barely tilting his head. “She has a point.” he said idly. “You don’t need to scare them before the game. You’ll have plenty of time to do that after it starts.”

Niragi snorted, clearly entertained by that idea. “Fair.”

A sudden, sharp beep cut through the room.

GAME: EQUATION ESCAPE

DIFFICULTY: SIX OF DIAMONDS

You exhaled slowly, watching as the screen shifted, revealing a set of instructions in large, bold text.

RULES:

Players must move through the Equation Maze to reach the exit.

Doors will only open if the correct answer to the equation is given

If an incorrect answer is given three times, the player will be eliminated.

The difficulty of equations will increase as the game progresses.

The game will continue until all surviving players escape or time runs out.

TIME LIMIT: 1 HOUR

A beat of silence. And then the sound of quiet, nervous shifting—people glancing at each other, trying to gauge reactions, trying to mask their own.

A math game.Not ideal, but it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. At least you wouldn’t have to play alone.

You could feel Niragi at your side, standing a little straighter now that things were getting real, his fingers drumming against his rifle like he was itching for some kind of action.

GAME START.

And then the doors slammed open.

The group surged forward, but you, Niragi, and Chishiya didn’t move right away.

You stood back, watching as the other players hesitated in front of the first set of doors, numbers flashing above them in glowing red text.

8 + 4 = ?

Someone rushed forward, pressing the number 12 on the keypad beside the door. It clicked open instantly, and the group scattered, some bolting through different pathways, others pausing to strategize.

You exhaled slowly.

Alright. Seemed easy enough.

Niragi let out a loud, obnoxious laugh, swinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Seriously? This is the big, scary fucking game?” He scoffed, stepping forward without a care in the world.

You pressed your lips together, already feeling a headache forming.

The three of you walked deeper into the maze, passing through doors as quickly as they came.

35 - 17 = ?

You pressed 18, and the door clicked open.

9 x 6 = ?

Chishiya entered 54 without hesitation, barely breaking stride.

Niragi just trailed behind, watching lazily, letting you and Chishiya do all the work while he swung his rifle around like a toy. “This is fucking boring.” he complained. “What kind of dumbass thought this was a good game?”

You ignored him, already focused on the next equation.

(12 ÷ 3) + 8 = ?

You quickly punched in 12, and the door slid open.

Niragi snorted. “Oh, yeah. Real riveting.” He turned to Chishiya, grinning. “What, you got some kindergarteners back at your little hospital? They’d love this shit.”

Chishiya didn’t even dignify him with a response, just kept moving, eyes sharp as he scanned the pathways ahead.

You sighed. “You could at least pretend to help.”

“Why?” Niragi smirked. “You two are doing great without me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could snap back, the next door came into view.

((45 x 2) ÷ 3) + (16 x 5) = ?

You stared at the glowing numbers, your brain grinding to a halt.

Even Chishiya frowned slightly, tilting his head as he analyzed the problem. It was doable, sure, but the jump in difficulty was insane.

Niragi stepped forward, tilting his head as he studied the equation. “Oh, finally.” he muttered, rolling his shoulders.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “You understand this?”

He shot you an unimpressed look. “What, you think I’m fucking stupid?”

You hesitated.

Because, well.

He hadn’t exactly given you any reason to think otherwise.

But instead of snapping at you, Niragi just huffed, stepping closer to the keypad. “Listen up, fucker.” he said, but his tone wasn’t mocking—it was almost teasing.

You blinked.

“First, you gotta do the shit in parentheses.” he said, pointing at the screen. “So, 45 times 2 is 90. Then divide that by 3—that’s 30.” He tapped the other part of the equation. “Then you got 16 times 5—that’s 80. So now, all you gotta do is add the two together.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

“…Which is 110.” he added, like it was obvious.

You blinked again.

Chishiya hummed, gaze flicking to Niragi. “Not bad.”

Niragi smirked. “Suck my dick.”

You ignored their usual bickering, still looking at Niragi like he had just grown a second head. “…You actually explained that really well.”

He snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

“No, I mean, you—” You frowned, searching for the right words. “You were patient.”

That wiped the smirk off his face for half a second. But then he scoffed, waving you off. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” He said, then clicked 110 into the keypad.

The door opened.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head.

He was an asshole.

But fuck.

He was a smart asshole.

You didn’t know what shocked you more—the fact that Niragi was actually solving these equations like it was nothing, or the fact that he was taking the time to explain them to you.

Like, properly.

Without mocking you.

Without laughing in your face.

And the deeper you went into the maze, the harder the equations got.

((72 ÷ 9) x (14 + 3)) - (50 ÷ 5) = ?

You blinked at the numbers, already feeling a headache creeping in. But Niragi just sighed like this was all so beneath him, rolling his shoulders before pointing at the equation.

“Alright, first off, you divide that 72 by 9. That gives you 8.” he started, his voice slow. “Then you gotta do the parentheses—14 plus 3 is 17. So now you got 8 times 17, which gives you… 136.”

You stared at the numbers, trying to catch up.

“Then, 50 divided by 5 is 10.” he continued, nodding at the last part of the equation. “So now you just take 136 and subtract 10.” He glanced at you. “And that gives you…?”

You blinked, still stuck on the first half of the problem. “…Uh.”

He arched a brow, waiting.

You swallowed. “One… twenty-six?”

His smirk returned. “See? Not so fucking hard, huh?”

You exhaled, more out of disbelief than anything. “Niragi, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“You’re—” You gestured vaguely at the equation. “Good at this.”

Niragi snorted, entering 126 into the keypad. The door clicked open immediately. “Yeah? No shit.”

“No, I mean—what?” You shook your head, still processing. “How do you know all this?”

He gave you a dry look. “I went to school, dumbass.”

You shot Chishiya a look, half expecting him to throw in something, but he just watched. Like he wasn’t surprised by this at all.

You turned back to Niragi. “So, what, you’ve just been keeping this math genius act a secret this whole time?”

He smirked, stepping ahead of you. “Never had a reason to flex before.”

You followed after him, still trying to process the fact that out of everyone—Niragi was the one who had this shit handled.

And, okay, maybe that was a little attractive.

Okay, a lot attractive.

Because he was solving these equations without even thinking, explaining them to you without a hint of frustration, his voice steady, confident, self-assured.

You never thought you’d see the day Niragi looked sexy solving math problems.

And yet, here you were.

You swallowed, pushing the thought away.

(102 - (84 ÷ 4)) + ((19 x 5) ÷ 2) = ?

Before you even had time to freak out, Niragi was already cracking his neck.“Alright, listen up.”

And just like that, he dove in again—effortless, fluid, guiding you through the numbers.

Like he had been made for this shit.

Like it was just second nature.

And you?

You just watched him.

Completely and utterly floored.

The second a new problem flashed onto the screen, Niragi was already breaking it down, solving it with the kind of confidence that made it seem easy.

(((256 ÷ 8) + (15 x 4)) ÷ 2) + 37 = ?

You barely had time to take in the numbers before Niragi scoffed. “Okay, this one’s just trying too hard.” he muttered, cracking his knuckles. “First, you divide 256 by 8. That gives you 32.”

You blinked.

How?

“Then 15 times 4—that’s 60.” he continued, barely slowing down. “Now you got 32 plus 60, which gives you 92. Divide that by 2, and you get 46.” He tilted his head toward the last part of the problem. “Add 37, and that’s…?”

You scrambled to add the numbers in your head. “Uh—eighty… three?”

Niragi grinned. “Ding ding ding.”

He punched in 83.

The door unlocked with a soft click, and he shot you a look, all smug satisfaction. “See?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still dazed. “Holy shit, Niragi.”

He arched a brow. “What?”

You shook your head, staring at him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You’re amazing at this.”

It was supposed to be a simple compliment. A casual, honest observation. But Niragi’s smirk faltered for just a second.

You didn’t even notice at first—you were too caught up in your own thoughts, too busy watching the way he owned these equations like they were nothing.

But Niragi? He felt it.

Because nobody had ever said that to him before.

Not once.

And suddenly, he wasn’t in this fucking maze anymore.

He was back in school, back in that stuffy classroom with too-bright lights and the sounds of laughter that wasn’t friendly—wasn’t nice.

Because he had always been smart.

And for some reason, they hated that.

They didn’t just make fun of him.

They destroyed him for it.

Mocked him. Tormented him. Made sure that every single fucking day was a reminder that no matter how fast he solved a problem, no matter how much better he was—

He would never matter.

And here you were.

Telling him he was amazing.

You—who had no reason to bullshit him, no reason to lie, no reason to say something just to be nice.

You meant it.

And that—

That did something to him.

He didn’t know what, but it fucking did.

“…Yeah.” he muttered, clearing his throat, forcing his usual smirk back onto his face. “I know.”

But when he turned back to the screen, his grip on his rifle was just a little too tight.

~

The apartment door swung open, and you stepped inside first, practically glowing.

Your laughter rang through the space, still buzzing from the high of the game. You were smiling—really smiling—as you shrugged off your jacket, launching straight into conversation.

“That was actually so fun.” you said, turning to face the boys as they stepped in behind you. “I mean, okay, maybe not fun fun, but still—holy shit, Niragi, you were insane.” You grinned, your energy infectious. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do math that fast in my life.”

Niragi just scoffed, tossing his rifle onto the couch like it was nothing. “Yeah, well. I’m gifted.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “No, seriously—I’m so impressed.”

He paused at that. Not long—just for a split second—but Chishiya caught it.

And he understood it, too.

Because he knew what that meant to Niragi.

Even if Niragi himself didn’t want to admit it.

Chishiya shut the door behind him, his eyes never leaving you.

Because you were fucking glowing.

You were talking a mile a minute, hands moving as you replayed the events of the game, that genuine, sweet excitement pouring out of you without restraint.

And both of them just… watched.

Chishiya kept his usual expression, slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket as he leaned against the wall. But inside? Inside, something in him twisted.

Because it should’ve been him.

It should’ve been his moment to show off, to impress you, to have you looking at him like that.

Not Niragi.

But, of course, Niragi was eating it up.

Acting all nonchalant, all smug, like it was nothing—but Chishiya saw the way his grip twitched, the way his shoulders relaxed just a little, the way he let you ramble, let you praise him without cutting you off.

And, fuck.

Chishiya was irritated.

But—he didn’t actually mind this version of you. The excitement, the laughter, the lightness of it all. Because when was the last time you looked this… happy?

They didn’t know what it was—what the feeling was, that unfamiliar warmth creeping in, that quiet, uncomfortable awareness.

But they liked it.

They liked watching you smile, liked hearing you talk, liked the way your presence filled the room.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because neither of them had ever felt that before.

Not really.

Because how could someone love if they had never been loved?

That was the difference between you and them.

You had grown up surrounded by love.

You were love itself.

And they had never experienced it.

Not until you.

Because you loved them.

And they didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t know how to accept it, how to reciprocate it, how to be whatever it was you deserved.

You kept talking. Rambling, smiling, glowing.

And they just stood there. Watching.

Because how the fuck were they supposed to keep up with you?

How were they supposed to understand you, when you were everything they weren’t?

You were warm, open, real. You felt things too deeply, cared too much, loved too easily.

And they—they were just two broken, fucked-up, selfish bastards who had never deserved someone like you.

Niragi slumped onto the couch, spreading his legs, but his gaze never left you. He wasn’t even listening to your words anymore—he was just watching your mouth move, the way your lips curled when you were excited, the way your eyes sparkled when you got lost in a thought.

And he hated that.

Hated that you could be so fucking happy over something so stupid.

Hated that it made you even prettier.

Hated that he fucking liked it.

Because when was the last time he’d ever looked at anything—anyone—and felt something other than the usual burning pit of rage in his gut?

He didn’t know how to deal with this shit.

Didn’t know how to deal with you.

Didn’t know how to deal with the way your voice made his chest feel tight, or the way his hands twitched whenever you got close, or the way it pissed him off when anyone else even looked at you.

Niragi had always been possessive, always been greedy, always taken what he wanted.

But this?

This was fucking different.

And he hated it.

Chishiya, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unreadable as always. But inside, his mind was racing.

Because he had been studying you since the second you walked through that door, picking apart every movement, every shift in tone, every flicker of emotion behind your eyes.

Because that’s what he did. He dissected people. Figured out what made them tick. What made them weak.

And yet every time he thought he had you figured out, you did something that threw him off completely.

Because you weren’t supposed to be like this.

Not after everything.

Not after what they had done to you.

He and Niragi had broken you down, twisted your perception, rewired your thoughts. They had been relentless, selfish, cruel—and yet here you were. Smiling, talking, moving through the room like the darkness hadn’t fucking consumed you.

Like you weren’t drowning in everything they had turned you into.

That unsettled him.

Because it made him wonder.

Had they really changed you?

Or were you changing them?

He hated the idea.

Because if that were true, if you were changing them, then that meant you had power over them.

And no one had power over Chishiya.

Not even you.

Especially not you.

Because love wasn’t something he knew.

He had never needed it. Never cared for it. Never wanted it.

And yet, he couldn’t look away from you.

And Niragi? Niragi was already gone.

Neither of them knew how to love.

But if they did—

It would have been you.

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii

[carlosainzgf]

A Home (part 10)

Part 1 Part 9

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Stay in, get better, get worse, go out, the cycle fucking continues.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the kitchen as you moved around, quietly humming to yourself. You felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t dragging yourself out of bed, weighed down by guilt and exhaustion. You weren’t thinking about blood on your hands, about the way the man’s body had hit the floor, about the sound that still echoed in your skull if you thought too hard about it.

No.

It had passed. It was behind you now. A thing that happened, a moment you had to get through, a mistake maybe—but not one you’d ever make again. It didn’t define you.

And you were fine.

You smelled good, perfume that worked like a love spell clinging to your skin, soft and sweet. Your hair was up, all cute and what the fuck not, and the clothes you wore were comfortable, warm, making you feel safe in your own skin. Pretty.

It felt nice to feel pretty again.

You moved easily, reaching for ingredients, making something simple, something warm. Maybe they’d eat, maybe they wouldn’t. You were still making it anyway. You wanted to.

And it was funny, wasn’t it? How easily you fell back into the habit of giving to them.

Chishiya. You understood him better now—or maybe you just thought you did. Either way, you accepted it. He didn’t just keep things to himself, he hoarded them. His knowledge, his emotions, his attachment to you—because that’s what it was, even if he’d never say it.

And Niragi. Niragi.

He wanted so much, all the time. Craved everything, touch, praise, you. He wanted to drown in you, sink his fingers into your warmth and take and take, but he never wanted to admit it. No, that would make him weak. That would mean he needed something outside of himself. And Niragi didn’t need—he won. He claimed.

You let both of them.

That’s what this was, wasn’t it? You believed them now. That you were fine. That this was fine. That they were fine.

Maybe they were cruel, maybe they were manipulative, maybe they were monsters—but they kept you. Protected you. Gave you something no one else could in this world.

And you didn’t have it in you to resist.

So, you just kept moving, pouring tea, all that.

And you didn’t realize just how lost you were until you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you—and the warmth that bloomed in your chest was instant.

Chishiya was never loud.

You glanced over your shoulder as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over you. The way you moved, the way your hair fell, the way your perfume lingered in the air between you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

“Good morning.” you greeted softly, finishing what you were doing before turning to face him fully. “Did you sleep?”

His brow lifted just slightly, like the question was funny. “Would it make a difference?”

Your lips pressed together, and you sighed. “It would if you actually did it.”

“I function fine without it.”

“That’s not the point.”

Chishiya just tilted his head slightly, like the conversation was already boring him. But you weren’t deterred. You knew him better now. Knew that just because he acted indifferent didn’t mean he was.

“…Want some?” you finally asked, gesturing vaguely to what you’d been making.

He didn’t answer right away, gaze flicking to the food, then back to you. Considering. Like he was deciding whether he wanted to accept something from you or not.

“Sure.”

You smiled at that. Just a little. Just enough.

And then—of course—Niragi.

Heavy footsteps down the hall, groggy grumbling, and then he was there, slumping into the doorway, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You’re loud as fuck.” he complained, voice rough with sleep.

You blinked at him. “I was barely talking.”

He squinted at you, then at Chishiya. “Yeah, well, my ears are too fucking good.”

Chishiya just snorted as he reached for the mug you’d set down for him. “Maybe shooting guns all the time should’ve made you deaf.” he mused, taking a sip. “Shame it didn’t.”

Niragi flipped him off, still half-asleep, then turned his attention fully to you.

And just like that, his annoyance faded. Just like that, he switched gears, all smooth and lazy as he pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer, gaze flicking over you, taking in how pretty you looked, how soft you seemed.

“…You smell good, beautiful.”

“Thank you.” you said, voice light, casual, like it wasn’t a thing at all. You didn’t look away, didn’t shy away, just smiled a little, eyes warm, soft.

His lips quirked into something smug, something self-satisfied, because of course you thanked him, of course you looked at him with those big, pretty eyes and that easy little smile.

He had you.

And Chishiya knew it, too.

From where he leaned against the counter, still sipping from his mug, still watching. Observing. Taking in the subtle shifts, the way you held yourself, the way you carried yourself now.

You were glowing.

Not just from the morning light filtering through the window, not just from the warmth of the kitchen—but from yourself.

From the way you felt in your own skin, from the way you moved now.

Sexy wasn’t just about looks, wasn’t just about the way you dressed or did your hair or wore your perfume. Sexy was mindset. It was energy.

You knew how good you looked, knew how sweet you smelled, knew how you had both of them wrapped around your pretty little finger without even trying.

It was in the way you carried yourself, in the way you let them look at you.

And that was something Chishiya noticed. Because it wasn’t just that you looked good—it was that you knew you did.

“Something’s different about you today.” Niragi mused, eyes sharp, raking over you like he could pick you apart and figure out exactly what had changed.

You just tilted your head slightly, all teasing, playful. “Is it?”

Chishiya snorted softly at that, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Because, oh yeah. Something was definitely different.

And they both knew exactly what it was.

It wasn’t just that you were feeling better.

It was that you were feeling closer to them.

More attached.

And wasn’t that exactly what they wanted?

What they had worked for?

Niragi leaned in a little closer, hands slipping into his pockets, voice dropping just slightly. “You got a little confidence back, huh, baby?”

You just smiled, small, warm, completely unaffected. “Maybe.”

And fuck, that was good.

That was so good.

Because that meant it was working. What they had done to you, what they had given you—it worked.

They were there when you needed them. When you were at your lowest, when you were breaking, they were there.

And now that you were putting yourself back together?

You were putting them in the pieces, too.

It wasn’t even something you realized. Wasn’t something you thought about. It just happened. They were there, and now you wanted them to be there.

And they wanted to be there, too.

Niragi stretched, arms above his head, rolling his shoulders back. He gave you one last once-over before turning away, casual.

“Wake me up when it’s done.” he muttered, already walking off, hands slipping into the pockets of his pants, heading back toward his room without a care in the world.

Like he hadn’t just been sizing you up, drinking you in, taking note of the way you stood, the way you spoke, the way you felt now.

And then it was just you and Chishiya. The kitchen felt quieter now. Not tense, not uncomfortable, just… different. He hadn’t moved much, still leaning against the counter, mug loose in his fingers. But his eyes hadn’t left you.

And they weren’t leaving now.

You glanced at him briefly before turning back to what you were doing, flipping something in the pan, focused. But you felt him watching you.

“Are you going to ask, or just stare at me all morning?” you asked lightly, not looking up.

There was a small pause, just a second or two of silence.

“What was that banging on your door in the middle of the night?”

“It was Niragi.”

“Coming to scream at you some more?” he asked dryly, tilting his head slightly, like he was already predicting the answer.

You smiled, shaking your head, flipping something else on the stove, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

“No.” you said, still soft, light. “He apologized.”

“And you forgave him.” It wasn’t a question.

You shrugged a little, stirring something, keeping your hands busy.

“I mean… yeah.” you said, as if it was obvious, as if it wasn’t even something to question.

Chishiya hummed, and you knew he was thinking. Picking this apart.

Because you had forgiven Niragi. Without even really thinking about it.

Because he had come back.

Because he had come crawling.

Because he had stood there at your door, talking, apologizing, actually trying, in his own messy, chaotic, Niragi way.

You had been spoiled. Had been taken care of all your life. Had been surrounded by love. But even in a perfect world, even with perfect parents, perfect family—people still messed up.

But love meant forgiveness.

Love meant coming back.

And Niragi had.

So you forgave him. Without a second thought.

Chishiya knew that about you now. Knew you were easy to forgive, easy to accept, easy to let things go as long as someone wanted to be better.

And Niragi had figured it out, too.

Even if he didn’t deserve it, you still gave it.

“You’re too nice to him.”

And you just smiled softly, shaking your head a little. “You’ll always say that.” you murmured.

And Chishiya didn’t argue. Because you weren’t wrong. Because it will be always the truth. But he also knew you weren’t going to change.

And that? That was exactly why you were perfect for this.

~

Now you were two seconds away from tearing the entire fucking place apart.

It wasn’t even about one thing. It was everything. The way the furniture wasn’t where you wanted it to be. The way the fucking blanket on the couch wouldn’t fold right. The way your favorite book had been moved—not lost, just not where you had put it. The way the light in the living room was too bright, too yellow, not as dim as it’s supposed to be. The way you were too short to reach the shelf where Niragi had put something, even when you stretched up on your toes, even when you jumped.

It was stupid. It was ridiculous.

But you were furious.

And then, of course, Niragi had to come out, because god forbid you make too much noise without him getting involved.

“You good over there, baby?”

You huffed, still stretching, fingertips barely grazing the edge of what you wanted to grab. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Which was unfair. But everything was setting you off.

Niragi, naturally, noticed.

And loved it.

Because you never snapped at him. Because even when you were upset, even when you were mad, you were still sweet, still soft, still you. But this? This was new.

He let out a low chuckle, pushing off the doorframe, walking over.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he teased, reaching up easily—so easily—grabbing what you were struggling to get, dangling it just above your head, just out of reach.

You glared at him. “Give it.”

He grinned. “What, this?” He held it higher. “This thing you’ve been jumping around like a fucking squirrel for?”

Your jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at your sides, because he wasn’t taking you seriously.

At all.

And that only made you more pissed off.

“Yes.” you bit out. “Give it to me.”

Niragi’s smirk widened, because, fuck, this was fun. He was used to you looking at him with warmth, with patience, even when he was being an ass.

He was not used to you looking at him like you wanted to rip him apart.

And he liked it.

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Say please.”

That almost made you throw something at his fucking face.

“Niragi—”

But before you could lunge at him—and you were about to lunge at him—Chishiya’s voice cut through the room.

“I’d give it to her before she actually kills you.”

Both you and Niragi turned.

There he was, standing in the entrance of the hallway, arms crossed, looking between the two of you like this was nothing but mildly entertaining.

Niragi clicked his tongue, but relented, finally dropping the item into your waiting hands.

“There.” he said, grinning as he watched you snatch it away, clutching it tightly like a prize. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

You glared at him again, but you didn’t say anything, just turned on your heel and went back to what you were doing, your mood still terrible, still storming.

Chishiya watched as Niragi plopped down onto the couch, stretching out, entirely too pleased with himself. Then he looked back at you, gaze scanning over your tense shoulders, the tightness in your jaw. With a small sigh, he walked over and sat down, too.

You were going to explode.

You were already this close to losing it, already wound so tight you could snap at anything, and these two? These two assholes? They were having the time of their fucking lives.

“What is your problem?” you snapped, turning around so fast your hair whipped over your shoulder, eyes flashing, arms crossed so tightly over your chest it was a miracle you could still breathe.

Niragi was sprawled on the couch like he had nothing better to do, stretching his arms out over the backrest, one knee propped up, watching you with that fucking grin. Chishiya, on the other hand, was sitting more properly, at least him.

But it was worse. Because Niragi liked pissing you off. Chishiya was just observing. Like this was a science experiment, and you were some wild animal on the verge of a meltdown.

And neither of them cared.

“I don’t have a problem.” Niragi drawled, tilting his head. “You’re the one stomping around the house like a pissed-off little gremlin.”

You inhaled sharply.

That was not what you wanted to hear.

“I’m not stomping.” you snapped.

“You are.” Chishiya said, finally speaking up, voice flat, unaffected. “You have been for the past ten minutes.”

Your eye twitched.

“You guys are so fucking—” You cut yourself off, exhaling, trying to calm yourself down, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Oh my god.”

You could feel Niragi’s grin widen.

“What’s the deal, huh?” he asked, stretching his legs out, watching you struggle like this was the best show he had seen all week. “You on your period or something?”

You grabbed the nearest thing—a cushion—and threw it at his face.

Hard.

Really hard.

Hard enough that it actually hit him, smacking against his cheek before falling onto his lap.

For a second, there was silence.

Then Niragi burst into laughter.

Chishiya just sighed, rubbing his temple, like this was too exhausting for him to be a part of.

And you? You just stood there, fuming. “You are just insufferable—”

“See?” Niragi cut in, grinning. “That’s exactly what someone on their period would say.”

You let out an actual growl of frustration.

You wanted to hit him again. You needed to hit him again. But he was too fast. He jumped up from the couch before you could grab anything else, laughing, dodging around the coffee table, stepping just out of your reach as you swung at him.

You lunged—he stepped back.

You grabbed another cushion—he ducked.

“Stay still, you little shit!”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” He was still laughing. “You’re so mad. Look at you—puffing your cheeks like a little chihuahua—”

“I hate you—”

“No, you don’t.”

And that? That was the worst part. Because you didn’t. Because no matter how much you wanted to be angry, to stay mad, to keep up this storm of irritation brewing inside of you—they were hilarious.

And they knew it.

Because Niragi wasn’t even running from you anymore. He was just circling the coffee table, grinning, arms up in a mock surrender, staying just far enough away so you couldn’t reach him.

Chishiya was just watching.

You huffed.

This was stupid. This was so stupid. You should have ignored them. You should have kept moving your stuff around, kept sulking, kept doing whatever you wanted to do without their dumbass interference—

But you were already smiling.

Just a little.

That was exactly what they wanted.

“I’m going out.” you announced, pushing away from the table, brushing imaginary dust off your clothes. “Leave me alone.”

You barely made it a step toward the door before Niragi let out a gasp. “What?” He pressed a hand to his chest like you’d just shot him. “You’re leaving? Just like that? Not even a goodbye kiss?”

You turned so fast.

“Are you—” You inhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temple. “You are so fucking annoying—”

“You love it.” he shot back immediately, rocking back on his heels like he was thriving off your frustration.

You threw up your hands. “Oh my god, you can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”

His grin widened.

“You always have to be talking.” you continued, pointing at him, taking a step back. “And you can’t even keep your tongue in your mouth for five seconds.”

He flicked it out immediately, proving your point.

You groaned.

“See?” You gestured at him wildly. “That’s what I’m talking about! You’re so predictable! I knew you were going to do that.”

“Yeah?” Niragi cocked his head. “And you? What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You do this thing.” he started, grinning now, motioning in your direction.

You squinted. “What thing?”

“This thing.” he repeated, stepping forward, moving his hands like he was trying to physically shape the idea. “When you’re mad, you get all—huffy. Like, so huffy.”

“I do not—”

“And your nose scrunches up.” he continued, completely ignoring you, watching your face. “And you make this little noise—”

“I do not—”

“You just did it.” he grinned.

“I—” You paused, blinking. Did you?

No. No, you weren’t going to let him get in your head.

“You’re insufferable.” you muttered, stepping back, reaching for the doorknob.

“I know.” he practically purred, looking so pleased with himself.

You groaned again, swinging the door open. “Asshole.”

“Bitch.” he called after you, voice teasing, following you to the doorway like he was going to make sure you left.

You took one more deep breath, then stepped outside, slamming the door behind you before he could throw another comment at you.

Silence.

For maybe two seconds.

“Come back soon, sweetheart!”

You actually laughed as you walked away.

Fucking Niragi.

~

The house was quiet when you returned. Unusually quiet.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, adjusting to the silence, shifting the weight of the bag in your hands. No sign of them. Your eyes trailed across the living room, locking onto the objects you had thrown earlier. They were… back in place.

Your brows furrowed slightly. You hadn’t expected them to clean up after you. If anything, you had expected Niragi to leave them scattered just to piss you off more.

Huh.

Pushing the thought aside, you moved toward the kitchen, rolling your shoulders. You had filled your time outside productively, collecting what you could. Now, your hands were full, the bags stretching between your fingers as you set them onto the counter. You moved around, unpacking, putting things away.

You didn’t even realize how much you’d adjusted until this moment—until you caught yourself thinking about them.

Chishiya would notice it immediately. He was always quietly aware of these things. Niragi would take advantage of it, pretending like it had nothing to do with you, but he’d still grab something first thing in the morning like it was just conveniently there.

You sighed, closing the last cabinet. Your feet led you before your mind even fully decided, taking you down the hall, stopping at Chishiya’s door.

You knocked—lightly, politely. When no answer, you pushed the door open gently, peeking inside.

Chishiya was in his usual spot, sitting, leaning slightly back like he had been there for hours. He didn’t look surprised to see you. He rarely ever did. His gaze flickered to you, then back to whatever he had been thinking about before.

You stepped inside hesitantly, lingering by the door. “Do you want something?”

Chishiya’s eyes slid back to you, observing, assessing. And then, after a brief moment—“No.”

You nodded, not at all put off by the blunt response. “Okay.”

You lingered for a second longer before stepping back, moving to leave.

But before you could fully turn away—

“You stocked the kitchen.”

A statement, not a question.

You glanced at him, nodding. “Yeah.” You pulled Chishiya’s door shut gently behind you, letting the quiet click settle in the hallway.

Then, without much thought, you turned and made your way to Niragi’s room.

You knocked.

Silence.

Again.

Nothing.

You tested the doorknob, turning it, letting the door creak open just a bit. The room was dark. Empty. No sign of him.

But what caught your eye wasn’t that.

It was the mess.

More specifically—your mess.

Your shirt—your shirt—draped over the edge of his bed like it had been carelessly thrown there. A pair of leggings pooled near the floor by his dresser. A hoodie—yours—half-folded, half-crumpled by his chair.

Your stomach twisted in a way you couldn’t quite place.

His bathroom door was open, the light off, but even from here, you could see something of yours in there, too. A hair tie on the sink. A towel you’d used before, hung over the shower like it belonged there.

Like you belonged there.

You swallowed, stepping back.

Not home.

Okay.

You didn’t think too hard about it. Not now. Instead, you walked back to your room, closing the door behind you. The air in here felt different. Yours. Safe.

A shower. That’s what you needed.

You peeled off your clothes slowly, tossing them into the hamper. The moment you stepped under the water, the heat soothed your muscles, melting into your skin.

Your mind should’ve been blank. But instead, it drifted.

Niragi, your clothes. Not even wearing them, just… having them. Chishiya, watching you, just the thought itself.

You’d been thinking about them too much. Maybe this was just normal now. The thought didn’t scare you as much as it should.

The guy. The one you killed.

Oh, him.

Yeah, that was a fun thought.

Your stomach twisted in that sick, awful way, and suddenly the water didn’t feel so nice anymore.

God. Why did you do that? Like, actually, why? Okay, sure. You knew why. But—

Ugh.

Your fingers pressed against your temples, dragging down your face. You killed someone. Like, actually ended a whole-ass life. Snuffed him out like a candle.

And what made it worse? You couldn’t even remember his face properly.

Was that bad? That was bad, right?

You had one job. One job. If you were going to be traumatized about this, you could at least remember the guy.

But no.

Great.

All you got was flashes. A body. A noise. Blood. The blood part? Vivid. Oh, yeah, no problem remembering that part.

God, why was your brain like this?

You let your head thud against the shower wall.

You were fine. You were fine.

It happened. It passed.

Right?

…Right?

The worst part? The part that made your stomach lurch in this guilty, sick, wrong way? It wasn’t even that you killed him. It was that, when you really thought about it—when you really let your mind wander—you weren’t sure if you’d even care if you remembered his face.

Fuck.

You needed to get out of this shower.

But the heat was too nice, seeping into your skin, melting into your muscles, keeping you there, as if it could wash away the thoughts clawing at the back of your skull.

Except, it didn’t.

Your thoughts were stubborn little things, and they stuck to you like wet clothes, clinging even as you tried to shake them off.

First, there was him. The dead guy. The one you killed. But then, as if your mind needed a break from that particularly awful line of thinking, it veered sharply into another direction—

Your clothes.

In Niragi’s room.

Oh.

Oh.

That was. Interesting.

Because, sure, you’d known for a while that he wore your things sometimes—your oversized sweaters, things that smelled like you—and yeah, it was weird, but it was Niragi.

Weird was kind of his whole thing.

But leggings?

Leggings?

What the fuck did he need leggings for?

Your stomach twisted in this awful, humiliating, almost thrilling way. You had thoughts. And they were bad. Very, very bad.

Y/N, stop.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead against the tile.

This was so not the time to be thinking about Niragi jerking off.

Like, literally, at all. But the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. It just sat there, smug and taunting, until your brain did the worst thing it could possibly do—

You could see it. Could see him, sprawled out in that stupidly comfortable chair in his room, your leggings clutched in his fists, his head tipped back, mouth slack, breathing ragged—

STOP.

You actually let out a strangled noise, face burning hotter than the water, and you hated it.

Hated that you were thinking about this. Hated that you could picture it so well. Hated that, deep down, buried under layers of shame, under all the embarrassment and why are you like this—you didn’t even mind it. And wasn’t that just the worst fucking part?

You were done. Done with this shower, done with your thoughts, done with everything.

You sighed, eyes fluttering open, staring at nothing in particular before finally—finally—shutting the water off. The loss of warmth made you shiver, goosebumps prickling across your arms as you reached for a towel.

Okay. Okay.

You were fine.

Ignoring your reflection—because not dealing with that right now—you padded across the bathroom, wrapped up all nice in your towel, steam rolling past your ankles as you stepped into your room.

The air was cool against your damp skin, sending another shiver up your spine as you rubbed the towel over your arms.

Your bed looked so inviting. Fluffy blankets, pillows stacked just how you liked them.

You needed to get dressed first. So, reluctantly, you made your way to your dresser. You slipped the clothes on slowly, still warm from the shower, still thinking too much.

You hated when your brain did this. When it latched onto something and wouldn’t let go. You weren’t even thinking about him anymore. Not really. You were just thinking. About everything. And it was exhausting. So, you did the only thing you could do.

You threw yourself into bed.

Face first.

Let out a breath.

Tried to clear your mind.

…Hm.

Okay.

~

Knock, knock, knock.

You groaned into your pillow, eyes squeezing shut again.

Who the fuck—

The door.

It was your door.

Your brain was still in that half-asleep, half-awake place, limbs heavy, body sluggish as you barely lifted your head.

Another knock. A little firmer this time.

“Hey.” Niragi’s voice was muffled through the door. “Get up.”

You sighed, rolling onto your side, still unwilling to fully open your eyes.

No.

You weren’t ready for him.

Another knock. “Y/N.”

Fine. Fine.

You sat up with another sigh, stretching as you dragged yourself to the door, switching the light switch on as you did.

The second you pulled it open, you blinked.

Because Niragi was standing there.

Holding flowers.

Some wildflowers, a few random ones that looked like he had just grabbed whatever he thought looked nice, some with dirt still clinging to the roots, all bunched together in his fist, a little crumpled, a little messy—

Your sleepy brain short-circuited for a second.

And Niragi, standing there, stared at you expectantly. Like he wasn’t holding fucking flowers at your doorstep.

You stared at them.

Then at him.

Then at them again.

And when you didn’t say anything, Niragi rolled his eyes, shoving them forward.

“Take ‘em.”

You blinked again, slowly lifting your hands to take them from him. They were warm. Had he been holding them this whole time?

Still staring, still processing, you glanced back up at him. “…You picked these?”

Niragi scoffed. “Yeah, no shit. You like flowers, don’t you?”

You did.

“But why?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Because.”

“…Because what?”

“Because—” He scowled, looking away for half a second, before sighing. “Because you were pissy earlier, and I don’t wanna hear you bitch about it all day, alright?”

You blinked again. Then—against your will—your lips twitched. Because that was so Niragi. Even when he was being nice, he had to be an asshole about it. Still, your fingers curled around the stems, brushing over the petals as you finally let yourself smile.

“…Thank you.”

Niragi just tched, looking anywhere but at you, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t go all emotional on me about it, yeah?”

A little beaten up, a little wild, but—they were yours.

And Niragi picked them for you.

…Huh.

He was still standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes flicking anywhere but at you. A little tense, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now. Like he had just realized what he’d done—bringing you flowers like some lovesick idiot—and now he didn’t know how to play it off.

And you—you—with your little crumpled bouquet in your hands, with your sleepy voice and warm skin and that soft, soft smile—you just tilted your head at him.

Then, without a word, you lifted up on your tippy toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Niragi fucking froze.

It was instant—his entire body going stiff, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers curling into fists in his pockets, like he physically stopped functioning for a moment.

And you? Completely unaware. Because you were already stepping back, already smiling at him, already clutching the flowers like some sweet little angel as you murmured “Good night, Niragi.”

Click.

The door shut.

Just like that.

Like you didn’t just press your soft little lips against his fucking cheek like it was nothing.

Niragi was still standing there. Blinking. Processing. Hand twitching at his side, itching to reach up, to touch where you’d—he exhaled, jaw clenching, rolling his shoulders back before turning around.

Fine.

Fine.

He could deal with this later. For now, he needed a fucking cigarette.

(If evil why so bbg!!)

~

The next day, you moved around the apartment like a little bird, flitting from one thing to another, chattering sweetly as you went.

“You both leave your mugs everywhere.” you sighed, picking up a half-empty cup from the coffee table. “One of these days, I’m gonna stop cleaning up after you. You’ll just wake up surrounded by your own mess.”

Chishiya just hummed in response from his place on the couch, watching you with that cat-like expression.

Niragi stretched out, lazy and unbothered, arms draped over the back of the couch as he snorted. “Yeah, right. You like cleaning up after us.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “I don’t.”

“You do.” he insisted, smirking. “You like taking care of people. You’re like a little housewife.”

You scoffed, but your cheeks warmed. “I’m not—”

“Where’s my breakfast, then?” Niragi teased, tilting his head. “What kind of housewife doesn’t have breakfast ready for her man?”

You threw the dish towel you were holding straight at his face.

Chishiya let out a soft little huff.

And you—god, you were just radiant. There was something so sweet about you like this. Still soft, still warm, still delicate—but now bright, now talkative, now glowing.

And they noticed. They definitely noticed. Because this—this—was exactly what they wanted.

This was why they did what they did.

They broke you, and now, look at you. Smiling. Happy. Clinging to them like they were your fucking saviors.

Chishiya, watching you with his knowing eyes, tilted his head slightly.

Perfect.

You had no idea.

No idea how narcissistic he truly was. How he liked being needed. How he liked being the one you turned to. How he liked knowing that he had successfully rewired you, whether you realized it or not.

Because now, you weren’t just surviving. Now, you were surviving with them. You weren’t pulling away anymore. You weren’t shutting down, weren’t drowning in guilt, weren’t resisting their hold.

You were falling.

Falling right into their arms.

And they were so fucking selfish, both of them. Because they were keeping you there. Because they wanted you there. Because they needed you there.

Niragi, sprawled across the couch, let his dark eyes flick over you as he watched you move.

Like this, you were even prettier.

Like this, you weren’t just their little doll—you were their sunshine.

“You’re getting cocky.” you said, flicking a glance at Niragi as you continued tidying up.

“Getting cocky?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Babe, I was born this way.”

You snorted. “Born an asshole, then?”

“Born perfect.” he replied smoothly, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, flashing a sliver of his stomach. A move that was so intentional, so practiced, that it should’ve been nothing.

Just another game. Just another way to get under your skin.

Flirting was second nature to him. He knew how to use his mouth, his face, his lean body like a weapon. He didn’t have to try—it was just who he was.

It never meant anything.

But now something felt… different.

He’d sleep with you in a heartbeat, no fucking doubt about that. Hell, he’d make you cry on his cock just for fun if you let him. He was still Niragi, still a twisted fuck, still selfish to his core.

But—

Ugh.

Something about this whole thing was weird.

Because normally, he wouldn’t give a fuck what happened after.

He’d take what he wanted and move the fuck on.

But with you, the thought of after was… sticking. Like an annoying little itch in the back of his brain.

Because what if he did get you in his bed? What if he did make you fall apart under him?

Would you still look at him like this in the morning? Would you still smile at him, call him cute names, get on your little tippy toes to kiss his cheek? Would you still make him breakfast? Would you still—

He stopped himself there.

No.

That wasn’t how he thought. That wasn’t how he worked.

He wasn’t some loser fuck. He wasn’t some lover boy.

He just liked playing with his food before he ate it.

That was all.

That was all.

And yet—hr shifted slightly, eyes flicking toward Chishiya, who was still watching you with that knowing stare.

Fucker.

Chishiya had already figured out that something was off. Of course he had. Because Chishiya noticed everything. He was watching you like he was actually invested.

Which was… different.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to care. Not that he’d ever admit it, not that he’d ever let it show—but Niragi wasn’t fucking stupid.

Chishiya had his own thoughts, his own little attachment issues that he was clearly keeping quiet about.

Because as much as Niragi liked playing with his food before he ate it—Chishiya didn’t eat at all. He collected. He kept.

And you—you were starting to look an awful lot like something Chishiya wanted to keep.

Niragi pulled a cigarette from his pocket, tapping it against his wrist, when you plucked it from his fingers.

“Hey—” His head snapped to you.

You turned the cigarette in your hand, studying it like it was some kind of puzzle. Then, casually, you brought it up and snapped it in half between your fingers.“That shit’s unhealthy.”

“Are you my mother now?” he teased, watching as you tossed the broken cigarette onto the coffee table like you made the rules.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you need one?”

Chishiya huffed a quiet laugh from his place on the couch, his arms still crossed as he leaned back. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Niragi, on the other hand, tilted his head, watching you with narrowed eyes. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, gaze dragging lazily over your face.

“Not really my kink.” he mused. “But, you know, I wouldn’t mind you bossing me around in a different setting—”

Your hand shot out, pressing over his mouth before he could finish that thought.

“Enough.”

His lips parted under your palm, his sharp teeth flashing in something that could’ve been a grin or a bite. You yanked your hand back before you could find out.

He laughed. “Pussy.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t rise to the bait, already turning your attention elsewhere. Your hand found Chishiya’s head instead, fingers slipping into his soft, ridiculously fluffy hair as you absently smoothed it down.

His eyes lifted to you, something unreadable flickering across them as he allowed the touch without protest.

“At least you don’t have disgusting habits.” you murmured, your thumb brushing against the side of his head as if to soothe him instead of yourself.

Chishiya didn’t respond, didn’t even move. But his gaze lingered on you—assessing, observing, collecting little bits of you like they were his to keep.

Because of course he did. Because of course he’d just sit there, letting you stroke his hair like some cat, letting himself pretend—

What, exactly? That he liked it? That he wanted it? That it meant something? That he was capable of feeling anything at all?

“Look at you.” Niragi said, smirking. “So motherly today.”

You flicked your gaze back to him, unimpressed.

“You wish I was your mom, don’t you?” you said dryly. “Explains why you always act out for attention.”

Niragi let out a loud, mocked gasp. “Damn, baby.” he drawled. “Are you tryna fix me now?”

You sighed dramatically. “No, Niragi. You are far beyond saving.”

“Aw.” He grinned, leaning in slightl. “Good. I’d hate to lose all this.”

You shot him a look before your fingers gave one last, gentle sweep through Chishiya’s hair, then finally withdrew your hands from it.

Chishiya let out a small exhale, but nothing changed in his expression. If anything, he looked bored.

Like you hadn’t just been stroking his hair like you cared for him. Like it hadn’t even registered.

Niragi watched the whole exchange with a look—like a fucking sassy one(for an example, the clip of him in the background when Ann is talking, first season eighth episode I think?? Not sure don’t listen to me)—before shaking his head with a scoff.

“Anyway.” he muttered, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “Back to more important matters—someone owes me a cigarette.”

You didn’t even glance at him as you grabbed another cigarette from his pocket, crushed it in your palm, then dropped it onto the table with the first one.

Then, without a word, you stood and left the room.

Niragi stared.

Chishiya chuckled.

You reappeared barely a minute later, a hoodie in your hand. Without a word, you tossed it straight at Niragi, hitting him square in the face.

“The fuck?” He yanked it off his head, glaring at you.

“You can smoke,” you said sweetly. “outside.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Not kicking you out.” you corrected, tilting your head. “Just strongly encouraging fresh air. You know, for your lungs.”

Niragi scoffed, tossing the hoodie over one shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

You smiled. “Yeah? So will I. With the windows closed.”

At that, he laughed, resting his elbow on the couch as he gave you a look.

“You do realize,” he said. “that this apartment has massive fucking windows, right?”

You waved a hand. “That’s not the same.”

He smirked. “It’s exactly the same.”

“Niragi.” you said patiently. “Go outside.”

He sighed, dramatically standing up, pulling on the hoodie. “Man, you’re no fun.”

You smiled sweetly. “I just love you too much to let you ruin your pretty lungs.”

He only chuckled, heading for the door, but not before turning back and sticking his pierced tongue out at you before he left.

Then you turned, only to find Chishiya watching you.

“What?”

Chishiya’s lips curled at the corners, just slightly. “Nothing.” he said. And yet, he kept looking.

You hummed as you continued to move around the apartment, picking things up and setting them back down in different places, even if they didn’t necessarily need to be moved. It was just something to do, something to keep your hands busy.

“You like taking care of him.” he said casually.

You blinked, glancing over. “Who?”

Chishiya just looked at you.

You exhaled a small laugh. “Oh. Niragi.”

He tilted his head, noncommittal.

You smiled faintly, fixing a little decorative bowl on the table. “Well… someone has to.”

Chishiya huffed a soft breath through his nose, like he found that funny. “Not really.”

You turned to face him, crossing your arms. “What?”

“You don’t have to take care of him.” he said simply. “He’s survived just fine without you.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shrugging lightly. “now he has me.”

Chishiya’s lips curled at the corners, but it wasn’t exactly a smile. “And what does he do for you?”

Your brows pulled together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chishiya said, leaning back against the couch. “you’re always so good to him. You check on him, make him food, worry about him. But what does he do for you?”

You opened your mouth. Then hesitated.

“I mean, he’s—” You faltered. “He’s nice to me.”

Chishiya’s expression didn’t change.

“Sometimes.” you added quietly.

He tilted his head. “So you like him because he’s sometimes nice?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

Chishiya hummed. “You have low standards.”

You gasped a laugh, staring at him. “Excuse me?”

He just shrugged, like it was fact.

“Chishiya,” you said, exasperated. “he’s my friend.”

“Sure.” Chishiya murmured. “If you can call that a friendship.”

You sighed, dropping onto the couch beside him. “What’s your problem?”

Chishiya exhaled a small breath, tipping his head back against the cushion. “No problem.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t like him.” you pointed out.

Chishiya’s lips twitched. “That’s not a secret.”

You huffed. “You don’t have to like each other.”

“Good.” he said lightly. “Because I don’t.”

You rolled your eyes.

Chishiya shifted slightly, watching you again. “Just seems unfair.”

You frowned. “What does?”

Chishiya lifted a shoulder. “You give so much.” he murmured, gaze flickering over your face, like he was searching for something. “What does he give you?”

You hesitated.

“He apologizes.” you said finally.

Chishiya huffed a quiet breath, like that only proved his point.

“And I like talking to him.” you added, almost defensive now.

Chishiya studied you for a moment. He was an observer. He had always been. It was easy to sit back, watch people, study them, and learn how to manipulate them without ever having to lift a finger. People were simple. Predictable. They wanted comfort, validation, love—all things he had no real interest in, except when it suited him. He didn’t care to be loved, nor did he particularly need anyone, but he did enjoy being chosen.

That was why you fascinated him. You were soft, emotional, easy to read—and yet, you had a way of making people want to take care of you, even if they didn’t deserve you. It wasn’t just Niragi. Chishiya had seen it from the moment he met you. The way you tilted your head when you listened, the way you smiled when you spoke, the way you looked at someone like they were important. It was a power all on its own, one you didn’t even seem aware of.

And Niragi? Of course he latched onto you.

Chishiya had seen it coming from a mile away.

What bothered him was that you let him. That you let Niragi hover close, let him spew his manipulative little games, let him turn soft just to reel you back in. Chishiya recognized the behavior well—he did it himself. The only difference was, he wasn’t sloppy about it. Niragi was obvious. Desperate. Chishiya preferred patience.

And that was why he was winning.

Because despite everything, despite how much you liked Niragi, it was Chishiya you sat next to. It was Chishiya you told things to, the one you confided in.

The one you came to.

He knew how to make people rely on him.

It was easy.

And he was so fucking good at it.

“Good thing I’m a better conversationalist.” he murmured.

You narrowed your eyes at him, playful. “That’s debatable.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, amused. “Is it?”

You sighed sharply, shaking your head, but you were smiling.

He noticed the way you did that now. Smiled more. Looked happier. The cracks were still there, deep beneath the surface, but you weren’t breaking anymore.

He and Niragi had made sure of that.

And now, they got to keep you.

You heard Niragi before you saw him—his footsteps were always loud, like he wanted people to know he was there. It was the exact opposite of Chishiya, who moved like a shadow. Niragi, though, was presence.

“Miss me?” he drawled, stepping back into the apartment.

You looked up from where you were sitting on the couch next to Chishiya, watching as Niragi shook off the hoodie you gave him. His hair was a little damp at the ends, strands sticking to his forehead from the humidity outside.

“Not really.” you hummed, tilting your head with a teasing smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Liar.”

You shrugged, standing up and stepping closer, glancing at the cigarette still tucked between his fingers. “Did you at least enjoy your little smoke break?”

“Not really.” he mimicked you, grinning.

You reached out without thinking, plucking the cigarette from his hand and snuffing it out in the nearby ashtray—what you only had for decoration until now. “Then I guess we both missed out on something.”

He watched you, the piercing on his tongue swiping across his lip. “Yeah? And what did you miss out on?”

You ignored him, just rolled your eyes at him before heading toward the kitchen.

“Want anything?” you asked over your shoulder.

Niragi let his gaze linger on you for a moment before shaking his head. “Later.”

You nodded and moved to grab a glass of water for yourself, ignoring the feeling of Chishiya’s gaze burning into the back of your head. He had been watching—he always watched, but something about the way he was looking now felt different.

When you turned around, Niragi was already making his way toward his room.

And then, it was just you and Chishiya again.

You sighed, flopping back onto the couch beside him, sipping your water. He didn’t say anything right away, just observed you, as he always did.

“You’re easy to please.” he said.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He gestured lazily toward the hallway where Niragi had disappeared. “He walks in with a few flowers and suddenly, all is forgiven.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “I don’t think I was mad at him.”

“That’s not the point.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then what is?”

He gave you a slow, knowing smile. “You.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but of course—he didn’t. That was just how Chishiya worked. He never explained anything, he just said things that made you think, things that lingered in your head long after the conversation was over.

And this time, you weren’t sure you wanted to think about it. So, instead, you just huffed, looking away. “You don’t bring me flowers.”

“You don’t need them from me.”

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip. Chishiya always said things like that—things that meant nothing and everything at the same time. And maybe, deep down, you knew what he was doing. The way he talked, the way he looked at you, the way he made sure you knew he was different from Niragi.

It was all intentional.

Because at the end of the day, Chishiya didn’t fight for things—he just made sure they came to him.

And you were already falling right into place.

(Y’all I know there’s a lot more Niragi interactions compared to Chishiya and it’s on purpose. I’m not picking favorites, it will add up I promise. I have shit planned.)

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii

[carlosainzgf]

A Home (part 9)

Part 1 Part 8

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

(Hello! Thank you SO much for all the support, no words can describe what I feel when I read the comments y’all leave. Also, notice or no idea what to call this, the parts will come slower. It was good publishing every day, but that was only because I had the whole days, and now break’s over. Plus this ass education system in my country takes phones away while you have classes. The point is, the parts will take longer to come, but I’ll do my best to satisfy y’all!! Love you<3)

The first thing you noticed was that the room was still dark. It took you a moment to register where you were, to remember why the ceiling above you wasn’t your own, why the air smelled faintly of something different, why there was the faint rustling of fabric nearby.

Chishiya’s room.

You blinked sleep from your eyes, stretching slightly, and turned your head—only to find him still sitting there.

“…Do you even sleep?” Your voice was groggy, but there was something almost teasing in the way you asked it.

Chishiya barely reacted, just shifted his gaze toward you. “Not much.”

You frowned, pushing yourself up slightly. The bed was warm, and you almost didn’t want to leave it, but you leaned back against the headboard, staring at him. “…Why?”

He shrugged. “Don’t need to.”

You sighed, rubbing at your face. “You’re human, you do need to.”

His lips curled slightly, he liked your concern. “You sure about that?”

You gave him a tired little glare, and he let out a quiet exhale through his nose—probably the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever get from him.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the world outside. It was strange. This feeling.

It felt… comfortable.

Which made no sense, because nothing about this world was comfortable.

It felt safe.

You shouldn’t feel safe with him. You shouldn’t feel safe with anyone here.

But you did.

“…Thank you.” you said suddenly, your voice quiet.

He didn’t ask for what. He didn’t need to.

For listening. For letting you stay. For just being there, in some strange, detached way that still somehow made you feel less alone.

Chishiya looked at you for a moment, before shifting his gaze away, his fingers tapping idly against his knee. “…Don’t mention it.”

That meant more than anything else he could’ve said.

You didn’t want to move. The bed was warm, the room was quiet, and Chishiya—though distant, though unreadable—was still there. And you needed that right now. You needed something steady, something real, something that didn’t feel like it would crumble beneath your hands the moment you tried to hold onto it.

But you couldn’t stay here.

So, even though it felt wrong, even though it felt like peeling yourself away from something that had already started sinking into your skin, you forced yourself to move.

The sheets rustled as you climbed out of the bed, your limbs sluggish, your body heavy with exhaustion you hadn’t shaken off in days. Your feet met the cool floor, and it sent a shiver up your spine—reminding you.

You were still here.

Chishiya didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you as you moved. Watching.

He knew.

Of course he knew. He always knew.

How bad you felt. How much you wanted to disappear into the floor, how you were drowning in everything you’d done, in everything you were feeling.

And yet, you still moved. Still tried to pull yourself together, still tried to be something—something more than the wreckage they were molding you into.

But you were soft.

You were so soft. Even while you felt like you were dying inside, you were still trying. Trying to be good. Trying to be kind. Trying to be something more than the weight of the guilt pressing into your chest.

And Chishiya saw it. He saw how easily you could break, how easily you could give in.

And maybe you already had. Maybe you were already sinking, already slipping into their hands, already letting them have you.

And you didn’t even know it.

You thought you were still yourself.

But your mind was melting, wasn’t it?

Just a little.

Just enough that you didn’t push them away anymore. Just enough that you believed them. Believed that it was okay. Believed that it wasn’t your fault. Believed that they were safe. That they wouldn’t hurt you. That they wouldn’t break you. That they cared.

And you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

Didn’t realize that when Niragi touched you, when he leaned in too close, when his voice was too soft for a man like him—you let him.

Didn’t realize that when Chishiya sat there, quiet and patient, his voice a slow, comforting murmur against your ears—you listened.

Didn’t realize that every time they looked at you, every time they pulled you further into them, every time they whispered to you—you believed them.

And you wanted to.

Because if you didn’t, then what was left?

Nothing.

Just the guilt.

Just the weight of it all, pressing down on you, making it harder and harder to breathe.

But with them? With them, it was easier. With them, you weren’t alone. And wasn’t that all you ever wanted?

You walked over, opened, then closed the door behind you without looking back.

And when you turned your head, there he fucking was.

Niragi.

Standing there in the dim hallway, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted just slightly—watching you like a predator that had been waiting all night to pounce.

His eyes were dark, narrowed in a way that made your stomach tighten. But it wasn’t anger, not really. It was something else.

Something like frustration.

Something like possessiveness.

Something like jealousy.

And you knew exactly why.

Because it wasn’t his bed you were in.

Because when you couldn’t sleep, when you wanted comfort, when you needed someone, you hadn’t gone to him.

Even though he’d offered. Even though he told you his door was open.

Even though he wanted you to.

And you hadn’t.

And fuck, he felt that.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you’d done something wrong. Even though you hadn’t, even though nothing happened, even though it was just Chishiya—just his presence, just his company, just the fact that you needed someone—you still felt bad.

Because of the way Niragi was looking at you.

Like you owed him something.

Like you had betrayed him.

His lips twisted, his tongue running over his teeth before he finally scoffed.

“Well?” His voice was sharp. “Got anything to fucking say?”

You blinked, taken aback. “I—”

“What, couldn’t sleep?” His head tilted further, mockingly, his lip curling like he wanted to laugh. “Needed someone?”

Your stomach sank.

“It wasn’t—”

“It wasn’t what?” he cut you off, stepping closer, making you tense.

You shrank back instinctively, but he just kept coming, kept closing in, kept looking at you with that fucking look.

Like he was pissed.

Like he was hurt.

Like he hated this.

And you hated it too.

You hated that you felt guilty. Hated that his voice made your chest tighten, made your heart clench, made you feel like you had done something wrong. Hated that you cared. But you did.

And he saw it.

And fuck, he used it.

“Aw, baby.” he cooed suddenly, his voice dropping into something so much gentler, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek. Switching up, just like that. His fingers brushed against your skin, warm, slow, his touch making you shiver. “You look so guilty.”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean—”

He shushed you. Actually shushed you.

The pad of his thumb brushed under your eye, tracing, stroking, and suddenly you weren’t standing in the hallway anymore. Suddenly, you weren’t trapped under his gaze, under the weight of his jealousy.

Suddenly, you were just… small.

Small in his hands. Small in the way he was looking at you.

Like he understood.

Like he forgave you.

Even though you hadn’t even done anything.

And fuck, it worked.

Because you melted. You let out a slow, shaky breath, your body losing its tension, your mind going hazy.

“I just—” You swallowed. “I needed—”

“I know what you needed.” Niragi murmured, his hand sliding from your cheek down to your neck, fingers resting lightly over your throat. Not threatening, no, not even close. Just touching. Just holding you. “And it wasn’t him.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shhh.” His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling how fast it was, how it jumped at his touch. “You know I don’t like being left out, babe.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I didn’t mean to.” you whispered again, weaker now.

He hummed, pleased, brushing his nose against your temple, his lips just barely grazing your skin.

It made you dizzy.

And then his hands were slipping lower, over your arms, over your back, pulling you in just slightly, just enough to feel him, just enough to let you lean.

Because you wanted to, didn’t you?

You wanted to lean.

And fuck, he wanted that too.

He wanted you closer.

He wanted you his.

And it was working.

Because your mind was slipping, wasn’t it?

Just a little more.

Just enough that you let him hold you. Just enough that you needed him to. Just enough that the guilt was replaced by something softer. Something warmer. Something that felt good.

And wasn’t that all that mattered?

Niragi could feel it—how easy it was to work his way into your head. He didn’t even have to try anymore. It was second nature, slipping under your skin, winding his way through your thoughts, curling himself around your mind like a snake. Squeezing just enough to make you weak. Just enough to make you want him.

You were already there, weren’t you? Already melting. Already pressing yourself just a little bit closer, breathing just a little bit slower, sinking into his hands like they were made for you.

And maybe they were.

His fingers trailed lazily up and down your spine, light, deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing. And he did.

Of course he did.

Because you were soft, so easy to break, so easy to mold. You had been from the start. And Niragi? He wasn’t going to waste that.

Not when you were already here.

“You look so tired.” he murmured, his voice low, affectionate. “Didn’t get much sleep, huh?”

You shook your head.

“Poor thing.” he cooed, his hands sliding down your arms now, over your wrists, brushing over your fingers like he had any right to touch you this gently. Like he had any right to act like he cared.

Your throat tightened. “I—”

He tsked, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek again, thumb running lightly over your skin.

“You know,” he continued, tilting his head. “you really didn’t have to do that.”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Go to him.” His tone didn’t change, didn’t sharpen, but the weight of those words still made your stomach twist. “I told you my door was open, didn’t I?”

You swallowed, looking away.

“I—”

“You wanted someone.” he interrupted, his fingers tilting your chin back toward him. “You needed comfort. I could’ve given you that, baby.”

Your chest tightened, something warm and guilty curling inside of you.

Niragi saw it. Felt it.

And fuck, he loved it.

Because you believed him. Because you felt bad. Even though you had nothing to feel bad about.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

Because now you would make it up to him, wouldn’t you?

You wanted to.

You needed to.

And he was going to make sure you did.

“You’re sweet, though.” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your temple, smiling against your skin. “Always taking care of people.”

Your breath hitched.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, something playful sparking behind his eyes. “Which reminds me… I am feeling kinda hungry.”

You blinked. “You—”

He hummed, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, smirking. “Think you could make me something, sweetheart?”

Your lips parted, hesitating, but he just looked at you. Just smiled. That warm, lazy, pleased little grin that made your stomach turn to fucking mush.

“You like cooking for me, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice smooth, coaxing, as if he already knew the answer. And fuck, he did.

Because he’d been watching. Because he saw the way you always made them something to eat, the way you always went out of your way to take care of them. Because you loved it. You loved doing things for them.

And now, he was using it.

Like he used everything.

Like he used you.

Your lips pressed together, your body feeling smaller under the weight of his gaze.

But you nodded. Because he was right. Because you did like it.

And that was all he needed.

Because suddenly, his hand was slipping into yours, guiding you out of the hallway and toward the kitchen, his smile widening, his voice warm, teasing, so fucking pleased with himself.

“Knew you would, baby.”

He led you into the kitchen so easily, like you were his, like you belonged to him. And maybe you did. Maybe you had from the start.

His fingers curled lightly around your wrist as he walked you inside, like he wasn’t really holding you there, like you could pull away if you wanted to.

But you didn’t. Because you didn’t want to. Because you liked this. Even as your stomach twisted. Even as you felt the ghost of last night settle deep into your bones, you still let him guide you toward the counter, still let him settle in behind you, watching you with that warm, lazy smirk as you started gathering what you needed.

He was still touching you.

Not holding, not gripping, just touching, fingertips brushing against your back when he moved, trailing up your spine before they slipped away again, just enough for you to feel it.

Just enough to make you want it.

You didn’t fight it. Didn’t tell him to stop. Didn’t want him to stop. Even now, even after everything, you wanted this. You wanted him close, wanted the weight of his presence, the heat of his body behind you.

You wanted Niragi.

And fuck, he knew.

Because when you turned to look at him, you caught the way his eyes flickered over your face, the way his fingers itched at his side, wanting to touch you again.

And you let him.

“Did you sleep well?” you murmured softly, turning back to the counter, stirring the food in the pan.

He scoffed, stepping up behind you again, one hand ghosting over your hip, fingers brushing against the hem of your shirt. “You think I slept?”

You hesitated, glancing back at him. “You didn’t?”

“Didn’t feel like it.” he shrugged, tone casual. But the way his fingers pressed into your skin, the way his eyes darkened, you could tell there was more to it.

You swallowed. “Because of me?”

His smirk twitched. “What do you think?”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you stirred the food, your breath catching.

You did that to him?

You made him stay awake?

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

And Niragi? He just laughed.

Soft, teasing. But not mocking. No, this wasn’t like before. This wasn’t him being cruel, wasn’t him shoving you away just to keep you at arm’s length.

No, this was different.

This was Niragi letting you in.

Even if he’d never admit it. Even if the only way he could do it was like this.

So you didn’t push it. Didn’t try to make him say it out loud. Didn’t ask for more.

Because you knew what this was. You knew that this—this teasing, this touching, this fucking sweetness—was all you were going to get.

And you were okay with that.

Because he was still here.

Still with you.

Still yours.

Niragi was an absolute asshole, but you already knew that. It was in his nature, in his blood, woven into every word that left his mouth, no matter how sweet he tried to be. He couldn’t help it.

And right now? Right now, he was in rare form.

He leaned against the counter beside you, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to open his mouth.

“Oh, so you do know how to take care of something.” he said. “Wouldn’t have guessed, the way you’ve been running around like a fucking lost puppy lately.”

You stiffened slightly but said nothing, pressing your lips together as you kept your focus on the food. You weren’t going to react. You knew him by now. You knew he wanted a reaction, that he liked the way you bristled under his words. He liked the way your eyes flashed, the way your hands tensed.

And you weren’t going to give him that.

Not this time.

“Don’t tell me you’re still all torn up about that guy.” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He was fucking pathetic. If we didn’t take him out, someone else would have.”

Your stomach twisted violently, your fingers gripping the spatula tighter.

Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react.

“But I guess you’d probably rather he was the one still standing here, huh?”

You froze.

The sound of the food sizzling was deafening in the silence that followed. Your throat felt tight, your chest ached, your vision blurred slightly as your mind spun, because—

How could he say that?

How could he think that?

Your lips parted, and just as you were about to snap at him, just as you were about to tell him to fuck off, his fingers were suddenly at your hip again, sliding around your waist, touch so gentle it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

“I know, angel.” he murmured, voice a complete contrast to the venomous words he’d just spit at you. Soft, smooth, warm. “I know it’s been hard.”

Your heart stuttered, your body reacting before your brain could catch up, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

And fuck, he knew.

He felt it.

And he loved it.

Because then he was pulling you in, slow but certain, chest pressing to your back, lips grazing your ear as he whispered, “But you know I’m right.”

You swallowed hard, knuckles white as you clenched the spatula. “Niragi—”

“Shhh.” he cut you off smoothly, fingers pressing into your side, lips brushing lower now, just barely against your jaw. “Just cook, baby. You’re almost done.”

Your whole body tensed, a shudder running through you as you felt the heat of his breath against your skin, the weight of his touch against your body. You should hate this. You should push him away.

But you didn’t.

Because you were fucking weak.

Because you wanted it.

And he knew.

Because he laughed.

“Atta girl.” he murmured, barely above a whisper, and then—just like that—he was gone, moving back to his place against the counter like nothing had happened.

Your hands trembled as you plated the food. Your stomach twisted violently as you turned to hand it to him, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” he cooed, taking the plate from your hands, fingers brushing over yours purposefully. “I’m being nice.”

Oh, maybe he was. It felt good, didn’t it Y/N? Maybe you should believe him, maybe—

“You have to eat, too.” Chishiya said.

You turned, and there he was, standing with his arms loosely crossed, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. Watching you.

You opened your mouth to say I’m fine, because you were, because it wasn’t like you weren’t eating, just maybe not as much as before. Maybe you forgot sometimes, maybe food just didn’t sit right lately, but it wasn’t a big deal, it wasn’t—

“Yeah, yeah, she knows that.” Niragi cut in before you could speak, rolling his eyes, slouching further against the counter. He took a slow bite of his food before nodding toward you with his fork. “She’s a big girl. She would’ve made something.”

Chishiya’s stare flickered toward him for only a second, but even that was enough to send a sharp, tense silence cutting through the air.

You swallowed hard.

Then, Chishiya was pushing off the wall, walking over, movements slow, careful, precise. His eyes never left yours, even as he spoke again.

“You don’t have an appetite, do you?”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because no, you didn’t.

Not really.

Your stomach twisted at the thought of eating, at the idea of forcing something down when there was already so much sitting heavy in your gut. You barely even had the energy to cook for them—let alone for yourself.

But the thing was… you didn’t know that was why you felt like this. Why everything seemed distant, why your head felt like it was swimming most of the time, why your body felt slow and heavy and not yours. You just thought it was… everything. The stress. The weight of what you had done. The way your whole world had changed so quickly. And maybe that was part of it.

But Chishiya knew.

He knew what not eating did to you.

He knew the way your body was reacting, the way it was shutting down, the way it was eating away at itself just to keep you going. He knew that your metabolism had slowed, that your brain was functioning at half-speed, that everything in you was running on empty.

But he didn’t tell you.

Because he didn’t need to.

Because as long as he knew, he could keep you in check.

And he liked keeping things to himself.

So instead of explaining, instead of giving you the answers you didn’t even know you needed, he just said, “Make something.”

And Niragi laughed.

“Are you fucking serious?” he scoffed, placing his plate down on the counter with a loud clank. “She just made me food. She’s tired, she doesn’t need to—”

“She does.” Chishiya’s voice was cool, detached, but his gaze stayed on you. “And she will.”

Niragi’s jaw clenched.

You could feel the irritation radiating off of him, the brewing rage building up, because he didn’t like being told what to do, and he especially didn’t like Chishiya being the one to tell him.

“She will?” he echoed, stepping forward, tilting his head. “And what, you think you can make her?”

Chishiya didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He just watched Niragi for a long, heavy moment before finally turning his eyes back to you.

And just like that, Niragi might as well have been nothing.

Not important. Not a threat.

Because right now, you were the only thing that mattered.

And fuck, did that make Niragi boil.

You swallowed hard, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “I…”

You wanted to say I’m not hungry.

You wanted to say I’m fine.

But you weren’t.

And maybe… maybe Chishiya was right.

So, slowly, hesitantly, you reached for the pan.

Niragi hated it.

“Un-fucking-believable.” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing behind you like he was trying to contain himself. “What, now you’re just listening to every little thing he tells you to do?”

Chishiya just leaned back against the counter, watching as you pulled out ingredients, hands slightly shaky but moving nonetheless.

You heard Niragi scoff.

“You’re fucking pathetic.” he said, voice sharp and bitter, but then, just as quickly—just as easily—it softened. “But it’s cute.”

And that was Niragi. Harsh and cruel one second, sweet and manipulative the next. He was pissed off that it was Chishiya who told you to eat, that it was his words you listened to.

“Chishiya.” you said, softly, barely above a whisper. “Do you… do you want something too?”

He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching just the smallest bit.

“You’re making food for yourself.” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question, like you weren’t even offering him anything.

But you were. You always did.

“Yeah.” you murmured. “But I can make some for you, too.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Your stomach dropped.

“You’re making him food too?” Niragi scoffed, voice dripping in disbelief. “Unreal.”

Your hands clenched around the spatula, and you swallowed hard. “Niragi, I just—”

“Are you fucking in love with him, or what?” he spat.

Your eyes widened.

“What? No—”

“You sleep in his bed, you listen to everything he says, now you’re fucking cooking for him like some little housewife?”

Your throat tightened.

That wasn’t—that wasn’t what this was.

But Niragi—he knew how to make things hurt.

And it did.

It did.

“You wanna suck his dick too while you’re at it?” he sneered. “Fucking pathetic.”

You flinched.

Your fingers trembled as you pushed the food onto the plate, avoiding their eyes, face burning with embarrassment, with something horrible.

Because you hated when he was like this.

Hated when he hurt you like this.

You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking rapidly, trying to focus, trying not to let it sink into you.

“I—I just thought he might be hungry.” you murmured weakly.

Niragi laughed.

“You thought he might be hungry?” he repeated, mocking, cruel. “But I had to ask for food this morning? You didn’t think I might be hungry?”

Your heart twisted.

That wasn’t—that wasn’t fair.

But you didn’t argue. You never argued. You just lowered your head, staring down at your plate, your stomach tightening, because suddenly, food seemed even less appealing than before.

A hand.

A touch.

Soft. Gentle.

Niragi’s fingers brushed the nape of your neck, up into your hair, twisting a few strands between his fingers, and his voice—suddenly, it was sweet.

“I’m just saying, angel.” he murmured. “I am your favorite, aren’t I?”

Your heart ached.

You didn’t understand.

You never understood.

He was so mean, so cruel, and then suddenly—this.

Like it erased everything. Like his words weren’t still stinging in your chest.

And somehow, somehow, it worked.

You let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the counter, and then, with a small, fragile voice—

“I—of course you are.”

And Niragi smirked.

Because that was all he needed.

All he wanted.

And just like that, all was forgiven.

Niragi’s hand had slipped away from your hair, but the ghost of his touch lingered, making your skin feel too warm, too sensitive. His words still burned inside your chest, even though he had already won—even though you had given him exactly what he wanted.

You glanced at Chishiya.

He was still standing there, arms crossed over his chest, watching you. But the moment your gaze met his, something shifted.

He smiled.

It was small, almost invisible, but you knew it was there. And somehow, somehow, it made your stomach sink.

His eyes told you something.

Not with words. Never with words.

But you understood.

He knew. He knew Niragi wasn’t really your favorite. Knew you had only said it because you had to. Because Niragi needed to hear it. Because it was easier than fighting, easier than making things worse.

And Chishiya—oh, he was fucking cruel.

Because that little look he gave you? The one that told you he understood? That was his way of making sure it would be him next time.

Not Niragi.

Because he got you.

He made sure you felt that.

He wasn’t fighting for your affection with screaming, with violence, with force—he was winning you over with understanding. With quiet, subtle manipulations.

And you fell for it. Of course you did. Because wasn’t that what you needed? Someone to understand you? Someone who saw you?

And Chishiya—he saw everything.

You looked down at your plate, swallowing hard, throat tight.

You felt—fucked up. That was the only way to describe it.But still, you picked up your fork. You weren’t even hungry, but you forced yourself to take a bite, chewing slowly, staring at your food like it might disappear if you looked away.

“I want to go outside.” you murmured, voice soft, hesitant.

Niragi scoffed. “What?”

“I don’t want to just—sit here. I don’t want to sulk all day.” you said, voice a little stronger now. “I just… I think it would be good for me.”

A silence.

And then, Chishiya, his voice slow—“Alright.”

“Fine by me.” Niragi said, stretching his arms above his head.

“Okay.” you said softly.

And just like that, they had you.

Again.

~

The streets were empty, the city eerily quiet except for the soft sound of your footsteps against the pavement. The air was a gentle breeze brushing against your skin as you walked ahead of them, your arms slightly outstretched, fingertips trailing through the air like you could feel something there—something light, something freeing.

For the first time in a while, you looked… alive.

Glowing, even.

Maybe this was what you needed. Just a little air. Just a little space. Just a little bit of something that wasn’t the four suffocating walls of that apartment, wasn’t the heavy weight of Niragi’s hands on your skin, wasn’t the intensity of Chishiya’s gaze picking you apart piece by piece.

Just this.

For a moment, you could almost forget what they had done to you.

And behind you, they watched.

They always watched.

You were their little flower, weren’t you? Their sweet, delicate thing. And flowers needed sunshine. They needed air. They needed to be able to spread their petals, to bloom.

That’s what you were doing now, wasn’t it?

Blooming.

Chishiya kept his hands stuffed into his pockets, walking, his gaze never leaving you. He wasn’t a sentimental person, not by any means—he had always been logical, detached, only interested in things that benefited him in some way.

And yet, watching you now? It was something he didn’t understand. You were happy. He could see it in the way you moved, the way your shoulders weren’t so tense, the way your eyes weren’t so hollow.

And wasn’t that… interesting?

Because they had taken that happiness from you. Torn it from your hands, ripped it apart, molded you into this—this fragile, obedient little thing.

And yet, you still found a way to be light.

To be sunshine.

It fascinated him.

He wondered how long it would last.

And Niragi? Oh, Niragi was obsessed.

He didn’t even bother pretending to be subtle about it. His eyes never left you, drinking in every little movement, every little smile, every little flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

He liked you like this.

No, he loved you like this.

It was different from the broken little thing that had been sobbing into his chest the day before, different from the scared, hesitant girl who still flinched at the weight of a gun in her hands.

Right now, you were shining.

And fuck, that made him feel powerful. Because no matter how happy you looked right now, no matter how free you thought you were—you would still always come back to them.

Because they had made sure of that.

You slowed, glancing back at them, making sure they were keeping up.

And then, you smiled.

A real one.

A soft one.

The kind that made Niragi’s stomach fucking ache.

And fuck, he had won.

They both had.

You let your fingers brush over the tops of the wildflowers that had somehow managed to grow through the cracks in the pavement, little bursts of color breaking through the dull gray of the city. It was kind of amazing, really. How something so delicate could survive in a place like this.

You bent down, plucking a tiny yellow flower from the ground, turning it between your fingers, smiling softly.

It was beautiful.

But it would die in your hands.

Because that’s what happened when you took something fragile and tried to claim it as your own.

And Niragi—oh, Niragi—he was eating this up like it was the sweetest fucking thing in the world. You, in your little clothes, twirling a flower between your fingers, looking so soft and light—like you weren’t the same girl who had cried into his chest, shaking, breaking, bleeding from the inside out. Like you weren’t the same girl who had pulled the trigger.

The same girl they had made into this.

And it wasn’t that he felt guilty. Niragi didn’t feel guilt.

But he did feel pride.

This was his.

(Well. Theirs. But he tried not to think about that part.)

Chishiya, on the other hand, was quieter. Watching you.

He was a collector.

That was what people didn’t understand about Chishiya. He collected things. Information, people, power—he liked to gather little things and keep them, lock them away where no one else could touch them.

And you? You were his most precious little thing yet.

Because you weren’t supposed to be here. People like you didn’t survive in a place like this. Not unless someone stronger decided to keep you.

And that was exactly what had happened.

He wasn’t entirely sure why, wasn’t sure what it was about you that made him decide to reach out and pull you into his grasp, but he had.

And now, he wouldn’t let go.

He never did.

So he just kept watching, letting Niragi run his mouth, letting you smile, letting you pick flowers like you weren’t already wilting from the inside.

You turned back to them, eyes warm, filled with something they didn’t quite recognize. Something bright, something untouched, something that shouldn’t exist in a world like this.

That softness. That light.

It made them want to ruin it.

To see just how much it would take to shatter you again, to make that warmth in your eyes flicker and dim.

And maybe that was why neither of them moved as you walked up to them, still twirling that little yellow flower between your fingers.

You were so much smaller than them. So delicate, standing between them like you didn’t have a fucking clue what kind of men they were. And you smiled. Like you weren’t walking straight into the hands of monsters. Like you weren’t handing them something that had once been growing, once had roots, once had a chance at life.

A flower.

You plucked a small white one from your palm and reached out, pressing it against Chishiya’s chest first.

He stared down at it, unmoving, unreadable, like he was thinking about the meaning of it, trying to pick apart the reasoning behind this ridiculous, sweet little thing you were doing. Like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to take it or let it fall. So you just held it there, smiling up at him, waiting.

And of course, of course he took it.

Because he would always take what you gave him.

His fingers brushed yours as he plucked it from your grasp, and you beamed at him like he had just done something wonderful, something good, something kind.

Like he was the same person you had met back when you still had a chance at being whole.

And wasn’t that funny?

He said nothing, only twirled the little white flower between his fingers, gaze flicking from you to Niragi. Because he knew what was about to happen.

Knew that Niragi would want one, too.

That he wouldn’t say it, but he would.

And sure enough, before you could even reach out, Niragi scoffed, rolling his eyes, tilting his head.

“What, you’re just giving them to him?” he said, feigning offense, raising an eyebrow at you. “What, am I not pretty enough for a flower?”

You giggled. Actually giggled. Like he wasn’t an actual fucking murderer. Like he wasn’t the kind of man who had made people beg before putting a bullet through their skulls.

And worse? You actually reached out, plucking another flower from your hand, stepping up to him without a single ounce of fear.

“Of course you are.” you murmured, pressing the flower into his palm.

And fuck, that did something to him.

Your little voice, so soft, so sweet, your fingers brushing his as you gave him something so stupidly pure—it made his stomach turn in a way he didn’t fucking like.

Made something ache in his ribs, made something shift in his mind, made something tighten in his throat.

He stared down at the tiny yellow flower in his palm, his mouth twisting.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” he muttered, not looking at you.

But his fingers curled around it anyway.

“Keep it.” you said simply.

Like it was that easy.

Like he wasn’t an animal.

Like he was someone who deserved to keep something like this.

And wasn’t that fucking hilarious? Because that was exactly what he was going to do.

He would keep it.

Not because he cared about the flower.

Not because it meant anything.

Bur because you had given it to him.

~

The city was quiet.

You sat cross-legged on a rooftop, knees barely brushing Chishiya’s as the two of you faced each other, talking in hushed voices.

The moon was big enough to cast just enough light for you to see what you were doing, fingers carefully weaving tiny flowers together, forming a small crown in your lap.

Niragi was out somewhere, looking for bullets, no doubt terrorizing anyone unlucky enough to cross his path.

“…I had everything.” you murmured, carefully looping a stem into another. “Rich parents, perfect life, perfect grades, perfect house—”

Chishiya hummed, tilting his head slightly. “And yet, you didn’t act like it.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “I wasn’t that kind of rich.”

His lips twitched, amused. “No?”

You shook your head, fingers still weaving. “No. I mean, I had everything I could ever want, yeah. But my parents actually… loved me. They taught me how to be a good person.”

Chishiya made a soft noise at that, something unreadable. “And look at where that got you.”

You bit your lip.

He wasn’t wrong.

Being a good person had done nothing for you in this world. And still, you couldn’t help but defend it.

“I don’t regret it.” you said softly, placing another flower into the chain. “I liked how I was raised. I liked my life.”

Chishiya studied you for a moment, something flickering behind his eyes. “Why do you always do that?”

You blinked up at him, head tilting. “Do what?”

His gaze flicked to the small flower crown in your hands. “Find something pretty.” he said, voice quiet. “Something soft.”

You paused, looking down at the little white petals, the tiny things in your hands that you had given meaning to.

It took you a moment to answer.

“I don’t know.” you murmured honestly. “I guess it makes me feel like… like not everything in this world is bad.”

Chishiya hummed. “Even after everything you’ve been through?”

You gave him a small smile. “Especially after everything I’ve been through.”

Something shifted in his expression then. Something that almost looked like… understanding. And for a moment, he just watched you. Like he was trying to figure out how you hadn’t cracked completely. How, despite everything, you were still you.

Soft. Kind.

Even after all the ways they had broken you.

Even after all the ways he had broken you.

And that made something uncomfortable twist in his chest. Because, deep down, he knew that it wouldn’t last.

Not with him.

Not with Niragi.

Not when they were the ones keeping you in their hands, waiting to see how much more you could bend before you snapped.

And yet, he liked that you hadn’t, not yet.

It was selfish, in a way.

Wanting to keep you like this. Wanting you to be soft, to be kind, to be something good in his life for as long as you could be.

Because you were something good.

For him.

For Niragi.

And they would do anything to keep you.

Even if it meant taking every soft, bright thing you gave them and making it theirs.

You looped another stem into the crown, eyes focused, but your lips still curled in that soft, thoughtful way you always had when you were deep in conversation.

“Do you miss it?” Chishiya asked after a moment, watching the way your fingers delicately handled the flowers.

You looked up at him, blinking. “Miss what?”

“Your life.” he said simply.

You tilted your head slightly, considering. “I think… I miss the feeling of not being scared all the time.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes looked as if he had expected your answer.

“I had everything.” you murmured, looking down at the little petals between your fingers. “And I knew I had everything. I knew how lucky I was. I think that made it worse when I lost it all.”

Chishiya hummed, resting his arms over his knees. “At least you had something to lose.”

You frowned slightly, looking up at him. “You didn’t?”

He gave a small shrug, gaze drifting up toward the sky. “Not really.”

Your chest ached a little at that.

Chishiya wasn’t like Niragi—his cruelty wasn’t something loud and angry, wasn’t something fueled by deep-seated resentment and a need to burn the world down with him.

It was like he had nothing to lose because he never had anything to begin with.

“You never had anything you cared about?” you asked softly, voice almost hesitant.

He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he let the silence stretch between you, the soft nighttime breeze rustling through your hair, until finally—

“I cared about myself.” he said simply.

You blinked, then let out a small laugh. “God, you’re so humble.”

Chishiya’s lips twitched. “Just honest.”

But that smile—fuck, that was something he hadn’t even realized he had been waiting to see all night.

Your laugh was soft, light, something that almost felt foreign in the world you were trapped in.

It was the first time he had heard it in days.

And suddenly, the thought of you not laughing anymore made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

He had made women laugh before. It was something easy, something effortless, something he did purely for his own amusement.

This wasn’t for entertainment.

This wasn’t for fun.

This was because you had been wilting in front of him for days, drowning under the weight of something neither he nor Niragi had any intention of lifting from you.

And now, you were glowing again, even if it was just for a moment.

And he had done that.

He wasn’t sure why it mattered. He wasn’t even sure why you mattered. But you did. So, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing, keeping you like this.

“You should laugh more.” he murmured finally, watching the way you delicately placed another flower into the crown.

You gave him a small, knowing smile.

“You should give me more reasons to.”

And fuck, that almost made him laugh.

~

You had finally fallen asleep.

For the first time in what felt like days, your body had let go, your mind had stopped racing, and you had slipped into something warm and quiet. Your bed felt safe. Your little corner of the apartment was your own, tucked away from the rest of the world, from the noise and the blood and the weight of your own choices.

You hadn’t even thought about the boys when you laid down.

And that was rare.

BANG BANG BANG.

Your whole body jolted.

You sucked in a sharp breath, heart slamming against your ribs as your brain scrambled to figure out where the hell you were, what was happening—

BANG BANG BANG.

“Y/N!”

Your feet hit the cold floor before your brain even caught up. Your hands fumbled with the door handle, twisting it open with a sharp pull, and—

Niragi.

Right there in front of you, his hand still half-raised like he was about to pound on the door again, his eyes blown wide, scanning your face like he was expecting something, though you weren’t sure what.

“Nir—”

“I was an asshole.”

You blinked, still half-asleep, your head struggling to keep up.

He shifted on his feet, jaw clenched, shoulders tight. “Earlier. I was a fucking asshole.”

Oh.

Okay.

You rubbed your eyes with the heel of your hand, trying to get your ass together, trying to make sense of the moment.

“You’re…” You yawned, still dazed. “You’re apologizing?”

He huffed. “Yeah. Obviously.”

That… wasn’t something you expected.

Not from him.

Not really.

You just stared at him for a moment, processing. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him carefully. “Why are you apologizing?”

He ran a hand through his messy hair, exhaling sharply. “Because I was a fucking asshole, Y/N. Are you not listening?”

“No, I am.” you said softly. “I just… want to know why you care.”

His mouth opened, then closed again, as if he was actually thinking about his answer.

Then, after a beat—

“You looked at me like I kicked a puppy.” he muttered, almost grumbling.

That threw you off. “I—what?”

He scowled, shifting on his feet again. “When I was being a dick to you earlier. You looked at me like I just fucking… disappointed you or something.”

Your heart twisted a little at that.

Because you had been disappointed.

Not surprised. Not shocked. Not even really hurt.

Just… disappointed.

Because he was so mean, and you had just wanted something gentle.

And he had recognized that.

You hesitated, watching him carefully, the way his fingers twitched, the way his eyes darted just slightly to the side, as if he was almost too proud to look at you properly.

“You were an asshole.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “I know.”

“…But you came back.”

He scoffed, shifting again, like he was uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, I—”

“You recognized that you were wrong.” you continued, your voice still soft, careful.

He tensed. “I never said—”

“And you care enough to fix it.”

He went silent.

And that told you everything.

Your heart softened, even as something in your chest ached. Because this—this right here—was why he was so dangerous.

He could be horrible to you.

He could break you down. Tear you apart. Make you feel small.

But then he could come back with wide, desperate eyes, with frantic hands and hesitant words, and he could fix it.

And you would let him.

Because he had come back, crawling back to you in the middle of the night, pleading for you to look at him the way you had before.

And you knew things about that. You knew what it meant when a man like him did this—when someone so arrogant, so mean, so violent realized he had gone too far and slunk back with his tail between his legs, hoping you’d let him stay.

Hoping you’d still hold him close.

And you would.

So you tilted your head, studying his face, the way his nose scrunched, the way his hands twitched at his sides. “You really care that much about what I think?”

His face twisted like he was about to snap back at you, but he caught himself.

He swallowed.

Then, quieter—almost a grumble—

“Yeah.”

Your heart swelled.

“That’s sweet, Niragi.”

His face twitched, like the compliment physically hurt him, and you laughed.

“You really don’t like it when I’m upset with you, huh?”

His jaw clenched. You could see him debating it, could see his pride screaming at him not to admit it, not to let you win. But you already had. So you gave him an easy out.

“It’s okay.” you murmured, your voice dropping, almost teasing. “You don’t have to say it.”

His nostrils flared. “Good.”

“But I know you feel it.”

He exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing, his body shifting like he wanted to do something, wanted to shake you or grab you or pull you in just to make you stop talking.

But he liked hearing it.

You could see it.

And that was enough for you.

So you let him be, let him stew in it, let him feel seen in a way he had never let himself be before.

And he let you.

Because he couldn’t stop you.

And he didn’t want to.

You shifted against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely over your chest, looking him over. He was exhausted. His hair was messy, his eyes heavy-lidded, the shadows under them deepening in the dim light of the hallway.

“Did you even sleep?” you asked, tilting your head.

Niragi huffed a short laugh, rolling his eyes. “Did you?”

You gave a small shrug. “More than you, I bet.”

He leaned against the wall, rubbing at his jaw, his piercings glinting in the dim light. “Couldn’t. Had shit to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like mind my own fucking business.”

You smiled. “That’s new for you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” he muttered, but there was no bite to it, no real venom. He looked you over, his gaze dipping before snapping back up. “You look like you slept. What, got all cozy in that big empty bed of yours?”

You hummed, shifting your weight. “Something like that.”

“Bet it wasn’t that cozy.” he drawled. “Bet you were cold, all alone like that.”

You laughed. “Are you trying to get me to invite you in?”

“Are you inviting me in?”

You gave a small shake of your head, eyes half-lidded. “Not tonight.”

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue, exhaling as he looked away. “Your loss, baby.”

“You’re an idiot.” you said, but it came out softer than you meant it to. You shifted against the doorframe, looking him over, and the longer you did, the more concerned you became.

He looked tired. Not just in the way he always did—this was deeper, heavier, something worn into his bones. His eyelids were lower than usual, his posture slightly slouched, even as he tried to keep up the smug act.

He was exhausted.

“Niragi.” you murmured, voice softer now.

He quirked a brow. “Yeah?”

“You need to sleep.”

He snorted. “What, you worried about me?”

“Obviously.”

“You don’t have to be.” he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” you argued, voice gentle. “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“Aw, how romantic.”

“Niragi.”

The way you said his name made something shift in him. You weren’t just making conversation anymore. You meant it.

“Go to bed.” you told him. “Please.”

He held your gaze for a moment, searching your face, maybe looking for some kind of angle, some kind of game you were playing—but there was nothing. Just you, just that softness that never seemed to run out, no matter what he did.

He scoffed. “And what, you think I’ll just listen to you?”

“Yes.”

“Bossy.” he muttered.

“I have to be, apparently.”

You tilted your head toward his room, silently urging him to go. And for a moment, he just stood there, as if waiting for something.

Maybe he wanted you to beg. Maybe he wanted you to offer to go with him.

But you didn’t. You just stood firm, looking at him with those gentle, worried eyes, and somehow, somehow, that was worse.

“Tch.” he clicked his tongue, pushing off the wall. “Fine. Whatever.”

He turned, heading toward his room, but before he disappeared inside, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured. “you are inviting me in.”

You sighed. “Goodnight, Niragi.”

He smirked, but it was softer now, lazier. “Night, beautiful.”

And then he was gone.

You stood there for a moment longer, watching the closed door, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name.

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve you.

But that never stopped you from caring, did it?

(Y’all I promise Y/N getting on her feet is COMIIIIINGG!!! She’ll get out of this i swear)

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter

[carlosainzgf]

A Home (part 8)

Part 1 Part 7

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

You changed them, so they changed you. But sure Y/N, listen to Niragi and Chishiya! What could go wrong? :D (everything.)

You woke up slowly, the warmth around you was unfamiliar, different from your bed, different from what you were used to.

Chishiya.

You were still in his arms, still sitting on the bathroom floor, still curled into the space between his legs, your back resting against his chest. His arms were still around you, loose but present, the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your back.

You blinked blearily, the remnants of dried tears still clinging to your skin.

The night before came back in fragments—your hands shaking, your stomach twisting, the bitter taste of stomach acid on your tongue, his hands in your hair, his voice smoothing over the cracks in your mind like a balm.

He hadn’t moved.

You turned your head slightly, trying to get a look at him, and found him already staring down at you.

You swallowed. Your voice came out rough, small. “Did you stay up all night?”

A slow blink. A slight tilt of the head. “Does it matter?”

You frowned. “Of course it matters.”

He hummed, something slow and thoughtful. “You needed me.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, so certain—it made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You did need him.

You still needed him.

And he knew it.

He always knew.

You shifted slightly, rolling your shoulders to ease the stiffness, and his arms fell away, giving you space. But he didn’t move. He just watched.

It was strange. You didn’t know what to say. Your throat felt dry, your body heavy, but at least you were speaking.

That was good, right?

Chishiya stretched out his legs lazily, leaning back against the wall. He looked perfectly at ease, as if sitting on the cold tile floor all night hadn’t bothered him in the slightest.

“You didn’t have to.” you said softly. “Stay, I mean.”

“I know.” he said simply.

And that was it. No explanation. No further words. Just quiet acceptance.

Because he didn’t do things because he had to.

He did them because he wanted to.

That was worse.

Because Chishiya didn’t want things. Not people, not relationships, not connections.

But he wanted this.

You.

Not in the way that others did. Not in a way that meant care, or warmth, or love.

No, it was something else entirely.

Something that made your stomach twist and your skin burn.

Something that made it impossible to pull away.

You still felt so bad.

It sat heavy in your chest, a weight that refused to lift no matter how much you breathed through it, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that the words Chishiya whispered to you last night were true.

That it wasn’t your fault. That you had to do it. That the world you were in didn’t allow for softness, for hesitation, for weakness.

But it still felt wrong.

It still ached.

You exhaled, long and shaky, before pushing yourself up from the floor. Your legs wobbled slightly, but you forced yourself to move, to steady yourself.

Chishiya didn’t say anything. He just watched you, as he always did.

And then, when you walked out, he followed.

He didn’t even hesitate. It was unnerving, knowing he was right behind you, his presence like a ghost trailing your every step. But he didn’t speak, didn’t interfere as you went straight into the kitchen, mind already settling into what you needed to do.

You couldn’t sit in your thoughts. You wouldn’t.

So you did the only thing that made sense.

You made breakfast.

Even now, still.

Even when your hands still felt dirty—though the first thing you did when you entered the kitchen was wash them—when your mind still replayed the moment you pulled the trigger, when your stomach still twisted with something sick and heavy.

You still made them breakfast.

Because they needed it. Because they played last night, too. Because they deserved a moment of normalcy, no matter how fucking twisted and broken this world was.

Because if you didn’t do this, then you didn’t know what else to do.

The sound of the pan sizzling filled the quiet space, the scent of food slowly overtaking the heaviness in your chest, but it didn’t ease the weight in your mind. It didn’t make it go away.

It never would.

Chishiya leaned against the counter, arms crossedas he observed you.

He still hadn’t spoken.

Still hadn’t left.

But you didn’t acknowledge him. If you did, he might say something, and you weren’t ready for his words yet.

You were barely holding yourself together as it was.

The quiet didn’t last long, though.

Soon, the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps came from the hallway, and Niragi emerged, his hair still messy from sleep, his tank top hanging off his frame as he rolled his shoulders with a lazy smirk.

The second he saw you, though, that smirk softened into something sweet.

Too sweet.

“Ohh, look at you.” he murmured, voice still raspy from sleep. He walked straight toward you, getting close, too close, his body almost pressing into your side as he peered at what you were making. “Still playing house for us, huh?”

You didn’t even react to the teasing. You just glanced up at him, expression soft. “You played last night. You should eat.”

His smirk widened, something sharper hiding beneath it, but he didn’t argue.

Didn’t push.

Instead, he just—stayed close.

Really fucking close.

And you? You let him.

His arm brushed against yours as he reached past you for a glass, his warmth bleeding into your skin, his presence all-consuming.

Chishiya still didn’t speak. Still didn’t move.

They were content with each other.

Because they were both getting what they wanted.

You.

Your attention, your warmth, your touch.

And fuck, Niragi was basking in it.

He barely even acknowledged Chishiya, too focused on you, too pleased with how easily you let him get this close, how easily you let him stay this close.

You really were an angel.

A kind, gentle, forgiving thing.

But they were just ripping your wings off, weren’t they?

Feather by feather.

Piece by piece.

And the worst part?

You didn’t even notice.

Niragi had never been subtle. That wasn’t who he was. He was loud, crude, and violent, taking what he wanted and not caring about the consequences. He never had to play pretend—he was too fucking brazen for that, too proud for that.

But right now?

Right now, he was being sweet.

So sweet.

And he was using this.

Using you.

“You really didn’t have to do this, baby.” he murmured, voice smooth as he leaned even closer, almost backing you into the counter. His hand reached out, tugging at the hem of your shirt like he needed to touch you somehow, even in the smallest way. “Not after last night.”

You froze slightly, the weight of his words hitting you in a way that made your chest tighten.

Last night.

The gun in your hands.

The blood.

The body.

You swallowed hard, gripping the spatula a little too tight.

He saw that.

And fuck, he loved it.

His fingers trailed up your arm, light and delicate, almost comforting. His touch was warm, coaxing, laced with something so fucking manipulative you couldn’t even recognize it.

“You should be resting.” he continued, voice lower now, softer. “You had a rough night, didn’t you?”

You exhaled shakily, your body betraying you as you leaned into his touch just slightly. Because yeah, you did have a rough night. You were still having a rough night, still barely keeping yourself together.

And Niragi knew that. He knew exactly what he was doing, playing on your vulnerability, twisting his words in a way that made you crave his comfort, even when he was the reason you needed it.

“But you still got up.” he murmured, like he was in fucking awe. “Still made us breakfast.”

His fingers brushed up your arm, over your shoulder, to the side of your neck—so gentle, so sweet.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

And that?

That fucking broke you.

Because you didn’t know how you did it either. You didn’t know how you got up, how you forced yourself to stand here, to cook, to act like things were normal when they weren’t. When they never would be again.

Your breath hitched slightly, and Niragi caught it, his smirk widening just a fraction before he softened it again, tilting his head as if he were genuinely concerned about you.

“You’re too good for this place.” he murmured, thumb grazing the side of your jaw now, fingers featherlight. “Too good for us.”

That almost sounded genuine.

Almost.

But you didn’t see the way his eyes gleamed as he said it, the way he was relishing in this, in how fucking vulnerable you were right now.

You were breaking, and he was there to hold the pieces.

To mold them into something that suited him.

“You should sit down.” he murmured, nudging you softly. “I’ll take over.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, still so fucking rattled by everything that you almost—almost—listened.

“You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

Chishiya.

His voice cut through the moment like a blade, and you flinched slightly, snapping your head to look at him.

You had almost forgotten he was there.

And fuck, Niragi really didn’t like that.

His hand dropped from your skin as he shot Chishiya a look, something between annoyed and territorial. But Chishiya wasn’t fazed. He just raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“You can cut the act.” he drawled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter. “She’s already putty in your hands, isn’t she?”

You blinked, a small frown tugging at your lips. “What?”

Chishiya’s gaze flickered to you before he simply shrugged. “Nothing.”

But Niragi knew what he meant.

Because Chishiya saw it just as clearly as Niragi did—you trusted him now.

Trusted them.

And fuck, they had you.

Niragi’s lips curled into a smirk, but when he looked back at you, it was gone, replaced with something softer again.

“You’re too cute when you’re confused.” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip, so gentle, so fucking cruel.

You parted your lips slightly, like you were about to say something, but nothing came out.

Because what was there to say? What could you possibly say when you didn’t even realize you were already theirs?

And they weren’t letting go.

“Sit down.” Niragi murmured, his hand running slow down your spine, pressing just enough to make you shiver.

You should’ve questioned the way it drifted lower, over the curve of your ass, how his fingers lingered just a second too long. But you didn’t.

Because it felt good.

And you needed something good right now.

“You did enough.” he continued, voice all honey and warmth, sliding around you like silk, like a snake coiling itself tighter and tighter. “Let me take care of you for once.”

For once.

That was funny.

Because Niragi didn’t take care of people.

He ruined them.

But your legs were already moving, your body already listening, sinking into the chair like you actually believed he wanted to help.

Like this was real.

He smirked as he turned back to the stove, taking over where you left off, rolling up his sleeves and picking up the spatula. He looked so casual about it, so fucking smooth, like he did this all the time.

Like this wasn’t just another way to reel you in deeper.

“You don’t cook much, do you?” you murmured, watching him.

He glanced at you, then at the food, then shrugged. “Dunno. I can do it. Don’t really have to, though.”

Yeah. Of course not.

You had a guess of how he lived before all of this, how he survived. He was a spoiled little monster, set loose in a world with no rules. He got what he wanted, when he wanted. He never had to take care of himself in ways like this. Well, all of this in this world. You didn’t know how his life was in the normal world, but that would be the cause of his issues.

“So why do it now?” you asked, tilting your head.

He shot you a smirk over his shoulder. “Because you asked so nicely.”

You hadn’t.

But that didn’t matter.

Because Niragi did what he wanted, and right now, he wanted you to owe him for this. Even if it was something as small as breakfast.

Even if you didn’t even realize you owed him anything at all.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your hands into your lap. You were still exhausted, still raw from everything that had happened. It clung to you like a second skin, heavy and suffocating.

But this—this felt…lighter.

Like the weight had been pulled off you, just for a second.

And maybe that was the point.

Chishiya moved into your peripheral vision, leaning against the counter again, watching the two of you like this was fascinating.

Like he was studying you.

Or maybe studying Niragi.

Because right now, they were on the same page.

The same string.

Playing this fucking game like they’d been working together for years, seamlessly pushing and pulling you in exactly the right way.

You were the little mouse caught between two cats.

And neither of them wanted to let go.

“You like that, don’t you?” Chishiya finally said, his voice slow, lazy. “Being taken care of?”

You blinked, looking at him. “What?”

His lips curled at the edges. “You do. That’s why you’re letting him do this.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “He offered.”

Niragi chuckled, his voice smooth as he flipped the food in the pan. “Yeah, yeah, I did.”

Like this was funny.

Like this was some joke you weren’t in on.

Chishiya just hummed, his eyes dragging over you before he spoke again. “You like being told what to do, too.”

That made you pause.

Made something flicker behind your eyes.

It made Niragi pause, too, but only for a second—just long enough for that smirk to widen on his lips before he turned back to the food.

You swallowed. “That’s not true.”

Chishiya hummed again, the sound all knowing. “You sure?”

And fuck, the way he was looking at you—like he knew you. Like he’d already figured you out.

Your mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.

Niragi snickered. “Don’t do this so early. I’m still trying to make her breakfast first.”

That pulled a scoff from Chishiya, a quiet little breath through his nose. “Right.”

But he was still watching you.

Still waiting.

And fuck, maybe he was right.

Because you were sitting there, letting Niragi touch you, letting him tell you what to do. You let him guide you into that chair, let his hands settle on your skin, let yourself listen to him.

And it felt…

It felt good.

“You’re quiet.” Niragi mused, plating the food. “That’s new.”

Your lips pressed together.

“I’m just tired.”

A lie.

But neither of them called you on it.

Niragi just grinned, setting the plate in front of you, leaning down close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Then eat up, baby.”

And you did. You took a small bite, chewing slowly, trying to focus on the food and not the way Niragi was still hovering too close.

“It’s good.” you murmured, swallowing.

Niragi grinned, his fingers tapping against the counter. “Yeah? Told you I could cook.”

You glanced up at him, then over at Chishiya, who was still watching—still studying. The weight of their attention was unfamiliar. You were used to being brushed off, to them not listening, to Niragi mocking and Chishiya barely acknowledging you at all.

But now, they were listening.

They were watching.

And it was… new.

You hesitated, then cleared your throat, shifting slightly in your seat. “You should’ve added more salt, though.”

Niragi’s brows shot up. “Oh?”

You nodded, a little timidly. “Yeah. Just a little.”

Niragi scoffed, but it wasn’t sharp—it didn’t have that usual bite. He tapped his knuckles against the counter. “Next time, you do it, then.”

You exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly. “I will.”

A pause.

“Why do you talk so much?” Niragi asked, but it wasn’t cruel, not really. Just curious.

You blinked. “I always have.”

He snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

Chishiya hummed, tilting his head slightly. “It’s different now, though.”

Your stomach twisted. “Different how?”

“You’re quieter. Not much. But a little.”

Your fingers curled against your lap, and you turned your eyes down toward the plate. “I don’t feel quiet.”

And you didn’t.

Even now, after everything, you wanted to talk. You liked to talk. You liked hearing your own voice, liked filling the space, liked the way words tumbled out of you so easily. It was natural to you, as natural as breathing.

But this? This was different. Because now, they were actually listening.

And that made it harder.

Chishiya regarded you for a moment, then finally, slowly, leaned back against the counter. “I don’t hate it.”

You blinked, surprised, looking at him. “You don’t?”

“No.”

That was all he said. No further explanation, no elaboration, just that simple, casual no.

Like it was nothing.

Like it wasn’t something new.

But it was.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

Niragi let out a sharp breath through his nose. “You’re such a little idiot.”

You frowned. “What?”

He leaned down again, lips quirking at the edges, his voice teasing, but not mean like it usually was. “You look like a kicked puppy.”

“I do not.”

Chishiya smirked slightly, but didn’t say anything.

Niragi just chuckled, reaching out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The touch was so careful, so soft, it made your skin tingle.

You should’ve flinched away.

But you didn’t.

Because this—this felt safe.

And after last night, after everything—

Could you really resist that now?

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

Because they did this to you. They put that gun in your hands. They pushed you to the edge, whispered in your ear, softened their words just enough to make you believe them.

And now? Now, they got to play the part of the ones taking care of you.

Like they hadn’t broken you first.

Like they weren’t the reason you were like this now.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that you couldn’t even be angry about it.

You should be. You should hate them for this.

For ruining you.

For taking you.

But you didn’t. Because it felt good. It felt good to have Niragi’s touch linger on your skin, to have his voice soften when he spoke to you. It felt good to have Chishiya’s gaze on you, to hear him say he didn’t hate your voice, that he didn’t mind the way you spoke so much.

It felt good to have something back.

You liked them.

You liked them.

And maybe that was your biggest mistake.

You sat there, picking at the edge of your sleeve, trying to focus on the warmth of your own skin, the way it burned slightly.

“You were right.” Chishiya said, his voice slow, thoughtful.

You frowned. “About what?”

“You don’t feel quiet.”

You blinked at him, brows furrowing slightly.

Chishiya’s head tilted, and his eyes dragged over you, scanning, reading. “But you are.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to say no, I’m not, I’m still talking, aren’t I? but the words didn’t come.

Because… maybe he was right. Maybe you were quiet. Not because you didn’t want to talk—no, you still wanted to talk, it was natural for you, it was who you were.

But something had shifted. Something was different.

And they knew it.

They could see it.

And they liked it.

They had seen the opportunity to break you, and they had lived for it.

Because that was what they did.

That was what they were.

Cruel.

Heartless.

Monsters.

Yet you couldn’t resist them. Couldn’t resist the way Niragi touched you now, so soft, so unlike the way he touched anyone else. Couldn’t resist the way Chishiya spoke to you now, the way he actually listened to your words, the way his gaze lingered instead of dismissing you.

It was intoxicating.

It was sick.

It was so fucking cruel.

Selfish, too, though Chishiya didn’t like to think of himself as selfish.

No—he didn’t like to think of himself at all. But if he did, if he had to, then yes. He was selfish.

And you? You were still nice. Somehow. Somehow, after everything, after the way they had pulled you apart at the seams and stitched you back together with their hands, you were still the same. Still sweet, still warm, still kind.

And Chishiya was selfish.

Because he liked that.

He liked that you hadn’t changed.

At least, not entirely. Sure, there was something different about you now, something quiet, something touched by them, something broken that they had broken.

But you were still you.

Still the same person who had first tucked his hair behind his ear without a second thought. Still the same person who had looked up at Niragi, completely unafraid, and told him things he didn’t want to hear.

Still the same person who had stayed.

And Chishiya liked that.

He liked that you still wanted to talk, even if your voice was a little softer now, even if your words came with more hesitation. He liked that you still wanted to touch, even if now, it was more careful, more aware.

He liked that you still wanted to love.

And he was selfish.

Because he wanted it.

He wanted you to keep being kind, keep being warm, keep being yours.

He wanted you to stay.

So he stood there, across from you, his fingers lightly drumming against the counter, and he listened.

You were talking again, your voice soft, filling the silence between them. You were talking about nothing, really—how you had made breakfast because you wanted to, not because you had to, how you had always liked quiet mornings like this.

And Chishiya listened.

Not because he cared.

Not because he wanted to.

But because he was selfish.

Because he liked the way your voice sounded when you spoke, the way you still filled the air with words even after everything.

He liked that you weren’t gone yet.

And Niragi? Niragi was selfish, too.

But in a different way.

Because Niragi wanted to own you. To have you. To claim you, not just keep you anymore. Because you for sure were kept.

His hand was on your back, tracing slow, absentminded circles against your spine, fingers dipping a little lower every so often, just enough to make you shift in your seat.

You didn’t move away. Didn’t pull back. You let him touch you.

And Niragi loved that.

Because it meant you were his.

You weren’t fighting him. You weren’t pushing him away, telling him to fuck off, telling him to stop being such a creep, Niragi, Jesus Christ.

No, now you let him.

Now, you liked it.

And that? That was enough for him.

Because Niragi had never had someone like you before. Never had someone soft, never had someone who cared, never had someone who stayed.

And now that he did?

He wasn’t going to let you go.

So he let his touch linger, let his fingers press just a little harder against your back, let himself lean in closer, closer, closer.

And you let him. Because you didn’t hate it. Because it felt good. Because, after all of this, after everything they had done—

They were safe.

~

You sat curled up on the couch, knees drawn to your chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against the fabric. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. You could hear the animals outside, the occasional creak of the building settling, but inside, it was just you.

You didn’t know where they were.

Chishiya was probably holed up in his room, thinking, doing whatever it was that he did when he wasn’t busy playing god with other people’s minds. Niragi could be anywhere. He wandered. He got bored. Maybe he went to clean his gun. Maybe he was just staring at his reflection, smirking at himself, reveling in his own destruction.

You missed them.

Alone. Thinking.

You killed someone. Someone who didn’t have to die. Someone who could still be breathing right now if you had just—

You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to remember the way his face had looked right before you pulled the trigger, the way his body had crumpled to the ground, lifeless, the way Chishiya had stepped over him like he was nothing, the way Niragi had smiled at you, sweet, so sweet, so proud.

Soft fingers against your neck.

You jolted, your body going stiff, but before you could react, before you could turn, before you could even think—Niragi’s fingers slid through your hair, pulling it away from your neck, letting it fall down your back.

Slow.

Careful.

Almost… gentle.

Your breath hitched.

He liked doing this.

You knew that now.

The first time, maybe it had just been instinct, maybe it had just been a way to feel his power over you, to remind himself that he was the one in control now, that he was the one shaping you into something new.

But now? Now he did it because he liked it.

Because he liked touching you.

Even as he had spent so much time telling you not to, pushing you away when you reached for him, scoffing at your affection, rolling his eyes when you smiled too sweetly, when you pressed up against him, when you gave him more than he thought he deserved.

All of it? All of it had been defense. Him protecting his fragile little heart.

And now? Now, he didn’t have to protect it from you.

Because you weren’t dangerous anymore. You weren’t a risk. You weren’t someone who would leave.

He knew that. He knew you knew that.

And so he touched. Fingertips grazing your skin as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear, his voice low, almost soothing.

“You’re thinking too much again, angel.”

Your fingers curled into the couch cushions.

“You always do that.” he continued, voice like a slow drip of honey, like something meant to soothe, something meant to control. “Always get yourself all worked up over things that don’t matter.”

You swallowed. “It does matter.”

He hummed, his fingers trailing down, down, down, running along the curve of your shoulder, the warmth of his touch sinking into your skin. “Does it?”

Your lips parted, but the words didn’t come.

“You won.” he murmured, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You survived. Isn’t that what matters?”

Your breath caught.

“He wasn’t gonna make it anyway.” Niragi sighed, like this was all just so exhausting for him. “You think he was smart enough to get out of there alive? No. You did him a favor.”

Your throat tightened.

“And you did me a favor, too.” he continued, fingers still tracing slow, lazy circles against your shoulder. “Took something off my hands. I would’ve shot him anyway, you know. So really… doesn’t that make it okay?”

You felt sick. Because maybe it did. Maybe he was right. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it was okay.

You let out a shaky breath, and Niragi smiled.

Because he knew. He knew he had you.

Knew you were falling for it.

Falling for him.

He leaned in closer, lips barely grazing your temple before he pulled back, his fingers finally slipping away from your skin, leaving behind nothing but warmth.

“See?” His voice was soft. “Not so bad.”

And you? You believed him.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, glancing up at him from where you sat. Maybe he was waiting for you to break a little more. Maybe waiting for you to do exactly what you did next.

“…Sit with me.”

Your voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but he heard you. And for once, he didn’t argue, didn’t smirk and make you work for it. He just did.

He rounded the couch, moving lazily, like he had all the time in the world, and sank down next to you.

Close.

Not as close as he usually got when he wanted something, but close enough.

And he watched you. Waited. He listened.

And that was new. That was—different.

“…I didn’t want to do it.” Your voice was unsteady, but you kept going. “I—I know what you’re saying, I know he wouldn’t have made it, I know it was going to happen anyway, but I didn’t want to do it.”

Niragi just watched you, moving his tongue around in his mouth.

“I don’t—” You exhaled sharply, your throat tightening. “I don’t kill people.”

“You do now.” he murmured, but it wasn’t mocking, wasn’t cruel. Just… the truth.

Your stomach twisted.

“I didn’t want to.” you repeated, as if that changed anything, as if saying it enough times would rewrite the past, erase the moment where you pulled the trigger, erase the body hitting the floor, erase him looking at you like you’d just done something wonderful.

Niragi tilted his head slightly. “Then why did you?”

You froze.

Because they told you to. Because they made you. Because you had to.

No one forced you.

You had the gun.

You pulled the trigger.

You made the choice.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “…I don’t know.”

“Hm.”

He was listening. And for some reason, that made you want to keep talking.

“I just—” You swallowed. “I was scared. I—I don’t know, Niragi, I just did it.”

His fingers tapped idly against his knee. “You think that makes you a bad person?”

Your stomach twisted again. “I killed someone.”

“Yeah. So?”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in just a little. “I do it all the time.”

And you knew that. Of course you knew that. But—you weren’t him. You weren’t like him.

…Right?

Your silence must have been enough of an answer, because Niragi huffed a quiet laugh, reaching out and trailing a slow finger along the side of your face. “You’re thinking too much again.”

You flinched at the touch, but only because it was so unexpected. Not rough. Not teasing. Not just for the sake of making you squirm.

It was—real.

He meant it.

His voice was soft, slow. “Do you really think this place cares if you want to kill or not? You think the games care? That the people here give a fuck?”

You bit your lip.

“This isn’t about who you are.” he murmured. “This is about whether or not you live.”

Your throat felt tight.

“And guess what?” His lips twitched slightly, almost like he was about to smile. “You lived.”

You exhaled shakily. “But at what cost?”

Now, he did smile. Small, subtle, but there.

“You tell me.”

And somehow, you could. Somehow, you could sit here, across from a man who was cruel and twisted and everything you should fear, and you could talk to him.

Because he was listening.

Because he cared.

Maybe not in the way normal people did. Maybe not in a way that would ever make sense to you.

But this? This was his version of caring.

Of liking you.

And you weren’t running from it anymore.

Niragi was a fucking maniac.

He wasn’t just cruel, he enjoyed being cruel. He liked making people squirm, liked pushing them into corners just to see what they’d do, liked holding power over them—loved breaking them.

He didn’t have boundaries. No real limits. The only thing stopping him was boredom. And once he lost interest, that was it. You weren’t worth his time anymore.

And yet—he was still here. Still sitting next to you, still touching you, still listening to you.

And that meant something.

Didn’t it?

He looked relaxed. That was rare for him. You’d seen Niragi in a lot of moods. Laughing, sneering, taunting, snarling, fuming with rage, high off adrenaline, exhilarated with the thrill of violence—he had a temper. A nasty one. When something did get to him, he exploded.

Now he was soft.

Now he was patient.

Now he listened.

That wasn’t like him.

But maybe—maybe it was. Maybe this was just a part of him no one else got to see. Maybe it was something he didn’t let himself feel around other people.

Because he hated people like you. People like you pissed him off, their kindness was bullshit, their softness made him want to fucking rip it out of them.

And yet, here he was, feeding into it. Encouraging it.

He had you wrapped around his fucking finger now, and he knew it.

So why wasn’t he laughing in your face about it? Why was he being sweet?

It didn’t add up.

Niragi wasn’t someone who cared about people. He hurt people. He killed them. He loved it. He loved watching them fall apart, watching them beg, watching the light drain from their eyes.

And yet, he hadn’t killed you.

He liked you.

That much was clear.

And that should have been terrifying. But instead, it was just safe. It felt safe, even when it shouldn’t. And maybe that was just another one of his manipulations. Maybe he wanted you dependent on him, maybe he wanted you to need him, to need them, to forget that there was ever a world outside of them.

But at the same time—there was something else in him.

Something more.

Because Niragi was insecure.

You could see it, now that you were looking. Now that you were really paying attention. He acted like he was untouchable, like he didn’t care what anyone thought of him, but he did.

He ached for validation.

And the way he lit up when you touched him? The way his guard would falter for just a second when you reached for him, the way he pretended he didn’t love it, the way he always let you—it meant something.

He needed it.

He needed to be wanted.

Maybe that was why he clung to violence so much. Maybe that was why he did the things he did. Because if people feared you, at least they noticed you. If they hated you, at least they acknowledged you.

That was better than being invisible.

That was better than being nothing.

And maybe—maybe that’s why he liked you.

Because you were the only person who didn’t run from him.

You were the only person who didn’t give him that wide-eyed, horrified look, the only one who didn’t shrink away when he got too close, the only one who touched him without hesitation, without fear.

The only one who gave him something real.

And if there was one thing Niragi hated, it was pretending.

So no, he wasn’t laughing at you.

No, he wasn’t mocking you.

He meant this. He meant being here. He meant listening to you.

He meant liking you.

And that was just how he loved.

You hesitated. It felt stupid. Felt weak. But you wanted it. You needed it. And Niragi was right there. Right next to you, warm and solid, draped over the couch like he belonged there, like he belonged with you.

The words felt like they stuck in your throat, but you forced them out anyway. Soft. Hesitant. A whisper, really.

“Can I hug you?”

His lips curled, eyes flashing with something dark, something satisfied.

This was what he wanted.

You falling into his arms.

You needing him.

And fuck, he was so sweet about it.

“Yeah, baby.” he murmured, tilting his head, voice a purr. “‘Course you can.”

And that was all it took.

You practically melted into him.

Sinking into his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist, face pressing into the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing him in.

God, he felt good.

His warmth, his scent, the way his arms came around you so easily, locking around your back, a hand slipping into your hair, fingers dragging through the strands, slow, gentle.

He held you.

And he never thought he would.

Not like this.

Not for a girl.

He should’ve fucking hated this. But he didn’t. Not when it was you.

Because you were his.

You just—well. You didn’t know it yet.

He smirked over your shoulder, fingers toying with the ends of your hair, stroking down your back, curling at your waist.

Soft. Sweet. Gentle.

God, he was so fucking happy right now.

Because you were breaking. And he was the reason. He got to ruin you.

And he got to comfort you for it.

You were so good, so sweet, so fucking sensitive, and it was so easy.

Easy to pull you in. Easy to make you trust him. Easy to make you want him.

He felt your breath hitch, felt the way your hands gripped his shirt, trembling.

“Shh.” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair again. “I got you, sweetheart.”

And oh, how fucking easy it was.

How easy it was to get you to fall for this.

To fall for him.

His girl.

His soft little angel.

And soon enough—you’d never leave.

You broke.

Completely, entirely, into his chest, body trembling, gasping through the sobs that tore out of your throat.

And Niragi just held you. His arms locked tight around your back, his fingers tracing over your spine, his chin resting against the top of your head.

It felt good. Too good.

You couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t think past the way his hands felt, the way his warmth soaked into your skin, the way his voice curled around your ears, quiet murmurs of “You’re alright.” and “I got you, baby.”

And he fucking loved it.

His lips curled over your shoulder, and when he looked up—there Chishiya stood. At the entrance to the room, arms crossed, leaning against the doorway, like he had been watching for a while.

And Niragi—he fucking smiled. Full of cruel, twisted satisfaction.

And Chishiya? He just raised a single eyebrow. And smiled right back.

They didn’t need words.

Didn’t need to say a damn thing to each other.

Because for once—for once—they were on the same fucking page. There was no fight. No conflict. No ripping at each other’s throats because they hated each other so much.

No, there was just acceptance. Like this was always meant to be both of them.

Both of them for you.

Both of them taking you apart.

And maybe last night changed something in Chishiya.

Maybe the feeling of you asleep in his arms, trusting him so completely, so unknowingly, did something to him.

Because he didn’t get things like this. He didn’t keep people. He didn’t want people.

But you—you were different.

You weren’t just a person.

You were his person.

And maybe, for the first time in his life, he wanted to keep something.

Keep you.

You, shaking, curled up into Niragi’s chest, looking so fucking small, so fucking breakable—

It was beautiful.

And he wasn’t about to let you go.

Niragi knew it, too.

And for once, he didn’t mind sharing.

Niragi never wanted to be alone. Not as a kid, not as a teenager, not even as the monster he was now.

But that was his life, wasn’t it?

Alone.

Always alone.

There was no one for him, no one who cared, no one who chose him.

Nobody ever wanted him.

Not until you.

And fuck—he wasn’t going to lose that.

He couldn’t.

Not when you were the only thing in this world that felt good. Not when you touched him like you wanted to. Not when you worried about him. Not when you looked at him like he was worth something. Even when he scared you. Even when he broke you. Even when you should’ve hated him.

You didn’t.

And that was all he needed.

All he needed to sink his claws into you, to make sure you never got away.

Even if it meant manipulating you. Even if it meant twisting you up, making you think you needed him as much as he needed you.

And it was working.

It was so fucking easy, too.

You weren’t stupid, no, but you were soft. Soft in the kind of way that made you weak. Weak in the kind of way that made you vulnerable. Vulnerable in the kind of way that made you his.

And god, you looked so pretty like this. Tucked against his chest, shivering, trusting him.

You didn’t even realize what he was doing to you, did you? Didn’t even realize how deep he had you. How much of you he already owned.

But you would.

Eventually, you would.

And by then, it would be too late.

You would belong to him.

And Chishiya.

Because that was the other thing.

Somehow, in all of this, the doctor was there too. Niragi wasn’t sure how, wasn’t sure why he was so okay with it—but it made sense.

Because Chishiya was the only person here that understood him.

The only one that saw things the way he did. The only one that knew exactly what they were doing to you.

And he was in on it.

One hundred fucking percent.

Maybe that was why Niragi wasn’t fighting him on this. Why he wasn’t trying to tear you out of Chishiya’s grip.

Because he knew Chishiya wouldn’t take you away from him.

He was helping him.

They were doing this together.

That was something he could live with.

Because in the end, it wasn’t about who had you.

It was about making sure you stayed.

And together, they would.

Because you weren’t going anywhere, sweetheart.

Not now.

Not ever.

~

The silence of the apartment was suffocating.

You had tried—really tried—to sleep, but it just wasn’t happening. Your mind wouldn’t stop racing, thoughts looping over and over, images of what you had done, what they had made you do, playing behind your eyes every time you closed them.

You felt like you were going fucking crazy.

The walls of your room felt smaller, suffocating, like they were pressing in on you, like they were trapping you inside your own mind, your own guilt.

And worse than that, you felt alone.

It wasn’t like you to want this, to want them—not like this, not so desperately.

Why was your skin aching for touch?

Why was your chest so empty?

Why did you feel like you were going to fall apart if you stayed in this room for even a second longer?

You had no answers, but you had an instinct.

So, you moved. Slipping out of bed, you padded across the floor, your feet silent against the wood.

Maybe walking around would help. Maybe getting out of that box of a room would let you breathe, let you stop thinking, let you escape your own fucking head.

But as you moved through the dimly lit apartment, something caught your eye.

Light.

A faint, warm glow spilling out from beneath one of the doors.

Chishiya’s door.

You hesitated, staring at it for a long moment, biting your lip.

Would he be annoyed if you disturbed him?

Would he turn you away?

Would he tell you to go back to bed and deal with it?

…Maybe.

But maybe not.

And right now, you just needed someone.

So, before you could talk yourself out of it, you raised your hand and knocked, soft, uncertain.

There was a pause, and then—

“Come in.”

You exhaled, pushing the door open slowly, peeking inside.

Chishiya was sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard, a book in his hands, but his eyes were already on you.

He looked at you for a moment, expression the usual. Then, he spoke, voice calm, knowing.

“You couldn’t sleep.”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just closed his book, setting it aside. Then, he tilted his head slightly, watching you.

“What’s wrong?”

The question hit you harder than it should have.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know how to answer it.

Everything was wrong. Nothing felt right. Your body felt like it wasn’t even yours anymore, your mind wasn’t your own, your heart wasn��t your own.

You had killed someone.

You had killed someone.

And yet—you missed them. You wanted them. You wanted Chishiya, you wanted Niragi, you wanted the way they made you feel safe, even as they broke you.

You sucked in a shaky breath. “I just… I don’t know. My head won’t shut up.”

Chishiya hummed, watching you carefully, reading you like he read that book earlier.

Then, after a moment, he patted the empty space on the bed beside him.

An invitation.

And you didn’t even hesitate. You stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you, walking over to him. When you sat down, the bed shifted beneath you.

You exhaled slowly, feeling your shoulders relax just a little.

“I hate this.” you admitted quietly. “I hate how I feel right now. I hate what I did. I hate that I don’t feel like me anymore.”

Chishiya didn’t react much, just listened, his gaze steady, patient.

“You’ll get used to it.”

You frowned, turning your head to look at him. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’ll get used to it.” he repeated, voice calm. “The guilt. The weight of it. Eventually, it won’t feel so heavy.”

You swallowed, looking down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t want to get used to it.”

Chishiya was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, he said, “You don’t have a choice.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Because deep down, you knew he was right.

This place—this world—wouldn’t let you stay innocent.

You had already crossed a line you could never uncross. And there would be more. More games. More choices. More blood.

You had no choice but to get used to it.

Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy, and suddenly, you just… needed something to hold onto.

“Chishiya.” you murmured, your voice small. “Can I… can I stay here? Just for a little bit?”

He looked at you for a moment, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable.

Then, without a word, he shifted, pulling the blanket back just slightly.

An invitation.

Again.

And again, you didn’t hesitate.

You slipped beneath the covers, moving closer, feeling the warmth of the bed.

Chishiya didn’t touch you, didn’t pull you in, but he didn’t move away either.

He just let you be there.

And somehow, that was enough.

Somehow, that was what you needed.

You closed your eyes, inhaling slowly, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothe you, letting the quiet comfort of his presence ground you.

Chishiya never believed in things like fate. He had never been the kind of person to think the universe had a plan, that certain people were meant to meet, that life had some grand meaning.

No, life was chaos. A series of meaningless events, disconnected and random, one accident after another.

And people? People were selfish. Predictable. They operated on instinct, on desire, on greed.

He had spent years watching people, studying them, understanding their weaknesses and their motivations. It was all a game, really. A puzzle to solve.

And yet—here you were. Curled up right next to him, seeking warmth, seeking him.

And for the first time in his life, he couldn’t figure out why.

Why did you trust him? Why did you come to him for comfort, when he had been a part of what broke you in the first place? Why weren’t you afraid of him? Why did you still look at him like that?

So soft.

So genuine.

So good.

He had never met someone like you before. Someone who hadn’t lost themselves to the darkness of this world.

He had seen people survive in different ways. Some turned cruel, vicious, losing any sense of morality. Some shut down, became hollow, detached, numb to everything. And some shattered completely, breaking under the weight of it all.

But you? You were different. You had been shoved into the darkness, drowned in it, forced into choices you never wanted to make—and yet, somehow, you were still light.

Still warm, still kind, still human.

And that… that made something in him ache.

He had never felt anything except jealousy.

Jealousy for those who had easy lives, jealousy for those who were loved, jealousy for those who could still feel.

Because he couldn’t. Not really.

He had always been empty.

Detached.

Watching from the outside, never truly a part of anything.

And for a long time, that hadn’t bothered him. But now? Now, looking at you, feeling the way your body had that comforting warmth even as you didn’t touch, hearing the soft sound of your breathing, feeling the warmth of you—

For the first time, he wanted something.

He wanted to keep you.

He wanted to understand you.

He wanted to be the one you turned to when you felt like this.

He wanted you to need him.

You were his reason to live.

The only thing in this world that made him feel.

And that? That was something he could never let go of.

Chishiya watched you carefully, his eyes scanning your face in the dim light of his room. His bedside lamp cast a soft glow over you, highlighting the tension in your expression, the way your hands fidgeted in your lap, your nails pressing against your skin. You weren’t crying, not anymore, but you looked so—small. So lost.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice quiet, steady.

You exhaled, long and shaky. “I really want to.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve already told you everything.”

He didn’t respond immediately. He just watched you, his head tilting slightly, as if assessing whether or not he believed you.

You had told him everything—about the way you felt, about the weight in your chest, about how you didn’t want to pull that trigger, about how you missed feeling like yourself. But even after saying it all, after spilling every thought, every guilt-ridden confession—you still felt so alone.

Your fingers twisted together as you stared down at them, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t even fully process.

Chishiya let out a slow breath through his nose. “You can sleep here.” he said finally, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Your eyes flickered up to his, uncertain.

“I mean,” he added. “if you think that will help.”

You didn’t think it would help.

But you didn’t want to be alone, either.

You hesitated for a long moment, before finally nodding. “…Okay.”

Chishiya didn’t say anything else. He just leaned over, flicked off the lamp, and let the room fall into darkness.

He wasn’t sure why he had offered.

It wasn’t like him to offer comfort. To give people anything.

But with you—it was different.

Because you were different.

He wasn’t sure if he hated it or not.

He had spent his entire life keeping people at a distance. He knew how to stay detached, how to keep himself from getting too involved, how to avoid the messiness of emotions.

It was easier that way.

Safer.

Because people were unreliable. People could betray you, disappoint you, leave you.

He had never needed anyone. He had never wanted anyone.

But you—you were dangerous.

Because you made him want.

To be near you. To hear your voice. To watch you talk, and laugh, and exist in this world that was far too cruel for someone like you.

And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay detached.

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango

[carlosainzgf]

Hi, could I please request jealous and possessive Chishiya? Thanks

Hehe I love this. Thanks anon, i hope i do you justice with this.

little self-idulgent but- can you blame me?

*set at the beach and reader is also an executive*

a/n: somewhat edited

wc: 2k

warnings: oral (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), lmk if i missed anything.

You were sat in a meeting with all the other executives, listening to the hatter ramble on and on about his ongoing utopia and the games. During the meeting though, you could feel someone staring at you, burning holes into the side of your head. At first you thought it was Chishiya, although your relationship isn’t widley known to everyone, he could just be staring at his you during the boring meeting. However when you finally glanced towards your left where Chishiya is seating and find his eyes locked on hatter. Although he was sitting leaning towards you, he wasn’t the one looking at you.

Confused, you start to look farther past where Chishiya was sitting at to the other people to the left of you. As you go down the row you finally catch someones gaze staring back you. You lock eyes with the person burning holes into the side of your head.

The person being none other than Niragi.

When he caught you looking back at him all he did was smirk a bit and return his attention back on the hatter. You didn’t like the way he was looking at you and shifted uncomfortably in your chair.

Soon the meeting was called to an end and everyone was dismissed. You filed out the doors like everyone else was doing, and somehow ended up as one of the last people in there. Chishiya was already out the door in front of you before you could catch up to him. As you were about to leave the room you felt someone grip your arm and pull you back into the empty room.

When you look back at you who had pulled you back into the meeting room. It was the person who exactly didn’t want to be left in a room alone with.

Looking up at him, he was looking down at you with the smirk he was giving you earlier. You really were starting to get tired of that smirk.

“You know, Chishiya can’t just have you to himself right?” Niragi spoke down to you. You just rolled your eyes at him and respond to him.

“Yeah well, what makes you think i’d want to be with you hm?” You tell him trying to back away from the annoying man in front of you. He just follows you as you back up. Soon enough you’re hitting the door you just tried leaving out of.

“Oh well, we’ll see how long you stay with that weirdo.” He says to you before grabbing the handle to the door and walking off. After a few seconds of collecting yourself you walk outside the door yourself.

As you cross the threshold of the door, you see Chishiya leaning against the wall next to the door. As you close the door behind you he glances over to you. He gives a once over of you before pushing off the wall and coming to stand in front of you.

“What did he want.” Chishiya asks you, getting close to you, hands still in his pockets as usual. His eyes had that half lidded stare that you always liked about him. Trying to not get lost in his eyes, you respond back to him.

“Just giving me some bullshit on how long he thinks I’ll stay with you before running off to him.” You tell him rolling your eyes like you did when niragi was speaking to you. All Chishiya did was hum and nod his head. He takes one hand out of his pocket, tilting your head up to his.

“Is that right, hm?” Chishiya whispers to you, which you respond with a confirming hum.

“Well, we’ll see about that won’t we.” Chishiya says before sliding his hand down and grabbing onto yours and pulling to you down the hallway.

—————- later that night ——————-

The day had gone on like normal after this afternoons ordeal. The usual people partying around the beach and those who aren’t partying are laying back in there rooms doing who knows what. You had just finished grabbing a bite to eat with Chishiya and was heading back to your guys room. Chishiya was being as layed back as he normally was while you were the one keeping any type of conversations going for the day.

Soon the two of you arrived at the door of your shared room. Chishiya being the gentlemen he is, opened the door for you and standing to the side, letting you into the room. You step into the now dark room since it was past sundown, the room left how the two of you had left it this morning. You were a few steps into the room when you heard the door close and you could’ve sworn you also heard the lock as well. As you turn around to look back at Chishiya, you realize he was already right next to you.

He was inches from you, staring down at you with the smallest smile on his face. Looking up at him you couldn’t help but smile a little bit yourself.

“Whats that smile for?” You ask him, looking at his face look down at you. Chishiya takes his hands out of his pockets and places them on your exposed waist. Thanks to the swimsuit rule at the beach, all you ever wore now was a bikini set you found at a store near by, along with a small shaw to keep you not totally exposed.

“Niragi said you weren’t mine hm?” Chishiya whispers down to you, leaning in slightly. Before you could say something back to him, he’s speaking again.

“Why don’t we show him, yeah?” Chishiya says to you, and next thing you know you’re being pushed back onto the bed. As you land on your back, you look to Chishya at the end of the bed. He was shedding his jacket that he always kept on, now being left topless with just a pair of swim trunks on. Even though this wasn’t the first time seeing him like this, it always got you slightly speechless. You continue to watch him as he climbs over you, joining you on the bed.

“You know I seriously don’t want him right?” You tell him now that you’re face to face. Chishiyas hair is now curtaining the two of your faces since he was so leaning over you.

“Oh I know, but I think he might need a little reminder on whos you are.” He tells before bring his lips down to yours, stopping you from trying to question what he’s going to do. You melt into his kiss, grabbing onto his arms that were placed next to your head. Chishiya grabs your hands from his arms and places them above your head, stopping you from moving them anymore. The kiss was quickly turning more passionate by the second as chishiyas tongue explored your mouth. You easily lost dominance over his skilled tongue skimming over yours. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, Chishiya giving his own groan into your mouth.

Chishiya quickly moved away from your mouth, finally giving you time to breathe. As you did that though he moved his kisses down your neck. After a second you felt his hands move down to where the strings of your bikini were knotted around your neck. He was biting into your neck as he untied the strings, making you let out small breathy moans. You could feel Chishiyas smile on your skin as he did so.

Once your top was untied, Chishiya quickly removed it from your body, leaving you completly exposed at the top just like Chishiya. It didn’t take long for Chishiya to move his mouth down to your breast, while one of his hands gave attention to the other. Chishiya was kissing and leaving marks all over, even places that wouldn’t be covered by your bikini later on. You were letting out all sorts of whines wanting Chishiya to give your nipples the attention they needed. He looked up at you with his dangerous smile and finally listened, wrapping his lips around your nipple and pinching at the other one. This made you throw your head back and let out a loud moan.

Chishiya had to have left many marks on your chest now, but you didn’t care at this point.

He eventually left your nipples, much to your dismay, and leaned back on his legs. Look up at him, you admired how handsome he wasnt. He wasn’t a guy who was too muscular, enough to make him fit. His skin was flawless, and his face was just one that put butterflies in your stomach anytime you look at it. Now looking up at him it was just the same.

Chishiya grabbed onto your legs, sliding his hands up and grabbing onto the strings of your bikini bottoms. He gently pulled at them and took the material off your body, throwing it to the side and off the bed. He then grabbed your knees and pulled them apart, exposing you to him. You were way past wet for the man, your essence clear as day for him. This made him smirk down at you. He slid his hands up your thighs and ran his fingers over your wet lips, causing you to let out a whine, wanting him to keep going. However, he stopped his fingers, keeping them on your hip with a strong grip.

“You wouldn’t be this wet for him wouldn’t you?” Chishiya asked down at you, looking at your figure trying to get him to move his hands more. You didn’t even have to ask him who he was referring to, knowing it was Niragi.

“N-no shiya-“ you let out, moving your hips again to get him to do something. He smiled down to you and listened, gripping your knees to the side to make room for him. He pulled you closer to him and licked a long strip at the junction of your thigh and pelvis. He quickly moved to licking another long strip from your aching hole to your clit.

Chishiya stopped at your clit, making figure eights over it, causing you to throw your head back and grip onto his partially blonde locks. Soon he was sucking on your clit and sinking his fingers into you. You felt him start to push his fingers in and out of you, taking you closer to your release. Chishiya picked up speed with his fingers, making his tongue and mouth faster around your clit.

You were trying your hardest not to cum quickly, but you were losing that battle very fast. You eventually couldn’t hold yourself back anymore after Chishiya had hit just that right spot with his fingers, you were gushing all on his face and fingers in seconds. Your legs had tried closing in the process but Chishiya just held them open with a tight grip that you were sure would also leave a bruise.

“There we go- yeah you only do that for me mhm.” Chishiya hums up at your huffing chest, trying to come down from the orgasm you just had. After a second, Chishiya came up from between your legs and leaned over you. He places a quick peck on your lips, moving the hair out of your worn out face.

He laid down next to you, giving a small kiss to your forehead and wrapping his arm around your waist. That was the last thing you remembered before passing out for the night.

The next morning at the next executive meeting you couldn’t hide the marks that Chishiya had left the previous night on you, so you had to let them be exposed to everyone. Chishiya sat next to you with a smirk on his face and his hands in his pockets at usual. You yourself had a tinge of pink across your face, knowing that anyone that looked at you knows exactly what happened last night.

However, you didn’t feel the harsh stare that you couldn’t get rid of during yesterday’s meeting, making you slightly smile yourself.

—————-

a/n: thanks for readings, feel free to check out my ko-fi <3

[carlosainzgf]

A Home (part 7)

Part 1 Part 6

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

You couldn’t avoid this forever, could you Y/N?

(TW: murder, manipulation, vomiting and Y/N’s heart breaking)

Niragi dragged his feet into the living room, shoulders loose with sleep, hair a little messy from however he crashed last night. His eyes were half-lidded as he adjusted to the light, then flickered toward the kitchen.

There you were. Already awake, moving around, hands busy with something. He watched as you grabbed a plate, then shifted to the stove, fluid and soft in all your little movements. You were too fucking light on your feet, too gentle for this world. It was like watching a ghost move through a home that didn’t belong to them.

“You’re up early.” he muttered, voice still rough with sleep.

You turned to look at him, smiling—because of course you did, because you were you. “Wanted to make sure you guys wake up to breakfast.” you said. “Since you played yesterday.”

Niragi scoffed, padding into the kitchen with a roll of his eyes. “Played.” he repeated, mocking. “You say it like it’s a fucking card game or some shit.”

You shrugged, unbothered, returning to your task. “It is, isn’t it? A game.”

He exhaled sharply, like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t be bothered. “Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You hummed, grabbing something off the counter. “I don’t sleep well anyway.” you admitted easily. “You guys do, though. That’s good.”

Niragi leaned against the counter, eyeing you. “You’re fucking weird, you know that?”

You smiled again, unshaken. “I know.”

God, that annoyed him. The way you never reacted the way you were supposed to. The way you didn’t take the bait, didn’t flinch, didn’t get all stiff and quiet when he tried to be an asshole. He was an asshole. He knew that. He wanted people to hate him, to push back, to give him a reason to hate them back.

But you? You just stood there, making food like some housewife, treating him like a person even though he’d given you every reason not to.

He didn’t get it.

Didn’t get you.

And that made him want to push you more. Break you open, see what was underneath all that fucking warmth.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” he said, tilting his head at you.

You just blinked at him. “Do what?”

“This. Acting like you give a shit.”

Your expression didn’t change, didn’t waver. “I do give a shit, Niragi.”

Something in his jaw tensed. His fingers curled slightly against the counter.

You weren’t lying. He could tell. That was the worst part.

You turned back to what you were doing, calm as ever, as if Niragi’s words hadn’t just tried to scratch at something under your skin. Like always, they didn’t land.

“Sit down.” you told him lightly, motioning with your chin toward the table.

He just stood there, staring at you, like he was trying to figure out if he wanted to listen to you or not.

After a few seconds, he clicked his tongue and dropped himself into one of the chairs with a sigh, legs sprawled, posture lazy. He leaned back, watching you.

You set something to cook, then turned around, leaning your lower back against the counter and folding your arms loosely over your stomach.

“How’d you get along with Chishiya yesterday?”

Niragi’s expression immediately soured. “Get along?” He scoffed. “The fuck are you talking about? I tolerated him, if that’s what you mean.”

You smiled. “That bad?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing at his temple. “Fucking guy is annoying. Stares too much. Doesn’t fucking talk unless he’s got some smug little comment to throw at you.” He shook his head. “Like a little rat with a superiority complex.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a lot of words for ‘we didn’t kill each other.’”

Niragi’s eyes flicked to yours, narrowing. “You want us to get along or something?”

You gave a soft shrug. “Not really. Just curious.”

He clicked his tongue again, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well. He’s an asshole.”

You didn’t argue with that. You knew that already. Knew both of them were, in their own ways.

Still, you watched him for a moment, noting the way he spoke about Chishiya—annoyed, sure, but not furious. Not hateful.

“You didn’t hate having him there, though.” you pointed out, eyes soft but knowing.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You tilted your head, your expression thoughtful. “You’re talking like you hate his guts, but you don’t actually sound as mad as you should be if that were the case. Like, I don’t know… Maybe it wasn’t that bad, having him as backup.”

His face twisted in something like irritation, but you could see his mind turning behind his eyes. “Tch. Don’t be stupid. I would’ve done fine without him.”

“I’m sure.” you said easily. “But still. He was there.”

Niragi exhaled sharply, looking away like he was done with this conversation.

You smiled.

That was an answer in itself.

Silence settled between the two of you for a moment, the only sounds in the room being the quiet cooking noises from the stove. Niragi tapped his fingers on the table idly, eyes flicking toward you every now and then, like he was expecting you to say something.

And you did. But not about Chishiya.

“You didn’t have a lot of people watching your back before, did you?”

He stilled.

You didn’t push. Didn’t clarify. Just let the words hang there, weightless, giving him the space to take them however he wanted.

After a long moment, he leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to the side with a lazy sort of smirk. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?”

You smiled back, unbothered. “I am smart, Niragi.”

He didn’t answer your question. But he didn’t need to.

Because if he had people watching his back before, he wouldn’t be like this. Wouldn’t need to push people away first, just to make sure they couldn’t leave him behind. Wouldn’t have turned himself into something that nobody could get close to.

But here he was. Sitting at your table, eating your food, letting you talk to him like this.

And he hadn’t left.

You heard how Chishiya walked in, as quiet as ever, his presence only noticeable once he was there, lingering at the entrance like some kind of ghost. His hoodie was slightly rumpled, and his eyes immediately locked onto the scene in front of him.

You glanced over at Chishiya and smiled.

“Stop staring.” you teased, waving a hand at him. “Those pretty eyes are making me nervous. Just sit down already.”

Niragi’s expression immediately soured, his head snapping toward you like he just knew that you were going to say some shit that would piss him off.

And you did.

Because right as Niragi’s glare intensified, you hummed, tilting your head slightly and adding, “Your lips are pretty too, Niragi.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“What the fuck?” Niragi shot you a look of pure disgust, as if you had just committed some unspeakable crime right in front of him. “Don’t fucking say weird shit like that.”

Chishiya, meanwhile, just blinked. No real reaction, just a slow, measured look as he finally moved, stepping into the kitchen properly and taking a seat.

“Relax.” you said easily, looking at Niragi with a smile, putting his plate down in front of him. “I’m not hitting on either of you. Those were just the first things I noticed about you two, that’s all.”

Niragi still looked pissed, his brows furrowed like the very concept of you complimenting Chishiya in any way was personally offensive to him.

“Fucking bullshit.” he muttered, shaking his head and stabbing his fork into his food.

Chishiya, on the other hand, seemed mildly intrigued. He picked up the cup of tea you had placed in front of him, his gaze flicking to you as he lifted it to his lips. “The first things you noticed about us?” he echoed, his voice smooth and quiet, like he was picking apart your words just to see what was inside.

You hummed, nodding. “Mhm. First time I saw Niragi, I thought, wow, those are some really pretty lips for someone who runs his mouth so much.”

Niragi scowled. “Shut the fuck up.”

You ignored him, your attention shifting to Chishiya. “And you,” you continued, tilting your head slightly. “your eyes stood out to me first. They’re just… really nice to look at. And intense. Kind of like you could see through people.”

Chishiya didn’t respond right away. Just watched you.

You met his gaze without hesitation, soft and unbothered, because you meant it. None of this was flattery—just observations. Just things you had noticed about them right away, things that had stuck in your mind.

Chishiya’s lips curled slightly at the edges, the smallest hint of amusement flickering through his eyes. “And what about you?” he asked, setting his cup down. “What do you think people notice first about you?”

You blinked at the question, caught a little off guard. Then, after a moment, you shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably that I talk too much.”

Niragi snorted. “Yeah, no fucking shit.”

You gave him a look but didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong.

Still, you turned back to Chishiya, your voice softer now. “But if I had to guess?” You exhaled lightly, thinking. “Maybe that I’m… kind. Or at least, that’s what I hope people notice.”

Chishiya’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, as if considering something.

You didn’t press him.

Niragi, however, made a disgusted noise, shaking his head. “Ugh, fucking stop.” he muttered. “This shit is giving me a headache.”

You laughed, light and warm. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop.” you said, finally pushing off the counter and moving toward them, setting down more food. “Just eat, both of you. You need it.”

Niragi muttered something under his breath, but he did eat.

Chishiya, too, lifted his utensils without complaint.

And you? You just smiled to yourself, watching them for a moment before settling down with your tea.

But then you scoffed, shaking your head as you watched Chishiya eat.

“Don’t eat like that.” you said, voice light, your eyes fixed on him.

Chishiya barely reacted, just flicked his gaze up to you, swallowing his bite of food before speaking. “Like what?”

“Like you can’t fucking see.” you shot back. “Your hair’s all in your face.”

And without hesitation, without overthinking it, you leaned over—close, warm—and gently tucked his hair behind his ears.

It was effortless. Natural. Like you would’ve done it for anyone.

Because you would’ve.

For a stranger on the street, for a friend, for someone you’d only just met. You weren’t selective with your kindness—it wasn’t calculated, wasn’t something you gave out only to people you deemed worthy.

You just were.

And that was what made it so strange.

Chishiya sat still beneath your touch, but he was aware of it, of the way your fingers brushed against his skin so easily, like it didn’t mean anything. And maybe to you, it really didn’t. Maybe you would do this for a homeless man, for someone bleeding out on the pavement, for a person who could offer you nothing in return.

That was the thing about you.

You were open. Too open.

Niragi made a disgusted noise, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is this? Babysitting?” he grumbled through a mouthful, chewing loudly just to be an ass. “If he can’t see his fucking food, he can deal with it himself.”

You barely spared Niragi a glance. “You’re just mad nobody’s tucking your hair back.” you said, smirking slightly before refocusing on Chishiya. “There. Now you don’t look like you’re eating through a curtain.”

Chishiya didn’t move right away. Didn’t blink, didn’t react. Just… existed there, watching you. “Hmph.”

That was it. No sharp retort, no sarcasm, no witty comeback. Just a small, noncommittal sound before he went right back to eating.

But Niragi? Oh, he hated this.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Niragi shot at Chishiya, eyebrows knitting together in irritation. “Say something, you weirdo.”

Chishiya didn’t even look at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“That was weird as shit.” Niragi spat. “Fucking act like a person.”

Chishiya did look at him then, lips twitching at the edges like he was mildly entertained by Niragi’s outburst. “Why?” he asked simply. “So you can sleep better at night?”

Niragi clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “God, you’re fucking insufferable.”

You only laughed, leaning back. “You’re both ridiculous.”

And yet, they were still here. Still sitting with you, still listening, still reacting.

And you? You were just sweet enough to make them stay.

You exhaled, stretching your arms above your head. “I’m playing today.”

Niragi barely paused mid-chew before scoffing, looking at you like you’d just told him the dumbest thing imaginable. “Are you fucking stupid?”

Chishiya, ever so observant, simply leaned back in his chair, stirring his tea, watching.

You tilted your head at Niragi. “I haven’t played in a while.” you said, tone light, as if that was all the explanation needed. “I should go before my visa gets too low.”

Niragi licked his teeth, clearly unimpressed. “And you’re going alone?”

You shrugged. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, my ass.” he shot back immediately. “You didn’t take me last time, so you’re not going without me this time.”

Ah.

There it was.

It wasn’t about you. Not really. It was about him—about his pride, about how you left without him before, how you chose to go alone instead of letting him come with you.

You bit back a knowing smile, tilting your head playfully. “Oh? Now you want to play with me?”

“I don’t fucking want to,” he corrected sharply “but if you’re going, then yeah, I am too.”

Well. That was easy.

So you turned to Chishiya. “What about you?”

He blinked slowly. “What about me?”

“Are you coming?” you asked, tone soft.

He wasn’t obligated to. You weren’t asking because you expected him to—this was different. Niragi had his own reasons, his own stubborn pride. But Chishiya?

You genuinely didn’t know why he would.

And yet—

“I suppose I could.”

That was all he said. No reasoning, no explanation. Just… an agreement.

You frowned slightly, leaning in with curiosity. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“I know.”

You studied him. “Then why?”

Chishiya didn’t answer immediately. He just watched you, like he was calculating something in that pretty head of his, before he finally offered, “Maybe I’m interested.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Interested?”

“In seeing how you do.” he clarified, though something in his tone suggested that wasn’t the full truth.

Still, it was something.

“Hah!” Niragi let out a sharp sound. “You’re so fucking weird, man.”

Chishiya didn’t look at him. “You’re still sitting here.”

Niragi sneered, biting into his food. “Whatever.”

You smiled to yourself, warmth spreading through your chest. “Well, then I guess we’re all going.”

Niragi clicked his tongue. “Guess so.”

Chishiya simply took another sip of tea.

~

The three of you were waiting, leaning against a cold, concrete wall, the looming neon game arena lights flickering overhead. You were between them naturally—Niragi to your right, arms crossed, chewing on his lip impatiently, and Chishiya to your left, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Excuse me.”

A voice.

A man, maybe around your age, stepping hesitantly toward you, awkward and nervous, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey.” he said, voice a little shaky, clearly unsure of himself. “I, uh, I just— I just wanted to say you’re really pretty, and I was wondering if, maybe, after the game, you’d wanna—”

You blinked, a little taken aback by the sudden confession, but before you could even register your reaction, you felt both Niragi and Chishiya shift.

Not toward him—no, just around you, subtle movements that felt like the equivalent of a pair of guard dogs raising their heads.

You could feel Niragi’s glare like a heatwave, practically burning a hole through the poor guy’s skull. Chishiya, on the other hand, didn’t move much—he didn’t have to. His presence was quiet, but it was there, his steady gaze landing on the guy with a look.

You, however, remained calm.

You smiled, soft and kind, tilting your head slightly. “That’s really sweet of you.”

The guy visibly perked up, looking a little hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you assured him, sincerity dripping from every word. “But I’m sorry, I don’t think I can. There’s just… a lot going on right now.”

His face fell slightly, but you reached out, giving his arm a gentle pat. “You’re sweet, though. I’m sure someone will say yes.”

That little bit of hope you gave him made him soften, a little more at ease despite the rejection. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, anyway.”

And then he walked off, still awkward, but not crushed.

You had a way of doing that—letting people down without breaking them. Leaving them with a little bit of light, rather than just shutting the door completely.

It was kind.

It was you.

And it pissed Niragi off.

“The fuck was that?” he snapped, turning his glare onto you now, irritated. “Why didn’t you just tell him to fuck off?”

You blinked at him, confused. “Why would I do that?”

“Because,” he scoffed. “he was wasting your time. That was pathetic.”

“He wasn’t hurting anyone.” you said simply, shrugging. “Why would I be mean to him?”

“Because he deserved it.” Niragi muttered, sneering. “You let him walk away thinking he had a fucking chance.”

You sighed, giving him a look. “And why is that a bad thing?”

Niragi opened his mouth, then shut it, clicking his tongue in frustration, before scoffing and looking away, muttering something under his breath.

You turned to Chishiya instead, tilting your head. “Do you think I should’ve been meaner?”

Chishiya blinked at you, then offered a lazy shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to Niragi.” you mused. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because he’s a fucking asshole.” Niragi snapped, irritated that you were analyzing him now. “Obviously.”

Chishiya smirked slightly. “Obviously.”

Niragi scowled. “Shut up.”

You just smiled, folding your arms as you leaned back against the wall again, between them like you belonged there.

Niragi liked to pretend he was untouchable. He built himself up as someone who didn’t care, someone above the rules, above consequences, above people. He wanted to be seen as violent, erratic, unpredictable—because fear kept people at a distance. It kept them in check. It made him untouchable.

And yet, underneath all that fire, all that psychotic bravado, all the teeth-baring and gun-slinging and joy he took in chaos—was something much uglier.

Insecurity.

It gnawed at him constantly.

He hated that he cared. He hated that he needed.

Because needing was weak.

Because the last time he needed, the last time he wanted, it got him nothing but pain.

The world never handed him anything freely, never offered him kindness without a price. If he wanted something, he had to take it. Steal it. Destroy for it. Kill for it. That was how life worked.

But then there was you.

You, with your sweet voice and your warm hands and your ability to smile at him like he was human. You, who saw everyone as something soft, someone worth protecting.

It made him feel stupid.

It made him feel small.

Because every time you touched him, every time you spoke to him in that voice, with that tone, so full of care, he wanted to melt into it.

That was weakness.

And Niragi hated weakness.

So he tried to push it down, mask it with cruelty, mask it with laughter, mask it with insults. He made fun of you, made fun of the people you were nice to, made fun of the way you let that guy down so gently instead of ripping him apart.

Because deep down, he knew—if that had been him, if he had been the one to walk up to you, all awkward and hopeful, if he had tried to ask you out back when he was nobody, back when he had no power, no confidence, no ability to strike fear into people—

You would have let him down gently, too.

You would have pitied him.

And he couldn’t stand that thought.

So he lashed out.

Because you made him feel like something less. Like something breakable. Like someone who could hurt.

And Niragi didn’t want to hurt.

He wanted to be above that.

But every time you looked at him like that, with all that sweetness, all that love, he remembered something deep inside of him, something he tried so desperately to kill—

That once, a long time ago—

Before he learned how to set the world on fire—

Before he learned how to hurt first—

He just wanted to be loved.

The screens lit up.

There were maybe fifteen people total—not a large group, but big enough for things to get messy if the game forced them to turn on each other.

The screen flickered, then displayed the familiar, clinical text in bold letters.

GAME: WARDEN’S ESCAPE

DIFFICULTY: 6 OF SPADES

Spades. Not a surprise. Niragi clicked his tongue, stuffing his hands into his pockets, while Chishiya barely reacted, his head tilted as he examined the screen.

A voice began to explain.

RULES:

Players have 60 minutes to reach the exit.

The "Warden" will attempt to stop you.

The exit will only open if a keycard is scanned.

A keycard can be only used once for one person.

Keycards are hidden throughout the area

You may take a keycard from another player by any means.

When time is up, the building will lock down, and all remaining players will be eliminated.

Your stomach twisted slightly at that last part.

No immediate death penalty—no bombs strapped to your neck, no instant game-over if you broke the rules. But there was an implied death sentence. If you failed, if youtook too long, you would die.

"Tch." Niragi scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "They should've made this harder."

You shot him a look. "It's a six. That's high."

“Not for me.”

You sighed, but before you could reply, the screen flashed again.

GAME START.

The moment the words appeared, the heavy metal doors at the front of the lot groaned, then began to slide open.

Inside, dim lights flickered in a massive industrial warehouse, rows of old machinery and storage units creating an uneven, winding path forward.

You could already hear people muttering, debating whether to run inside first or hang back.

Then—

A loud, echoing bang. The unmistakable sound of a shotgun firing.

Screams erupted, and you snapped your head toward the source.

At the top of a metal catwalk, partially hidden by shadows, a figure stood—tall, clad in armor, a full-face helmet obscuring their features.

The Warden.

They pumped their shotgun slowly, casually, before raising it again.

“Move.” Chishiya said, already stepping forward.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

People scattered, some sprinting inside while others dove for cover. The Warden didn’t seem interested in killing anyone just yet—just herding them.

You stayed close to the boys as the three of you entered the warehouse, quickly taking in your surroundings. It was huge. Dark corners, looming machinery, multiple levels.

A death trap.

And somewhere inside, the keycards you needed to escape.

Niragi turned to you with a grin that was nothing short of wicked, his rifle already slung off his shoulder, finger twitching near the trigger.

“Can I shoot him?”

The question was almost casual, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t really asking. He was just waiting for an excuse. A reason to unleash whatever violent itch he always seemed to have crawling under his skin.

You didn’t even flinch at the way he spoke about it so easily. You just glanced up at the armored figure above, still watching the players scramble.

“…I doubt it’d work.” you murmured.

That was the truth. If the game allowed the Warden to be shot and killed so easily, what would be the point? There had to be a catch.

Niragi scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah? You wanna test that theory?”

He raised the rifle just slightly, as if already prepared to aim.

You reached over and grabbed his arm, just a gentle touch on his wrist, but his movements halted anyway. “Don’t.”

Chishiya, who had been scanning the area, finally cut in. “She’s right. He’s probably bulletproof.”

Niragi clicked his tongue, but he lowered the gun again, though you could tell he didn’t want to. “Fucking boring.”

His lack of concern for the situation almost made you laugh. It was such a Niragi thing to be disappointed that the game wasn’t letting him kill the guy.

You turned your attention back to the rest of the warehouse. The layout was a mess—rows of towering metal shelves, abandoned machinery, rusted pipes. It looked like an old industrial facility, the kind of place that was full of hidden nooks and blind corners.

Somewhere in here, those keycards were scattered.

And time was ticking.

“Alright.” you breathed, glancing at the boys. “Let’s find one of those cards before that asshole decides to stop playing around.”

Chishiya hummed in agreement. Niragi just shrugged, adjusting his grip on his rifle.

Then, you moved.

It didn’t take long before you realized just how ruthless this game was.

Not because of the Warden, though he was definitely a looming threat, stalking the catwalks, occasionally firing off rounds that sent players sprinting.

No—the real problem was the players themselves.

People weren’t just searching for the keycards.

They were fighting for them.

You’d barely made it past the first few aisles before you saw a guy get tackled, shoved hard against a metal beam as another player yanked a card from his hands.

Another group was already ganging up on a girl, three against one.

The rule had said it clearly: you can take a keycard from another player by any means.

And that meant they would.

Chishiya barely looked surprised. Niragi? He just smirked. You, however, were starting to feel that familiar knot in your stomach.

You’d been in enough games to know how quickly people turned into animals in situations like this. And you also knew that while you weren’t willing to hurt someone over a damn keycard—these two definitely were.

Well. Niragi was. Chishiya would just watch.

Still, you had to be careful.

Because the more chaos that unfolded, the more Niragi thrived.

At one point, a guy lunged at you, probably thinking you had a card.

You barely had time to react before Niragi was already stepping in. He caught the man by the collar, yanking him back so violently that he slammed into the nearest wall.

The guy groaned, dazed, and Niragi leaned down, his grin sharp.

“Wrong fucking choice, dumbass.”

The man scrambled to get away, tripping over himself.

You shot Niragi a look. “Was that necessary?”

He just snorted. “What, you wanted to handle him yourself?”

Before you could answer, Chishiya finally spoke. “There.”

You followed his gaze—and saw it.

A keycard.

Sitting on the edge of a high metal shelf, partially wedged between two rusted boxes.

Niragi laughed. “Well, that’s easy.”

You, however, frowned. “…It’s too obvious.”

Chishiya hummed. “Probably a trap.”

The three of you stood there for a moment, assessing the situation.

Behind you, the Warden fired again, another warning shot that sent players scattering.

Before either you or Chishiya could say another word, Niragi was already moving. He didn’t give a shit about whether it was a trap or not. If anything, the idea of it being dangerous probably made it more appealing.

He reached up and snatched the keycard from its spot.

You braced yourself, half-expecting something to go off—maybe an alarm, maybe another shot from the Warden—but nothing happened.

Just the sound of Niragi flicking the card between his fingers like it was nothing.

“Hah.” he scoffed. “You two worry too much.”

You exhaled, trying not to roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s keep moving.”

You weren’t even annoyed, really. It was just so Niragi to pull shit like that.

The three of you continued through the warehouse, stepping over rusted pipes and empty crates. The space smelled like dust and old metal, the air thick with tension.

You could hear the violence unfolding around you. People shouting. Footsteps pounding against the concrete. And the occasional gunshot.

Not from the Warden.

From the players.

Because of course some of them had weapons.

Somewhere to your left, two guys were fighting over a keycard, one of them already bloody from a deep gash across his arm. Further down, a woman was on the ground, unmoving, while someone else rifled through her pockets.

And Niragi— Niragi was eating it up.

You could see it in him.

That twitch in his fingers, the way his grip flexed around his rifle.

He ached to use it.

It was almost funny, really.

The guy had been holding back all night. You weren’t sure if it was because of you or because the rules of the game weren’t clear enough for him to start shooting, but either way—he was itching for an excuse.

Chishiya noticed it too. He flicked his gaze toward Niragi, unimpressed. “Don’t get trigger happy just because you’re bored.”

Niragi let out a low, amused laugh. “Bored? Are you kidding me?” He gestured toward the nearest body. “This is entertaining.”

You sighed. “We’re not here to kill people, Niragi.”

He turned to you, grinning. “You’re not. I don’t see the problem.”

You frowned. “You don’t even need to shoot anyone.”

He tilted his head, still smirking. “Doesn’t mean I can’t.”

You knew that tone. That taunting tone. The one that meant he was daring you to try and stop him.

But before you could say anything else, a figure moved in your periphery.

Fast.

Coming straight for you.

A man, eyes wild, face streaked with sweat and dirt. You barely caught a glimpse of the knife in his hand before he lunged.

You reacted fast—moving just in time to dodge, stumbling a step back—but Niragi was faster.

The crack of the gunshot was deafening.

The man barely made it another step before he crumpled.

You stared.

Not in shock. Not even in fear.

Just… annoyance.

Because of course Niragi took the first opportunity to shoot someone.

He huffed out a laugh, lowering the rifle. “What? He was coming at you.”

You gave him a look. “You could’ve just kicked him.”

He grinned, sharp and shameless. “Yeah, but this was more fun.”

Chishiya sighed, already looking disinterested. “Wonderful. Now we have to keep moving before his friends show up.”

You exhaled, rubbing your temple.

This game was a mess.

And Niragi? Niragi was having fun.

You moved quickly, eyes scanning the ground, the edges of crates, anywhere that might hide another keycard.

Time was running out.

It wasn’t immediate panic—not yet—but the last thing you wanted was to cut it close.

Your fingers brushed against something smooth, something just barely poking out from beneath a stack of old wooden pallets.

A keycard.

Without a second thought, you grabbed it and shoved it into Chishiya’s hands.

“Here.”

He blinked at you, fingers curling around the card. He hummed, slipping it into his pocket like it was nothing.

Everywhere you turned, you caught glimpses of movement. Some players were still searching, scrambling in desperation.

Others were… already dead.

Then you saw him.

The guy from earlier. The one who had been so sweet, so shy when he asked you out.

He was standing near an overturned forklift, chest heaving, a keycard clenched tightly in his fist.

Not smart enough to hide it. Not nearly paranoid enough to be holding it like that.

He turned his head, and his eyes met yours.

You both froze.

You weren’t sure what was going through his mind, but he had to know.

Had to realize he was fucked.

Because it wasn’t just you staring at him.

It was Niragi.

It was Chishiya.

Niragi moved.

Slow. Casual. Almost too relaxed as he turned toward you, smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

And then he lifted his rifle—and slid it into your hands.

Your breath hitched.

Oh.

Oh.

You curled your fingers around it instinctively, feeling the weight settle against your palms, the coolness of the metal pressing against your skin.

The guy was still staring at you, wide-eyed, frozen in place.

Niragi leaned in, voice just for you.

“Go on.” he murmured, almost sweetly. “Take your shot.”

The words slithered down your spine like a dare.

Like temptation.

You didn’t move. Didn’t raise the rifle. Didn’t even blink.

Because, honestly? You weren’t even looking at the guy anymore.

You were looking at Niragi.

At his expression. At the way his dark eyes gleamed with something hungry.

He was watching you. Not just watching—studying. As if this was some kind of test. As if he wanted to see what you’d do. As if he liked this.

The weight of the rifle in your hands felt wrong.

Not because you’d never held one before.

Not because you were scared.

But because this?

This was exactly what Niragi wanted.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t raise the rifle.

Didn’t look away from Niragi, either.

You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—the fact that he had handed it to you, the fact that he was watching so intently, or the fact that part of you could hear what he wanted before he even said it.

Go on. Take your shot.

Kill for me.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening against the metal.

The guy—god, you didn’t even know his name—was still frozen, wide-eyed and waiting. Waiting for you to lower the gun. Waiting for you to raise it. Waiting for something.

“Oh, come on.” Niragi scoffed, stepping just close enough that you could feel his presence behind you. He tilted his head, eyes flicking lazily toward the poor guy standing there, helpless, keycard clutched in his fist.

“What’s the problem?” Niragi drawled, voice syrupy-sweet. “You think he wouldn’t kill you if he had the chance?”

The guy sucked in a sharp breath. “I wouldn’t—”

“You would.” Niragi cut him off so smoothly, it was brutal. “Because you’re desperate. And desperate people do anything to survive.”

The guy clenched his jaw.

“I’m not like that.” he muttered, shaky.

“You will be.” Niragi murmured, tilting his head. “That’s the fun part.”

His hand—big, warm, solid—came up behind you, wrapping loosely around your wrist.

Not forcing.

Not yanking.

Just pressing.

Guiding.

“Just pull the trigger, sweetheart.” he murmured. “It’s easy.”

Your stomach twisted.

“You’re insane.” the guy whispered.

Niragi grinned.

“No shit.”

Fuck.

“Well.” Chishiya’s voice broke through, flat. “He has a point.”

You turned your head just enough to see him, leaned against a crate, arms crossed. He looked utterly unimpressed.

Indifferent.

Like this wasn’t a thing to him. Like none of it mattered.

And then he raised a brow at you, ever so slight, ever so mocking.

“You do want to live, don’t you?” he asked.

Your lips parted. “Of course—”

“Then kill him.”

A cold sensation slid down your spine.

Chishiya didn’t move. Didn’t force anything. He just watched you, head tilted, eyes scanning your face like he was reading something there. Like you were an experiment.

“I mean,” he continued casually. “you do understand how this works, don’t you?”

You knew what he was doing.

He was so good at it.

Not yelling, not forcing, not pushing—just speaking.

“Even if you don’t kill him, someone else will.” he said simply. “Because there aren’t enough cards for everyone. There never are.”

You swallowed hard.

“But—”

“And say we let him go.” He shrugged. “What happens next time?”

You said nothing.

“If he makes it to another game,” Chishiya continued. “he’ll remember this. He’ll remember that you let him live.” A pause. “And he might assume you’ll be just as kind next time.”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s—”

“That’s dangerous.” He held your gaze, perfectly calm. Like he knew he was winning. Like he knew that somewhere, in some part of your mind, you were listening.

Understanding.

“You can’t afford to be soft.” Chishiya murmured. “Not here.”

You felt Niragi smile against your hair.

“C’mon, angel.” he murmured, voice dripping with something too sweet. “Just one little squeeze.”

He tapped your wrist lightly, still guiding the gun in your hands.

“So easy.”

The guy took a half-step back, hands tightening around his keycard. He knew he was fucked.

And you—god. You were shaking.

Because what if they were right?

What if next time, he wasn’t some helpless, wide-eyed kid?

What if next time, you were the one standing there with nothing?

“You can do it.” Niragi crooned.

You weren’t sure if he meant that.

Or if he just wanted to see if you would.

Your ears were ringing.

Your hands shook, the weight of the gun suddenly unbearable.

The guy was on the ground.

Still.

You couldn’t even hear if he made a sound.

You just saw the blood blooming beneath him, the way his body twitched before going slack, the way his fingers—his fingers that had been wrapped around the keycard, holding it so tightly—slowly unfurled, limp.

He was dead.

You killed him.

Fuck.

You killed him.

A shaky breath clawed its way out of your throat.

You barely registered Niragi shifting behind you, leaning in close, the heat of his body pressed against your back.

“See?” His voice was warm, wrapping around you like something deadly. “Told you it was easy.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your chest rose and fell too fast, too uneven, heart hammering against your ribs, trying—failing—to make sense of what you’d just done.

Chishiya walked over, crouched, pried the card from the dead man’s fingers, and straightened.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. He just turned, stepping back toward you, pressing the keycard into your palm.

Like he was handing you change after buying something.

Like this was just another transaction.

“You did well.” he murmured.

Your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

But you felt Niragi’s grin against your hair, his breath warm as he leaned in closer.

“You got a taste now, angel.” he murmured, voice laced with something dangerous. “Bet it wasn’t as bad as you thought, huh?”

You swallowed.

You wanted to say no.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to undo it.

But you couldn’t.

You couldn’t bring him back.

Couldn’t change what you’d done.

And they—they wouldn’t let you. Because Niragi was still so close, still guiding your hand, still treating this like it was some kind of victory.

And Chishiya—Chishiya, who barely even blinked at your shaking hands, who just straightened, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“You should keep moving.” he said.

As if that was that. As if there was nothing else to be said.

You didn’t realize you were shaking your head until Niragi’s fingers curled, tilting your chin up.

“Don’t freak out on me now, sweetheart.” he murmured.

You swallowed hard, breath shuddering, pulse hammering in your throat.

And Niragi—Niragi just smiled, his voice dipping into something low and sweet.

“C’mon, angel.” he crooned. “One step at a time.”

And you—you stepped. Because what else could you do? You could still feel the gun in your hands. Even though Niragi had taken it back, even though your fingers were empty now, they still twitched, still ached with the weight of it.

Still remembered.

Your vision blurred as you walked, the world turning into nothing but smears of color and light, the edges of your mind closing in like a vice.

You killed someone.

Not because you had to.

Not because you were cornered, not because you were threatened, not because you were fighting for your own survival.

But because they told you to.

Because they pushed you.

Because Niragi whispered in your ear like the devil himself, because Chishiya stood by and let it happen, because they both knew what they were doing—what buttons to press, what words to say, what weight to put on your shoulders until the only choice you had left was the one they wanted.

Niragi’s arm slung lazily over your shoulders, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your skin. His touch was warm, grounding, suffocating.

“You won, angel.” he murmured, voice dipped in honey, in poison, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Look at you.”

Your stomach twisted. Your steps faltered.

But his grip on you was firm, tugging you closer, keeping you moving.

Chishiya, walking on your other side, glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“You did what you had to.” he said simply, like that was enough to justify it.

Like he didn’t care whether it was true or not.

And maybe he didn’t.

Maybe all he cared about was you, unraveling before him.

Maybe that was what made you interesting.

Your breath shuddered out of you. Your vision swam again, and you realized—fuck, you were about to cry.

Not here.

Not now.

Not in front of them.

But Niragi must have felt the way you tensed, the way your breath hitched, because he cooed, low and sweet.

“Oh, angel.” he murmured, fingers curling into your waist, squeezing. “Getting all emotional on me?”

Your throat clenched tight.

“Let me guess.” he continued, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your skin. “Feeling guilty?” A dark chuckle, something indulgent, almost affectionate. “That’s cute.”

You winced. Physically.

Chishiya saw it. You knew he did. And yet, he didn’t comment. He didn’t intervene. Of course he didn’t. Because why would he? This was his test, wasn’t it? Watching you, watching how far you’d break before you snapped entirely.

And Niragi—Niragi was reveling in it, dragging his fingertips down your spine, all soft and slow.

“Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.” he said. “No point crying over someone who would’ve died anyway.”

That—that wasn’t true.

That wasn’t fucking true.

He wouldn’t have died.

He wasn’t fighting anyone.

He was just playing. Just trying to win, just trying to live, just trying to get through the same fucked-up world you all were stuck in.

And now he was dead because you pulled the trigger.

Your breath came out uneven, sharp and shallow, but Niragi just sighed, dramatic, pressing more of his weight onto you.

“You’re really gonna cry about it, huh?” he mused, his voice dipping into something lower, something almost sickly sweet. “Poor baby.”

Something inside you twisted, something ugly, something that wanted to cry but refused to, something that wanted to break but couldn’t—not with both of them here, watching.

So instead, you swallowed it down. Forced it back. Took a slow, shaking breath. And kept walking. Because what else could you do?

They wouldn’t let you stop.

Wouldn’t let you dwell.

Wouldn’t let you fucking feel anything about it.

Because they didn’t care.

They never cared.

You were breaking.

And they were just watching you fall.

The doors clicked open as the keycards were scanned, the heavy metal giving way as the lock released, and the three of you stepped out into the night air.

Cool, fresh, crisp against your skin.

You sucked in a deep breath, shaky, uneven, trying to ground yourself in it. Trying to make it settle something inside you. But it didn’t.

It couldn’t.

Because nothing could take away what you just did.

Nothing could erase the fact that someone was lying dead in that building because of you, while it was unnecessary. It would’ve been fine, if you had to kill him. But you didn’t.

You stumbled slightly as you stepped down onto the pavement, your legs weaker than you expected, your body suddenly so much heavier. The world felt wrong, the air too thin, your chest too tight.

The first tear slipped down your cheek.

And once it started, it didn’t stop.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You couldn’t keep it inside, couldn’t keep swallowing it down, couldn’t pretend you were okay, because you weren’t.

A choked sob forced its way out of your throat, your hands shaking, your whole body trembling under the weight of everything that had just happened.

Niragi sighed.

Dramatic.

“Aw, baby.”

His voice was so sweet, so syrupy, so thick with indulgence. His fingers brushed against your cheek, slow, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

Like he cared.

Like he wasn’t the one who did this to you.

“That bad, huh?” he murmured, his voice low, soothing, soft in a way that felt so fucking wrong. His other hand found your waist, fingers curling into your side, warm and steady. “Poor thing.”

You let out a broken breath, something caught between a sob and a gasp, your vision blurred, your throat tight.

You stepped into him.

Into his warmth.

Into his arms.

Into him.

Your forehead pressed into his chest, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as your body trembled against his.

And Niragi—Niragi smiled. Over your head, he lifted his gaze to Chishiya, smirking, something smug and victorious curling at the corners of his mouth.

Chishiya smiled back. Small. Knowing. Dark.

Because you—you had just proven something to both of them. That no matter how much you tried to fight it, no matter how much you thought you wouldn’t fall—you still ran to the thing that hurt you.

Still sought comfort from the very hands that broke you.

Still let yourself be pulled under, be swallowed whole, be owned by them.

Niragi pressed his nose into your hair, inhaling, sighing against you like this was nothing.

Like you weren’t breaking in his arms.

“You did so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice soft, dripping with something thick and intoxicating. “I’m proud of you.”

A sharp breath shuddered out of you. Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt.

And Niragi—Niragi just kept smiling.

~

Chishiya pulled the door open, stepping inside first, but he didn’t bother waiting. He just walked ahead like he hadn’t just been there to witness it all. Like he hadn’t watched you crack, hadn’t watched you fold, hadn’t watched you melt into Niragi’s touch like you needed it.

Like you were made for this.

Like it was inevitable.

And maybe it was.

Niragi guided you inside with an arm draped over your shoulders, heavy and firm, warm in a way that you should’ve hated.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t hate it at all.

You leaned into him, the weight of his hold pressing you close, grounding you in a way that made your skin prickle. You should’ve pulled away, should’ve stepped back, should’ve done something—but instead, you let him steer you deeper into the apartment, let him touch you, let him own you in that moment.

“You tired, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low, sweet, laced with something that you couldn’t quite name.

You nodded, sluggish, your body still running on the adrenaline crash, on the aftershocks of everything that had happened.

His fingers curled into your arm, a slow squeeze, and then he leaned down, close enough that you felt his breath against the shell of your ear.

“You were real cute back there, you know.” he hummed, the smirk obvious in his voice. “All shaky, all teary-eyed… fuck, you’re just the softest little thing, huh?”

You inhaled sharply, something catching in your throat.

He liked that.

He liked you like this.

Weak.

Folded.

His.

But you didn’t pull away. Didn’t even want to. And that was the worst part. Because this—this warmth, this safety, this sick, cruel comfort—was what you needed right now.

And he knew it.

Chishiya’s footsteps were quiet as he passed by, heading straight for the kitchen, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. He didn’t have to say anything.

He had seen.

He had won.

Niragi hummed, shifting his grip, sliding his hand down your arm until his fingers curled around your wrist, leading you toward the couch.

“Come sit with me.” he murmured, like you had a choice. Like you wouldn’t just follow if he told you to.

And you did.

Because you wanted to.

And because they had made you that way.

You barely even realized you were sitting until you felt the couch cushion dip beneath you, Niragi pressing close, his arm still slung over your shoulders, his body warm, solid, unyielding. He was the one holding now. Touching.

And you let him.

You barely even knew how to exist in this moment—head spinning, ears still ringing from the gunshot, from the way his voice had cooed so sweetly in your ear, from the way Chishiya had shoved the keycard into your hand without a second glance.

You had killed someone.

And they had been so proud of you for it.

Your body still felt shaky, unsteady, like you weren’t really here, like if you let yourself sink too deep, you’d just slip away entirely. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe—

Something was placed in Niragi’s hand.

Chishiya.

You looked up at him, blinking slow, the exhaustion in your bones so thick you could barely lift your head. He was standing there, looking down at you both.

And then you saw what he was holding.

Biscuits.

Your biscuits. The ones he must’ve seen you eat a few times, the ones he knew you liked.

Chishiya didn’t say a word as he handed them to Niragi, barely even acknowledging you as he turned away and walked back toward the kitchen.

But Niragi grinned.

And that was worse.

“Aw, look at that.” he teased, holding up the biscuit between two fingers. “Chishiya being all thoughtful. That’s new.”

Chishiya didn’t respond, didn’t even look back, and Niragi only laughed before shifting beside you, turning slightly, pressing even closer.

And then he held the biscuit up to your lips.

“Open.” he murmured.

Your stomach clenched.

Something in you knew this was wrong, knew this was twisted, knew this wasn’t how this should feel. But the moment his fingers brushed your mouth, the moment his tone dipped into something soft, something sweet, something that made your skin feel too tight—

You obeyed.

Your lips parted, and he slipped the biscuit inside, watching you so intently, so fucking pleased with himself, like he had just won something important.

And he had.

Because you let him.

You chewed slowly, your jaw stiff, your stomach knotting, but you swallowed it down anyway.

“…Thank you.”

His grin stretched wider.

“Good girl.”

Your chest ached.

They had broken you.

You didn’t even care anymore.

Niragi shifted beside you, stretching with a quiet groan before getting to his feet. The absence of his warmth was immediate, the weight of his arm slipping away leaving you cold in a way that made your stomach turn.

He reached out, fingers brushing through your hair, gentle, too gentle, and you barely managed to keep yourself still as he pushed strands back from your face, thumb tracing along the edge of your jaw, pressing lightly into your cheek.

Soft.

So, so soft.

You almost flinched.

His lips curled, head tilting as he looked down at you like he was taking in his favorite thing, and for some reason, that made your chest ache even more.

“I’m going to bed.” he murmured, his voice light, casual, easy—like none of this mattered, like what happened tonight was just another night, another game, another kill. Nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to you.

“You can come with me if you want.” he added, thumb still lazily dragging over your cheekbone, his nails barely scraping over your skin. “Door’s open.”

The weight of the words settled into you, deep, curling around your ribs like barbed wire.

It was an invitation.

A choice.

But you knew what it really was.

He was so sure of you now. He knew you’d cave, knew you’d follow, knew you needed him—needed them, because they had made sure of it.

And that made you want to scream.

But you just nodded. Didn’t agree, didn’t refuse. Just let him think you might.

He grinned. Then, he pulled away, fingers slipping from your face as he turned and padded toward the hall, disappearing into the darkness without another word.

The room felt too big without him in it. Too empty.

You exhaled shakily, staring blankly at the space he had just been, at the air he had just occupied, and—

You did this.

You killed a man.

Not because you had to. Not because it was survival. Not because there was no other choice.

But because they wanted you to.

Because they told you to.

Your stomach twisted violently, nausea curling up your throat, thick and suffocating, and you shot up from the couch so fast your legs nearly gave out beneath you.

You stumbled toward your room, feet unsteady, vision blurring at the edges, chest tightening with every breath.

Bathroom.

You barely made it before you dropped to your knees, hands gripping the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl as your stomach turned, your body rejecting everything—every part of tonight, every part of them, every part of you.

It burned coming up, acid clawing at your throat, choking you between gasping sobs, and you couldn’t stop it, couldn’t slow it down, couldn’t breathe.

Tears dripped from your chin, slipping into the water below, and you squeezed your eyes shut, hard, trying to will it away, trying to make it stop, but—

You had killed someone.

And you couldn’t take it back.

Couldn’t fix it.

Couldn’t do anything but cry.

Fingers slipped into your hair, threading through the tangled strands and pulling them back, careful, almost like he cared.

Almost.

You hiccuped between ragged breaths, shoulders trembling as you gripped the toilet bowl, knuckles white, trying to ground yourself—trying to breathe.

“Careful.” Chishiya murmured, voice quiet, close, almost gentle. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

A sharp, wet laugh broke from you, bitter, empty.

You were sick.

Sick with guilt, sick with horror.

You did this.

You let them make you do this.

And now, Chishiya was kneeling beside you, soothing you, hands in your hair, voice soft, like he wasn’t the one who had forced that card into your hands, like he wasn’t the one who had let this happen. Like he wasn’t just another reason you were here, shaking on the floor, your stomach convulsing with guilt.

“You really did good today.” he said, his tone almost sweet—a voice meant for comfort, for reassurance, for manipulation.

Your breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut.

Don’t listen.

He was doing it again, weaving his words into you, curling them around the pieces of you that were already cracking, twisting his voice into something safe, something soft, something you needed.

And that made you feel even sicker.

Chishiya’s fingers continued to move slowly through your hair, nails grazing lightly against your scalp, almost absentmindedly, like this was second nature to him, like he had done this a thousand times before.

He hadn’t.

Not for anyone.

But now?

Now he was here, taking care of you.

Because you weren’t just useful anymore.

You were his.

“I know you don’t think so.” he continued, as if reading your thoughts, as if he knew exactly how your mind was spiraling. “But you made the right choice.”

You swallowed, throat raw, chest heaving.

No, you didn’t.

You had a choice.

And you failed.

“Do you know what would’ve happened if you didn’t?” he mused, tone shifting, threading in something heavier, something just barely condescending. “He would’ve turned on you the second he had the chance. He was weak. People like him don’t survive long, and if you hadn’t done it, someone else would have.”

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to sting, hard enough to keep the sob rising in your throat from slipping out.

“He wouldn’t have spared you.” he murmured, voice tilting into something softer, dipping into something that almost sounded kind. “But you? You did it so nicely.”

A shuddering breath broke from you, chest clenching.

Because he was right.

And that was the worst part.

That voice in the back of your mind, the one that still belonged to you, the one that wasn’t his or Niragi’s, whispered, no, no, no—

But the rest of you?

The part that had listened to them, that had let them win, let them warp you into something they could mold—that part wasn’t so sure anymore.

And Chishiya knew it.

His fingers in your hair, his words curling around you like a blanket, shielding you from the cold, from the truth—

You wanted to believe him.

Chishiya moved slowly, deliberately, shifting so that he was no longer just kneeling beside you but instead sitting down properly, his back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. And without even thinking, without hesitating, you let him pull you into him.

Your body fit too easily against his, back pressed into his chest, his arms draping loosely around you, the heat of him soaking into your trembling frame.

You let him hold you.

You wanted him to hold you.

And that made something ugly curdle in your stomach, because you knew, somewhere deep down, that this wasn’t safe, wasn’t right.

Chishiya wasn’t safe.

But he was warm.

And you needed that warmth more than anything.

“I didn’t want to.” you whispered, voice small, shaking. “I didn’t want to do this.”

His arms around you shifted slightly, almost as if he were adjusting, settling in, but his hands never left you. One rested over your stomach, the other near your wrist, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your skin.

Comforting.

False.

“I know.” he murmured.

And maybe that was what broke you.

Because he didn’t know. He couldn’t. He would never know what it felt like to do something like this and feel it, to carry it with you, to ache over it.

Because he didn’t feel anything.

And yet, somehow, the way he said it, soft and low against your ear, made you believe him.

Tears welled up again, spilling fresh and hot down your face, and your hands curled into the fabric of your own clothes, gripping at yourself like you were trying to hold yourself together, trying to stop from unraveling completely. “I don’t—I don’t want to be this person.”

Chishiya hummed, something slow, something thoughtful. “You don’t have to be.”

You let out a broken laugh, a pathetic, shaking thing. “I already am.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, his fingers skimmed along your wrist, up to your elbow, a slow touch. “You’re only doing what you have to.”

You shook your head, eyes squeezing shut. “No.”

“Yes.”

You sniffled, pressing the heel of your palm against your face, trying to wipe away the tears, the weakness, the everything. But it wasn’t working. It wouldn’t work.

“It wasn’t necessary.” you said, voice cracking. “I—I didn’t have to do it.”

“You would’ve died.” Chishiya murmured, like he was speaking to a child, to someone naive, someone who didn’t understand.

It should have sounded condescending. It should have made you feel small, should have made you angry. But instead, it just made you want to believe him.

You were breaking apart, and he was so solid. So unwavering.

So certain.

“You think people survive in this world by hesitating?” he continued, voice so steady, so sure. “By giving other people the benefit of the doubt?”

You swallowed hard.

You wanted to say yes.

But you couldn’t.

Because you knew. You knew what this world was, what it had turned people into, what it had turned you into.

And Chishiya was still talking, still curling his words around you like a vice, still getting into your head.

“He would’ve done it to you if he had the chance.” he murmured, and his arms tightened ever so slightly, just a fraction. “You know that.”

You shuddered.

“He wouldn’t have.”

“He would have.” Chishiya corrected. “Maybe not then, maybe not tonight. But if he had to choose between you or himself, he wouldn’t have hesitated.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because maybe—maybe he was right.

And if he was right, then maybe—maybe you didn’t do the wrong thing.

Your breath hitched, and you turned your head just slightly, forehead pressing against the fabric of his hoodie. He smelled like something neutral, like clean clothes and cool air and a faint, lingering trace of something you couldn’t quite place.

It was comforting.

It made you believe him.

“I don’t—I don’t want to think about it anymore.” you whispered.

Chishiya hummed, his fingers pressing lightly against your wrist again, like a heartbeat, like a rhythm, like something designed to lull you into a state of calm.

“Then don’t.”

You exhaled shakily, a slow, trembling breath.

And you listened.

Because Chishiya purred his words like a lullaby, wrapping around your tired, aching mind like a soft, warm fog. His voice was a drug, intoxicating and numbing all at once, slipping under your skin, settling in your veins, filling the spaces inside of you that were breaking apart.

He was dangerous.

You knew he was dangerous.

And yet, you listened.

Because it was easier to believe him than to believe the ugly truth weighing heavy in your chest. It was easier to sink into the lie than to face the reality of what you had done.

And that’s what they wanted.

What he wanted.

He didn’t comfort people. That wasn’t something he did. Because what was the point? Why waste time and energy on something so useless?

But this?

You?

You were something else entirely. You were soft in a way that people in this world weren’t supposed to be. You were light in a way that should’ve burned people like them alive.

But instead, they took it.

They twisted it, shaped it, owned it.

And now, look at you.

Falling apart in his arms, hands still trembling, breathing still uneven, but no longer shaking quite as violently as before.

Because you were believing him.

Because he was making you feel safe.

And safety?

Safety meant control.

Safety meant they had you right where they wanted you.

The cruel truth of it all was that you weren’t breaking them down. You weren’t making them better, weren’t softening them into something kinder, weren’t saving them from the monsters they were.

No.

You were taming them.

And that was so much worse.

Because taming them meant making them yours.

Which meant you were theirs.

Their girl.

Their soft, sweet, breakable little thing, so easy to twist and mold and shape into exactly what they wanted.

And you let them.

Because you needed them now.

You needed them to tell you that what you did was right.

You needed them to make you feel like this wasn’t wrong.

You needed them like they needed you.

And that wasn’t cruelty, no.

That was just their love showing.

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango

[carlosainzgf]

Hi i like to request a salesmen x platonic teenage daughter idea, the daughter could have a crush on one of the players maybe and salesmen goes full papa bear mode?

the salesmen might be a psychopath, a killer, an asshole but he was one hell of a father. he never said no to you- i mean how could he when you’re his whole world, his little baby- even tho you’re 17 you are still his little baby. in his eyes you hadn’t grown a day since you’ve been 5 years old.

he never kept his job hidden from you but never let you too close to it either, he didn’t want you to be like him some day. you were an angel, you always have been and you always will be.

he also always thought that no man would ever be good enough for you. whenever you had a crush on a boy he would find a way to scare them away from you. it hurt your ego as a young girl not being liked by boys but your dad thought it’s better to have a hurt ego than a broken heart.

you were sat on the big couch of your dad’s office as he filed up some information about the players he recruited today. you helped him with it reading some stuff outloud for him to type faster. he sometimes watched back the clips he took with a hidden camera to get a second look on the, soon to be, players.

“darling, would you mind getting your laptop so i can watch the clips of today?”

“of course!” as much as you weren’t a fond of the thought that most of those people in those clips would end up dead you still found it entertaining. i mean it runs in the family.

you helped him connect the camera to the laptop and set down with him to watch. a few faces- and a whole lot of slaps- later something caught your eye. someone, to be exact. “what’s this ones name, dad?” you tried to ask as subtly as possible. “lee myung gi. he had a youtube account on crypto money. he lost all his money and made his subscribers also lose theirs.” he sounded uninterested. i mean after all he was just a pathetic guy who needs money so desperately he’s willing to get slapped for it.

“what’s his youtube?” you, again, tried to ask subtly. “why are you asking, dear?” your dad wasn’t a dumb man- not even close- but he tried to see the best in you. his precious little girl whom can never have a boyfriend. he also wasn’t blind, he could see that myung gi was a handsome young man. “oh- no reason. just wondering.” wow, real subtle.

“he is a handsome young man. shame. he probably won’t survive in the games.” he said without hesitation before quickly skipping the parts that had myung gi’s face. he saw how you frowned when your dad said he wouldn’t survive. maybe he should kill the man himself, he tought to himself but he knew you wouldn’t forgive him if you were to find out.

while his mind wondered about all the things he could do to myung gi, you were busy looking for his youtube. which you were quick to find. MG Coin. you wanted to dm him, tell him to not join the games and save himself a lot of trouble but you couldn’t. so instead you decided to manipulate you dad into, somehow, make sure myung gi doesn’t get into the games.

“isn’t it sad seeing such young people getting into death games because they are in dept. i mean they are only a few years older than me. imagine if i were one of them, you would be devastated as a parent. maybe we could help the young ones, you know. we have the money for it after all.” real touching.

“there had always been young players, darling. you never seemed to mind it or care for them. why do you care all of a sudden.” yeah, he didn’t buy it. “i mean it’s their fault that they are in such miserable conditions. they are young they could work and have money, they have a whole future ahead of them yet they prefer playing ddakji and getting slapped to get money instead of working a real job.” he was too defensive with his words. like he had done no wrong in his life and those other people have committed all kinds of sins. they were directed to myung gi even tho he referred to him as ‘young players’. i guess manipulation is in the blood.

he would make sure to run into myung gi again just to slap him again. and he would also make sure to block all his accounts from your phone. he couldn’t bare the idea of a pathetic loser who was too dumb to invest in crypto money being by your side. he wasn’t good enough for you. no man was and no man could be enough for his dear daughter. maybe a kitten or a little puppy would distract you from men. yep that seemed like a good idea to him.