#And then maybe say something stupid like “What's up bro?”

[iinarizaki]

cold calls

stuck home with an injury, you're missing your boyfriend, pro hero Shoto Todoroki, and decide to make the most of your phone call to him. tags: 2.7k, nsf/w content, phone sex, jorkin it, kiss me thru the phoooone

You sigh, head tipping to the side as you lift up the remote again, flipping through the channels on the TV with about as little interest as possible.

With two whole weeks off, you honestly don’t know what to do with yourself. It was half a break for medical reasons - your ankle was pretty fucked up in that last fight with the nasty villain.

Turning fingernails into twenty pound rocks and shooting them… it was certainly a sight to see. And to feel too, fuck. Wincing, you roll your ankle a bit to test. Still sore, despite the healing.

At least you could walk around ok. Honestly, you probably could work too, but between your doctor and your boyfriend insisting you get some rest, you didn’t really have a leg to stand on. So to speak.

Turning your gaze towards the slowly changing sky, bathed in a pretty pink and orange hue as the sun sets, you wonder what your boyfriend was up to right now. 

Shoto was supposed to have the week off with you, but he’d been called out of the country for some emergency assistance recently. Something about extreme climate dangers and villains camped out in a freezing mountain side, or something. 

Learning too many details and not being able to accompany him would just stress you out more, so you tried to stick to the minimum. He’d left you with a kiss and a promise that he’d be back before your two weeks of bedrest was over.

Pulling your phone from your hoodie’s pouch, you check. A few notifications, some messages from your friends, but nothing from Shoto. 

Though… There is some activity in one of the group chats, and you catch his name in one of Denki’s texts. Chargebolt was one of the heroes sent out with him.

Forcing the tiny bit of worry out of your mind, you swipe to open the messages, breathing a sigh of relief when you read it.

Denki: {1 image attachment}

Denki: should i seel this pic of shoto on the job for a quick buck. I want 2 buy a snack

Mina: seel………… arf.

Denki: SELL.

Bakugo: yah might as well since pics of you dont sell for anything. ugly ass

Denki: bro

Sero: {1 image attachment}

Sero: dw guys i sent him 4 dollars for the pic. 

Deku: good job Todoroki! It looks like you guys are working hard out there!

Denki: how come im a pro 2 and im still out here charging phones tho tbh…

Bakugo: when the answer is obvious, it's obvious. no need to dig deeper here.

Mina: ^^^^^

Denki: bros.

Bakugo: btw shut up deku don’t you have a class to teach rn

Deku: you shut up first. Its like 6pm school is over today.

Bakugo: grade a paper then?? 

Ochako: boys pls take the flirting out of the gc we’re all tired this week.

Deku: ok, sorry sorry!

Bakugo: {1 image attachment}

Bakugo: middle finger for all of you.

Denki: ty i’ll sell this too

Mina: Seel**

You stop reading there, smiling slightly at the neverending antics. You scroll back up a bit, opening the picture of Shoto, zooming in to admire how handsome he is.

It’s not the best quality, but you can definitely see the muscle definition with ease, mind conjuring a very clear picture of what he looks like under the hero gear.

Leaning back into the plush couch a little more, you sigh. Stupid mission, he should be here with you right now, warm and cold hands roaming all over you, keeping you company.

The messages are from a decent while ago, maybe he’s already resting for the day? You could call him and… say hi.

Deciding there’s not much to lose, you tap his contact and put the phone up to your ear, listening to the rings. It nearly goes to voicemail, but you hear the ding of him picking up, sitting up a little straighter, unable to hold back the smile that flits across your face. 

He answers the phone, his familiar low, smooth tone sending a pang of longing through you, and you are of two minds now - a little lovesick, a little horny.

“Hi, is everything ok?” 

“Yeah, just miss you is all.” You reply easily, closing your eyes to focus on hearing him better.

He hums in reply, and you think you hear him sit down on a chair or a bed- something that makes a little creaking sound, “Well, that’s good, I was worried your ankle got worse.”

“The ankle is fine, honestly, I could’ve gone with you all. Mostly I’m just sitting here bored.”

“Good. Well. It's not good that you’re bored… Sorry I couldn’t be with you right now, we should be leaving in two days if all else goes well.”

“Everything is going ok then?” You prompt, listening to his reply as he affirms your question, explaining a bit of what had been going on, your attention on his words slowly slipping away as you focus more on the sound of his voice, shifting your position and letting your mind drift to the positions he could have you in if he was here right now.

He has a very nice voice.

“Sounds like you don’t even need me.” You tease once he’s done filling you in, pausing only to switch your phone to speaker so you can rest it on the pillow by your head.

He huffs softly, “I wouldn’t say that. I do need you. But we’re doing ok here for now.”

Your chest feels warm at the directness of his words, almost distracting from your goal.

“Sho, are you alone right now?”

He pauses for a beat before answering, “Uh, yeah, I have my own room.”

“Ok, good, because I need you too, Shoto.”

Your flirtations are met with more silence, and you start to worry for a moment, wondering if you upset him, “Shoto?”

When he does respond, he sounds almost a tad nervous, rather uncharacteristic of him, “You need me now like… for sexual pleasure?”

“Uh, yeah, and I love you too but that was the implication right now…?”

“I can’t get home that quickly, though.”

“I was thinking we could try some phone sex?” When he doesn’t immediately respond, you offer an out, just in case, “Unless that’s not something you’re comfortable with, I just figured when in Rome, or, well, when one of us is in Rome.”

“I’m not in Rome, I’m in-”

You cut him off with a giggle, “I just meant that saying, Sho.” 

“Oh, right.”

Another long pause, and just when you’re opening your mouth to fill it, he speaks up again, that kind of cute almost-nervousness creeping back into his words, “I don’t know how to do phone sex. I don’t know what to say.”

Smiling, you let one of your hands wander down to the edge of your pants, nudging under the waistband to rub absently at the skin there, becoming a little more aware of just how sticky your underwear was getting.

“The same stuff you would say if you were here, and then maybe a little extra to help with the mood.”

“Hm, I see.” You can hear the gears turning in his head, “You’re very beautiful.”

You don’t bother to fight the smile in response to that, “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“You’re always beautiful.”

Laughing off the praise, you shake your head even though he can’t see you, “Ask me what I’m wearing, Sho.”

You can hear him breathe a little heavier at the way you let your tone dip into something huskier than usual, and beyond that you think you can hear the bed-or-chair creak when he shuffles around, “What are you wearing?”

Bringing a hand up to your chest, you let it run over the stitching on the front of your hoodie, brushing your nipples through the fabric, trying to mimic the careful way he always starts out when he’s touching you.

“A hoodie. Your merch.” It has his hero name- which, bless him, was just actually his name- embroidered on the front in the somewhat signature white and red colors to match his hair.

You hear a little noise of approval from the speaker before you continue, “What about you?”

Shoto frowns, glancing down at himself, his hero costume halfway through the process of being removed and looking a little worse for wear after working all day.

“Uh, just my costume. Some of it.” He says lamely, cringing a bit internally.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to do this with you, but the moment you suggested it his stomach dropped to his feet. He’s aware that he’s not… the best with words, and this seemed like a dialogue heavy activity.

God, he wishes he was just home with you instead, he could just throw your injured ankle on his shoulder and eat you out while he ices it. He groans quietly, closing his eyes as the little fantasy becomes clearer in his mind. You always taste so good, it was addicting. And so was wrapping his hands around your hips, something about the way you both slotted together so perfectly made him feel so good.

“Some of it?” Your voice ringing out from the phone draws him back to the moment, and the teasing lilt to your voice makes him palm himself over his pants again, already embarrassingly hard.

He exhales, the sound a little louder than he anticipated, “I was undressing before you called.”

You giggle, and he throbs in his hand, fingers moving to undo the familiar clicks of his belt, “Oh? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were expecting this call, Shoto.”

“You came onto me, if I’m recalling correctly.” He jokes back, trying to keep the bed from making too much noise as he settles back on it, pants pushed down to his thighs so he strokes his dick properly, other hand still holding the phone by his ear.

He can’t help the tiny sound that escapes him when he finally gets to wrap his hand around himself properly, doing a few gentle strokes and closing his eyes again, this time imagining you on the couch with nothing but that hoodie from his hero line you’d just bought on. It’s not something he really wants to admit, but something about seeing you walk around with his name branded across your chest turned you on more than he cares to say, a teeny tiny sprout of possessiveness blooming inside him.

His girl, you were his lover.

“Are you touching yourself, baby?” You croon, and he’s breathing a weak ‘yes’ in replay before he can stop to think, hand speeding up a bit as he flushes. 

“Sorry.” He murmurs, feeling bad that you’re doing all the work when you’re the one who called him, “I feel like I should say more. I’m not… sure what to say.”

He can hear your little amused huff in response, “You’re doing fine, Sho. You could read a recipe to me and I’d be able to get off, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know any sexy recipes.”

You laugh more clearly now, and he smiles up at the ceiling, “We’ll have to find one when you get home.” He can hear some shuffling and the clear sound of feet padding around the apartment, something like a door opening as you move around, “We can make a sexy meal.”

“Anything you want.” He replies earnestly, ears all but perking up when he hears a familiar buzzing sound, “Are you using your vibrator?”

“Oh, can you hear it that easily? Yeah, I need a little extra help, my fingers don’t get the job done quite like yours.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, “That’s a job they enjoy.”

“Good, because you’re so good at it, Sho, love how big your hands are, makes me come so easy.”

Swiping his thumb over the tip of his dick he moans softly again, stomach muscles tightening at your words. Fuck, he wants to be going home to you yesterday.

“Are you still wearing my hoodie?”

“That’s all I’m still wearing.” You reply, and he can hear the smile in your voice, even as it gets a little breathy as you get closer to coming.

“Fuck.” He groans, closing his eyes again as his hand speeds up, a familiar pressure building in his gut, “I wish I was there with you right now, I want to touch you.” He sighs your name when you moan at his words, “I want to be the one making you come.”

“Shit, Shoto, I-” You cut yourself off with another erotic moan that makes him lift his hips slightly off the bed, canting up to meet the motions of his hand, imaging how good it would feel to be buried inside of you right now, instead of alone in this hotel room fucking his own fist.

Moaning your name, he can feel his orgasm building up hastily, teetering closer to the edge than he’d expected, “Me too, fuck, I’m gonna to come.”

“For me Sho, come for me, please, wanna hear you.”

That’s the last push he needs, opening his mouth wider to pant and groan as he comes, warm ropes of cum spilling over his stomach and pooling on the dips in his muscles. He forces himself to focus through the haze of pleasure, dick twitching harder when he hears the familiar sounds of you coming as well, whimpers of his name etching their place in his mind for later.

You pant, coming down from your high, clicking the power button on the vibrator and dropping it on the sheets since you’ll have to change them anyways.

Laying there for a moment, you bask in the happy afterglow, listening to Shoto catch his breath too, picturing his little smile with ease. The thought of it fills your chest with a warm affection and a sad pang that he’s not here to cuddle up against in equal measure, but you try to quash the sadness down for now.

“Thank you for indulging me, Mister Pro.” You say, rolling on your side to look at the soft glow of the phone screen, the cute picture of the two of you that served as his contact photo lighting the area slightly.

“I love you.” He replies, earnest as always in a way that always has you melting, “I hope I did ok.”

“I love you too.” You reach out and tap the phone so you can see the picture more clearly, the screen brightening at your touch, “And you did a good job, we should do this more often when you leave me.”

“I’d rather leave you less but… I won’t say no to that, anyway.”

You chuckle, “No, I imagine you wouldn’t.” You pause, suddenly feeling rather tired, but you don’t want to sleep on the sheets when they’re still sticky like this, “Alright, I need to clean up before I pass out. Stay safe, call me in the morning?”

“Ok, I will. I’ll see you soon.”

You exchange another round of ‘goodbyes’ and hang up, laying there a moment longer, eyes almost drifting shut.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you have to shower anyways…

You phone buzzes a few times, so you pick it up curiously, eyes widening as you see a picture from Shoto - it’s a nice picture of him, abs and chest on display, cum pooled there. 

Damn.

You save it with a grin, the odd urge to kick your feet rising out of nowhere, but you’re a grown adult so you fight it back.

Shoto: {1 image attachment}

Shoto: is this good?

[You]: FUUUUCKKKK SHOTO….. Someone get me a straw.

Shoto: You can be strange. But I love you.

[You]: love you toooooo

Shoto: I will be home soon. I will bring a straw…

You laugh, about to drop the phone but then a venmo request pops up on your screen, and you frown as you click it, curious what it was for, wondering for a brief moment if Shoto just paid you for sex…Bakugo K. has requested money from you - Note attached: suit rent is due. pony up or i beat it out of you as usual. ┌∩┐(◣_◢)┌∩┐

[agardenofbasil]

@ily.unai on instagram was an old fan of unai and he was simply the sweetest with her, i think you’ll like to see it 🥹

unfortunately she seems to have abandoned the account, but the content already uploaded is absolutely adorable

how kind he was to the young girl every time…

Aw, oh my goodness, these edits are so cute. This is like an online diary of hers, I almost feel like I'm reading something private. 🥹 He always looks so happy to see her, and she so so appreciated it too.

Also, him saying "¿Que pasa guapa?" to her. I'm sure she melted over that. Sad that she isn't posting anymore, and I hope she's okay and well! 🥹

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [THINGS THEY SAY DURING 'IT'] ¡! ❞ @ - Part 1.

TW: MDNI - NSFW, sexual themes obviously lol

SUMMARY: Title :)

CHARACTERS: Aether Albedo Al-Haitham Ayato Baizhu Capitano Childe Cyno Dainsleif Diluc Dottore Freminet & Gorou x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.044

A/N: idk just a random new idea, watch me get more and more unserious with every character you pass

Aether

❝Agh-...shit...❞ - he holds back his sounds as he moans and curses into his hand

❝ Mh-no, like that, yeah...move like that...good❞ - he bites his lip as his lust drowned eyes stare up at you, holding your thighs tight for stability

❝Slower?...okay❞ - speeds up with a slight laugh, stopping seconds later to slow down again

Albedo

❝This spot? Yeah?...knew it...❞ - it's rare for you to see him smug, but that smirk he will give you when he finds out his guess was right is something else

❝Hold still for me...yes?❞ - he pushes your thighs apart, settling down comfortably between them as he dives in

❝Some interesting sounds you make...❞ - and he will carve them into his mind. When you're away he will remember them, will miss them, miss you and everything about you

Al-Haitham

❝Keep quite...❞ - there's no harshness in his words, just slight desperation as he breaths those words in your ear as he fucks you on the couch in his shared house with Kaveh, while he is asleep in his room

❝Tell me what you want...come on, you can do it. Speak up.❞ - sometimes the way he talks to you is infuriating, like he's talking to a stupid child. It not only embarrasses you when he speaks so teasingly, it makes you angry, frustrated, and maybe a bit turned on

❝If you can't watch your hands i won't watch my teeth.❞ - you tugged on his precious hair, so he can't help but tease you even more as he eats you out

Ayato

❝Mmm...yeah...❞ - he's rather quite, Ayato hums more, right in your ear with such a disgusting smirk because he knows any sound he does will drive you wild

❝Don't overestimate yourself, hm?❞ - he always says the same as you sink down on him. He knows exactly that his tip just puts too much pressure on your cervix. He might tease you, but he doesn't want to hurt you

❝I got you...don't worry, i got you...❞ - while you come down from your high...did he came himself? No, but it's okay. You're his number 1 priority

Baizhu

❝So...warm...❞ - no matter how many times you two have sex, your warmth will always overwhelm him

❝Shh...you don't know who might come in.❞ - he doesn't take many risks but god he can't hold himself back when you help him out in Bubu Pharmacy

❝I'll take care of it...don't worry.❞ - look, he's a doctor, a people pleaser and helper, ofc he only takes care of you and not of himself

Capitano

❝Take it slow, theres no rush.❞ - says the big guy with the prettiest cock and he doesn't even know it

❝Do you need a break? No?...heh...alright then...❞ - proceeds to rearrange your guts

❝What did i tell you?❞ - he means please, tell him please, ask nicely with manners like he taught you

Childe

❝Naww, someones needy huh? It went riiight in, with no problem.❞ - I bet you can practically hear and see the smug look on this abominations face

❝Look baby i don't wanna hurt you, yeah? You need to tell me when i go too hard.❞ - just a little nice check in for him. He wants to make sure you know you are always free to tell him off, he doesn't want to force himself on and in you

❝Good? Hah-ah-...yeah...thought so...❞ - sometimes the smugness will flatter, especially once he's close...you don't know who enjoys it more, him or you

Cyno

❝You hear that?...Thats you...❞ - he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow and fast, changing pace. But no matter how fast or slow, he absolutely loves when you're as wet as you can get

❝Are you certain that you really want th-! Ouch why'd you slap me-❞ - he always asks the same, over and over again, it's nice that he keeps asking for your consent but at this point it annoys you like...bro you already been between my legs for like 30mins I had enough time thinking about it

❝Where?...ah-quick tell me-❞ - whenever he doesn't wear a condom and realistically...I don't think condoms exist in genshin lol

Dainsleif

❝So desperate...it's almost cute.❞ - he knows it's basically a long distance relationship considering he's almost never there. That's what makes it even "better" for him when you two see each other. He can't help but tease

���Calm down, we're not in a rush.❞ - basically the first, same vibe, call me lazy lol

❝Still...gh-taking it so well...❞ - uhhh yeah we have a theme here

Diluc

❝You look cold...i could warm you up...❞ - sometimes him being smooth works, sometimes not, and sometimes he just sounds like a cheaper version of himself (Batman)...or sometimes he does what Kaeya says-

❝Where's the 'please'?❞ - he's so well mannered it's scary, so he expects the same for you too. Say please and thank you

❝Maybe if you would've behaved like I told you to, we wouldn't be here right now.❞ - he says it so calm as he fucks you against the cold stone wall behind Angels share in the middle of the night where any drunken idiot could see...or the patrols...that are very much sober (hopefully???)

Dottore

❝Hm? This? Oh, thats just for documentation.❞ - he records your voice...he literally studies your reactions and change in voice.

❝I won't tell you again, hold still.❞ - he isn't scared of tying you up at all so either hold still or be held still

❝...hm...you're too quite...❞ - he literally wants the Tsaritsa to hear like???

Freminet

❝Ngh-h-hey-calm down or else-!❞ - WE LOBE SUB BOYS, I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM, WE LOVE SUB BOYS

❝This is...new...yeah...❞ - he's a explorer but he also wants to be explored sksksksksk

❝So-warm-!❞ - uhm...self explanatory. When he enters you it's warm lol

Gorou

❝Wdym I'm in heat AGAIN?!❞ - he can't help but not be horny like?? Have you seen yourself??

❝Agh-...i tried to br gentle but you just-❞ - no self control, smh

❝Right there? See...told you i won't forget.❞ - he's eating you out, and still remembers your most sensitive spots like it's craved in his mind...because it is

[tgcg]

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

[sakuraszn]

﹒♡ CONFESSION ft. katsuki bakugo

cw: lots of fluff, flustered bakugo. he’s such a cutie

The ramen shop was packed, the air filled with laughter, chatter, and the rich aroma of broth and grilled meat. The entire Class 1-A had squeezed into the cozy little restaurant to celebrate Todoroki’s recent jump in the hero rankings.

Bowls clinked, chopsticks clashed, and the energy was electric as the group indulged in warm food and lively conversation.

And at the center of it all—Katsuki Bakugo sat stiffly, arms crossed, scowling into his half-finished bowl of ramen like it had personally offended him.

Not because he wasn’t happy for Todoroki.

Not because the food was bad.

But because of you.

You, sitting just a few seats down, laughing at something uraraka had said, your eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking.

And it was driving him insane.

For weeks—no, months—Bakugo had been dealing with this… feeling. This stupid, irritating, suffocating feeling every time you were near him. It was different from the rivalry-fueled adrenaline he felt in battle, different from the pride he carried when he improved as a hero.

It was something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t control.

And he hated that.

But tonight… tonight was the night he was going to do something about it.

Or at least, that’s what Kirishima and Sero had forced into his thick skull before they even walked into the restaurant.

“Dude, you’ve been acting weird around them for weeks.”

“Just tell them! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know, idiots, maybe they laugh in my face and never talk to me again?!”

“Oh please, she would never—”

“Shut up. I’ll do it when I damn well feel like it.”

But now that he was here, surrounded by people, nerves bubbling in his gut like an active volcano, feeling like it was a lot harder than he expected.

“Bakugo,” Kirishima’s voice cut through his thoughts, low enough that only he could hear. “You good, bro?”

“I’m fine,” Bakugo growled, barely glancing up as he stabbed at his noodles with his chopsticks.

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? ‘Cause you haven’t insulted Kaminari in like ten minutes. I’m starting to get worried.”

Sero snickered. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Kirishima and Sero exchanged glances before the redhead leaned in again. “Are you actually gonna do it?”

Bakugo exhaled sharply, gripping his chopsticks so tight they nearly snapped.

“After this.” His voice was firm. Final.

Kirishima grinned, nudging Sero. “Told ya he’d do it.”

“Hey, I had faith,” Sero said, shrugging. “Just not a lot of faith.”

Bakugo shot them both a murderous glare, but before he could verbally rip them apart, Iida clapped his hands together, signaling for attention.

“If I may have everyone’s focus for a moment!” Iida said, standing up. “I’d like to propose a final toast to Todoroki!”

Todoroki, who had been quietly enjoying his meal, blinked as everyone raised their glasses. “Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“To Todoroki climbing the ranks!” Iida declared.

“To Todoroki!” the class cheered, clinking their glasses together.

You turned, smiling at the dual-haired hero. “You really deserve it, Todoroki. We all knew you’d make it far.”

Todoroki’s lips curled into a small smile. “I appreciate that, Y/N.”

Bakugo scowled.

It wasn’t Todoroki’s fault, but hearing you say his name like that, so softly, so encouragingly—yeah, it bothered him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

As the night wound down, people started finishing up their food, settling their bills, and stretching lazily before making their way out.

“Damn, that was good,” Kaminari sighed, rubbing his stomach. “I think I ate too much.”

Mina laughed. “You definitely ate too much.”

One by one, people began saying their goodbyes, heading off in different directions toward the dorms or home.

And that’s when Bakugo knew—this was his moment.

You were slipping on your jacket, adjusting your scarf when he finally forced himself to move.

Kirishima shot him a thumbs-up from across the room, and Sero winked.

Bakugo rolled his eyes before stomping over to you, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“Oi.”

You looked up at him, blinking. “Oh, hey, Bakugo! What’s up?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. Okay. Just say it. Say it, dumbass.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

Instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, fists clenched at his sides, staring at you.

You tilted your head, confused. “Uh… you okay?”

His jaw tensed. This was already going horribly.

And then—because frustration was the only thing that ever helped him push past his nerves—he blurted out:

“Are you really so oblivious?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair before pointing at you aggressively. “You! You’re oblivious! Have you seriously not noticed?!”

Your confusion deepened. “Noticed what?”

He exhaled sharply, cheeks burning. His whole body felt like it was about to explode.

He had two options: Keep making a fool of himself or just say it and get it over with.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled, and then—

“I like you, dumbass!”

Silence.

Bakugo cracked one eye open, stomach twisting into knots.

You were staring at him.

Not laughing. Not recoiling. Just… staring.

Then—

“You… like me?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s what I just said, idiot.”

A slow smile crept onto your lips. “You like me?”

His face turned an even darker shade of red. “Yes! Stop making me say it, damn it!”

You let out a laugh—light, airy, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. “Wow,” you said, grinning. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy.” His voice was gruff, but his hands were twitching at his sides, resisting the urge to do something—anything—with them.

You stepped closer, peering up at him. “You know… I like you too.”

Bakugo’s brain short-circuited.

“…What?”

You laughed again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like you, Bakugo. Have for a while now.”

His heart stopped.

Then jump-started at triple speed.

“What?”

You shrugged, smirking. “What? Are you oblivious?”

His eye twitched. “You—you little—”

You poked his cheek and laughed. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed kat’ I’m just messin with ya.”

He exploded.

Not literally. But his entire soul combusted.

“Shut the hell up!” he barked, face practically glowing red.

But you just laughed again, softer this time. Fond. “So… now what?”

He swallowed, heart still racing. “Now… now you let me walk you home, dumbass.”

You beamed. “That sounds nice.”

And as you started walking together, Bakugo felt something strange settle in his chest.

Warm. Light.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[cheer-nympho]

Steve had been conned into chaperoning the kids to a ren faire.

Admittedly with very little resistance, but he was keeping that to himself. Once there and with their bags packed away into some apparently theme appropriate tents he had shrugged on some medieval casual clothes and…immediately lost track of all of them,

But a figure he did spot was a long haired Jester entertaining a small entourage with juggling,

Steve finds himself laughing slightly condescendingly at the jingling man. Why do people find juggling so impressive?

He picked it up straight away with some hackey sacks while bored between practices. He’s just good with his hands.

When he looks back up to get another glance in however, the jester isn’t perched on top of his little rock anymore and the crowd has merged with the other dweebs.

Steve stares at the empty space for a moment before a jingle right by his ear spooks him into turning around.

“Art thou not impressed by my amazing skills, your lordship?” The jester asks, swaying on his feet and causing the bells all over him to ping, grin wide and mocking.

And up close Steve notices one very important, very dangerous thing.

This court jester is really fucking hot.

He looks like an idiot, a nerd, a dweeb. Its hard not to in a pointy hat. But he also wore it too well, looked too perfect like that.

Steve notices the…is that..? Yes, the corset wrapping tightly around the mans waist, red and black diamonds decorating the sides and leading to small puffy shorts. His legs are covered in tight black leggings which should look ridiculous. It should.

An obnoxious cough and head tilt-jingle make Steve aware that he has been staring at the mans waist for way longer than was ‘bro code permitted’

He looks up with a wince, expecting a look of disgust ranging from mild embarrassment to punch-your-lights-out.

He was, instead, greeted by a smug and knowing smile. The red and black triangles painted over the mans eyes warped where the grin reached them. “Or maybe thou art impressed, but skills are not what draw thine eyes.”

Shit. Fuck. The stupid hot nerd is using stupid nerd speak on him. And Steves stupid nerd, apparently ‘very accurate’ pants are getting tighter. He needs to say something. Anything.

“You’ve got…bells.” Okay, maybe not anything. He used to be better at this shit.

He is rewarded with a wild, joyous laugh as the jester throws his head from side to side. “I do! Isn’t it amazing?The staff insisted on it so they could hear me coming.”

“It certainly makes an impression-“

“Eddie, names Eddie. And what does my lordship go by?”

“Steve is fine.”

“That he is…” The comment was punctuated by a less than subtle glance, almost a leer. “However, Fine Steve seems unimpressed with my merrymaking. As the official court jester, I cannot let that stand.” He stamps his foot, causing another cacophony of jingles.” “Therefore…”

“…Pick a card any card!” A pack of standard cards was presented to him with a flourish, but all he could do was roll his eyes.

“Come on, really? This shit is basic. All I have to do it watch your hands. You’ll swipe my card out and put it back in later, or mark it somehow.”

“Ooo his highness has it all figured out doesn’t he. Well then, princess, you have nothing to lose by picking a card, do you?” And that was…true. Plus he could maybe try to fix his previous fumble and try to claw a number out of this disaster.

So with another bitchy roll of his eyes, Steve plucks a card from the deck and hides it behind his palm. Two of Hearts.

Then out of nowhere… “You know, Stevie, if you think I’m pretty you can just tell me. I know the kingdom would approve not of a noble like yourself marrying a commoner like me, but they need know little of how we…” He begins to reshuffle the cards, motioning for Steve to place his chosen one back in before making some very obvious, very crude movements with his fingers. “…get to know each other in the meantime.”

He was going to die. In the middle of a nerd fest.

“Well, my lord…” Eddie continues, circling him while dragging a finger across his arms and shoulder blades before coming to a stop in front of him. A very bold hand takes Steves jaw and forces his head up, pretending to inspect something on his costume for any bystanders.

“If you would like some more…close up demonstrations…” He leans in tightly, still holding Steve’s jaw in a tight grip. “You can pay me a visit in staff cabin 23 tonight.” He strokes a piece of hair gently behind Steve’s ear before pulling out a card, as if from said ear.

Steve was glad that Eddie took the initiative to carefully pull his hand up and place the card into his palm, because currently Steve was too preoccupied with staring like a fish out of water into Eddies eyes. Everything about him was just so captivating, so alive.

Maybe that’s why he did little more than step forward aimlessly, with small grabby hands when Eddie pulled away. Before Steve could even process it, the bells and jingles had mingled back into the crowd. But that was…that was okay. Cause he could go to the…cabin?

But how was he supposed to- Oh. He looks down. On the card was a loosely clipped room key with a ‘23’ crudely engraved into the edge as if by a pocket knife.

The card itself, to his horror, was the Two of Hearts.

Shit.

He forgot to watch the fucking hands.

[100vern]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

[c0ffeejelly1]

I know where the hole is!..I think.

-Bros the type to let you take control during his first time

Cw: smut smut smut um smut (virgins, like both of y’all soo) fem dom, thats all. (ALL CHARACTERS ARE TIMESKIPPED VERSIONS 🙏🙏 so basically of age.)

* “A-are you sure about this, babe?..”

* He felt like his heart was sinking to the deepest depths of his stomach with each passing moment.

* Is this a heart attack? Is this how it feels? Is he having one right now??!

* He was panicking. How the hell did he get himself into this position??

* “I mean, I don’t want to force you to do anything you might not like..”

* Who was he kidding? He knew damn well you wanted this! But he’d just never...

* “..we could always just..reschedule?”

* Reschedule? Seriously?

* Who the hell says, 'reschedule’ in this type of situation???

* What had he gotten himself into...

* He could practically feel his brain going into overdrive, the stupid word ‘error’ repeating in his mind.

* Why was his heart trying to wrestle its way out of his body?? Did it want him to die?!

* Is this organ failure? He doesn’t want to die!!..

* And the drips—no gallons of cold sweat running down his face like a marathon...

* Is this normal?!? Sweating this much??

* Could you see this? Was his face clammy looking??

* God, he hoped you were blind to his nervousness...

* This was such a stupid idea.

* And all because of his big ass, egotistical, lying, good-for-nothing mouth.

* If only he’d just said the truth to you...

* The truth that he’d never done something like..this.

* Something so intimate..something so deep..something like having-

* “Are you nervous?..”

* His eyes immediately open wide.

* Why were his eyes even closed to begin with?!

* This was so embarrassing..he could feel the blush on his cheeks rise even more as he avoided eye contact with you.

* “M-me?! Noo…not I’m nervous! I-I mean-..nervous I’m not! Ha..so let’s just um..”

* He gulped loudly.

* Are gulps supposed to hurt your throat?

* He’d have to look that up later...

* ..but back to the problem at hand!

* You were getting suspicious, which wasn’t good!

* And his arms remained laying either side of your head—not because he was experienced and knew what he was doing. No.

* only because he needed something to stop himself from collapsing down onto you like a nervous wreck.

* He was shitting himself.

* How was he supposed to do something like this to someone as gorgeous as you?

* And to think you were willing on your back presenting yourself to him in just your underwear...

* The way your bra would cup the two fruitful breasts he had no shame burying his face in, hiding the sinful buds he’d never seen in his life—actually, there was the one time he caught you in the shower, so maybe this wasn’t going to be his first time seeing you so- fuck. He’s getting distracted...

* But then there were your undies that shielded away your most vulnerable parts..and to think, you were giving that to him?.. Him????

* He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, y’know?

* You should know by now that he’s all talk, no action! He can’t touch you!

* The thing is..he’s never actually had sex! Okay?! He admits it!

* It was a lie!

* But you were just talking about how you want your first time to be amazing. He just-…

* He just didn’t want to seem lame to you! I mean, look at you!

* You were so beautiful..and he was just..there?

* And to think you wanted him to- to-..put his D in your P?? He’d probably finish on the spot!

* Just imagine how embarrassing that’d be...

* “Baby..”

* His head perks up at the pet name, his eyes meeting yours.

* “You’ve..never done this before, have you.”

* Fuck.

* Well

* It was good while it lasted, boys.

* He tried his best.

* Now he can finally crawl into a hole and die.

* He can’t lie to you when you look like this! You're practically naked, for Christ's sake! And he was in his boxers and- shit.

* Had a raging hard boner...

* He didn’t know a thing when it came to making women feel good...

* He’d watched sex videos before. Yes, he wasn’t a prude, but still.

* Did he know where exactly the hole was?

* …

* No.

* So how was he supposed to-

* “Lay on your back.”

* “..What.”

* “I said lay on your back.”

* “But then how am I gonna..“

* “I’ll do it.”

* “..y-you’ll wha-“

* How did he get himself into this mess?

* How did the only piece of clothing covering his most precious area end up on the floor?

* How did he find himself covering his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to stop the sinful sounds from escaping his lips..

* How did your mouth feel so good?

* “Ah..f-fuck baby..slow down a little..”

* His chest only moved up and down frantically, his breathing becoming heavier as his hand found a place in your hair. He was falling apart and was so close already...

* The way your tongue would flick at his tip, teasing it as you looked at him for a reaction.

* The way you would suddenly take him whole, causing his back to arch slightly and his head to fall back into the pillow behind him, a stuttery whine leaving his mouth.

* And then there were your hands..the way they would wrap around his cock so nicely, quick strokes being made, and the occasional massage of his balls.

* Fuck it was 'so good..’ as he would say it.

* you sure you were a virgin?

* This doesn’t seem like virgin behaviour to him...

* He was so deep in thought, so dazed that the only thing he could think of was coming undone.

* He felt good..way too good, so good that-

* “Baby!- w-wait..mhf!..ah-..I’m gonna cum..”

* “Y-Your mouth-..fuck..so good..sogoodd..”

* Then you stopped.

* ..why did you stop?

* Did he do something wrong? Why did you just...

* He felt his thoughts come to a halt as he watched you pull off your undies, his eyes wandering down to your..oh wow. You really were going to do this.

* You gently place a hand on his chest, using your other to grip his cock, causing him to suck in a breath at the sudden contact.

* He was sensitive and on the verge of finishing just from a slight touch..it was adorable.

* Your hips ride up above his pelvis just right enough for the lips of your pussy to wet his cock with your juices.

* Were you trying to kill him here?

* All he could do was watch and whine softly as he hoisted himself up with his elbows.

* He wanted to be inside you.

* Wanted you to take him

* Be his first, just as he was about to be yours.

* He needed it badly, and so you gave it to him.

* Sweaty, hot, messily.

* You were so beautiful...

* The way you held your tits from bouncing up and down while riding him, a hand still placed on his chest as your head slightly tilted back from the pleasure you were receiving.

* He was making you feel this good..him.

* He felt so embarrassed with the sounds that were falling from his lips—the whimpers, whines, and moans of your name—all just for you.

*Fuck he loved you.

* He was so in love...

* He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He could feel the coil in his stomach begin to tighten as his cock twitched inside of you.

*He was gonna cum

* And you knew that.

* You both did

* “Y-you’re so..t-tight..fuck.”

* “How do you f-feel this good?”

* “So beautiful..h-how did I ever deserve you?..”

* “Fuck d-dont clench around me like that baby..”

* “I wanna cum for you baby..please..”

* “I’m so glad you were my first time..”

* “D-don’t..say things like that..it’s so dirty..”

* “I-i can’t baby..i-I’m gonna-“

* A wonderful first time for both of you, if you ask me.

Characters I had in mind while writing this

REIGEN (mob psycho 100)

All might, present mic, DENKI, sero (my hero academia)

Hinata, NISHINOYA, KAGEYAMA, yamiguchi, bokuto (haikyuu)

ITTO (genshin impact)

POLNAREFF, mista (JOJO’S bizarre adventures)

Kagami, MIDORIMA (kuroko’s basketball)

Sanemi, HAGANEZUKA (demon slayer)

METAL BAT, king (one punch man)

GOJO (jujustu kaisen)

JEAN, Connie (attack on titan)

LEORIO, kite (hunterxhunter)

ONIZUKA (Great teacher onizuka)

Any character you would like

[lizardho]

The Halloween Story

As with most of my life stories, I have to clarify beforehand: Yes, this is real, and it is real because (and ONLY because) I am stupid. This is not something that happens to normal people because they wouldn't ever get close enough to a situation like this for it to happen. That being said, without estrogen my brain's "keep this idiot alive" switch was not turned on and I was, I think, biologically incapable of making good decisions.

Another thing to know is that I did not have a lot of friends as a kid because I'm terminally awkward; additionally, most of the friends I did have were maybe better described as "people who tolerated me but who I would take a bullet for." This is important for later.

Anyways, I was like 9 or 10 when this happened, and my littlest brother was like...5 or 6? This was his first Halloween where he was allowed to Trick-or-Treat past the end of our block, and he HAD to be accompanied by me or another older kid so he had begged me for DAYS to take him. And while I held the title of oldest brother, I feel like I put my whole pussy into being a good oldest brother, so I of course took the family's babiest of babies for his first ever trick-or-treat adventure!

I went dressed as Dartanian because I've been gay for a while, and he went dressed as a skeleton because he's adorable. We went trick-or-treating only in areas I knew, so mostly within the boundaries of our l'il Mormon ward, and we had fun. About a half-mile away from home, he started saying he was getting tired, so I told him we were gonna turn back and watch "Scary" movies, which was actually just two old VHS Scooby Doo episodes my mom let us watch because she only let us watch episodes where the monsters were fake because if they were real we'd get nightmares. So we start walking back. It's not too far and we know the way so it's going great. Littlest bro's first trick-or-treat adventure went swimmingly, we've got pillow cases full of candy, and we're about to watch scooby doo and eat skittles until we pass out. Life, for us, literally could not have been better.

BUT

As I walk around the corner of my old street, the far end of it, by a bush, I hear my best friend whisper-shout at me from a bush:

"Lizard, Lizard, stop, hide, quick!"

In most cases, my thoughts can be summarized by a humble: "Bwuh?" and in this case I'm pretty sure I said something like that out loud. I look into the bush, and I see it is JAM-FUCKING-PACKED with kids my age. Like 6 of them hiding behind this tall oleander bush shaking like they just saw a ghost. I wave to them, because I don't know what's going on, and tell them that Littlest Brother is tired so I'm going home. That's when one of them angrily grabbed me and littlest brother and tugged us into the oleander with them.

I think they thought we were hidden, but this was one shrub currently occupied by like 7 kids and despite how small we all were that was still more shrub-per-kid than the shrub could hide so me and littlest brother didn't actually fit. And I was squirming trying to get away because it was poky and scratchy and smelled bad and also I didn't know why I was being pulled into a shrub to begin with.

The ruckus of my squirming was freaking my friends out, who were all telling me to shut up and hide, and I was telling them I wasn't playing hide-n-seek and Littlest Brother was REALLY getting tuckered out so PLEASE let go so I can go home, when around the corner came three Big Kids on bikes.

These kids seemed HUGE and SCARY to me at the time, although realistically they were like in 8th grade and also dork-ass losers. They were on bikes with handlebar breaks, though, and they were wearing costumes ironically under hoodies, so they seemed scary at the time. They see me thrashing in a bush and correctly deduced that the kids they had been hunting down were in the bush too. This is when I learned that my friends were all scared because they'd been being hunted for sport by older boys. Like, actually, for real, we were being bullied on Halloween by kids who called us "dweebs" and shit, I cannot explain how that was actually happening in the early 2000s, that was a worn-out trope in the 80s, but it for real, actually, swearsy-realsies, happened to me.

They're bigger than us and have at least started puberty so they're a lot stronger than us. They fished us all out of the bush pretty easily and made us all line up. This was all happening on a well-lit suburban street in a Mostly Mormon neighborhood so again, I don't know how it all got this far, but it did.

Once we were lined up, they start quipping about our costumes and harassing us a little bit. Again, this is like STRAIGHT out of a shitty campy overdone 80s sitcom so I get that this sounds fake, but we were literally getting pushed around and called dweebs and nerds by some fuckass 8th graders who were all smoking a cigarette one of them stole from their mom. Finally they were getting bored so they told us that their terms to releasing us were that we give them our candy.

My friends, who are smart and wanted to be alive, immediately started grabbing fistfuls of candy from their buckets or bags to hand them. But I am stupid, and was trying to be a good older brother, and didn't understand the concept of mortality because HRT had not yet flipped that switch in my brain, and I saw littlest brother getting scared. His lips were trembling like he was about to cry, he was clinging onto me for dear life, and one of these kids comes over and is being all mean and calling him a baby (which he basically was, so like what even is the point?) and I got mad. So I took my prop rapier from it's sheath and started jabbing his ribs and head until he rips it out of my hand.

"Jesus Christ, you little faggot. I'm keeping this, you're not getting your sword back."

"K, fine, just leave my brother alone."

"I leave him alone if you give me ALL your candy."

He says it with this shit-eating grin, like he's got the upper hand. But I'm mad and suicidal in the same way a horse is suicidal, which is to say I don't care if I die as long as this fucker dies too, so I tell him if he wants my candy he can have it, and I wallop him with the candy sack. Hard. I put all 70 lbs of 9-year-old rage into that whump, and to my credit it caught him off guard. He steps back and rubs his face and the biggest kid in the group steps into his place.

"You wanna fight?" He's trying to act tough but he's also trying to square up with an unquestionably faggy 9-year-old Dartanian so it's tough. It's also a stupid, stupid question to ask, since I literally DID want to fight and he was just posturing.

So I hit him too. Again, all the rage my 9-year-old body possessed channeled into a pillow case filled with Dum Dums and skittles slaps into his face. I move to smack him again, because he's looking at me all incredulous like he doesn't think I'm serious. He tries to grab the bag but I kick his shin and he has to step back for a second because he was on his bike with only one leg on the ground and I had just kicked it so he was trying to keep balance. I took advantage of the momentary distraction and whapped him in the belly. That, I think, was the final straw for him, because he (seriously, yes, for real) took out an actual knife.

It was a real folding knife, I could hear the little mechanical click as he flicked the blade out and the locking mechanism secured it in place. He looks at me with murderous intent for like a tenth of a second before one of my other friends asks,

"Dude, are you serious?"

And it clicks that he just threatened someone with a real weapon. He takes a step back and tells me, trying to sound brave but now far enough out of his own comfort zone that he's starting to wonder what happened in his life to bring him here (which is dangerous, confused people do confusing shit).

But I'm horse-style suicidal and I honestly didn't think it was real, so I swing at him again. Full-body swing right for the face, and he slashes at the candy pouch and it tears. And I'm like "Oh shit, that's a real knife!" and he's like, "Oh shit, this kid is gonna beat me until I stab her or run!'' And that's when my Knight-in-Emo-Armor arrived!

The kid was like the archetypal "Bad Boy" of my childhood. He wore black hoodies to church and said "damn" instead of "dang" and "shit" instead of "shoot." He listened to metal music and told his grandma (who adopted him after his mom lost custody for drug use stuff) to shut up sometimes. He smoked. He was a moody goth/emo/scene/whatever enigma of rage from his shitty family life. He was also known for being actually real-life dangerous. The kid in front of me was contemplating stabbing me, but my Knight had actually broken someone's jaw in a fight before.

The whole time we were getting held up, he was just walking down the street listening to an honest-to-God MP3 player, stoned as all hell, angry at the world, and watching this all unfold. And he recognized a bunch of kids from church he barely gave a shit about, but then he recognized *me* and although he didn't know *me* super well, he fucking LOVED my dad because my dad was super nice to him at church, and he knew I was my dad's kid. And he knows the kids talking to us are bad news because he's friends with some of their friends and he knows they're all wannabe tough guys. And he makes a decision.

This guy, my knight, was tall, mean, scary, and crabby, and EVERYONE knew that, not just the Mormons in my life. And in all black, with black hair and black nail polish, he had remained almost perfectly hidden as he walked in the middle of the road on the tar-black Arizona asphalt until he suddenly emerged from the shadows right behind the kid with the knife.

"Bruh, what the fuck are you doing?"

This kid whips around and sees my knight and just blanches. Like, all-the-way white-as-a-sheet scared.

"Oh, Knight, h-h-hey, I didn't see you. You know these kids? We're just teasing them!"

"Hilarious joke, cocksucker. That's a real knife. Fuck off."

They almost left a cartoon dust cloud in the shape of their bodies as they left. My friend and "friends" from church all followed suit - Knightboy was BAD news with a capital B-A-D and they were probably more scared of him than the original trio. But I knew Knightboy because he teased me a lot in his last year elementary school and sometimes came over to talk with my dad so I knew he wasn't a bad kid. He bends down and picks up the plastic sword the first kid dropped and gives it back to me.

"This is yours, I think."

I took it, sheathed it, and said, "Thanks! You shouldn't swear."

"Man, I'm too stoned for this shit, just get out of here."

"Ok, thanks Knight! See you at church tomorrow!"

And I toddle off with Littlest Brother. I take him to some of the best houses on our street for a second round of trick-or-treating so he can calm down, and we go home. My mom puts Scooby Doo on and asks me how everything went - I tell her it was fine, it was fun. She said that Littlest Brother said something scary happened, and I said "Oh, I think he got spooked by Knight is all." And she just shrugged and walked off. By the end of the night, I honestly forgot it even happened. I was more invested in trying to figure out how to grow up to be like Velma and lining my skittles up by color so I fully did not even remember.

BUT.

My mom is friends with all the other moms at church - she has to be because she has a master's degree in a church that teaches that employed women are failing God and their families so she ended up as a high-achieving woman working as a stay-at-home mom and if she didn't make friends at church she would fully go insane.

And at church the next day, my mom is approached by a tiny pack of mothers all saying "Wow, Lizard is so brave, aren't you so proud of her?"

And because she's a Good Mom who Loves Me So Much, she says, "Yeah, totally, why do you ask?"

And they say, "Because she tried to fight off some muggers last night! She hit them with her candy bag!"

And my mom says, "Haha, Yeah, she's fierc-wait what in the fresh hell did you say?"

And they all tell her the story, and my mom is PISSED that I didn't mention, but she also knows I am capital-D Dumb, so she pulls me out of Sunday school and asks me,

"Lizard, baby, did you scare off some muggers last night?"

And I said, "Oh yeah, kinda! Knight was the one that actually scared them though."

And she says, "Lizard, baby, why did you not tell me?"

And I said, "Oh, I forgot."

And she just nodded and tried unsuccessfully to push my little "Alfalfa sprout" strand of hair down, and gave up, and then pushed me back into class. And later that day she made like 3 lbs of chocolate chip cookies and drove them all over to Knight's house to thank him. And basically ever since then I was in Knight-in-shining-armor's good books (although he wasn't very good at showing it for a bit), and I had an undeserved reputation among the kids in my church as a badass for like a year, which I felt pretty good about.

Anyways, the Halloween Story is so weird that sometimes I question my own memory of it, but I am telling it now based on my memory as best as I can recall and after fact-checking it with my mom a few times.

[iamthatonefangirl]

personification - nsfw fatws bucky barnes

i’m trying out different posting times to see when works best lol here’s an early one because i’ve been waiting in a line for a store for two hours

i still don’t know how to title my works

~~~

"oh, she's absolutely purring for me, isn't she?" he asks, poking fun at you. you bring your hands to cover your face, smiling and gently laughing at the way he's talking.

"laugh all you want, baby," he says, laughing himself, "but you know I'm right. and I know you like it."

so what if he's right? it's stupid, but god, if he's the one saying it, somehow he makes it hot.

"your pussy is absolutely begging for me to do something, anything, isn't she?" he taunts, running his thumb up and down, gathering the wetness that pools in your folds that you're entirely powerless to stop.

his words continue to humiliate you and make you laugh at the same time. your face heats, blushing pink, in your amusement and desperation for more.

you never knew it could be this fun, but it's exciting, enjoyable, with him. anything with him always is. you're so deeply in love with him.

he's your best friend, you realize.

"I can see her drooling for me, baby, just asking me to fill her up with anything I please, ain't that right?"

god, he's gonna pull secrets from you that you never thought you'd admit to if he keeps talking like this.

"ought to fuck her full o'my cum and then plug her up, don't ya think, baby?" he asks, complementing his nasty words with a smack against your cunt.

you can't help but moan and cover your face further.

"nuh-uh. look at me babydoll. look at me while I talk to you."

you do. you drop your hands and give him a look of astonishment at how utterly ludicrous he's being right now.

"nah, doll, don't look at me like that," he laughs, finally filling you with two of his fingers, making your face fall as you gasp at the sudden intrusion. "that's it, that's how you should look at me from now on, all the time, baby."

you grunt in dissatisfaction. he's joking, but it's such a far-fetched idea when you really think about it–

"oh, I'll make sure of it, doll," he continues, "maybe I'll leave a little vibrator up here, make sure you always have that look on your face, make sure everyone knows who's keeping you satisfied. bet you'd like it, beg for it like a little whore, even."

he's literally gonna be the death of you. you laugh again, spurring him to laugh, too.

"come on, doll," he says through tears, "can't make you come if you're too busy laughing."

"is that a challenge?"

~~~

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet

[rosierin]

not so easy | atsumu miya

synopsis; atsumu didn’t mean to spiral. but jealousy hits different when the girl you’re kinda-maybe-sorta in love with starts laughing at someone else’s jokes. now the apartment’s tense, the silence is loud, and his pride is doing everything it can to keep him from saying what he actually means.

(aka: i miss you. i’m sorry. i don’t know how to do this—but I want to.)

disclaimer; this fic will bounce between atsumu and (y/n)'s pov!

a/n; dont worry this aint super angsty, just a bit more introspective than what i usually write. ive weaved in a soft suna moment and some light-hearted bro talk :p

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

Atsumu Miya rarely got jealous.

Not because he’d never been given reason to—but because, in his eyes, he was the reason.

He had the looks. The charm. The talent. A fast mouth to back it all up and the skill to make sure it never sounded hollow. He knew what he brought to the table, and he brought it loudly. With flair. With confidence. With certainty.

Even when it came to Osamu—his twin, his mirror, the one everyone always loved in a quieter, steadier way—it had never been envy. No, with Osamu, it was rivalry. Pure and simple. The kind that lit a fire under his skin and pushed him forward. Faster, stronger, better. It made him hungry, sure—but not bitter. Never bitter.

That wasn’t jealousy. That was drive.

But (y/n)?

(Y/n) was different.

The only person who’d ever made something ugly twist in his chest and settle there like it belonged.

And it wasn’t even that she did anything. That was the kicker. She just was.

Sweet smiles, soft hands, warm eyes. Always so patient with him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Always seeing through the noise, the flash, the jokes—cutting clean through to the part of him he didn’t know how to talk about. She had this way about her—like she didn’t just look at people, she read them.

And for someone like Atsumu, who’d always been so loud about who he was… it was equal parts thrilling and terrifying to be understood so quietly.

She got under his skin without trying. Without even knowing.

And maybe that was why the first time he’d ever truly felt jealous, it had come out of nowhere. Like a sucker punch. No warning. Just a quiet ache and the unmistakable sense that something was his, and someone else was about to take it.

He remembered the moment vividly.

It was stupid, honestly.

They were just picking her up from class.

The three of them had done it a dozen times—Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna strolling across campus like they owned it, waiting outside the writing building for her to appear like clockwork.

It was routine. Familiar. A comfort.

But not today.

The simple reason being? She wasn’t alone when she walked out.

Atsumu noticed before anyone else, mid-conversation with Suna about something most likely irrelevant. His voice trailed off when his eyes locked on her. She was standing next to a guy. Tall. Kinda clean-cut in a “tries but not too hard” sort of way. He had rings on his fingers, a journal tucked into one arm, and the relaxed confidence that rubbed Atsumu the wrong way instantaneously.

They were talking. Close. Closer than necessary.

His smile was easy, practiced. And worse—(y/n) was smiling back, her laughter ringing through the campus.

It wasn't just a polite chuckle, either. Not just a soft smile. She was laughing. Head tilted slightly, eyes crinkled, the way she only did when something genuinely caught her off guard.

Atsumu’s steps faltered.

Suna glanced sideways. “You good?”

“Huh?” Atsumu blinked, covering it up with a grin. “Yeah. Peachy.”

But he wasn’t. Not when he could already hear it coming—like a freight train on a collision course with his mood.

“Don’t forget to send me those notes, sweetheart.”

Atsumu stopped dead.

His breath hitched.

Did he…?

Osamu made a noise. Suna raised a brow. Nobody said it, but they all felt the shift in the air.

“Did I hear that right?” Atsumu started, his voice cracking somewhere between disbelief and irritation.

“Uh-huh,” Suna said flatly.

“Who does he think he is?” Atsumu muttered, voice dropping into something lower. More personal.

Osamu and Suna exchanged a look. Osamu was the one to diffuse the tension, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Ain’t that yer line?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu replied—too firm. Too quick. Too obvious.

“Didn’t realize you trademarked it,” Suna added, dry as always.

(Y/n) spotted them and waved, her smile lighting up like always—blissfully unaware that a war had just begun inside Atsumu’s chest. She jogged over, cheeks flushed, still catching her breath.

“Hey! Sorry, we ran a little late. That’s Tetsu—he’s in my poetry elective.”

Sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

It echoed like a drumbeat in Atsumu’s skull.

He forced a grin. “Sweetheart, huh?”

(Y/n) blinked. “Oh—yeah, he just… says stuff like that—kinda like you do. It’s not a big deal.”

No big deal.

Right.

Totally.

Atsumu stared at her, pulse tapping loud behind his ears. “‘Kinda like me,’ huh?”

He'd almost hissed.

She blinked again, her smile faltering just enough to make something in his chest twist. Her brows pinched, just slightly, like she was trying to figure out what she’d said wrong.

“S’wrong with you?” she asked lightly, eyes flicking between him and Osamu like the latter might have answers.. “You’re acting a bit weird."

“Nothin's wrong,” he shot back—too fast. Way too fast. “Just didn’t know we were handin’ out pet names now, s’all.”

Osamu gave him a warning look. The kind that meant, pull it together.

But Atsumu was already halfway gone. His fists were already clenched in his hoodie pocket, and the words were already bubbling up.

It was the first time he’d ever hated someone for being nice—for being funny.

For making her laugh.

He didn’t say a word the rest of the walk.

He kept his eyes fixed ahead. Not because there was anything worth looking at—he just needed something to anchor him. His stare went vacant, unfocused, like his brain had gone somewhere else entirely. The path in front of him blurred at the edges. Everything around him—the footsteps, the breeze, the faint hum of traffic—faded into background noise.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Osamu making light conversation with (y/n), mulling over dinner ideas like nothing was wrong. Her voice chimed in now and then, soft and bright, completely at ease. Suna lagged behind, phone in hand, probably on Reddit.

But Atsumu barely registered any of it.

His brain was too loud. Too hot. Churning, hissing, burning.

He felt like a kettle left on the stove—lid rattling, steam building, seconds from boiling over.

He was stuck on that one stupid word. That name. That guy.

Tetsu.

He’d said it so casually. Sweetheart. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like he hadn’t just kicked over a landmine.

Atsumu bit the inside of his cheek.

It wasn’t even the word, not really. It was the ease of it. The way (y/n) had smiled when Tetsu said it. The comfort. The familiarity. Like it was something she expected from him. Like she liked it.

Atsumu didn’t know when she’d gotten close to this guy. Didn’t know he was part of her writing class. Didn’t know they walked together after class. Exchanging smiles. Laughing at his jokes.

All things she used to do with him.

The thought settled in his gut like a stone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Later that night, back at the apartment, (y/n) padded into the kitchen in search of tea—only to pause when she saw him. Atsumu stood in front of the fridge, bathed in dim light, staring blankly inside like he’d forgotten why he opened it.

He didn’t reach for anything right away. Just stood there a moment longer, eyes flicking lazily over the shelves like nothing in there was quite worth the effort.

He hadn’t noticed her yet.

“Hey,” she said softly.

His head jerked slightly at the sound of her voice, like he’d been pulled from far away. “Oh. Hey.”

He offered her a glance—brief—before turning back around. No smile. No warmth.

(Y/n) watched his back as he grabbed a carton of milk, lifting an arm to take a long swig.

She raised an eyebrow. She didn't approach him right away. Just stood at a reasonable distance, observing. Assessing, rather.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, voice dripping with fake charm.

She gave him a slow blink. There it is.

It wasn’t the first time he’d deflected, but this time it landed harder than usual. She wasn’t oblivious. She had a very solid idea what was bothering him—and she wasn’t about to spell it out for him. Not yet. Not when she was giving him the chance to say it himself.

Part of her wanted to scoff at her own restraint. Fat chance.

“You were kinda quiet earlier,” she probed, still gentle, still coaxing.

“Just tired."

A lie. So obvious it was almost insulting. His voice didn’t have that worn-out drag she recognized after long practices or late nights. This wasn’t fatigue. This was avoidance, plain and simple.

Why couldn’t he just admit it?

Her jaw ticked once. That was the worst part—he didn’t even try to sell it. Like he was hoping she’d let it slide.

But she didn’t.

Not tonight.

“Right. Just tired.”

A pause stretched between them, taut and humming.

“I talked to Tetsu,” she added casually, watching him from the corner of her eye. “He texted me after we left. Said you seemed… intense.”

That got his attention. She didn’t miss the slight twitch of his brow.

“Oh, did he?” His voice had gone flat. “Glad I made an impression.”

(Y/n) hummed. “You did. He asked if you hated him or if you were just having a bad day.”

“Sure he did.”

(Y/n) folded her arms, watching as he tinkered aimlessly around the kitchen. Looking for a distraction. Back turned, facing her like a stone wall.

“He’s actually really nice, you know.”

She could've sworn she heard a scoff. “I’m sure he is."

There it was again. That clipped tone. The snide edge.

“Funny. You made more of an effort hiding your frustration earlier when I was laughing at his jokes.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at her.

Her eyes narrowed. “You know, if you’ve got something to say, you could just say it. Instead of sulking and being passive-aggressive about a guy who—surprise—was literally just talking to me.”

“I’m not sulkin'.”

She scoffed. “You’re definitely sulking. You’ve been avoiding me since the second I walked out of class.”

Atsumu’s mouth opened like he wanted to argue—but then he just sighed and ran a brisk hand through his hair.

“Listen, ’m not in the mood.” He finally turned to her, giving a look that landed somewhere between warning and weariness. “I’m gonna head up. Long day.”

“Nope,” she said, stepping aside to block his path, her expression sharp. “You don’t get to pull the moody card and ghost the conversation.”

Atsumu’s brow twitched. “What conversation?”

(Y/n)’s gaze didn’t waver. “The one where you admit you were jealous and being kind of an ass about it.”

His jaw ticked.

And for a second, neither of them moved.

The air thickened.

His voice dropped into a velvet-coated jab. “Cocky little thing.”

Before she could retort, he leaned in. Just enough to make it infuriating. His breath brushed her skin. His eyes darkened.

“If it’s eatin’ at ya so much,” he murmured, voice curling into a sneer, “why don’tcha vent to Tetsu about it?”

He didn’t bother hiding the distaste. The name rolled off his tongue like a slur.

(Y/n) opened her mouth to argue—but he was already brushing past her, his shoulder bumping hers with just enough force to make it feel deliberate.

Prick.

“See ya tomorrow,” he muttered.

And just like that, he was gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Morning sunlight filtered through the slats of the kitchen blinds, catching dust in its beams and painting the floor in pale, hazy stripes. The house was unusually quiet for this hour. No footsteps. No clatter of cutlery. No muffled Osamu humming through breakfast prep. Just the low, humming quiet of a place still steeped in sleep—or maybe something heavier.

(Y/n) stepped into the kitchen barefoot, hair tied back messily, a faded hoodie swallowing her frame. Her footsteps were soft against the tile, the kind that came from habit, not caution. But even still, she paused at the threshold.

He was already there.

Atsumu stood by the counter, hunched slightly, shirt wrinkled, cradling a mug in both hands. He wasn’t doing anything—just staring into the steam, eyes distant, jaw slack. Whatever expression had hardened on his face overnight hadn’t softened with sleep.

She lingered by the doorway a beat too long.

He didn’t look up.

(Y/n)’s chest pulled tight, something quiet but sharp blooming in the space between her ribs. This wasn’t new—Atsumu avoiding eye contact when he was pissed. What was new was the ache behind it. The fact that she’d stopped knowing what version of him she was going to get.

Still, she moved toward the kettle, reaching over to grab a mug. Her arm brushed his.

He stepped away like he hadn’t noticed her at all.

Right.

Of course.

She inhaled slowly through her nose, counting the seconds it took for the kettle to boil, willing herself to stay grounded. Calm. Collected. Not bothered.

But the silence scraped at her like sandpaper.

"So we're doing this, then?" she asked quietly. No heat. No sharpness. Just a weary tilt of her voice.

Atsumu didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

She turned slightly, just enough to see the angle of his profile. His eyes were downcast. Still wrapped in thought, or maybe just pretending to be.

“I said one thing. One,” she murmured. “And you made it a whole thing.”

That got him. She saw the twitch in his jaw.

But again—no answer.

Her hand tightened around her mug. She could feel the ache of it now. Not just his silence—but the effort it took to pretend she didn’t care. To match his pettiness stride for stride.

“Tetsu texted me again last night,” she added, deliberately casual.

Nothing.

She let that hang between them. Like bait. Like a challenge.

He sipped his coffee. Still didn’t meet her eyes.

Coward.

Her voice was quieter this time. Flat. “You didn’t say goodnight.”

He set the mug down a little too hard, the ceramic clink echoing through the quiet kitchen.

And then, like a final blow, he turned and left.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t glance back. Just walked out, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists, footsteps heavy and retreating.

She stood there, heart stinging, tea forgotten.

Some fights had shouting. Some had tears.

This one had silence.

And silence, she was starting to realize, hurt a whole lot more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Movie night wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

The living room was warm, lights low, a blanket tossed over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle pushed to one corner of the coffee table. Everything looked normal—comfortable, even. But (y/n) could feel the tension in the room like static. It clung to the air, heavy and unspoken.

She sat curled into the armrest, legs tucked beneath her, a cushion hugged to her chest. Across from her, Atsumu slouched in his usual spot—hood pulled up, expression neutral, thumbs idly tapping the rim of a water bottle like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to drink it or launch it across the room.

Osamu handed her the popcorn with a soft, “Here,” like he was passing a truce flag.

“Thanks,” she murmured, barely glancing at him.

The movie played on, some half-hearted action film Suna had picked. It barely held anyone’s attention. He was slumped low in his armchair, feet on the ottoman, phone balanced on his thigh, thumb flicking lazily through some feed even as the screen ahead flashed and boomed.

Halfway through a loud car chase scene, her phone buzzed quietly in her lap.

Rin: y’all break up or sth?

(Y/n) stared at the message for a second, then glanced at him. He didn’t look up. Didn’t even blink. Just kept scrolling.

She rolled her eyes and typed back.

You: we’d have to be dating for that.

A second passed.

Rin: mhm coulda fooled me

She let her phone drop to the couch cushion beside her, face down.

Still, Atsumu hadn’t said a word.

Not to her. Not since last night.

Every word was filtered through Osamu or aimed at Suna. She could’ve been a coat rack for all he acknowledged her presence. Like she’d been demoted to background noise.

The thing that grated wasn’t the distance—it was the performance. The calculated effort to pretend everything was fine, that they were fine. Like he hadn’t iced her out in the kitchen the evening he picked her up from Uni. Like he hadn’t dropped that little dagger of a line and walked away without looking back.

She glanced at him.

He was still staring straight ahead. Jaw tight. Fingers twitching.

“Had coffee with Tetsu today,” she said suddenly, voice light.

The silence that followed was immediate. Dense.

Suna’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Osamu shifted in his seat.

Still, Atsumu said nothing.

Not even a glance.

Look at me.

“He read me one of his new pieces,” she continued, picking a kernel of popcorn, twirling it between her fingers. “He’s been working on this stream-of-consciousness thing. It's nice. Really vulnerable.”

Osamu cleared his throat. “Huh. Sounds... poetic.”

“Mhm.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I told him it reminded me of Atsumu, actually.”

A breath hitched across the room. Quiet, but she caught it.

Still, he didn’t bite.

Instead, he stood. Abruptly. Walked to the kitchen under the guise of grabbing a drink. A drawer opened. Closed. Too loud. A bottle cap clinked against the counter.

(Y/n) let out a soft breath and sagged slightly into the couch.

Suna didn’t look up. “You’re really gonna keep poking him like that?”

“I’m not poking,” she replied. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

She turned her gaze to the glowing TV screen, unreadable. “For him to grow up.”

The words left her mouth cooler than she meant them to. She hadn’t planned to say them. Hadn’t even realized she felt them until they were out in the air between them, heavy and uninvited.

Suna didn’t reply right away. Just glanced sideways, his expression unreadable in the TV’s flickering light. Then, without a word, he leaned forward, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and sat back like he hadn’t just witnessed a relationship quietly unraveling beside him.

(Y/n) pulled the blanket a little tighter around her legs. Onscreen, someone was shouting. Something exploded. The room stayed quiet.

Atsumu never came back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Atsumu hadn’t planned on going to the library.

He hated the place. Too quiet. Too cold. Too many rules and not enough snacks. If hell had a waiting room, he was convinced it looked like this—rows of dusty books, stiff-backed chairs, and the constant, smug silence of people who actually enjoyed being there.

But his apartment was too loud, the team lounge was full of idiots, and his brain wouldn’t shut up long enough to let him nap. So here he was. At rock bottom. In the library. With a textbook under one arm and a pen he already wanted to snap in half.

It was fine. He’d find a table. He’d get his notes done. He’d move on.

Until the universe—as always—decided to make a complete joke out of him.

Of course the library was packed. Midterms or whatever. Every table was full. Every chair taken. Except—

His stomach sank the moment he saw her.

(Y/n). Back turned, head tilted just enough to catch the soft edge of her profile. Sitting across from none other than Tetsu Fucking Poetry Boy.

Atsumu stopped walking. Just for a second. Just long enough to internally scream.

And then, like fate had a sick sense of humor, he spotted the only available seat in the entire damn room—tucked in the far corner, across from a broken heater, a table that was just far enough to be forgotten but just close enough to give him a perfect, unobstructed view of her and her stupid, flowery friend.

Fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic.

He dropped his stuff on the table with more force than necessary and sat down with a grunt that earned him a glare from the girl at the next table. Whatever. He didn’t care. He opened his book, flipped to a random page, and tried to focus.

He really did.

But the thing about libraries? Quiet meant every little sound stood out.

Every scrape of a chair. Every soft murmur. Every laugh.

Especially her laugh.

That gentle little breath of sound—the one she tried to hold back when she found something really funny. Like now. Apparently Tetsu had cracked some hilarious observation about metaphors or whatever the hell he wrote about.

Atsumu’s jaw clenched. His pen hovered uselessly over his notebook. He hadn’t written a single word. He could feel his pulse in his temple.

Another laugh.

A quiet, almost bashful, “You’re so dumb,” from (y/n), and then a hushed giggle that sliced right through him.

His grip tightened around his pen. He didn’t even realize how hard until his knuckles ached.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Of all the places, of all the tables, of all the goddamn days—

A shadow passed over his table. Then another.

“Ya look like yer about to shit yerself,” Osamu said, rounding the table.

Suna followed, dropping his bag with a dramatic sigh. “Aw, did we miss the meltdown?”

Their arrival was both a curse and a lifeline.

Atsumu didn’t answer right away. He just shoved his notebook away with a quiet swoosh and dropped his pen like a man resigned.

“Didn’t realize this was a group project,” he muttered.

Osamu and Suna dragged their chairs in unison, the legs scraping against the floor loud enough to draw a look from a girl at the next table.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Atsumu asked, narrowing his eyes at Osamu. “You bored or somethin'?”

“Speak for yourself,” Suna added. “You haven’t voluntarily stepped foot in a library since high school.”

“What can I say?” Osamu shrugged and pulled a battered notebook from his bag, slapping it onto the table. Loose pages fluttered out across the wood like confetti. “Finals got me in a chokehold.”

The paper rustling stirred the girl next to them again—her eyes already narrowed over the rim of her glasses like she’d been waiting for an excuse to hate them.

Suna turned in his chair, met her gaze dead-on, and jerked his chin like he was silently asking, something wrong?

She didn’t dignify him with a response. Just rolled her eyes, gathered her books, and stormed off with the fury of someone who’d only gotten four hours of sleep and took that very personally.

“Charmin’ girl,” Osamu muttered, flipping a page.

Atsumu sniggered and stretched, arms overhead as his joints cracked audibly—like he’d been buried in his notes for hours when in reality... He glanced down at the desk. His notebook lay open in front of him, still blank. A glaring reminder of his unproductivity.

“What about you?” Osamu asked, already digging out a sandwich from his bag like this was a picnic. “You studyin’ or tryna chat-up some cute bookworm?”

Suna reached for the half-empty pack of jelly sticks peeking out of Osamu’s bag, his movements obnoxiously smooth. “Aw, 'Samu, you shouldn’t have.”

Osamu shot him a withering glare.

Atsumu huffed a dry laugh, arms folded on the table as he angled his head downward. “I wish.”

He flicked lazily through his notes, nose wrinkling like the very act disgusted him. “‘M here for the same reason you are.”

Then, under his breath—eyes drifting toward that one table in the distance—

“’Least that was the plan.”

Neither of them missed the shift in his tone.

They didn’t say anything at first. Just exchanged a quiet look as they started unpacking their own notes.

Then, like clockwork, Suna leaned to the side, following Atsumu's line of sight. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Oh,” he said. Just that. One syllable, dragged through understanding.

Osamu followed his gaze. “Seriously?”

Atsumu didn’t answer.

“Yer pathetic,” Osamu said flatly, peeling the crust off his sandwich before plopping it into his mouth.

Atsumu gave him a glare that could’ve soured milk.

“Were ya spyin’ on her?” He asked between mouthfuls.

“Fuck no,” he hissed. Neither seemed convinced. “I ain't lyin’! You think I’d willingly set foot into this dweeb cesspool just to spy on ‘er?”

The duo exchanged a long, knowing look.

Atsumu clicked his tongue, agitated. “I ain't,” he repeated, more defensive. “They just happened to be here. I walked in and bam—there they were. Right in my face.”

“You could’ve walked out,” Suna offered, shrugging as he bit into a jelly stick.

Atsumu scoffed, mildly offended. “Yeah, right—and what would that make me?”

“A whiny little bitch."

Atsumu lunged for him on instinct, arm swiping across the table. Suna jerked back, grinning around the purple jelly stick.

"Leave 'em be," Osamu said coolly, reading over his notes. He didn’t even glance toward them—clearly didn’t see the appeal, unlike the other two. "They're only talkin'."

“She’s gigglin',” Atsumu hissed, barely above a whisper. “Ya don’t giggle at someone unless they’re funny. Or cute. Or both.”

“God forbid someone be funny," Suna drawled, rocking lazily on the back two legs of his chair, still sucking on that goddamn jelly stick. Atsumu resisted the urge to rip it out of his mouth.

“His jokes suck.”

“How would you know? You been on a date with Tetsu as well?"

Atsumu sneered at the word.

Date. Yeah, right. Who takes someone to the library for a first date?

But what if it wasn’t the first?

What if there had already been others?

How many others?

Atsumu swallowed hard and shoved the thought deep into the back of his skull. Clicked his tongue again.

“I don’t need to. Just look at him. He's a poetry major. I can smell his bottom shelf vanilla body spray from here.”

Suna snorted despite himself.

Osamu pressed a knuckle to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

Atsumu slumped further into his chair, eyes on his shut notebook, expression tight.

Then Osamu’s voice broke the moment. Low. Blunt. But not unkind, a rare flicker of seriousness settling between his words.

“You do realize this is yer fault, right?”

Atsumu didn’t reply, nor did he look up.

He knew.

God, he knew.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

A beat passed. Long enough for it to feel like a decision.

Then Suna leaned forward, propping his chin on his palm. “Y'know, there’s this thing you can do when you like someone…”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes. “What.”

“It’s wild,” Suna said, deadpan. “Really cutting-edge.”

Osamu glanced up from his notes, barely containing his grin.

“You just… tell them,” Suna finished.

Atsumu scoffed. “Yeah? And say what, exactly?”

“Dunno.” Suna slurped the last of his jelly stick. “That's something for the both of you to figure out."

Osamu hummed, nodding with what one might consider mild interest. “Ya wouldn’t be in this mess if ya just talked to 'er."

“I do talk to 'er.”

“Right,” Osamu drawled. “I mean properly. None of yer passive-aggressive bullshit.”

Atsumu let out a sharp breath through his nose. “She’s the one who’s all over that fuckin’ guy.”

“So what if she laughs at a few of his jokes?” Suna replied. “You sound like a 14-year-old.”

Atsumu scowled, shoulders squaring as he leaned back in his chair. “Ya don’t get it. I’ve never seen her giggle like that before. Not even with me or—” he gestured toward Suna, a flicker of emotion sneaking in. “Even him. Her childhood bestie or whatever.”

Suna’s brows lifted—not quite a challenge, but close.

Or maybe that was just how Atsumu chose to take it.

“She does,” Suna said evenly. “You’ve just never been around to hear it. (Y/n)’s a pretty giggly person by nature.”

Atsumu tried not to let his irritation show.

Tetsu was the problem right now. Tetsu.

Osamu leaned forward to grab a highlighter, casually creating a barrier between the two. “Y’know, if yer this insufferable when yer not datin' her, I’m terrified to see what happens when ya are.”

“Shut up, 'Samu. No one asked."

"I'm serious. Yer lack of communication is astoundin'."

“Plus she doesn’t owe you anything,” Suna added, smooth as ever.

Atsumu’s jaw tightened.

Right. Because they weren’t dating.

Just like Osamu had conveniently pointed out.

He already saw where this was going, and he hated it.

If they were about to lecture him on feelings and intentions and his goddamn love life, he was out.

It was none of their business. Whatever he felt for (y/n)—vague as it was, loud as it got—it didn’t concern them.

Feelings were messy. Conversations were messier.

And if there was one thing Atsumu had learned about liking someone, it was this:

You either commit, or you run.

And he’d never been good at choosing.

Not when it came to this.

Love.

"Relax." Osamu's voice sliced through Atsumu's thoughts like a knife through hot butter. “We’re not here to lecture ya. All we’re sayin’ is—talkin’s an option. You know (y/n). She’ll listen. In fact 'm sure she'd be more than happy to discuss with ya."

"She's always been the more vocal type," Suna added, shrugging calmly.

“Yer clearly bothered by the idea of them datin',” Osamu said. “So ask 'er about it.”

“'M not bothered.”

Osamu and Suna gave him the exact same look. Flat. Devoid of humour.

Atsumu cringed.

Okay. Whatever. Point taken.

So maybe he was a little peeved.

How could he not be?

The guy wore v-necks and chinos—chinos! (Y/n) could do better. She should do better.

Atsumu slumped lower into his seat.

Then, quieter. More careful:

“...I just hate how easy it looks.”

Osamu looked up. Suna’s chair landed back on all four feet.

“With him,” Atsumu added, not quite meeting their eyes. “Like... he don’t gotta try.”

That sobered them just a little.

But only a little.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Osamu said.

Atsumu looked up, brows furrowing—almost like that stung more than he expected. Like he was trying to figure out if Osamu meant it as an insult.

“But you do,” Osamu added, voice steady. Clarifying. Grounding.

Suna nodded. “And that’s not a bad thing.”

Atsumu didn’t say anything. Just glanced across the library again—at (y/n) and Tetsu, still talking, still laughing like no one was watching.

Then she looked up.

Caught his stare.

Even from this far, he could’ve sworn her eyes widened—surprise, confusion, maybe even guilt. He didn’t know.

Didn’t want to.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, heart jumping in a way he blamed on being startled.

He hadn’t meant to get her attention.

Still, as he toyed with his pen between his fingers, his friends’ words lingered.

Talking to (y/n)...

God.

Where would he even start?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

(Y/n) hadn’t even looked up when the door to the library opened. She didn’t need to—her back was already straightening at the sound of three sets of footsteps, too loud, too confident, and far too familiar.

She glanced up. And there they were.

Atsumu. Osamu. Suna.

She blinked, stunned for half a second—not at the sight of them, but at the sheer audacity.

What the hell were they doing here?

No, seriously—what were they doing here?

The library, with its creaky chairs and strict “no snacking” policy, was sacred. Quiet. Orderly. Full of mild-mannered English majors and caffeine-fuelled med students. Not... jocks. Not six-footers in hoodies and joggers who made every chair they touched squeak like a scream.

She stared for a moment longer. They looked so out of place it almost made her laugh. But the amusement quickly gave way to something tighter. Something warmer.

Annoyance.

Surely—surely—this wasn’t on purpose. Atsumu couldn’t have known she was here. There was no way he’d actually come all the way to the library just to eavesdrop.

Osamu wouldn’t let him do that. Suna definitely wouldn’t.

…Right?

She must’ve looked as annoyed as she felt because Tetsu lightly tapped her arm, pulling her attention back.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

She blinked. “Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.”

Tetsu smiled politely, but his gaze flicked to where she’d been staring. His expression didn’t change, but something in it cooled.

(Y/n) tried to focus again, nodding along as Tetsu talked through the reading. She picked at the cuff of her hoodie absently, resisting the urge to glance over.

She managed to concentrate for a few minutes.

...Until a soft thunk drew her attention again.

She looked.

Atsumu had tossed a pencil at Osamu. Osamu had dodged. And the girl behind them—bless her—had taken it square to the forehead.

The sharp What the hell?! that followed echoed through the library.

(Y/n) slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.

The poor girl stood, flushed and furious. A heated whisper-argument broke out, heads turned, and thirty seconds later, the librarian was shooing the trio toward the exit.

She caught Atsumu’s eye right before he disappeared behind the shelves. His expression unreadable. She didn’t bother trying.

Tetsu turned back to her, one brow raised. “They're your friends, right?” A pause. Then he sucked in a breath—almost like a wince.

(Y/n) caught it. Just a flicker.

But she blinked it away. Maybe she was reading too much into it.

“They sure are lively,” he added, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She exhaled through her nose—half sigh, half laugh. “That’s one way to describe them.”

Tetsu nodded slowly, like he was trying to piece something together. “The blonde one… Asumo, right?”

Her jaw tensed.

“Atsumu,” she corrected, almost automatically. For some reason, the mispronunciation irked her more than it should’ve.

“Right,” Tetsu said, still smiling. “He your boyfriend?”

She spluttered. “What—no.” A scoff, her hand waving the idea away like smoke. “God, no.”

Then, after a beat—because she was curious. Because she couldn’t help herself—

“What makes you think that?”

Tetsu gave a small shrug. "He seemed... irritated the other day. I figured it was about the nickname.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think he was mad because that’s what he usually calls me.”

Tetsu arched a perfectly groomed brow, his tone dipping into something almost… accusing. “He calls you sweetheart?”

(Y/n) blinked once. “Yeah— all the time. But it's not romantic."

She said it like it was obvious. Like it meant nothing.

Because, in Atsumu’s world, it didn’t.

In fact, he called her plenty of nicknames, each one as flowery as the next. That’s just who he was: a flirt. Loud, casual, effortless, charming. He’d say it to anyone. Probably had.

She just happened to be around the most.

She lived with him, after all. So yeah—perfectly normal. Completely harmless.

Still, Tetsu didn’t look convinced. His jaw had tightened slightly, mouth flattening into something too neutral.

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you say, (y/n).”

The use of her name—so pointed, so deliberate—made something in her clench. She didn’t like the tone. Didn’t like the implication. Didn’t like having to read between the lines again.

She was tired of that. Tired of guessing how someone felt. Tired of almosts and maybes and weird, strained silences.

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like reading poetry anymore.

She grabbed her bag, slinging it over one shoulder as she stood. “I think I’m gonna head home,” she said, forcing a smile. “Not sure I can take another stanza about tragic lovers and unspoken longing.”

Tetsu blinked, glancing up at her. “Oh. You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ve hit my limit for symbolism today.”

He nodded, but his eyes followed her a little too long as she turned to leave.

And as she walked toward the exit, her phone buzzed.

She swiped it open.

Rin: did you see us get kicked out the library lol

(Y/n) huffed a laugh, thumbs already moving.

You: unfortunately yes 🙄 what the hell were you all doing there anyway??

The response came fast. Typical.

Rin: studying. obviously. ‘samu brought snacks. got us kicked out.

You: sure. snacks. i’m sure that’s all it was. pretty sure i saw a pencil fly across the room

Rin: lol that was atsumu but the snacks played a part the librarian confiscated them can you believe that

You: the audacity

Rin: ikr

She smiled a little. Just a flicker. But it faded as quickly as it came.

A beat passed before the next message popped up.

Rin: you alright?

She stared at the screen for a second. Then typed, slowly.

You: not really.

Another pause. Then:

Rin: wanna talk about it?

You: yeah. if that’s okay.

Rin: where are you?

You: heading home. passing near the park.

Rin: omw

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The park hadn’t changed much.

Same creaky swings. Same chipped blue paint. Same patch of wildflowers that looked like they’d been planted by accident. The sandbox was mostly abandoned, save for a single forgotten shovel sticking out like a gravestone. A breeze swept through the trees, rustling the leaves like a lazy hush.

It was quieter now—most of the kids had gone home, and the sun had dipped low enough to cast everything in a soft, hazy gold. The kind of light that made you want to stay still a little longer. The kind that made memories feel like they could sneak up on you.

(Y/n) curled her fingers around the cool metal chains of the swing, trainers skimming slow figure-eights in the dust.

Across from her, Suna was perched on the monkey bars like he had been since they were kids—legs slung over one bar, back leaning against another, phone held lazily in one hand. The golden light filtered through the trees, catching in his lashes, painting half his face in sun and shadow.

“Trying to get a good shot?” she asked, voice light.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Sun’s cooperating for once.”

She watched him adjust the brightness, zoom in, tilt slightly left. His thumb hovered over the screen longer than necessary—like he was waiting for the exact second everything clicked into place.

Then, quietly—“Did Atsumu say anything?”

He didn’t look up. Just tapped the screen one more time. “About you?”

She scuffed her shoe in the dirt. “Uh-huh.”

Once satisfied with the photo, Suna hopped down in that unbothered, fluid way of his and wandered over. The swing beside hers groaned as he dropped into it, long legs stretching out, tucking his phone into his hoodie pocket.

“Yeah. We spoke briefly. But before you ask, I’m not telling you what he said.”

She turned toward him, brows furrowed. “Why not?”

He shrugged, watching the wind tangle a leaf mid-air. “S’not my place.”

“But I tried talking to him,” she muttered, frustrated. “He just brushed me off. Couldn't get a word out of him. It's annoying. I know he's jealous—he doesn’t exactly try to hide it. But then he ignores me. Or shuts me out. I don’t know what he wants from me.”

Suna didn’t answer right away. Just sat quietly, rocking a little, watching a squirrel skitter across the gravel.

It was always like this with him. He never rushed to respond. Letting her words hang in the air like low-hanging fog. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it never was with Suna. Just thoughtful. He let moments breathe. Let the thoughts come in their own time.

She heard the gentle jingle of his chains as he shifted. Then came his voice, soft and even.

“Just give him time. Like I said, we talked. It wasn’t much, but… he came forward in the end. I think he’s thinking about it just as much as you are.”

She didn’t respond right away. Her gaze followed the light bleeding through the treetops, catching flecks of dust in the air like glitter.

“Really?” she asked eventually, more hopeful. “You actually think so?”

Suna nodded slowly. “Mhm. Just be patient with him. You know what he’s like—he hasn’t got it all figured out yet.”

(Y/n) let out a dry laugh. “That sure is a nice way of phrasing it.”

He huffed, something that could’ve been a laugh of his own. Then, for the first time, he turned to look at her. His smirk was soft. Teasing. Familiar.

“What are you two like, eh?”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave her a flat look. Raised a brow. Said nothing.

When she didn’t drop it, he finally leaned back against the swing, arms resting on the chains, eyes skyward.

“You and Atsumu. Always dancing around each other. When are you gonna fess up?”

“There’s nothing to fess up,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice went quiet. “I don’t know.”

Suna didn’t press. He just… stayed. Listened.

And so, she kept talking.

“It’s hard to tell with Atsumu. Some days it’s like he’s pulling me in, and other days it’s like I don’t exist. I try not to let it get to me, but... it does. It makes me feel stupid. Like I’m chasing something that’s only real in my head.”

The words fell out easier than she’d expected. She didn’t usually say things like that. Not even to herself.

Suna was quiet for a while. He didn’t look at her. Just let the chains creak beneath him as he rocked gently back and forth.

Then—just once—he glanced her way.

Something flickered in his eyes. The kind of look you only catch if you’re really paying attention. And she was. But it was gone just as quickly.

He leaned back again, legs stretching farther. “You’re not stupid.”

She breathed out slowly. “Thanks.”

Another silence passed, this one lighter.

“I’ll wait,” she said after a while. “Like you said. I’ll be patient. I just…” she shifted her grip on the chains, “I hope he doesn’t take too long. The house feels weird lately.”

Suna nodded once. “He’ll come around.”

“You sure?”

“No,” he said, smirking slightly. “But it sounds better than ‘maybe.’”

She laughed. That soft, airy kind—the kind you don’t even realize you’ve been holding in.

The sun dropped lower, casting the swings in long shadows. The wind stirred the trees. In the distance, a dog barked. Somewhere nearby, wind chimes tinkled lazily.

They didn’t talk much after that—just sat there, rocking slowly, watching the sky turn honey and then violet.

No drama. No tension. Just quiet company.

And for a while, that was enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Which was stupid, really—because most days he’d kill for some peace. But now, with the sun low and bleeding orange through the living room blinds, all that quiet did was piss him off.

He paced.

Not on purpose. Not even consciously. Just… back and forth, socked feet dragging along the scuffed wooden floor. One hand tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, the other stuffed deep into his pocket, pulling the fabric down like it might ground him.

Where the hell were they?

He didn’t need to ask. He knew.

(Y/n) and Suna were out. Probably talking. Probably somewhere breezy and warm and not here, while Atsumu stewed in a thick, molasses-flavoured mix of annoyance, regret, and something else he refused to name.

He paused by the window. Squinted.

Still no sign of them.

“Quit pacin'. Yer gonna wear a hole in the floor,” Osamu said from the couch, voice lazy. Barely looked up from his phone.

“‘M not pacin',” Atsumu snapped.

“You are.”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be if someone—” he cut himself off, jaw tight.

Osamu just looked at him. That stony expression that always made Atsumu feel like a ten-year-old throwing a tantrum. He turned away before his brother could say something actually annoying.

He hated this. The waiting. The guessing. The not knowing where she was or what she was thinking. Who she was laughing with. What she was saying.

He’d seen the text on Suna's phone. Hadn’t read it—just saw the preview flash up on the lock screen. A little part of him itched to unlock it. To see if maybe they had said something about him.

It didn’t.

And even if it did, what then?

Was he gonna scroll through their conversation like some jealous ex-boyfriend?

He wasn’t even her boyfriend.

God.

Atsumu scrubbed a hand over his face and slumped onto the edge of the couch, elbows to knees, head in his hands. The silence buzzed louder now, filling all the cracks in the room that she usually softened.

He missed her voice. Her laugh. The way she always had a mug in her hand, never drank from it, just carried it around like a comfort object. He missed her random shower thoughts. The way she kicked her feet sometimes when she was on her phone, unabashed when an edit of her favourite character came up on her 'for you' page. The sound of her bedroom door creaking.

He missed her.

And it was ridiculous. Because she wasn’t gone. She was just… elsewhere. With Suna.

And Suna got her. Always had.

That part didn’t usually bother Atsumu—except now it did.

Now, it bothered the hell out of him.

She’d gone to him, hadn’t she? When everything got awkward. When Atsumu had snapped at her in the kitchen. She’d walked away, and she’d gone straight to someone else. Which, fine. That was fair. That was her right.

But it still stung.

Atsumu sank into the couch, tilted his head back and let out a slow exhale, like maybe if he breathed deep enough he could push the weight off his chest.

“She’s not mad at ya,” Osamu said, out of nowhere.

Atsumu blinked. “Did I ask?”

“No,” Osamu replied, cool as anything. “But yer face is loud.”

Atsumu muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothin'.”

They sat in the golden hush of almost-evening. The kitchen clock ticked in the distance, the kind of mundane background noise that felt cruelly loud when you were going insane inside your own head.

“I don’t get it,” Atsumu muttered, half to himself. “She knows ’m jealous. So why won’t she just… say somethin'?”

He hated saying it. Jealous. But Osamu knew better than anyone, was privy to all the ugly feelings that stirred inside his brother's heart. He'd perhaps be the only person Atsumu would ever admit them to.

Osamu didn’t look up from his phone. Just hummed low in his throat and replied, “Say what?”

Atsumu opened his mouth.

Closed it.

What did he want her to say?

That she noticed? That she cared? That she liked him back?

His mouth twisted. “I dunno,” he said lamely. “Somethin’. Anythin’.”

Osamu finally set his phone down, the click of it hitting the table louder than necessary.

“Were ya expectin’ her to apologise?”

Atsumu bristled. “No. I—no.”

“What, then?”

He didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Because the truth was—yeah. Kinda.

Not an apology, exactly. But some kind of… recognition. Like maybe she’d look at him and say I see you. I get it. I feel it too.

And maybe that made him a jerk.

But still.

Still.

“I don’t know,” Atsumu said again, voice sharp now. Frustration gnawing at him like a bloodhound. “I don’t know, okay? I just—"

He cursed under his breath. Pushed his back off the couch again. His head dropped low.

Osamu watched him quietly for a moment before sighing. “Maybe she’s tired of bein’ the only one who says stuff.”

Atsumu didn't raise his head, just glanced at his twin. “Huh?”

“She always meets you halfway,” Osamu said. “Always puts in the effort. Maybe she’s waitin’ to see if you’ll do the same.”

Atsumu went quiet.

Because deep down, he knew Osamu was right.

He never said it first. Not when it mattered. Always wrapped it up in jokes, or flirty one-liners, or fake indifference. Anything but real words. Anything but actual feelings.

Because actual feelings?

Those meant vulnerability.

Those meant risk.

And he wasn’t ready for that.

...Was he?

His eyes drifted to the front door again. Wondering if she’d walk through it. Wondering if she’d look at him. Wondering if he’d know what to say when she did.

He didn’t.

But maybe… maybe he wanted to try.

He ran a hand through his hair, mumbled into the room, “Think I messed up.”

Osamu didn’t gloat. Didn’t tease. Just leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Then fix it.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The front door creaked open with a push of her palm, the familiar groan of the hinges dragging out into the quiet apartment.

She stepped inside, soft-footed, like her presence might echo.

Suna followed behind, wordless as always, slipping his shoes off with that same lazy, practiced ease. For a second, they just stood there in the entryway, the stillness stretching around them like plastic wrap—tight, uncomfortable.

The hallway smelled like soy sauce and garlic. Osamu was cooking.

(Y/n) didn’t hear music though, which was strange. The kitchen was never silent when he cooked. No playlist humming through a speaker. No news show playing in the background. Just the hiss of something on the stovetop, the low clatter of utensils. And—

A sound.

The couch creaked.

She didn’t look.

She knew.

Instead, she toed off her shoes and offered a quiet “thanks” to Suna, who gave a non-committal nod and wandered off in the direction of his room, phone already out. Her own fingers curled slightly at her sides. Her palms felt hot. She wasn’t sure why.

Or—no. That was a lie.

She knew exactly why.

He was here.

And she could feel it.

Feel him.

Even without looking, she knew he was sprawled across the couch like always. She could practically hear the way he was pretending not to notice her. The quiet shuffle. The strained stillness.

God.

Why did it feel so different?

Why did the air feel so heavy?

(Y/n) cleared her throat and headed for the kitchen, willing her steps to stay even.

Osamu stood at the stove, stirring something in a pan. His eyes flicked toward her, brief but not unkind.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Wasn’t hungry earlier.”

He nodded once, like he understood. “It’ll be ready in ten.”

“Thanks.”

The silence was less awkward here, but still not comfortable. Not really. Osamu, ever the unbothered one, didn’t push. Just continued cooking with the same practiced calm he always carried.

(Y/n) lingered near the fridge, fingers tapping idly against the handle. She wasn’t thirsty. She just needed something to do.

“So,” Osamu said after a pause, “how'd the date go?”

She turned sharply, blinking. Oddly enough, she couldn't tell who he was referring to. Her study session with Tetsu, or her impromptu outing with Suna.

Not that it mattered. She knew what he was trying to do.

His face was neutral—but his eyes were teasing. And that said enough.

She clicked her tongue, but it was anything but hostile, if not a bit thankful. “Zip it, you."

A soft chuckle. “Just tryna ease the tension."

She huffed, but it soothed something in her chest.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the faintest movement—just a shift of a leg over the side of the couch, the tiniest rustle of fabric. Her throat tightened.

Still, she didn’t look at him.

Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

Didn’t trust herself to, anyway.

Osamu slid the pan off the burner and lowered the heat. “He was a pain while you were gone.”

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

They both knew who he meant.

She glanced toward the stairs. Her room upstairs. Her retreat. Her escape.

“Alright,” she murmured. “I think I’m gonna go—”

“Wait,” came a voice behind her.

Not loud.

Not urgent.

Just there.

Like it had been waiting.

(Y/n) froze. Turned her head slightly. Atsumu stood halfway off the couch, one hand gripping the back of it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the room.

His eyes met hers—and dropped just as fast.

The silence that followed was jagged.

“Are you—” he started. Then stopped. His mouth opened again, but no sound came out. His shoulders sagged the tiniest bit, like whatever fight he’d worked up had drained out of him the second he saw her.

She tilted her head.

Waited.

But he said nothing.

Just sank back onto the couch with a muttered, “Never mind.”

Osamu didn’t hide the sigh that escaped his chest.

Suna, reappearing at the hallway edge with a protein bar half-unwrapped, squinted at them all like he'd walked in on an unfinished scene.

Nobody said a word, letting the awkwardness hang in the air.

Osamu was the first to break it.

He scratched the back of his head. “Honestly.”

(Y/n) didn’t look back to the couch.

Didn’t stay, either.

She turned and climbed the stairs.

Every step heavier than the last.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He didn’t move at first.

Not when she turned.

Not when she climbed the stairs.

Not even when her door clicked softly shut—quiet, polite, final.

He just sat there.

Still.

Sprawled across the couch like dead weight, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the last sliver of sunlight bled out through the windows.

For a second, he thought he might actually fall asleep.

But that would’ve required peace. And tonight, peace was in short supply.

He groaned—loud, frustrated, full-bodied—and dragged both hands down his face until his cheeks burned.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

Then he pushed himself up, stomped toward the stairs loud enough to draw attention, and slammed his bedroom door a little too hard.

The room was dim. Warm gold edged the corners of his blinds, spilling faint strips of light across his desk. It painted soft shadows on the wall—shapes that didn’t matter. Nothing in here really mattered. It all felt too small. Too hot. Like he couldn’t stretch out without touching something that reminded him of her.

He sat on the edge of his bed.

Stared at the floor.

And then, slowly, like it might explode if he moved too fast, he reached for his phone.

The screen lit up with a dozen stupid notifications. Group chats. A calendar reminder for weights tomorrow. Osamu sending him a TikTok with a caption that just read: you. He ignored all of it.

Opened her name.

And stared.

Just stared.

The chat window was blank.

He hadn’t messaged her all day. Or the day before. Not since—

He swallowed. Didn’t finish the thought. He'd never gone this long without texting her.

He started typing.

hey.

Then:

sorry i’ve been weird.

Then:

i know ive been an ass lately. i didnt mean it. okay, maybe i did. but its not because of you. not really. i just

He stopped.

Read it back.

Scowled.

Deleted all of it with one angry thumb.

Started over.

you and tetsu a thing?

Deleted that too.

do you wanna talk?

Backspaced it, letter by letter, like each key was pressing into his brain.

He tossed the phone onto his comforter and flopped backwards onto his bed, arms flung wide like he might summon answers from the ceiling.

What the fuck was he supposed to say?

Sorry I got jealous because another guy called you sweetheart?

Sorry I don’t know how to be normal when it comes to you?

Sorry I think I like you but I don’t know how to say that without making it weird and fucking everything up?

He groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face.

He hated this. He hated feelings. Hated how they sat on his chest like bricks, heavy and unrelenting. Hated how they didn’t go away just because he ignored them.

And God, he’d tried to ignore them.

He really, really had.

He thought maybe if he flirted like usual, if he brushed it off with jokes, if he let it simmer beneath the surface without naming it—maybe it’d go away. Maybe it’d stay casual.

But it didn’t feel casual anymore.

Not when her smile was the first thing he looked for in a room.

Not when silence from her felt like punishment.

Not when the idea of her with someone else made his skin crawl.

He sat up again, dragging a hand through his hair.

This was ridiculous.

He was ridiculous.

He looked at the door. Then back at his phone. Then back at the door.

Then stood.

Walked to it.

Paused.

Stared at the handle like it was a detonator.

If he knocked, there was no going back. No pretending nothing was wrong. No more brushing it off. He’d have to face it. Face her. And maybe that scared him more than anything.

He sighed.

Then—

The door across the hall cracked open.

Light spilled into the hallway.

And there she was.

They both froze.

Two doors, two hearts pounding, one painfully timed coincidence.

Like idiots in a teen drama. Like deer caught in headlights. Like everything was about to change and neither of them knew what to do about it.

He hadn’t meant to see her.

She hadn’t meant to see him.

Yet here they were.

Atsumu’s hand was still on the doorknob. Her hand was still curled around the railing. The soft lighting from her room spilled out into the hall, warm and golden, catching the strands of her hair and painting her in a glow that made his breath stick in his throat.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. Not in shock. Not quite. More like… hesitation. Surprise layered with something he couldn’t name.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft.

“Hey,” he echoed, quiet. Tight.

His fingers slipped off the doorknob.

She stood straighter, but didn’t move. Didn’t leave. The silence between them clung like fog—thick, hesitant.

He looked tired.

She saw it in the slope of his shoulders, the set of his mouth, the pinch between his brows.

He looked at her like she might vanish.

She looked at him like she was bracing for impact.

“I was just…” he gestured vaguely toward the stairs, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Dunno. Nothin’. Forget it.”

She didn’t.

“Were you coming to talk to me?”

He hesitated.

Then—too slow to pass as casual—he nodded once.

“Oh.”

Her fingers tightened on the railing. He noticed.

There was that twitch in his jaw again. The same one from the other day. She could see him wrestling with himself.

“Can we…” he gestured toward her room. Then flinched. “I mean—only if yer okay with it.”

She nodded, wordless.

He followed her inside.

Her room smelled like her. Like strawberries and peony and something warm underneath—comforting, familiar, terrifying. He didn’t sit until she did. When she dropped onto the edge of her bed, he took the desk chair across from her, backwards, arms resting on the top like a makeshift shield.

They didn’t speak.

For a second, they just sat there.

Her eyes flitted to his face. She could tell he was thinking. Could feel the war in his head.

Say it, she wanted to tell him. Say what you came here to say.

He cleared his throat.

“I’ve been…”

He trailed off. Then tried again.

“I’ve been actin' like a dick.”

She blinked, caught off guard. Then, slowly—“Yeah. Kinda.”

He huffed something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so self-deprecating.

“I didn’t mean to take it out on ya,” he said. “I just…” His hand opened, then closed. “I dunno. I get… weird. When I don’t know how to say shit.”

“Uh-huh. 'Weird' isn't exactly the word I'd choose."

He glanced up—saw the faint smile tugging at her mouth, despite everything. It made something loosen in his chest.

“It ain't about him,” Atsumu said quickly. “Well—okay. It is. But not like that. I'm not mad ‘cause ya talked to 'im. I'm mad because—fuck, this sounds so stupid.”

“Go on?"

He stared at the floor.

Then: “I didn’t like how easy it looked.”

She frowned. “What did?”

“You. With him. Laughin'. Like it wasn’t hard. Like it didn’t take effort.”

(Y/n) stayed quiet, watching, waiting...

He met her eyes again. “I don’t know how to be easy with you.”

The words landed.

Heavy. Honest.

Something in her throat tightened.

She needed to make sure...

She shifted slightly. Her legs crossed at the ankle. Her fingers knotted in her hoodie sleeve. “When you say ‘easy’, you’re not just talking about making me laugh… are you?”

Atsumu's gaze drifted to the floor again.

God, he hated this.

Hated the tightness in his chest. The erratic pulse hammering in his throat. The heat coiling beneath his skin like it was trying to crawl out through his pores.

He made her laugh all the time. That wasn’t the problem. He could make her wheeze, snort, cry real tears from laughter—he knew that. He relied on that.

But that wasn’t what he meant.

Not really.

Easy meant... simple. Uncomplicated. Clean.

Tetsu didn’t hesitate around her. He didn’t second guess every word, didn’t overanalyse every glance, didn’t wrestle with the sick twist in his gut when she smiled and it wasn’t at him.

Easy meant: no stakes.

No fear of ruining everything.

No trembling line between friendship and something else.

Whatever this was with (y/n), it wasn’t easy.

He was too aware of her. Of her presence. Of the way his heart did stupid shit when she touched his shoulder or said his name just a little too softly.

Feelings like this weren’t easy.

They were messy.

And loud.

And goddamn terrifying.

Saying that out loud took more nerve than he had in him tonight.

His eyes flicked up once, lingered on her for a second too long, then dropped again.

“No.”

More silence.

She could feel her pulse in her throat now. Her hands had gone cold.

He hadn’t said it—not outright—but she knew.

She always knew with him.

His silence said more than any overconfident one-liner ever could.

She breathed in through her nose, slow and measured. “You’re not supposed to try so hard,” she said at last. “If something bothers you, you just have to... talk to me. Like this. Like right now.”

“I didn’t know if I could.”

“Why not?”

He swallowed. “Because…”

Because I think I like you.

He couldn’t say it.

Not now.

Maybe in another universe. One where he didn’t fumble every good thing that landed in his lap. One where he didn’t ruin things before they ever had the chance to bloom.

Maybe then.

But not here. Not now.

Fear. Doubt. Pride.

They wrapped around his heart like a vice.

Whatever expression he was wearing must’ve given it away, because she tilted her head just slightly, and her voice came gentler.

“If now’s not the right time, then… don’t. I’d rather you didn’t say anything if that's the case. Just… don’t hide behind attitude. Don’t shut me out.”

And that—god—that did him in.

Because she was too kind.

Too patient.

Too good.

He didn’t deserve that softness. Not after everything. Not after the way he’d acted. Not just about Tetsu—about everything. Every time he made her doubt, every time he backed away. Every time he was too much of a coward to commit to anything more than... this.

She should be mad at him. She should be cutting him down with a few choice words and turning her back on him for good. She should be—

But she wasn’t.

She was still here.

Still looking at him like he was worth understanding.

Still giving him the grace to figure it out.

It made him feel worse.

But it also made him want to be better.

For her.

“I thought if I ignored it, it’d go away,” he said, quieter now.

She smiled—sad, knowing.

Something twisted in his gut. “It never does.”

He looked at her again.

Really looked.

And she let him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Voice small. Stripped.

A beat passed. Maybe two.

Her face didn’t change. But her body relaxed a fraction.

She nodded once. “It’s alright. We’re alright.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Really.”

She smiled then—soft and honest.

His heart pulled taut in his chest, stretched so tight it nearly gave out. But he smiled back anyway.

It was lopsided. A little wobbly.

A little too hopeful.

The silence between them softened, turned companionable—like a blanket pulled just barely up to the chin. Safe, but not quite warm.

She moved first, rising from the edge of the bed with a sigh, brushing non-existent lint off her sleeves.

“I’m heading down,” she said lightly. “Osamu’ll start mourning that stew if no one eats it.”

Atsumu stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. ‘Samu gets all dramatic when he’s ignored.”

(Y/n) gave a soft laugh, passing him on her way to the door.

Just before she left the room, she paused. Turned her head.

“I’m glad we talked.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Then, because it felt like the only thing he could do—he reached out.

Just a little.

Just enough to catch her pinky in his for a second as she passed.

She glanced down at their intertwined fingers.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t linger, either.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And Atsumu was left standing there.

Hand still curled like it remembered.

Chest too full.

Room too quiet.

And somehow, still not ready to follow.

[rafessecret]

What if we have step!bro!rafe is with his friends and one of his friends is dating step!sister!reader

⋆˚࿔ step¡sister reader && rafe cameron

ARE YOU LETTING HIM TOUCH WHAT'S MINE?

Rafe didn’t notice it at first. Your boyfriend was just one of his friends—always around, always loud, always drinking his beer and laughing at his jokes. But then he started noticing. The way you giggled a little more when he was around. How your shoulder brushed against his a little too long. How you looked up at him like he hung the fucking moon. And it made Rafe's skin crawl.

You’d been his first. Or maybe not technically. But you were the first thing that ever made him feel insane. His sweet little stepsister. Off-limits. Untouchable. Except for that one night. That one night that changed everything.

So when your new boyfriend took your hand and brought you onto Rafe’s boat like he belonged there, it made Rafe want to take a bottle to the side of his head. You looked angelic—your bikini practically nonexistent, your glossy lips smiling as you perched in his lap like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t Rafe’s lap you used to giggle in, just last summer. You leaned in and kissed the boy’s shoulder. And Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard he saw stars.

He didn’t drink that night. Not a sip. Just stood with his glass, watching, silent. Blue eyes tracking every movement, every little squeal you made when your boyfriend whispered something in your ear. Later, after the party had settled into something lazy and quiet, the waves rocking the boat, you wandered the hallway of the cabin alone, towel slung low on your hips. Rafe stepped out of the dark.

❝You're really going to let him touch you like that? In front of me?❞ His voice was low, calm, terrifying. You froze. The hallway was narrow. You had nowhere to go. Your lips parted like you wanted to explain something, but all you did was shove past him, too scared to say anything.

The next time was worse.

Movie night. Just the group. Just a stupid movie and popcorn at Rafe’s place. You curled up with your boyfriend under a blanket Rafe recognised immediately. His blanket. His fucking favourite. You giggled when your boyfriend chewed at your neck when his hand disappeared under the throw. And Rafe sat in the far corner, all quiet rage and static fury. He couldn’t look away. He didn’t blink.

When everyone’s asleep, you tiptoe to the bathroom—but Rafe grabs your wrist in the hallway and drags you back against the wall. ❝Are you letting him fuck you?❞ he growls. His voice shakes—not with grief, but with fury. ❝Are you letting him touch what’s mine?❞

❝I’m not yours,❞ you whisper, heart racing. ❝The fuck you’re not.❞ His hand trembles on your arm. His breath is all over your neck, hot, angry. You shove him away. But that’s not the end. But what could you say? That you missed Rafe’s hands? That you dreamed of his mouth? That even now, while you slept tangled in someone else's arms, you weren’t really his?

Then came dinner.

You, Rafe, your boyfriend, and Ward. A perfect picture of family and friendship. Ward is oblivious and loud, telling stories about island deals and old fishing tales. Your boyfriend had his hand on your thigh under the white linen tablecloth, and you smiled, soft and pretty.

Rafe smiled too—but it didn’t reach his eyes. He kicked his friend under the table, so hard he winced. Ward didn’t notice. In the parking lot, Rafe got close. Too close. His mouth near your boyfriend’s ear. ❝You might be dating her, but you don’t know her. Not like I do.❞

The boy laughed, brushing it off. That was his first mistake. Two days later, Rafe walked into your room. Didn’t knock. He never did. Just opened the door like it was his, because part of him still believed it was.

You were on your bed. In your boyfriend’s hoodie. Smiling at your phone, cheeks warm and glowing. You looked happy. And that did something bad to Rafe. He walked in and took the phone from your hands before you could react. ❝You really let him call you baby?❞ You flinch. ❝Go away.❞

❝You think he’d still want you if he knew what we did that night in the laundry room?❞ he asks, voice dark, curling into your spine like a knife. Your stomach flips. You hate him. You hate how right he is. How your body remembers every second of that night—how you cried out into the towels with your mouth stuffed and his hands everywhere.

You hate how much you want him again now. Rafe looks down at you, breathing hard. He tosses the phone onto the bed and walks out, leaving the door wide open. Your heartbeat never slows. Because no one knows you like Rafe does. And no one ever will.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : ahh i loved this anon idea sm, it’s sooo yummy. i’d never thought about it before and it’s genuinely so good, def taking more suggestions for this dynamic bc i’m a little obsessed now angels . . kept this one a lil cleaner + not super detailed just ‘cause i wanted to set the scene a bit first, not go straight into like rafe fucking you dumb or making him too mean too quick. was gonna make it topper or kelce but figured they probs already know about rafe + you from my other fics so i couldn’t :( left him nameless instead which i lowkey regret now . .

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[neeeooon]

random texts with bf kaiser ;

bf michael kaiser x gn!reader, fake texts

kaiser: i’m bored

kaiser: i’m boredddd

kaiser: why are you ignoring me

kaiser: do you hate me?

kaiser: is this you breaking up with me??

kaiser: what did i do

kaiser: do you need more attention? do i not show my love enough?

kaiser: i’m not good at love but ily

kaiser: what is love? baby don’t hurt me. don’t hurt me

kaiser: SAY SOMETHING

you: bro i was taking a shit wtf

kaiser: pls take me back 😢

you: i never broke up with you??????

kaiser: oh thank GOD i cannot stand breakup music it’s so depressing 😩😓

you: you should be nicer to ness

you: he really looks up to you!

kaiser: yeah cause he’s short

you: 💀

kaiser: short and pathetic and stupid and i hate him

you: ok calm down now

kaiser: would you still love me if i was a worm

you: what in the 2023

you: why

kaiser: yes or no

you: idk are you gonna turn back into human kaiser or will you forever remain a worm

kaiser: YES OR NO

you: NO

kaiser: wow

you: wait i didn’t mean it

kaiser: you did

kaiser: you hate me

you: would you love me if i was a worm?

kaiser: no ew how can you love a worm??

you: 😐 ihy

kaiser: i think we would have cute kids

you: kaiser you hate kids

kaiser: i wouldn’t hate ours

you: are you pregnant or smth?

kaiser: maybe 🤭

you: bro WHAT

kaiser: why do you call me bro and dude that’s so unaffectionate and impersonal

you: what would you prefer i call you?

kaiser: papa micha, handsomest guy around, the goat, the absolute god of soccer, the love of my life

you: tf 😭😭

kaiser: that or like babe or smth idk

you: ok papa micha 🐐

kaiser: … bro it is 🫡

[yois2aki]

𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩 𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑼

how would his behavior on social media derive?

caleb isn’t obnoxious about it, but when he’s in love, it shows—especially on social media. he’s the kind of guy who acts like he doesn’t care about posting, like it’s just something he does when he’s bored, but his account lowkey turns into a shrine dedicated to you. at first, it’s subtle—just pictures from his day where you just happen to be in the background, or a blurry shot of you laughing with no context. maybe he captions it something stupid like “why she laughin.” but everyone in the comments is already onto him.

but the second he realizes he no longer has any shame to lose? oh, he’s hopeless. suddenly, his story is full of posts that make it painfully obvious he’s obsessed with you. he’ll post your conversations—usually the ones where you’re roasting him just to prove you’re “bullying” him (even though everyone can tell he loves it). sometimes, it’s a screenshot of you saying something dumb at 2 a.m. with a caption like, “this who I chose to love. :p” other times, it’s a picture of you doing literally anything with the most unserious caption, like “somebody get her.” but then, just when people think he’s all jokes, he drops something that makes everyone lose their minds—maybe a picture of you with the softest “yeah. she’s it.” and no one can even clown him for it because you just know he means it.

he’s also the type to be annoyingly proud of you. if you so much as breathe in a mildly impressive way, he’s posting about it. did you cook something? best believe he’s taking a picture before even trying it, saying “chef” with the little hands-up emoji. did you achieve something? he’s reposting it like he’s your biggest fan, because he is. he’d post you on his story just because you looked good that day, with some cocky caption like “she’s literally unreal. don’t talk to me.” and if anyone tries to joke around in the replies, saying something like “caleb bro u lost” he’d just be like “nah, I won actually. ;)”

if you post pictures—especially if you’re looking really good—caleb is on it immediately. he’s the first like, the first comment, and if he’s feeling extra, he’ll repost it to his story with something cocky like “y’all see what I get to look at?” or just a simple mine. if he’s in a teasing mood, he’ll reply to the post with something like “aight. take this down. >:(” just to see if you’ll react, but everyone knows he’s eating it up. and if you don’t send him the pictures first before posting? he’s offended. “so you're just gonna post this without warnin’ me?? unbelievable.”

oh, and if anyone dares to flirt with you in his comments? deleted. blocked. gone. one time, someone tried to be slick replying to one of your posts with a flirty comment, and caleb replied immediately with just, “?” and that was enough. he doesn’t even need to say anything—he makes it clear you’re his without even trying. and the best part? he doesn’t even think he’s being that obvious about it. he’s just showing you off the way he thinks you deserve.

[hedwig221b]

I gotta ask now since I’m not seeing it in the rec list, do you have any good recommendations for jock Derek stories?

I do 💕

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?” The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.” Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Pong Me, Bro by LadyDrace

Stiles doesn't date jocks, because it seems like all they do is prance around making a spectacle of themselves to impress whoever they're trying to hook up with. It's pathetic, and Stiles isn't into it. Which is probably why it somehow completely escapes his notice that one particular jock is determined to catch his eye.

You Look Like Bad News (i gotta have you) by standinginanicedress

Option A : violently tell Derek that they are under no circumstances ever to hook up again because it was stupid and dumb. Option B : tell Scott the truth, stand back and watch as Scott kills Derek with his bare hands so Stiles doesn't even have to face the music. Not an option at all, actually. Expunge this from the record. The real Option B : calmly explain to Derek that the situation is too fucked up and hey, maybe if Derek and Scott ever shake hands and make up, he and Stiles can hook up again because, man…it was great. Option C : forget everything, charge headfirst into danger like fuckin' Bravehart and have sex with Derek all over again. Option D : bury himself alive and wait for the worms to eat him.

soluble by HalfFizzbin

Derek comes back after summer break all hot, beardy and brace-less. Stiles honestly has no idea what everyone's freaking out about.

When the Rose Blooms by DevilishBittersweet

The first time Derek saw him was at a football game. There he was, cheering loudly for number 12, leaning over the bar in front of the bleachers. His nose was bright red due to the cold night air. His messy hair was half covered by a loose beanie. His skin was almost translucent under the large stadium lights. Derek’s acute sight could pick up the small moles that covered his face. Derek could hear his heart beat thrumming loudly in his chest out of excitement. He saw his friends around him. But Derek had his eyes set only on him.

Sandbox Love is Forever by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Being at different colleges, miles apart, meant that they’d likely be too busy for each other. An unstoppable force tearing them apart. But he could hold on for now. “Okay,” Stiles shakily answered, clearing his throat before continuing, “I’ll go with you after the game.” The corners of Derek’s lips started to turn up into a small but hopeful smile. It was different from the smile Derek did for football. It was always more personal—genuine—when he looked at Stiles.

A Thousand Fiery Suns of Angst - Just Press Play by apocryphal

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It's all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

loving him is red by allhalethekings

"Who’s that?” Stiles asks, eyes not leaving the table. “Who?” Scott asks, following Stiles’s line of sight. “Him? That’s Derek Hale. And you better forget about him. He doesn’t date."

erroneous manoeuvres by slippingfromreality

"Hey, Stilinski!” Stiles clenches his teeth. “What do you want, Hale?” he shouts back, not bothering to turn around. The smug smirk that’s most likely waiting for him is already seared into his mind from overexposure. “A date!” the answer comes, still as loud, and most of the bystanders giggle or snort in Stiles’ direction. Stiles rolls his eyes. This is the third time this week. He’d complain that Hale’s jokes are getting pretty stale, but he’d probably be milking this situation for all that it’s worth, too, if their roles were reversed. “Wrong aisle,” he grouses back, “try the bakery section. I hear they have fresh tarts.” Or, in which Stiles grievously misjudged his bullying situation.

If I should stumble, catch my fall by Gorgeousgreymatter

Well, friendship is canceled. That's all Stiles can think when he walks into the locker room and finds it empty, with Scott's dumb werewolf ass completely AWOL despite the text message he'd received assuring him otherwise. Which wouldn't be that bad, if not for the fact that now Stiles is face to face with a very wet, very naked Derek Hale.

Kingdom By The Sea by kilaem

Lydia grabs his arm and pulls him down in the seat next to her. “When the hell did you find time to bag a guy like Hale?” “We’re friends,” Stiles feels his face heat up, and then the team are running out and Derek sees him and smiles. His blush gets worse. “Oh really?” “Our moms were friends, okay? We’ve been in diapers together.” “I thought you two hated each other.”

Game On by stilinskisparkles

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

[masterlist link]

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Suggestive, mentions of nudity, slight kissing, tension

A/N: He's such a sweetheart ugh

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P19: Dusk

Chris’s POV

Reluctantly, I knock on Matt’s bedroom door.

The footsteps muffled on the other side are accompanied by a faint groan. I feel my shoulders get heavier. My clammy palms rub against my stomach over my shirt as I look up to see Matt holding the door open. 

“What?” he puffs, an uninterested expression etched on his face. 

Biting on the inside of my cheek, I look over his shoulder to see Mia sitting on the edge of his bed. Her eyes widen as I narrow my eyes at her. Matt shifts his body, blocking my view as he pushes his palm against my chest lightly. 

“Dude,” he looks over his shoulder, giving Mia a quick glance before turning back to face me. 

Matt takes a couple steps towards me, his hand on the doorknob shutting his room closed as he crosses his arms over his chest. “-bro, what do you want?” he asks. 

I don’t wanna do this, nor do I wanna ask. 

But I wasn’t doing this for me. 

“Can I talk to Mia—”

“Why?” Matt cuts off, his eyes squinting towards me as I let out an awkward puff of air. 

“I was gonna apologize and I…I, uh—wanted to ask her something.” I say.

Tension grows. Matt stares at me with a relentless scowl. The expression softens slowly, he nods, pushing open his bedroom door, holding it open and nudging his head as a gesture for me to walk in. 

“Uh, hey,” I let out, shoving my hands in the pocket of my undone zip up, the tips of my nails digging into the pads of my fingers as Mia stares up at me with doe eyes. 

I’ve been unreasonably annoyed with her. My mind kept convincing me that she is a problem—a threat to both Matt and my gi—Y/n.

Fuck. I need to stop doing that. 

Coming back to reality, I shift on my feet with unease. The more I look at her, the more stupid I feel. She has a fucking bow on her top. Mia doesn’t even look like she’d purposefully hurt an annoying fly. 

She gives a quick glance behind me to Matt. I hear him let out a sigh. 

“Chris, make this quick.” he remarks. 

I nod, chewing on my lip as I stare towards his bed, watching Mia’s hands pluck at the comforter. 

She’s nervous, but shit—not as nervous as me. 

This is fucking awkward. I hate apologizing, Matt knows that. That stupid word—it’s so hard to say. 

“I’m s—” My nose crinkles as the word halts on my tongue. It feels impossible to say. 

Well, not with Y/n. It was still hard with her, but not unbearable. 

“It’s my bad, alright?” I puff out, gnawing on my lip as I look towards Mia’s furrowed face. 

The air gets thinner as I try to take a deep breath, my lower abdomen burning as I try to force out the words. “-I shouldn’t have yelled and I…I’m glad you’re both safe.” 

Her lips purse together as she nods affirmatively. “Thanks,” she mumbles, her hands gathering in her lap as she looks over to Matt. 

I need to ask. There’s no other person I can ask but her. Well, I could ask Matt, but I didn’t need him to touch my girl’s bras again. 

Shit. There it is again. 

She’s not my girl. I fucking wish she was mine. 

“I also, um—I–I wanted to maybe ask if you could like, I don’t know…help me with something?” I ask, my face scrunching with hope as I watch her hesitantly nod agree. 

“Uhhhh….sure?” she responds, the reply making the air feel more refreshing within an instant. 

 Well, I don’t know if it’s her reply that makes me feel better or the fact that my plan will be able to play out properly.

Either way, a win’s a win. 

___

Y/n’s POV 

It’s too fucking early. Chris told me to keep my Saturday open for a surprise, but I wasn’t anticipating him knocking on my window at five in the damn morning. 

“Chris, what’re—” He shushes me while pulling the blanket I have draped on my shoulders tighter around me. 

“Shhh, just—Mia should’ve left a bag recently, where is it?” he asks, holding my upper arms as I try to keep my eyes open while my body weighs further down with gravity.

Waking up early isn’t the issue. The problem is I have no idea what the fuck is going on and what fucking bag is he even talking about?

“Ah, here,” Chris pulls a duffle from the bay window bench. My brain races, connecting how Mia had left that bag here when we hung out the other day. But when she brought it, the bag was deflated and empty. 

What the fuck is in it?

“Okay, let’s go.” Chris urges, tugging me towards the window. 

I halt, yanking my hand out of his grip before rubbing over my eyes. “Chris, I need to get dressed, I need—”

“Shoes, here,” he kneels down, sliding on my shoes before I can even think twice. With the blanket wrapped around me, Chris places his hand on the small of my bag, the other occupied by the bag before carefully crawling out my window. 

“What’s going on?” I question, utterly confused as he holds his hands up, offering to help me to climb out. 

Chris waves his hands towards himself. His gesture makes my limbs move before another thought is spared. Maybe it’s the lingering sleep and confusion, but another part of me is willing to do anything for him since I know I’ll be safe. 

Oh.

I trust him. 

His hands swarm on either side of my waist, gripping firmly as he gently rests me down on the grass. I listen as I hear my window slide down, the feeling of his warm arm wrapping around me making my feet walk in pattern with his. 

“C’mon, let’s get you settled. I brought bacon just for you.” he says. 

I hear the words but I don’t necessarily process them. The only thing I’m able to grasp is the way his touch feels so warm, how the air feels so refreshing. 

The car in front of us is familiar. It’s the same car from the night of the party, the one he picked me up in. Nothing about the vehicle is fancy. It’s some sort of minivan, the type you’d see a Mormon family driving. 

Chris opens the passenger side, pushing me in the car and buckling me in. He closes the door softly, jogging over to the driver's side, tossing the bag behind us and turning on the engine with a subtle wince. 

I really hope my mom doesn’t wake up and realize I left at five in the morning. That seems like a nightmare to explain. 

“Want your bacon, sleepy girl?” he teases 

His question makes my eyes squint with curiosity. In a napkin, he holds out a lot of bacon, enough to make any lingering frustrations of being woken up so early dissipate. 

“Fuckin’ love you, the fuck,” I mutter, shoving the food in my mouth. The words barely process through my head, but as Chris stiffens and clears his throat, my chewing halts. 

What the fuck did I just say?

“Yeah, yeah, just eat your bacon,” he puffs, his tone light and humorous, making the tension die down to a comfortable silence as I continue to stuff my mouth. 

Soon enough, I’ve devoured it all. Chris takes the napkin from me, shoving it in the cupholder as I aimlessly look around for a convenient spot for the trash. 

“Thanks,” I mutter. He nods, reaching his hand out toward the car dials, turning the heat up just the slightest. 

Warm air infiltrating from the vents seems to make every cozier, more relaxed. My body gets heavy as Chris continues to drive. Passing streetlights seem to blur in the rainy morning fog. 

Before I know it, I feel my head rest on something soft, a callusing warmth cupping my cheek as I let myself relax completely. 

___

The wetness dripping from my lips makes my mind stir. I suck the drool falling from my lips, leaning up to wipe my mouth. 

“Sleep good?” Chris asks, his eyes trained on the road as he unfolds his arm, letting his hand resting on my cheek falling to the center console. 

I was laying on his shoulder. The damp imprint of my drool on his shirt is heavily apparent and confirming the position I’d been sleeping in for god knows how long. 

Looking up, I see a small house in front of us, the tall trees surrounding the home mimicking something from a movie. It’s absolutely beautiful. 

“Where are we?” I ask. 

Chris shrugs, pulling his keys from the engine. “It’s my family's vacation home. I was gonna let you change here since getting ready in a public bathroom doesn’t seem very…yeah…” he trails off. 

I hear a click echo through the car after Chris jumps out. My hand unbuckles my seat belt, moving towards the car door, the feature unbudging as I notice the fucking childlock is on. 

It’s sweet, but it’s also annoying. The smirk on his face as he opens the door makes my heart lurch with embarrassment and adoration at the same time. 

“You know,” I start, watching as he grabs the bag from the back seat, pulling out a pair of keys from his coat pocket as he walks towards the door. “-you could just say you wanna open the door for me.” I state, squinting my eyes at him as he opens the front door, waving his hand for me to go in.

Chris spares me a devious smile. “Where’s the fun in that?” he tuts. 

Rolling my eyes, I slide off my shoes. The home is small, but very cozy. Plaid blankets are laid across a sunken couch, one that seems like the dream place to take a nap—especially with the fireplace in front of it. 

“This is really cute.” I remark. My eyes dance over my surroundings. I feel his hand gently rest on the small of my back, the subtle touch making my skin pulse with a warm tingle. 

The sun is just barely starting to peek over the horizon. Large windows welcome the subtle lightened dusk blue sky. 

“Just get dressed in casual clothes.” Chris directions, looking down at the bag in his free hand before offering the handles to me. “-I just told Mia to pack whatever she thought was best. If it sucks, it’s not my fault.” he states. 

I purse my lips, humming as I grab the duffle. “Noted.” I announce. 

Chris helps me find the bathroom. I start to shuffle in the bag, immediately opting for a toothbrush and toothpaste. 

It’s not like I’m expecting we kiss or anything, I just don’t want my breath to smell like bacon.

Well, maybe a bit of both. 

Rummaging further into the clothes and miscellaneous items, I notice a couple shirts and bottoms. Mia’s so sweet. She made sure I had options. 

A pair of jeans and a comfy sweatshirt stick out to me. Chris was wearing similar colors. I want to say I only picked those items since they felt nice, but part of me is floating at the idea of our outfits coordinating. 

It’s a dusty blue. Chris’ sweatshirt was more of a baby blue, a vibrant hue that seemed to make him glow in a way that’s hypnotizing—especially his eyes. 

If I wasn’t so scared of direct eye contact, I think I’d stare into his blue orbs forever. I’ve never seen anything like them. Well, except for Matt, but even that wasn’t the same. 

I notice the couple face products I use in a travel size in the side pocket of the duffle. Thank fuck. All the drool had made the side of my mouth feel dry and gross. I can’t believe Mia paid enough attention to do all of this. 

It makes my chest feel warm. I have a real friend.

Walking out of the bathroom, I see Chris staring at the wall, leaned up on the kitchen counter. His gaze doesn’t break, his attention completely focused as if he’s in some sort of deep thought. 

My feet walk lightly on the wooden floors. I walk up next to him slowly, gently pushing off the balls of my feet as I lean up and press a kiss to the side of his cheek. 

Chris turns to me with wide eyes. He rolls his lips together, smacking them open and shut before clearing his throat. “I, uh–you ready?” he questions. 

I nod affirmatively. We both slide on our shoes, walking back out to the car.

Even if it’s the lamest date ever, he woke me up at five in the morning with bacon to take me somewhere, had Mia pack my bags, and let me sleep on his arm while he drove for over an hour. 

Whatever it is, I already think today will be memorable for a long time. 

___

I feel like I’m floating. Everything about this feels so effortless, so consuming. It’s like I have nothing to worry about. Not a single thought runs through my brain except for how good this all feels. 

Chris drove us a short distance from the small home. We arrived at a line of stores, but we didn’t go into those until after he took me to the modest sized barn of animals that people are allowed to feed. 

I was nervous at first. The thought of some animal tongue licking over my palm made me hesitant, but Chris hugged me from behind, his arm guiding mine as alpacas ate from my hand. 

Mounds of animal salvia and a horrid smell of literal shit, but it was romantic.  

After spending a good chunk of time there, we had roamed a couple of shops, stopping in one of them to wash our hands furiously. Apparently, Chris used to come here as a kid, and one time when he didn’t wash his hands well enough, he got a mean rash. 

It felt good to have him looking out for me. Whether it was from a party or a rash from spit, it made me feel comfortable.

“Chris, oh my god, you did not have to get me this! Thank you!” I exclaim, the small deer stuffed animal in my hands making my face hurt from a relentless smile. 

“I wanted to.” he says, shrugging next to me. He wraps his arm around my shoulder before pressing a short kiss to the crown of my head, ruffling my hair playfully before smoothing it out. 

My wallet is at my house. Chris seemed to enjoy that fact though. There was no argument of who would pay for anything today. Not when he took us out for a really late lunch since we had gotten so distracted—or when he bought the animal feed, or even with this cute stuffed deer. 

On the drive back to the vacation home, I feel a wave of sadness make a sigh fall from my lips. Chris turns his head towards me quickly. His hand lands on my thigh, giving it a quick squeeze as we pull back into the driveway. 

“Hey,” he turns towards me as he shifts the car into park, “-what’s up?” he asks, brushing a piece of my hair behind my ear, letting his fingers direct my chin so that my eyes land on his. 

I blush holding the stuffed animal a little tighter. “I, uh—nothing. I guess I just don’t want today to be over yet,” I huff. 

Chris climbs out of the car. I don’t bother to move this time. 

He walks over, opening my door, holding my hand and guiding me towards the front of the home before unlocking it. 

“Who said it was over?”

___

I thought Mia was a sweetheart. 

Well, she still is, but she just didn’t know what to pack exactly. 

Chris was genuine when he said it wasn’t over yet. He told me to look deeper in the bag, mentioning how he told Mia to pack me a swimsuit. 

And it was in there at the very bottom. The only issue was which swimsuit she picked. 

A blue bikini with tie straps, but these straps felt like they always had some sort of wax coating on them, the top always coming undone if I even stepped too heavy. 

Deeper in the woods behind the vacation home is a small lake. The walk to it was peaceful. Chris insisted on carrying both towels. And my hand. 

It has a small dock, the wood smooth and clean. Chris sets our towels on it before jumping right in. His swim trunks are a deep forest green, a color that really compliments his skin in the warm sunset reflecting off the water. 

“Do many people come out here?” I question, sitting on the edge of the dock, letting my calves and feet hang into the water. 

Chris swims towards me. His wet hands make my body freeze from the sudden change of sensations. 

“Not really, no. Just a couple people every once in a while, but rarely.” he states. 

Thank fuck. I didn’t need to be flashing a stranger today. Although, the thought of being bare in front of Chris again didn’t really bother me. 

“Why do you ask? You plotting something?” he asks, narrowing his eyes up at me as I stare down at him with a tight smile. 

I shake my head from side to side, letting out a nervous, breathy laugh. “No, no, I—um, this swimsuit has a tendency to, um…come undone…” I mention. 

His eyes widen, his lips smacking open and shut as he clutches my knees a little bit tighter. “Oh, uh—oh no, that’s so awful.” he says with a monotone. 

I laugh furiously at his sarcastic words. My hand playfully swats his shoulder, giggles falling from my lips as he shakes his wet hair, fanning out the water like a dog. 

“Are you gonna get innnnnn?” he asks, leaning his cheek onto my knee, his face turning as he places a subtle kiss on the inner-top of my thigh. 

God. His wet lips against my skin makes something burn inside of me. I nod, slowly sliding into the water, the feeling of his hands gravitating around my waist making my stomach flutter. 

This is gonna be real fun.