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tonycries · 1 year ago

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Three's a Crowd (But Four...) - G.S.

Synopsis. “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?” “Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” In which you and your boyfriend find very unconventional uses for his powers.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, foursome (but they’re all Satoru + you LMFAO), NSFW, unprotected sex, double penetration, spit-roasting, face-sitting, doggy, missionary, anal, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, babe), oral sex (male + female receiving), overstimulation (female), swearing, slight breeding kink, cum (like lots).

Word count. 3.0k

A/N. A lil' sum while I get on with a 10k arranged marriage fic. H O R N Y >>> actual JJK technicalities.

Jokes, but idc what that technique was, I took that one chapter and ran with it. Art by @_3aem on X.

Cross-posted on AO3

“They just nerfed Naruto in Boruto cuz they knew he’d be too DILF-y.”

“Amen.”

Sprawled out on Satoru’s couch, both of you were fixated on the Naruto episode playing on-screen. It wasn’t anything new for a Friday night. His soft hairs tickling your chin, and legs dangling off the other end of the couch as he lay atop, cuddling you like a 6’3 housecat.

Times like this, it’s easy to forget that your boyfriend constantly bears the burden of being “the strongest”. That is- until Satoru, eyes still locked onto the screen, speaks up “I can do that too, y’know.”

You turn to look at Satoru, “Do what?”

He nods his head towards the screen - now showing young Naruto mastering his iconic technique. “You could call it Shadow Clone Jutsu.” he hums.

Raising a brow, “So you could make tens of thousands of Satoru clones? The world may never know rest.”

Eyes brimming with smugness, he grins “Something like that.”

You cock your head, wanting to know more, “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?”

“Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” he wiggles his brows in a way that would definitely be creepy if it was anyone but Satoru.

“You wish.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, before going back to using your breasts as his personal cushions. “Not quite clones or holograms, they’re still me. But also not really, y’know?” he murmurs.

“Ahh. No.”

The conversation dwindles into a comfortable silence.

Or so you’d think. But the air was charged with something, and - knowing Satoru - you had an inkling it didn’t bode well for you down there.

As quickly as you suspected, he turns the TV off and turns to you with twinkling eyes.

“Toru...” you reproach.

He whines dramatically, “Come onnnn. Don’t they say the best way to learn is hands-on experience?”

“You just have ulterior motives, Toru.”

“Hell yeah, I do.” he mutters into the valley of your breasts. Satoru peeks at you through his thick lashes, eyes bright with mischief.

How could you say no to those eyes? And, well, you’d be lying if you said that the idea of multiple Satorus didn’t make your pussy clench in excitement.

That’s how you found yourself here.

Shirts thrown across the room and splayed out on Satoru’s overpriced silk bed sheets. You gasp in pleasure as he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, he rocks into you, pushing you deeper into the plush bed. Your pussy drips with anticipation as you feel the outline of his rock-hard cock straining against his sweatpants.

Hooking two fingers under your waistband, he swiftly pulls off your panties along with your shorts. “Already so wet and ready f’me…” he groans out. Quickly shuffling your bodies around, “C’mon sweetheart.”

Now, Satoru knows he has a pretty face - too well, in fact, he uses it to his advantage to get his way with you too much. And he thinks there’s nothing that makes his face prettier than you on it.

It’s why he has you bent over and straddling his head. The tighter you squeeze him, the better.

One arm holds you in place while the other spreads your folds. Satoru teases your entrance with a finger, gathering your wetness before popping it into his mouth. He groans sinfully as he tastes you. “Fuck- always so good for me.”

You slowly put your weight onto him, failing against the strong arm that pulls you to sit on him properly.

Satoru moans around your cunt as he finally dives nose-deep into it. Languidly, he licks long stripes against your folds, purposefully catching your clit in the process. “Hah- Fuck. Toru, more!”

Satisfied with your whines, he finally slides his tongue inside your dripping pussy, fucking you with his mouth till his cock twitches for friction.

You notice, and urgently shuffle his sweatpants down. Satoru’s cock stands achingly hard, precum dripping enticingly along the vein on the side of it. You lean down to kiss the shaft, delighting in his noises that send vibrations down to your clit.

As you take his blushing red head into your mouth, Satoru increases his abuse on your cunt.

You arch your back further into his face - moaning around his thick cock. He starts fucking into your mouth steadily, forcing you to take more and more of his length. Drool drips down the corners of your mouth, “Mmm Toru- Feels so good.”

If one Satoru makes you feel this good…what would two feel like?

As if reading your mind - you wouldn’t be surprised if he actually could - Satoru pulls away slightly, ropes of spit still connecting him to you.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he murmurs lowly, hot breath making your cunt quiver.

And before you can respond, the hairs on your body raise as the air stills with the crackle of jujutsu. You remove yourself from Satoru’s cock with a wet pop! Looking up to see…those cerulean eyes.

Another set.

“Toru…” you drone out, turning behind to glare at Satoru - who was now placing innocent kisses to your dripping pussy. His eyes peek out with visible amusement, “Jus’ say the word and I’ll stop.”

Satoru knew he had you cornered. He’d fully felt the way your walls clenched around his tongue once you saw the other version of him. This was going to be fun.

Harshly rolling his tongue against your clit, he lightly smacks your ass - signaling you to pay attention to the other Satoru in front of you now.

So you do.

It was quite surreal seeing an exact copy of your boyfriend grinning down devilishly at you. He cups the back of your head, bringing you closer to him. “Don’t be scared, pretty. It’s jus’ me.”

At first, you were unsure of what to do, the only thing you know being that - clone or not - this one was just as well-endowed as your boyfriend.

Experimentally, you press soft kisses to his hot tip, relishing in his drawn-out groan. You take him in deeper, tonguing the slit in the way you knew your boyfriend liked. “Yeah- Jus’ like that.”

He tightens his grip on your head. Pumping your Satoru with one hand, you use the other to steady yourself as your mouth gets used as the other’s own personal fucktoy.

Shit. This was heaven.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you pull away, “Hngh- Toru, feels so fucking good.” Mewling at the stimulation on your cunt as well as the depravity of the act, you grind your hips deeper into Satoru’s mouth - searching for your high.

Soon, you feel that familiar snap in your stomach. Satoru uses his fingers to spread your lips as you cum all over his tongue. He laps up your juices with lewd squelching sounds as his clone fucks your face deeper. Nose meeting his snowy white pubes and balls hitting your chin, you choke from both the position and Satoru’s relentless tongue.

“Yeah, cum all over my tongue, sweetheart.”

You ride out your high on Satoru’s pretty face, slick spreading all over his mouth and nose. With a final kiss to your cunt, he shifts your legs and moves to tower over from behind.

Removing yourself from the other’s cock, you look over your shoulder to see your boyfriend sensually pumping himself, readying to enter your eager pussy.

“Hey now, eyes on me, pretty.” A long finger moves your chin so that you face the Satoru in front of you. Seems that no matter what, every Satoru was a little possessive over you.

He rubs his dripping tip on your face, smearing his precum as a gloss before fucking into your mouth once more.

Almost at the same time, Satoru fully rams his cock inside your pussy without any warning, tip kissing your cervix.

“Shit. Always taking me in so good, sweetheart.” he huffs out as your walls flutter around his length.

You groan loudly around the cock in your mouth, partly from the pain of being unprepared and partly from the pleasure of getting what you wanted the most - both ends filled by your loving boyfriend.

Your eyes were dazed as you stare doe-eyed up at the Satoru that was plunging into your mouth mercilessly - the other fucking your hole at a similar pace. Strangled yelps leave your mouth as his balls sinfully slap against your clit.

The room fills with loud, wet noises, and the slapping of skin. Both Satorus hunch over you in pleasure, muscles rippling. Your cunt quivers in an almost-animalistic way at the small grunts falling from their pretty lips.

You whine as he finds that one spot inside you which makes you see stars every time his hips meet yours. One hand - you were too far gone to recognize whose - reaches under you to draw harsh circles on your clit.

Tears spring to your eyes at the sheer overstimulation, and you rock your hips to meet his powerful cadence. One of your hands reaches for the other’s hip for stability, nose meeting his pelvis nails dragging along the soft skin. He grips your hair tighter, lips bitten and swollen at the stimulation.

From the way your pussy was clenching, you knew it wouldn’t be long before you were cumming again.

Now, throughout his life, Satoru has been called crazy many times. Crazy powerful, crazy handsome (in front of the mirror), and just downright mad. But it’s right about now - watching as you choke and cry around his own dick as he plows into you from behind - that he truly thinks he just might actually be a little crazy.

Slowing to shallow rocks, he focuses on his technique.

Satoru basks in amusement when your whines of disappointment at his slowing pace die down as you register the tugging and sucking on your nipples from below.

You gasp as you break away from the Satoru in front of you and look down, breath catching in your chest as you realize that your boyfriend has conjured up another clone of himself.

He was going to be the death of you.

“Pay attention, sweetheart.” you hear from behind you as Satoru starts up his relentless rhythm once more, hand now moving to squeeze and spread your ass.

You knew where this was going, and you didn’t mind it one bit.

The stretch of your cunt as it adapted to Satoru’s length burned almost as much as your nipples as his clone continued to bite and tease them. “Feels good, babe?” he sighs around your breasts. Yet your whines of pleasure are quickly muffled by the flushed tip kissing your lips once more.

“Hope you didn’t forget about me, pretty.”

“More- Hngh, Toru!” you whine, not sure which Satoru you were addressing anymore . All three of them speed up their motions, the pleasure from all points pushing you over the edge.

You as you cum fast and hard.

But your Satoru(s) don’t let you have a moment’s rest as your orgasm is quickly overshadowed by your boyfriend’s hands on your ass. Teasingly drawing circles around the rim. You shiver, hole quivering at the cold feeling of his saliva hitting you.

His cock still ramming into your abused cunt, Satoru enters a finger into your ass. Using his spit and your slick from before to stretch you out till he’s satisfied. “Fuck- Taking me so good, sweetheart.” he moans out at the sight of you being stretched out from all ends by him and only him.

You continue mewling as the pleasure overtakes you. He was going to ruin you.

Half-delirious from all the stimulation, you barely hear the lowly “Ready, babe?” from below you before Satoru pulls out and suddenly you’re flipped. Easily manhandled by your boyfriend, your head lolls against his replica’s strong shoulder as you’re caressed from three sides once more.

“Feeling alright, sweetheart?” your boyfriend rasps from above. Now hot and bothered once more from how your loving boyfriend was using you like a ragdoll, you gasp out “Yeah, Toru. Need you so bad.”

“Oh yeah?” he grins, lining himself up with your pulsing pussy. “Tell me how badly you want me in all your tight lil’ holes.”

You choke out a sob at the way your Satoru was teasing your folds with his thick cock. “So bad- Need you so bad Toru. Want you to fill me up everywhere.”

Arching your back, you grind your ass against the furiously hard cock prodding at your asshole. Hearing choked gasps from below you, your pussy clenches in anticipation around nothing. To Satoru, your arousal is almost palpable - as strong as the cursed technique in the air surrounding you two.

And that seems to be what finally makes Satoru snap before he sheathes himself entirely in your dripping cunt. Your strangled moans are cut off by the other Satoru slowly bullying himself into your other hole.

“Ah- Ah!” you yelp in both pain and pleasure as you’re stretched to your limits. You feel full. So full. You were going to snap - like a rubber band - and your boyfriend was going to be reveling in his success. The man in question furrows his brows, groaning at the sweet feeling of his pretty lil’ girlfriend being so tight.

A single tear streaming down your face is gently brushed away as a pair of muscular thighs come to rest beside your face. “Shhh, pretty. You can take it.”

Both of them start moving carefully.

Satoru would never admit it, but feeling his own dick stretch you out twofold has been a little fantasy tucked in a deep, dark corner of his mind ever since he realized the nefarious purposes his technique could be used for.

He could feel his other version pumping into you from behind as he ruts into your cunt mindlessly. The friction mixed with the gummy wetness of your pussy was mind-blowing - fuck, he really should have watched Naruto with you sooner.

Satoru gazes at you through half-lidded eyes as you press kittenish pecks to his clone’s cock above you. You stare right into your boyfriend’s eyes as you take the length into your mouth once more, inch by inch. Nose meeting his pelvis.

Shit. Satoru feels like he could pass out - whether from seeing the sinful image of all your holes filled by him or from the excessive use of his cursed technique, he doesn’t question. Your walls flutter, struggling to take him both.

Fuck, he really feels like he’s gonna explode.

Satoru pulls out fully before harshly thrusting into you once more, keeping up a pace that has his abs burning and you struggling for air. He sees another tear fall delicately down your cheek.

“My girl takes me so well, huh? Fuck. Made jus’ for me, sweetheart.”

The air was stagnant with the smell of sex and jujutsu.

All three Satorus thrust into you fiercely, the bed creaking furiously. Satoru has half a mind to worry about whether it would break down in the middle of all this. How inconvenient that would be, he’s so close.

It was animalistic, the way you could just sit there and take it as your boyfriend used you in all sorts of ways you never deemed possible.

You’re pretty sure your body is completely bruised and raw at this point. Eyes fluttering shut, tears cling to your lashes as you’re filled up. Your brain, as well as your holes, were overwhelmed with only Satoru Satoru Satoru. If your mouth wasn’t suckling on his length, you’re sure you’d be screaming loud enough for Satoru’s neighbor’s to file a noise complaint.

Good. So good.

Feeling that sharp tug on your stomach again, your legs flail as you steadily reach your climax. Held down by three sets of large hands - all caressing you relentlessly in various ways - you finally cum with an exhausted whimper.

Brain foggy and eyes unfocused, you barely feel the twitch of Satoru’s cock.

With a throaty moan, all three versions of your boyfriend cum - not one pulling out. Your senses are overtaken as Satoru doesn’t relent his pace, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

Ah- He felt he was gonna fuck another Gojo into you. Carry on his legacy. Shut those old cows up about a Gojo heir.

You’d look so round and beautiful with his kids.

“Only I get to cum in this pussy.” he drawls out as he keeps rutting his sensitive cock into you. Low whines get stuck in his throat as he loses himself in the feeling of your tight walls coated in his semen. His other versions were also at their limit, shooting out thick streams of cum to paint your face and ass.

You were so beautiful like this. Fucked out and covered in his seed.

His and only his.

As you slowly come to your senses, the first thing you feel is wet. Not from your own slick, but from Satoru’s thick cum - it was everywhere, decorating your lips, your tits, all the way down to your holes below.

The second thing you feel is raw. You weren’t too sure anymore that you’d be able to make it to that family dinner tomorrow, Satoru had absolutely gone all out tonight.

Laying there, willing yourself to move, you flinch as something soft and wet touches your legs. “Shhh…easy there, sweetheart. Get some rest, I’ll take care of it.” you hear the soothing whisper of your one and only boyfriend.

You muster up the strength to look up and see his gentle smile. “Rest.” he breathes out as he continues to wipe you down. In the back of your mind you register the distinct lack of the other presences of your boyfriend.

“T-Toru...” you were too fucked up to formulate proper sentences.

“Shhh it’s okay.”

At his tender whispers, you easily drift into a fatigued sleep. You dream of shadow clones and blue, blue skies.

Waking up after your brief nap, you find yourself dressed and cuddled by Satoru on a fresh set of sheets. “You okay?” he mutters in-between innocent pecks to your bruised lips.

At your affirmative nod, he probes further “Learn anything about my technique?”

“Absolutely not.” you sigh, pulling him in closer. As you snuggle into the crook of his neck, you almost miss the devious grin spreading across his face.

“Then…wanna try six next time?”

A/N. No Part 2 till I figure out better ways to differentiate these bitches LMAO.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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crushmeeren · 4 months ago

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༝ ᭝ ༝ REALISTIC SEX / SCENARIOS WITH NARUTO MEN ༝ ᭝ ༝

⤷ ⋆ ft. itachi, neji, sasuke, kakashi ⋆

master list

cw ; MDNI — reader has trouble reaching an orgasm with itachi, neji struggles to get hard, not sure if it’s classified as somnophilia with sasuke but he wakes you up by playing with your pussy, kakashi cums too fast + he eats you out afterwards.

༝ ᭝ ༝ itachi ༝ ᭝ ༝

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

There are moments when your mind and body seem to disconnect.

Times, like the present, when Itachi leads you to bed with the intention of tasting your orgasm on his tongue, fingers curled straight into your g-spot. Itachi never fails to paint a pretty picture between your legs, eyes heavy lidded as he stares up at you, warm tongue licking your clit in a strong, steady rhythm. There’s an ache in your chest from the view.

Your brain screams with desire for your husband, frustration starting to well up in your throat because you’re trying with all your might to cum for him. Clenching the muscles in your pelvis, holding your breath until the knot in your lower belly goes taught. But it’s like sand slipping through your fingers any time Itachi moves so much as a centimeter out of place.

It’s not his fault. Itachi’s been diligent in his efforts to arouse you. Working out the tense knots hiding in your back and shoulders, kissing you until you’re dizzy, whispering praise and sweet, filthy nothings in your ear. He’s been eating your pussy for at least fifteen minutes.

Gritting your teeth, you push the heel of your palm against Itachi’s forehead, eyes stinging with defeat. “Itachi, baby, you can stop. It’s not gonna happen.”

Itachi pulls back to stare up at you in concern, deep voice soothing. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I’m happy to continue.” The pads of his fingers pet over your g-spot as proof, and the jolt of pleasure coaxes a soft moan from your lips.

You nod. “I’m sure,” you murmur. Itachi hums, lips cherry red, and there’s a sense of loss when he frees his fingers. He crawls up beside you and shifts to lay flat on his back.

“Would you be interested in riding me? I know it helps you reach your peak much quicker.” Itachi extends a hand your way. You glance between the small, encouraging smile on his face and the rock hard cock resting on his pelvis.

You grip his hand and straddle his hips. He’s irresistible.

“Are you okay with this position?” Your voice is breathy, anticipation buzzing in your veins. Raising up to your knees you reach down to steady his shaft, sliding the tip between your lips and line him up with your pussy. You begin to sit down, enjoying the slow stretch his cock provides, and don’t bother to wait for his answer.

Itachi white knuckles your hips, gasping, and digs his thumbs into the bone. “I — oh god, you know I’ll have you any way,” he manages to say through a moan.

With that, you brace your hands on Itachi’s flushed chest and start to bounce in his lap. Strong hands find their way to your butt and help support your movement, Itachi’s biceps flexing each time he pushes you upwards. Your husband’s right, as usual, and when you get close to the edge you sit with your ass flush to his pelvis, rolling your hips back and forth, and moan his name as his tip presses snug to your g-spot.

After your first orgasm, it’s much easier for Itachi to draw a second one from you. Only this time, your face is in the sheets and your ass is in the air.

༝ ᭝ ༝ neji ༝ ᭝ ༝

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Neji is smart.

A prodigy, a genius, a phenomenal sensei — one of the highest ranked shinobi in all of Konoha. There’s no argument that Neji wears a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, and he returns home worn to the bone most evenings. You miss him, but he loves it, and the ache in your heart quiets when he manages to secure a day for you to spend together.

So naturally, sometimes, even when Neji’s belly burns white hot with arousal, he struggles to get hard.

He’s tired.

But even so, Neji’s throat still vibrates with a low moan when you plant a kiss in the hollow of it, sucking the skin between your lips, biting down and rolling it between your teeth. His fingers find your hair and thread through, content to ride along for the journey as you kiss his collarbone, over the defined muscle of his pecs, all the way down until your tongue runs along the crease of his inner thigh. He smells clean, like his body wash, and his knee jerks in response.

He avoids your ribs by an inch.

His cock’s filled out a quarter of the way by the time you reach it. It doesn’t deter you in the slightest. You lick from base to tip and Neji chokes on his next breath, head thrown into the pillow, when you swallow his soft, warm cock like you’re starving. Neji cries out and your scalp stings, hair wound tight around his fingers.

“Baby,” Neji breathes, voice cracking, and his hips buck up because he can’t quite sit still. “Don’t stop, please.”

You hollow your cheeks and suck, working him with your tongue until the muscle in your jaw aches. Despite your best efforts, Neji remains half hard. Even when you use your fingers to squeeze and play with his balls.

Neji’s noise of frustration pulls your mouth from his cock, watching it slap wet and sticky against his pelvis. You push up and sit on your calves, sending your husband a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Neji. I don’t mind using my fingers.”

Nevermind that your pussy is so wet it spreads to your inner thighs whenever you shift your weight.

His face twists, distaste obvious. “I want you,” he affirms, pushing up to his elbows. “Talk to me.”

One of your eyebrows hikes up. “Talk to you?”

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he clarifies, a dusty pink blossoming on his cheeks. His gaze stays firm.

You take Neji’s cock in hand, squeezing, stroking once. He’s still slick with your saliva. The heat of embarrassment crawls up your neck and you swallow your hesitation. “Neji,” you begin lowly, voice thick with lust. “Please. I need you to use your pretty cock and fuck me. My pussy is so empty without you, I need my husband.”

Neji’s breath hitches, cock swelling fully in your palm as you stroke him faster, twisting your wrist. Neji sits straight up, catches you by the forearm, and pushes you onto your back.

With little fanfare, Neji settles between your thighs. He slides inside you to the hilt, pushes your knees to your chest, and promises, “I’m going to make you cum on my cock.”

༝ ᭝ ༝ sasuke ༝ ᭝ ༝

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Sasuke looked…good, tonight. Really good.

So much so that you’d been staring at him without an ounce of shame for the last ten minutes as he cut vegetables for dinner. It’s impressed you since the beginning how fluid he moves with one arm.

For awhile, the only noise in the room was the sharp crunch of Sasuke’s knife slicing through various veggies.

“Enjoying the show? Anything I can do to improve your viewing pleasure?” Sasuke’s voice rings out, the playful lilt to it showcasing his teasing. He shifts his head to glance at you out the side of his eye, hair swaying just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his rinnegan.

“Well,” you begin, dragging out the word as you rise from your chair and saunter up behind your husband. Your arms wrap around his waist, hugging him tight, and you relax into the heat bleeding through his shirt. “If you take your shirt off, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Sasuke’s quiet laugh makes you bury your face further into his back, smiling to yourself. “Is that so? What if I get cold?” Sasuke chops straight through a cucumber.

“I’ll keep you warm,” you promise, playing with the hem of his t-shirt. Sneaky fingers slip under his shirt, tracing feather light over the skin right above his waistband. Sasuke’s breath catches, and goosebumps are waiting for you by the time your fingers trail over his ribs.

Sasuke sets his knife down on the cutting board and snatches one of your hands before it vanishes below his sweats. “After dinner.”

You pout, but respect his decision and untangle yourself from Sasuke.

As soon as you’ve finished eating you climb into your husband’s lap to make out with him, ignoring the movie you’d put on as if it never existed. Sasuke eventually maneuvers you out of his lap, stands, and leads you to your room. Once your clothes are scattered across the bed you shove Sasuke onto his back and resume straddling his hips, bracing your hands by his head, tits in his face as he cups one and sucks on your tender nipple.

He’s half hard beneath you, moaning with each roll of your pussy back and forth along his cock. Your clit throbs with flickers of pleasure, but soon you find the heavy fatigue of the day catching up to you out of nowhere, battling the urge to lay down beside him and sleep. You want Sasuke, there’s no doubt, but you can tell his heart’s not in it. Neither is yours.

Your hips come to a halt, hand lifting from the bed to brush the hair off his forehead. “Sasuke,” you murmur, toes curling lightly as he sucks your nipple once more and releases it with a pop.

“Hm?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

You give him a sheepish smile. “Would you rather have sex in the morning?”

You’d be offended by the relief in Sasuke’s eyes if you weren’t feeling the exact same. You slide off his lap and snuggle into his chest after he nods, arousal fading and drowsiness weighing you down instead.

You’re expecting it when slender fingers shake you from the haze of sleep in the morning, pressed to your clit and rubbing in steady circles, blood heating and thickening into something sweet like honey.

Sasuke shifts lower in his place behind you, warm breath tickling the nape of your neck. He clutches your thigh and lifts, nudging his tip to your pussy. With a slow press, he seals you together, pausing with his hips flush to your ass as his cock throbs.

Sasuke fucks you slow and deep, the perfect pace for a sleepy morning spent tangled in the sheets.

༝ ᭝ ༝ kakashi ༝ ᭝ ༝

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

After Kakashi passed the mantle of Hokage to Naruto, you assumed your husband would have more free time.

To be fair, for the most part, your theory rings true.

Sometimes, however, Kakashi is sent to deal with short missions. Which by all means isn’t an issue, but now and then he’ll get delayed. Stuck out in the field for weeks instead of days.

In the grand scheme of your relationship with Kakashi, two weeks is a minuscule amount of time to go without sex. Especially after all the years Kakashi spent coming and going on assignments before he took over as Hokage.

You’d just gotten used to getting Kakashi’s dick on a semi regular basis is all, so the two weeks he’d been gone this time felt like months. The day he returned, Kakashi got stuck doing debriefs before returning home to take the hottest bath known to mankind.

You remained patient. Barely. Lounging on your bed, staring at the ceiling until your eyes crossed waiting for your husband. As soon as he wanders into the bedroom, leaving wet footprints all over the floor, you hop off the bed and shove at his stomach, forcing him to land on the mattress. It knocks the wind out of him, eyes going wide as you yank his towel free.

“Fuck,” Kakashi groans, voice somewhat strained. “You miss me that much baby girl?” You place a knee on the bed, falling forward to crawl up the bed and straddle Kakashi. His hands shoot out, clinging to your hips while you sit down heavy in his lap.

Kakashi’s chest is firm and warm when your palms make contact, bracing your weight, pushing in close with a teasing grin. “I only missed your dick.”

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the sides. “Just my dick? Not the person attached to it?” Kakashi snakes his arms around your waist, hugging you to his chest, and traps your arms between your bodies. Your forehead playfully knocks against his.

“That’s correct. Just your dick, not the husband connected.”

Kakashi pouts. Then the world shifts and you squeak as Kakashi throws his weight to the side, rolling and crushing you, nestling himself snug between your thighs. “That’s mean, I’m hurt. Heartbroken!”

Your lips tug upwards as you squirm to free your arms, running them up his biceps, his shoulders, and frame the sides of his neck. “Aw my poor baby, will it help if I kiss it better?”

“I’m fatally wounded by your words, but I suppose you can try,” he teases, wearing a coy grin that rivals your own. You laugh and guide him down into a kiss, lips meeting hot and slick. Lust gathers rich and honeyed in your lower belly.

You’ve missed him so much, the sensation similar to tiny blades slipping between your rib cage. Kakashi whispers sweet nothings to you as he strips you bare, pussy pulsing from the nasty words. The entirety of your focus becomes centered on his cock when he slides home, forgoing the foreplay in favor of having you wrapped around him.

Kakashi picks up a quick rhythm, hooking your knees over his elbows, bending you in half, and snaps his hips as if he’s chasing a sweet pleasure that remains an inch out of reach.

Fingers locking tight around his biceps, pleasure coils tight and hot in your pelvis, thighs twitching the closer you get. Kakashi lets out a telltale moan that pitches higher at the end, a surefire sign that he’s this close to cumming, and your eyes fly open. Your husband’s are squeezed shut, lips parted as he pants.

You smack his chest, startling his eyes open wide. “K-Kakashi! Don’t you fucking dare cum yet!” You warn, his cock jerking in response.

Kakashi shivers. “I —,” he cuts himself off with a cry, shoving himself in until his hip bones are digging into your ass, grinding hard as a new warmth blooms inside you. Your own high fades fast into the background.

You wiggle with enough force that he drops your legs. “Kakashi you jerk! I was so close!”

“I’m sorry! Two weeks is a long time!” He defends, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, expression sheepish. Kakashi’s now soft cock slips free, and he scoots down onto his belly, face to face with your pussy. “I won’t leave you on the edge, I promise baby.”

The insult you were about to hurl at him disappears when his soft tongue drags up the seam of your pussy, lips parting under the gentle pressure. “Play with yourself,” he murmurs, kissing your clit once before placing his tongue where his cock had been, not the least bit bothered by the taste of his own release.

The relief of your fingers finding your clit is dizzying, rubbing tight, fast circles that arch your spine. Heat surges and resurfaces, the pleasure manipulated with ease by your fingers. As soon as that knot starts to release in your belly your fingers thread through Kakashi’s white hair, jerking his mouth to your clit. He follows your silent plea, lips sealing and tongue flicking to push you over the edge.

Heat prickles through your limbs, a soft cry of his name spilling past your lips. He only quits when you shove at his forehead, hips twitching away from his mouth. He dips his tongue in your pussy before pulling away, choosing to raise up and sit on his knees instead. His lips and chin are shiny.

“So….,” He begins, patting your inner thigh a few times in comfort once you’ve melted into the mattress.

You pry an eye open to peak at his cheeky smile. “You’re forgiven.”

#itachi x reader #neji x reader #sasuke x reader #kakashi x reader #itachi uchiha smut #neji hyuga smut #sasuke uchiha smut #kakashi smut #uchiha itachi x reader #neji hyuga x reader #uchiha sasuke x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #itachi smut #sasuke smut #naruto neji #kakashi hatake smut #naruto x reader #naruto smut

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gingerkunoichii · 5 months ago

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☆ Yandere Naruto Men and their Obsession with You ☆

MASTERLIST Characters: Naruto Uzumaki, Shikamaru Nara, Sasuke Uchiha, Kakashi Hatake, Itachi Uchiha, Obito Uchiha.

Warnings: abusive relationships, control, emotional manipulation, lovebombing, obsessive crazy love, isolation, intense jealousy, violence, almost physical abuse.

His Loving Obsession • Naruto isn’t just obsessed—he’s everywhere. His sunshine demeanour means no one questions it when he’s constantly by your side, always checking in, always making sure you’re okay. But behind the smiles and laughter, there’s something darker—a need so strong it borders on suffocation. Every time you smile at someone else, every time you talk about your plans without him, his stomach twists, and that friendly grin becomes just a little tighter. • Naruto doesn’t just love you—he worships you. He remembers every little thing about you, from your favourite snack to the way you like your coffee. He’ll show up with small surprises—your favorite candy, a new book you mentioned in passing, a blanket because he noticed you shivering the other day. He’s always thinking about you, always looking for ways to make you smile. • Naruto is a master at making you feel guilty without ever outright saying it. If you spend time with someone else, his expression falls just enough to make your chest ache. “Do you really think they care about you the way I do?” There’s no malice in his voice, only a quiet vulnerability that makes your chest ache. He’s not trying to control you (or so it seems)—he just can’t bear the thought of losing you to someone who doesn’t love you as deeply as he does.

• His jealousy is weirdly explosive. If someone flirts with you, his entire demeanour shifts. The laughter stops, his voice drops, and his eyes harden. It's like he's a whole different person. He’s quick to insert himself between you and the “threat,” acting like the person speaking to you is some sort of strange pervert, making it awkward for everyone.

• Naruto’s love becomes all-consuming. His hugs are tight, his hands always on you—your waist, your arm, the small of your back. He needs the reassurance of your presence, needs to feel your warmth under his fingers. His kisses are soft but desperate, like he’s trying to pour all his feelings into every movement, whispering against your lips, “No one can take you from me, Y/N.” You're so bombarded by him that you have no space to ever question it.

His Toxic Obsession

• Shikamaru doesn’t just watch you—he studies you. Every word you say, every nervous habit, every glance you throw at someone else—it’s all meticulously catalogued in his mind. He knows you better than you know yourself, and he uses that knowledge like a weapon. When he speaks to you, it’s with a precision that leaves you reeling and self-doubting, his words cutting straight to the heart of your insecurities and desires. • He isn’t loud or obvious when he cuts people out of your life. He does it quietly, methodically, in ways you don’t notice until it’s too late. Maybe he “accidentally” forgets to tell you about a group hangout or makes plans that conveniently overlap with your commitments to others. Before you realize it, he’s the only constant in your life, the only person you can turn to. “See? It’s just us now. It’s easier this way.” • Shikamaru doesn’t need to raise his voice to control you. His calm, measured tone is enough to make you second-guess everything. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Y/N? I mean, do what you want, but…” His words always trail off, leaving you to fill in the blanks. And when you do change your mind, he’s there with a lazy smirk, like he knew you would all along.

• When Shikamaru finally confesses, it’s not a plea—it’s a statement. “I’ve been patient with you. I’ve let you figure things out on your own, but it’s time you see what’s obvious.” His voice is low, steady, leaving no room for argument, your self-worth is so battered down from everything he's done you actually believe him, actually want to be with him.

• Shikamaru’s love is suffocating, an intricate web of manipulation and control that feels impossible to escape. But beneath the darkness, there’s an unsettling tenderness—a quiet devotion that makes you hesitate. “I only do this because I love you,” he says, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. And in those moments, you wonder if he truly believes it. If maybe, somehow, he’s convinced himself that this twisted, obsessive love is what you need.

His Unrelenting Obsession

• Sasuke’s fixation is nothing short of paralyzing. His eyes follow you everywhere, dark and unblinking, like he’s dissecting you piece by piece. It’s suffocating, the way he can hold you in place with just a look, his intensity seeping into every interaction until it feels like there’s nowhere to hide. He had never been so entranced by someone or something before you. • Sasuke wouldn’t hesitate to dismantle anything—or anyone—that threatens his control. A co-worker who’s too friendly? Suddenly, they’re fired over a baseless rumour. A friend who tries to intervene? They start receiving anonymous threats. It’s never loud or messy; it’s surgical, precise. He’s a ghost in the machine, orchestrating your isolation with a chilling efficiency that leaves you wondering if you’re imagining it when he acts the same as he always does - cool and detached. • Sasuke would make you dependent on him without you even realizing it. He’d insert himself into every aspect of your life—your confidant, your protector, your only constant. When things fall apart (because he made sure they would), he’s the one picking up the pieces, whispering, “You don’t need anyone else. I’ll take care of you.” And in your weakest moments, it feels like the truth. • If you ever try to leave him, Sasuke’s calm exterior would shatter. He wouldn’t yell or beg—he’d act. Your phone? Smashed. Your keys? Gone. Every avenue of escape meticulously closed off until the only person you can turn to is him. His voice would drop to a dangerous whisper: “Everyone has left me. You don't get to do that, Y/N.” And when he says it, it feels like a vow—a terrifying, irreversible truth. • Beneath the darkness, there’s a twisted form of love—a desperate, all-consuming need to keep you safe, to keep you his. Sasuke genuinely believes that what he’s doing is for your own good, that no one else could possibly love you the way he does. And in his mind, it’s not obsession—it’s destiny. You were meant to be his, no matter the cost.

His Devoted Obsession

• Kakashi’s tactics are subtle and insidious, cloaked in warmth and care. He’d insert himself into your life in ways that feel natural, like he’s just a dependable friend who’s always there when you need him, always appearing when things are going dire. But it’s calculated. Every comforting word, every thoughtful gesture, every perfectly timed “coincidence” is part of his plan to weave himself into the fabric of your life. “You looked a little overwhelmed, so I thought I’d step in.” • Kakashi convinces himself that his obsession is rooted in a desire to protect you, that it's normal he would be like this after everything that had happened to him throughout his life. If you’re in danger, he’s the first one there, stepping in with a calm authority that leaves no room for argument. “You don’t need to thank me. I’d do anything for you.” • His charm is his greatest weapon. He knows how to put you at ease, to make you laugh, to make you feel safe. His lazy demeanour and soft-spoken words hide the intensity of his obsession, lulling you into a false sense of security, that he would never do anything to hurt you. When he teases you, his tone is light and playful, but there’s an edge to his smile that makes your pulse quicken.

• Kakashi doesn’t need to be loud or aggressive to isolate you—he’s far too smart for that. Instead, he subtly plants doubt in your mind about the people around you. “They didn’t seem very supportive of you earlier, did they?” “Are you sure they have your best interests at heart?” His tone is so soft, so thoughtful and seemingly wise, that you don’t realize he’s slowly nudging you into relying on him alone. • He doesn’t see his actions as manipulative or controlling—they’re protective, necessary. “I can't lose you, not after losing everyone else,” he’ll say, his voice so soft and convincing that you genuinely believe him. But the truth is, Kakashi’s love is a cage, and no matter how warm and comforting it feels, it’s one you’ll never escape.

His Desperate Obsession

• He loves you so desperately, so tenderly, with full unrestrained love. It feels like you were swept off your heels by him and his intensity, the way he knew he wanted you from the beginning and the way you completely crumbled underneath him was almost pathetic. He loves you like no one has before, gifting you thoughtful things he knows you like, listening to everything you say with genuine interest. He protects you, no one bothers you whilst you're with him suddenly - and you don't quite understand. • Itachi carries the ghosts of his clan in every step, every breath, every calculated action. He’s spent his entire life sacrificing, losing everything to protect what he loves. But you? You’re something he can’t sacrifice, something he won’t. He tells himself that this time, he won’t fail, won’t let the people he loves slip through his fingers. This time, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, no matter the cost. • Itachi’s protectiveness goes beyond reason. He’s already failed once, letting his clan fall under his blade for the greater good, and he refuses to fail again. He doesn’t trust the world to keep you safe, so he takes matters into his own hands. The friend who’s too nosy? Gone without a trace. The ex who tries to reach out? Shows up in the news dead. You don’t see the strings he’s pulling, the shadows he’s working in, but the world around you becomes eerily smooth, free of threats. “You’re safe with me,” he’d say, his tone so calm, so certain, that you believe him. • His obsession is fuelled by guilt as much as love. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, not after what he’s done, but that only makes him cling to you harder. You’re his second chance, his proof that he can protect something without destroying it. He doesn’t tell you this—he doesn’t want to burden you with his darkness—but every glance, every touch carries the unspoken weight of his guilt. “You make me feel human again,” he’d admit in a rare moments of vulnerability. • If you ever tried to leave, Itachi wouldn’t react with anger or desperation. His voice would stay calm, his movements controlled, but there would be a finality in his words that makes your stomach twist. one that you know you can't resist because at this point he had made himself the top of the pyramid in your life. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. The world isn’t safe for you without me.” And if you push further, he’d step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ve already lost everyone I’ve ever loved. I won’t let it happen again. Not with you.”

His Masked Obsession

• When you first meet him, when you're only friends he keeps up the guise of Tobi. Tobi is a harmless goof, all smiles and playful antics. He makes you laugh, brightens your day, and slips into your life so easily it feels natural. But Tobi isn’t real—he’s a shield, a distraction from the storm brewing beneath. Every laugh, every clumsy joke is calculated, a way to draw you closer, to make you trust him. “See? Tobi’s a good boy!” he chirps, his eyes gleaming with something darker than innocence. • As Tobi, he drowns you in affection. He remembers every little thing you like, shows up with thoughtful gifts “just because,” and tells you how much you mean to him at every opportunity. “You’re Tobi’s favourite person! No one else compares!” His voice is light, his tone warm, and it’s easy to feel safe around him. • The switch happens when you least expect it. The moment you cross a line he doesn’t like—talking to someone else for too long, brushing off his affection, or even hinting at distance—the mask shatters. His voice drops and lowers, his posture stiffens, and the playful Tobi disappears. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, his tone sharp and cutting. It’s a complete shift, like you’re staring into the eyes of someone you don’t recognize. • Losing Rin shattered Obito, and the thought of losing you pushes him over the edge. Every moment he isn’t with you feels like a threat, every smile you give someone else feels like a betrayal. He projects his pain onto you, his desperation spilling out in violent outbursts followed by trembling apologies. “I can’t lose you,” he growls, his hands fisting in your hair as he pulls you closer. “Not again. Not ever.” • After every outburst, Tobi returns, full of apologies and desperate affection. He showers you with gifts, clings to you like a lost puppy, and whispers tearful apologies. “Tobi’s so sorry! Tobi didn’t mean to scare you!” His voice is trembling, his hands gentle as he cups your face. He tells you how much he loves you, how he can’t live without you, how he’ll do better. • Obito’s love is suffocating, destructive, a wildfire that consumes everything in its path. He doesn’t see his violence as cruelty—it’s protection. He doesn’t see his obsession as wrong—it’s love. “I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you from me,” he says, his voice calm but his eyes wild. “Even you, if I have to.” And in his mind, that’s not a threat—it’s a promise.

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forlix · 1 year ago

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𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you.

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere.

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «[email protected]» To: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?”

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You suppose you can’t argue with that.

“What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation.

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath.

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you.

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle.

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly.

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.”

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade.

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment.

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting.

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything your schedule allows.

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything.

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation.

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights.

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead.

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?”

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass.

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know?

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago.

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes.

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration.

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off.

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?”

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will.

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back.

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

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sailornymph · 4 months ago

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slut me out; naruto various

synopsis — how naruto, neji, gaara, & kiba are in bed

content warning — bondage, exhibitionism, established relationship

a/n — all are adults, they just looked better in shippuden

♡︎ naruto uzumaki

— 6 inches, he’s slightly above average, but that isn’t bad!! he knows how to use every inch

— this man is embarrassingly loud, without an once of shame, 10x worse than madara

— he likes your legs on his shoulders, giving him perfect access to pound into your cunt

— he has the stamina of a beast, thanks to kurama, literally wanting to go all night

— he loves foreplay, playing with your clit as he kisses your neck, you giving him a titjob, or just dry humping each other

— eating your pussy in his office, telling you to cum before someone interrupts

— the pace depends on the mood, if it was a hard day, then he may be a little rougher, but something like morning sex, he is gentle, handling you with the most care

— he is another one who didn’t know the importance of aftercare, but once getting with you, he takes care of you in every way

“n-naruto, we have to hurry,” you moaned, the back of your hand pressed against your mouth.

laying on his desk, the fear of anyone interrupting far from your mind, too clouded with lust to stop him from pounding into your soaked pussy. how did you end up in this position? you were only supposed to be bringing naruto his lunch when he began to whine about how he missed you.

“i know, i’m almost there,” he groaned, leaning down to motorboat your breast. gods, you had to be a gift from the gods, absolutely perfect for him.

“right there,” you cried, as he rubbed your clit. he had a meeting in twenty minutes, meaning he had less than ten minutes to make you cum.

“i’m about to cum,” he told you, grunting loudly, as you began to moan, releasing all over his cock, covering your mouth in the process.

“that was great, let’s go again,” he smiled.

“we can't, did you forget that fast that you have a meeting?”

“i’m thinking of skipping, just this once, and taking you home,” he chuckled, as you kissed his lips, accepting his hand, and getting up to fix your clothing.

just as your dress was fixed, there was a knock, making naruto, raise an eyebrow in confusion, but walking over to answer.

“lord seventh,” shikamaru said, extremely flustered.

“what is it?” naruto asked.

“your meeting was supposed to be at noon, in your office,” he said, shifting his eyes as you came into view.

“that can't be, y/n has been here since then, i thought you said, after noon,” naruto said, scratching his head, as you realized what happened.

“the shinobi came to his office?”

“yes, and they heard a disturbing noise, so i decided to come to see for myself, but i realize, you were a bit busy,” shikamaru said.

“oh my-they heard us,” you covered your face, moving away from the door.

“sorry about that, shikamaru, you know how it is when you haven't seen your woman all day, could you see about rescheduling?” naruto asked, sheepishly.

“will do,” he nodded, while naruto reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“there's nothing to be flustered about, you were amazing,” naruto grinned, leading you out of the office, to walk you home.

♡︎ neji hyuga

— he has nearly 7 inches and is on the skinnier side

— muffled moans and grunts because he can’t bring himself to make such noises, but he is into degradation

— he is into bondage and finds pleasure in making you his ragdoll

— tying your hands over your head, your legs around his waist, as he fucks into you

— he treats your relationship like a reward system, if you can take all of his cock like a good girl, then he will reward you with his tongue

— claims to hate foreplay, but the sight of you on your knees in front of him, begging to be fucked, he can’t help but reach out to hold, caress, kiss on you

— despite how to rough seem, lightly slapping your cheek, when you’re not sucking his cock like a good girl, he is incredibly gentle, when fucking you. he comes off as mean to many, but he is very in love with you and likes to show it through intimacy

— aftercare is very important to him, he is able to express his love, by catering to your body, after the long session of pleasure

“neji, please, i need it,” you whined, thrusting your hips up, craving more pressure from the vibrator to be held to your clit.

he hadn't seen you in a few weeks, and he missed you dearly. however, when he approached your house, you sat outside, speaking with sai about his drawing. he had no right to be jealous, he told you from the beginning, that being with him meant secrecy because he wasn't allowed to be with outsiders. still, now that he had you alone, he couldn't deny that he was releasing a bit of his frustration.

“but do you deserve it?” he asked, his pale eyes set on you, nodding earnestly.

“yes,” you whined when he pulled the toy away, furrowing his eyebrows.

“tell me how much you need it, and i will consider putting it back,” he said, turning the toy off.

“i want to cum so bad, i can't take this,” you shook your head, closing your eyes in frustration. however, you quickly opened your eyes, feeling his fingers pressing against your clit, rubbing slowly.

“there is no need for you to become so frustrated, love, use your words, what do you want me to do?” he asked.

“fuck me, all i want is your cock inside of me, please,” you squirmed.

“only because you asked so politely,” he smirked, removing his clothing, and climbing into your bed. stroking himself a few times, he began to push himself in, humming as he went into your comforting hole.

“i love your cock so much,” you moaned.

“shut up with your babbling, love,” he chuckled, kissing your lips. reaching to hold your hips, lifting your lower body into his lap, he began thrusting.

moaning loudly, the palms of your hands nearly red from how tight you squeezed the rope. your eyes rolling back, as neji continues to kiss your lips, moving down to your neck. you only pant, wrapping your legs around his waist, when he pulled away.

“wh-

you stopped, realizing that he was reaching to loosen the knot, releasing your hands from the ropes. immediately, your hands were around him, moving his soft hair from his face.

“i love you, neji,” you panted, lewdly staring into his eyes, smiling at the pink tint on his cheeks.

“i love you too, beautiful,” he whispered, as your fingers moved up his chest.

“i’m cumming,” you moaned, your mouth going into an ‘o’ shape, as he moved his mouth to your breast. lifting, he began grunting, eyebrows furrowed, but concentrated, as he came inside. sighing, he pulled out, laying on top of you.

“what made you untie me so early?” you questioned, your fingers running through his thick, but silky brown hair.

“i’ve missed your embrace is all,” he sighed.

“are you alright? do you want to talk about it?” you questioned, making him grin. how could he even get jealous or question you, when you were so loveable?

“i’m fine, i just want to hold you a while longer”

♡︎ gaara

— this man is packing and he’s so shy about it

— he stays quiet, you are his first and he is completely unsure of what noises are or aren’t acceptable

— he doesn’t know what position he likes, but he’s willing to try anything you’re willing to teach him

— he does know for sure he likes when you suck his cock, on your knees, it is such a beautiful sight

— he’s awkward during foreplay, and you have to guide him on where to lick or touch, but once he understands, he’s a pro

— you never knew sex could be so gentle, until getting with gaara. he has hurt so many people and he could never hurt you, even if it was supposed to be pleasureful

— he speaks so lowly, you usually think he is completely silent, but sometimes, you can hear him whisper words of praise and encouragement

— to say he doesn’t have any prior experience, he is really good at aftercare. he insists on catering to you and promising that it brings him joy to do so

“oh gaara, i’ve missed you so much,” you moaned, propped up on your elbows, your kimono open. gaara was eager as ever, peppering kisses along your neck and breast.

“i apologize, my role as kazekage is more demanding than i thought it would be,” he pulled away, answering seriously.

“it's okay, i understand, i just miss having you home sometimes, to kiss me, love me, fuck me,” you said, in between kisses. reaching for your panties, you lowered them, allowing him to pull them from your legs.

leaning forward, you kissed his lips, while opening his pants. his cock sprang free, veins visible, leading up to his pink tip — his precum dripping onto the sheets. biting your lip, you began to stroke his cock.

“fuck me,” you whispered, as he kissed you again. moving his hand on top of your own, he began to stroke his cock, as you let go.

laying back, you stared into his eyes, as he moved to hover over you. rubbing his tip against your slit, he began to push in. biting your lip, you shut your eyes, allowing yourself to adjust to his size. however, gaara immediately froze.

“am i hurting you?” he asked, sounding scared, about to pull away.

“no, never, you’re perfect, i am just adjusting to you-

“i’m hurting you because it’s too thick, i’m sorry, i-

“gaara, what did i tell you? we’re compromising. you like to go slow, so you don’t hurt me, and i like the feeling of you stretching me to your size. you’re fine, i know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me and i would let you know before we could get to that point,” you explained, reassuringly, reaching to hold his cheek.

staring into your eyes for a moment, he leaned down kissing your lips, before continuing to fit the rest of his size inside. he squeezed his eyes shut, the idea of you hurting, crushed him. pulling away from him, you moaned loudly.

“oh my god,” you slurred, a lazy smile on your lips.

gaara never knew he could be so passionate about someone, until you. even if he didn't care about how hard he pounded into you — he found himself in love with the action of lovemaking. he still struggled with expressing himself, but perhaps you could understand how much he loved you, by his decision to move slowly. you could feel every inch, taking it all on to make it cherishable.

“so beautiful,” he mouthed, taking slow strokes. his hands on the sides of you, watching in amazement as you unraveled before his eyes. your eyes rolling back, your airy moans, occasionally gasping. god, how did he end up with such a perfect wife?

"you're going to make me cum too fast," you whined, throwing your head back, as he continued thrusting, staring in amazement. perfect. perfect. perfect. everything about you was the epitome of beauty.

“how does it feel, baby?” you continued, leaning to kiss his jaw, through your moans

"you feel amazing," he said, trying to hold back his noises.

“you can make as many noises as you'd like, it’s just us,” you whispered, smiling as the tiniest moan escaped, his face becoming flustered.

"please make me cum, gaara," you moaned, as he kissed your lips again.

"i love you," he said, lowly, smiling as you pulled him into a hug, while he continued moving his hips.

"i love you too," you whined loudly, as his thrust became uneven. you were creaming all over him, as he moved his hand down, slowly rubbing your clit, until your leg started shaking.

"j-just like that," you moaned, nodding, as the knot in your abdomen finally was released. pulling out, gaara jerked his cock a few times, reaching for his handkerchief off of the counter, you tiredly watched as he came on it, closing it up. once done, he had a sheepish expression on his face. he had been pulling out, since the two of you became intimate, out of fear of becoming a terrible parent, but unlike what his thoughts said, you didn't judge him.

“would you like a shower, love?” he asked.

“only if you are joining me,” you bit your lip, satisfied at his shy nod.

♡︎ kiba inuzuka

— oh my, this man has a force to be reckoned with in his pants lol, and it's very girthy

— he is almost primal, grunting and growling, as he fucks your beautiful pussy

— doggystyle or spooning, it doesn’t matter, but he is a bit of an exhibitionist, he adores fucking you anywhere outdoors

— he eats pussy so good, will have your legs shaking and loves spanking you

— something about seeing your ass all sensitive, your legs clenching to hide dripping pussy, turns him on in a way beyond words

— no lovemaking for him, instead he fucks you, each touch as desperate as the last to get you off

— he’s kinkier than neji, spitting, slapping, bondage, anal, he loves it all

— on his own, he is terrible at aftercare, but he likes to think of it as a partnership. as a team, catering to each other (and with you walking him through each step) he is much better

“keep quiet, wouldn’t want everyone to see how much of a slut you are,” he laughed, pressing his thumb against your second hole, making you moan louder, rushing to cover your mouth.

“ugh, baby, you’re fucking me too good,” you cried to him, your right hand muffling your moans, while your left squeezed the green grass.

the two of you intended to only spend some time together after constantly working, but it was so hard to keep your hands to yourselves.

“you’re so hot, babe, you’re taking my cock like a good girl, yeah, you like when i fuck you like this, huh bitch?” he said, his canine teeth showing, slapping your ass.

wincing you tiredly fucked him back, when he sat on the grass, pulling you into his lap. throwing your head back, as he pushed his cock into your pussy, he bit your nipple, lightly tugging.

“oh kiba, i love it so much, don't stop,” you moaned, as he slapped your ass again.

“i won't, not until you cum all over my cock,” he grunted. he was unashamed, grunting and growling like he was in heat. for him, he was mating, and he certainly intended to get stuck to you.

“i-i’m go-ing to cum, baby,” you moaned, as sped up, thrusting, as he squeezed your ass. your breast bouncing in his face. he couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man around, you were the people’s princess, and only he could get you to act like a primal slut and you loved every moment of it.

“fuck,” he hissed, cumming, as your pussy clenched around him, repeatedly, as you came. holding onto his shoulder, you kissed the side of his mouth, before fully connecting with his lips.

“that was fun,” you said, both of you sharing a laugh, as he stood up, still holding you, before he let your feet touch the ground, then pecked your lips.

“what do you think about ramen and then a nice bath?” kiba asked, as the both of you began dressing.

“sounds good to me,” you agreed. after he finished, he waited for you, crouched down.

“hop on,” he said, standing up, and headed towards the village with you on his back.

#naruto x reader #neji x reader #gaara x reader #kiba x reader #naruto uzumaki #neji hyuga #kiba inuzuka

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beserkerjewel · 3 days ago

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Now that I have your attention, I need you guys to look at Saleem's fundraiser for his family.

He's only raised $11 out of $20,000. That's not nearly enough to help. We need people to pay attention and help.

Please, reblog and donate if you can!

Tagging for reach:

@kyra45 @comintoyoulive @wonhos-fabuloso @afro-elf @dirhwangdaseul @autisticmudkip @oediex @myceliacrochet @rhythmlessgay @sporesgalaxy @thatdiabolicalfeminist @mangocheesecakes @tamamita @postanagramgenerator @11thsense @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @sar-soor @sawasawako

#Jewel gets personal #palestine #polls #anime

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arabella0001 · 6 months ago

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passion behind the mask

pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Reader Anime: Naruto Synopsis: he’s always been your sensei… but something else has started to surface beneath that title

i'm new to writing so be gentle pls (eng not my first language)

Warnings: light teasing, rough sex, all characters are of age/aged up, dirty talk, fingering, against a tree

"the hokage assigned me to train you," kakashi said, his voice low and calm, eyes hidden beneath his mask. "i hope we get along. we don’t really have a choice in the matter." he extended a hand, his fingers long and relaxed.

"hi," you smiled, a hint of nervousness lingering in your words as you took his hand. his eyes seemed to pierce through you, assessing every detail.

"so, what brings you to konoha?" he asked, the question casual but his gaze sharp. "you're not from around here, are you?"

"no, i’m not." you hesitated, but your voice grew steadier. "i came for knowledge... to push myself further as a shinobi. i’ve heard about the techniques taught here in konoha." you locked eyes with him.

kakashi raised an eyebrow, an unreadable glint in his eyes. "i see. well, you’ve come to the right place," he said, crossing his arms with an air of ease. "but, let me be clear—i’m not known for being gentle with my students."

his tone was firm, but there was something almost dangerous about it, a subtle edge that made your pulse quicken. "training with me isn’t going to be easy. you sure you’re ready for that?"

"i’m ready," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension in the air.

he nodded, the slightest flicker of approval in his eye. "good. let’s see what you’ve got." his voice lowered, becoming almost a command. "follow me to the training grounds."

you followed him, feeling the weight of his gaze as he led you. as you arrived, he turned to face you, the sun casting shadows over his features. "show me your basic jutsu. your chakra control, your speed. don’t hold back." his words were sharp, commanding.

"understood," you said, heart racing.

kakashi’s gaze never left you as you centered yourself, focusing your chakra. his eyes, always sharp, watched your every move, analyzing with a precision that made you feel exposed, yet oddly encouraged.

"not bad," he commented, his voice cool and even. "but you’ve got a lot of work to do. your chakra control’s a bit shaky."

you couldn’t help but steal a glance at his profile—his sharp jawline, the way his hair caught the light. you quickly looked away, but you felt the heat rising in your cheeks, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

his voice broke your train of thought. "don’t get distracted," he warned softly, though his eyes were still assessing. "let’s focus on stabilizing your chakra flow. close your eyes."

you obeyed, trying to push aside the lingering warmth you felt at his proximity. his voice came again, low and almost soothing. "visualize your chakra as a steady stream, like water flowing through a riverbed. let it flow naturally. don’t force it."

the sound of his footsteps as he circled behind you made your heart race even more. he was so close now, his presence almost overwhelming, yet his tone was calm, instructing.

"can you feel it?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper against your ear. "that warmth spreading through your body? that’s your chakra awakening."

you focused harder, trying to ignore the unsettling closeness, the tingling sensation his voice caused. slowly, you felt the steady pulse of your chakra, the flow smooth and calm.

"good," he said, his voice returning to a neutral tone, but there was something almost approving in it. "now, keep that flow steady. let it fill you completely."

you opened your eyes and turned to face him, feeling the surge of control. his gaze flickered, a brief moment of recognition in his eye as he stepped closer, his breath brushing against your skin as he placed a gloved hand on your shoulder.

"nice work," he said, his touch lingering a moment too long before he pulled away. "but remember, control is everything. in a real fight, it’ll mean the difference between victory and defeat."

his fingers brushed across your collarbone, an unexpected jolt of warmth running through you. you quickly regained your composure, nodding.

"now," he continued, his voice barely above a murmur, "let’s focus on your hand signs. channel your chakra outward. gather it in your palms."

he moved beside you, his arm brushing against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. "like this," he demonstrated, his body close enough that you could feel the heat from him.

you followed his instructions, focusing all your attention on the flow of chakra, trying to block out the overwhelming presence of the man beside you.

kakashi’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression unreadable. "excellent," he murmured, his praise almost like a whisper. "now hold it. don’t release it yet—just let it build." his hand brushed yours again, and for a moment, everything seemed to still, his gaze intense on you.

his voice lowered, almost too soft, but the rough edge behind it betrayed him "control is everything. too much force, and you risk losing precision. too little, and the jutsu lacks power." you focus sharpened as i visualized the chakra swirling in my palms, just as kakashi instructed. the air shimmered faintly around my hands, and i could feel the energy building.

glancing at kakashi, i realized how close he was, our shoulders nearly touching. his proximity stirred something inside me, an unsettling flutter in my stomach. but i pushed it aside, refocusing on my chakra control.

he must have sensed my distraction—his eyes flickered, lips twitching into a smirk beneath his mask. he leaned in, his breath brushing my ear as he murmured, "that's it. feel the energy build... just a little more..."

his gloved hand brushed against my lower back, the touch light, but firm. he was guiding me, urging me to engage my core muscles and steady myself. but his presence was too close, too... intimate, sending a rush of warmth through me.

"now, release it. on my signal," he said, his voice low, but commanding.

i swallowed, trying to steady my breathing as my body betrayed me. his touch grounded me, but also stirred something deep within, a strange heat that made my pulse race.

at his command, i released the chakra with a forceful burst, feeling the air crackle with energy. kakashi’s hand never left my back, anchoring me through the rush of power.

"impressive," he said, his tone almost soft. "your control’s getting better."

i flushed, his praise settling warmly in my chest. "thank you, sensei."

he met my gaze, eyes darkening slightly, lingering just long enough to make my heart skip and he nodded at you. he stepped back, crossing his arms. "next, we work on stamina. you can’t be passing out mid-mission."

i nodded, the training for the day coming to an end. as he stood there, arms crossed, my eyes wandered involuntarily over his form. his muscles strained beneath his flak jacket, and i caught myself lingering on the defined lines of his shoulders before quickly looking away.

"same time tomorrow," i said, hoping my voice didn’t betray the chaos in my thoughts.

he noticed the flicker of my gaze, and his lips twitched into a knowing smile. he uncrossed his arms and adjusted his forehead protector, revealing the smooth line of his arm as he did so.

"right then. see you tomorrow." his voice dropped an octave, almost teasing. "and y/n?" he leaned in, close enough for me to feel his breath on my skin. "don’t stay up too late. you’ll need your rest for what i have planned."

his words lingered too long in the air, curling around me in ways i wasn’t ready for. i felt the heat rise to my cheeks, heart stumbling over itself. no—he couldn’t have meant it that way. he was my teacher. I was reading too much into this… right?

but as i turned to leave, i heard him add, voice rich with amusement, "try to keep your mind out of the gutter, yeah? focus on your training, not... other things."

i felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment, realizing he must have noticed more than i’d wanted. hurrying away, i tried to compose myself, but thoughts of him—his proximity, his touch—kept swirling in my mind.

that night, i couldn’t help but replay every moment, the heat of his touch, the weight of his gaze. a soft sigh escaped as i curled up in bed, my body betraying me. was it just me, or had something shifted between us?

the next morning, i was still flustered, still thinking of him as i dressed, the memory of the dream i had haunting me. the way his chakra had felt against mine... and the look in his eyes. but i shoved the thoughts aside. he was my sensei.

outside, kakashi stood waiting by the training grounds, his presence as enigmatic as ever. as i approached, his eyes locked onto mine, a subtle smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

"good morning," he greeted, voice casual but the challenge in his eyes undeniable. "ready for today’s drills?"

i nodded, trying to suppress the heat building in my cheeks. i could feel his gaze on me, sharp and assessing.

"let’s start with taijutsu," he said, guiding me through the movements with careful precision. his hands adjusted my stance, fingers brushing my skin, igniting something deep inside me. his touch was light, but it left me breathless, making it hard to focus.

"let’s start with taijutsu," he said, his voice steady as he guided me through the movements. his hands adjusted my stance, fingers brushing lightly over my skin, sending an unexpected jolt through me. the touch was soft, but it stayed, trailing just long enough to make it hard to focus..

his voice came again, quieter now, close to my ear, "relax... feel the movement." his breath brushed the back of my neck, and for a moment, it felt as though everything else faded away, leaving only the warmth growing in my chest.

i struggled to concentrate, but every word, every movement of his hand, seemed to unravel my focus more than the last.

"good," he murmured, and the simple praise sent a rush through me. "you’re doing well. but we’ll need to work on your speed."

his eyes traced my every movement, and i could feel the weight of his gaze as though it were touching me. each time our bodies brushed, my pulse would quicken. he seemed to notice every shift, every change—how my skin warmed, how my breath faltered.

after what felt like hours, he stepped back, his gaze still lingering on me. "well done," he said, his tone thick with something unspoken, something that made my heart skip.

he noticed the flush creeping up my neck, the way my breath came quicker. his eyes dropped lower, following the curve of my waist, drifting to where my legs met.

as much as he tried to keep his composure, he couldn't tear his eyes away, drawn to the way i moved, how my body reacted. the sight of me, sweating and breathless, seemed to leave him momentarily lost.

he noticed the confusion in my eyes, heard the way my breathing faltered, and somehow, he understood before i did—he was driving me to the edge, unknowingly or not.

his hand moved, barely grazing my arm, the air between us shifted—faint, electric, and impossible to dismiss.

i felt a sudden panic, my mind racing, and for a moment, i thought he knew. i wanted to step back, but my feet wouldn’t move. "kakashi... i need to take a break," i managed to say, my voice a little too shaky.

"of course," he replied, his tone calm, though there was something unreadable behind his eyes. "take your time." he murmured under his breath, barely audible, "we’ve got all day."

he watched me retreat, his gaze steady as i moved, his eyes following me as though he could sense the turmoil within me. it took everything in him not to step forward, not to pull me back, to close the distance between us. but he shook off the thought quickly, reminding himself of the boundaries, that i was his student.

a small, wry smile tugged at his lips as he turned back to the training dummy. it was hard not to wonder—what would it be like to feel that connection shift into something else?

he stood, unmoving now, his focus on the target before him. but his thoughts wandered, lost in images of me. his hands flexed unconsciously, fingers curling as though around a weapon he wasn’t quite sure he should use.

i should say something… stop this before it goes any further. she’s still my student. but there’s something in her eyes—something far too steady for someone her age. and for a moment, it’s hard to remember the line I’m supposed to hold.

his mind wanders down dangerous paths as he imagines how softy our skin would feel under his touch, how sweet your moans might sound while you come out from behind the tree and walk toward him. you try to act normal.

" so…i m sorry..we can resume our training, sensei"

his eyes flicker up from the training dummy, meeting yours with a calm, steady gaze. there's something unreadable in his expression - like he's seeing right through you

"we can resume... "he agrees easily, crossing his arms over his chest. "but first... "

without warning, he lunges forward, moving faster than anyone could react. in mere seconds, he has you pinned against the tree behind you - your body pressed flush against his own.

you gasp as he pins you against the tree, your heart races and your body reacts to his touch. "w-what? kakashi sensei? "

he leans closer, his breath barely skimming your ear, the kind of closeness that makes the rest of the world shrink away. his voice follows, softer than usual, but it lands low, rough around the edges, like he’s not sure he should be saying it at all.

'testing your reflexes…'

his lips don’t quite touch your skin, but they linger near enough to make you notice every shallow breath between you. when his hand drifts down, fingers tracing the line of your waist, it’s deliberate—measured, like he’s giving you time to stop him.

'and how well you listen,' he murmurs, his palm settling just below your hip.

your breath hitches, seeing your reaction, his hand grips your ass.

i can feel the heat of his body against mine. my eyes widened, cant believe he is touching me right now. usually so composed with an unreadable emotions.

"Kakashi..I…"

his grip on your ass tightens, pulling you even more firmly against him. you can feel the hard line of his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach.

"don't worry... "he murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your neck. "this isn't part of the training. at least... not yet. "

"kakashi…I don't think is okay what we are doing" you were feeling so aroused, he pulls back slightly, grey eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and raw, unchecked lust. his breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to regain some semblance of control.

"you're right... "he admits, voice rough with need.. "this shouldn't be happening. I'm your sensei... "

but even as he says the words, his hand slides lower, fingers hooking into the elastic of your panties and tugging them aside.

"can..you take off your mask? you asked anxious because he never show his face without it. he pauses, his lips hovering just inches from yours as he considers your request. for a long moment, he remains silent, his expression unreadable behind the silver mask that has become an integral part of his persona. then, with a subtle nod, he pulls away, revealing the full expanse of his face.

"very well" with deliberate slowness, he lifts the mask, letting it dangle from one finger as he exposes the beauty mark on the left corner of his mouth, the vertical scar bisecting his left eye, and the striking contrast of his spiky silver hair against his tanned skin. he holds your gaze, his dark grey eyes piercing and intense, as if daring you to react to this rare glimpse of vulnerability.

"beautiful…" your fingers graze the scar, and for a moment, he's lost in the sensation, his eyes drifting closed as he savors the intimacy of the gesture. when he opens them again, they're burning with a smoldering intensity, his pupils dilated with desire.

without waiting for a response, he closes the distance between you once more, claiming your lips in a passionate kiss that speaks volumes about the depth of his feelings, his lips feeling so much better now. his hands roam over your body, mapping the curves and contours with a possessive hunger that leaves no doubt about his desire for you.

the sound of your moan sends a jolt of pleasure through him, he deepens the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to dance with yours in a sensual ballet of passion. one hand slides down to grasp your hip, pulling you harder against him as he grinds his erection into the cradle of your thighs.

breaking the kiss, he trails his lips along your jawline, nipping and sucking at the tender flesh as he works his way down to your neck. he inhales your scent, committing it to memory as his hands begin to roam beneath your clothing, seeking the warmth of your skin.

"tell me, Y/N... "he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. " have you ever been touched like this before? "

with surprising strength, he hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he presses you harder into the tree. his free hand finds your breast, thumb rubbing over the hardened peak of your nipple through your clothing making you moan.

“not like this…" he kiss you hard, his tongue delves into your mouth, claiming it with a fierce dominance that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

"mmmph... "he growls against your lips, breaking the kiss only to trail his mouth down the column of your throat. nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, his hands roam your body, exploring every curve and dip with a hunger that borders on desperation. fingers deftly unfasten your top, pushing the fabric aside to expose your breasts to the cool evening air.

you gasp as he exposes your breasts, you arch your back slightly, your nipples harden under his gaze. his dark grey eyes drink in the sight of your bared breasts, pupils dilating with lust. a low, appreciative rumble vibrates in his chest as he cups the soft mounds, thumbs teasing over the pebbled nipples.

"beautiful... "he murmurs, voice thick with desire. leaning in, he takes one pert nipple between his teeth, gently biting down before soothing the sting with his tongue.

as he lavishes attention on your breasts, his other hand continues its exploration, sliding beneath the hem of your skirt to cup the heat of your sex through your panties. he groans at the dampness he finds there, fingers rubbing slow circles over your clit.

you whimper softly, tilting your head back against the tree as he teases your nipples and touches you intimately. he doesn't hesitate, probing your slick entrance with a finger, feeling how ready you are for him

"fuck... "he curses under his breath, adding a second finger to stretch and prepare you. "so wet already... you want this, don't you? want me inside you".

"yes…" with a low, primal growl, he surges forward, burying his throbbing length deep within your welcoming heat. your tight walls clench around him, drawing him in further as he starts to move, setting a slow but deep pace that has you gasping and writhing against the tree.

"so tight... "he grunts, hips snapping forward to meet your eager thrusts. one hand grips your hip, holding you steady as the other reaches up to palm your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

"ahhh fuck" you moans loudly as he pounds into you, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as you cling to his shoulders. your nails dig into his skin as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core.

"more...harder...please" you beg shamelessly, lost in the intensity.his grip on your hip tightens almost painfully as he drives into you with increased ferocity, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the forest. sweat beads on his brow, mixing with the silver strands of hair that fall across his forehead.

"you have no idea how good you feel "he pants harshly, the tip of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast circles over the sensitive nub as he chases your impending climax. "come for me, Y/N...now... "

your scream of pleasure pushes him over the edge. with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and erupts inside you, filling you with wave after wave of hot seed. he holds you close, panting heavily as he rides out the aftershocks of his intense orgasm.

"fuck...that was... "he trails off, struggling to find words amidst the haze of post-coital bliss. slowly, he pulls out, watching with a mix of pride and trepidation as his cum leaks out of your well-used pussy. "we should probably get cleaned up before someone finds us like this... "he suggests, trying to sound casual despite the lingering desire in his gaze.

"yes.. "looks down at the evidence of your passionate encounter dripping down your thighs. feeling vulnerable. you two just fucked. you and your sensei. the kakashi hatake.

he notices your gaze drifting to the mess between your legs and feels a pang of something unfamiliar - concern, perhaps, or even affection. shaking off the unexpected emotions, he steps closer, offering you a hand to help you clean up.

"thank you" and he gives your hand a brief squeeze before releasing it, tucking himself back into his pants and straightening his flak jacket. "no need to thank me, Y/N. that was... mutual, to say the least. "

clearing his throat, he attempts to regain some composure, though his eyes still linger on yours with an unreadable expression. "now, let's get moving before we attract any unwanted attention. i'm supposed to be training you, after all. "

you nodded at him and preparing for heading back to village.

"and maybe keep this little tryst between us, hmm? for both our sakes. "his voice is firm, attempting to maintain a sense of normalcy, but there's a hint of softness in his tone that wasn't there before.

with that, he sets off through the trees, expecting you to follow. despite the unconventional start to your partnership, he can't deny the spark of excitement at the prospect of guiding such a fiery, passionate individual as yourself.

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