#Elite Open School

[applesjuice]

can we see MORE kieran, carmine and Juliana headcanons?

Probably not what you wanted but I was thinking today about how Ingo and Emmet would get along with Kieran and Carmine and I realized they're pretty much a mixture of the brothers personality wise. Ingo hits it off with Akari in hisui because 1) that's a whole child. But also Akari likes to battle, but specifically Akari likes doubles (combinations of two or more pokemon). Akari has mad little sibling energy too, and it's just reminding Ingo so much of someone he misses.

Kieran and Emmet have very similar tastes when it comes to their preferred battle methods and strategizing pokemon combinations. They'd totally get along so well. But also Kieran/Akari is kind of withdrawn, and more reserved like Ingo.

But Carmine on the other hand is similar to the two brothers in different ways. She is absolutely kind of unhinged and a little mean just like Emmet. But she's also so loud, like Ingo.

I was trying to figure out how both siblings would get along with Ingo and Emmet post Hisui and then I realized they are all very similar in different ways. They'd definitely all get along well, and Akari obviously gets along real well with Ingo. But it's just interesting to think how Emmet would take on a parentalish role since I always see fics with dad or uncle Ingo. He'd really like Carmine and Akari those are his emotional support minions. His brother comes back from the dead with a random kid and then turns out that kid has a sister who was totally the girl their cousin Drayton failed misreably at rizzing up when he was in school lol.

Definitely not what you wanted but you just reminded me of this lol.

Now Juliana, I hc her an Florian as being twins in this. I picture her before coming from Paladea as having messier hair that was always in her face, similar to the hairstyle in the BiriBiri video. But she got it cut and tried to put in some effort into her appearance once they moved because she saw this as her chance to make friends. She didn't really care about her appearance at all before like how she dressed and her lack of self care was definitely a reflection of her lack of self confidence. She's honestly pretty girly though and likes being able to figure out what she likes and doesn't like at her own pace.

When she was younger she thought the world of her brother. Floriqn was, to her, her best friend and the coolest most talented person ever. He was just so smart and kind ans talented she was his number one hype man. It wasn't until she was a bit older that she realized their dynamic was weird, and she's still dealing with the resentment she has for him now because she gets not that he pretty much condoned her treatment by actually being friends with people who bullied her so badly.

It's part of the reason why she feels so much guilt towards what happened with Kieran because she knows how it feels to be excluded and hates herself for taking part in doing that to Kieran for such a dumb, shallow reason.

[naranjafruitdrink]

Bienvenidos

Head Canons - you are dating Christian Varela Expósito. And this Newbie at School caught your Intrest! (Kind off 18+, so read at your own Risk i guess ^^)

-> Open attempts at flirting and the newbie's very own charm have made you curious - you give this student from a poor background a chance - and since then you have almost always had an arm around your shoulder, hip or not far from the end of your skirt!

-> That was also one of the words, you taught him while doing your English homework (a tragedy that Christian can barely speak English!) - Skirt - the second word was kiss - followed by an enthusiastic demonstration from your friend. He definitely understands Kiss!

-> He is very touchy and wants physical contact with you almost constantly, no matter what form it takes - whether it's holding hands or you sitting on his lap or you - chilling - in the school break room, it doesn't matter - you belong to him and he wants you all to himself.

-> Christian has tried more than once to convince you of the idea of ​​a threesome. But this isn't your cup of tea and if there's one thing your boyfriend can't handle, it's rejection from the Senorita he likes best of all the stuck-up idiots at Las Encinas!

-> Talking about love, amore and thrills - with this man by your side, hardly any place is safe from your burning love. Christian has a fable, for carrying out this act in the most unlikely places… including the toilet of a fancy restaurant… but what can you say in your defense? You completely fell for his charm.

-> With his cheerful character, he quickly learns how best to cheer you up when you're having a bad day and he really tries hard! You love how his eyes shine with such dedication and motivation when he grabs your hand and tells you about a date idea that will knock you out of your high society shoes.

-> You quickly realize that he is enthusiastic about things other than studying for the elite school. Christian prefers drinking, smoking, partying or flirting with other girls just for FUN…when he always confirms with a fiery kiss on the lips that you are his girl and that he only has eyes for you. You accept it and allow yourself to be tempted to adopt its peculiarities.

-> You quickly learn that he has a complicated relationship with his parents and that awakens your protective instinct. If they ever throw him out of the house, he can come to you at any time. You love him with all your heart and give him a level of trust that he previously only knew from Samuel. And Christian is eternally grateful to you for that (which he expresses through crazy ideas when making love or joking actions with his classmates, just to see your eyes shine, of course!)

-> As in every relationship, there are arguments - you both quickly become explosive and sometimes shout at each other, are angry with each other…. but no matter how short-tempered you are, you'll be in harmony again a day later at the latest… you only have eyes for each other and you love seeing the shocked looks from the other Las Encinas students when you walk hand in hand through the school hallways.

[itchy-ears]

my boss has an open preference for the only guy in the office, who is also the only person that comes from a professional background. today, it was just him and me in the office when she came in and she greeted only him and invited him out to a lunch with the senator who's visiting lol

and like, it does make me feel bad about myself on a visceral level, like any similar social exclusion would. but also, he's the son of an account exec and my dad stole $50k against my name and caused me to spend my teen years in secret mourning. so i'm proud of myself for becoming a lawyer anyway even if i'm not as attractive to some people in the field

[021894s]

TANGLED DESIRES- p.sh

PAIRING: enemy!sunghoon x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: At a prestigious private school, you and Park Sunghoon are locked in a constant rivalry. During a party at your friend Karina’s, a heated argument between you two escalates into an unexpected, passionate encounter. The next morning, you wake up in his arms, forcing both of you to confront the new, complicated tension between you. As you navigate the fallout and shifting feelings, you start to question if your biggest enemy might actually be something much more.

GENRE: enemies to lovers, rich kids au

WARNINGS: smut (unprotected sex, oral sex) rivalry, hurt feelings, angst. ALL ARE OF AGE

wc: 15.4k

You attend the most prestigious school in Korea, where the sky-high tuition fees are only accessible to those born into pure wealth. This elite institution is a playground for the richest families, and your name is synonymous with success. Your family, being the owners of one of Korea’s top corporations, you seem to have everything at your fingertips—a glamorous life of luxury, an enviable social circle, and endless opportunities.

To the outside world, you’re the quintessential rich girl: impeccably stylish, effortlessly popular, and seemingly flawless. Yet beneath this polished veneer lies a different reality. Despite your privileged upbringing, you’re kind-hearted, fiercely intelligent, and deeply dedicated to everything you do. Your friend group, including Jake, Jay, Heeseung, Sunoo, Niki, Jungwon, Yuna, and Karina, forms a close-knit circle that navigates the pressures of their world together.

But there’s always been one glaring exception: Park Sunghoon. The feud between the two of you is infamous, an unspoken tension that pulses beneath the surface of your otherwise harmonious friendships. No one really knows how it started, and no one seems to care enough to unravel it. Instead, everyone just tolerates your constant bickering.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The lunch table is alive with conversation, the usual chatter amplified by the excitement of the latest gossip. Karina sits comfortably beside Heeseung, leaning into him with an easy confidence that only she can pull off. She’s in the middle of talking about her parents’ latest venture—something about opening another resort somewhere exotic—when she casually drops the bomb.

“So, they’re gone for the whole weekend,” she says, her voice loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. “And you know what that means…”

Jake perks up immediately, his eyes bright. “Party?”

Karina grins. “Obviously. Saturday night, my place. No theme this time, just show up and bring your best energy.”

Yuna claps her hands in excitement. “Finally! It’s been forever since the last one. I was starting to forget what a real party looks like.”

Jay laughs. “As if you’d ever forget. You practically live for these things.”

Yuna sticks her tongue out at him, but her smile doesn’t waver. “Guilty as charged.”

Heeseung wraps an arm around Karina’s shoulders, looking amused. “You’re not worried about your parents finding out?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, they won’t even notice. And even if they do, what’s the worst that could happen? They’ll just buy me something to make up for being gone.”

“Must be nice,” Niki mutters, leaning back in his chair.

Sunoo nudges him with a grin. “Oh, come on, don’t act like you’re not excited. You were the first one to ask about the music last time.”

Niki shrugs, but he can’t hide his smile. “Yeah, well, only if it’s not Sunghoon’s terrible playlist again.”

You glance across the table, catching Sunghoon’s eye. He’s lounging back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “My playlist was fine, thank you very much,” he retorts. “It’s not my fault you have no taste.”

You snort. “Please, Sunghoon, your taste in music is as bad as your taste in everything else.”

He looks over at you, eyebrow raised. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Nothing, just that your definition of ‘good’ is highly questionable.”

He chuckles, the sound low and irritatingly smug. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Karina cuts in, sensing the rising tension. “Alright, let’s not turn this into another one of your little spats. Save it for the party, okay?”

Sunghoon smirks, still looking at you. “Looking forward to it already.”

You roll your eyes but can’t resist shooting back, “Don’t get too excited, I might just ignore you all night.”

“Oh, the horror,” he replies, his voice dripping with mock terror. “How will I ever survive?”

Jay laughs, nudging Jake. “You know, one day they might actually get along.”

Jake shakes his head, grinning. “Nah, where’s the fun in that?”

Karina steers the conversation back to the party details, running through a list of essentials while Heeseung nods along, offering suggestions. “Invite whoever you want,” she says, “oh except luci, last time I caught her giving mark head in my parents bedroom, I haven’t been able to go in there since.”

You laugh and nod in agreement, trying not to notice how Sunghoon is still watching you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you wonder what’s going through his head, but then you push the thought away. Whatever it is, it’s probably nothing you need to worry about.

Karina claps her hands, bringing the attention back to her. “So, everyone’s in?”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and the table erupts into a mix of laughter and excited chatter as plans start to form. You glance over at Sunghoon one more time, catching his eye for a brief second before looking away. This party is already shaping up to be interesting… and you have a feeling that’s an understatement.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The lunch buzz still lingers in your ears as the group makes its way back across the pristine campus grounds. The sunlight reflects off the sleek, modern architecture of the school’s main building, and you can’t help but admire the way everything here seems to sparkle—like even the bricks and mortar are aware of the school's prestige.

You find yourself walking beside Karina, who’s still chatting excitedly about the party, while Heeseung stays close, throwing in a comment or two. Yuna and Sunoo are a few steps ahead, their heads bent together as they giggle over something on Sunoo’s phone. You catch Jake and Jay trailing behind, still debating something about sports cars or the best summer destinations.

Just as you’re about to reach the entrance, you feel a presence beside you. You don’t need to turn your head to know who it is; Sunghoon always manages to sidle up to you when you least expect it.

“What, are you following me now?” you ask, not breaking your stride.

He chuckles. “Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself. It just so happens our lockers are in the same direction.”

“Right,” you drawl, rolling your eyes. “Like you don’t go out of your way to annoy me.”

He glances at you, smirk still firmly in place. “Maybe I just like seeing you get all riled up. It’s entertaining.”

You shoot him a glare, but before you can fire back a retort, the group reaches the main hallway. The chatter from the student body fills the air, a mix of excitement and post-lunch drowsiness. The smell of expensive cologne and designer perfumes lingers in the air, an unmistakable signature of the school’s elite.

Karina stops at her locker, Heeseung leaning against it with a casual arm draped over her shoulder. She turns to you, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “So, you’re coming early on Saturday, right? I need a hand setting things up.”

You nod, grateful for the distraction from Sunghoon. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Great!” She beams. “And maybe you can help me make sure everything stays under control. You know how things can get with this crowd.”

Heeseung laughs softly. “Good luck with that. I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to keep Sunoo and Niki under control for more than five minutes.”

As if on cue, Sunoo pops up beside you with a grin. “I heard that, Heeseung! I’m an angel, thank you very much.”

Niki appears at his side, raising an eyebrow. “An angel of chaos, maybe.”

The group laughs, and you feel the tension in your shoulders ease. It’s moments like these that make all the bickering and drama feel worth it.

But then, just as you’re about to make another comment, Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the noise. “So, Y/N,” he says casually, “what are you going to wear to the party? Let me guess… something that screams ‘trying too hard’?”

You whip your head around, narrowing your eyes at him. “And what are you planning on wearing, Sunghoon? Something that screams ‘I own everything but a personality’?”

There’s a collective gasp from your friends, followed by a chorus of laughter. Sunghoon raises his eyebrows, feigning a look of hurt. “Ouch, that one actually stung a little. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

You cross your arms, feeling a triumphant smile tug at your lips. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Try me.”

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice just enough that only you can hear. “Maybe I will,” he says, his eyes flicking over you in a way that makes your pulse quicken. “But you’re going to have to do better than that if you want to get under my skin.”

You’re about to retort when a voice interrupts. “Can we get through one day without you two turning everything into a competition?” Jay sighs, looking exasperated. “Seriously, it’s exhausting just watching you.”

Jake nods in agreement, though he’s grinning. “You guys need to find a new hobby. Preferably one that doesn’t involve verbal sparring in the middle of the hallway.”

You shrug, unable to resist the urge to keep poking at Sunghoon. “I’m open to suggestions, but I doubt Sunghoon has any better ideas.”

Sunghoon leans back, crossing his arms with a playful smile. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas. But I think you’d be too scared to try them.”

Before you can respond, the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Karina groans. “Ugh, saved by the bell. I guess we’ll have to pick this up later.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

As everyone starts to disperse to their respective classes, Sunghoon gives you one last look, a challenge in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he says smoothly. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is beating just a little faster. You can’t help but wonder what exactly he’s planning… and why a part of you is actually looking forward to finding out.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The day of the party arrives with a crisp, clear sky and a hint of excitement that seems to permeate every corner of the city. You wake up early, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervous energy. Karina had texted you the night before, reminding you to come over in the afternoon to help set up for the party. You agreed eagerly, knowing that any opportunity to help would give you something to focus on and take your mind off the strange tension building between you and Sunghoon.

When you arrive at Karina’s mansion, the house is buzzing with activity. Karina’s housekeeper greets you at the door with a warm smile, directing you to the large, open-plan living area where Karina is already busy coordinating the decorations with a small army of helpers. The space is being transformed into a glamorous party venue with twinkling lights, elegant table settings, and a dance floor that looks like it’s straight out of a high-end club.

Karina spots you as soon as you walk in, her face lighting up with relief and excitement. “Y/N! Perfect timing. I’m so glad you’re here. We could use an extra pair of hands.”

You smile, rolling up your sleeves. “What can I do to help?”

Karina hands you a stack of neatly folded napkins and points towards a table covered with party favors. “Start by setting these up on the tables. I want everything to look perfect tonight.”

You get to work, organizing napkins and arranging snack trays, chatting with Karina about the last-minute details. The hours fly by as you work alongside her, the room gradually coming together into a setting that is unmistakably Karina’s style—classy, sophisticated, and just a bit over the top.

As the afternoon drifts into evening, Karina claps her hands and gathers you for a brief break. “Alright, it’s time for a quick change. You’ve been working so hard, and I want you to look as fabulous as the rest of the evening.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-teasing. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Karina waves her hand dismissively. “you don’t want me to answer that. cmon you’re hot, why not show off a little?”

Before you can protest, Karina ushers you into her bedroom and pulls out a sleek, little black dress from her closet. The dress is short and simple with a cut that accentuates your figure without being too revealing.

“Put this on,” Karina insists, handing you the dress. “Trust me, you’ll look amazing. And don’t worry about the hair and makeup; I’ve got that covered too.”

You change quickly, admiring the way the dress fits and the way it makes you feel more confident and glamorous. When you step out of the room, Karina is waiting with a professional-looking makeup kit and a few hair tools.

As she works on your hair and makeup, she chatters away, filling the room with her usual upbeat energy. “you look sexy”

You smile at her reflection in the mirror. “Thanks, Karina. You don’t think it’s a bit much? It’s definitely more out there than I usually go for”.

Karina beams, finishing up with a final touch of lipstick. “babe there’s no such thing as too much. And who knows, maybe you’ll catch someone eye tonight,” she tells you with a wink.

With a laugh and a final look at yourself in the mirror, you feel a surge of excitement. The dress feels perfect, and the makeup and hair make you look polished and ready for the night. As you head back downstairs, you catch sight of Karina’s smile of approval, and you can’t help but feel a bit more confident about the evening ahead.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The music starts pumping through the walls as you and Karina make your way back downstairs. The final touches have been set, and the room looks like a scene straight out of a teen movie: fairy lights strung up in every corner, a couple of disco balls catching the light just right, and a dance floor that practically begs people to let loose. Karina surveys everything with a grin that stretches from ear to ear.

“See?” she says, nudging you with her elbow. “This is why I always go all out.”

You chuckle, glancing around. “Okay, okay, you were right. This does look kind of amazing.”

The doorbell rings, and Karina practically bounces on her toes. “That must be the first guests! Come on, we have to greet everyone in style.”

The two of you rush to the front door, and soon enough, your friends start streaming in. Sunoo is the first to arrive, with Niki and Jungwon right behind him. They all look ready to have the best night ever, and Sunoo immediately zeroes in on you, his eyes going wide.

“Oh. My. God. Y/N!” Sunoo exclaims dramatically, clutching his chest. “Look at you in that little black dress! Who is she?!”

You roll your eyes, fighting back a grin. “Alright, Sunoo, calm down. It’s just a dress.”

“It’s not just a dress,” Niki interjects with a grin. “It’s the dress. Who are you trying to impress tonight?”

Jungwon nudges Niki. “Yeah, spill. Is there someone you’re hoping to catch the eye of?”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “Oh, please, like I’d tell you guys even if there was.”

More of your friends arrive, and soon the room is buzzing with chatter and laughter. Jake and Jay show up not long after, both of them effortlessly cool as always. Jay immediately gets to work DJ-ing from his phone, while Jake heads to the makeshift bar, already concocting a round of mixed drinks.

Then, just as you start to relax, you see him—Park Sunghoon. He steps in, looking annoyingly good in a casual black button-down and jeans. His eyes scan the room until they find you. For a split second, he looks almost surprised, but then his trademark smirk appears.

“Well, well,” Sunghoon says as he strolls over to you, hands casually shoved into his pockets. “Look who decided to play dress-up. You got a hot date tonight or something?”

You scoff, giving him a look. “Oh, please, Sunghoon. Unlike you, I don’t have to try so hard to impress everyone.”

Sunghoon chuckles, leaning in just slightly. “Right. Because you just show up looking like that for fun?”

Before you can shoot back a retort, Karina swoops in, looping her arm through yours. “Hey, Sunghoon, quit being a troll. Y/N looks amazing, and you know it. Now go get a drink and try to be nice for once!”

He holds up his hands, his grin widening. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave... for now.”

You watch as he saunters off to join Jake at the bar, and Karina gives you a knowing look. “Don’t let him get under your skin tonight, okay?”

You nod, trying to brush it off, even though you’re still buzzing from his teasing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The party is in full swing now—music thumping, people laughing, and the lights twinkling overhead like stars. You find yourself swept up in the fun, moving from one conversation to the next, the earlier tension with Sunghoon momentarily forgotten. You’re by the snack table, popping a few chips into your mouth when Haechan sidles up next to you with his signature grin.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says smoothly, leaning in a little closer than necessary. “Looking good tonight. That dress is seriously working for you.”

You smile at him, amused by his blatant flirting. “Thanks, Haechan. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” you reply, playing along. He’s always been a harmless flirt, and you don’t mind the attention tonight.

He grins wider, clearly pleased. “I try. But seriously, I can’t believe I’m just now noticing how stunning you are. Were you hiding this whole time or just waiting for the perfect moment to make your grand entrance?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, you know me. Always dramatic,” you joke, and he chuckles, leaning in a bit more.

“You’re full of surprises, Y/N. Makes me want to know you better,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, and you can’t help but laugh at his over-the-top delivery.

What you don’t notice is that from across the room, Sunghoon has been watching the entire interaction with a growing frown. He’s leaning against a wall, a drink in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches Haechan lean closer to you, flashing that charming smile. His jaw tightens, and his grip on the cup becomes visibly tighter.

Heeseung, who’s been standing beside him, follows his line of sight and notices the tense look on his friend’s face. A knowing grin spreads across Heeseung’s lips as he leans over to Sunghoon, nudging him with his elbow.

“Someone looks like they’ve got their feathers ruffled,” Heeseung teases, keeping his voice low so only Sunghoon can hear.

Sunghoon scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Heeseung laughs. “That’s why you’ve been glaring at Haechan like you’re ready to knock that grin off his face.”

Sunghoon doesn’t respond right away, but his eyes remain fixed on you and Haechan. Heeseung watches with amusement, clearly enjoying the show.

“Just admit it, man,” Heeseung continues, his tone light. “You’re jealous.”

Sunghoon finally looks away from you, giving Heeseung a dismissive look. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t like seeing him act like a fool.”

Heeseung snorts. “Right. Because you’re so worried about Haechan embarrassing himself.” He claps a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Come on, dude, just go talk to her. Or are you afraid she’ll turn you down?”

Sunghoon shoots him a glare. “Shut up, Heeseung.”

Heeseung just laughs harder, clearly unbothered by Sunghoon’s mood. “Alright, whatever you say. But just so you know, glaring at Haechan isn’t going to do anything except make you look more obvious.”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer, but Heeseung’s words seem to hit a nerve. He turns his attention back to you, his expression unreadable, though there’s still a flicker of something in his eyes—something more than just casual interest.

Meanwhile, you’re still chatting with Haechan, completely unaware of the little drama unfolding across the room. But you can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching you, and when you finally glance up, your eyes meet Sunghoon’s for just a second. He quickly looks away, and you can’t help but wonder what that was all about.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The party continues to buzz around you, but after a while, the noise and energy start to feel a bit overwhelming. You decide you need a break, a moment to yourself away from the chaos. Without saying anything, you slip out of the crowded living room and head toward the balcony, where the air is cooler and the music is just a muffled hum in the background.

You push open the glass doors and step outside, letting the crisp night air hit your face. It’s a welcome change from the warmth inside. You lean against the railing, taking a deep breath, trying to clear your mind. The stars are faint above the city lights, and you can hear distant sounds of traffic, a reminder of the world continuing outside this little bubble of a party.

You close your eyes for a moment, just enjoying the quiet. But then, you hear the soft sound of footsteps behind you. You turn, half-expecting to see Karina or maybe Sunoo, but your heart skips a beat when you see Sunghoon stepping out onto the balcony.

“What do you want, Sunghoon?” you sigh, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

“I could ask you the same thing” he replies, his voice closer than you expected. You feel the warmth of his body behind you, jus inches away. “Running away from the party?”

”Hardly.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “Just needed a break from all the fakes and liars inside.”

His lips curl into that familiar, infuriating smirk. “And here I thought you thrived on that type of thing. Who knew Y/N had limits?”

You roll tour eyes, turning back to the view. “Yeah, well, believe it or not I do. But you wouldn’t know anything, would you?”

Sunghoon steps closer, his breath brushing against your ear, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine. You feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks and something else you refuse to acknowledge. “You don’t know anything about me, Sunghoon. And id keep it that way if I were you.”

He laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes your skin prickle. “I think you like it when I get under your skin. Why else do you always react like this?” You scoff, turning to face him, only then realizing how close he actually was. “Maybe i’m just tired of you acting like you’re gods gift to the world. newsflash: you’re not.”

His grin widens, and he takes another step closer, invading you’re space entirely as if he wasn’t already to begin with. “Admit it.” he says, his voice dropping lower. “You like our little games. You like the way I push your buttons.”

Your heart is pounding now, and you hate that he’s right, that there’s something about him that gets to you in a way no one else does.But you refuse to five him the satisfaction of knowing it. “In your dreams,” you snap, though the breathlessness in your voice betrays you.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm, and you feel a jolt of heat at the contact. “Is that so?” he whispers, his lips dangerously close to yours now, his eyes dark with challenge. “Because I think you’re lying. I think you want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you’re frozen, caught in his gaze. The intensity in his eyes makes your pulse race, a mix of anger and undeniable attraction. He’s so close now that you can feel his breath your lips, and before you can stop yourself, you grab his shirt, pulling him the last few inches towards you.

“Maybe I just want to shut you up,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “Then do it,” he taunts, his lips brushing against yours, almost but not quite a kiss. It’s all the encouragement you need. You close the distance, your mouth crashing against his. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you press against him, fueled by a mix of anger and desire.

The kiss is intense, a battle of wills as much as it is anything else. His lips are firm, demanding, and you meet him with equal force, neither of you willing to give an inch. Your hands move up to his hair, tugging slightly and he groans against your mouth, deepening the kiss.

You’re lost in it. Lost in him, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. His hands slide up your back, his touch sending sparks through you, and you hate how much you crave it, hate how much you want him despite everything.

You’re breathless when you finally pull back, your heart hammering against your ribs. Sunghoon’s lips are parted, his breaths coming in ragged, and his eyes are dark with something dangerous—something you know you shouldn’t be entertaining.

His hand is still on your waist, his thumb brushing the exposed skin just beneath the hem of your shirt, and you swear every nerve in your body is on fire. He leans in close, his lips grazing your ear, and his voice comes out in a low, almost pleading murmur. “Come back to my place.”

It isn’t a question, but there’s something in his tone that sends a shiver down your spine, a combination of hunger and desperation that mirrors what’s coursing through your veins. For a moment, you’re tempted—so, so tempted to just say yes and give in to whatever this is. But logic fights its way to the surface, and you pull back just enough to meet his gaze.

“Are you serious?” you ask, your voice wavering more than you’d like.

His expression doesn’t falter, his eyes locked onto yours. “Dead serious.” He swallows, his grip on your waist tightening, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “I don’t want this to end here.”

You hesitate, your mind racing. This is Sunghoon—Park Sunghoon—the guy you’ve spent so long arguing with, glaring at across rooms, doing everything in your power to avoid. But there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you now, something raw and real that makes it hard to think clearly.

“I don’t know,” you say, trying to sound firm, though your resolve is crumbling by the second. “I mean… this is crazy.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, his voice still low, still laced with that edge of desperation. “But I think you like crazy.” His lips curl into a half-smile, that familiar cockiness tempered with something else, something softer.

You bite your lip, weighing your options, feeling the tension between you both—hot, magnetic, impossible to ignore. “This is a bad idea,” you whisper, though even you can hear the lack of conviction in your words.

Sunghoon steps closer, closing the distance again, his forehead almost touching yours. “Probably the worst,” he says, his breath hot against your skin. “But if you don’t say yes, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, can feel how fast it’s racing, and you know he means it. Part of you is screaming to walk away, to leave now before you make a mistake, but there’s another part—a louder, more reckless part—that’s screaming for you to stay, to see where this goes.

“Just one night,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours again, barely a kiss, just enough to make you shiver. “No strings, no expectations. Just… us.”

You close your eyes, fighting against every instinct telling you to run. But when you open them again, his gaze is still locked onto yours, and you can’t deny the heat pooling in your stomach, the way your skin tingles with every touch.

“Fine,” you breathe, barely louder than a whisper. “One night.”

His grin is immediate, but there’s relief in it too, and he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours again, this time harder, more insistent. “Let’s get out of here,” he says against your mouth, his hand sliding to intertwine with yours, and you know there’s no going back now.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You manage to sneak past your friends to leave Karina’s mansion, the partygoers and scattered distractions making it all that more simple.

The drive is quiet, both of you caught in your own thoughts. The city passes by in a blur of neon signs and headlights, the streets quieter than they were earlier. You steal a glance at him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the wheel like he’s counting down the seconds.

Sunghoon pulls up to his mansion, its sprawling, modern architecture framed by towering trees and high walls that ensure absolute privacy. The wide driveway curves up to the grand entrance, where soft lights cast a warm glow over the marble steps and tall double doors. You glance around, taking in the sheer size of the place—not because it surprises you, but because you’ve never been here before.

Your own family’s estate is nothing to scoff at, but there’s a distinct style to his home—something sleek and almost understated, despite its size. You tilt your head slightly, noticing the details: the way the garden is meticulously maintained, the sharp lines of the building softened by the greenery that surrounds it. It’s impressive, in a way that’s different from what you’re used to.

He takes your hand to lead you inside, you follow him down the dimly lit corridor, decorated with family pictures and modern art that costs a fortune. He pauses at his bedroom door, his hand still holding yours, and turns to look at you one more time. “Last chance to change your mind,” he murmurs, though his thumb strokes the back of your hand, a comforting gesture.

You take a deep breath, then shake your head. “I’m not changing my mind.”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Good,” he whispers, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

You step inside, and he follows, closing the door behind you. The space is dimly lit, warm, and there’s an unexpected coziness to it—minimalistic but comfortable. The air feels thick with everything unspoken between you.

Sunghoon turns to you, his gaze intense, and he steps closer, his hand moving up to your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he admits quietly, his voice almost a growl.

Your breath catches, and you feel the heat rush to your face. “Then stop talking,” you murmur, your own voice breathless.

His lips are on yours in an instant, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s all-consuming, filled with all the tension, the want, the frustration that’s been building for so long. You kiss him back just as fiercely, hands sliding up his chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding beneath your palms.

Sunghoon's hands roamed over your body, squeezing your tits. You let out a small involuntary moan, a grunt leaving him immediately after. His lips move down to your next, trailing up and down before reaching that sweet spot right behind your ear.

It all feels to fucking good, your panties sticking to your core. He moves to sit on the edge of his bed, pulling you into his lap before catching your lips once again. His growing hardness is poking at you. “You look so fucking sexy in this little dress,” He tells you in a low tone that makes you clench around nothing, the ache between your legs growing. You start grinding on him, his hands grabbing your ass, encouraging you to keep grinding against his clothed length. “That’s it baby, grind on me, keep rubbing that pretty pussy over my cock.”

Your head is thrown back, lip in between your teeth, his words encouraging your quickening movements. “Need you so bad, Hoon,” you manage to get out.

“Yeah baby? tell me what you need.” He tells you. It’s almost embarrassing how much you wanted him. “Need your cock.” Without another word you feel his hands back on your ass, lifting you up and throwing you down on his bed. He looks up at you with mischievious eyes, hovering over you as his hands roam down the sides of your thighs to them hem of your dress. “Can i take this off?” he asks, caressing the soft, exposed skin there.

Eagerly, you nod quickly, reaching for the hem to help him pull it up and over your head. Luckily you opted for a pair of black lacy panties and opposed to your more comfortable ones. He audibly sighs and your exposed figure, “You’re so beautiful,” He tells you, his fingers working to slide your panties down your legs and tossing them to the side, revealing just how much you wanted him.

“Shit baby you’re so wet.” He leans down, placing soft, wet kisses just below your navel, dangerously close to where you wanted him most. “Hoon please,” you murmur out. He straightens out, unbuckling his belt to pull down his pants and boxers all in one go. While he wasn’t remarkably long, he made up for it in girth. You lick your lips at the sight, anticipation and heat pooling.

He pumps himself a couple times before he’s lining himself up with your entrance. He takes his time, making sure to smear your slick between your clit and his length. You feel his tip parting your folds, your breath hitching in your throat. “You ready?” his eyes meet yours for assurance. No words come out your mouth, all you do is nod.

He enters you carefully, a strong contrast from his words earlier in the night. The last thing he wants is to rush, just because of how unpatient and horny he is. You close your eyes, holding in the gasp that threatens to escape your lips. “Relax baby, I got you.”

“I know,” you breathe out. The sudden stretch has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. The burn quickly turning into a delicious one. “That’s it,” he praises you continuing to slide in until he’s nestled completely between your walls. “You take me so well,” he grunts, his length twitching inside of you.

“Fuck me, Hoon” you murmur, your walls clench around him, throwing his head back at the feeling. Before you know it he’s pulling out of you, only to smack his hips back against yours. It knocks all the oxygen out your lungs, leaving you breathless as he repeats the same action over and over again. “Fuck,” you breathe out, focusing on how good he looks above you.

You’re in a complete feeling of euphoria. Sunghoon’s skills topping those of the few guys you’ve slept with before. In that moment, all the bickering and years of back and forth leave your mind completely. The only thing closing your mind is how good him of all people is making you feel.

“Hoon… faster,” you let out, his hips snapping in a faster pace on command. Your back arches off the bed, hands grasping the sheets in small fists. He notices and reaches for them to thread his fingers through yours, pinning them above your head. “You like that baby? love how good you feel… fuck you’re so tight. Gonna make you cum so hard.”

“I’m so c-close, fuck,” you breathe out. His thrusts become messier and you know he’s close. “Cum on my cock pretty,” he grunts, hands letting go of yours to grip your hips. Clenching around him, it takes a few for pumps before you’re both coming undone. His cock twitching inside you as he fucks his cum into you.

He drops his sweaty forehead against your shoulder, quick, deep breaths meeting your skin and he comes down from his high. It takes you both a while before your breathing steadys. “You good?,” he asks you, settling on the bed beside you. “mhm,” is all you say in response, unsure as to where this leaves your relationship. It all felt to good to ignore. “Are you good?” you ask him after a moment of silence. “Better than I have in a long time.”

You’re not sure when you fall asleep. The exhaustion taking over you all at once.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The morning light filters softly through the heavy curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. You wake to the sound of birds chirping outside, their songs a peaceful contrast to the intensity of the night before. The bed is warm, and you’re nestled comfortably under the covers, Sunghoon’s arm draped over you.

You shift slightly, the movement causing Sunghoon to stir beside you. He mumbles something incoherent, tightening his hold on you before settling back into a deeper sleep. You take a moment to just lie there, letting yourself absorb the strange, surreal comfort of the situation. There’s an odd serenity in the room, a calm that feels almost unreal given the whirlwind of emotions that led you here.

As you slowly become more aware, you gently untangle yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him. You sit up and stretch, glancing around at the elegant room that’s now your temporary sanctuary. The soft morning light highlights the sleek lines and modern decor, giving the space an almost ethereal quality.

You slide out of bed and make your way to the bathroom, feeling a little self-conscious but determined to gather yourself. You glance at yourself in the mirror, trying to process the whirlwind of the past night. The evidence of sleep lingers in your eyes, and you smooth your hair, mentally preparing yourself for whatever comes next.

When you return to the bedroom, Sunghoon is still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You take a moment to just watch him, the vulnerability in his expression softened by sleep. There’s a part of you that feels a pang of something—softness, maybe even affection—though you’re still trying to fully understand what it all means.

Deciding not to linger too long, you quietly gather your things and start to get dressed. You’re pulling on your clothes when you hear a rustling behind you. You turn to find Sunghoon blinking awake, his gaze immediately locking on you with a sleepy, yet intense look.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

You smile softly, trying to keep things light despite the previous night's intensity. “Morning. I didn’t want to wake you.”

He stretches lazily, a smirk forming on his lips. “And here I was thinking you’d sneak out before I even woke up. Not very considerate of you, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was supposed to tiptoe around your mansion.”

He chuckles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Yeah, well, you should be lucky you’re not being kicked out for your unexpected visit.”

You roll your eyes, pulling on your shirt. “Oh, please. It’s not like I forced my way in. You made it pretty clear you wanted me here.”

His smirk widens. “True. And now I’m faced with the charming aftermath of our little escapade. How do you intend to handle that?”

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual. “I think we both know this doesn’t exactly change things. We still don’t like each other. This was… a one-off.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “A one-off? That’s what we’re calling it now? What happened to all that intense ‘hate’ from last night?”

You narrow your eyes at him, feeling a bit defensive. “It’s complicated. We both know that. I’m just here to sort myself out.”

He stands up, stretching with a yawn. “Well, I suppose if you’re done with the morning-after drama, I should at least make you breakfast.”

You look at him skeptically. “Breakfast? You’re really pulling out the stops now?”

He gives you a mockingly hurt look. “Don’t sound so surprised. Even enemies deserve to be fed after a night like that.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Fine. Breakfast it is. But don’t think this means I’m sticking around for a whole lot of chit-chat.”

He grins, clearly pleased with your response. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just a quick meal and then you can be on your way.”

As he leads you to the kitchen, you both fall into a familiar rhythm, trading barbs and jabs that feel almost comfortable in their own way. The awkwardness of the night before is still there, but it’s tempered by the humor and banter that defines your relationship.

In the kitchen, Sunghoon starts pulling out ingredients, his movements confident and efficient. You watch him, feeling a strange mix of irritation and appreciation. Despite everything, there’s something almost endearing about the way he’s trying to play the gracious host.

“So, what’s the plan after breakfast?” you ask, grabbing a coffee cup and filling it. “Are we going to pretend like nothing happened, or do you have some other grand gesture in mind?”

He looks over at you with a smirk. “Maybe I’ll just enjoy the novelty of seeing you eat my food. Consider it a small victory.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a genuine smile on your lips. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’m not here for long.”

He chuckles, placing a plate of food in front of you. “Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you leave right after. I’m sure we’ll find new ways to annoy each other soon enough.”

You take a bite of the breakfast, shaking your head in mock exasperation. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As you eat, the tension from the night before begins to ease, replaced by the familiar dynamic of your interactions. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s familiar—a small reminder that despite everything, some things never really change.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The bell rings, signaling the end of the period, you gather your things and stand up, eager to leave the classroom and escape the strange tension that’s been hanging between you and Sunghoon all day. You’re heading toward the door when you feel a light tap on your shoulder. You turn around to find Sunghoon standing close, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Sunghoon leans in, his face just inches from yours. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his proximity even though you try to back away slightly. “You look cute today,” he whispers, his voice low and deliberately teasing.

You freeze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat as his words sink in. You’re taken aback by the unexpected comment, feeling a rush of irritation mixed with something you can’t quite define. You quickly compose yourself, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Seriously?” you hiss, trying to keep your voice low so that no one else hears. “Now you’re trying to play nice? How pathetic.”

Sunghoon pulls back slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just making an observation,” he says innocently, though the amusement in his eyes betrays him.

You roll your eyes, your frustration evident. “Yeah, well, save it for someone who actually cares. I’m not in the mood for your games.”

As you turn and walk toward the door, you hear Sunghoon’s laughter behind you, light and mocking. You try to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks as you make your way out of the classroom, determined not to let him get under your skin. Despite your efforts to stay composed, his words linger in your mind, adding to the awkwardness and confusion of the day.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Lunch at school is a lively affair, with the cafeteria buzzing with the chatter of students and the clatter of trays. You and your friends—Yuna, Karina, and the rest—settle into your usual spot at the table. Sunghoon and his group are seated across from you, and you can feel his gaze lingering on you, even as you try to focus on the conversation with your friends.

Karina is mid-sentence, animatedly discussing the latest school gossip when Sunghoon's voice cuts through. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You can't actually believe that nonsense.”

You glance up, catching Sunghoon’s eyes. He’s smirking, clearly enjoying the opportunity to poke at you. “And what’s so ridiculous about it?” you retort, trying to keep your voice steady despite the irritation brewing inside you.

“Seriously?” Sunghoon’s grin widens. “It’s just a bunch of exaggerated stories. You’ve always had a knack for falling for that kind of thing.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a familiar annoyance bubbling up. “Says the guy who’s always spouting off about how everything’s ‘not worth his time.’”

Sunghoon leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “At least I don’t get caught up in every little bit of drama that comes my way.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I’m not the one who spends half his day looking for ways to pick fights. Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with making everything a competition, you’d see things more clearly.”

Yuna and Karina exchange glances, trying to stifle their laughter as the two of you go back and forth. Karina nudges you playfully. “Looks like you two are back to your old routine.”

You shoot her a sidelong glance, annoyed but unable to hide a small smile. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Meanwhile, Sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on you, his smirk never fading. Every time you catch him looking, you feel a mix of frustration and unease. His gaze is unrelenting, and despite your best efforts to ignore it, you can’t help but feel self-conscious.

“What are you staring at?” you snap, catching him in the act.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, his expression innocent. “Just observing. Is that a problem?”

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “Maybe if you had something better to do than harass me, you wouldn’t have to be so nosy.”

He chuckles, leaning forward with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Maybe I just enjoy watching you get all riled up. It’s entertaining.”

You glare at him, feeling your irritation spike. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a compliment.”

Sunghoon shrugs, still smirking. “Suit yourself.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

After lunch, you head to your next class with a sense of relief, hoping to escape the tension of the cafeteria. As you settle into your seat, the classroom buzzes with the usual pre-class chatter. You glance around, hoping to avoid any more interactions with Sunghoon, but he’s in the same class, sitting a few rows behind you.

The teacher arrives, and the room quiets down as the lesson begins. You try to focus on the lecture, but the lingering effects of the lunchtime bickering keep your thoughts scattered. Every now and then, you can feel Sunghoon’s eyes on you, though you avoid turning around to confirm it.

Halfway through the class, you feel a small piece of paper land softly on your desk. You glance down to find a note with neat handwriting:

*“Can we at least pretend to be civil? I promise I’m not plotting your demise.”*

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. You scribble a quick reply:

“Why start now? It’s more fun to keep you on your toes.”

You fold the note and toss it back over your shoulder, hoping it will reach him without drawing too much attention. A few moments later, you see Sunghoon’s hand reach forward to grab it, his expression unreadable.

The rest of the class proceeds in a blur of lectures and notes. The occasional glances you and Sunghoon exchange are filled with unspoken tension, but you both manage to keep your interactions to a minimum.

At the end of your lecture, you pack up your things and make your way out of the classroom. You’re heading down the hall when you hear Sunghoon’s voice behind you.

“Hey, wait up.”

You stop, turning to see him catching up with you. He’s wearing a casual expression, though there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

“Seriously? What now?” you ask, trying to keep your tone even.

Sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you, and he seems to consider his next words carefully. “So, I was thinking… why don’t you come over to my place later?”

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. “For what? We already had our… whatever that was.”

Sunghoon gives you a knowing look, his smirk widening. “Come on, you know you’re curious. Besides, you know you want me.”

You feel a rush of heat at his words, and you try to maintain your composure. “And what happened to it being a one-night thing? Are you trying to make this a regular thing now?”

Sunghoon’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I just want to spend more time with you. Either way, I think you’re interested.”

You hesitate, feeling the pull of his words. The desire that was ignited the night before is still burning strong, and you find yourself tempted despite your better judgment.

With a sigh, you give in, unable to resist the allure of what he’s offering. “Alright, fine. I’ll come over. But just to see what you have in mind.” Sunghoon’s smile broadens, clearly pleased with your decision. “Great. see you later.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Later that night, you stand outside Sunghoon’s, house, or rather mansion. With a deep breath, you ring the doorbelll, and a moment later, Sunghoon opens the door. His eyes rake over you, and there’s that cocky familiar smirk on his face. “Youre here,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. There’s no hint of surprise, just a kind of smug statisfaction, like he knew you’d come.

“Yeah,” you reply, stepping inside “so what’s this all about?” Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately. He just walks past you, heading into the foyer. You follow, your curiosity piqued, but you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker back to you with that same intent look. He turns around suddenly, before you can even process what’s happening, he’s closing the distance between you, leaning in like he’s about to kiss you.

“Woah wait,” you say quickly, pressing a hand against him firm chest to stop him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Sunghoon pauses, eyebrows raised, but there’s no real apology in his expression. “What do you think in doing?” he counters, his voice low, almost daring him to challenge you. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. “I didn’t come here just to… you know.”

He smirks, leaning in just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath. “Then why did you come here?”

You hesitate, caught between wanting to play it cool and the undeniable pull you feel toward him. “Maybe I was curious.” Sunghoon chuckles, “You’re here because you want this, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hand grazing your hip lightly, testing your boundaries.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

His smirk widens. “I know enough.” He leans in again, and this time, his lips brush against your neck, a bold move that sends a jolt of heat through you. You bite your lip, figuring the urge to melt into his touch. “I didn’t say you could—“

“Then stop me,” he challenges, his voice a whisper against your skin. Your mind races every logical thought battling against the desire that’s been simmering between you since the other night. You hate how easily he gets under your skin, how is arrogance is both infuriating and strangely alluring. But instead of pushing him away, you find yourself lingering, testing the r limits just like he is.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, half annoyed, half breathless. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression smug but hungry. “Yet I don’t see you walking away.”

You hate that he’s right. Instead of anything else, you meet his gaze head on, feeling that dangerous spark between you flicker into something more. “Just shut up and kiss me,” you say, finally giving in, if only to wipe that smug look off his face. And he does—without hesitation, with the kind of intensity that makes your head spin. It’s heated, unrestrained, and nothing like you imagined, and yet somehow it’s exactly what you wanted.

With a frustrated sigh, you put a hand on his chest and push him back a step. “Okay, seriously, what is this?” you demand, trying to keep your tone steady. “We can’t just keep… doing this whenever we feel like it. It’s stupid.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking way too amused for your liking. “Why not? You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just… I don’t want this to get messy.”

He smirks, clearly entertained by your struggle. “Messy? You mean you don’t want people to know you like kissing me?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I don’t like anything about you, Sunghoon. But if we’re being honest, there’s… something here, and I don’t see it going away anytime soon.”

His grin widens, and you want to slap it right off his face. “So, what? You’re proposing a deal?”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe. Friends with benefits. No strings attached, no drama, no catching feelings.”

Sunghoon chuckles, but there’s an edge to it. “Friends? I don’t think we’re even close to that.”

“Fine,” you snap, annoyed that he’s right. “Enemies with benefits then. Just… an arrangement. To get this out of our systems.”

His gaze darkens, and for a second, you think you see something flicker there, something unreadable. But then he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “And what makes you think I’d agree to that?”

You raise your chin, meeting his challenge head-on. “Because you want this just as much as I do. Maybe more.”

He pauses, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he says, his voice low. “But here’s the deal: we do this my way. No whining, no complaining, and you definitely don’t get to pretend you don’t want it.”

You scowl, hating how cocky he looks, how certain he is that you’ll cave. “Fine,” you bite back. “But don’t think for a second that this means I like you.”

He laughs, the sound rich and mocking. “Trust me, I’d hate it if you did.”

You feel your blood boil at his arrogance, but there’s a thrill in it too, in the way you both seem to enjoy this game. “Deal,” you snap, holding out your hand.

He takes it, but instead of shaking, he pulls you in closer, his lips just inches from yours. “Just remember,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours, “this doesn’t change anything. I still can’t stand you.”

You smirk, matching his intensity. “Right back at you.”

And before you know it, his lips are crashing against yours again, and all that frustration and anger blurs into something reckless and wild. For now, you’ll play his game, but you know this is far from over.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Over the next few weeks, the “arrangement” with Sunghoon becomes a twisted game of secrecy and tension. You find yourself sneaking glances in class, meeting him in darkened hallways between periods, and exchanging heated looks across crowded lunch tables. The two of you are constantly dancing on the edge of discovery, and it’s becoming harder to hide the intensity simmering between you.

It starts small. The accidental brush of fingers when passing by in the hallway, the way his eyes linger a little too long when you’re speaking. But then, it escalates. The stolen moments between classes turn into late-night texts and spontaneous meetings wherever you can find some privacy. Empty classrooms, deserted stairwells, even the back of the library—places where no one would think to find the two of you together. The more time passes, the harder it gets to keep up the charade.

You’re starting to notice the way his friends glance between you two, confused by the sudden silences or the shared looks you forget to hide. Jay catches you one morning when you’re walking out of the library with Sunghoon following a few steps behind, your hair slightly mussed, your lips redder than usual.

“What’s going on there?” he asks, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “You and Sunghoon plotting world domination or something?”

You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. “Please. He’s too much of an idiot for that.”

But Jay looks unconvinced, his gaze flicking back to where Sunghoon is standing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching you with a smirk that’s all too knowing. “Sure,” Jay says, dragging out the word like he’s not buying it.

At lunch, it’s even worse. Sunghoon sits across from you, his foot nudging yours under the table. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to send a jolt up your spine. You kick him back, hard, and he just chuckles, leaning back in his chair like he’s thoroughly enjoying the game.

“What are you two whispering about?” Yuna asks, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. You’re both quick to cover it up, but it’s obvious that your friends are starting to catch on.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon says smoothly, his voice annoyingly casual. “Just telling Y/N that she looks like she needs more sleep. Those dark circles are really showing.”

Your jaw clenches, but you force a sweet smile, playing along. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll sleep just fine once I stop seeing your face every day.”

He grins, but there’s a flicker of something more heated in his eyes, something you recognize all too well. “Yeah, right.”

Karina frowns, sensing the tension that seems to hang in the air whenever you two are in the same room. “Seriously, what is up with you guys?” she asks, tilting her head.

You wave it off, laughing a little too loudly. “We’re just being our usual selves. You know how it is—can’t stand each other.”

But your friends are starting to notice the little things. The way Sunghoon’s gaze always seems to drift in your direction, the way you keep sneaking out of group study sessions with flimsy excuses, only to return looking flustered and breathless. Sunoo even catches you and Sunghoon exchanging hushed words in the corner of the hallway, too close for comfort, and he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin forming on his lips.

“Are you two planning a secret mission, or is there something else we should know?” he asks, his tone playful but probing.

Sunghoon just shrugs, but you can feel his eyes on you, daring you to say something. “No mission,” he replies coolly, “unless it’s trying to survive Y/N’s terrible attitude.”

You force a laugh, but the heat in your cheeks gives you away. “Yeah, well, some of us have better things to do than deal with you, Sunghoon.”

But it’s getting harder to pretend, harder to keep the fire between you from spilling over in front of everyone else. Every time he’s near, it feels like the world narrows down to just the two of you, a constant push and pull that’s impossible to ignore. The stolen kisses, the midnight texts, the moments of heated bickering that seem to blur into something more—it’s becoming too much to hide.

And it’s only a matter of time before someone figures it out.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You grip the sheets of your bed, lip caught between your teeth as sunghoon is under your duvet, tonguing your wet entrance, heat pooling in your belly, felling the intensity of your orgasm creeping up on you.

It’s all cut short when your door bursts open without warning, and Karina barges in, her voice already raised. “Y/N, I swear I’m going to lose my mind—!”

You freeze, your heart stopping in your chest. “Karina!” you squeak, quickly yanking the sheets up to your chin. “What happened to knocking?”

Karina stops mid-rant, blinking at you. “Oh, come on, like I ever knock?” she scoffs, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Anyway, you will not believe what Heeseung just did—”

She’s moving closer to the bed, and you panic, shifting slightly to keep Sunghoon hidden beneath the covers. You can feel him tense up, and his hand slips to your thigh under the sheets, pinching you playfully. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp, kneeing him as a warning.

Karina continues her rant, oblivious. “I mean, he had the nerve to ditch me for practice again, and I’m just—ugh, I needed to vent to someone who understands!”

Your mind races, desperately trying to keep her attention away from the suspicious lump between your legs. “That sounds… really frustrating,” you say, a bit too brightly. “But maybe just, you know, talk to him?”

Karina flops down on the edge of your bed, dangerously close to Sunghoon’s concealed figure. “Oh, I’ll talk to him, alright. I’m just so sick of his stupid excuses—”

Sunghoon’s fingers press into your clit under the sheets. He’s grinning, enjoying the situation far too much. You jab him again, your heart racing.

Karina glances at you, finally noticing your tense posture. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird,” she says, her brows furrowing.

You force a laugh, your voice too high. “I’m fine! Just… woke up. Didn’t expect you to burst in like that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care if I burst in? And why are you so… red?”

You feel the heat creeping up your neck. “Uh, just… hot in here,” you stammer, shifting to keep Sunghoon completely out of sight.

Karina looks like she’s about to press further, but then she sighs, clearly more focused on her Heeseung drama. “Whatever, I just needed to get that off my chest. He drives me insane!”

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I get it. He’s… Heeseung, you know?” Karina gives you a small smile, her frustration easing. “Thanks for listening. And seriously, you look so weird right now.”

You laugh nervously. “Yeah, just tired.”

Finally, she stands up, heading toward the door. “Alright, I’ll leave you to… whatever you were doing. I’m gonna go call him and give him a piece of my mind.”

You nod eagerly. “Good luck with that!”

As soon as she leaves, you exhale in relief, lifting the cover to eye Sunghoon, who’s still grinning like an idiot. “What?” he whispers, amused.

“What?” you repeat, incredulous. “You almost got us caught, that’s what!”

He chuckles, pulling you back down under the sheets. “Relax. She didn’t notice a thing.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is still racing from the close call. “You’re lucky,” you mutter.

Sunghoon just leans in closer, his lips brushing your cheek. “You love the thrill,” he murmurs.

And damn it, you hate that he’s right.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It's late, the night air cool against your skin as you lean against the wall outside the school building, waiting for Sunghoon. You don't even know why you agreed to meet him here. Maybe because he seemed so insistent, or maybe because a part of you wanted to see him, even though you’d never admit it.

He arrives moments later, his footsteps heavy as he approaches. There’s a different energy about him tonight—something serious, something intense. His usual smirk is nowhere to be found, and his hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He stops in front of you, a little too close, and you have to tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

“What’s this about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your heart is pounding in your chest.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze boring into yours like he’s searching for something, something he can’t quite find. You shift on your feet, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

“Sunghoon?” you prompt, your voice wavering just slightly.

He finally speaks, his tone lower than usual. “I’ve been thinking… about us,” he says, the words almost hesitant, like he’s testing them out.

You blink, caught off guard. “Us?”

He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah, Y/N, us. You and me… whatever this is.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your face neutral. “I thought we agreed it’s nothing,” you reply, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

Sunghoon’s eyes narrow, frustration flashing in his gaze. “Yeah, that’s what we said,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t feel like nothing to me anymore.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. You’ve never seen him like this—so open, so exposed. “Sunghoon, I don’t know what you’re getting at,” you say carefully.

He takes a step closer, his expression more intense. “I’m saying that I’ve caught myself… thinking about you. A lot. When you’re not around, I’m wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with. I hate that it bothers me when I see you talking to other guys, and I can’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else.”

You feel a wave of panic rising in your chest. This is too much, too fast. You press your back harder against the wall as if trying to create more distance between you. “Sunghoon, this was never supposed to be serious,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I know, and I tried to keep it that way. But every time I see you, every time we’re together… I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it.”

You shake your head, refusing to let his words sink in. “You don’t mean that,” you insist, more to yourself than to him. “You’re just saying this because it’s… new or whatever. It’ll pass.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenches, and he moves even closer, leaving barely any space between you. “No, Y/N, it won’t. I’ve tried to stop feeling this way, but I can’t. And I know you feel something too, even if you won’t admit it.”

Your pulse quickens, and you feel your resolve starting to crumble. “I don’t—” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“Stop lying,” he says firmly, his voice carrying a hint of desperation. “You’re scared, I get it. But don’t pretend like this is all just a game to you.”

You feel a flash of anger, your defenses rising. “What if it is, Sunghoon? What if I don’t want anything more than what we already have?”

His expression falters for a moment, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. “Then I guess I’ve made a mistake,” he murmurs, taking a step back.

You feel a pang in your chest, a sharp, unexpected ache. “Sunghoon…”

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

For a second, you want to reach out, to say something, anything, to make that look on his face go away. But the fear of letting your guard down, of admitting that he might be right, keeps you silent.

He takes another step back, his expression hardening. “I won’t bother you about it again,” he says, his voice cold. “Let’s just go back to pretending like none of this ever happened.”

You nod, though you feel a tightness in your throat. “Yeah, let’s do that,” you say quietly, even though your chest aches with a feeling you don’t want to name.

Sunghoon turns and walks away, and you’re left standing there, the cool night air biting at your skin. You watch him go, feeling something inside you break just a little, and you wonder if maybe you’ve made a mistake too.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next morning at school, everything feels heavier. The halls are crowded, but it’s like there’s a spotlight following you, and you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows. You make your way to your locker, avoiding eye contact with anyone, especially Sunghoon.

You don’t see him at first, but you feel him—his presence looming in the periphery. It’s like he’s everywhere, watching you, and it makes your skin prickle with nerves. You busy yourself with rearranging your textbooks, trying to calm the storm inside your head.

“Hey, Y/N,” Karina chirps, appearing beside you. Her usual bright smile is there, but her eyes are curious, searching your face. “Are you okay? You seemed a little… off yesterday.”

You force a smile, gripping your locker door tighter than necessary. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”

She studies you for a second longer, then nods. “Well, you should have come to dinner with us last night. It was a total mess, as always, but fun.”

You nod absently, not really listening. Your eyes flick over Karina’s shoulder and catch Sunghoon’s gaze across the hallway. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Y/N?” Karina prompts, bringing your attention back to her. “You’re zoning out again.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Karina glances over her shoulder, following your line of sight. Her brow furrows slightly. “You’ve been weird around Sunghoon lately,” she remarks. “Did something happen?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly shake your head. “No, nothing. Why would you think that?”

She shrugs, unconvinced. “I don’t know… Just a feeling.”

You’re saved from having to respond when the bell rings. You grab your books and make a beeline for your next class, trying to ignore the heat of Sunghoon’s stare burning into your back.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Class drags on painfully. You can’t focus. Your mind is a whirlwind of confusion and annoyance. You thought sneaking around with Sunghoon would be fun, a game—a way to blow off steam. But now it’s getting messy, and you’re starting to feel the consequences.

When the bell finally rings, you bolt out of the classroom, desperate for fresh air. But as soon as you turn the corner, you’re yanked into an empty hallway.

Sunghoon.

His grip on your arm is firm, and his eyes are intense, searching yours. “We need to talk,” he says, his voice low.

You pull your arm free, glaring at him. “What’s there to talk about, Sunghoon? We agreed this was supposed to be casual. No strings, remember?”

He frowns, clearly irritated by your tone. “Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like that anymore, does it?”

You cross your arms over your chest, trying to steady your breathing. “That’s because you’re making it weird. Just… back off a little, okay?”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenches, and he takes a step closer. “Back off? You’re the one acting all paranoid, Y/N.”

“Maybe because you won’t stop staring at me like everyone else can’t see it!” you snap back, your voice rising. “This was supposed to be simple. But you’re turning it into something… complicated.”

He scoffs, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe because it is complicated. Or have you not noticed?”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, the way his closeness makes your heart race. “Don’t do this, Sunghoon,” you warn, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you’d like.

He pauses, his gaze softening just for a second. “Do what?”

“Make this more than it is,” you whisper, feeling a knot form in your throat. “Because I can’t… I won’t.”

Sunghoon’s expression hardens again, and he leans back, crossing his arms defensively. “Fine,” he mutters. “If that’s how you want it.”

You swallow, forcing yourself to stay composed. “Yeah. It is.”

He nods curtly, stepping away, his face unreadable. “Good. See you around, then,” he says before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you standing in the empty hallway with your heart in your throat.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next few days are torture. Sunghoon keeps his distance, and you tell yourself it’s for the best. But every time you see him, every time you catch his eyes across the cafeteria or in class, there’s a hollow ache in your chest that you can’t ignore.

Your friends notice the tension. They ask questions, but you shrug it off, pretending everything’s fine. But you can’t stop replaying your last conversation with Sunghoon, the way his face looked when you told him to back off. You hate how much you miss him, even if you’d never admit it to anyone, especially not to him.

One afternoon, as you’re walking to your car after school, you spot him leaning against a tree nearby, talking to some girl you don’t recognize. He’s smiling, that same smile that used to be reserved for your private moments. Something sharp twists in your chest, and you quickly look away, anger flaring up.

He catches your glance and, for a moment, his smile falters. But then he leans in closer to the girl, laughing at something she says, and your stomach churns with a mix of jealousy and frustration.

You grip your bag tighter, feeling a sting behind your eyes. This is exactly why you didn’t want things to get complicated. You turn away, refusing to look back.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Sunghoon avoids you. He’s usually the first one to shoot a teasing remark your way, but he’s silent. The hallways feel strangely empty without his usual jabs, and your friends are starting to notice the shift between you two.

“Are you guys fighting again?” Karina asks, as the two of you walk to lunch. Her tone is half-exasperated, half-amused, but you know she’s genuinely curious. “You and Sunghoon, I mean. There’s definitely more tension than usual.”

You shrug, trying to seem indifferent, but your stomach twists with anxiety. “When aren’t we fighting?” you mutter.

She gives you a knowing look, but thankfully doesn’t push it further. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take without your feelings bubbling over. You’re determined to get through lunch without letting Sunghoon get under your skin, but when you enter the cafeteria, you spot him immediately.

He’s at your usual table, talking to Heeseung, but his gaze is elsewhere. The second you walk in, his eyes find yours, and there’s a fleeting moment of something unreadable in his expression. A flash of frustration? Longing? You can’t be sure.

You take a deep breath and head over, sliding into your usual seat. Karina sits next to you, and for a moment, everything feels normal. But then Sunghoon starts talking.

“So,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes locked on you, “Heeseung, heard you and Karina had another spat. What was it this time? You didn’t say ‘I love you’ enough?”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, but Karina just laughs, lightly smacking Heeseung’s arm. “Don’t listen to him, babe. He’s just deflecting from his own issues,” she teases.

Sunghoon smirks, but there’s no real humor in it. “I don’t have issues, Karina. Just people who like to make things complicated,” he says, glancing at you.

You feel your face heat up, irritation boiling over. “Oh, please,” you snap back. “Like you’re the picture of simplicity.”

He leans back in his chair, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Never said I was. But at least I’m honest about it.”

Your chest tightens. “Honest?” you scoff. “You’ve been playing games from the start, Sunghoon.”

He shrugs, feigning indifference. “Maybe I have. But at least I know what I want.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, and you clench your jaw, trying to keep your composure. “And what’s that, exactly?”

He leans forward, his voice dropping low so only you can hear. “You. But you already knew that.”

Your heart skips a beat. For a second, you’re frozen, caught between wanting to slap him and… something else. Something you’re not ready to face.

“You’re such a—” you start, but before you can finish, Sunghoon’s foot nudges yours under the table, and your breath hitches.

You’re hyper-aware of the table between you, the curious glances from your friends, and the heat creeping up your neck. Sunghoon’s gaze is still on you, challenging, waiting for your response.

You can’t help the retort that slips out. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He shrugs with a small grin. “More than you know.”

Before you can shoot back another insult, heeseung cuts in, oblivious to the tension. “Okay, what is happening between you two? I feel like I missed an entire chapter here.”

Sunghoon doesn’t even glance at Heeseung. “Nothing’s happening. Right, Y/N?”

“Right,” you reply, forcing a smile, but your voice sounds strained, even to your own ears.

Heeseung and Karina exchange a look, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, whatever you say,” Karina murmurs with a smirk. “Just remember, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

Sunghoon’s lips twitch in amusement, and he finally looks away, leaning back in his chair as if nothing happened. But under the table, his foot is still lightly brushing against yours, sending sparks up your leg.

You bite the inside of your cheek, determined not to let him see how much he’s getting to you.

But you can’t help it—the sensation, the frustration, and the undeniable attraction between you are all mixing into one chaotic storm.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and everyone begins to gather their things. You stand, trying to shake off the tension still lingering between you and Sunghoon, but Karina has other ideas.

“Hey, Y/N,” she calls, grabbing your arm just as you’re about to head out. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

You nod, feeling a knot form in your stomach. She leads you to a quieter corner of the hallway, away from the crowd. You can tell by the look on her face that she’s not letting this go.

Karina crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly. “Okay, seriously,” she starts, her voice low but pointed. “What the fuck was that back there?”

You blink, trying to feign ignorance. “What was what?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. You and Sunghoon… there was some serious tension at lunch. It was like watching a live soap opera, and I feel like I’ve missed a few episodes.”

You sigh, glancing around to make sure no one is listening in. “It’s nothing, Karina,” you insist, but even to your own ears, it sounds unconvincing.

Karina raises an eyebrow. “Nothing? Really? Because from where I was sitting, it looked like something. A big something.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how much to tell her. “Look, we… we just don’t get along. You know that.”

“Yeah, but this felt different,” she replies, not letting up. “Like, I don’t know, it almost seemed like… there was something more there.”

Her words hit a little too close to home, and you feel your cheeks heat up. “You’re imagining things,” you say quickly, but Karina’s not buying it.

She leans in closer, her expression turning more serious. “Y/N, I’m your best friend. I know when something’s up. And that? That was definitely something.”

You hesitate, torn between the urge to confide in her and the fear of admitting the truth. “It’s complicated,” you finally admit, your voice barely a whisper.

Karina’s eyes widen with intrigue. “Complicated how?”

You swallow hard, looking away. “I don’t even know how to explain it. We’ve just… been hanging out a little more lately. And things got… weird.”

“Weird how?” she presses, clearly not letting this go.

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “We’ve been… hooking up,” you confess, your voice almost inaudible.

Karina’s mouth falls open in shock. “Wait, what? You and Sunghoon?” She looks like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or gasp. “Since when?”

“A few weeks,” you admit, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety now that the secret is out.

Karina blinks, taking a moment to process. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it would last this long,” you say defensively. “I thought it was just going to be a one-time thing, but then… it wasn’t.”

Karina’s expression softens slightly. “And how do you feel about it? About him?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “I don’t know. It’s confusing. Half the time, I can’t stand him. The other half… well, you saw how lunch went.”

Karina lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, I did. It’s like you two can’t decide whether you want to kill each other or… not.”

You groan, leaning back against the wall. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

Karina nudges you with her elbow. “Just be careful, okay? Sunghoon’s not exactly known for being straightforward with his feelings.”

You nod, appreciating her concern. “I know. Trust me, I’m not expecting anything… much. It’s just… whatever it is.”

Karina gives you a knowing smile. “Alright, but just remember, I’m here if you need to talk. Or, you know, if you need me to kick his ass.”

You laugh, feeling some of the tension ease. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

As you walk back to class, you feel a little lighter, but also more uncertain than ever. Because now that Karina knows, it feels more real. And that scares you more than you’d like to admit.

You pause for a moment, letting your thoughts catch up to your racing heart. Sunghoon had admitted it first, hadn't he? In his own cryptic way, he’d confessed he wanted more than just the back-and-forth, more than just the thrill of the chase. You remember the way he looked at you that day, his eyes full of frustration and something else — something softer, something you weren’t ready to face.

He’d said he wanted you. He’d practically dared you to deny that you wanted him, too. And ever since, you’ve been trying to convince yourself that it didn't matter — that it was just some passing thing, some fling to fill the boredom. But it wasn't. It never was.

You sigh deeply, leaning back against the wall of the building. The memory of his words still lingers like a brand on your skin: "I want you." It had sounded so simple when he said it, so sure. Like he wasn’t afraid of the mess that came with it.

You’ve been too afraid to admit it to yourself, but now… now it feels like you’ve been fighting a battle that’s already lost.

He confessed his feelings first, but you’ve been holding back, afraid to let yourself feel the same. Afraid of what it might mean, of how it could change things between you. You thought you could control it, could manage the situation and keep your distance, but all you’ve managed to do is dig yourself deeper into this mess.

You’re tired. Tired of fighting your own heart, tired of pretending you’re unaffected. Tired of feeling like you're caught in this tug-of-war between desire and denial.

*He’s already put himself out there,* you remind yourself. *He made the first move.* And that thought alone is enough to push you forward, to make you realize that maybe it’s your turn now. Your turn to decide if you want to keep running or if you’re brave enough to let yourself fall.

Pushing off the wall, you feel a wave of determination settle over you. If you’re going to do this, you need to find him and be honest. Not just with him, but with yourself.

Because you don’t want to keep this back-and-forth going, this constant dance of pushing and pulling. You want to know where you stand — with him, and with whatever this thing between you is becoming.

You take a deep breath and start walking, knowing exactly where to find him. And this time, you’re not going to let him get away without an answer.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You find Sunghoon by the lockers, leaning against the metal with that typical nonchalant pose he seems to have perfected. His head is tilted down, focused on his phone, but he looks up as you approach, sensing your presence. His eyes flicker with surprise for just a moment before his usual guarded expression returns.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice laced with that familiar arrogance, but there’s something else there, too—an undercurrent of curiosity, maybe even hope.

You don’t bother with pleasantries. “We need to talk,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You try to sound firm, but even you can hear the slight waver in your voice. Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Oh, so now you want to talk?” he retorts, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “After avoiding me all day?”

You roll your eyes, feeling the tension bubble up again. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” you snap, even though you both know it’s a lie. “I just needed… time to think.”

He straightens up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Think about what?” he asks, and his tone is a little softer now, less mocking.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your next words pressing down on you. “About this. About us,” you say, your voice steadier now. “I’m tired of all this back and forth, Sunghoon. I’m tired of pretending like there’s nothing between us when we both know there is.”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, his guard slips. “I told you how I felt,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the one who kept pretending it was just… nothing.”

You feel a pang of guilt twist in your stomach. “I know,” you admit, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I was wrong. I thought I could just… push it away, ignore it. But I can’t. Not anymore.”

Sunghoon’s expression softens, just a little. “So what are you saying?” he asks, his voice careful, as if he’s trying not to hope too much.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay honest. “I’m saying… I want to figure this out. I want to try… whatever this is between us. But I need you to be real with me, Sunghoon. No more games.”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve been real,” he says, his voice low and intense. “I’ve been real since that night at Karina’s party, and I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

You’re taken aback by the sincerity in his words, by the way his eyes seem to bore into yours like he’s trying to see into your very soul. “I’m here now,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

Sunghoon takes another step closer, and now he’s right in front of you, his breath warm on your skin. “So what do you want?” he murmurs, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Do you want me, or are you still trying to convince yourself you don’t?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. But then you realize you’ve known the answer all along. “I want you,” you admit, your voice steady, finally letting the truth slip past your lips. “But I don’t want to keep pretending like it’s nothing. I want to try… something real. But I don’t want it to be this constant push and pull, Sunghoon. I can’t keep doing that.”

Sunghoon’s lips curl into a small, almost relieved smile. “Then let’s stop playing games,” he says softly, leaning in closer. “Let’s see where this goes, no more pretending. Just you and me.”

You feel a strange sense of relief wash over you at his words, a weight lifting from your chest. “Okay,” you whisper, and it feels like the most honest thing you’ve said in a long time.

His smile widens just a fraction, and he closes the final distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that feels both familiar and new. It’s not the frantic, heated kisses you’ve shared before—it’s slower, deeper, filled with a promise of something more.

And for the first time, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. Finally moving in the same direction.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Over the next few weeks, things between you and Sunghoon change in ways you never could have anticipated. At first, it’s subtle — small shifts that only the two of you notice. You spend more time together between classes, sitting closer at lunch, and texting late into the night. The playful bickering is still there, but it’s softened somehow, more like an inside joke than a battle.

Your friends don’t notice at first. They’re used to seeing you and Sunghoon together, arguing about this or that, so the extra time you spend with him doesn't raise any immediate red flags. But eventually, the signs become too obvious to ignore.

One day at lunch, you’re sitting next to Sunghoon, your legs brushing under the table. His hand casually rests on the back of your chair, his thumb occasionally grazing your shoulder. Jay, seated across from you, narrows his eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks, his tone teasing but his eyes curious.

You glance over at Sunghoon, who just smirks. “What do you mean?” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant, but you can feel the flush creeping up your neck.

Jay gestures between the two of you. “This,” he says, waving his hand. “You two. You’re being weird. Weird even for you two.”

Karina, who’s been listening in, gasps. “Oh my god,” she says, her eyes widening with realization. “Are you guys… together?”

The table goes silent for a second, everyone turning to look at you. Sunoo’s eyebrows shoot up, and Jake leans forward, looking like he’s trying to solve a particularly complicated math problem.

Sunghoon leans back, crossing his arms over his chest with a grin. “Depends,” he says casually. “What do you think?”

You elbow him in the side, rolling your eyes at his vague answer. “Yes,” you say, looking at your friends. “We’re… together. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Sunghoon echoes, feigning offense, and you shoot him a playful glare.

“Yes, kind of!” you insist, turning back to your friends, who are now staring at you like you’ve just revealed you’re secretly an alien. “It’s… new.”

Heeseung chuckles. “I mean, I’m not totally surprised,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You two have been like a powder keg waiting to explode for years.”

Yuna nods eagerly. “Honestly, it was about time,” she adds, and you can’t help but laugh at her bluntness.

Jungwon, however, looks mildly concerned. “So, you’re serious?” he asks, glancing between you and Sunghoon. “Like, actually serious?”

Sunghoon looks at you, his smile softening just a bit, and he nods. “Yeah,” he says, and there’s a sincerity in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat. “We’re serious.”

Your friends take a moment to process this. Then Jake grins. “Alright,” he says, raising his glass of soda. “To Y/N and Sunghoon. The enemies-to-lovers arc we didn’t know we needed.”

You laugh, and everyone joins in, raising their glasses. It’s strange, in a way, seeing everyone so quickly accept what feels like a massive shift in your life. But it also feels… right.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Over the next few days, things become more obvious. You and Sunghoon are no longer trying to hide. He reaches for your hand in the hallways, and you let him. He kisses you on the cheek in front of the others, and they pretend to gag but smile knowingly when they think you’re not looking.

You catch Karina’s eye one afternoon, and she gives you a grin that’s part smug, part excited. She leans over, whispering, “So… you finally admitted you like him, huh?”

You smile, shrugging a bit. “Guess so,” you say, and she laughs, nudging you with her elbow.

The hardest part, strangely enough, is getting used to the change yourself. It’s still weird to not have to hide how you feel, to be able to smile at Sunghoon without wondering if anyone is watching. But with each passing day, it gets a little easier.

And it’s not like everything is perfect. You and Sunghoon still argue — of course, you do. That’s just how you are. But there’s something different now, something that feels less like anger and more like… passion. Like you’re both on the same side, even when you’re bickering.

There are moments when you catch him looking at you from across the room, a small smile on his lips, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. And in those moments, you know — this is real. This is right.

Your friends have stopped asking questions. They’ve accepted that this is your new normal, and honestly, so have you. The only thing left to do is see where it takes you.

taglist: @awqken @hollyoongs @enhastolemyheart @wonnienyang @skzenhalove @slvrnm @lovesangyeon @velvetkisscs @soobieboo @jakeflvrz @woorcve @moonpri @blockbusterhee @yjwsgf @doublebunv @moon4moony @woniebae @moon368 @jakeswifewithtwokids @love4hee @ikeryn @univershoon @indigoez @ramenoil @iilwji @riribell @ilabjungwon @tunafishyfishylike @psh23xie @toodeloosoo @leov3rse @onlyhyunjin @nyxtwixx @mnxnii @whateverhoon @jayrelics @laurradoesloveu @heeswif3y @enhalxvr @yunhoswrldddd @nikiswifiee @aiiselle90210 @lixiebokie @lelsforlino @eneiyri @punchbug9-blog @babystrlla @hee-yunie @hoonics @notevenheretbh1

[movrningstxrs]

MR. (AND MRS.) TODD

e-e-english teacher jason. that is all. REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated

gotham academy, an esteemed and prestigious institution responsible for teaching and fostering the bright young minds of the city’s wealthy elites.

but when your future was a given, predetermined and handed over on a silver platter as a result of your parents’ money and influence, not much thought was given to the mundane school assignments and exams that most children worried about.

instead, study periods and group discussions were centered around the latest school gossip and drama, with one popular, recurring topic being that of yours and jason’s love life—or more specifically, lack thereof.

as the two youngest teachers and faculty members at the academy, with pretty faces to match, was it really a surprise that most of the student population was keen to see the two of you together?

the art and english teachers, two peas in a pod, destined to be together like the female and male leads of a cheesy rom-com movie.

there were signs, too, according to your students. like the small, subtle smiles exchanged in passing in-between classes, or the way your bodies seemed to be drawn to one another like magnets, always ending up next to each other at every school function and event.

and to youngsters who’d yet to fully understand the concept of boundaries, there was no clearer indication!

the only problem was that you were both married, and not to each other, much to everyone’s disappointment. but all of that would come to change one fateful day.

it was the second to last period on a wednesday afternoon. jason was at the chalkboard, going over his notes on the latest act of ‘romeo and juliet’ with the class, when a sudden knock rang from the door.

there you were, a meek and apologetic smile on your face as you walked in and handed back to him a set of keys, completely oblivious to the way your fingers ever so fleetingly touched, along with the multiple pairs of eyes that had caught sight of the ‘scandalous’ interaction.

“oh my god, did you see that?!”

“just kiss already!”

“mr. todd, are you sure that you guys are ‘just friends?’”

“enough, you little menaces,” jason demanded in halfhearted annoyance. “get back to writing. all of this information will be on your exam.”

“boo! you’re no fun!”

a call of your name. “miss, would you ever consider dating mr. todd?”

“…i don’t think that’s an appropriate question for school,” you expertly redirected.

“we’re not hearing a ‘no!’”

a fond chuckle escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you found yourself ever increasingly more amused by the children’s non-stop antics, much to jason’s apparent disapproval and displeasure.

preparing to take your leave, you rhetorically asked in good humour, “any other questions?”

a single hand immediately shot up—its owner, stoic and dignified, yet his eyes gleamed with a dangerous spark of exasperation and chaos.

oh no.

“…yes, damian?”

“when will you and todd be next available to join the rest of us for family dinner night?” damian casually inquired, purposefully blind to the intensity of his brother’s scalding glare. “father says that he ‘misses seeing his favourite daughter-in-law.’ ridiculous, considering the fact that you’re his only daughter-in-law.”

the class fell silent as the implications of damian’s words lingered in the air.

you blinked once, slowly, mind still processing as you turned to glance at your husband. jason only sighed in response, tired and defeated, his lesson plans evidently tossed out of the window for the day, as the class quickly erupted into complete hysteria.

“excuse me, what?!”

“i knew it!”

“we’ve been bamboozled!”

with your long-held secret now out in the open, you resisted the urge to smirk as you pretended to ponder damian’s question for a moment, letting out a contemplative hum before you coolly answered, “we can probably make some time next week. right, honey?”

“sure, love,” jason replied, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a sudden, oncoming headache. he pointedly chose to ignore the squeals of excitement coming from the back of the room at his term of endearment for you.

“good,” damian nodded in approval.

with an amused wave goodbye, you almost felt sorry for your poor husband when you noticed the look of pure anguish on his face as you hastily made your escape and left him to fend for himself.

once in the hall, you could faintly hear a voice asking, “wait, does that mean damian’s related to mr. todd?”

“not by blood, but yes, unfortunately,” came your brother-in-law’s irritated response. “now, never bring my familial relationships up in my presence ever again.”

[geminiwritten]

dirty laundry (one) ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

notes: i know it's long but i promise it's fun!!! it's so juicy, i had so much fun, i couldn't stop (clearly)! i'd like to formally apologise to all jake girls (and jake himself, because damn, he gets put through it)... please, please, please let me know what you think! i absolutely love hearing all your thoughts! also, tumblr wouldn't let me post it all at once, so there's two sections...

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader can drive, a little angst, jake is a bit of a perv and a massive f*ckboy, italics, country music, and VERY HORNY with smut-ish? (masturbation, sex through the wall?) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!!! (please let me know if i've missed anything)

word count: 22046 (section one, 10136)

your callsign is valkyrie

You first met Jake Seresin at the Academy. He was fresh-faced, full of himself, and grinning like the sky belonged to him. Gorgeous—but he knew it. And there was absolutely no part of you that wanted anything to do with him.

The second time you met him was at flight school. He was a little less fresh, a little more cocky, and somehow—even more gorgeous. Because life clearly wasn’t unfair enough already. This time, he was harder to ignore. But still, you managed.

The third time you crossed paths was in the TOPGUN program. And by then, Jake Seresin had become the single cockiest man you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. He was loud, smug, aggravating—and, annoyingly, still so goddamn hot. Almost impossible to ignore. So you bit your tongue, played nice, and kept your reactions locked down. By the end of the program, your disdain had softened into something closer to... indifference.

His abs, though? Those you could—objectively—appreciate.

You figured that’d be the last of him. But then you got tapped for a special detachment on North Island and—of course—there he was. Grinning like you were old friends. Because according to him? You were. So you humoured it at first, and then somewhere along the way, it actually started to feel true—not just with him, but with the whole squad.

After the mission, the choice to stay on as a full-time, elite unit wasn’t really a choice at all. It was a hell yes.

Once the reassignment came through and you were officially under Maverick’s command, you figured it was time to get out of the barracks. Find a place off-base. Something with a kitchen, a door that locked, and—ideally—no bunk beds. Somewhere you could finally feel like a functioning adult.

“Are you sure about this?” Natasha asks, hiking the box in her arms a little higher.

You lean yours against the wall and wrestle with your keys. “Yeah,” you huff, “why wouldn’t I be?”

You finally get the door unlocked—only for it to stop a few inches in, blocked by something heavy.

Natasha raises a brow. “Because you’re moving in with—”

“Jake fucking Seresin,” you shout through the gap. “Move your shit before I break it!”

There’s rustling from inside, then footsteps.

“Not my middle name,” comes the reply, that smug grin practically audible. “But since you asked so nicely…”

You let the door fall shut again. There’s a thud, some shuffling, and then it swings open.

“Phoenix,” Jake greets with a nod, before turning to you. “Roomie.”

You roll your eyes and shove the box into his chest. “There’s more stuff in the van. I helped you yesterday, you help me today. Get moving, Bagman.”

He doesn’t even get a word in before you brush past him and make a beeline for the kitchen.

Natasha trails in behind you, laughing under her breath as she sets her box down by the half-assembled sofa. She watches with amusement as Jake—very obediently—carries the box toward your bedroom.

“Maybe I should be more worried about Hangman,” she mutters, brows raised.

That was exactly two months ago. And since then, you’ve learned a lot about Jake Seresin.

The first thing you learned was that he’s a morning person—because of course he is. Always up at ungodly hours, ready for a run or a workout, bouncing around the kitchen like a five-year-old on a sugar high. You’re convinced he wears his gym clothes to bed.

The second thing you learned was that he hates horror movies, and can’t even handle the fake, ketchup-level blood in the older ones. A week after you moved in, he walked in on you and Natasha watching the latest Scream. He screamed louder than the film, then disappeared into his room, convinced Ghostface was stalking the apartment for a full week.

Halloween is still months away, but you know Nat’s already planning to dress up as Ghostface just to scare the shit out of him.

The third thing you learned—and this one you kind of already knew—is that Jake Seresin has a wildly active sex life. His hamper? Overflowing with dirty laundry. You now know more than you ever wanted to about his… extracurricular activities.

And unfortunately for you, it didn’t take Jake long to realise just how useful having you around could be.

The first time it happened, you were innocently making coffee, minding your own business in the kitchen, sipping fresh brew from your favourite mug.

“Um, who the fuck are you?”

You startle and whip around from staring out the window above the sink, watching lazy waves lap at the shore of Coronado Beach.

There’s a woman standing at the edge of the kitchen. Her hair’s a mess, her clothes are askew, and she’s looking at you like you’re a big, fat bug splattered across her windshield.

“Uh—I’m the… roommate,” you say hesitantly.

You knew Jake had someone over last night, but when you heard him get up for his usual morning run, you assumed he’d kicked her out on the way.

You also have no idea what Jake has told this woman—or any of them, really—about you. Or if she even knows he has a roommate. Because last night, you stayed holed up in your room with noise-cancelling headphones, watching reruns of your favourite nineties sitcom.

“Oh—” the woman says, her frown softening into realisation. “Oh, I’m sorry. Jakey did tell me about you. I’m just really out of it this morning.”

You nod slowly, holding your coffee cup up to your chin like some kind of shield.

“You’re totally not what I expected,” she says, running a judging eye over your fluffy robe. “But Jakey told me what you’re going through, and can I just say? You’re so strong.”

You blink once, steadying your expression so you don’t blow Jake’s story—though you have no idea what it even is.

“If my husband went to jail,” the woman goes on, “I’d be lost. Don’t know if I’d even stick around. But honestly, you’re lucky you’ve got a cousin like Jakey looking after you.”

Cousin? Jakey? Husband?

You clear your throat, struggling to keep a straight face. “Right,” you mutter. “My husband.”

She nods, plastering on a fake smile over smudged lipstick.

“And my cousin,” you add dryly, taking a long sip of hot coffee. “Thank God for my cousin.”

An awkward silence stretches between you, neither of you quite sure what to do next. Maybe you’re supposed to break down in tears over your jailed husband, or gush about how kind and generous your cousin is.

But then she clears her throat and straightens her misbuttoned blouse. “Anyway, is Jake… around?”

You shake your head. “No, he’s volunteering at the animal shelter today. Won’t be back until late.”

You don’t know how she misses the sarcasm dripping from your voice.

“Aw,” she coos, “he’s such a dream. God, I’m going to miss him so much.”

You press your lips together, biting back a sardonic laugh clawing its way up your throat.

“Well,” she sighs wistfully, “tell him I said bye, and that last night was the best night of my life.”

You nod, the smile on your lips painfully forced.

Then she turns, picks up her heels from where they were kicked off by the door, and glances back to give you one last sympathetic smile. “Oh, and good luck with your husband. Jakey said he’s up for review for conjugal visits, so… fingers crossed!”

Then she was out the door, and you were frozen in place—part shocked, part amused, and fully questioning all of your life choices.

So that’s how it started. That’s how you became Jake Seresin’s unofficial bouncer. His getaway car. His get-out-of-jail-free card whenever one of his many conquests overstays their welcome.

Sometimes you’re his cousin with a tragic backstory that makes Jake look like a hero. Other times you’re his sister who just can’t keep out of trouble, so big brother Jakey had to step up. One time, you were even an at-risk youth, fresh out of rehab—thanks, of course, to Saint Jake and his endless patience.

Mostly, though, you just feel like an underpaid housekeeper. Always taking out the trash, doing his dirty laundry, and making sure he doesn’t get himself hung out to dry. If he hadn’t somehow wormed his way into your heart, you’d probably tell him to suck it up and deal with his own poor life choices. But unfortunately, you’ve come to care for the smug womaniser—and you have to admit, sometimes it is kind of fun to put on a little show.

There’s a soft knock on your bedroom door. So soft you’re not even sure it was real—until it comes again.

You sigh, drag yourself out of bed, and rub at your tired eyes as you swing the door open, already knowing exactly who’s on the other side.

“What do you want?”

Jake stands there in all his glory—tight gym clothes, a day’s worth of stubble, and a backwards cap that is so infuriatingly hot you want to knock it clean off his head.

“Need you to get rid of her,” he says, flashing you a soft smile.

One upside to this whole arrangement is that Jake is almost too nice to you now. He knows he owes you—big time—and you’re not ashamed to admit you’re enjoying it. These days, he pretty much does anything you ask.

“What’s her name?” you ask, folding your arms—only just realising you’re wearing a very thin shirt with no bra.

He’s realised it too—and that you’re not wearing any pants—his sparkly green eyes trailing slowly over your body like they have every right to.

“Uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I don’t know.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. That tracks. Do you want to see her again?”

He shakes his head, almost violently. “No way. She was a talker. Basically narrated the whole thing.”

You snort. “Okay, good. I’ll tell her I’m your wife or something.”

You step back, holding the door like you’re ready to shut it. But he doesn’t move. He stays right there in the doorway, a hand braced on either side, that hungry look still in his eyes.

“Do you want to be my wife?” he asks, lips curling into a cocky grin.

“Fuck no,” you say, voice laced with laughter. “Now get out of my room and stop looking at me like that before I slap you.”

His eyes stop roaming your body and lock onto yours—still hot, still shameless.

“Go to the gym,” you say flatly. “I saw the empty cookie box in the bin.”

His brows shoot up, and a soft chuckle escapes his lips. “Wow. That’s rude.”

You roll your eyes and swing the door shut. He steps back just in time for it to click closed, and then you turn and collapse face-first onto your bed with a groan.

You’d be a big, fat liar if you said living with Jake Seresin wasn’t absolute torture sometimes. Especially when he looks at you like that. But you have dignity. Self-respect. Pride. You’re not about to debase yourself and sleep with your hot roommate just because he looks—and sounds—like he could fuck you stupid.

Which, unfortunately, is something you sorely need. It’s been way too long since you’ve been fucked in any capacity, and living with a Greek god is doing an absolute number on you.

After wrapping yourself in your favourite fluffy robe and collecting the empty dishes from your bedside table—the ones you were too scared to return to the kitchen last night—you step out of your room. Jake is gone, but you can hear the shower running in the main bathroom. His bathroom.

You busy yourself making fresh coffee and fixing a plate of toast, humming the annoyingly catchy theme song from the show you binge-watched last night. You’re about to head to the living room when Jake’s latest guest rounds the corner.

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “I didn’t know Jake had a roommate.”

You smile, but it isn’t friendly. “He doesn’t.”

She frowns. “Oh. I mean, he said—”

“I’m his wife.”

Her eyes widen, jaw twitching like she’s trying to decide whether to cry, scream, or vomit.

Silence hangs thick in the air—buzzing with the kind of awkwardness you’ve come to enjoy during these little charades.

Then you sigh, long and theatrical, tilting your head to stare off into space. “I’m not mad. Not really. Jake is… well, Jake. He’s got a kind heart and terrible boundaries. He just loves making everyone feel special.” You pause, giving her a deliberate once-over. “And I’m sure last night was very… meaningful.”

She makes a garbled sound that might be an apology, but you cut in before she can gather a full thought.

“I’d offer you breakfast,” you say, sipping your coffee, “but I think it’s best if you leave before I change my mind and start throwing things.”

She scurries to the front door, grabbing her shoes so fast one heel smacks the wall.

“Oh, and sweetheart?” you add, just as she yanks the door open. “You might want to get tested.”

The door slams shut behind her, and you let a slow, satisfied smirk stretch across your lips as you take another sip of coffee.

By the time you’ve finished your breakfast, showered, and changed into fresh clothes, Jake finally strolls in—flushed, sweat-damp, and glowing that obnoxious post-hookup high. He looks like sin and satisfaction wrapped in gym clothes, radiating the smug confidence of a man who ruins lives for fun.

“She gone?” he asks, not even looking at you as he heads straight for the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Scared her off. If you do hear from her again, it won’t be pretty.”

He chuckles, low and unbothered. “Don’t have to worry about that. Already blocked her number.”

“Such a gentleman,” you mutter, digging through the key bowl by the front door.

He cracks the cap on a blue sports drink and downs half of it in one go, watching you from the corner of his eye as you gather your keys, wallet, and sunglasses.

“Where you going?” he asks, a little breathless from the chug.

“The same magical place I go every Sunday,” you say flatly. “The grocery store.”

“Oh.” He caps the bottle and sets it on the counter. “Can I come? I need stuff too.”

You sigh. “Dude, I hate when you come. You’re so indecisive.”

He doesn’t answer—just jogs down the hall toward his room. You hear his door creak open, the spray of deodorant, and the rustle of clothes.

“Too bad,” he says as he reappears, pulling on a hoodie. “I’m coming.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door, not bothering to hold it for him as he hurries to follow.

The grocery store is only ten minutes away, but Jake still manages to test every ounce of your patience on the way. He flicks through the radio like he’s searching for a signal from God, adjusts the AC a dozen times, and plays with the window like a bored kid stuck in traffic on the way to Grandma’s house.

By the time you pull into the parking lot, your jaw aches from how hard you’ve been clenching it—white-knuckling your temper like a babysitter who’s one tantrum away from driving into a tree.

Then, as you try to ease the car into a spot while an elderly couple inches a trolley across your path, Jake is still at it—humming off-key to whatever’s on the radio, fiddling with the window, and letting the AC blast straight into your eyeballs like some sort of cryogenic torture.

“Stop!” you snap, slamming your foot on the brake and smacking your hand onto Jake’s thigh.

The car jerks to a halt, halfway into the spot. Your fingers tighten on his leg, feeling the muscle twitch beneath your palm—taut and warm under the thin fabric of his gym shorts.

Jake’s breath catches. His eyes drop to your hand.

“Would you please just fucking stop?” you grit out.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.

You inhale deeply, then slowly release your grip on his leg. You dial down the AC and the radio, look around to make sure the elderly couple is out of the way, and then ease the car into the spot.

Only once you’ve shifted into park does Jake stir. He presses one hand to his leg where yours had been while the other slowly unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Sorry,” you mutter, unbuckling yours. “You’re just such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

You glance up—and find his dark green eyes already locked on you. He doesn’t look annoyed. Or smug. Or hurt. Honestly, you don’t know what the hell that look is, because you’ve never seen it before. Not from him.

His fingers curl into the fabric of his shorts as he takes a slow, uneven breath.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, voice low. “Didn’t mean to annoy you.”

Then he opens the door and practically falls out of the car.

“Okay...” you mutter, climbing out on the other side of the car.

When you glance over the bonnet, he’s already gone—halfway across the parking lot, pulling a trolley out of the bay and guiding it toward the store’s front entrance.

You frown, noticing how close he’s holding onto the cart while waiting for you to catch up.

“We can get a cart when we get inside,” you say, not missing how tightly he’s gripping the handle.

He shrugs, trying to look casual but it’s too forced. “I want this one.”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking to the bent wheel at the front of the trolley. “It’s got a janky wheel.”

“Don’t care,” he says, turning toward the doors. “Still want this one.”

He walks through the automatic doors, clutching the trolley like it’s a lifeline as he steers it toward the produce section just inside.

You shake your head and follow, pulling your phone out to check the grocery list you made this morning.

“Okay,” you say, reaching for the cart and holding out your phone. “Here’s the list.”

“No,” he says quickly, knuckles turning white on the trolley handle. “I’ll push the cart.”

You frown. “Dude, you hate pushing the cart. You literally whine every—”

Then it clicks.

The way he fell out of the car. The rush to grab a trolley. How he’s clutching it like a shield.

“Oh my God,” you giggle, smacking a hand over your mouth. “Jake, are you hard—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, brow furrowing, eyes narrowing. But the bright blush spreading across his cheeks betrays him.

You can’t help the laughter spilling from your lips, muffled by your palm as Jake pushes you aside to avoid other customers.

“Would you stop?” he hisses, turning his cap the right way around to hide his red face.

“I—I’m sorry,” you say between giggles. “I didn’t—I mean, I barely touched you.”

“It wasn’t you,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “I was thinking about last night, and—”

You cut him off with another burst of laughter, drawing a few odd glances from passersby.

“It’s really not that funny,” he growls, folding the brim of his hat. “You’re being childish.”

His words barely register. You’re too amused picturing Jake popping a boner after you grabbed his leg and told him off. You knew the man had some kinks, but you hadn’t pegged him as the submissive type. Or maybe it's the humiliation that gets him.

You bite your lip, narrowing your eyes. “Still hard?”

His eyes go wide. “What the fuck?”

You try to shrug, but the grin tugging at your lips gives you away. “Just asking. Trying to figure out which kink applies—”

“Stop,” he mutters. “Just fucking stop, please. I’m begging you.”

You arch a brow. “Begging?”

He tips his head back and groans, which only sets you off laughing again.

It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, wiping tears from your eyes as your grin finally starts to fade.

With a soft sigh, you lift your phone and open the grocery list again.

“Still want to push the cart?” you ask with a small smirk.

He simply nods, pushing it forward despite not knowing what’s first on the list.

“Hm,” you hum, “maybe it’s the humiliation.”

“What?” he asks over his shoulder.

You lift your brows, feigning innocence. “I said horseradish. We need horseradish.”

He frowns. “What the fuck is a horseradish?”

You’re not entirely sure yourself, but you can’t admit that. So you roll your eyes like he’s asked something stupid and start walking toward the radishes, silently hoping you can figure out a dinner idea this week that actually uses horseradish.

After a few minutes of browsing produce and arguing over which apple is the best, Jake seems to have remedied his little situation. And to your surprise, he doesn’t try to pass off the cart. Instead, he leans his forearms on the handle and follows you around like a well-behaved puppy—occasionally offering advice on what you’re picking, but quickly shutting up the second you tell him to.

“Do not put that in there,” you warn, waving a bunch of spring onions at him.

He frowns, holding up a misshapen tomato. “What? They all taste the same.”

You scoff. “They absolutely do not. Put that down. Pick the nice, plump, red ones.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “You like ‘em plump?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Seresin. I like them plump. Now focus up—we’ve been here almost ten minutes and we’re still in produce.”

He chuckles softly, then turns back to the tomatoes, setting down the ugly one and squeezing each perfectly round, red fruit, searching for the right one.

You bite back a smile, because for all his whining, he’s still doing exactly what you asked. And damn, if the way he’s manhandling those tomatoes isn’t giving you ideas... ones that have no place in a grocery store. Or in public, for that matter.

“Excuse me, dear,” a woman says, gesturing to the mound of bell peppers you’re standing in front of.

“Oh, sorry.” You step closer to Jake, instinctively wrapping an arm around his waist to edge him away so the woman can have her pick.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says with a soft smile, her grey eyes flicking between you and Jake. “You two make a gorgeous couple, I must say.”

Your cheeks flush instantly, words catching in your throat as you try to pull away from him. But he’s faster, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you against his side.

“Why thank you, ma’am,” he says, turning that Southern drawl up to eleven. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

You blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

The woman smiles again before picking out two bell peppers, giving you both a nod, and turning to walk away.

You pull away from Jake, wrinkling your nose. “Don’t know what you’d do, huh?”

He chuckles, twisting the top of the tomato bag.

“Probably have to deal with your own bad choices and crappy one-night stands,” you mutter, shooting him a pointed look that says, Yeah. You’d be hopeless without me.

Then you turn on your heel, grab a sack of potatoes, and drop them into the trolley as Jake meets you at the end of the aisle.

For the next half hour, you stroll up and down the aisles, checking your list and tossing things into the cart. Jake mostly stays quiet, only occasionally arguing that name-brand cereal is always better and that all milk tastes the same, so why not just pick the one on sale?

You start wondering if he really needed to come along—he hasn’t added much more than a few protein bars to the trolley—but regardless, you’re enjoying the company. Besides, you hate pushing the cart, so it’s nice to have him helping you out for once. God knows you do more than your fair share of helping him out.

“Oh no,” he mutters suddenly, ducking closer to the trolley and angling himself behind you.

You glance at him, brow furrowed. “What? What’s wrong?”

“That girl from last week,” he says, voice low.

You blink. “Which one?”

His eyes flick nervously toward the end of the aisle. “You know, the one with the red lipstick and the high-pitched laugh.”

You cast your gaze over your shoulder, trying not to seem conspicuous as you squint. Then you spot her—laughing way too loud with her headphones in, clearly on an obnoxious phone call that the whole grocery store is hearing.

“Oh,” you mutter. “That one. It took me like two days to get that lipstick off your shirt.”

Jake freezes, turning slowly to look at you with a curious frown. “Wait. You did that? I thought it just—”

“Came off in the wash?” you ask, snorting. “Yeah, sure pal. Same as those grease stains on your white shirt.”

He blinks—confused or surprised, you’re not sure. All you know is that his nightmare of a one-night stand is heading this way, her shrill voice getting louder.

“Just trust me, okay?” you mutter quickly.

Then you reach up, grab the back of his neck, and pull him toward you until his face is buried against your shoulder, his hat shielding him. You giggle softly and wrap your other arm around his waist, pulling your bodies flush as you listen for the click of her heels against the vinyl floor.

The clicking gets closer, louder, then slows to a stop. She clears her throat, but you don’t move.

“Baby,” you whisper, your breath hitching as Jake’s lips brush the curve of your neck. “Come on, you can wait ‘til we get home.”

There’s a breath. A moment. You wonder if this woman really has the gall to interrupt a couple in public, but then—

The clicking resumes, her voice slowly fading as she walks away.

“There,” you say, clearing your throat as you shove Jake off you. “And for the record, you’d be hopeless without me.”

You quickly turn back to the shelves, willing your body to calm down as heat floods your face. But you definitely don’t miss his reaction—pupils blown wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed, breath coming quick and shallow.

Nor do you miss the way he holds the cart close again, just like when you first arrived—pressing his body against it as he follows silently behind you, blushing like hell.

A tiny smirk curls across your lips.

Maybe it’s an exhibitionist thing...

After another half hour of perusing the aisles and creatively avoiding the red-lipped woman, you finally head for the checkouts. It doesn’t take long for the woman behind the counter to scan your groceries—but in even less time, Jake manages to ask for her number.

She hesitates, eyeing you curiously while you pack the bags into the cart. Jake puts on the full show, flashing a panty-melting grin and swiping his card with all the country charm he can muster.

But you can see it in her eyes—she’s trying to figure out who the hell you are. And why you’re grocery shopping with this man if you’re not together.

With a sigh, you turn to him, deciding—for some unfathomable reason—to help. As if Jake Seresin needs any help getting a woman’s number.

“Come on, dude,” you say, cutting off one of his tired pickup lines. “My girlfriend’s coming over soon and I told her we’d go somewhere nice for lunch.”

Jake looks at you, head tilting slightly—then you see it click. “Right,” he says smoothly. “Your girlfriend. Because you’re gay.” He turns back to the cashier with a winning smile. “Sorry—my housemate’s getting impatient. So... about that number?”

That’s all it takes.

The cashier giggles, flips her ponytail off her shoulder, grabs a pen, and scribbles her number on the back of the receipt.

You roll your eyes and turn away, pushing the cart toward the doors without waiting for him. But he catches up quickly in the carpark, falling into step beside you with that annoyingly gorgeous grin stretched across his face.

“Thanks for that,” he says. “Didn’t realise why she was being weird.”

You scoff. “Seriously? What did you think she was wondering about two people our age buying groceries together?”

He shrugs, taking the trolley from you while you dig around in your pocket for your car key. “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t think of you like that, so I didn’t think anyone else would.”

You snort, stopping at the boot. “Right. I’m just a sexless goblin to you because I’m immune to your absurd charm and annoyingly perfect face.”

You pop the boot, stepping back as it lifts, and Jake positions the trolley to start unloading the groceries.

“You think I have a perfect face?” he teases, eyes gleaming with mischief.

You shoot him a dry look. “You know you do, Seresin. You don’t need me to validate your ego.”

He laughs, lifting two heavy bags into the boot. “Wouldn’t kill you to say it every once in a while.”

“Oh yeah?” Your voice drips sarcasm. “Well, it wouldn’t kill you to thank me for being not just an incredible roommate but a phenomenal wing-woman once in a while. Hm?”

Jake tosses in the last bag, chuckling softly. Then he moves the trolley aside and—without warning—wraps you up in his arms. Your body stiffens, eyes wide, but he doesn’t let go. He just hugs you tightly, cheek pressing to the top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says dramatically, “for being the best roommate in the world. And the greatest wing-woman a guy like me could ever hope for.”

Then he presses a kiss to your hair.

You let out a disgusted groan, flailing your arms until he lets go. Then you shoot him a withering look, sticking your tongue out like a child as you slam the boot shut and stomp around to the driver’s side door.

While he returns the cart to one of the bays, you take a moment to yourself, trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to remind yourself who you’re dealing with here—Jake fucking Seresin. Cocky, a womanizer, your roommate, and a total pain in the ass.

He absolutely shouldn’t be making you feel all warm and gooey inside. No way. His smile, his scent, the way his strong arms wrapped around you—that’s just… wrong. Definitely not something that should make your brain start asking dumb questions like, What if he did see you like that? Like one of those girls he actually wants.

Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen.

As if you’d ever want that to happen. Nope. No thanks. No way.

- Jake -

It’s been a long day for both of you—but longer for Jake.

After the usual run of flying, training, and debriefing, Maverick made him stay back to fill out maintenance logs as punishment for ‘clogging up the radio’. In Jake’s defence, you and Natasha were baiting him. But Mav didn’t care who started it—he just cared who was still talking when he keyed his mic.

So Jake ended up stuck in the hangar office for two extra hours, sorting paperwork with one of the grumpiest plane captains on base, regretting every single word he’d said.

At least it’s Friday. Two days off, two nights to himself—and, with any luck, some half-decent sex.

When he finally walks through the apartment door, he can hear your shower running. Great. Now he has to wait if he wants hot water.

With a heavy sigh, he unzips his flight suit and starts trudging toward his room at the end of the hall. Yours is just before it—on the right—door wide open as usual. He can hear the soft sound of your humming, light and off-key, which probably means your ensuite door is open too.

“Nope,” he mutters to himself, eyes fixed ahead as he strides past. “Don’t even think about it.”

Because Jake Seresin does not think about you like that. He can’t. Not seriously.

Sure, he flirts. Of course he flirts. He flirts with everyone. It’s easy. It’s harmless.

But you? You’re different.

You’re his housemate. His teammate. One of his closest friends in this whole damn place. Thinking about you—really thinking about you—is a fast track to disaster.

And yet… it’s always crawling at the edges of his mind. Quiet temptation. Soft and persistent, like a whisper he pretends not to hear.

The way your skin would look, slick with water. How that sweet little hum might sound if he had you pressed to the wall, mouth on your neck, hands on your hips. How easy it would be to step in behind you. Slide his fingers down your spine. Sink his teeth into your bare shoulder as you let out a soft whimper—

No. Hell no.

He slams his bedroom door behind him like it’ll help. It doesn’t.

Because the hardest part—pun intended—is that Jake likes living with you. He might even say he loves it. You make things easy. Fun. Comfortable. Like home. Which is exactly why he can’t screw this up. Not by fantasising about you. And definitely not by acting on it.

If he ever let himself go there—let himself think about what it would be like to touch you, to have you—he knows he’d fuck it all up. And he can’t afford to do that. He can’t let his inner-caveman win just because you’re ridiculously hot.

Because this isn’t about feelings. Oh, no. Jake Seresin doesn’t do feelings. This is about him being human—a man, no less—and you being sexy as hell without even realising it.

So he doesn't let himself. He won’t lethimself.

That’s why he keeps his bed full. Women in and out. Just enough heat and chaos to distract him. Just enough friction to keep the thought of you out of his head. So he doesn’t think about your lips. Or the way your body moves. Or the little smirk you get when you know you’ve outsmarted him.

He’s got it under control. Totally. Completely.

Except then you’re there—always there. Smelling like cinnamon and vanilla, wearing those stupidly oversized shirts with no fucking bra. Hard nipples and bare legs. And Jake is just about losing the plot because God, your waist would fit so perfectly in his hands. Your body beneath his as he—

“Jake!”

Your voice cuts through the fog like a gunshot.

He jerks, eyes snapping open, heart hammering. Then he looks down at the very obvious problem tenting the front of his flight suit.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face. “I need to get laid.”

Granted, it’s only been five nights since his last overnight guest. But five nights with just his hand—or worse, humping his pillow like a desperate virgin? Yeah. He’s not doing great.

“Jake!” you call again, louder this time.

He takes a deep breath and reaches into his flight suit, adjusting his now painfully hard dick into the band of his underwear before swinging his bedroom door open.

“What?” he shouts, stomping toward your room.

“I left my towel in the dryer,” you call through the apartment. “Can you grab it for me? I’m all wet.”

He stops just short of your door, eyes shutting tight as he tries not to picture that. You. All wet. Jesus.

“Sure,” he mutters, though he knows you probably can’t hear him.

He spins toward the laundry closet across the hall, yanks open the dryer, and pulls out a fluffy towel that smells just like you—vanilla, cinnamon, whatever intoxicating shampoo you use—and holds it away from his face so he doesn’t sniff it like a psycho.

“Are—are you covered?” he asks as he steps into your room.

“What? You’re not going to try and sneak a peek?” you tease, all playful and smug—and fuck if it doesn’t go straight to his cock.

You’re joking. You’re always joking. Because you love to tease him. But whether it’s on purpose or not, it still makes his dick twitch. Every damn time.

“‘M not the type to steal glances, sweetheart,” he drawls. “I prefer a good, long look.”

It’s just instinct. Flirting is wired into his system, hard-coded somewhere deep in his bones. He doesn’t mean to say half the shit he says—it just falls out of his mouth before his brain even has a chance to weigh in.

“Gross,” you mutter. “Just hurry up, I’m fucking freezing. My nipples could cut glass.”

He goes still. Muscles tight. Jaw clenched.

Cut glass.

Jesus Christ.

His eyes snap shut, but it’s no use. The image is already there—sharp, vivid, obscene—and his cock, already fucking leaking, throbs against his belly.

“Hello?” you call, completely oblivious.

“Yeah,” Jake croaks. “I—I’m coming. Just gimme a fucking second.”

“So’s Christmas,” you grumble.

He sucks in another deep breath, then moves through your room and nudges the ensuite door open—squinting like that’ll save him.

It doesn’t.

You’re standing behind fogged glass, barely blurred—one arm across your chest, the other between your thighs, wet hair clinging to your skin, and steam curling around you in lazy spirals. You look like a damn goddess. A naked, pissed-off goddess who could break him with a single look.

“Dude!” you hiss. “Don’t fucking look!”

His eyes snap open as he jerks his head the other way, blindly stepping toward you with the towel outstretched.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Not sure what else I’m supposed to fucking do.”

You sigh. “Just throw the towel, moron.”

He tosses it, hoping it clears the shower screen.

“Thanks,” you say, followed by the sound of rustling fabric. “Now get the fuck out.”

He clears his throat. “Gladly.”

Then he’s gone—back down the hall, back into his room. Slamming the door shut behind him like that’ll do anything to stop the visions in his head or the aching in his cock.

After a quick wank—very quick, given what he just saw—and a cold shower, Jake grabs his phone and texts the woman he’s been talking to for the past forty-eight hours. She’s been sending him nudes since last night, so with any luck, she’ll be keen to meet up tonight.

He’s already in the kitchen, rummaging through leftovers in the fridge, when you emerge from your room—and it takes everything in him not to do a double-take.

Your hair’s done, your lips are glossy, your dark blue jeans look painted on, and the top you’re wearing is doing downright criminal things for your tits. You’ve got a leather jacket draped over one arm and your purse slung over the opposite shoulder.

Jake frowns, keeping his gaze locked on the container of satay noodles in his hands. “Going somewhere?”

“Got a date,” you reply, voice smug.

He glances up, raising his brows. “A date?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Not surprised,” he says coolly, turning toward the microwave. “You just haven’t had one since we moved in.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, tossing your purse onto the kitchen bench to slip on your jacket. “I just haven’t been bothered. But… a girl’s got needs, you know? It’s been long enough.”

Needs. Jesus Christ. What he wouldn’t give to help with those.

If it weren’t for the fact that you also worked together, Jake might actually be tempted to suggest a roommates-with-benefits kind of deal. But he knows if that ever went south, it wouldn’t just screw up your living situation—it’d screw up your careers. Ones you’ve both worked your asses off to achieve.

He chuckles softly, eyes drifting toward you as you reapply lip gloss using your phone camera. “Do I need to borrow your noise-cancelling headphones?”

You shrug, that teasing smirk tugging at your mouth. “Maybe. I’ll let you know how dinner goes.”

Then you tuck the gloss away, sling your purse back over your shoulder, and turn toward the door.

“Don’t wait up,” you say with a wink.

He raises a brow. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Did you just give me the green light to commit a felony?”

He rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

You poke your tongue out, give him a little wave, and let the door swing shut behind you.

The second the latch clicks, Jake sighs and steps back from the counter, staring down—again—at the bulge in his pants.

God, he hopes he can get laid tonight. Otherwise, he might actually explode.

-

It’s late when Jake gets home. The whole apartment block is eerily quiet as he walks through the lobby, rides the lift up, and strolls down the hall toward your apartment door.

You haven’t texted him all night—not that it matters. The date was either too good for you to touch your phone or so bad you don’t want to talk about it. Either way, Jake doesn’t care.

Because right now, he feels good.

He’s loose-limbed, freshly fucked, and riding the kind of high that only comes from a solid round—or three—of no-strings-attached sex. His head’s clearer. Body lighter. And that itchy, restless frustration he’s been living with? Gone.

Hell, he might even sleep in tomorrow. Skip the gym. Make a big breakfast and tease you about your lousy date—which is what he’s assuming, obviously. Because surely, you would have warned him if—

A pitchy moan cuts through the apartment the second he steps inside. High. Breathless. Undeniably female.

He freezes. One boot off, the other still halfway on.

Another cry echoes. “Fuck—right there—don’t stop.”

The door clicks shut quietly behind him, but Jake still doesn’t move.

Then he hears it.

Smack. Skin on skin. A moan that breaks into a whimper. The creak of bedsprings. The wet, unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together—fast. Rough.

“Harder,” you gasp, desperate.

Jesus Christ.

His brain short-circuits.

That’s you. In your bedroom. Getting absolutely railed. Loudly. Shamelessly. Obscenely.

He’s never heard you like that before—never heard anyone like that before. It's graphic. Filthy. Fucking hot.

Jake actually blushes. His face burning like some virginal freshman stumbling into the wrong dorm.

He should leave. Go out. Do anything but stand there like a depraved freak. But he can’t move.

Then—another moan. Longer. Higher. And something crashes into the wall. Headboard? Elbow? Doesn’t matter. What matters is the sound you make when it happens, a breathy, cracked little “Ja—ah—”

Wait. Jake?

His whole body jerks.

But then you laugh, low and wrecked. “Justin,” you pant. “D-Don’t let me cum yet.”

Not Jake. Just his idiot brain, short-circuiting under pressure.

Still, he swears all the blood in his body does a violent U-turn, hurtling south at breakneck speed. Because that voice, that pitch, that tone—

It’s everything he’s not allowed to think about.

And now? He can’t stop.

He kicks off his second boot, face hot, dick already hard again—and this time it’s worse. Because he’s not just turned on. He’s unravelling. He’s losing it. Caught somewhere between protective and pissed off and—

He’s not jealous. Of course not. That’d be insane.

He’s just... horny. Again.

Because all that post-orgasm clarity he walked in with?

Gone. Instantly. Obliterated.

And now all he can hear is you—moaning, begging, falling apart—and all he can think about is what it would be like to be the one making you sound like that.

Jake stumbles down the hall like a man possessed, yanks open his bedroom door, and kicks it shut behind him. He flicks on the light, grabs the first pair of sweatpants he sees, and starts tearing through drawers like a lunatic.

Headphones. He needs headphones. Where the fuck are his headphones?

They’re always in the top drawer. Always. Except tonight, of course. Tonight they’re nowhere to be found. Maybe he left them in his car, or at the gym. Maybe they’re buried in his gear bag or lost somewhere at work. Wherever they are, it doesn’t matter—because right now, he’s completely, helplessly, fucked.

Your voice floats through the apartment—soft and wrecked. “Oh, my God—yes, yes, right there—”

Jake groans, scrubbing both hands over his face before falling face first onto the bed. He drags a pillow over his head like it’s going to do anything, like it’s going to stop the sounds seeping through the walls.

It doesn’t.

Your moans crawl straight into his ears, into his bloodstream, settling hot and heavy in his gut. He presses his hips into the mattress, jaw tight, pulse pounding in his throat. It’s subconscious at first—barely even movement. Just friction. Pressure. Desperation.

Then you cry out again, all high and needy, and Jake grinds down without thinking. Just once. Just enough to feel it. His breath catches. His body lights up like a fuse. Because in his head, it’s all you. Under him. Around him. Crying out his name.

No. No, no, no—fuck, stop it.

He flips onto his back, trying to will the image away—but it’s already there. Burned into his brain. Your face, tipped back in pleasure. Your mouth slack, panting. Your thighs spread wide. Hands clawing at his back. Body arching into his.

He groans again, eyes squeezed shut, fisting the sheets as his hips jerk up into nothing.

And then—

A low grunt. Rough. Male. Clipped and stuttering. Followed by a choked-off, breathless curse.

Justin.

Jake’s whole body locks up.

Everything goes still.

Heat drains from his face, shame slamming into his chest like a sucker punch.

Because what the fuck is he doing?

He’s lying here, hard and sweating and grinding against his own goddamn mattress, getting off to the sound of you fucking someone else.

His friend. His roommate. His teammate.

Jake shoves himself upright, rage and humiliation sizzling through his veins like lightning. His body is still aching—still primed—but now it just feels gross. Wrong. So fucking wrong.

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face like that’ll wipe the whole moment away.

But it won’t.

Because the sound of you—wrecked, undone, beautiful—is still echoing in his skull. And for the first time in a long time, Jake Seresin feels like a goddamn mess.

Eventually—after what feels like an eternity—the noises stop.

Jake lies in bed feeling like a snapped powerline—buzzing with a dangerous current he can’t shake, muscles locked. nerves frayed. He hears your shower running, your voices—low and indistinct—then, at last, silence.

Sleep comes in useless fragments. Every time he drifts off, it’s only to be jolted awake by echoes of your voice. Whimpers. Moans. Soft sighs that somehow twist themselves into his name.

Each time his eyes snap open, his stomach turns. He needs his memory scrubbed clean, wiped of every sound, every image—because the longer it lingers, the more vividly he sees you. Blissed out. Fucked stupid. Completely undone in a way he’s never seen before.

God. Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe moving in together wasn’t the smartest idea he’s ever had.

Sure, it’s benefited him just fine for the past few months, but he hadn’t expected this side of things. He hadn’t considered what it might feel like to lie in bed, separated by a single thin wall, listening to you have pornographic sex with strangers. If he’d known that was part of the deal, maybe he would’ve thought twice.

How hypocritical.

By five a.m., he gives up. He rolls out of bed, changes into his gym clothes, and storms out the door—scowling at Justin’s shoes still sitting neatly beside yours.

He spends two solid hours at the gym, working his body until his muscles shake and his vision blurs. His headphones—found buried in his damn gym bag—stay on the whole time, music turned up loud in a pathetic attempt to drown out the sounds still ricocheting around in his skull.

Your moans are stuck in his head like an old favourite song, one he can’t stop humming even though it’s starting to make him go insane.

He sees a few familiar faces and stops for conversation, pretending everything is normal. Easy. Like he didn’t spend last night rutting against his sheets, imagining things he shouldn’t be imagining. Because seriously—what kind of freak fantasises about their friend getting railed by another guy?

At seven, he leaves the gym and stops for coffee halfway home. Then he sits in his car for thirty whole minutes, sipping it slowly while scrolling through his contacts like a man on a mission. Every female name gets a second glance—because he’s desperate. For a distraction. A good fuck. Anything to clear his head and kill this goddamn erection.

When he finally decides to head upstairs, he finds himself praying that you’re not home. Or if you are, that you’re alone. Because the idea of running into you—or worse, him—makes his skin itch.

Normally, he’d love a bit of banter over breakfast. But not today. Today, all he wants is to jerk off until he’s raw and numb and no longer at risk of letting something stupid slip out of his mouth.

He’s halfway down the hall toward your apartment door when he hears music. Loud music, accompanied by slightly off-key singing and jumbled lyrics. And the only reason he knows the lyrics are wrong is because this is one of his favourite songs.

A country song, no less. One you’ve sworn to hate every time he dares to play his music out loud.

He presses his lips together and quietly pulls out his keys, doing his best to stay silent as he cracks the door open.

And there you are.

In the middle of the kitchen, using a spatula as a microphone and swaying your hips like it’s the best morning of your life. You’re wearing one of those absurdly sexy oversized shirts, and he can’t even tell if you’ve got shorts on—or panties, for that matter.

Your hair’s a mess, there’s makeup smudged beneath your eyes, and your head is tipped back as you belt out the chorus with full, reckless confidence. Wrong notes, wrong lyrics, right attitude.

Jake’s heart lurches into his throat, beating way too fast.

You look so happy. Not just content or satisfied, but happy. Radiant. It’s the same expression you wore the first time you flew a jet—he remembers, he was there—and at TOPGUN graduation, grinning like you could take on the world. God, he’s never forgotten that smile. It’s too damn pretty to forget.

He swallows hard, trying to dislodge the weird lump in his throat, and shakes his head before pushing the door open all the way.

You don’t notice at first. You’ve turned your back to him, flipping a pancake at the stove, your head bobbing along to the music like you physically can’t keep still.

Jake clears his throat. “Didn’t think you’d be able to walk today, let alone put on a concert.”

You jump, whirling around with wide eyes and wielding the spatula like a weapon.

“Jesus Christ, dude! What the fuck?”

Dude. Sometimes Jake wonders if you’ve actually forgotten his name. Even his callsign would be better.

“I didn’t sneak in,” he says—only a partial lie. You would’ve heard him if it weren’t for the music. “Not my fault you’re off in your own world.”

You roll your eyes and grab your phone off the counter, turning the music down until it’s just background noise.

Jake lifts a brow. “So, Justin fucked you into having good music taste, huh?”

Your eyes go wide, heat crawling up your neck. “How do you know his name?”

Jake just gives you a flat look, folding his arms over his chest while he waits for you to figure it out.

“Oh—” you gasp, slapping a hand over your mouth, but you’re still grinning.

“Yeah,” Jake mutters, turning toward the living room. “Oh is right.”

He walks around the couch before flopping down into the cushions and pulling out his phone.

“Hungry?” you call out.

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes glued to his phone as he types a few quick responses to the women he messaged earlier.

A few minutes later, you appear in front of him holding out a plate stacked with two pancakes, a heap of blueberries, banana slices, Greek yogurt, and a drizzle of dark maple syrup.

“Pancakes are made with ricotta,” you say. “And it’s that organic syrup you like. So don’t bitch about carbs or refined sugar.”

He blinks, looking up at you with wide green eyes, wondering why the hell he deserves this. How the hell he deserves you. As a friend, of course. A roommate.

You nudge the plate closer. “Come on, dude. I haven’t got all day.”

He takes it, clearing his throat—again. “Uh, thanks.”

You smile and turn away—and he can’t help it. He ducks his head, eyes dragging down your legs, trying to see if there’s anything under that damn shirt.

“I’m hanging out with Nat today,” you call from the kitchen. “She wants the full recap on last night.”

Jake snorts. “Yeah? Want me to come? Bet I could give her a better play-by-play than you could.”

“Shut up, Seresin,” you mutter, but he can still hear the smile in your voice. “I’ve listened to you every second bloody night for the past two months. Call it payback.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes the first bite of pancake, summoning every ounce of self-control he has not to moan. Because holy shit, these are good.

“Yeah?” he calls. “Well, I know for a fact none of my sleepovers have ever been that loud.”

You appear again, almost startling him as you set a mug of coffee on the table in front of him.

“Well, maybe,” you say, eyes narrowed, “you should do better. Then your sleepovers might be a little louder. A little more... enthusiastic.”

Then you turn and stroll back into the kitchen.

Jake shuts his eyes, breathing slow and deep through his nose.

Do not get hard. Do not get hard. Do not—

He’ll be fine.

As soon as you’re out of the apartment and he can jerk off in peace.

Half an hour later, you’re showered and dressed, standing by the door, sliding sunglasses onto your head. Jake is in the kitchen, elbow-deep in warm water and suds, cleaning up after your breakfast concert—something he volunteered for, of course. A small price to pay for borderline orgasmic pancakes.

“I’ve got a heap of laundry to do before tomorrow. Can you make sure the machine’s free when I get back?” you ask, one foot already out the door, brows raised.

Jake glances over. “Want me to start it? I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll be here all day anyway.”

Your brows lift even higher. “Oh? No Sunday sex appointment?”

“Not ‘til tonight,” he grins.

You roll your eyes, a playful smirk curling your lips. “Okay. That’d be great, actually. You know where my hamper is?”

He nods again, and you flash a wide smile before slipping out the door, calling an airy “Thanks, bye” over your shoulder.

After washing, drying, and putting away the dishes, Jake wipes down the kitchen, vacuums the floor, then moves on to the laundry. He retrieves your hamper from your room, trying not to let his eyes wander too much—but even after all the times he’s been in here, it feels different now. Like the walls are holding onto something he wasn’t meant to know. Something raw. Something private. Something that would make the devil himself blush.

He shakes his head and forces his feet to move out of your room, taking the hamper with him to the laundry closet. He swings the doors open wide and pours your laundry into the plastic basket sitting atop the machine. Then he shifts the basket to the small bench on the left, opens the washer door, double-checks that it’s empty, and starts sorting through your dirty laundry.

He doesn’t want to be a creep—he really doesn’t—but some things just can’t go in the wash together. So he tries. He spots your work clothes and sets them aside, knowing they need a hotter wash—grease and all that. Then he picks up a bra and remembers you mentioning something about an undergarment bag...

With a clipped sigh, he drops the bra and rummages through the cupboard beneath the bench, quickly finding the spotted mesh bag he’s seen you use before. Whether you use it all the time, he isn’t sure, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Working quickly now, he slips your bras into the bag and sets aside anything he’s unsure about mixing with the rest. And then—

Something catches his eye. Nestled between a pair of blue jeans and the top you wore last night lies a delicate matching set of lingerie—deep burgundy lace, silky and soft-looking, way too pretty and intimate for him to be seeing.

His breath hitches. His pulse spikes. He tells himself to shove the thought aside—it’s just laundry. Stop being a creep. It’s just laundry.

But he can’t stop picturing it—your skin wrapped in that delicate fabric, your most intimate places covered by just a whisper of lace and silk. God. He can’t fucking stop.

His sweatpants start to swell at the crotch, growing until there’s a prominent tent between him and the bench where that lingerie lies. Taunting. Teasing him.

Jesus. It probably still smells like you. He could almost—

No. Stop. Stop right now.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He shifts his weight, eyes locked on the burgundy lace. His fingers twitch, itching to touch, but he clenches them into fists at his sides, clinging to what little control he still has left.

His breath turns shallow, uneven. Each inhale sharper than the last. His head spins as blood rushes south—away from reason. Away from restraint.

His mind races, painting every inch of you in that fucking lingerie. How the lace would hug your curves, how soft and warm you’d be beneath it. Your scent. The slope of your hips. The arch of your back. How wet you’d be... just for him.

He can't take it anymore.

With a strangled grunt, his hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers trembling as they close around his hot, swollen length—already leaking into the grey fabric.

His hips twitch, breath catching, eyes squeezed shut. All he can see is you. That lace. The sounds you made last night. He strokes harder, faster—every thrust frantic, sloppy, desperate. He’s too far gone, lost to the hunger clawing its way through him.

It doesn’t take long. He’s too worked up. Too far gone.

He steps closer to the bench, bracing himself with one hand, his other still working beneath his sweats. His head drops forward, and—

His fingers graze the lace. Just barely. The faintest touch.

But it’s enough.

His whole body seizes—hot and tight—and he cums with a gasp, clutching the edge of the bench as pleasure crashes over him. His hips stutter, grinding through it, riding the wave until he’s shaking.

When he opens his eyes, his hand is slick and his sweatpants are soaked through, a dark stain spreading across the front of them. His shirt isn’t spared either—there’s a damp patch blooming near the hem.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathless.

He wipes his hand on his pants and forces himself to finish sorting your laundry, tossing the lingerie into the garment bag like it might burn him if he holds it too long. Then, without looking down, he strips out of his ruined clothes and shoves them into the machine.

He tosses in two detergent pods, taps a few buttons, and hits start—watching the drum begin to spin like that alone might be enough to wash away what just happened.

Then he heads for the shower, grabbing his phone on the way—because if he has any chance of pulling himself together before you get home, he’s going to need more than just his hand.

PART TWO

[shy9-29]

In Too Deep | 이희승

이희승 x reader

“I don’t know when it stopped being fake… but I don’t think I can pretend anymore.” In a whirlwind of old grudges, fake dating, and unexpected feelings, two sworn enemies find themselves tangled in something that feels a little too real. And once the lines blur, there’s no going back.

genre: enemies to lovers, fake relationship, uni romance

📝 I honestly don’t know what I was thinking while writing this. This is an old ff because I’m stuck on a ff I’m writing on rn but hopefully you’ll like it.

wc. 6.1k · masterlist · rq open

It all started three years ago, the night of the infamous graduation party at Heeseung’s place.

The air had been thick with summer heat, cheap cologne, and the excitement of finally being free from high school. You hadn’t even wanted to go at first, but your friends had dragged you along, promising one last memory before everyone went their separate ways. And you did make a memory—just not the kind you ever wanted.

You drank too much. Way too much. Maybe it was the nerves, or maybe it was the way Heeseung kept flashing that smug smile, acting like the king of the party. You weren’t sure. But by the end of the night, you ended up throwing up in the middle of his parents’ living room. Right in front of everyone. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Jake—Heeseung’s best friend—caught it on video and thought it would be hilarious to post it online.

The video went viral in your town overnight. By morning, your name wasn’t just trending in group chats—it was practically a meme. You were humiliated, and Heeseung? He didn’t even bother taking the video down. In fact, he laughed about it. That was the moment you swore you’d hate him forever.

And so you did.

From the moment you stepped foot on campus, you ignored him. Avoided him. Exchanged icy glares when your paths crossed. You became the girl who bounced back, worked hard, and made a name for herself. And he remained the golden boy, cocky and untouchable.

For three years, you stayed in your own lanes. Until one day, out of nowhere, Heeseung looked you dead in the eye and asked, “Will you pretend to be my girlfriend?”

They were the prettiest pair on campus—and everyone knew it, even if they never stood side by side long enough for the full effect to settle in. The most talked-about students in the most elite university in Seoul. Separately, they turned heads. Together, they could’ve stopped traffic.

You had the kind of beauty that made people pause. Skin that seemed to glow under the sun, shiny hair that, just for today, you’d styled into soft waves. You wore light blue baggy jeans that cinched perfectly at your waist and a simple white summer short-sleeve top that gave off an effortlessly pretty vibe—like you hadn’t tried, but still looked perfect.

Heeseung, on the other hand, stood tall at 6’0, with fair skin and striking maroon hair that somehow looked both bold and natural on him. Today he was in a black zip-up hoodie over a white tee, paired with matching baggy blue jeans that made him look effortlessly cool—as usual. His vibe was more “couldn’t care less,” but the way people looked at him said otherwise.

It didn’t matter that the two of you hated each other. In fact, maybe that made it even more entertaining to watch. Beauty and tension had a way of making sparks fly—and everyone else could feel the fire, even if you both kept pretending there was none.

You blinked at him, thinking you’d heard wrong. “What?”

Heeseung leaned against the wall casually, arms crossed over his chest, like he hadn’t just said the most ridiculous thing you’d heard in your entire life. “Be my fake girlfriend.”

You stared at him. Then laughed. Out loud.

“Are you serious right now?” you scoffed, taking a step back like the words themselves were contagious. “Why would I ever do that?”

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at you with that same unreadable expression he always wore—somewhere between bored and amused. “Because you’re the only one who won’t actually fall for me.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Flattering,” you muttered sarcastically, turning to walk away. “Find someone else, Heeseung. I’m not interested in being part of whatever mess this is.”

But he caught your wrist gently, just enough to make you pause. “Wait. Just listen—”

You yanked your hand back. “I don’t owe you anything. Least of all after what happened three years ago.”

Heeseung’s jaw tensed. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something like guilt—but it disappeared too quickly to name.

“It’s fake,” he said quietly. “No feelings. Just for show. A few weeks, tops.”

You shook your head. “I’d rather kiss a cactus.”

And with that, you walked away, heart pounding harder than you wanted to admit.

You didn’t look back, even though you could feel his eyes on you the entire time you walked down the hallway. Your steps were firm, but your thoughts were anything but.

Be my fake girlfriend.

What kind of audacity did Heeseung even run on?

You tried to shake it off the rest of the day—distracted yourself with lectures, group chats, anything to stop thinking about the nerve he had. But his voice kept echoing in your head. The way he said it so casually, like it made perfect sense. Like you were the only logical option.

By the time your last class ended, the group chat with your friends was already blowing up.

Yuna: Girl. Tell me why Heeseung’s been walking around looking like someone just slapped him?

Jisoo: Wait wasn’t he talking to you earlier? What did he say??

You: Nothing. He’s insane. Pretend I never mentioned it.

Yuna: You didn’t mention it, but now you have to.

You sighed, not replying. The campus buzzed around you as you made your way across the quad, but you felt out of it—half stuck in the present, half stuck in that stupid party from three years ago.

Heeseung had humiliated you. Even if he didn’t film it himself, he let it spread. Never apologized. Never cared. And now he wanted you to play pretend in some weird PR stunt or whatever his problem was?

You walked past the library—and of course, he was there. Sitting on the steps. Waiting.

You froze.

He looked up from his phone, spotted you, and stood slowly, like he knew you wouldn’t run this time.

And maybe… maybe you wouldn’t. Not yet.

Heeseung was still the same old popular jerk.

Cocky smirk? Check. Effortless charm? Still there. Girls trailing behind him like he was the second coming of a K-drama lead? Absolutely. And you? You weren’t much different. You had your own crowd, your own reputation, and enough confidence to walk past him without sparing a second glance—most days, at least.

But today was different.

He was still standing on the library steps when you approached, like he had all the time in the world. His maroon hair caught the sunlight, and that familiar smug expression tugged at the corner of his mouth as soon as he saw you.

“You’re still thinking about it,” he said before you could even open your mouth.

You crossed your arms. “I came here to tell you no. Again.”

“Sure you did.” He grinned. “That’s why you didn’t block me after I asked. You’re curious.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t block you because I have better things to do. Like ignoring your existence.”

He chuckled softly, then rubbed the back of his neck—something surprisingly awkward for someone who was usually all confidence. “Look, I didn’t mean to ambush you. I just… didn’t know who else to ask.”

You raised a brow. “You’re Heeseung. You could literally point at someone and they’d say yes.”

He hesitated. “Yeah, well… that’s kind of the problem.”

You stared at him, waiting for the rest.

He sighed. “My parents. They’re coming to visit next month. And they’ve been on my ass about dating. ‘You’re getting older, when will you settle down?’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “They think I’m some hopeless flirt who can’t take anything seriously.”

You blinked. “They’re not wrong.”

He gave you a look. “Not helping.”

You tilted your head. “So… your big plan is to trick them with a fake girlfriend? And you chose me? The girl who hates your guts?”

Heeseung shrugged. “Exactly. You’re the last person they’d think I’d date. Which makes it more believable. If I can ‘convince’ you to fall for me, maybe they’ll back off.”

You stared at him, lips parted in disbelief.

He just looked at you, calm and confident like always, and said, “So? You in, or do I need to bribe you with something?”

You squinted at him for a long moment, arms still crossed as you weighed the absurdity of the situation. Honestly, part of you wanted to walk away again. Tell him to shove his plan and leave you alone.

But then… an idea started forming. A devilish, slow-burning idea that made your lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile.

“Okay,” you said finally.

Heeseung’s brows lifted. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Wait—seriously?”

You nodded. “But I want a bribe.”

He smirked, stepping forward slightly, voice dropping an octave. “What, you want free coffee every day? Access to my Netflix account? A kiss or two to make it look real—?”

You held up your hand to shut him up. “Relax, Casanova. Not even close.”

Now he looked confused. “Then what?”

You smiled sweetly—too sweetly. The kind of smile that meant trouble. “If I agree to be your fake girlfriend… I get to post something humiliating about you.”

Heeseung blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me. Just one post. Could be a picture, a video, a story. Something that makes you the joke for once.”

His face twisted in disbelief, like the thought had never even crossed his mind. “You’re serious?”

“As a hangover on grad night,” you replied, your tone sugarcoated and smug. “You humiliated me three years ago. This levels the playing field.”

Heeseung ran a hand through his maroon hair, letting out a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re insane.”

You grinned wider. “And you’re desperate.”

He stared at you for a second longer… then sighed and held out his hand. “Fine. Deal.”

You took it, shaking once.

The moment your hand left his, you felt it—that shift in the air. Like you had just signed up for something much more dangerous than a fake relationship.

Heeseung gave you a crooked grin, one brow raised. “You’re really going to post something embarrassing of me?”

You nodded, smug. “Absolutely. And it’s going to be good.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was something amused flickering behind his usual cocky front. “Fine. Just remember, you’re my girlfriend now. Even fake ones have reputations to protect.”

You smirked. “Please. I’ve survived worse than being seen with you.”

“You’re not wrong,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, we start tomorrow. My parents are in town for a charity dinner next week, so we have—what?—seven days to look madly in love.”

You blinked. “Wait—tomorrow?”

“What? Gotta build the illusion,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “We’re gonna need a story highlight, at least three posts together, and maybe a casual paparazzi shot. You know, something that screams we’re disgustingly happy.”

You stared at him. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

He didn’t even look up as he started typing. “If I’m doing this, I’m doing it right.”

You suddenly remembered why you hated him in the first place—he was the kind of person who could make faking a relationship feel like prepping for war. And you were now officially enlisted.

“Fine,” you said. “But don’t forget our deal.”

He glanced up at you, that annoying spark of amusement back in his eyes. “Trust me. I won’t.”

You turned to leave, already planning your revenge post in your head—maybe that one photo of him from freshman year in the dorm hallway wearing a pink bunny headband and mismatched socks. Or that video from the campus talent show where his voice cracked mid high note.

Yeah. This was going to be fun.

The next morning, your phone buzzed before your alarm even had the chance to go off. You groaned, rolled over, and saw a notification:

Heeseung [6:38 AM]

Rise and shine, girlfriend. I’ll pick you up in 30. Wear something cute.

You stared at the message for a full five seconds, then typed back:

You [6:39 AM]

Die.

You threw the covers over your face, cursing yourself for ever agreeing to this. But a deal was a deal, and if playing his girlfriend meant finally serving him a slice of his own humiliation, you’d survive.

Barely.

By 7:15, you were waiting outside your building, hair tied up in a lazy ponytail, a cropped hoodie over a black tank, and fitted cargo pants—cute enough, in your opinion. When Heeseung pulled up, he had one hand on the wheel and a smug grin already locked and loaded.

“You clean up nice,” he said, leaning over to push the passenger door open.

You got in without looking at him. “You said ‘fake girlfriend.’ You didn’t say anything about being a morning person.”

He laughed as he pulled away from the curb. “We’re going on a coffee date. Gotta give the people something to talk about.”

“People? What people?” you frowned.

He just held up his phone.

And of course—his Instagram story was already up:

A boomerang of two coffees in a to-go tray with the caption:

“Coffee date with my girl.”

Heart emoji and all.

You stared at it in horror. “You tagged me?!”

He grinned. “Well yeah. Gotta make it official.”

You snatched his phone. “Delete it.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Too late. Already got 23 DMs asking if hell froze over.”

You groaned, sinking lower into the seat. “You’re the worst.”

“No,” he said, shooting you a quick side glance, “I’m the boyfriend.”

You looked at him, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. This was going to be exhausting. But strangely… it was already kind of entertaining.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But I’m getting my revenge post by the end of the week.”

He smirked. “Can’t wait to see what you dig up.”

You already had three folders.

Let the games begin.

The next few days flew by in a blur of fake smiles, staged moments, and way too many coffee dates. Every time you tried to go somewhere on your own, Heeseung would be there—casually showing up like he had nothing better to do. And each time, he’d pull out his phone and take a picture or video, making it look like the two of you were the perfect couple.

You hated it. But part of you had to admit, you were starting to get into it—just not for the reasons he thought. The more time you spent with him, the more you realized how easy it was to annoy him. How easy it was to mess with his perfectly curated world. And that was exactly what you intended to do.

On the fourth day, you had your first official “couple picture” together. The location? A park in the middle of campus, where everyone could see. You wore a cute dress, a bit too much effort for your usual taste, but Heeseung insisted it was “important for the vibe.” He, of course, looked effortlessly cool in a graphic tee and his usual baggy jeans. You both stood side by side, his arm casually slung over your shoulders, looking casually in love. But in reality, you could barely suppress your smirk as you snapped the photo for his Instagram.

He posted it immediately with the caption:

“Mines Only”

You took the opportunity to really ruin it.

That night, after he had sent you his “thank you for the cute post” text, you sent him one back. You didn’t mention the post. You didn’t mention anything. Instead, you simply sent a photo from the same park—an unflattering, grainy shot of him mid-laugh, where he looked like he was choking on a piece of gum.

The caption?

“When he tells you he’s ‘not like other guys’… but then you see this.”

You held your breath as you waited for his response.

Seconds later, your phone buzzed.

Heeseung [11:02 PM]: Are you serious?

You smirked, typing back:

You [11:02 PM]: I said I was getting my revenge post by the end of the week. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it cute next time (maybe)

He didn’t reply immediately, but you could practically feel his annoyance radiating through the phone. That was the beauty of being his “girlfriend”—you could make him squirm without ever touching a thing that mattered to him.

You hadn’t thought much of it when you posted the photo. It was meant to be harmless payback—just a little jab to keep Heeseung on his toes. You figured people would laugh, maybe tease him for a day or two, and that would be it.

But when you stepped onto campus the next morning, something was… off.

People were staring. Whispering. Smiling.

A girl from your communications class stopped you in the hallway with a dreamy sigh. “That post you made last night… oh my God, you two are literally goals.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

She giggled. “It’s just so real, you know? Everyone’s always posting those perfect, filtered couple pictures, but yours was like—raw, and genuine. You didn’t try to make him look perfect, and that somehow made it even cuter.”

You stared at her in disbelief, only managing a nod before she walked off. Then it happened again. And again. People you barely knew were suddenly giving you heart eyes, acting like you and Heeseung were some kind of rom-com come to life.

By the time you reached the student lounge, two professors had walked past whispering, “Did you see that post? The one with Heeseung and yn? It’s adorable!”

You nearly choked.

And of course, right in the center of the attention storm was Heeseung, sitting back in a chair with one leg crossed over the other, sipping on an iced americano like he hadn’t just been unintentionally turned into everyone’s favorite golden retriever boyfriend.

You stormed up to him. “What the hell is happening?”

He grinned, tilting his head. “You mean the part where we accidentally became the most talked-about couple on campus?”

“Yes! Why are people acting like I posted a love letter instead of blackmail?”

He laughed. Actually laughed. “Because you did it wrong.”

“I made you look like you were choking.”

“Exactly,” he said, standing and slinging an arm over your shoulder like it was second nature. “People love that stuff. It makes us look real. Like we’re actually in love and don’t care how we look. It’s disgusting. They’re eating it up.”

You groaned, trying to shake him off, but his grip stayed firm. “This was not the plan.”

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “you made me look human. And apparently, the school’s obsessed with the idea of Lee Heeseung being whipped.”

You scowled. “You are not whipped.”

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. “But maybe I’ll start pretending to be. Just to sell it.”

Your breath caught for half a second, which only made his smirk grow.

The worst part? You couldn’t tell if he was still playing the game… or if he was starting to enjoy it.

“I am good at this,” he replied without missing a beat. “Have you seen the comments? People are begging for wedding invites.”

You scoffed. “Gross. Delusional.”

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the post, reading aloud dramatically, “‘If this isn’t love, I don’t want it. OMG the way he looks at her!! UGH, my standards are ruined.’” He looked up with a smug grin. “You ruined them, Y/N. Feel powerful?”

You snatched his phone and scrolled for yourself—and yep, the comments were out of control.

@robertwu: Wait why is this the cutest couple content I’ve seen all year??

@ksy.97: Y/N posting that photo like a tired girlfriend who loves her dumb man. I’m crying.

@x_we1: Heeseung in love??? This era is feeding us well.

You blinked. “They really think this is real?”

Heeseung leaned casually against the wall beside you, watching your reaction with that annoyingly entertained expression. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is,” you snapped. “This was supposed to be harmless. A joke. A fake relationship. And now people are shipping us like we’re some webtoon couple with a tragic backstory and a soft boy redemption arc.”

He grinned. “You’ve been reading fan comments, haven’t you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it with a glare.

“I told you,” he said, nudging your arm with his elbow, “people love mess. And this is their favorite kind—the hot, mysterious enemies-to-lovers storyline.”

You nearly choked. “Lovers?! Calm down, Romeo.”

He just laughed, brushing past you to head down the hall. “Come on, fake girlfriend. You’re walking me to class. Public display of affection and all that.”

You stood there for a second, mentally screaming, before dragging your feet to follow him. This whole thing was spiraling out of control. What started as a stupid plan for revenge had turned into a campus-wide fantasy.

But the worst part?

For the first time since that party three years ago…

You weren’t entirely sure you hated being seen with him.

One week later.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, still not believing what you were about to do.

Charity dinner. With his parents.

In heels, a satin slip dress, a necklace Heeseung had casually handed you earlier that morning with a smug, “It’ll make you look expensive.” You’d thrown a pillow at his head for that, but you wore it anyway.

You were supposed to hate him. Still did—technically. But somehow, between the fake Instagram posts, the morning texts, the way he always had an iced latte waiting for you before your 9 a.m. class, and the fact that he now walked you to said class like a real boyfriend… something had shifted.

You didn’t want to think too hard about it.

When you walked out to the front of your building, Heeseung was already waiting by the car, wearing a sleek black suit and the same damn smirk that made your blood boil and your stomach twist at the same time.

He turned when he heard your footsteps—and for once, he didn’t say anything stupid. He just stared.

“You’re staring,” you said flatly.

“You’re hot,” he replied just as flatly. “Don’t make it weird.”

You gave him a glare, but you couldn’t fight the heat rising in your cheeks as he opened the car door for you.

The car ride was quieter than usual—no teasing, no arguing. Just your phone buzzing with new notifications from people commenting on the photo he’d posted twenty minutes ago.

You and Heeseung in front of the car, your hand on his chest, his chin tilted toward you like he was about to kiss you. It wasn’t even a real moment—you’d taken it as a joke—but he posted it anyway.

“Dinner with the girl who’s ruining my peace and I kinda like it.”

Captioned, of course, with a heart and a black tie emoji.

By the time you arrived at the venue, half the university had already liked the post.

Heeseung leaned in close as you both stepped out. “Ready to meet the people who think I’m still twelve and incapable of monogamy?”

You sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He paused. “Hey.”

You looked up.

He smiled—no smirk this time, just something softer, something that felt… real. “Thanks for doing this.”

You opened your mouth to say something sarcastic—anything—but the words didn’t come.

Because somewhere in the mess of fake posts and planned appearances…

This started feeling less like a lie.

The moment you stepped into the ballroom, arm looped through Heeseung’s, all eyes turned toward you.

You looked around, trying to keep your expression neutral—poised, even. But your heart was doing backflips. This wasn’t some cute café date or a casual run-in on campus. This was a high-end, wine-glass-clinking, string-quartet-playing charity gala… filled with Seoul’s elite. People in suits and gowns. His parents. His actual parents.

“You good?” Heeseung whispered beside you, leaning in slightly, his breath brushing your ear.

You gave him a sharp look. “No. But I’ll survive.”

He smiled. “You’ll do great. Just stay close to me.”

You wanted to snap back with something sassy—maybe “Don’t flatter yourself”—but instead, you nodded. Because truthfully, his steady presence next to you was the only thing keeping your nerves from boiling over.

As you walked through the room, people began coming up to greet him.

“Lee Heeseung! You’ve grown so much. And who’s this lovely young lady?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “My girlfriend, Y/N.”

You felt his fingers gently squeeze yours.

Each time someone approached, he’d introduce you with the same ease, that same little tilt of pride in his voice. And each time, you’d smile, nod, say something polite—like this wasn’t the strangest, most out-of-body experience of your life.

And then came the real challenge.

His parents.

His mother spotted you from across the room first—elegant, graceful, and dressed in a deep navy gown that screamed old money. His father stood beside her, equally intimidating in a crisp tailored suit.

“Oh,” she said with a warm but curious smile as you and Heeseung approached. “So you’re the girl he’s been refusing to shut up about.”

You blinked. “He… what?”

“Mooom,” Heeseung groaned quietly under his breath.

But it was too late.

His mom took your hands and gave you a smile so genuine, it caught you off guard. “Heeseung’s never brought anyone to an event like this before. We were starting to think he’d sworn off love.”

You glanced up at him, expecting his usual cocky comeback, but he was quiet—just watching you with something unreadable in his eyes.

“Thank you for coming,” his father added with a respectful nod. “It’s good to see him with someone who balances him out.”

You swallowed, managing a smile. “It’s… it’s been nice. Unexpected. But nice.”

The conversation shifted as a server passed with champagne, and the moment loosened. Still, you could feel Heeseung watching you—closely, carefully.

Later, as you stood near one of the windows overlooking the city lights, he stepped beside you again, slipping his hand back into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re killing it,” he said softly.

You looked at him. “You didn’t tell me your parents were actually nice.”

He chuckled. “You looked like you were expecting to be interrogated.”

“I was.”

He shifted to face you, his expression unreadable again. “But you still came.”

You shrugged. “A deal’s a deal.”

“Right,” he said, but his voice was quieter this time. “A deal.”

There was a beat of silence—just the distant music and low voices in the background. Then, before you could overthink it, Heeseung leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

You froze.

And not because of the cameras. Not because of the act.

But because it felt… real.

And when you turned to look at him—really look—you realized he wasn’t acting either.

And more like the beginning of something you didn’t know how to fake anymore.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, frozen, staring up at him. Because in that moment—after the temple kiss, after his hand had instinctively tightened around yours, after that soft, unreadable look in his eyes—you knew something had shifted.

This wasn’t for show anymore.

And from the way Heeseung was looking at you, he knew it too.

But neither of you said a word.

Not yet.

You turned your eyes back to the window, heart thudding in your chest as you tried to will the warmth off your cheeks. Heeseung stayed beside you, unusually quiet. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something more careful, more sincere. And it scared you a little, how easy it was to stand next to him like this—like the two of you weren’t faking it. Like this was just… normal.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all.

“Wanna get out of here?” he said after a while, voice low, almost hesitant.

You blinked, surprised. “Now?”

He nodded. “We showed face. You survived my parents. I don’t think I can listen to another speech about tax reform and philanthropy.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, nodding. “Let’s go.”

Within ten minutes, you were both in his car again, but this time there was no music playing. Just the sound of the engine humming softly and the occasional flicker of headlights outside. It wasn’t awkward—it was… heavy. Like the air between you was packed with all the things neither of you knew how to say yet.

Heeseung pulled into a quiet overlook on the edge of the city. The view was unreal—Seoul lit up in gold and silver, buildings stretching into the clouds like stars had landed on earth.

Neither of you moved to get out. Instead, you sat there for a second. Breathing.

Then, finally, he broke the silence.

“I was supposed to hate you, you know.”

You glanced over.

“That night at the party… after Jake posted that video… I was pissed at you for months. Not because you threw up. But because I saw how fast people turned on you. And I hated how much I cared.”

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t smirking.

He was just honest.

“I didn’t want to care about the girl who glared at me in the halls every day. But I did,” he said. “And then this whole fake thing happened, and somewhere between faking it and fighting you, I stopped pretending I wasn’t completely—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in quickly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched yours. “Why?”

“Because if you say it…” You swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep pretending either.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he reached over slowly, gently, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered on your cheek for just a second too long.

And then he whispered—

“I stopped pretending a long time ago.”

And for the first time since that deal was made…

You weren’t sure if this was fake anymore.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t want it to be.

The words hung there in the silence between you—“I stopped pretending a long time ago.”

And you didn’t know what scared you more.

The fact that he said it…

Or the fact that you believed him.

Your heart was thudding so loudly you swore it echoed inside the car. You didn’t respond right away. Couldn’t. Because all this time, you thought you had the upper hand—you had the control, the blackmail, the motive. It was just a game. A mess of fake smiles and photo ops and revenge.

But the way Heeseung was looking at you now—like he wasn’t seeing the version of you everyone else did, like he was seeing you—made you realize you’d lost the second you agreed to that stupid fake relationship.

And worse?

You didn’t even care.

You finally tore your eyes away, staring down at your lap. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”

“Why not?” he said softly. “It’s not like you’re still pretending either.”

You looked at him then—really looked. His expression was still gentle, still open, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes now, something rare. Something that almost made your chest ache.

You exhaled. “I hate you so much.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re still allowed to. Just… maybe not tonight.”

You gave a small laugh, shaking your head. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but you’re choosing to be here.”

That shut you up.

Because he was right.

You didn’t have to say yes to that dinner. You didn’t have to stand beside him when his mom looked at you like you were the girl who’d changed her son. You didn’t have to come here, to this overlook, to this stupid city view.

But you did.

And somewhere between all the faking and fronting… this had turned into something else.

“I don’t know what this is,” you said quietly, fingers twisting in your lap. “But if you’re not pretending anymore… I don’t want to be either.”

You didn’t look up right away—but you felt the shift. The tension softening. The energy between you changing, quietly but completely.

Heeseung didn’t say anything this time.

He just leaned in slowly, eyes flicking down to your lips, like he was asking a question without speaking.

And you didn’t stop him.

Because when his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fireworks or chaos or something wild and dramatic.

It was soft.

Warm.

Real.

And it felt a hell of a lot better than revenge ever did.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead rested gently against yours, and for the first time since all this started, there was nothing left to fake.

Just you.

And him.

And whatever this was turning into.

Heeseung pulled back just slightly, his forehead still resting against yours, his eyes flicking down to your lips again like he hadn’t quite gotten enough.

And then, with that same cocky little grin he always wore when he was up to no good, he murmured,

“So… do you wanna make out?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Come on,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Don’t act surprised. You kissed me first.”

“You literally kissed me,” you said, half-laughing, half-scolding.

He shrugged, still wearing that stupid, infuriatingly attractive smirk. “Doesn’t change the fact you kissed me back.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he leaned in again, barely a breath between you now. “Because I’ve been dying to do that again, and I’m thinking the front seat isn’t cutting it.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you seriously trying to seduce me in your car right now?”

Heeseung leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Depends. Is it working?”

And yeah, it was. You hated how easily he got under your skin—how that smooth voice, those eyes, that look he gave you made your heart beat like you were seventeen again and still drunk off one dumb party night.

“…You’re the worst,” you muttered.

He smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

You didn’t answer him. You just reached for the door handle, opened it, and slid out without a word—walking around to the back.

Heeseung froze for a second, blinking in disbelief, before a low, amazed laugh escaped his lips. “No way.”

You turned your head, giving him the same smug look he always gave you. “Well? Are you coming or not?”

He was already moving before you finished the sentence.

And when the two of you climbed into the backseat, the space suddenly felt way too small. Too warm. Too charged.

You barely got the door closed before his hands were on your waist, pulling you in like this was something he’d been holding back for a long time.

And for the next little while, the only thing that mattered…

Was the fact that none of this felt fake anymore.

The windows had fogged up within minutes.

You were straddling Heeseung in the cramped backseat, his top bunched up around your fists, your lips tangled with his like the past three years of tension had finally snapped.

Every shove, every glare, every petty comment—this was what it all had been building to. Not the revenge. Not the fake posts. This.

His hands were on your waist, fingers pressing into the curve of your hips like he couldn’t believe you were real, like if he let go, you’d disappear. And you hated how good it felt. How good he felt.

“Still hate me?” he mumbled against your mouth, breath warm and teasing.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen, eyes locked.

“Undecided,” you said, but your voice was softer than it should’ve been.

He grinned, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re really bad at fake-dating.”

You leaned in again, this time slower, letting your lips hover just over his. “Good thing this doesn’t feel fake anymore.”

That wiped the smirk off his face. Just for a second. Then his expression shifted—eyes darker, more serious.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, like your name alone could ground him.

And it kind of did.

You looked at him, chest rising and falling, and for the first time since this whole thing started, you let your guard down completely. No sass. No comebacks. Just truth.

“I don’t know when it stopped being fake,” you whispered. “But I don’t think I can pretend anymore.”

He didn’t say anything.

He just pulled you in again—slower this time, deeper. And when he kissed you now, it wasn’t just to tease or shut you up or win a fake game.

It was a promise.

And in the backseat of a car, windows fogged and hearts exposed, that kiss changed everything.

[theodorenmyth]

more theo angst!! please!!

The Once Brightest Star

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!Reader

Summary ; You, the kindest Gryffindor at Hogwarts, fall for Theodore Nott—unaware that he’s only dating you because of a cruel Slytherin bet. After four sweet, star-filled months, he breaks your heart in front of everyone. The smile that once lit up the castle fades, and as you fall apart, Theodore realizes too late that he truly loves you.

A/N ; try not to cry 😉. I swear to fucking merlin if this flops I'm killing myself, THIS FANFIC IS LITERALLY THE MOST CHAOTIC ONE. My Tumblr kept crashing, my shit wasn't saving and oh my god it was war.

Warnings ; Heavy angst, betrayal, public humiliation, emotional manipulation, mental health themes, and regret.

Word count; 6.1k+

| Part 2 — Part 3 | drabble

Theodore Nott had always been a mystery. Quiet, observant, charming when he wanted to be, but cruel when it suited him. And right now, he was seated in the Slytherin common room, legs crossed on a leather armchair as the firelight danced across his sharp features. Around him lounged the usual suspects—Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Pansy Parkinson, and Astoria Greengass. They sat in a semicircle, all eyes focused on Theo, the air thick with amusement and cruel curiosity.

They were bored. And when the Slytherin elite were bored, it meant trouble for someone else.

“You know,” Mattheo began, twirling a silver coin between his fingers, “we haven’t had a proper laugh since Halloween. I’m starting to forget what entertainment feels like.”

“Speak for yourself,” Pansy said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I laughed so hard when that Hufflepuff girl tripped over her own robes last week.”

“That wasn’t entertainment, Pans,” Blaise drawled, his voice like silk and sin. “That was just sad.”

“We need something juicy,” Astoria said, glancing at her manicured nails. “Something cruel.”

Lorenzo smirked. “How about Gryffindor’s sweetheart?”

All heads turned.

“You mean Y/N?” Draco asked, arching a brow. “The one who helped you clean up after you accidentally hexed yourself in Transfiguration?”

“Exactly,” Lorenzo said, grinning. “He’s so bloody kind it makes me sick.”

“He helped me too,” Blaise admitted with a smirk. “Carried my books to the infirmary when I got hit by a rogue Bludger. Didn’t even ask for anything in return.”

Mattheo leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “That’s it then. We ruin him.”

“Subtly,” Pansy added, smiling cruelly. “We’re Slytherins. Not brutes.”

“What do you have in mind?” Theodore asked, though his voice held more interest than caution.

Mattheo grinned like the devil himself. “A bet. You, Theo. You’re going to date him.”

Theodore raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

“Because he already looks at you like you hung the stars,” Blaise said, chuckling. “You’re halfway there.”

“And you’ve got the charm,” Astoria added. “When you want to, anyway.”

Theodore stayed quiet for a moment, letting the idea settle.

“A hundred galleons from each of us,” Mattheo said smoothly. “All you have to do is date him. Four months. Then dump him—publicly.”

“In front of everyone,” Draco emphasized, voice tinged with excitement. “Make sure the whole school sees it.”

“That’ll break him,” Pansy said, practically purring.

“His friends will try to put him back together,” Astoria added, “but we’ll know he’s never going to be the same.”

Theodore looked into the fire, jaw tightening. One hundred galleons from each of them. That was six hundred galleons. Enough to make anyone pause. Enough to make even him consider it.

He thought of your smile—the way it made you look like you didn’t belong in the same world as the rest of them. Of how you always had something kind to say, even to those who sneered at you. Of how you held the door open for professors, offered help to Hufflepuffs with their potions, even greeted Slytherins with a gentle nod instead of fear or judgment.

“Four months?” Theodore asked.

“Four,” Mattheo confirmed.

“Then I’ll do it,” Theodore said, the words leaving his mouth cold and smooth.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Draco said, grinning wide.

And just like that, the countdown began.

You were sitting in the Astronomy Tower when it happened. Late evening, starlight dusting your skin as you scribbled notes in your parchment. A breeze blew through your robes, and you tilted your head back to admire the sky. The cold stone beneath you was oddly comforting, grounding you as your eyes scanned the stars like they were old friends.

“There you are,” a voice said behind you.

You turned, startled but quickly relaxing. “Theodore?”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed but gaze soft. “Mind if I join you?”

You smiled without hesitation. “Of course not.”

He walked over and sat beside you, his cloak brushing yours as he settled on the ledge. For a moment, the two of you said nothing. The only sounds were the distant hooting of an owl and the wind howling gently through the gaps in the stone.

Then you pointed toward the sky, eyes sparkling. “See that one? That’s Orion. He’s my favorite.”

Theodore tilted his head slightly, following your finger. “Why?”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and spoke like you’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Because no matter where you are in the world, Orion’s always there. It doesn’t matter if you’re in England or the other side of the planet. He’s a constant.” Your voice softened. “I think that’s beautiful.”

He watched you, not the stars. The way your eyes reflected the constellations, the way your words carried a weight most people overlooked. You weren’t just looking at the sky. You were connected to it.

“You’re into all this space stuff, huh?” he said with a small smirk.

You grinned. “I love it. The stars, the planets, galaxies—do you know how long it takes for light from some of these stars to reach us?”

“No,” he replied truthfully.

“Hundreds of years,” you said. “Some of the stars we see? They’ve already died. We’re looking at ghosts in the sky.”

Theodore looked up, suddenly seeing it all a bit differently. “That’s… kind of haunting.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t it? But I think it’s comforting, too. Like, even after they’re gone, they still leave something behind. A trace of who they were. They don’t just disappear.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You talk about stars like they’re people.”

You shrugged. “Maybe they are. Maybe we all are. Bright for a while, then gone… but if we’re lucky, we leave something behind.”

A silence settled over you both again, this time warm.

Peaceful.

You turned your body to face him more. “What about you? Do you have a favorite constellation?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I stare at the sky often?”

You laughed. “Not really. But you should. It’s a good reminder that we’re small. And that some things are bigger than our problems.”

He hummed in response. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if you were teaching me.”

That made your cheeks burn. You looked down at your hands, fiddling with the corner of your parchment. “Really?”

He leaned in a little closer. “Yeah. You're… interesting.”

You bit your bottom lip, then smiled, shyly. “I’d be happy to teach you. The stars have a lot to say if you just listen.”

As you returned your gaze to the sky, pointing out Cassiopeia with soft enthusiasm, Theodore only half-listened. The other half of him was watching you again—how your lips moved, how your hands danced in the air as you explained, how your eyes never lost that wonder.

And for just a second… he forgot about the bet.

You started waiting for him outside his classes, always with a soft smile and something sweet tucked in your hand—sometimes a chocolate frog, other times a sugar quill you’d saved from Honeydukes. You’d greet him like he was the only person in the corridor, eyes lighting up every time he met your gaze.

You shared your pumpkin pasties with him in the library, giggling when Madam Pince shushed you both for laughing too loud. You’d lean close as you showed him the notes you'd made for Astronomy, doodles of constellations dancing in the margins. He'd pretend not to notice how your hand always lingered near his, how your shoulder brushed his when you got excited explaining the moons of Jupiter.

You invited him to your late-night Astronomy sessions more and more, always at the top of the tower where the stars were clearest. And every time, he showed up. No matter how cold the wind was, no matter how tired he claimed to be, Theodore would appear with his hands shoved into his pockets and that unreadable look on his face—like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there… but he stayed anyway.

And slowly, your hand began brushing against his. At first accidental. Then deliberate. You started laughing softer around him, voice a little breathier, eyes a little shinier. You bit your lip when he stared too long, cheeks dusted pink whenever he complimented you—rare as it was.

You started hoping.

You introduced him to your friends when he passed by your table, and though Hermione watched him suspiciously and Ron narrowed his eyes, you always waved it off. “He’s not like the others,” you said more than once. “He’s… different.”

You even helped a few Slytherins who sneered at you in the halls, offered your hand when one tripped, walked another to the Hospital Wing when he’d gotten hexed during practice. You greeted Blaise when you passed him in the corridor, waved at Astoria during breakfast even if she never waved back, and offered Mattheo a chocolate frog once—which he took without a thank you, but you still smiled anyway.

And Theodore noticed.

He noticed everything.

“You’re too kind,” he told you one night, as you sat beside the lake. The moonlight shimmered on the surface, and your reflection glowed faintly beside his.

You looked up, confused. “Like what?”

“Good,” he said, quieter this time. “Even to people who don’t deserve it.”

You gave him that warm, unshakeable smile. “Because… no one deserves to be treated like they’re nothing. Not even the meanest ones. Everyone’s got something good inside them. Sometimes it just takes longer to show.”

Theodore stared at you, jaw tense. Something in his chest tightened—foreign and unwelcome. This wasn’t part of the plan. You were supposed to fall for him, not the other way around. You were supposed to be just another naive Gryffindor. Not someone he actually looked forward to seeing every night. Not someone who made his heart feel like it was on fire.

But your laugh stayed with him long after you left. So did the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about the stars. So did the way you always remembered the tiniest things about him—even things he didn’t think mattered.

This was still just a game. Right?

Wasn’t it?

It was late—well past curfew—but that never stopped you. Especially not when the stars were this clear. You were already seated on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower, legs swinging slightly over the edge, a thick wool scarf wrapped loosely around your neck. The wind was cold, but your heart was warm—because he was here. Just like always.

Theodore leaned against the railing beside you, arms crossed and silent as usual. You didn’t mind. He rarely talked up here. That was your job.

“And that one right there,” you said, pointing upward with gloved fingers, “is Sirius. It’s the brightest star in the night sky—not a planet, not a reflection, an actual star. It’s about twenty-five times more luminous than the sun. Isn’t that insane?”

You looked at him, expecting a smirk, maybe a raised brow or some teasing comment. But instead, you were met with eyes so unreadable, they made your chest tighten.

Undeterred, you smiled and turned your attention back to the sky. “Stars are so dramatic, honestly. They burn themselves out just to shine. And when they die, they explode. Huge, fiery tantrums in space. Makes you wonder if the universe is just full of drama queens.”

That got a faint exhale of amusement from Theodore. You grinned at the sound and kept going.

“I think that’s why I love them so much. They’re loud in their silence. You look up and it’s peaceful, but the science behind them? It’s chaos. Energy and gas and gravity ripping them apart.” You leaned your head back until your hair brushed the stone. “It’s kind of beautiful, really. How something so far away can make you feel like you’re not alone.”

You went quiet then, eyes searching the constellations. Theodore watched you. Watched the way your smile softened when you looked at the sky, the way you hugged your knees in the cold, the way your breath curled in the night air like clouds.

He had come here tonight to play the part. Listen to you ramble about planets and stars like you always did. Maybe hold your hand. Maybe lean just a little closer so you’d fall a little harder.

But when you turned to him with that pure, trusting light in your eyes—the one that made him feel seen without even trying—his resolve crumbled.

You were still speaking, something about Orion’s Belt, when Theodore took a step forward. Then another.

You trailed off mid-sentence, confused, your brows knitting. “Theo?”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at you—really looked at you—like the stars weren’t even worth glancing at when you were here. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out.

His hand was cool against your skin as he gently cupped your cheek.

You froze.

His thumb brushed your jaw, and for once, you were the quiet one. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at him.

And then—without warning, without fanfare—he kissed you.

His lips were soft and slow, like he was trying to memorize the moment. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart thundering in your chest as you kissed him back. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was gentle.

The kind of kiss that says I see you. I hear you. I’m here.

When he pulled away, your eyes were wide and dazed. “W-What was that?” you whispered.

Theodore hesitated. He was supposed to lie. Say it was for fun, for practice, a joke, a dare. But none of those things left his mouth.

“I like you,” he said instead, his voice low, but honest.

You stared at him, eyes shining like the stars above. “You do?”

He nodded, brushing his thumb beneath your eye. “More than I expected to.”

And just like that, your world shifted.

You smiled—so big and bright and beautiful. “I’ve liked you for ages,” you admitted, cheeks flushed. “I just didn’t think you’d ever—”

“I do,” he interrupted softly. “I see you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched. “Then… will you be mine?”

He leaned in again, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah. I’m yours.”

And in your chest, a supernova of joy bloomed.

You didn’t know, of course, that the clock was already ticking. That the countdown had begun the moment he shook Mattheo’s hand.

All you knew was that Theodore Nott—cool, quiet, untouchable—was kissing you beneath the stars.

And for the first time in your life, you felt infinite.

It was strange, the way Theodore made everything feel like magic without ever casting a single spell.

You never expected it, really. You were the sweet Gryffindor who brought extra quills for your classmates, helped first-years find their classes, and got detention once because you refused to leave a Hufflepuff behind after they’d twisted their ankle on the moving staircase. You were the soft-spoken stargazer who waved to portraits and always left the Astronomy Tower a little warmer than you found it.

And Theodore Nott? Cold, composed, distant. A Slytherin with a stare so sharp it could cut glass, and a mouth that rarely moved unless it was to cast sarcasm or smoke. If anyone had told you a few months ago that he of all people would be watching the stars with you, you'd have laughed. But now?

Now he was the one tugging your scarf tighter when the wind bit too sharply. The one saving a seat for you at lunch—even at the Gryffindor table, when he thought no one was looking. The one who said your name like it was something secret.

Your dates weren’t grand or loud. They weren’t meant for show. They were quiet things—hidden smiles, fingers brushing beneath library tables, the sound of his laugh when you made some ridiculous astronomy pun that no one else would understand.

Like that late afternoon in the library.

You were supposed to be revising for Herbology, but you’d started doodling constellations in the margins of your notes. Theodore watched, lounging in the chair beside you, one hand resting beneath his chin.

“That one looks like a rat,” he said lazily.

You gasped. “That’s not a rat! That’s Scorpius! It’s one of the oldest constellations in the sky!”

He smirked. “Looks like a rodent with extra limbs.”

“You’re a menace,” you huffed, swatting his arm with your parchment.

He grabbed your wrist mid-swat and pulled your hand to his lips, pressing a lazy kiss to your knuckles. “Mm. You’re dramatic when you're passionate. It’s kind of cute.”

You froze.

“I—I'm not dramatic!” you blurted.

Theodore only grinned, smug and soft all at once, and leaned back like he hadn’t just melted your brain with a single sentence.

────────────────

There was also that snowy Saturday in Hogsmeade. It had started out innocent—you just wanted to get a new astronomy journal and maybe a few peppermint candies. But somehow Theodore ended up holding your mittened hand, leading you through snow-covered cobblestones like he actually knew what he was doing.

“I swear the tea shop is this way,” he said, tugging you down a narrow alley that looked suspiciously abandoned.

“You said that three turns ago,” you teased, breath clouding in the cold air.

“Maybe I just want more time alone with you.”

That shut you up.

The shop, when you finally reached it, was small and tucked behind a row of bakeries. The inside was all fogged windows and velvet chairs, the scent of cinnamon and clove clinging to the air. The shopkeeper—a kind-eyed older woman—beamed when she saw Theodore.

“Haven’t seen you in ages, dear,” she said, passing him two steaming mugs. “This must be someone special.”

Theodore didn’t look at you. “He is.”

You nearly choked on your tea.

────────────────

Back in the castle, the sweetness didn’t stop. If anything, it bloomed.

He’d wait for you after class, leaning against the wall like some kind of gothic statue, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded—but when you appeared, his gaze softened.

He started showing up to Astronomy Club. He never answered a single question, never even looked at the night sky. He just sat beside you, letting his knee press against yours under the desk, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve.

“I like it when you talk about the stars,” he murmured once, just loud enough for you to hear. “You get this look. Like you’ve been touched by something ancient.”

You blinked. “That’s… oddly poetic for you.”

“I have layers,” he said dryly. “Don’t get used to it.”

You did get used to it, though. The way he’d look at you when you were excited. The way he’d tug your scarf over your mouth and say it was 'so you’d shut up,' but his eyes always lingered a little too long. The way his thumb would brush your hand like he needed to remember how you felt.

And at night—always at night—you returned to your tower.

The Astronomy Tower had become yours. The castle was huge, full of secrets and dungeons and ghosts, but that little piece of sky belonged to just the two of you.

You’d bring blankets and stolen sweets from the kitchens. He’d bring silence and something steadier than starlight.

You’d talk for hours, your voice dancing through the night air.

“And those tiny dots in Orion’s Belt?” you said one night, pointing up at the cluster of stars. “Those are actually part of a nebula—the birthplace of stars. Literal nurseries in the cosmos.”

Theodore hummed, laying on his back with your head on his chest. “Nurseries in the sky… Sounds like a fairytale.”

“Maybe the universe is one big story.”

He didn’t answer right away.

You tilted your head. “What are you thinking about?”

He looked down at you, eyes tired and soft. “That I’m scared.”

Your brows furrowed. “Of what?”

“Of ruining this. Of being the reason that light in your eyes goes out.”

Your heart cracked open like a geode, glittering and aching all at once. You sat up slowly, cupping his face with your hands.

“You won’t ruin it, Theo.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t need to know that. I just… I trust you.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch.

You kissed him then—slow and sure, your thumb brushing along his cheek.

“I trust you,” you whispered again, as if it could protect you both.

And Theodore? He held you tighter.

Even though something inside him whispered that he didn’t deserve it.

────────────────

There were so many perfect moments that winter.

Like the time you were sitting on the Quidditch stands long after practice had ended. Snow was falling, light and gentle, and you were tucked under his cloak, sharing body heat.

You were talking about Saturn’s rings—how they weren’t solid, just ice and rock suspended in orbit.

“They only look solid from far away,” you said, tracing lines on his palm. “Up close, they’re just chaos. Fragments. Debris.”

“Sounds like me,” Theodore murmured.

You looked up. “What?”

“I look fine from far away,” he said. “But I’m a mess when you get close.”

You frowned and pressed your forehead to his. “You’re not a mess. You’re just… layered.”

He chuckled. “You always see the best in people.”

“Only the ones worth seeing.”

And that time, when he kissed you, it was with both hands cradling your face, like he was trying to memorize it. Like maybe he already knew he’d have to let go someday.

────────────────

He was falling in love with you.

And maybe… maybe you were already there.

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on you when you walked away. You didn’t know he’d stopped counting the galleons in his head weeks ago. That the whispers from his so-called friends were starting to grate, not amuse.

That the bet—the stupid, cruel bet—felt like a chain around his throat now.

But you loved him. Fully, fiercely, like a shooting star that refused to burn out.

And for a while, he let himself believe he could love you back forever.

Even if time was running out.

You woke up that morning with a smile on your face.

There was still a shimmer of stardust in your thoughts from the night before—wrapped in Theodore’s arms in the Astronomy Tower, your head on his shoulder, the constellations above whispering secrets only you could understand. You'd traced his knuckles with your thumb, whispering about the Kissing Stars and how they only align once every few years. He hadn’t said much, but he’d looked at you like you mattered.

Like you were his.

So you’d walked to the Great Hall with your chest light and your cheeks warm, clutching a folded piece of parchment with a scribbled drawing of the stars. You’d written his name in them. You were going to give it to him today—your little way of saying I love you, even if you hadn’t said it out loud yet.

When you stepped inside, the usual noise greeted you—students laughing, talking, eating. But something felt… off.

The Slytherin table was watching you.

No, waiting for you.

Blaise leaned into Draco’s ear, whispering something that made him choke on his pumpkin juice. Pansy was already giggling. Mattheo didn’t even pretend to hide his shit-eating grin. And Theodore—

Theodore sat there with his arms folded, cold eyes fixed on you like you were something disposable. Unrecognizable. The warmth was gone.

Still, you smiled and made your way over, ignoring the tension. “Theo, hey,” you said sweetly, gently bumping his arm as you sat beside him. “Guess what? I found another constellation last night—it looked like a fox! I named it after you—clever and charming and—”

“Stop talking.”

The words were quiet. Sharp.

You blinked, your smile faltering. “What?”

“I said stop talking.” He turned to you fully, face devoid of anything tender. “Merlin, do you ever fucking shut up?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

A hush began to fall over the Great Hall.

Students slowed their chewing. Conversations dulled. Even the teachers seemed to sense something was about to happen.

“I—I was just telling you about the stars—”

“I don’t care about the stars,” he snapped. “Or your stupid constellations. I never did.”

Your face paled.

“Theo… what are you saying?”

He stood then, loud and deliberate, pushing back from the bench like you’d said something disgusting. “I’m saying I’m done pretending.”

Every table went silent.

He stepped in front of you, towering. Cold. Cruel.

“The only reason I ever gave you the time of day was because of a bet.” His voice was clear. Loud. Unapologetic. “Four months. That’s all you were. Four months, 600 galleons, and a joke.”

You couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t even breathe.

Your whole body froze as the Slytherins behind him burst out laughing.

“Fucking finally!” Mattheo crowed. “I thought you were gonna crack and kiss his forehead again, lover boy.”

Draco howled. “Can you believe the idiot fell for it? I mean—stars? Really?”

“Oh, the way he blushed whenever Theo held his hand,” Astoria cooed mockingly. “He was practically wagging his tail.”

Theodore kept his eyes on you.

There was a flicker of regret. A shadow of guilt.

But it wasn’t enough to stop him from saying:

“You’re pathetic, Y/N.”

The words hit harder than any hex.

You flinched, visibly, the parchment slipping from your hand. It fluttered to the floor—your sketch of the stars and his name shining in them—forgotten.

Theodore kept going.

“You followed me around like a stray mutt. Always smiling. Always fucking talking about your precious constellations like I gave a damn. You thought I actually cared? That we were real?”

Your lips trembled. You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To ask him why.

Why?

Why he kissed you. Why he held you in the dark and let you dream. Why he made you believe you were enough.

Instead, all you whispered was, “I loved you.”

The laughter died.

Even the Slytherins blinked, some shifting uncomfortably.

Theodore faltered—but only for a moment. And that was the worst part.

He hesitated.

He had the chance to stop this. To take it back.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked you dead in the eyes and said, “Well, I never did.”

And just like that—your heart shattered.

Not like glass. Not like something quick or clean.

It broke slowly.

Painfully.

You felt it crack, piece by piece, like the universe was pulling every star you ever loved from the sky and crushing it in front of you.

Hermione was the first to stand.

“That’s enough!” she snapped, voice shaking with fury. “You—you monster!”

Ron and Harry were already moving, storming toward the Slytherin table, wands halfway drawn.

But you didn’t move.

You sat there, shaking, broken, and humiliated. The bright Gryffindor everyone adored—now just a ghost.

And then you stood.

Not because you wanted to.

Because you had to.

You walked away slowly, footsteps heavy, heart in ruins. You didn’t even look at him as you passed. You couldn’t. You were afraid if you saw his face again, you'd crumble completely.

You reached the doors just as Harry called out, “Y/N! Please—wait!”

Ron's voice cracked. “He’s not worth it! Please, come back!”

But you kept walking.

And when you were gone—truly gone—the Great Hall stayed quiet.

Theodore sat back down, but he didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. He looked at the parchment still lying on the floor.

His name.

In the stars.

And for the first time in years, he felt truly, utterly, alone.

Meanwhile, you ran.

Up the stairs. Past portraits that whispered in concern. Past a group of Hufflepuffs who stepped aside, mouths agape at the wreckage written on your face.

You didn’t stop until you reached the Astronomy Tower.

And there, with the cold wind biting your skin and your knees giving out beneath you, you finally collapsed.

Your cries echoed against the stone. The sky above, once your favorite comfort, felt like a cruel reminder. You looked up through blurry eyes, searching for the stars you loved so dearly.

But they didn’t shine the same anymore.

Not now.

Not after him.

It started with silence.

And not the peaceful kind—the kind that swells and settles like a storm cloud just before it breaks. You didn’t speak the next day. Or the day after that. You barely looked at anyone.

The once-bright boy who used to laugh at breakfast, pass out candy during study groups, and wave excitedly at professors even when he was late—was gone.

You weren’t you anymore.

And everyone noticed.

────────────────

Gryffindor Tower was tense.

Hermione watched you carefully from across the common room, her eyes darting every time you so much as moved. She tried to talk to you gently at first.

“Y/N, do you want to go over Charms together? You always help me with the incantation rhythm—”

You shook your head once.

“I’m fine.”

You weren’t.

Ron offered his last two Chocolate Frogs that night. The same boy who wouldn’t share with his own brothers.

“Mate,” he said softly, “come sit with us, yeah? We’ll throw on some music, Hermione’ll start arguing about Runes again, and we’ll forget the Slytherin git ever existed.”

But you just smiled.

That awful, empty, polite smile.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

You didn’t mean it.

And Harry—Harry sat with you in the common room one night, past midnight. He didn’t say much. Just sat nearby, watching you stare into the fire, unmoving.

When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

“He never deserved you.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t cry.

You just blinked and whispered, “I should’ve known.”

That’s what broke Harry.

────────────────

It spread to the classrooms.

You, who once raised your hand for every question, who used to help the younger students find their assigned partners, who made Professor Sprout smile with your enthusiastic herbology notes—you stopped trying.

You still showed up. Still did your homework. Still got top marks.

But it was lifeless.

Mechanical.

Professor McGonagall asked you to stay after Transfiguration one morning. The room emptied around you, but you remained at your desk, eyes staring ahead.

She walked toward you slowly, her hands folded in front of her.

“Mr. L/N,” she said softly. “You’ve always been one of my brightest. One of Hogwarts’ brightest.”

You didn’t respond.

“I know heartbreak,” she continued, her voice a gentle tremble. “It leaves its mark. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You blinked up at her then. For a brief second, she swore she saw that old light flicker back in your eyes.

“I’m fine, Professor,” you said quietly.

And it shattered her.

She didn’t believe you. No one did.

But you were convincing.

Too convincing.

────────────────

The next day, Professor Sinistra stopped you after Astronomy class.

“Y/N,” she said softly, frowning, “you haven’t turned in your celestial chart. Are you… alright?”

You blinked.

"Oh,” you said. “I forgot.”

She stared at you for a long moment. “You’ve never forgotten before. Is everything okay?”

You nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

But it was a lie. And she knew it.

She watched you leave the classroom, your shoulders hunched, the usual bounce in your step gone. Her heart ached for you.

She remembered you staying behind after class, excitedly rambling about star clusters and constellations, asking her questions she hadn’t even thought of. You were one of her brightest students.

Now, you didn’t even look at the sky.

────────────────

Even the portraits whispered.

They talked among themselves when you passed. That you were too quiet. That the cheerful Gryffindor had changed. One old witch in the Charms corridor even told her neighbor, “That one’s heartbroken, through and through. You can see it in the way he walks.”

And they were right.

You didn’t walk the same. You didn’t look the same.

No longer bouncing on your heels, waving at friends, or pointing excitedly to the sky. Now, you walked like your chest carried weights no one could see.

And at night?

You didn’t sleep.

You just laid there, eyes wide, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering how many stars had died since he said he never loved you.

────────────────

Theodore noticed.

Everywhere.

He noticed when you passed by without looking at him.

He noticed the way you no longer tucked that curl behind your ear nervously.

He noticed how your hands never fluttered when you talked—because you didn’t talk.

He noticed how Hermione flanked you in every class like a shield, and how Ron glared daggers at him from across every hallway. How Harry went from silently watching to outright refusing to let Theodore near you.

But the worst part?

Theodore didn’t fight it.

Because what could he say?

I was scared. I panicked. I really do love you now.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He used to watch you from the other side of the Great Hall, hoping—wishing—you’d look up. That your eyes would find his like they always used to.

But they never did.

Even when the sun poured through the windows and caught your hair in that same golden glow it used to, you looked empty.

He’d broken you.

And you didn’t even hate him for it.

You just… erased him.

────────────────

The professors spoke behind closed doors.

Dumbledore watched you closely from his high table. He saw the way your smile never reached your eyes anymore. How you spoke in quiet syllables and barely touched your food.

Flitwick tried to lift your spirits with praise.

Sprout gave you extra cuttings to tend to in case it helped.

Hooch offered to teach you a new Quidditch maneuver—even though you weren’t on the team.

Even Snape, of all people, said your potion was “adequate” one day—because the look on your face when he used to insult your brewing was more alive than the one you wore now.

And McGonagall?

She pulled you aside again.

This time, she didn’t speak.

She just pulled you into a hug.

You didn’t hug her back.

But you didn’t pull away, either.

That was enough for her to cry once you left.

────────────────

And then came the first Hogsmeade trip.

You were invited by nearly every Gryffindor in the common room.

Neville asked gently. Dean said they’d buy your favorite sweets. Seamus promised a distraction, a new joke every minute. Hermione packed you a scarf, “just in case it’s cold.”

You said no.

You stayed behind.

Alone in the common room, watching the flames dance like stars falling from the sky. You didn’t need chocolate frogs. Or butterbeer. Or another attempt to feel something you couldn’t anymore.

You just needed to not exist for a little while.

────────────────

That night, long after curfew, long after the castle had gone quiet, you slipped out of the portrait hole like a ghost.

No one stopped you.

No one even saw you.

Not even the Fat Lady tried to ask where you were going.

You walked the halls slowly, your feet dragging slightly with every step, like gravity clung heavier to your bones these days. The flickering torches cast shadows on the stone walls, but you barely registered them. Your mind was somewhere else.

Somewhere four months ago.

Somewhere under the stars with his hand in yours.

The staircase to the Astronomy Tower groaned beneath your steps. Each echo bounced back at you, louder than expected, like the castle was trying to say something—Don’t go. Don’t break again.

But you kept climbing.

And then, finally, the door creaked open.

The cold hit you first. Sharp, biting wind brushing through your robes like needles. You shivered. You didn’t bring your scarf. You didn’t care.

You stepped out onto the platform, and the stars were… blinding.

Too many. Too bright.

They looked like glittering lies now.

You used to name them all.

You used to point to the constellations and tug on Theodore’s sleeve, whispering things like, “That one’s Cassiopeia. She was a queen, but vain. Got cursed for her pride.”

Or, “Orion always follows Artemis in the sky, like he’s still chasing her even after death.”

He used to smile at you when you talked like that. Sometimes he’d kiss your temple mid-ramble, just because he could.

You hated how easily you remembered that.

You stared up at the sky now, jaw tight, fists curled into your sleeves.

And then you whispered to no one—

“I don’t want to love you anymore.”

The words caught in the wind. Got carried off into the sky like a secret, like a curse.

But they weren’t true.

Because you did.

Even after everything.

Even now.

Your throat clenched.

And for the first time since that day in the Great Hall—

You cried.

Quiet, trembling sobs that echoed off the tower walls and dissolved into the night air. You sank to the floor, your face in your hands as if begging to the stars to take the ache away.

But they didn’t.

They just watched.

Silent.

Unforgiving.

And utterly, heartbreakingly distant.

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 7: Silver Spoons And Butter Knives, Living Hand To Mouth I’m Getting By

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 (Here!) / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of Bullying, Suicidal implications, Body harm, Body Horror

The concept of boarding school wasn’t as bad as people portray it.

A boarding school is an institution where students live on the premises while receiving formal instruction, essentially providing both lodging and meals. Unlike normal schools, boarding schools offer a residential experience, often encompassing a wider range of extracurricular activities and a sense of community.

At least, that’s the literal definition she found on the internet. 

When Bobby (with whom she had exchanged phone numbers and yapped the whole weekend through text, and sent her way too many TikToks she didn’t really understand but found funny) had asked her if she was staying at the dorms so they could hang out after class, she suddenly found a ray of hope of getting away from the Waynes.

Which led her to do a thorough research on Wikipedia.

Gotham Academy has been a prestigious, private boarding school for Gotham’s elite. And anyone who could afford it, or had a scholarship. 

Most members of the Wayne family had gone to the academy. Most of the said members were expelled or dropped out of it.

Including Bruce himself.

Which is why she was currently pissed off on a Monday morning as Alfred drove the younger members of the family to school.

“This is bullshit,” She muttered while pouting at the window, arms crossed and legs sprawled out in the passenger seat.

The butler gave her a pointed look, letting her know that she should behave. The young girl readjusted her sitting position with a grumble. Her glare followed the tall buildings and the people walking around the busy sidewalk, passing them by in a blur to those with normal eyesight.

Not for her, thought. Everything seemed so slow-paced today.

It was quite annoying. From the moment she woke up that morning, it had been like stepping into a slow-motion sequence. The curtains of her room moved oh so gently, it almost seemed like they were floating. The water from her shower had stopped for a few moments, and she could even count the drops of the stream that stood frozen in the air before she received a cold splash in the face that almost made her crack her head open again if she hadn’t hung onto the built-in shelves on the wall. Then, the gremlin at breakfast. He seemed to take his sweet time eating his French toast, which was almost disturbing to see how slow someone could chew on his food. It made her sick to the stomach remembering it.

They were short lapses of time. Didn’t last too long, but those moments still managed to unsettle her and keep her on the edge.

“I’m afraid this is something you will have to discuss with your father, my dear.” His voice took her away from her musings, returning her mind to the present.

‘Where was I? Oh, right,’ her anger returning once again.

Just when she thought she had found a way to escape from the suffocating manor, the family had once again meddled with her brilliant plans.

Apparently, she did not form part of the whole boarding school experience. (Well, Wayne didn’t)

Due to the many incidents involving her ‘siblings’ and ‘father’ at the school in their scholarly years, they had gained a rather infamous reputation. This led to taking away certain privileges when a member of the Wayne family was to be enrolled at the academy.

Said privileges were not being able to partake in staying at the dorms through the semester.

(aka. Waynes were banned from the academy dorms.)

“I don’t understand why a sudden need to stay in such facilities.” Damian retorted from his place in the backseat. Still giving her the stinkeye for taking the front seat first (she had taken off while yelling ‘shotgun’ through the halls, making Drake get up from his deep sleep and come out of his room to see what was happening with his sheets all tangled on his legs.)

“Pennyworth makes far better meals, and the beds haven’t been thoroughly cleaned in ages. That’s without mentioning having to share your personal space with a stranger who lacks manners.” That last part made her bite her tongue hard.

‘When the irony is ironing,’ She thought sarcastically.

 “It’s all about the independence and socializing. Who doesn’t like talking to total strangers and getting to know them while also sharing a bathroom?” Her lips were curling in a grin, her tone letting on very clearly what she was referring to.

Damian tutted, harshly crossing his arms while glaring at her. Alfred simply sighed as he pulled through the metal front gate of the academy.

“Since when do you like socializing, Embarrassment?” He remarked on the nickname with a cold glare at the back of her seat. 

And as if she had sensed it, she took off her seatbelt and turned half of her body to the back so she could face him directly. Both of their glares clashed with one another. 

Alfred got out of the car to take out her school bag from the back of the car, wondering to himself if he was truly paid enough to deal with teenagers.

Damian was very much annoyed at her new attitude. It was getting on his nerves how she stood her ground and didn’t flatter. He couldn’t have missed this part of her. He was the son of the greatest detective in the world, and he took pride in his deduction skills. And he had deducted his sister from the first moment they met. Never, in a million years, would she have the courage to act like this. Too insecure. Too weak. Too scared.

She would have had to die and be reborn to be acting like this.

“Don’t act like you know me, Damian.” His name sounded like a curse in the making on her tongue. Her deep, dark eyes stared directly into his own, a glint of something akin to sardonic gone the moment she turned back on her seat and opened the car door.

“You don’t have the right to judge. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

With that, she stepped out and slammed the door shut, leaving him with words in his mouth.

He could only follow her stomping outside towards Alfred out of the corner of his eye, refusing to turn his face a single inch towards them. She seemed to mutter something to the older man, to whom he put a hand on her shoulder and spoke very gently. 

Her eyes softened, and Damian couldn’t help but be put off by it.

He was well aware that she used grey contact lenses. She always wore them, no matter what. One would think she would sleep while wearing them, but he knew she wasn’t that stupid.

He never wondered why she used them, scraping it off as some odd fashing trend girls her age were into. They just were part of her and he went along with it. Never putting much thought into it.

Now, Damian was putting a lot of thought into it.

He had always known that he was an almost carbon copy of his father. Black hair, facial structure, etc. There was little doubt about his heritage and he took pride in it.

His half-sibling was another story. No matter how hard she tried to dress, act, talk, and move like them, she didn’t seem to fit in. The cold colors and heavy presence that were very characteristic of the Waynes didn’t suit her. 

It had been obvious before, but now it was undeniable to Damian. 

And it was all because of those damned eyes.

He wouldn’t dare to say it out loud, maybe just ponder it to himself, only in his thoughts, but Damian wanted her grey eyes back.

Those grey eyes that would crinkle in worry when he came back upset from a bad patrol night. Those grey eyes that would widen in excitement when she looked over his sketchbook and praised his skills. Those grey eyes that were full of softness and care, asking about how his day was at school.

…Maybe he wasn’t missing the grey. Not really.

‘It doesn’t make any sense.’ His mind hissed, making his frown deepen. ‘Why is this bothering me so much? She is just a nuisance and below-’

“Hey! Bobby! Over here!”

Her shout made Damian snap his head towards the car window with a snarl. Which slipped down slowly as he took in the scene happening outside.

She was waving her arm over her head quite fast towards someone. A guy who was smiling way too much for his taste (it almost made him turn away in disgust, but he fought against it), as he moved towards her with a jump in his walk. He looked like an overgrown golden retriever, wearing the academy uniform.

What happened next made Damian’s blood go cold and hot at the same time, his nails sinking into the fabric of his clothes, and his lips pressed tightly.

Because that guy dared to come close to his sister and pick her up in a hug while twirling her around.

Her bright laugh as she was put down, quickly jumping into a conversation with the big oaf while patting down her now wrinkly uniform, made his stomach twist into a feeling he couldn’t quite place yet.

The warmth in her eyes had Damian bite inside his cheek, chest tight as she began to walk away with the guy, with a quick goodbye to a smiling Alfred, who had begun to go inside the car and pull away from the school grounds.

The young boy’s stare didn’t move away from the pair. Not until he lost them out of sight due to the distance.

Who did that guy think he was?! Coming so close to her and acting so touchy with his sister.

Was he a friend? No way. She didn’t have any friends. He was sure.

Was he?

Was he a boyfriend? Ridiculous, there was no way she would have hidden something like that from the family. She wouldn’t.

…Would she? 

What else had she been keeping quiet? What else didn’t he know about her? When had she changed? Had she even changed? Was she always like this and he just came to notice? When she grew tired of his prickly nature and sharp words? Did he lose her affection? Was he too late?

Did he lose her without even knowing?

‘No,’ He thought, fingers curled into fists by his side as he gave a glance to the smaller view of the academy through the window.

‘Something is wrong here.’

‘And I will find out.’

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The academy was huge. It had halls over halls and stairs over stairs. An old smell stuck on the stone walls that gave the building an even more mystic flair, as if the gargoyle statues on every corner of the gate halls weren’t enough. It even had tall stained glass windows that gave a view of the huge campus: the main fountain, the track field, the outdoor gym, and many other places.

It was by pure miracle that she didn’t end up lost. But that was mostly because Bobby would drag her by the back of her school vest whenever she wandered off.

She was very thankful for that, since her ghost companion was not here today to guide her.

Wayne said that she would stay at the manor for the day, something along the lines of that she should experience the full school experience without her help (which screamed bullshit but she wasn’t going to fight her on that. If she was a ghost and had the choice to not go to school, she would also do the same) and trying to find any clues for their small quest.

So now, she was walking by herself for the first time at a school. So exciting, right?

“-and then the coach said I could play in the next game if someone hurts themselves. Which is not bad, but I don’t know. I don’t want anyone to get hurt just so I can prove myself as a player, y’know?”

“Aren’t you here because of a scholarship? Don’t you need to play to be able to stay here?” She asked the stressed boy, who had been talking about this for the past few minutes as they walked towards their third class of the day.

Bobby was from New York, and he had taken a sports scholarship in the academy this very year, so he could get into Gotham University to study accounting. Just like his father, who was a bank accountant back at home. 

He formed part of the baseball school team and had been on the bench since he got inscribed into the academy.

Leading to his sudden stress of not having the chance to prove himself.

“Poor athletic performance can lead to losing the scholarship, so yeah. If I don’t play, I could lose it.” He quoted with his shoulders down, a deep sigh leaving his lungs as she patted his shoulder in a small show of support.

They had gotten along quite fast. Probably because Bobby had been the first open person with his thoughts and feelings since she woke up in that nasty pool. 

No underhanded comments. No pushiness. No expectations. Always asking if what they were talking about was okay. If she was comfortable with anything. 

It was a breath of fresh air, and she felt great hanging around him.

“What if I help you out with practice? I know jackshit about baseball, but I think I can throw some balls so you can practice swinging?” She offered with a shrug as they went into a half full classroom.

Bobby perked up with a huge smile and put an arm over her shoulder, slightly moving her side to side. “Please, and I will buy you ice cream every time after practice.”

That made her snort and shove him off of her playfully by pushing his face away with her hand, making him guaff and laugh.

“Personal space, jeez,” She said as he sat down on the second table and moved a chair back so she could sit beside him.

As he muttered his apologies, she couldn’t help but feel somebody’s stare on her back.

Just when she was gonna look over her shoulder, the bell rang, and everyone took their seats. Conversations quieted down as students began to pull out their books without a second thought.

Following everyone’s lead, she put out her history book with a sigh and kept her eyes downcast.

Now, there were many different stares and murmurs in her direction. From the corner of her eyes, she could see a few classmates whispering to each other or staring openly at her. 

‘Yeah, that ain’t gonna fly,’ she thought, twisting her head to give her classmates a dead stare that had them gasping and looking in different directions while pretending they were busy with their phones or books.

“That’s weird,” Bobby’s voice took her away from her successful intimidation. “Professor Jones is usually here before any of us.”

The girl shrugged, leaning back on her chair while she brought one crossed leg on the seat as the other bounced against the floor. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic or somethin-”

The classroom door slammed open, taking all the attention of the students and making the room fall into silence.

A man stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his steps heavy as he walked towards the desk and put down his brown leather handbag on the chair and a pack of old-looking cigars inside one of cabinets. 

He didn’t spare a single glance at them, picking up a piece of white chalk and beginning to write on the chalkboard.

He had a heavy build, like the ones that those wrestling guys on TV have, judging by how his shoulders and biceps stood out underneath his dark leather jacket. Some of the girls and a few other guys were staring intensely at his tight jeans, showing off his sculpted legs as well. 

What stood out more for her was his hairstyle, spiked on both sides of his black hair.

Once he finished writing on the board, he clapped his hands to shake off the chalk on his palms and turned around with a grunt. A severe frown on his face as he looked over the quiet students.

“Your professor has taken a sudden leave for the rest of the semester.” His gruff tone had people straighten up and glup loudly.

Bobby exchanged a quick look of confusion and uncertainty with her.

This man didn’t look like the type of person to give a history class.

“You may call me Teach or Mr. Munroe. None of that formal stuff. Whoever calls me Professor will give ten laps on the track field, am I clear?” He almost snarled the last part. 

Everyone nodded.

The man nodded and sat on the corner of the desk, crossing his arms. His tag necklace glinted with the movement as he pursed his lips in distaste once he saw the books sitting neatly on the desks.

“Now put those books away. We’re learning real history from now on.”

Some students muttered in confusion while a few others cheered as they put the books back in their bags. Bobby almost scrambled and rattled the desk as he took his book away, which made her snort a laugh and put her book down.

As the class continued, bustling with excitement over the new mysterious teacher and his unconventional method of teaching history, she had forgotten the odd stare she felt at the very beginning of class. It had simply slid off her mind.

In the back of the classroom, a guy with golden curls and clear eyes didn’t take his gaze off of her for the rest of the class.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bruce wasn’t expecting any visits this early in the day.

He had recived plenty of calls from Dick, trying to check on him and see how the investigation on the case had been going but he didn’t pick them up. Tim had gone to stay at the Titans’ tower, claiming his sleep schedule was messed up and staying at the manor wasn’t helping keep him focused on the case (Bruce had the fleeting suspicion that Conner had something to do with that decision.)

He was more than sure that everyone was clear that he wanted to be left alone at the moment.

But Jason couldn’t give two fucks about what Bruce wanted.

The past Robin had parked his bike by the Batmobile, leaving his red helmet hanging by one of the handles of his vehicle. Sauntering towards the concentrated detective, who was sitting in front of the main computer and surrounded by many documents and files both on the screen and on paper.

“You look like shit.”

Bruce only switched the documents in his hands without lifting his head.

“Gordon told me about the bodies.” He answered, a cold tone in his voice.

Jason threw himself on the nearest chair, legs spread as he stared at Bruce’s back with a smug air around him. 

“Jealous much?” He snarked. “That I got to them before you did?”

He was pushing his buttons. 

Jason wanted to see how far he could get. 

He was hoping for a fight, that way he could at least calm down the fury still running in his veins.

“You left them headless, and Gordon is still looking for their fingers, Jason.” Bruce hissed, finally turning around to glare at the guiltless man.

“They had it coming.”

“That was execution, Jason. It’s not how-”

“I ain’t one of your little robins, Bruce,” Jason retorted, leaning forward with his fists curling and gaze flashing green. “I did what you should have done the moment she was attacked.”

“There wasn’t enough proof yet-” The older man argued back, making Jason scoff and get up from the chair harshly.

The outlaw began to roam beneath his jacket, taking out crumbled files and dumping them over the keyboard of the computer. As soon as it hit the surface, pictures and documents fell out of it onto the ground and the desk.

“Take a look at your precious proof.”

Bruce took a moment before picking up a few of the pictures that had fallen on the floor. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened when he realized what the image showed.

It was from a surveillance camera. All the pictures were from different cameras around the city. The school grounds. The city parks. The mall. 

And even from the abandoned public pool.

In all of the pictures, she was there. Getting pushed around. Harassed by the same four guys. He could recognize that they had the same uniform as her from the academy. Maybe seniors, since they easily towered over her. 

The ones from the school contained different scenarios. Getting a phone flash shoved right in her face. Shoved down the stairs. Pushed on the school fountain. Yanked by her school bag or clothes. Getting too touchy with her, to the point of it being visibly rough.

One of the pictures showed her running in one of the parks, face blurred in panic as she looked over her shoulder at the boys trying to catch up to her.

Another one showed all five of them at the pool. Her on the ground, holding her head as it bled. Two of the boys were crouching down to hold her down while the others lifted a bloody brick.

He slammed the pictures down with a shuddering sigh. Throat tight, cold anger sinking from the tip of his fingers.

How long had this been going on? For how long had she been keeping this quiet? Why had she kept it quiet? Why didn’t she say something?

‘Had she said something? Did she say anything about it?’ His mind came on empty as many questions surfaced.

All those times he had turned her away, her knocks at his office door, and her silent voice asking if he was too busy. Always shutting her down, dreading to see her face and find old ghosts staring back at him. 

Was it right there? Did she reach out just for him to turn her away? 

Bruce felt a burning sensation behind his eyes.

“The documents are the transcripts of what I managed to get out of them on record.” Jason’s voice sounded far away.

Did she gather up the courage to come to him, and he gave her his back?

“Sick bastards, the lot of them,” Jason spat. “They had been tormenting her for years.”

Did she feel by herself in this? Nobody willing to listen? No one to trust?

“It went on from simply things. Spreading rumors about being into witchcraft and stuff. Saying that she would curse people with her bad luck if they came near her and odd shit like that to isolate her.”

How many times did he even talk to her? How many chances did he allow her to have to tell him about this?

“Then it moved to more physical stuff. Shoving, pushing, typical asshole stuff. Did you notice any bruises on her when she came from school?”

Bruises? What bruises? She was always wearing long sleeves, claiming it was too cold in the manor.

“You did notice, right? They said that it got ugly plenty of times.”

Long sleeves. Even when it was hot out. She always wore them. How could he never piece it together? How many bruises did she hide from Him?

“Bruce? Did you-”

His daughter. Bianca’s child. With long sleeves. Bruises. From that filth. How many? How many times was she hurt? How many times did he not notice? Gods, did she also- Had she also done it to herself? Had she felt there was no other way out of the lonesome existence he had put her into? That he was the one to inflict that on her? That would explain her current attitude. Her anger. Her glares. Her snarls. How could he ever blame her for acting out when it was all on him? Only himself to bla-

The sudden throbbing pain in his jaw snapped him out of his thoughts, making him stumble back as he looked at a fuming Jason with a lowered fist.

“No,” His glare was agitated, chest heaving, and teeth in a snarl. “You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself.”

Bruce took a sharp breath, his gaze lost as the sharpness of Jason’s words cut deep into his throat, making him unable to utter a word.

The younger man pointed a shaking finger at him in anger, taking steps closer towards the shocked man. “Either you fix this and admit you failed her, just like you failed me,”

Jason got up in his face, fist hitting against Bruce’s chest with a shuddering breath. Eyes blazing a toxic green, staring right into his grey ones.

“Or I will make sure that she turns out just like me.”

With that, Jason turned around and stomped to his bike. The engine roaring to life as he took off from the cave without giving him a single look back towards the currently shocked, quiet man.

Bruce then sank to the floor, hands tangled on his hair strands as he took deep breaths. Mind echoing with many words and questions.

But he could only choke out a few words to himself and the air.

“Oh, Bianca, I fucked it up to hell and back, didn’t I?…”

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The piano room was too silent.

Ever since Cassandra set foot in the manor, the piano room had always been filled with contained noise. The keys echoing down the halls, a soft melody that made her skin embrace the foreign warmth of a ballad repeated over and over, day by day.

She hadn’t heard a single note in the past week.

It made the air in the manor heavy and constricted, the halls darker, and the silence almost unbearable.

Cassandra didn’t plan to pass by the piano room. Her feet just led her wandering steps towards the halfway-opened wooden door. The creaking made goosebumps break out on her skin.

The curtains were closed, and no natural light entered the room. Just a few lamps that flickered every once in a while and a very cold sensation covering her when she stepped inside.

Her legs guided her to the untouched piano. A hand passed over the worn keys, feeling a thin veil of dust under her fingertips.

A shard of guilt stabbed right through her stomach.

She had gotten exactly what she wanted…

Silence.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Call it pettiness or whichever useless feeling people came up with, but Cassandra was done with all the noise that she made.

It's always the same song. The same melody. The same lyrics.

She was tired of it.

She stood by the door, staring directly at the young girl who didn’t seem to notice her as she continued to sing that ballad over and over.

“If I can’t reach you, let my song teach you,” the younger girl sang softly, eyes closed as her fingers played smoothly over the keys.

Cassandra clenched her teeth. 

She wanted silence.

“All you need to keep our love alive,”

She was tired of her playing.

“If I can’t hold you,”

She was tired of her.

“Remember what I told y-”

“Could you keep it down?”

The girl startled, smashing the keys and making an awful sound. Both of them cringed at it. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” She tried to apologize with a stammer as she stood up, stumbling and fidgeting fingers.

But Cassandra didn’t let her finish.

“You don’t know any other songs?” she questioned.

“Not really. My mom only taught me this-”

“Then why play at all?” She didn’t understand. It was useless to know just one song on the piano. A waste of skill and talent, if she were honest. It didn’t make any sense.

The girl took a sharp breath, hands wringing with the hems of her sleeves and fingers. “It’s an important ballad. My mom used to say it was a protec-”

“It’s too loud. Keep it down.”

Cassandra didn’t care about the importance of the song. She just wanted silence. Her ears were ringing, and she could feel a headache coming on if she heard another keynote from the piano.

They stayed quiet for a moment. A slow nod from the younger girl was answer enough for her.

Cassandra turned around and left.

She had blessed silence for the rest of the day.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

That happened years ago. She still played the song, but kept the door closed and put heavy curtains to muffle some of the noise. It still managed to slip through, but Cassandra didn’t really care as much anymore. It had blended into the background noise of the manor. 

It had become part of their daily life. Something that just fitted right in.

And now that it was gone, the absence of it had been loud.

Such a loud silence.

She didn’t like it.

Cassandra hummed to herself, looking around the room one last time before walking outside into the. Leaving the door open behind her.

Maybe she could ask her if she could play again after she came from school? It wouldn’t be too much to ask of her. It wasn’t like the younger girl had done a lot around the manor lately. Just stay in her room all day and night, only coming out to eat and talk with Alfred, and then just go back to her-

‘If I can’t reach you…’

Cassandra came to a full stop at the end of the hallway.

The piano played slowly inside the room.

‘Let my song teach you…’

Her chest became heavy. Throat tight, as if cold fingers wrapped themselves over her shoulders. A wet sensation was sinking through the fabric of her shirt, making shivers go down her spine.

The voice was like a whisper, only for her to hear.

“Am I too loud now?” Cold lips whispered in Cassandra’s ear.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra only managed to see a tangle of wet, dark hair and a bloodshot grey eye with blood dripping down a side of her deadly pale skin.

When she finally got the strength to turn completely around, the hall was quiet. Not a single echo or resonance of the keys was heard. 

Cassandra patted herself down quickly, shaking away the sudden cold over her skin. She felt over her shoulders, trying to find any wet spots on her shoulder or near her ear and back.

There was no trace of it.

She left the hall quickly, deciding to put this on the back of her mind as a headache invaded her head.

The lights flickered in the piano room, the door creaking closed by itself.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“I wasn’t expecting to like history that much.”

It was already past three in the afternoon, the classes had barely been over a few minutes ago.

But Bobby had already dragged her through the halls towards the baseball field so he could practice some pitching and bat swinging. As he had explained excitedly over lunch to her, shortly after Mr. Munroe’s class. It would be just like playing catch, but with some real damage on the side.

She could play catch! She remembered playing it with Billy before!

And with a white haired man.

And by herself, oddly enough…

“I guess Mr. Munroe just knows his stuff,” Bobby suggested, dodging a few students who walked in the opposite direction from them. He then grinned, “You could even say he lived through it with the way he talked about war stories.”

“He can’t be that old.”

“Just saying. I mean, how old could he be?” He quipped with a shrug.

She wheezed a short laugh. “Can’t be older than the Great Depression.”

Both of them were wheezing as they stumbled down the stairs, shoving and hitting each other on the arms and shoulders. That gained them a few odd looks, but they didn’t notice it at all. Too busy fighting to stay upright and keeping air in their lungs.

They made their way through the front doors of the school, taking the outside route but still inside the school grounds to the sports field.

“He has such a stern air around him, too. He kind of gives-”

“Please, don’t even go there.” She pleaded with a hiss. But Bobby only began to whisper loudly to her.

“Hey, everyone was looking at him like a piece of meat.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“Oh, please. You totally looked.”

“Did not.” She denied with red ears.

Bobby looked way too smug. “Liaaaarrrr.”

She shoved him, making him burst out laughing as she stomped faster and a couple of steps ahead of him, ready to take a corner.

To which she instantly froze on the spot with a wide-eyed look.

Bobby took notice of her sudden change, still laughing as he looked over her shoulder. “Hey, what’s-”

She quickly pushed him back until they were back to back with the corner wall, away from the view of the hall. Her hand gripping his vest with white knuckles as she looked carefully over the edge. Holding back her breath, cursing to hell and back the person standing by the front gate.

Dick Grayson was leaning against a expensive sports car, looking at his watch every five seconds when he wasn’t looking around the premises and between the groups of students walking around.

‘The fuck is he doing here?!’ She shouted in her head as she bit her tongue.

She had written to Alfred that she was going to stay for a longer time to hang out with Bobby. Why was the touchy asshole here? He was supposed to return to Bludhaven yesterday and give her some peace and tranquility!

“Um, you good?” Bobby muttered, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. She quickly let him go and apologized.

“Sorry,” she grumbled. “It’s my, ugh, brother.”

That last part was said between her teeth. Bobby frowned at that. “I guess you don’t get along, then?”

“Not exactly.” She remarked with a wince, giving a quick glance back towards the gate. He had moved closer.

That wasn’t good.

“We gotta be quick,” she urged, pushing Bobby back slowly as he let her guide him.

Before they could take off without catching too much attention, someone decided it was the right time to yell her ‘last name’.

“Wayne!”

The duo snapped their heads forward, towards the male voice that echoed through the hall. Her eye was twitching in annoyance.

A guy with golden curls and a snobbish air around him approached them with decision and fists curled in fists. He looked furious, and even then she could appreciate his handsome features. 

He looked straight out of a magazine, to be completely honest.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed in her face, fuming.

If she weren’t in such a hurry, she would have given him a few choice words. But she really needed to run.

“Office hours are closed at the moment, sorry!” She stated, pulling Bobby deeper into the hall behind them. He looked with wide eyes between the three of them.

“Suddenly got a sense of humor?” The guy chided with a roll of eyes, following her steps forward. “Where have you been?! Did you forget about practice?! We have the damned recital in two weeks!”

“Listen,” she fretted, eyes bouncing around to make sure Dick wasn’t nearby. “Right now is not the time to discuss this. I gotta-”

“No, you and I made a deal.” He claimed with a hiss. “I help you with your recital and you-”

“Hun, what is going on here?”

The cold tone made the three teens look at the tight-smiling man who stood beside them. His arms crossed over his chest with his head tilted to the side, blue eyes staring directly at their hands.

Now that she noticed, the two boys had taken hold of her arms while standing between them.

It stayed quiet for a bit. Dick smile becoming tighter and tighter.

‘Fuuuuucckkk-’

“Who are your-”

She didn’t even let him finish. Her legs moved before she could even process it.

It all happened too fast.

She had taken off running, dragging with her the still startled boys down the hall and leaving Dick behind with the words in his mouth. The man also looked caught off guard, yelling after them as he began to run after them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck-” she repeated over and over while Bobby and Goldielocks shouted at her.

“Unhand me! You’re ruining my shirt!”

“Take a left! Take a left!”

Without thinking about it too hard, she listened to Bobby and took a sharp left. Shoes squeaking as the three of them almost slammed against a poster board, before taking off again. 

They took several turns, with mixed shouts and yells between all of them. Mostly with Bobby yelling directions and the other guy screaming in her ear about going too fast.

It all came to an end when all three of them ran over someone.

Well, more like they slammed solidly against someone and crashed to the ground.

They became a tangle of limbs and curses. Bobby was face-first on the ground, complaining about the heavy weight, trying to lift them off the ground but too tired to do so. The goldilocks was cursing while swinging his arms and legs around, flailing like a stray cat. And lastly, the young girl who lay over the two of them with a manic grin on her face and laughing to herself.

‘That felt soooo good!” She gushed as she laughed breathlessly. 

It felt so right. Running like that felt so right. She had to do it again! Her heart was about to burst out in excitme-

A gruff grunt made all of them fall into silence. Three heads looking up with a gaping expression.

Mr. Munroe stood before them with a crushed cigar by his feet. An annoyed frown in his face that made them gulp at the same time.

“Drake. Worthington. Wayne.” The teens looked at each other with pale faces.

“Detention. Now.”

…That could have ended worse, to be honest.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's Note: The gangs all here! Finally got to introduce Maximoff's core friends! And so much happened in this chapter too! I had so much fun writting it, you guys have no idea. And logan is now in the plot ( I will shove my Storm x Wolverine agenda down your throats and YOU WILL LIKE IT-) Let me know what you guys liked, theorize or go and scream in the asks. I love reciving asks and answering them💖💖 Lots of love and hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple

Bonus Memes:

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Dialogue Tags Aren’t the Problem, Your Dialogue Rhythm Is

friendly reminder that the word “said” did not kill your scene.

you don’t need to replace every line of dialogue with “he rasped” or “she intoned” or “they gasped breathlessly” (please no). your dialogue is not dying because of your tags. it’s dying because the rhythm is off.

👀 let me explain:

✨ what is dialogue rhythm?

it’s the flow of speech between characters. the beats. the pacing. the way words bounce, interrupt, cut off, trail, clash. it’s less about the words themselves and more about the energy they carry.

dialogue rhythm is what makes two people arguing feel like a boxing match, or a confession feel like a car crash. it’s how you keep tension in the room. if your rhythm sucks, no amount of fancy tags is gonna save you.

🔪 signs your dialogue rhythm is off:

every character is speaking in full, polished sentences like it’s a staged play

nobody ever interrupts, stammers, hesitates, or doubles back

the emotional pace stays flat, even in high-stakes scenes

all the action beats are “he nodded” “she smiled” “they looked at her” over and over

you read it out loud and it feels like a middle school skit

👂 here’s how to fix it:

Read your dialogue out loud. Like, actually out loud. if it sounds robotic, it is robotic. listen for places where people would realistically pause, ramble, get cut off, or trail off. insert those beats. add the mess.

Use white space and formatting to control speed. short lines = fast pace. long blocks = slow burn. a line break right before someone says something unhinged? elite move. example: “You really think I’d betray you?” Pause. “You already did.”

Cut 30% of your dialogue. if you can remove the line and nothing breaks, it was filler. chop chop. more silence = more tension. not every reply needs a full answer.

Let action interrupt speech. don’t wait for the character to finish talking before you show what they’re doing. intercut body language or physical actions mid-line. it mimics how people actually talk. like this: “Don’t touch that—” she lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. “—you don’t know what it is.”

Stop overexplaining with tags. you don’t need to say “she shouted angrily” if the line is literally “GET OUT.” trust the line. if the dialogue’s strong, “said” works just fine. if the dialogue’s weak, “murmured” won’t save it.

🛑 but what about dialogue tags?

use them! but treat them like punctuation, not prose. the goal is clarity, not ✨flair✨. you want the reader to know who’s speaking without noticing the machinery.

“Said” is invisible. “Snarled” is a spice. Use spices sparingly.

better yet: mix tags with beats to keep rhythm tight. example:

BAD: “I hate you,” he said angrily. “I hate you,” she snapped back.

BETTER: “I hate you,” he said, jaw clenched. She didn’t even blink. “Good. Then we’re even.”

💡 TL;DR: your scene doesn’t need fancy tags. it needs movement. conflict. silence. interruptions. character-specific tone. you fix that by fixing the rhythm, not the verbs.

go back to your WIP, open your messiest conversation scene, and test it. read it aloud. break it up. cut what drags. add one beat of silence. give someone a half-finished sentence and a reason to storm out.

watch how fast it starts to breathe.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[prettygirl-gabi]

“To the Moon and Beyond”

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader (Pazzi x Reader)

Fandom: NCAA Women’s Basketball / WNBA

Warnings: cheating, revenge cheating, eventually in later parts there will be 18+ content (smut, alcohol consumption, strong language), polyamory, public teasing/flirting (in later parts)

Summary: A tangled history of love, heartbreak, and hidden desire leads three elite players—and the WNBA spotlight.

A/N: yes this is hella long… I got in a groove and couldn’t stop writing… but yeahh enjoy!! This is also one of the longest fics I’ve ever written… will be multiple parts….cause it’s too long for tumblr…

Also thank you @paige05bby for the banner/header

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @shikaizer

I’ve known Paige Bueckers since we were nine.

We met on the cracked hardwood of a middle school gym, both drowning in oversized jerseys and the too-big dreams of becoming something. She was all bounce passes and bubblegum, the blue-eyed blur who wouldn’t stop until she got the bucket. And me? I was defense and discipline.

Together, we were unstoppable.

From AAU weekends that blurred into each other, to our high school championship banners, we grew up in sync. On the court and off, our chemistry never missed. What started as inside jokes turned into shared playlists. Glances turned into touches. Eventually, the line between friendship and something more? It blurred until it didn’t exist.

We never defined it. Not back then. We didn’t have to.

But then college happened.

She chose UConn. I went West. USC was my dream, and she knew it, even helped me rehearse my pitch for the admissions interview. We still talked every night at first. FaceTimed after practices, sent voice memos, traded selfies. And when I flew home for breaks, we picked up like nothing changed.

Until it did.

It’s a blurry memory now — that final night. We were in her dorm in Storrs, both sweaty and breathless, tangled in each other under those awful fluorescent lights. I was wearing one of her UConn hoodies, the one with the frayed sleeve. My lips were still swollen from her kiss when she sat up suddenly, like something hit her mid-breath.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said.

I blinked, propped myself on my elbow. “What?”

“With you. Like this.” She didn’t look at me. Just stared at the far wall like she couldn’t bear to see my reaction. “I’m with Azzi now. For real. I want it to work. I have to try.”

She didn’t say sorry. And maybe that’s what stung the most.

After that, I stopped texting her. Not out of pettiness, but because it hurt too damn much.

I’d open my camera roll and there she’d be a memory— in baggy shirts, goofy grins, wearing my hoodie instead of hers. And I’d almost hit send on a message just to say something like, “Remember when we—” But I didn’t. I’d remember the look in her eyes when she told me it was over.

And then I’d put my phone down.

She kept liking my posts.

Subtle ones. Always with our secret emoji: 🌝.

A photo of my game-day shoes? Liked. The mirror selfie I took before our media shoot? Liked. A blurry boomerang of me and my teammates on the bus? Liked. Always that damn moon.

I never liked hers back. Not even when she dropped 30 on South Carolina and the whole world was reposting her highlight reel, calling her “Huskies Paige” like she hadn’t been lighting up the league already.

It didn’t feel right.

I couldn’t be hers anymore. Not really. Not after how things ended. Not after she chose her.

Even if she still wanted me.

Azzi’s POV

I wasn’t snooping.

That’s what I told myself.

I just needed the charger. Paige always left it by the couch cushion. But her phone lit up when I grabbed it — and I couldn’t look away.

unknown number: last night was unforgettable. I can’t stop thinking about you.

The photo attached was blurry — a hotel bar, maybe. Champagne. A smile I didn’t recognize.

But I recognized the timestamp. One week ago. New York. A brand event.

My stomach turned.

Paige was asleep down the hall. I didn’t even bother waking her.

I didn’t cry either.

I just packed a small bag. Enough for a few days. Hoodie, jeans, chargers. My passport. And my headphones — couldn’t risk listening to the quiet too long. I left a note on the fridge:

I know. I’ll be back. Don’t wait up. —A

Then I turned off my location the second the plane touched down in Southern California.

Y/n’s POV

I was mid-scroll when I got the DM. No greeting. No emojis. Just:

Azzi: Can I crash at your place?

I blinked.

And then again.

Me: …yeah. You okay?

Azzi: No.

She showed up two hours later. No makeup, no jewelry. Just a black hoodie pulled over her braids and shadows under her eyes like she hadn’t slept in days.

She dropped her bag by the door and slid onto my couch like it belonged to her.

I stayed standing.

Azzi met my eyes. “I found messages on Paige’s phone,” she said, voice like glass cracking. “Some girl from a brand event. Said it was a night she wouldn’t forget.”

I didn’t move.

Azzi laughed, sharp and dry. “Isn’t that cute?”

I cleared my throat. “Why are you here?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“Because cheating with a random is one thing. But cheating with your best friend?” Her gaze flicked up to mine. “That’s a different kind of pain.”

I froze. “I’m not—”

“I know you’re not with her,” she said, too quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying. But you’re still the one she wants. Always have been. And maybe, if I’m honest…” Her voice faltered, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Maybe I just needed to feel like I had the power to break something too.”

There was silence after that.

Heavy. Loaded. Everything unsaid filling the air like smoke.

I should’ve told her to leave. Should’ve drawn a line. Closed the door. Asked why she thought I’d ever want to be someone’s revenge.

But instead…

We kissed.

It wasn’t slow. Wasn’t delicate. It was the kind of kiss that tasted like fury and desperation, like something beautiful that had been starved too long. Her hands were cold. Mine were shaking.

And even as part of me screamed not to—

I let her.

And I hated how much I liked it.

The sunlight in L.A. always hits too sharp the morning after something like that.

Azzi was quiet when she woke. This had been her second and last morning here. She stretched out in my bed like she hadn’t moved all night, her hoodie thrown across the floor, my sheets wrinkled where our bodies had tangled in the heat of it. I was already sitting up, hugging my knees, staring out the window like it could tell me what the hell I’d just done.

She didn’t say good morning. Didn’t apologize. She just blinked slowly, then rolled toward me, hair falling across her cheek.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

I nodded. “Yeah. You do.”

She didn’t move yet. “Last night…the night before…”

She paused.

I waited.

But she didn’t finish the sentence. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe if she said too much, it would shatter whatever fragile justification we’d both built in our heads.

Instead, Azzi got dressed in silence. She slipped her hoodie back on, pulled her hair into a loose bun, and only broke the stillness when she looked into the mirror and noticed the mess we’d left behind.

Red, purplish bruises dotted the delicate skin beneath her jaw. One curled under her ear. Two more across her collarbone.

She didn’t even flinch. Just adjusted her hoodie and looked over at me with a thin, unreadable smile.

“I’ll text when I land.”

Azzi’s POV

The plane ride back was quiet. I wore my hood up and my headphones in, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest and the phantom touch still lingering on my skin.

I knew what I’d done. I knew the weight of it before I even touched her. But it didn’t stop me. That was the part that scared me the most.

I got back late. Paige was in the kitchen, barefoot in sweatpants, stirring something on the stove that she was probably never going to eat. Her eyes shot up the second she heard the door click.

“Azzi,” she breathed. She looked like she hadn’t slept.

I didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” she said instantly, voice cracking. “I swear—whatever that was in New York, it didn’t mean anything. I was drunk and—God, I messed up.”

She crossed the kitchen, reaching for me like she could still fix it with proximity. Like closeness could erase betrayal.

I didn’t cry. Didn’t yell.

I just stood my ground and said:

“I slept with Y/N.”

Paige froze. The words hit her like a punch straight to the gut.

“What?”

Her voice was barely there. Fragile.

I didn’t repeat it.

She took a step back, her expression cracking all at once. “You—what do you mean you—?”

“I mean I flew to L.A.,” I said, slowly, deliberately. “I turned my location off. I showed up at her door. And I didn’t leave until the next morning.”

The silence was heavy. Deafening.

I watched her chest rise and fall, watched the devastation settle behind her eyes like stormclouds.

“You went to her?” she whispered.

“I figured,” I said bitterly, “if you were gonna cheat with someone random, I could at least cheat with someone who mattered to you.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, shaking slightly.

“Did you do it to hurt me?” she asked, voice raw.

I didn’t blink.

“You don’t get to be mad,” I snapped.

Paige laughed bitterly, a hollow sound. “Oh, so you can cheat out of revenge, but I can’t even ask questions?”

“You didn’t just cheat, Paige. You lied. You made me feel safe and then let some girl blow up our entire house.”

“You think I meant for that to happen?”

I stepped closer. “No, but you sure didn’t stop it.”

Her jaw locked, the muscle ticking.

Then she grabbed her phone.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“Oh no, we’re doing this now.”

She pulled up your name, hit call, and put it on speaker.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—

“Hello? Why are you calling me Paige?”

Your voice was soft. Cautious.

I could practically feel the way your stomach probably dropped.

Paige’s tone sharpened, cut like glass. “Y/N, did Azzi fuck you better than me, huh?”

I flinched.

“Paige—” you started, voice tight, already bracing for impact.

But she kept going. “Did she make you tap out?” Her eyes were on me now. Unblinking. “Did she fuck you so good you forgot about me?”

I wanted to scream. Instead, I just stared at her, heart pounding, stomach in knots.

Silence crackled over the line.

Then your voice came, colder than I’d ever heard it.

“Paige, grow the fuck up.”

You hung up.

Just like that.

The silence in the kitchen was suffocating. My ears rang.

Paige stared down at her phone, the call screen gone black now. Her hand dropped slowly to her side.

I crossed my arms, voice shaking. “You didn’t call to ask. You called to hurt.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to deny it.

But she didn’t.

Because we both knew it was true.

The silence after she hung up could’ve split the floor beneath us.

I turned my back to Paige, walked to the fridge, opened it just to do something with my hands. My throat burned.

“You happy now?” I asked, quietly. “You proved your point?”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yes, you were,” I cut her off, spinning around. “You wanted to humiliate me. To make her pick. To twist the knife.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “She already picked you.”

“No,” I said, voice low. “She didn’t. That’s the part that’s killing you, isn’t it? She never picked me. Not really.”

She didn’t deny it.

Just stood there in the middle of our shared kitchen, hoodie sleeves half-pushed up, hair messy from stress, breathing heavy like she’d just run a mile. She looked like a storm in a glass bottle—no space left to rage.

“I loved you,” I said, stepping forward, my chest aching. “I actually did. I built my life around you.”

“I never asked you to!” Paige snapped.

“But you let me.”

We both stilled.

It was too much.

I grabbed my keys from the counter. “I’m staying at KK’s.”

“Azzi, wait—”

I didn’t.

Y/n’s POV

My phone was still in my hand, screen black, my heart racing like I’d run sprints.

I hadn’t even processed the words. Did she fuck you better than me?

I didn’t know what made me angrier—that Paige asked, or that part of me had a fucking answer.

I set the phone down and paced.

Five hours later, my apartment buzzer went off.

I froze. From aggressively cleaning my apartment, when I really wanted to break everything in this bitch.

Then again. A second buzz. Then pounding on the door.

I opened it.

And there she was.

Paige Bueckers. Hoodie, sweats, clutching her phone in one hand, emotional wreckage in her eyes.

“Paige—”

She stepped inside without waiting. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You never are,” I snapped.

She blinked. “Okay. Fine. Hit me.”

“I don’t have to. You’re already bleeding.”

She swallowed hard.

I crossed my arms. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know!” she yelled suddenly, voice cracking. “I don’t fucking know. I just—You were mine. You were always mine, and now—now I see you with her and it’s like—like someone replaced my lungs with cement.”

I laughed bitterly. “You were the one who left me.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing!”

“And now you think you can just come back and what? Ask me which one of you fucks me better?”

She looked wrecked. Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

“Get out.”

“Y/N—”

“Get out before I start hating you.”

She didn’t move right away. But then something shifted in her eyes. Like a curtain fell.

Paige nodded once.

And she left.

The door clicked shut behind her like a trigger.

And I finally let myself sit down.

And cry.

Paige’s POV

I sat outside her door for twenty minutes, knees pulled to my chest, hoodie up like it could hide the damage on my face. Tears kept falling, quiet and constant, like my body had forgotten how to hold anything in.

She didn’t even come back to the door. Not once.

I deserved that.

I really did.

But sitting there, staring at the cracks in the pavement, I thought—Someone has to forgive me. Someone.

So I stood up, wiped my face with my sleeve, and walked back inside. She never locked it.

The second I stepped into the apartment, I saw her.

Y/N had stopped crying, but her face was still blotchy, eyes still raw. She was furiously scrubbing the countertop, muttering to herself like maybe if she cleaned hard enough, she could erase what I’d done.

And then she looked up.

Her eyes went wide. “Are you serious right now?”

Before I could say anything, a water bottle flew through the air and smacked against the wall just left of my head.

I flinched, and she stormed toward me.

Her fists hit my chest—weak at first, then stronger, then desperate. “You don’t get to do this, Paige! You don’t get to just walk back in like this!”

“I—”

“No! Shut up!” she screamed. “You chose Azzi. You cheated on Azzi. You threw me away, twice, and you’re still in love with me? Do you hear how insane that sounds?”

Her fists slowed but didn’t stop. I didn’t move. I let her hit me. I let her scream.

“I loved you so much it scared me,” she cried. “I still love you, and I hate that I do. I hate that you can still make me feel like this.”

I caught her wrists gently, not to stop her—just to hold her. “I never stopped loving you.”

She sobbed once, raw and guttural, and pressed her forehead to my chest. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I know.”

“But I still want to.”

“I know. Me too.”

Silence hung between us like smoke.

I didn’t move. Neither did she.

We stayed like that for a long time. Not healing. Not fixing. Just existing in the same wreckage.

Azzi’s POV – Back in Connecticut

“So… yeah,” I whispered.

KK stared at me like I’d just told her I was moving to Mars. “You really said it like that?”

“I looked Paige in the eye,” I murmured, “and I told her I slept with Y/N.”

KK’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t say anything right away.

“I still love her,” I said, voice cracking. “I hate her. I hate what she did. But I still love her.”

KK exhaled slowly. “Do you think Y/N loves her too?”

“Yes,” I said. “She always has.”

I sank deeper into the couch. My hoodie sleeves covered half my hands. Hickeys dotted my neck like bruises made by ghosts I wasn’t ready to confront. “I thought it would hurt Paige the way she hurt me. That it would give me some kind of… control.”

KK was quiet.

“But all it did was make it worse. For everyone.”

She finally spoke, voice low and careful. “Do you regret it?”

“I regret everything, but I don’t regret Y/n.” I whispered.

There was a long pause.

“But, I don’t think any of us are coming back from this, KK. Not me. Not her. Not Y/N.”

KK pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and let me fall apart.

And for the first time, I let myself believe I really had broken something we could never fix.

There was a long pause.

Y/n’s POV – Southern California

It’s Juju who tells me.

We’re on the practice court, just us, shooting around after everyone else left. The sun’s barely dipping, golden light slanting through the gym windows.

She catches a rebound and holds onto it. Doesn’t pass it back.

“They’re coming,” she says.

My stomach dips. “What?”

“KK and I talked. Paige. Azzi. All three of them are flying in. They land tonight.”

I freeze, sweat already clinging to my skin, now cold. “Here?”

She nods. “Tomorrow. For a sit down.”

I stare at her. “You think this is a good idea?”

She walks over, puts the ball down. “I think it’s the only shot any of you have at being okay again.”

That very next day, I vacuumed twice.

I Windexed the mirrors. I rearranged my throw pillows. I lit a candle. Then blew it out. Then lit it again.

My hands were shaking by the time the knock came.

When I opened the door, they were both standing there. Azzi in a hoodie and sweatpants, her hair in a bun. Paige in loose jeans and an old UConn tee. They looked tired. Human.

Nobody said anything right away.

I stepped aside. “Come in.”

They sat on opposite sides of the couch. I took the armchair.

The silence stretched.

Until finally Azzi said, “Thanks for letting us do this.”

I nodded. “I didn’t know if I would.”

Paige looked at me like I was air she hadn’t breathed in weeks. “We just wanna talk. For real.”

So we did.

For hours.

We unraveled every inch of the knot between us.

Azzi told me about the night she found the messages on Paige’s phone. How her heart dropped. How all she wanted was to hurt her back.

Paige admitted that she’d kissed that random at the brand event, thinking it didn’t count because her heart was already broken from missing me. She said she hated herself for it the second it happened.

“I wanted someone to forgive me,” she said, eyes glossy. “But I didn’t deserve it.”

Azzi turned to me. “And I didn’t sleep with you just to be petty. At first… maybe. But when I saw you again, it wasn’t revenge. It was…” She trailed off.

“Safe,” I said.

She nodded.

I told them everything too.

How I couldn’t forgive Paige, but still loved her. How I didn’t regret being with Azzi, even if it was complicated. How none of it felt clean. How the silence afterward almost broke me.

“I felt like all I had left were memories of people who didn’t exist anymore,” I whispered.

And that’s when Paige broke.

She slid off the couch, sat on the floor, hands over her face. “I miss both of you so much, it’s like breathing in water every day.”

Azzi came down beside her. After a moment, so did I.

Three of us. On the rug. Like a slow-burning apology.

“I don’t know what happens next,” I murmured. “I just know we’re not those people anymore.”

“But we can choose who we become now,” Azzi said.

Paige wiped her face, voice cracked. “Even if it’s just friends.”

My throat tightened. “Or even if it’s nothing.”

We sat there.

Breathing.

Together.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[thatnewweeb]

Childhood Sweethearts | Bakugo Katsuki

Summary | You moved to America when you were young, having to leave behind your childhood sweetheart. After moving back to Japan, you'll find out if things have changed between you two

Content | Fluff, honestly I can't think of any warnings for this so let me know if you see anything that needs a warning

Word Count | 1.7k+

A/N | I love the idea of Bakugo being in love with someone through his whole life, I have no idea why. At the time of posting, I wrote this forever ago

It had been almost 5 whole years since you moved away. You missed home. It wasn't like you'd wanted to move away in the first place, but your dad's job took you away from Japan all the way to America.

Finally, at 18 years old, you finally convinced your parents to allow you to move home. Having attended an elite hero school for the past 2 years, you managed to have some special arrangements made for your return home.

And so, that is how you got to where you are now, nervously walking down the halls of UA next to Principal Nezu. He had spent the first half hour of the morning before classes began showing you around and explaining a few things to you.

At the start of homeroom at 8:25AM, he walks you to the classroom of Class 3-A, the class you will be joining, starting today.

Everyone looks over as the door opens, the principal strolling in and standing at the front of the class. You follow nervously. These people have had nearly 3 whole years to get to know each other, and here you are, the new girl joining in the final year, not knowing anyone.

At least, you didn't think you knew anyone, until you force yourself to look at the class properly.

Your eyes immediately fall on a blond boy in the second row. His own eyes are widened, locked onto you. A moment later, you rip your eyes away from him, prompting him to look away also.

When you realise Nezu has stopped speaking and is now looking at you, you snap out of it and look at the whole class.

"My name is Y/N. I have two Quirks, which I am sure I will have more time sometime soon to explain. I look forward to spending this year with you." You say and bow slightly to the class.

Your homeroom teacher, Aizawa, points you to your assigned seat, so you sit down quietly, not saying another word.

It isn't until lunch, almost four hours later, that you say anything else, besides answering questions in class. Your fourth period was English with Present Mic. Having lived in an English-speaking country for almost 5 years, it was quite an easy class for you.

Almost as soon as you are dismissed from class, you're surrounded by people, wanting to talk to you, get to know you. You're fine with that, but you did have someone else you wanted to talk to. They already walked out the door though.

"Y/N!" Someone says, popping up in front of you out of nowhere.

"Izuku!" You smile, excitedly throwing your arms around your old friend.

You see a brown-haired girl blushing as she watches you hugging Midoriya.

"I can't believe you're here! I didn't know you were coming back!"

You nod. "I know, I'm sorry I didn't say anything."

He shakes his head, wanting to reassure you. "It's okay! We fell out of touch, that's not anyone's fault."

Izuku invites you to spend lunch break with him and his friends, being introduced to them all, him explaining a little about how he got into UA at all.

After classes have finished for the day, you don't give Bakugo the chance to run. As soon as you're dismissed from class, you walk over to his desk, standing in front of it and resting your hands on the surface.

"It's nice to see you again, Katsuki." You smirk.

He looks up at you from his chair briefly, quickly looking away. “Yeah, it is.”

You lean down so you’re closer to his height, him still avoiding eye contact. “Would you mind walking me back to the dorm? I haven’t actually been there yet, Nezu didn’t have time to take me.”

He tuts but stands up, picking up his bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Not saying a thing, he leaves the classroom, you following him. You know what he’s like, you know to follow.

As soon as you're out of the halls and outside, he decides to say something. "I didn't know you were coming back." He mutters.

You're just happy to hear him say something to you. "Yeah. I know."

He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

You pause where you are, stunned. You hadn't expected him to apologise to you.

When you don't say anything, he sighs and turns to you, also stopping walking. "I shouldn't have stopped responding. I was upset you were gone, and I went about things in the stupidest way. I... I regret it."

It takes a moment for you to say anything, blinking in shock. "It's okay." You smile brightly up at him. "I understand. It was hard on both of us, after all."

"Yeah, but I ghosted you. I shouldn't have done that. Not to you, you don't deserve that."

"I agree you shouldn't have done it, dummy. But I'm saying I understand, okay?"

He smiles a little, looking down at you. "Come on, let's go to the dorms." He tugs on your backpack, indicating that you should take it off. When you do, he slings one strap over his shoulder, carrying it for you.

"Since when did you become a gentleman?" You ask with a small laugh, making him grunt a 'shut up' to you, his cheeks going slightly pink.

Finally reaching the dorms, Bakugo opens the door for you, letting you into the large building.

Everyone else is already there, the people in the communal area looking at you as you enter. Other than Izuku, people seem a little surprised to see you with Bakugo, and even more surprised that he doesn't look as annoyed as he typically does.

With everyone staring, Katsuki shoves your bag back into your arms before walking over to the stairs to go to his room.

You smile a little as you watch him, shaking your head.

Izuku is the first person to come up to you, smiling. "Everyone wants to get to know you a little. If you have some time, come sit with us?"

You do what he says, walking over and taking a seat between him and a boy with a black streak in mostly blond hair.

You end up spending a couple hours with them, telling them about your Quirk and what it's like to live in America. When they ask about you seemingly already knowing both Izuku and Katsuki, you tell them that you grew up with them.

A girl with pink skin, who you learn is Mina, asks you for some stupid stories about them as kids, Izuku going red and telling you that you don't have to talk about anything you don't want to, trying to save himself the embarrassment.

Even though you're unsure if Bakugo will be annoyed at you for telling them this, you also tell them a few stories from when you and him were dating before you left for America.

Everyone seems surprised, a small uproar coming from the class. No one had ever even seen an indication that he had ever been interested in anyone, yet alone had a girlfriend. It appeared to be a ludicrous idea to most of them.

Kaminari seems to deflate a little upon realising you dated one of his best friends. Guess he thought you were pretty.

Not long after, you go find your room, needing to unpack. Right before you close the door, a foot stops it from closing. A second later, Bakugo comes into view.

"Well, hello there." You smirk a little, looking up at him.

He smirks back, placing a hand on the doorframe, standing in front of you. "Hey. Care if I come in?"

You move out the way for him to come in but tell him it's a little messy because you're still unpacking.

He doesn't even look at the room, closing the door as soon as he's inside and standing close to you, essentially pinning you between him and the door.

That's when you really realise how much he's changed. He's so much taller now than when you last saw him, his shoulders broader, entire body more muscular, a few visible scars now. The whole thing makes you a little flustered.

"So, do you have a little American boyfriend now?" He asks with a slight snarl, expression turning into a smirk as soon as you shake your head. "No? Then, would you mind if I kissed you?" He whispers in your ear.

You don't verbally respond, but the look on your face gives him the answer he needs. He keeps one hand on the wall, the other coming to rest on your waist, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. Your own hands find your way to his chest, gripping onto his shirt.

A moment later, he pulls away a little, smirking. "Guess we haven't missed a beat, huh?"

You laugh, not letting go of his shirt. "Suki, you're an ass." You say, making him laugh too.

"Yeah, but you love it." He whispers, leaning in to kiss you again. "It's starting to get late, and you haven't finished unpacking yet. If you wanted to stay in my room tonight, you're welcome to."

You look up at him, a little surprised by the proposal. When he sees the look on your face, he panics a small amount. "I didn't mean it like that! I meant we can spend the night sleeping together- no, not sleeping together! Not like that! I just meant- we- we can- I meant-"

You giggle at his nervousness, making him look a little angry. You move your hands to rest on his cheeks, standing on your tiptoes and smashing your lips against his.

When you finally break the kiss again, both a little breathless, he stares at you, mouth open slightly.

"Sorry, I had to find a way to shut you up." You smile. "I'd love to cuddle tonight, Suki."

He looks relieved, taking your hand. "Come on, let's go."

You spend the rest of the night in Bakugo's dorm, cuddling and eventually falling asleep in his bed.

Before he falls asleep, he spends a few moments just watching you, barely being able to believe that he got lucky enough to get you back into his life. He gives you a soft kiss on the forehead, holding you tighter, closing his own eyes and falling asleep.

[yothatshitgas]

The Dress

Pairing: Paige x Azzi Word Count: 3.2k

Note: Work of fiction. This was meant to be a quick one shot, but it went beyond the length I expected. So I'm splitting it into two parts. Song is The Dress by Dijon. AU of Paige never recruiting Azzi to UConn. Edit: Expansion (Maybes and What Ifs)

Part 2

__

“Well, it's official,” Nika said without looking up from her phone, “we just got the best damn shooter in the country.”

Paige turned her head slowly toward Nika, who tilted her phone just enough for her to see the screen. It was an Instagram post, bold UConn Blue letters across the top: Committed. Behind the text was a photo of a girl with curly hair styled in two french braids, she donned a Blue University of Connecticut varsity jacket over the program’s uniform. She wore a bright smile with two dimples accompanying. Azzi Fudd. Her transfer announcement had gone live, nearly a month after she’d blown up the internet by entering the portal, just a week after UCLA’s Elite Eight loss. 

“You played with her before, right?” Nika asked, chewing her gum as she leaned back against the wall. They were both sitting cross legged on the training room floor, their post practice routine.

Paige nodded, a slow smirk forming on her lips. She couldn’t help it. For the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was finally aligning. The team was healthy again, anchored by three of the most dangerous juniors in the country. And Paige was right at the center of it. Now? They were adding her, the same player Steph Curry once called an ‘automatic bucket.’ They were going to bring the championship back to Storrs, a feat that the program has been chasing for over five years now.

Although, if Paige was being honest, it wasn’t the championship that had her grinning like a fool in her seat. It was Azzi. 

They’d played together for two summers on Team USA, their chemistry unmistakable and from the moment she met Azzi that first summer, she’d had a crush. Immediate. Electric. It was the way Azzi moved, fluid and fearless, every shot slipping through the net like it belonged there. She made it look effortless, like her body was made for basketball. Paige couldn’t look away, she was impressed. Maybe even addicted, not that she’d ever admit it out loud. 

And then there was the smile. God, the smile. Bright and dangerous, framed by dimples so deep they looked carved into her cheeks by some mischievous higher power, as if they were invitations for Paige she wasn’t so sure she should take. She’d never known desire to take shape of something as deceptively innocent as a smile, but with Azzi, it was right there in the curl of her lips and the light in her eyes.

Paige tried to flirt. Or, well, her awkward approximation of flirting. She teased. She poked. She pressed buttons she had no business touching, all under the guise of playful annoyance. But Azzi never flinched. She didn’t shy away or shut it down. If anything, she leaned in. Snapped back with her own witty jabs, turning every interaction into a game of verbal tug of war. There was a rhythm to it, a cadence only they seemed to understand. Push, pull. Give, take. 

They never said they wanted more. But the signs were there, quiet and consistent. The way Paige’s hand would linger on Azzi’s shoulder during a huddle, her thumb brushing lightly along the seam of her jersey. The way Azzi would find her way to Paige’s room on nights when the rest of the girls gathered in the hotel lobby, chasing gossip and late night snacks. Yet, it was fleeting. Always understood to be temporary, wrapped in the golden haze of summer. When the final buzzer of their last game sounded and Team USA disbanded for the year, they returned to their regular lives. Back to high school, back to expectations, back to reality.

They followed each other on social media, of course. Swapped numbers. Left the door cracked open, just enough to peek through from time to time. A like there. An emoji reaction there. A birthday message. A ‘Merry Christmas’ that never turned into more. It was a quiet kind of closeness. One that never asked for anything, never dared to define what they’d shared.

And then came their second year on Team USA.

Whatever simple, harmless crush Paige thought she’d had the summer before had evolved into something far less manageable. Azzi had changed. In all the right, most unfair way. She still had that same soft smile, still flashed those killer dimples like they were jokes only Paige got to understand. But now she was taller. Leaner. Stronger. More confident, both grounded and untouchable. And she had gotten better on the court, it was like watching magic refined into muscle memory. Her shots weren’t just good, they were lethal. And Paige, elite as she was, found herself staring more than she should have.

Just like that, all the fleeting, fluttering feelings Paige thought she’d neatly boxed up and shelved from the year before came crashing back with the subtlety of a freight train. No warning. No mercy.

Paige was obsessed.

And this time, she knew it. She couldn’t hide it, didn’t even try, to be honest. Not when Azzi laughed in that low, breathy way that made Paige’s chest tighten. Not when she pulled her hair back into a puff and wiped sweat off her brow mid-practice, looking entirely unbothered by the way the blonde stared at the other side of the court. Not when she threw an arm around Paige’s shoulder like it meant nothing and everything all at once.

Lines were crossed on their last night of the world cup. 

One minute, they were just talking, curled up in the dim hush of Paige’s hotel room. The glow of a single bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air between them had been warm with something unspoken, humming with the energy of everything they refused to name. They talked about everything and nothing at all - inside jokes, music, the future, what home even meant when you were always on the move. In between their words, there was laughter. The kind that couldn’t exist anywhere else but inside those four walls.

Paige’s hand brushed against Azzi’s, just the slightest graze. Azzi, true to herself, didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift away, instead her fingers stayed right there, resting against Paige’s like she’d been waiting for that exact moment to happen. So Paige took it. She laced their fingers together slowly, and without thinking too hard, Paige leaned in and kissed Azzi.

Quick. Gentle. Barely more than a breath.

But it was real. 

And by cruel design of the universe, they flew home the very next day. One moment, they were curled up in the safety of each other’s silence, hands still remembering the weight of that first kiss. And the next, they were separated by thousands of miles and the divergent paths of two girls chasing greatness. Their lives, so full of promise, were equally full of obligations. Training schedules, family responsibilities and looming seasons, all conspiring to keep them apart.

But they tried. This time, they really tried.

Late night calls that stretched until one of them drifted off mid-sentence, the quiet hum of breath on the line more comforting than any lullaby. Text messages layered with longing, little confessions wrapped in emojis and inside jokes. Wish you were here sent from gyms and bedrooms, from the backseats of carpools and early morning flights. For a while, it was enough. For a while, it felt like they were still tethered by that final night.

Fall came and with it, the return to school and structure. Paige threw herself into her senior year, laser focused on getting her team their first state championship. Azzi, on the other hand, was already a legend in her own right. She led her squad to dominate the DMV circuit, her name whispered across courts and hallways with equal reverence. Their training regimens didn’t align. Their free time evaporated. Slowly, inevitably, the tether stretched thin.

Hour long conversations became missed calls. Quick replies turned into half read messages, then long gaps followed by apologetic explanations: sorry, been slammed with practice. Didn’t mean to ghost, just tired. And even though neither of them said it, both could feel the shift. A subtle, aching distance growing between them like a bruise they didn’t want to press on.

But how could they be upset? They hadn’t labeled what they were. No promises. No commitments. Just a summer and a kiss and a lingering thread of connection that neither of them had the language to define. They were temporary constants, steady for a while then they faded, slowly. Like sunlight slipping out of a room.

By the time the new year came, they’d had the conversation. It made sense, they told themselves. Best to focus on the year ahead. College, basketball, the future. There was no big heartbreak. No blowout fight. Just a quiet understanding that they were living parallel lives that couldn’t quite overlap.

Paige graduated that spring and slipped into a UConn jersey like she was born to wear it. She dove headfirst into a new world of expectation and cameras and team dynamics. Meanwhile, Azzi earned her spot on the USA U18 team for a third year, one again disappearing into the blur of red, white and blue.

They became what ifs in lives that had no choice but to embrace what is.

And Paige came to terms with it. She didn’t reach out. Didn’t push, she offered her support the only way she knew how: from a distance. She liked Azzi’s posts, watched her interviews. Caught clips of her games when she could, always with a small, private smile tugging at her lips. Azzi was thriving, just like everyone knew she would. She only grew brighter with every passing season.

It hadn’t come as a surprise when Azzi announced her commitment to UCLA for her 18th birthday. It was expected. She’d spoked about being a Bruin for as long as they’ve known each other, her dream school etched into her like gospel. The announcement had felt more like a formality than news - the rest of the world finally catching up to what Azzi had always known. She belonged out west and she made sure the entire country knew. Within weeks of stepping on campus, Azzi had the Big Ten on notice. Her name already being whispered in the same breath as legends.

Meanwhile, Paige was learning how quickly everything you love can be taken away.

The injury happened during an early pre-season game. One awkward step, one wrong pivot and her world shifted. A torn ACL. Just like that. It was cruel in its simplicity, the way her body betrayed her before her sophomore season even began. Surgery followed. Then the slow, grueling climb of recovery. She became a permanent fixture on the bench, forced to watch her teammates chase a season she couldn’t be part of.

She tried to be supportive. She cheered, clapped, smiled for the cameras. But there were nights she’d go home and cry into her pillow, the pain in her knee dull compared to the ache in her chest. She was used to leading from the court, not the sidelines. By the time she finally cleared - after months of rehab, doctor visits and mental battles - UConn’s season was already winding down. They’d fought hard. Won regionals. Took home the Big East Championship. But the goal had never been just conference titles, it had always been the Final Four and they hadn’t made it. Their battle cut short at the Sweet 16.

Now, Paige sat shoulder to shoulder with Nika on the training room floor, backs pressed to the cool wall, a silence settling between them that felt more like recovery than rest. It had only been a couple months since their season ended in heartbreak, an early exit no one had seen coming, especially not a program like UConn and yet, somehow, despite all the disappointment, all the bruised egos and quiet tears behind closed doors, they’d managed to pull off a miracle.

Paige let out a quiet huff, still a little dazed, “I honestly don’t know how we pulled that off,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Nika glanced over, arching a brow, “I’m telling you, it’s Geno and CD, voodoo magic. Mind tricks.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, shaking her head, “that, or we’ve just gotten really good at begging.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m quite the charmer,” Nika shot back, popping her gum with a grin, “but really, she’s coming. Two weeks.”

Paige didn’t hesitate, her smirk returning, “ready as I’ll ever be.”

__

Azzi’s arrival on campus was the calm before the storm. 

One minute, the whole team was crowding into her new room, helping her unpack boxes and making jokes about who would steal her snacks first. The next, they were back in the gym, running full-speed scrimmages with brand new plays. Sets tailored for a starting lineup that now included one of the most dangerous scorers in the country.

There was no easing into it. No breathers. Not when every single girl on that court knew exactly what was at stake. This season wasn’t just about redemption, it was about destiny. Everyone could feel it in their bones. But destiny didn’t come without sweat. Without bruises, arguments, late night film sessions and early morning lifts. That was the plan, grind now, win later. Work until their body ached and their chemistry became second nature. Until everything led to one singular moment: holding up that trophy, giving Geno his twelfth national title.

And giving themselves their first.

There hadn’t been a quiet moment for Paige and Azzi to officially acknowledge their reunion. No catching up beyond polite smiles and half-spoken words in between drills. They were cordial, professional, even. But the court told a different story. Their chemistry ignited the second the ball hit the hardwood. Every movement flowed like muscle memory. Every pass, every glance, every instinctive pivot fell into place with the kind of synchronicity that couldn't be taught. 

One play, in particular, turned heads.

It started with Paige dribbling near the left wing, her eyes scanning the floor like time had slowed specifically for that moment. Azzi lingered near the baseline, then took off on a sharp, lightning fast cut up the lane. The timing was perfect. Nika and Aaliyah closed in to set an elevator screen at the free throw line, bodies colliding like doors slamming shut behind her. Azzi squeezed through the seam just as Paige shifted her weight and fired a crisp chest pass to the top of the key.

Azzi caught it in rhythm, feet set and shoulders squared.

Splash.

Three points. Nothing but net. Textbook shooting form, a quick release and an arch even Steph Curry would be jealous of.

The gym erupted, not in chaos but in that stunned, respectful silence that happens when everyone recognizes perfection in motion. Even the practice players look rattled, exchanging glances like they’d just seen something unfair. 

Geno blew his whistle, but not to stop the drill. Just to nod.

“Run it again,” he barked, barely masking the satisfaction in his tone.

__

“Finally caught you,” Paige called out, her voice echoing through the mostly empty gym as she stepped inside, hair damp from a shower. Her sneakers squeaked lightly against the hardwood as she walked in, “you know we don’t hand out gold stars for being the last one in the gym, right?”

Azzi glanced over from the free throw line, her expression unreadable at first until that familiar smile crept across her face. The same one that had lived in the back of Paige’s mind far longer than she’d like to admit. “You’re acting like I’ve been hiding.”

“You have,” Paige said easily, striding toward her without breaking eye contact. On her way, she snagged a loose ball that had rolled toward the baseline and gave it a sharp bounce pass back to Azzi, “I tried to give you a ride to practice this morning and you practically dragged Caroline out of the room with the way you rushed her.”

Azzi caught the ball, but didn’t respond. Not with words, anyway. She turned back toward the line, dribbled twice, bounced the ball with a spin that landed it back in her hands and planted her feet. The gym fell quiet again, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and rhythmic creak of the old backboard as her shot sailed through the air and dropped clean the net. No rim. No hesitation. 

Swish.

Paige walked beneath the hoop, casually plucking the ball as it came down through the net. She didn’t say anything right away. Just held the ball in her hands, then bounced it back to Azzi with a soft thud that echoed in the silence between them. 

“Same routine,” Paige said, softer now.

Azzi caught the ball, effortlessly but didn’t lift it for another shot. Instead, she stood at the line, cradling it against her hip, her thumbs slowly brushing the textured grooves. Her gaze dipped toward the floor, then traced a path back up to Paige, lingering a second too long.

“How’s your knee?” she asked softly, then her eyes dropped again, trailing down Paige’s legs, “did you stick to the recovery regimen? No shortcuts?”

Paige smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching upward, “yes, mom.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but it didn’t hide the flicker of concern behind them.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone firmer now, “people cut corners all the time. Especially when they’re trying to get back to something that matters.”

Paige leaned against the padded base of the basket, arms crossed loosely over her chest, “I didn’t cheat the process, Az,” she said, drifting at the nickname that she’d used from the moment they’d met, “not once.”

They stood in silence for a beat, then Paige pushed herself off the padded base, each step toward Azzi slow and deliberate. She didn’t leave much space for the unspoken. Didn’t want to. When she reached her, she let her fingers gently trail along Azzi’s arm until they reached her hand. She let them linger there, light but present. 

“Why did you transfer, Az?” Paige asked, her voice low and quiet, she was trying to protect the moment from the rest of the world, “you were doing so good in Cali. It's not your parents, they’d fly to the other side of the world just to see you play. So what is it?”

A pause.

“Is it me?”

Azzi turned her head just slightly, “you’re giving yourself way too much credit, Paige,” she said, her voice playful.

“Want to play for the truth?” Paige asked, jerking her chin toward the hoop, her tone dipped flirtatiously, like she already knew the answer, “horse?”

Azzi quirked a brow, intrigued, “that your idea of an interrogation tactic now?”

“No,” Paige replied, already walking back toward the top of the key, “its my idea of foreplay.”

Azzi let out a laugh, but she followed, slowly walking to the free throw line, “fine,” she said, looking over at Paige with narrowed eyes and a teasing grin, “every missed shot a is a letter and a question, don’t want to answer? Another letter.”

Paige grinned, “game on.”

[vantetaes]

PARENT TEACHER CONFRENCES🫧🥂

TEACHER!NANAMI X MILF BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! hardworking single mom yn is called to meet with nanami, her sons fourth grade teacher to discuss his performance.

WARNINGS!!! aggressive tones, cursing, penetration, oral {f}, mirror sex, affirmations, sensual, praises, 6.2k

the school hallways are eerily quiet, the usual chaos of children’s laughter, teachers and coaches directing the younger kids to class, and hurried squeaky footsteps replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. you stride through the marble floored corridor, the sharp click of your black heels slicing through the silence.

your grip tightens around the structured leather of your designer handbag as you reach the door labeled with big black lettering MR. KENTO NANAMI.

you knock twice, before using your entire body weight pushing the wooden door open without waiting for an invitation.

nanami looks up from his desk, his expression unreadable behind his gold square-framed glasses. he’s put together, wearing a clean tan suit. the matching jacket lay carelessly over the back of his chair while his white button up pressed shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at forearm muscle, tie loosened just a fraction. the gold chain he wore underneath barely peeking through to catch the beams of sunlight coming through the large windows.

his whole aura screams methodical, disciplined, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes when he meets your gaze. something unreadable.

“ms. l/n, i’m surprised. thank you for making the time.” he greets, standing as a courtesy. his voice is deep, smooth, but there’s an undercurrent of exhaustion beneath the professionalism.

you set your bag down on one of the two brown leather chairs before seating yourself across from him, back straight, chin tilted slightly upward. nanami watched as your blazer tightened around your frame as you fixed your posture. your sheer stockings with lace cuffing your thigh give the man a tease, revealing with the way your mini pencil skirt rose up to crease at your hips. the simple gold jewelry necklace that hung around your neck, being fixed by freshly manicured french tips.

and the one thing he could never forget about you, you smelled like homegrown vanilla and looked like you were moisturized by gods.

“i always make time when it comes to my son, mr. kento. let’s get to the point.” your tone is crisp, practiced, the same one you use when working around the most elite of clients and workers the same. although it never mattered to nanami. outside of those aura you present, he knew you’d crumble.

“it’s about yuji. he’s a bright kid. engaging , compassionate. but i’ve noticed a pattern of distraction in class. his assignments are often rushed, and while he excels in physical activities, he struggles to focus during lessons. i’m concerned he’s not reaching his full potential.” he exhales slowly, measuring his words. his hazel eyes lock onto yours for a moment, trying to gather an expression.

“so what are you saying? that my son is a problem all of a sudden?” your brows knit together, irritation beginning to bubble beneath your skin.

“not at all, in fact i love having him in my class. i’m saying he needs more structure. more consistency.” nanami doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady. he goes to grab a manila folder, with your sons name right on the front.

“you think i don’t provide that? do you know how hard i work to make sure yuji has everything he needs?” you fold your arms, nails tapping against your sleeve, leg beginning to jump. the small sound of your heel connecting with the flooring filling the uncomfortable space.

there’s a flicker of something in his expression—understanding, maybe, but not pity.

“i’m not questioning your dedication as a parent, ms. l/n. i see how much yuji adores you. but children, especially ones as energetic as him, need more than just material stability. they need presence.”

your jaw tightens. presence. as if you haven’t sacrificed enough. as if you haven’t built an empire just so yuji never has to want for anything.

“i’m present-” you say, voice quieter now, but still firm. “i show up. the amount of money i spend on this crappy little private elementary school, i should be the one signing checks.”

nanami slightly adjusts his glasses, tapping his finger along the opening of the folder. instead, his body shifts backwards in his chair, placing the cream folder in front of you. clasping his hands together, a small, tight line smile crosses his face.

“the amount of money you donate to helping your child’s future doesn’t impress me. do with that what you will. i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was attacking you, ms. l/n. just bringing light to the situation.”

sitting forward in your seat, you lean over. your nails drum against the polished wood of his desk, slow, deliberate. his eyes can’t help but to draw down to your exposed cleavage. watching your necklace sway with your movements.

“you assume a lot, mr. kento.” your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, a sharpness honed from years of speaking over men who thought they could talk over you.

“you see a distracted child and immediately think it’s a lack of structure. you see a working mother and assume it’s a lack of presence. tell me, do you make the same assumptions about fathers?”

“i don’t assume, ms. l/n. i observe. and what i’ve observed is a boy who looks over his shoulder every time he accomplishes something. searching for approval that isn’t always there.” nanami doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk, his expression unwaveringly calm. you could smell the mint wafting off his breath.

“that’s not fair.” heat flares in your chest, something dangerously close to guilt threading through the frustration.

“it’s not about fair.” he says evenly.

“it’s about what’s real. yuji is brilliant, but he’s restless. he’s eager, but inconsistent. i don’t doubt for a second that you love him. but love and attention aren’t the same thing. help him or you’ll run him right into the ground.”

your lips part, ready to retort, but the words catch. because a part of you knows he isn’t wrong. knows that between early-morning meetings and late-night conference calls, between international flights and back-to-back negotiations, there are missed dinners, forgotten bedtime stories, moments you can’t get back. you work so he doesn’t have to struggle. but in doing so, maybe, just maybe, you’ve made him fight for a different kind of survival.

but admitting that feels too much like surrender.

“you’re out of line. i don’t think the dean would enjoy hear about how you spoke to their cash cow.” so you straighten, tilting your chin up just enough to remind him who you are.

“maybe-” nanami exhales slowly, pushing a hand through his blond hair. his voice remains maddeningly level.

“-but if i don’t say it, who will?”

silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken. outside, the distant sound of a basketball bouncing against pavement echoes through the hallway.

“enough of this. i have to make it home for yuji. i appreciate your concern for my son but from now on, please mind your own business.”

collecting your purse and the folder, you stand up, straightening out your outfit. nanami stands also, watching as you flip your bouncy curls behind one ear, the skirt still high and teasing. nanami watches as your tiny frame shuffles over to the door, a smile sigh leaving his lips.

you grip the door handle, pausing just long enough to steady yourself. the conversation lingers, the weight of it pressing against your spine, taking in a deep breath.

infuriating.

“ms. l/n.” his voice stops you, low and deliberate.

“what now, nanami?” you inhale slowly before turning, arching a brow.

he watches you for a moment, arms crossed, expression unreadable. then, with the same frustrating composure he’s had all evening, “-i was too hostile.”

you blink, caught off guard. “excuse me?”

“i should have approached the conversation differently. more patience, less provocation.” he exhales, adjusting his tie, more out of habit than necessity. then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, “let-let me make it up to you. dinner.”

there’s a pause. sharp, charged.

then you laugh, a short, disbelieving sound.

“is this your way of apologizing?”

“it’s my way of offering a reset.” his lips twitch slightly at the corner, just slightly.

“would your wife be okay with you taking out a parent?”

“no wife. just me and you.”

you study him, searching for any sign of insincerity. but nanami is firm. there’s no arrogance in his offer, no expectation, just a quiet confidence that irritates you almost as much as it intrigues you.

“interesting, well. bold of you to assume i have the time. yknow, with me being an absent mother an all.” you say smoothly, tilting your chin up.

“bold of you to assume i’m not willing to wait, just like today.” he counters with a laugh without missing a beat.

the air between you shifts, charged with something neither of you acknowledge outright.

“send me the details, mr. kento. i’ll think about it.” finally, you smirk, pushing the door open.

you don’t wait for his response as you walk out, heels clicking against the tile, but you don’t need to. because for the first time tonight, you let him have the last word.

-

nanami: dinner. friday. 8pm. send me your preference, or i’ll choose.

you: you assume i’m free.

nanami: i assume you’ll make time.

you: bold of you.

nanami: so i’ve been told.

you: fine. pick the place.

nanami: i already have. i’ll send the details.

you: don’t disappoint me.

nanami: i wouldn’t dare.

read 6:25pm

-

soft jazz hums through your bedroom, blending with the quiet rustle of fabric as you smooth your dress down in the mirror. the dark red silk pulling just right at every curve of your legs and waist. here, in the warm glow of the vanity lights, with yuji bouncing on his heels beside you, you allow yourself a moment of softness.

“mom, you look so cool!” he beams up at you, eyes bright, his excitement buzzing through the air like electricity.

“you really think so, baby?” you turn to him with a warm smile, cupping his cheek gently, watching as the boys eyes lit up like a christmas tree from the affection.

“yeah! like a superhero!” he nods enthusiastically.

“you’re too sweet.” you laugh, pressing a kiss to his forehead, immediately wiping off the faint outline of your lip combo.

behind you, mrs. okoye, yujis nanny, watches with a fond smile but says little, just straightening a few things around the room as if to give you this moment.

“but why are you dressed up? where are you going again?” yuji tugs at your hand, using his other to grab his stuffed bear.

“remember the meeting i had with mr. nanami?” you crouch to his level, smoothing a hand over his messy curly hair.

“when you got mad at him?” he scrunches his nose, pulling the stuffed animal closer.

“we had a discussion. and now, we’re having dinner.” you chuckle.

“so you like him now or are you guys just gonna talk about me, mommy?”

you smirk. “we’ll see.”

the doorbell rings. yuji gasps dramatically. “he’s here!”

before you can stop him, he dashes ahead, excitement bubbling over. he bolts around the corner, dropping his toy along the way. you shake your head fondly, grabbing your clutch and the brown bear and making your way to the door. when you open it, you blink, momentarily caught off guard.

nanami stands there, looking effortlessly composed. navy blue slacks, black button up sleeves pushed up just enough to hint at the veins decorating his forearm. the gold necklace fully visible unlike earlier. but what surprises you isn’t how good he looks. it’s the massive bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in his hand. the red and white flowers somehow glistening in the moons light.

he stares at you in awe. the way the red dress compliments the rich brown of your skin. he admired how well you layered the gold and diamond jewelry, your warm house lighting catching the gleams perfectly. he loved the way the dress held you, how he could see the outline of your already hard nipples against the silk fabric.

“good evening, ms. l/n.” his voice is smooth, steady, but there’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds out the bouquet. “these are for you.”

“you bring flowers to all your parent-teacher meetings, mr. kento?” your eyes flicker from the flowers to him.

“only when i come on too strong.” his lips twitch, just barely, scratching the back of his neck.

before you can respond, yuji tugs at your dress. “mom! look, flowers!”

“i see that, baby.” you smile, accepting them with one hand while ruffling yuji’s hair with the other. then, turning back to nanami, you arch a brow.

“you’re trying very hard to be charming.”

“is it working?”

you tilt your head, considering, before turning toward the nanny.

“mrs. okoye, put these in water for me? and uh- make sure he’s in bed by 9 at the latest. he has a test monday, his brain needs the rest.”

“but mommy!”

“no buts, that’s how i ended up in this dress in the first place.”

mrs. okoye nods, taking them with a small, knowing smile. “of course, dear.”

“mom says you’re not gonna annoy her tonight.” yuji grins up at nanami.

nanami crouches down to hear the boy more, then glances at you, amused. “is that so?”

you smirk, stepping past the threshold. “we’ll see.”

-

the restaurant is warm and intimate. a few candles provide low lighting casting a golden glow over dark wood and crisp linens. it’s elegant, but not in the way that feels forced or ostentatious. it’s intentional, curated. something made to make you feel something.

nanami is composed, though somehow his tie discarded somewhere between the car ride and now. he looks, relaxed. or at least, as relaxed as a man like him allows himself to be.

“you chose well, i expected something more- predictable, if im being honest.” you say bluntly, running a finger along the rim of your wine glass, the red liquid swishing.

“ah, so you expected a steakhouse.” he lifts a brow, swirling the amber liquid in his own glass.

“no but i expected something safe.” you smirk.

he exhales, the closest thing to a chuckle slipping through his lips. “i don’t play safe.”

you study him for a moment, letting the words settle between you. nanami is measured, meticulous, but never passive.

“oh? you ordered for me?” the waiter arrives, setting down your plates with quiet efficiency. you glance down, amused.

“i made an educated guess.” nanami sets his napkin in his lap.

“i assume you don’t waste time on things like scanning menus when you already know what you want.”

“you assume a lot about me, nanami.” you lean back in your chair, regarding him with interest.

he meets your gaze without hesitation. “i’ve observed things about you since i’ve started teaching yuji.”

the corner of your lips lifts slightly.

“oh yeah? and what else have you observed?” you take another sip.

he cuts into his meal with precision, not breaking eye contact with you.

“that you’re sharp. decisive. used to being in control-” a pause. he places his glass between his lips, taking a quick sip. then, casually “-and that you rarely let yourself slow down ever.”

your grip tightens just slightly around your fork, tongue picking at the inside of your cheek.

“what else?”

“you’re stubborn. too scared to let anyone in. you think too much about what matters right now and not how it’ll affect your son or his growing up-“

“oh! so now you’re a therapist?”

“ha- ms. l/n, i’m not saying this to be rude. i’m just a teacher.” he takes another sip of his drink. “but one who pays attention.” he starts eating, eyes staying on your frame.

you exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “yuji talks too much.”

“he adores you.” nanami actually smiles at that, small, barely there, but real.

“he’s a good kid.” the warmth in your chest is immediate, but you mask it with a slow sip of wine.

“he is.” nanami leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table. “-and he wants more of you.”

your jaw tenses, and he catches it, because of course he does.

“did you ask me out to berate me? you think i don’t know that?” your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now. you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyebrows furrowing.

“i think you know. i think you hate that you can’t fix it as easily as everything else in your life.” nanami doesn’t waver.

the honesty of it stings. not because it’s cruel, but because it’s true.

you inhale slowly, setting your glass down. “do you always talk like this over dinner?”

he tilts his head slightly. “would you prefer small talk?”

you hold his gaze, weighing the challenge in it.

then, slowly, a smirk curves your lips. “no.”

he nods once, as if he already knew.

the conversation shifts, flows. work, travel, books that neither of you have had time to finish.

the tension doesn’t leave, but it changes, settling into something less combative, more intimate.

at some point, the plates are cleared. at some point, your wine glasses are refilled for the fifth time. at some point, you realize you’re enjoying this.

and at some point, nanami sets his glass down, watching you with that same measured gaze, and says,

“would you let yourself slow down? just for a little while?”

the question hangs between you, heavier than the air, lighter than the wine.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t have an immediate answer. in all your tipsy, deep talk with the man, you’d actually started to enjoy the way he was looking at you. how protective and smart he was. how much he cared about a child that wasn’t even his own.

-

the drive to nanami’s place is smooth, the city lights blurring past as the car hums through the quiet night.

nanami’s apartment is quiet, warm in a way that surprises you. large windows take up a vast majority of his walls. pure marble countertops, redwood flooring. ambient lighting coming from his carved baseboards.

“jesus, how much does teaching actually pay?” upon entering, the much taller man wastes no time bending down, hands tracing the outline of your body as he carefully removes your expensive heels, placing them to the side and grabbing a pair of slippers from the adjacent shoe rack. carefully sliding them on you, letting you adjust, he walks you over to the bar stools.

“i’ve been teaching a long time, ms. l/n-“

“shit, maybe i should quit my empire and start. and please. call me yn.”

a record hums low in the background, something slow and rich, filling the silence between you.

he moves with his usual precision, reaching into a fully see through cabinet. pouring two glasses of whiskey without asking, handing you one with a steady hand. his fingers brush yours, just for a second, and it’s enough to make something flicker beneath your skin. you take a sip letting the heat settle in your chest.

“let’s move to the couch.” he walks from behind the island, helping you off the high bar hair and leading you by the small of your back to his sleek black couch.

“such a gentleman, who would’ve thought.” you joke, leaning back against the couch.

“you expected something else?” nanami sits beside you, not too close, but close enough.

“i expected something colder.” you tilt your head slightly, studying him. his lips pressed to the glass yet his eyes are focused on the way your dress creased at your waist.

“i’m not as rigid as you think, im sorry about earlier.” his lips quirk, just barely. finally taking a drawn out sip, he places his glass down on one of the sleek black coasters.

“no?” your gaze lingers on him over the rim of your glass.

he exhales, slow, watching you the way he always does, like he’s considering his next words carefully.

“no.”

-

you’re curled into the couch now, one leg tucked beneath you, nanami sitting close beside you, his hand resting on your knee, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. the city lights below flicker and shine through the darker space. it felt really natural in a sense.

“so, yuji? are you still in contact with his father or-“

your eyes widen as you place the rim of the glass to your lips, drinking in as much of the liquid as you could. already feeling the affects of the wine from dinner and the two glasses of aged whiskey tenfold. your head drops, your bouncy hair covering the sides of your face.

“woah, im sorry if it’s early-“ shaking your hand, you finish off the drink. placing the glass back down.

“i mean, what really is there to say? he got me pregnant, decided he didn’t want to have a wife or a son. left. pretty simple.”

nanamis eyes crease at the side a little, watching as your expression began to falter.

“i won’t bring it up again, im sorry.”

“it’s not your fault. i knew you’d get curious eventually.”

the rest of the conversation flows easily, the whiskey loosening the edges just enough. you talk about work, about travel, and nanami listens intently, his attention never wavering. at some point, the distance between you shrinks, you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“that’s in a week?” he asks, the coldness of his ring sliding across your now exposed thigh.

“a week? i wish! that’s a day to day schedule.”

“holy shit! i’d rather double the size of my classes.”

your glass is fully empty when he reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray curl from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear.

you pause, breath catching just slightly. “what are you doing, nanami?”

his touch lingers, his thumb ghosting along your jaw. “just checking on you.”

his voice is quiet, deep, pulling you in like a slow tide. you should say something sharp, something to deflect, but you don’t. instead, you hold his gaze, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension coil tighter between you. the pad of his thumb rubs across your face gently.

“you always this bold?” you murmur, tilting your chin up just slightly.

“not usually.”

you find yourself leaning forward, falling into the man’s smell. his blonde hair beginning to loose its shape from the day, falling in front of his face. jokingly, you remove one of the fallen strands, pushing it back up into the style before. he leans forward fully, finally connecting your lips.

it’s slow at first, testing, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck, fingers threading around your skin as he pulls you closer. he tastes like whiskey, warm and smooth, and something unmistakably him.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him as he presses against you, his other hand sliding to your waist, guiding you into him. the way he moves is controlled, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. with your back pressed to the arm of the couch, you could feel the hunger radiating off the man.

when you break apart, you’re breathless, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin.

“tell me if this is too much.” he murmurs, his lips grazing your jaw.

you shake your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “you think i don’t know what i’m doing?”

nanami exhales a quiet chuckle, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time, slower. “you’re a headache.”

“you like that, though.” you hum, trailing your fingers up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

his grip on your waist tightens. “i do.”

then he kisses you again, deeper, hungrier, like he’s done pretending this isn’t exactly where the night was always meant to end.

his other hand finds your waist, pulling you fully against him, his grip firm, unyielding. he kisses like he does everything else. controlled, intentional, like he’s taking his time memorizing the way you taste, the way you move against him.

you sigh against his lips, your hands moving to his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to find the warmth of his skin. his breath hitches slightly at the cold touch, and the sound sends heat pooling low in your underwear.

“you always this damn patient?” you murmur impatiently against his lips, teasing.

nanami exhales a quiet chuckle, though there’s an edge to it now, something unraveling at the seams.

“not always.”

you smirk, your nails dragging lightly down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“then don’t be.”

his restraint cracks.

nanami moves without hesitation, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, settling you against him. the shift has you gasping softly, and he takes advantage of it, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, lips and teeth and tongue leaving a slow-burning path in their wake.

you tilt your head, giving him more access, helping him out by hiking the skirt of your dress up to your hips, showing off your matching red lace panties. your fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly. he groans against your skin, low and deep, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, fingertips teasing against bare skin.

“yn-” he breathes, voice rough with restraint, forehead resting against your collarbone. “-tell me you want this.”

you guide his face back up, meeting his gaze, dark and heavy with desire. your fingers brush along his jaw before pulling him back in, your lips barely grazing his as you whisper.

“i do.”

whatever tension was left shatters.

nanami stands effortlessly, lifting you with him as he moves through the apartment, his mouth still on yours, his hands gripping you like he has no intention of letting go.

when he reaches the bedroom, he presses you against the doorframe for just a second, just long enough to look at you—really look at you.

“last chance.” he murmurs, though his hold on you says he already knows the answer.

you smile, slow and knowing, fingers tracing down the buttons of his shirt before slipping one free.

“shut the hell up and fuck me, nanami.”

nanami doesn’t hesitate. the second the words leave your lips, his mouth crashes into yours, all slow-burning control unraveling into something deeper, something more desperate. he carries you effortlessly across the threshold of his bedroom, his grip firm but careful, like he’s savoring the way you feel against him.

the room is dimly lit, the city lights outside casting a soft glow through the windows, but you barely register anything beyond the warmth of his body, the way he moves, the way he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this—like he’s been holding himself back for too long.

he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, the fluffy black duvet puffy up as you sit. but before he can pull away, you tighten your grip on his shirt, keeping him close.

“uh- don’t act shy now.” you murmur against his lips, fingers making quick work of the remaining buttons.

nanami exhales sharply, his hands settling on your thighs, thumbs pressing slow, deliberate circles into your skin.

“trust me, shy is the last thing i am.” he says, voice low, rough with restraint,

you smile, trailing your hands down his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips. then, in one smooth motion, you push the shirt from his shoulders, letting it slide to the floor. disappear into the floor from the nights darkness.

your gaze sweeps over him, taking in the broad planes of muscle, tattoos littered across his skin. the faint lighting contouring his abs. your fingers trace over, your touch featherlight.

“you stare a lot.” he murmurs, amused.

you hum, tilting your head as you drag your nails lightly down his torso. “i like what i see.”

his breath stutters just slightly, and before you can tease him about it, he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, lingering kiss. this one is different. slower, heavier, like he’s savoring every second, every sigh, every way your body reacts to him.

you let him, melting into the warmth of his touch, into the way his hands slide up your sides, tracing over fabric as if debating whether to remove it.

“nanami.” you murmur against his lips, impatient now.

he exhales a quiet chuckle, lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin.

“hmm?”

“stop teasing.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then, his hands move. slow, steady, as he starts to undo the zipper of your dress.

“uh uh uh, say please.” he murmurs, lips curving just slightly.

you arch a brow, amused despite the heat pooling low in your core.

“you’re pushing your luck.”

nanami smirks, fingers trailing over newly exposed skin, making you shiver.

“and yet, you haven’t stopped me.” he muses, voice dipping lower. with ease, he slips the dress from around your waist, gently pushing your body back to lay down in the warmth of the comforter.

his lips trace soft kisses down your collarbone, nipping slowly at the skin. you gasp, head falling back into the mattress, enjoying the feeling of warmth coming from the man’s breath. he proceeds down, planting kisses down to your exposed chest, tongue faintly sliding over your swollen buds.

“oh! fuck nanami, i’m gonna hurt you.” propping your body up on your elbows, he pushes you right back.

“fine, since you wanna be so impatient.”

dipping down, he picks you up, tossing carefully you so that your head rest on his massive pillows. crawling up to you, his lips pepper kisses. down your sternum, under your breast, kissing slowly down your torso, planting one first one to your belly button.

“how pretty they are, hm? just for me?” his voice raspy and hiding hunger, you let out a small sigh, fingers grasping onto the man’s blonde locs.

his head dips between your thighs, mouth pressing against your clothed cunt. a slight hum comes from his chest, letting his head fall to one side as his eyes look up at you, drunkenly.

without further hesitation, he pulls your panties to the side, tongue immediately collecting your slick that pooled. this was the most intimate you’ve been in a man since yuji was conceived. and god did it feel good.

his hands hook around your legs, holding you open in a middle split while one hand held the lingerie to the side while the other rubbed slow, agonizing circles into the swollen nub. he uses his tongue to slowly pump in and out of your throbbing hole. in the darkness of the room, all you can see is stars and made up shapes floating around in the void. tears pooling at the corners of your eyes as you feel nanami begin to slowly suck at your clit, plump lips wrapped gently around while the tip of his tongue spells out his name. his middle and ring finger pushing and pulling out of you, the sounds of wetness filling the room.

your mouth open, head thrown back into the pillows, and fingers grasping onto the man’s head for dear life, he ate you like he was starving. like a wild beast. everytime he removed his lips from sucking, using his fingers to curl up inside you, fucking your gummy walls.

“nami- oh! i’m gonna cum!” he knew it. he felt how tight you were getting around his fingers. how you were pulling him in now.

“you’re so beautiful, do it. make a mess on my fingers.”

that was enough to have you throwing your arms around the man’s neck, pulling him into a hug as the coil in your belly burned.

“shit! oh fuck.” he let you hold onto him for a few seconds before he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, watching as you frown from the lack of touch.

instead, climbs off the bed, uses his abs to wipe his hands off. he swiftly undoes his leather belt, unbuckling his slacks and tossing them somewhere else in the room. almost hopping right back onto the bed, he climbs back to your limp frame.

“you okay?” he asks, removing a few strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

“mhm.” you give him a weak thumbs up, letting your hand fall against his chest. he leans over, placing a swift kiss to your lips.

“i know you can give me another one though.”

and maybe that’s how you ended up here. bent over his sink, watching as he fucks you passionately. one hand gently around your throat, holding you up, and the other dug securely into your waist. his strokes are slow, sensual. but the way he was looking at you. his eyes got darker, body seemed to get bigger, and he was fucking you in front of his mirror.

“i knew you could take it, hm? say ‘i’m all yours’.” he watched you in the mirror as your makeup smudged and began to run down your face.

“i’m all yours, nami!” you cry out, feeling full from his length.

“mhm, good job baby. now say ‘im a great mother’.” you shake your head before he stops you, halting his movements and staring at you in the mirror. lips pressed against your ear, eye contact never stopping.

“was i asking you? say it.” you whine, trying to fuck yourself into his length, only to get met with a slap on the ass.

“say. it.”

“i’m a great mother!” he rams back into you, causing you to hunch over the counter. eyes still on the mirror as your breast press against the cold marble. he’s relentless, needy. his hand presses into your back as he fucks into you.

“yes you fucking are baby. let me give you another one.” he didn’t know what he was saying. all he knew was that seeing you, bent over his counter, eyes rolling to the back of your head, drooling. he never wanted to stop. he never was going to. he could feel the climax building, watching and feeling as you came undone under him.

“i’m gonna cum baby, oh fuck!”

-

it’s a short drive to his school, and before long, you’re stepping out, holding his hand as you walk him to class. yuji doesn’t mind- not yet, at least. he swings your arm between you both, talking about his favorite cartoons and how he’s going to beat his friend at some game they play during recess.

but as you reach the door to his classroom, his chatter slows, his fingers curling around yours a little tighter.

you glance down at him. “what’s up, baby?”

“you’re gonna be okay today, right?” he hesitates, then looks up at you with those big, earnest eyes.

you blink, caught off guard.

“of course. why wouldn’t i be?”

“sometimes you look tired after you drop me off.” he shifts on his feet, playing with his fingers.

your chest tightens.

you crouch down so you’re at his level, cupping his little face in both hands.

“baby, i’m always okay. especially when i get to come home to you, you hear me? you’re my favorite person in this whole world. i’m always okay when im with you.”

he nods, his tiny hands resting over yours.

“promise?” his voice small.

you lean in, kissing his forehead.

“i super promise.”

a throat clears behind you.

you already know who it is before you turn, feeling the weight of his gaze before you even meet his eyes.

nanami stands in the doorway, his usual crisp attire perfectly in place, though there’s a softness in his face when he looks at yuji and a different kind of softness when his eyes flicker to you.

“good morning, yuji.” he greets first, as always.

“morning, mr. nanami!” yuji chirps, then glances back at you.

“mommy’s happy today.”

your lips part slightly, surprised at his boldness, but nanami only nods, as if he already knew.

“good,” he says simply, then meets your gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his glasses. “i like seeing that.”

your breath catches for just a second, but before you can respond, yuji tugs on your hand.

“okay, mama, you can go now. love you!”

you exhale a quiet laugh, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“love you more, baby.”

he runs inside without another glance, leaving you standing in the doorway with nanami, his presence steady beside you.

you glance up at him, tilting your head. “you always this charming first thing in the morning?”

“only with you.” he exhales softly, almost a laugh.

“dangerous habit, mr. kento.” your heart stumbles, but you cover it with a smirk.

nanami hums, hands in his pockets. “so i’ve been told.”

you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you take a step back.

“see you later, nami.”

“looking forward to it.” his lips twitch into a smile.

you turn, heading back down the hall, but you can still feel his gaze on you.

and for once, you don’t mind being watched.

part {2} {3}

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

[041ahy]

Pretty Girls Don’t Kiss Rebels ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

✮ bad boy ni-ki x good girl reader (highschool trope)

➤ synopsis ᝰ.ᐟ : Good girls don’t kiss rebels—but she was never that good. ➤ forbidden romance ⭑ wc: 4k ┆⚠️ tw !! verbal abuse / parental emotional abuse, toxic family dynamics, violence / physical injuries, runaway / escaping from home , sexual content – implied, smoking, classism. Pls lmk if missing any tw!! Umm not proofread keke, only proofread the first half 😭

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᥫ᭡ hii author nad here !! This is my first fic that I’ve ever written so please show some love!! I may not be the best writer as this is all very new to me !! Decided to give the reader a name instead of y/n !! ( keke ) wc may be off cus I forgot to double check !! Forgive me if spelling or grammar errors <3

Decelis Academy — The prestigious school in South Korea , built on legacy — not dreams . Only those with exceptional academic can enter. There are the elite, polished students and the rebellious, troubled ones — a school of class and status. Students are placed by pedigree — known the “Upper Tier” — the children of CEOs , senators , and legacy scholars. They don’t just get good grades. They expect success — because anything less would be scandalous. The students walk like they’ve already made it. Their uniforms tailored , transcripts spotless and future secured. In Decelis Academy, class and status rule everything.

And then there’s Nishimura Riki — the one name that doesn’t fit.

Teachers flinch when they call his name.

Girls whisper when he walk past.

And the rest of the class? They pretend he’s invisible.

He sits in the Upper Tier , but only because his father is a billionaire CEO , face of international media. On paper , Nishimura Riki belongs. In reality ? He’s a storm in designer boots. He’s tie’s always loose , his shirt untucked , and his knuckles usually bruised from fights that never make the official record.He doesn’t play by their rules , and he sure as hell doesn’t care about his appearance. Because while the rest of Decelis Academy fight to live up to their families , Nishimura Riki fights to burn his legacy down.

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

Beauty and brains. That was the only way to describe Sim Aera.

Sim Aera — The daughter of the CEO of Sim Enterprise. Aera glide through the hallways in polished shoes and tailored skirts, always smiling ,always poised. Students look at her and see something unattainable. Untouchable. But what happens behind door , are to remain unknown. Everything about her life is designed , controlled. She’s allowed freedom , but only within line drawn in gold. She’s allowed to choose her clique…but only the one who fit her “level”. That’s how her father says is.

“Stick with people who match your worth, Aera. You’re not like the rest of them”

That only meant no parties unless they’re at a country club and no real conversations with anyone who might “lower the standard” Aera been asked out more times than she could count — by boys with rich last names,perfect status and empty eyes. They all want the same thing: the shiny , high-version of her. The name , the image , the idea.

But she’d never say yes. Not once.

Because none of them makes her feel anything.

Not the way rebellions does.

Not the way he does.

────୨ৎ────

Their First Encounter .☘︎ ݁˖

The smell of bleach and burnt coffee always clings to the science wing. Everything in the lab smells sterile. Aera took her usual seat , her notebook is open as she carefully took notes on everything the lecturer says. Around her students shuffle in , laughter , whispers and gossips filled the lab.

She feels someone watching her. She always do.

Not because she’s interesting — but because she is Sim Aera.

Mr Park walks in, drops a stack of lab worksheets. And clasp his hands. “New partners today, randomised. Check the list on the board” Aera’s mind raced in a blur. Aera only sits with Dain— the only person who she’s comfortable with. They both work well together. Aera glanced at the board , she sees her name and her partner was no other than Nishimura Riki.

The door creaks open , and Aera knew who it was.

Nishimura Riki.

He strolls in, twenty minutes late with a busted lip looking like the rules never applied to him. His blazer’s slung over his shoulder, tie undone, and his sleeves rolled up veins popping. Aera expected him to be seated at the back but no — he stops beside her. “Looks like we’re partners pretty.” he said. Aera hated this feeling , the way her heart does that thing when she sees him. She shouldn’t feel this way, not for people like him , especially not for him.

He’s reckless.

He’s rebellious.

He’s the son of my father’s biggest rival.

And yet, when he sat beside her , she feels it. The butterflies in her stomach. The one she pretends doesn’t exist. His legs spread wide open — almost too inviting. Aera shook of her thoughts. He smells like mint and smoke and something else she can’t name. “Relax, “ he say low. “I don’t bite.” Aera turned her head just enough to glare. “Keep your distance” he just smirks.

God, he’s insufferable.

And yet….

Aera feels her heart rise in her chest. She forces herself to sit straighter. Calmer. Like she’s not thrilled and terrified by how close he is. Like how she doesn’t know exactly how many times she took a quick glance at him during lessons. Aera focus shifted on the worksheet in front of her.

He’s nothing.

He’s dangerous.

He’s not my type.

He’s—

Looking at me.

I glanced up— and he’s already watching me , one eyebrow raised like he can read Aera thoughts. “You always this tense pretty,” he murmurs, “or is it just me?” Aera scoffed. “You’re not that special.” But he just leans back, grinning.

The cafeteria buzzed with quiet chatter and the clinking of trays. Across from her , Dain was mid-rant about the latest drama. Aera half-listened, mind still stuck on him.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m always quiet”

“No, today you’re weird-quiet. Like you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t be.”

Aera rolls her eyes, turning away.

“Let me guess,” Dain says, voice teasing but not cruel. “Tall, trouble. Smells like smoke and bad choices?”

Aera froze. That’s all Dain needs.

“Oh my god it’s him, isn’t it ?”

“It not— It’s nothing.”

“Sureee, you know you’re allowed to want things, right ? Even if they aren’t picture-perfect.” Ava stays silent, lips tight. Aera continued to eat her lunch brushing her thoughts away. Dain shrugged and just sighed. Aera’s attention drifted to the loud, troublemakers across the cafeteria. Where her eyes are on him. His laugh right and real. He’s sitting on the edge of a table, playing with the cigarette packet.

She watched the way he moves — so completely unbothered, so alive.

And then…

He looks up.

His gaze meeting hers.

He doesn’t smirk this time. Just looks back. Calm. Curious. Like he’s waiting to see what she’ll do. Aera forces herself to turn away. Smiles at something Dain was saying, pretending to be invested in the convo. “Stop. It” Aera reminded herself. But her heart’s still racing.

Rain suddenly poured down , Aera’s driver is late. She ducks into a a covered alcove near the side entrance. But she’s not alone.

He stood there, leaning against the wall like he was born to haunt it. Hoodie up, wet hair curling against his forehead. He doesn’t move when she walks in— just tilts his head slightly.

“Lost your throne ?”

Aera exhales slowly.

“Waiting for my ride.”

“Of course you are.”

The silence stretches.

He flicks his lighter open. Closed. Open. Closed.

“You always this tense pretty?”

“You already used that line.”

“And you’re still tense. Guess it didn’t work.”

Aera lets out the smallest laugh. It surprises even her.

He notices.

“There it is,” he murmurs. “A real laugh. I was starting to think your whole life was pre-recorded.”

Aera hates it — how that one sentence makes her fell seen and exposed all at once. But the worse part ? She doesn’t walk way.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Undesirable tensions .☘︎ ݁˖

We’re only here because of the chemistry assessment.

And no — the irony isn’t lost on me.

Mr Park paired us up for the practical write-up after the lab, and of course, he didn’t care. Just grinned and said “Guess you’re stuck with me, pretty.” Now here we are — highest floor of the library. Quiet. Dim. Private enough for concentration. Or at least that’s what Aera told herself. He’s sitting beside me. Again. Legs stretched out, his knee just barely brushing her under the table — like he wants me to notice. But she won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Do you even have your notes?” She ask, flipping through her labeled binder.

“You mean these?” he says, pulling a crumpled worksheet from his hoodie pocket like it’s a joke.

“Wow. Revolutionary.”

“I am to impress.” he says it lazily, but I feel the weight in the way he watches me.

Aera clicks her pen and focus on the paper in front of her. Photosynthesis and chemical reactions. It’s nothing new. Nothing she can’t handle.

Except…. he’s still watching me.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, tapping his pencil against the table. “You’re just really intense when you’re trying not to look at me.”

Aera blinked, lips parting — stunned he’d say it out loud.

“I didn’t mean—.”

“It’s fine.” he cuts in. “I’m used to it. People looking at me like I’m dangerous.” He leans towards me, slow, elbows on the table. The space between them shrinks.

“But not you,” he adds. “You look at me like you’re scared I’ll see something you’re trying to hide.”

And God help me — he’s right.

I forced my gaze to the paper again.

But the words blur. He’s too close. Too calm. Too aware of me.

“You know this project is due Monday.” I say, trying to recover.

“Right,” he says, voice low. “Lets be professional.”

Still feeling his gaze Aera looked up, their eyes met. Silence taking over them. There’s something about this silence that feels heavier than usual. It’s not the weight of books or deadlines.

It’s him.

Nishimura Riki.

Still watching me like I’m a puzzle he dying to ruin.

Aera should’ve said something. About the project. Anything.

But she didn’t.

Because he’s closer now. Leaning forward just slightly, that half-lazy grin gone. His gaze softer,sharper. Curious. Dangerous. Aera breath hitches. The library is quiet. Too quiet. The type of silence that makes every breath feel loud, every heartbeat felt heard. His hand grazes hers on the table. Just his knuckle brushing against hers. Barely anything. But she felt it like a shockwave. And she doesn’t pull away.

Neither of them speaks. They just watched each other like their on the edge of something their not supposed to fall into. Aera’s lips parted slightly. His eyes flicker down — just for a second.

Then she leans in.

Slow. Like she’s hesitant.

Aera’s heart is pounding against her chest.

His breath brushes her cheek.

Their close. Too close.

And then—

“Pretty girls don’t kiss rebels.”

It hits Aera like ice water.

She froze.

He’s smiling, barely — but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Like he’s daring her to prove him wrong. Or maybe warning her not to.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t have him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she inhale, slow, calm, like her heart isn’t shattering against her ribs.

She cleared her throat.

Picked up her pen.

“Good thing we’re lab partners then,” she said flatly, eye fixed on her notes.

He doesn’t say anything.

But she feels it— that pause. Like maybe he expected her to crumble. But she doesn’t. Because Sim Aera doesn’t chase boys who come with warning labels.

Even if her whole body just tied to.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The house is spotless. Always is. It has to be. A reflection of the Sim Family. Clean. Sharp. Controlled.

Just like Aera.

She walk thought the front door and barely get a breath before hearing his voice.

“You were late.”

She turn. Her father stood at the base of the staircase, arms crossed.

“I was in the library. Study group.”

“Watch who you surround yourself with, Aera.” he says flatly. “You know what happens when good names get dragged down.”

The implication hangs in the air like a loaded gun.

Stay perfect.

Stay clean.

Stay away from boys who looked like Nishimura Riki.

Aera nodded.

“Yes, dad.”

No room for emotion. No hint of the heat still burning under her skin from earlier. She climbed the stairs. She changed out of her uniform, removed her makeup, and crawl to bed — limbs heavy with exhaustion and something she can’t name. She reaches for her phone just to check the time.

And there it is.

A single text.

Unknown Number:

➤ Hey pretty, it’s me Ni-ki

No emoji. No explanation. Just five words that shouldn’t make her heart stutter, but do.

How exactly did he get my number ?

Doesn’t matter.

She stare at the screen for a long time. Her fingers hover the keyboard… then retreat.

Instead, she just smile. The first real smile she’d had all day.

She lock the phone, tucked it under her pillow. And close her eyes.

No reply.

But her heart’s still racing.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It starts with footsteps. Confident, loud, deliberate ones echoing down the hall.

She instantly knew who it was.

She kept her eyes on her locker, pretending not to notice the tulle of whispers as Ni-ki walked into the senior wing. He always draws attention, but this time ?

This time, he’s coming straight towards me.

“Good morning, pretty.” he says, like we’re friends. Like they didn’t almost kiss last night and like the text didn’t mean anything.

Aera glanced at him — sharp, dismissive.

“Don’t.”

He just smirks.

“Don’t what? Talk to you? Breathe near you?”

A few people turn their heads. Girls lean into their friends. Guys start whispering.

“Ni-ki,” she hissed. “Stop talking to me.”

“Why not pretty.” he flirts.

That does it.

She doesn’t even hesitate. She grabbed his wrist and pull, fast and hard, weaving through the murmuring crowd and yanking open the janitor’s closet. The moment were inside, she slam the door shut and whip around.

“Do you even know what you just did?”

He shrugs. “Said hi?”

“Someone could tell my father. Anyone. Everyone saw that, Ni-ki. You don’t get it— he’ll have me pulled out of this school so fast—“

Aera sigh heavily. “Do you get what he’s do if he knew I was talking to you?”

Ni-ki’s expression shifts — just for a second. The smirk fades, like he’s weighing what she’s saying, like maybe it’s not so funny anymore.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to have someone waiting for you to screw up?”he says, quieter now. “Please.”

Aera pause, thrown off by the rawness in his voice. It catches her off guard.

But only for a second.

“This isn’t just about me getting grounded, Ni-ki,”she snapped. “This is my entire life— my name, my family, everything I’m supposed to be—.”

“And yet,” he cuts in, stepping closer, voice low, “here you are. Pulling me into closets. Letting me get this close.”

His hand brushes the shelf behind her, caging her in without even touching her.

“Why do you care so much?” Aera whisper, hating the way her breath hitches. “You don’t care about school. Or rules. Or anything.”

“You’re right,” he mutters. “I don’t.”

His eyes drop to her mouth.

“But I care when you look at me like that.” The air snaps between them, tight and hot.

“Like what?” she manage to breath.

“Like you’re about to kiss me and hate yourself for it.” He’s too close. “That’s not going to happen,” Aera whisper.

“Then why aren’t you moving?” She doesn’t have an answer. Aera doesn’t move. And neither does he.

They just exist in that breathless space, toeing the line between disaster and something neither of us wants to admit feels good.

“You should go,” Aera say finally.

“You first,” he says, but doesn’t budge.

They stare at each other for another full second — maybe two — before she push the door open and slip out.

Aera did not look back.

But she knew he’s still standing there.

Waiting.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The bell rang, loud and sharp, snapping her out of the moment. Students flooded the hall like a wave. She kept her head down as she moved through the parking lot, trying to ignore the stares, the whispers about the incident. Her phone buzzed, it was her father.

“You’ll be alone until Sunday. Don’t open the door for anyone and stay out of trouble.”

She shoved the phone into her jacket, annoyed at the way her hands were shaking. That’s when she saw him. Nishimura Riki. Just across the street, near the rusted old fence behind the gym. Ni-ki leaned against it like he could barely stand. His hoodie was soaked in something dark. Blood? His lip was split, and there was a smear of red across his cheekbone.No one else seemed to care. Maybe they were used to it. Maybe they were scared of him. But she wasn't. For a second, she stood frozen. Then she made his way towards him. She had to, she needed to.

“Nishimura Riki !”

He looked up slowly, one eye already swelling shut. For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just watched her like he couldn’t figure out if she was real.

“You shouldn’t be out here pretty,” he muttered, voice rough. “Your little royal family’s gonna flip.”

She ignored that, stepping closer. “What happened to you Ni-ki?” her tone filled with concern.

“Does it matter?” He tried to laugh, but it cracked into a cough. He winced, clutching his side. “You should go pretty, wouldn’t want anyone to see you here with a rebellion like me..”

“Not happening.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re hurt. You need help.”

He glanced down the street like he was waiting for someone—or something—to show up. “I’ve had worse.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone.”

Her fingers hovered near his arm. He flinched slightly, not from pain, but from surprise. Like he wasn’t used to kindness.

“Come with me,” she said, softer now. “My parents are out of town.”

His eyes locked onto hers. “You serious?”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t.”

He hesitated, then gave a small, bitter smile. “Guess I’m breaking into enemy territory, huh?”

She smirked, tugging her sleeve over her hand before looping it gently around his. “Guess we both are.”

They stepped into the house, the door clicking shut behind them like it sealed them into a different world—one where rules didn’t matter. Ni-ki paused in the foyer, glancing around at the pristine marble floors and modern furniture.

“Damn,” he muttered, smirking. “Didn’t know I was walking into a luxury rehab center.”

Aera rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “Sit down on the couch before you bleed all over it.”

She disappeared into the hallway, rummaging through a drawer until she found the first-aid kit. When she came back, Niki had sprawled out on the edge of the couch, one hand pressed lightly to his side. She dropped to her knees in front of him, unsnapping the kit, pulling out alcohol wipes and gauze with practiced hands.

“You’ve got to stop getting into fights,” she started, voice rising with each word. “You think bruises and blood make you some kind of legend? It’s reckless. One day it’s gonna be worse than a split lip or fractured ribs and—.”

She stopped mid-sentence when she looked up. He wasn’t listening. He was just watching her—head tilted, a slight smirk playing on his face.

“Thought you didn’t care, pretty.”he said quietly.

The words hit her like a soft punch to the chest. Her breath caught. Their eyes locked, and for a second, neither of them moved. The tension stretched thin between them, pulsing.

She blinked first, looking away too fast. “You need to lift your shirt. I need to… clean your wounds.”she cleared her throat.

Ni-ki didn’t say anything. Just grabbed the hem of his hoodie and lifted it up, revealing a trail of bruises, cuts, and muscle that made her mind short-circuit.

Her throat went dry. She tried to focus on the injuries, on the blood—but her eyes kept betraying her, dragging back to the lines of his abs, the way his chest rose and fell so calmly despite everything.

“Everything alright, nurse?” he teased, voice low and smooth.

She blinked again and shook her head as if snapping herself out of a trance. “Yeah. Just hold still.”

As she dabbed at a cut on his ribs, her fingers brushed his skin. It was warm. Tense. He didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on her face, and she could feel it—feel him—watching every move she made. The room felt suddenly too quiet. Too still. Like something unspoken was hanging in the air, waiting for one of them to break it.

Her fingers lingered just a little too long as she pressed the gauze to his side. The bleeding had slowed, but her pulse hadn’t. Niki’s eyes never left her. There was something different in his gaze now—softer, sharper, like he was seeing straight through every version of her she tried to be at school.

“You always like this?” he asked, voice low.

She glanced up, startled. “Like what?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Bossy. Brave. Breaking all your little golden-girl rules to save a someone as rebellious as me.”

She was about to say something—something snarky, maybe,—but the words caught in her throat when she looked at him again. The teasing was still there, but it was fading. Replaced by something slower. He was close—too close now. She could see the cut above his brow, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheek, the curve of his pink plump lips.

And then he leaned in—just enough that she forgot how to breathe.

“Pretty,” he murmured, her name barely a breath.

She froze. Their faces were inches apart. Her heart was a riot in her chest. She could feel the heat of him, the pull.

And for one second—just one—she swore he was going to kiss her.

But then she pulled back.

Just barely. Just enough.

“I—I should finish this,” she whispered, eyes dropping to the cotton swab in her hand.

His smile was crooked. Knowing. “Right.”

The moment passed, but the air between them stayed charged. Like a wire had been lit and neither of them could put it out.

She focused on the last cut near his ribs, trying to steady her hands. But she could still feel his gaze on her—intense, unreadable.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he said suddenly, voice quieter now.

Aera glanced up. “Yeah, well… someone has to.”

He gave a soft snort, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. He looked away for the first time since he sat down.

“I’m used to handling it myself,” he said after a moment. “No one usually cares enough to notice. Or if they do, they don’t ask.”

Her hands slowed. “Is that why you fight so much?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened on the edge of the couch.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe. Feels better than being invisible, I guess.”

“You’re not invisible,” she said softly.

He looked back at her. And for a second, he looked almost… unsure.

“You just saw me bleeding out behind a fence and dragged me into your rich-girl mansion. That’s not normal.”

“No,” she said, offering the smallest smile, “but neither are you.”

They stared again. But this time, it wasn’t tense. It was quiet. Real.

She reached up without thinking, fingers brushing gently across his forehead to move a strand of hair away from the cut above his brow. He stilled at her touch—like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of softness.

“There,” she murmured, eyes tracing the line of his jaw before quickly flicking away. “Way better.”

His eyes held hers, and for once, there was no teasing, no sharp edges. Just him. Raw, tired, real.

She stood slowly, grabbing the folded towel and clothes she had set on the armrest earlier—an old hoodie and sweatpants that had to be her dad’s. Didn’t matter. They were clean. Warm.

She held them out to him.

“Go to sleep, Ni-ki,” she said, voice softer than it had been all night.

He took the clothes, his fingers brushing against hers as he did.

“You always this bossy?”

She gave a small smile, already turning to leave the room. “Only to you.”

Behind her, she heard the faint sound of fabric shifting, of him settling into the unfamiliar comfort of her world.

And for a moment, even with the storm of consequences waiting outside those walls, everything felt still.

Safe.

The next morning, the scent of pancakes and sizzling bacon filled the kitchen.

Niki’s eyes cracked open, the weight of last night pressing down on him. He was still in the hoodie she had given him, sprawled out on the couch. He rubbed his face and yawned, looking around for her. But the soft sounds of cooking pulled him toward the kitchen, curiosity guiding his steps.

He crept up behind her, and crouched down, quietly slipping his arms around her waist.

Aera froze, the spatula halting mid-air.

“What—what are you doing?” she stammered, spinning around, eyes wide with panic.

Niki smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Just making myself at home, pretty girl.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She pushed him away, flustered, her face turning crimson. “You can’t just—” She was at a loss for words. “What are you doing in my kitchen?!”

He laughed, low and teasing. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite.”

“Maybe you should go sit down before you start biting something else.”

Her words had barely left her lips when she realized what she’d just said. She went quiet, her hands busying themselves on the stove again, trying to ignore the blush creeping up her neck.

Niki, on the other hand, only smirked wider, stepping back to lean casually against the kitchen counter. “You really know how to make a guy feel at home.”

Aera muttered something under her breath as she finished cooking, but the tension still clung to the air. Neither of them said anything more as they ate, and for a while, they just existed in the moment, the conversation light but charged with unspoken words.

Later, they were on the couch watching a movie Aera has just picked out. Aera had chosen something light, romantic, nothing too intense. They were comfortable, shoulders brushing, her hand close to his. The movie rolled on, some comedic banter playing on the screen, until that scene came. It was one of those moments—steamy, slow, intimate—just enough to make both of them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Ni-ki immediately reached for the remote, fumbling with it before quickly pressing the buttons to change the channel. “Right. Yeah, we don’t need this.”

Aera didn’t even look at him; her face was burning. “Yeah, definitely not.”

He chuckled, trying to keep things light, but even he couldn’t deny the heavy tension in the room. The awkwardness hung between them like a thick fog. Neither of them knew what to say. Instead, they both settled back in silence, the movie forgotten, the space between them thick with something unsaid.

Saturday night has came to end too quickly. It was time for Ni-ki to leave. He had mentioned it earlier—something about his father needing him back, about the mess he’d gotten into that still needed cleaning up. The thought of him walking out of that door again left a pit in Aera’s stomach, and she couldn’t ignore it. They were sitting on the porch, the cool night air drifting in around them. The stars seemed too bright, almost too perfect for how imperfect things felt.

“Guess this is it, see you soon pretty.” Niki said, his words heavy with something Aera couldn’t quite place. He stood, stretching out his arms, but didn’t move toward the door. His eyes remained on her, like he was waiting for something—anything. Aera swallowed hard. She could feel the cold creeping in from the night air, but the heat between them kept her skin warm.

“No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “You don’t just get to leave like this.”

Niki looked at her, a flash of confusion crossing his face, then understanding. She was afraid. Afraid he’d disappear into that dangerous world of his, and she’d never get to understand him, never get to see him without the walls he put up. She needed to do something. She was scared, seeing the image of his wounds still haunts her, it made her protective of him. She couldn’t help it. Without thinking, Aera stood up and stepped toward him. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. The motion was impulsive, a mix of wanting to hold on and needing to let go. At first, Niki stood frozen, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. But then, after a moment, he relaxed into it, his arms slowly coming around her.

Aera closed her eyes, breathing him in, and for a second, everything felt safe—untouchable. He was here, and for this brief moment, he wasn’t running away.

Niki spoke into her hair, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re something else, pretty.”

When they finally pulled apart, neither of them seemed eager to break the silence. Niki stepped back slowly, his gaze lingering on her. “You take care of yourself, okay?” His words were soft, but there was something else behind them.

“I’ll be fine,” Aera said, her voice steady but with an edge of vulnerability. She smiled, trying to cover the ache that suddenly threatened to consume her.

He gave a small nod, his usual cocky grin gone. “Yeah. I know you will pretty.”

He turned, walking toward the gate, but before he crossed it, he looked back one last time. Aera stood still, watching him leave. And with every step he took, the tension in the air stretched thinner, like it might snap at any second.

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Aera walked through the front door, exhausted from another long day of school, she didn’t expect much when she stepped inside, just the quiet of her empty house. But what greeted her wasn’t silence. It was her father, standing in the living room, his hands clenched at his sides, his face stormy.

“Aera!” he barked, voice sharp. “We need to talk.”

She froze. Her stomach dropped, not knowing what was coming. She set her bag down slowly, her heartbeat quickening in her chest.

“Dad, I just got home—can it wait?”

“No, it cannot wait,” he snapped, his eyes dark with frustration. “What’s going on with your grades? You used to be at the top of your class, and now—” His hand swept over the papers on the table, the grades slowly slipping over time, still good, but not perfect enough. “What is this? Useless. You’re wasting your potential on these... distractions.”

Aera’s throat tightened. She didn’t answer immediately, knowing that anything she said would just make it worse. She bit her lip, feeling the weight of the words sinking deeper into her chest.

“Are you really so stupid that you can’t see what’s happening here?” her father continued, pacing now, his voice rising. “You’ve been slacking off. Hanging out with people I don’t approve of. And now your grades are slipping because you’ve got your priorities all wrong.”

She could feel the sting of every word, her face burning with embarrassment, frustration, and a sickening feeling of defeat.She opened her mouth to speak but stopped when the next words hit her like a punch.

“You’re useless. A complete disappointment. No one deserves a shitty daughter like you, you’re ruining my reputation.” The words broke through her composure, and she could feel the hot, tight sting of tears forming behind her eyes.

"STOP IT DAD!,” Aera shouted, her voice trembling.

Her father’s expression hardened, but she couldn’t stand it anymore. She couldn’t breathe. The walls felt like they were closing in on her. “I’m done,” she whispered, before turning and walking toward the door. She couldn’t hear him calling her name. She couldn’t stay in that house one more second.

Aera grabbed her phone and sent a quick message.

Ni-ki 🐥 ➤“Where do you live? ➤“Are you alone? I need to get out of here. I can’t do this anymore.”

It didn’t take long for a response to light up her screen.

Ni-ki 🐥. ➤“I’m at my place. I’m alone. Come over.”

That was all she needed to see. She didn’t wait hesitate. She grabbed her jacket, slipped out the front door, and into the night, the sound of her father's voice fading behind her.

When Aera finally arrived at Niki’s house, her heart still pounding from the chaos she’d just left behind. She didn’t knock, didn’t wait for an invitation—she just pushed the door open, eyes welling with tears.

Niki was in the living room, but the moment he saw her standing there—hair a mess, red-eyed and trembling—he was up in an instant.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice serious, though there was a flash of concern in his eyes.

Before she could answer, Aera felt the tears rush forward, too much for her to hold back. She collapsed into him, her body shaking as she buried her face into his chest.

Niki didn’t say a word. His arms wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her close, the warmth of his embrace grounding her. He let her cry, letting the storm inside her crash without interruption.

“I... I couldn’t take it anymore,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. “He just... he doesn’t get it. He’s always yelling, always blaming me. Telling me I’m useless.” She choked on the words.

“You’re not useless,” Niki said firmly, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were softer now, filled with something Aera hadn’t seen from him before. Something tender. “Don’t let him make you think that. You’re so much more than that pretty.”

Her chest tightened, but the comfort of his words calmed her just a little.

“I just want to get away from all of it,” she whispered.

Niki’s grip tightened around her, as if holding her was the only thing he could offer her right now. “You don’t have to go back there. Not tonight. You can stay here, you’re safe here.”

For the first time in so long, Aera felt like she could finally breathe. She didn’t have to be strong. She didn’t have to fight for anyone’s approval. Not here. Not with him.

Her voice was small when she spoke again, but it was laced with gratitude. “Thank you. For being here, for everything.”

Niki’s thumb brushed her cheek gently, wiping away a tear that had slipped down her face. “I’m not going anywhere, pretty. Not unless you tell me to.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Aera knew she didn’t have to be alone. Not anymore.

Aera stirred, the faint morning light peeking through the blinds, warmth wrapped around her like a cocoon.There was something soft… warm… safe. She instinctively nestled deeper into it, her cheek pressed to a solid chest, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear.

Wait.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Chest?

She blinked, reality crashing in as she realized she was curled up against Niki—his arm thrown lazily around her, their legs tangled under the blanket.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, barely above a whisper.

In her panic, she jolted up—and that was all it took to wake him.

“What is it pretty?” Niki blinked, hair messy, voice raspy. “What—what happened?”

Aera was already scrambling out of bed. “Nothing! I—I didn’t mean to—it’s not—uh, I’ll be back!”

She bolted to the bathroom before he could say another word, slamming the door behind her and pressing her hands to her burning face.

What just happened?!

A little while later, wrapped in a towel, steam still curling in the air, Aera was brushing her damp hair in front of the mirror—finally starting to calm down—when the door suddenly opened.

Niki stepped in, mid-sentence. “Hey, I forgot my—”

His voice stopped cold.

She froze, eyes wide, towel clutched tight to her chest.

“Oh—shit.” Niki’s eyes darted away, face instantly flushing as he slammed the door shut. “Sorry! Didn’t know you were still in there!”

Aera stood frozen for a beat, her heart doing backflips. “It’s fine!” she called out, voice a little too high. “Totally fine! Just... never happened, okay?”

“Yeah,” came his muffled voice from behind the door. “Definitely didn’t happen.”

The silence that followed was louder than either of them could handle.

Later that evening, the mood had shifted—but the tension still lingered. They were back in the living room, a movie playing on low volume, the flickering screen doing little to distract from the fact that neither had acknowledged what happened that morning. Aera got up mid-way to grab some water, needing an excuse to calm herself. But as she turned back to the couch, she tripped over a loose corner of the rug.

“Ah—!”

She stumbled forward, falling—straight into Niki’s lap.

Her hands landed on his chest, her face inches from his, and time just… stopped.

Both froze.

His hands instinctively caught her waist to steady her, but when their eyes met, it was like the air caught fire. The space between them narrowed, heat crackling in the silence. Niki’s eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes—and then back again.

His jaw tightened.

“I—uh—” His voice broke as he quickly lifted her off of him like she’d set him on fire and stood up in one smooth motion. “Bathroom. Yep. Be right back.”

And just like that, he vanished down the hall, leaving Aera on the couch, breathless, face blazing red, and utterly stunned.She buried her face in her hands, letting out a tiny, mortified groan. “What is happening right now?”

By the time night settled, the world felt quieter. Softer.They sat outside again, the stars above glowing just as they had the night before, but something between them had shifted. There was still tension—but now, it was mixed with comfort. Trust. Maybe even something more. When Niki stood to head inside, Aera followed without thinking. At the door, she paused. He turned. Without a word, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled her close, his hand settling gently on the back of her head. The embrace lingered—not urgent, not awkward, just… needed.

“Thanks,” she whispered against his hoodie.

“For what?”

“For being there.”

He didn’t answer right away, but when he finally did, his voice was low, warm.

“Anytime, pretty.”

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The ballroom sparkled. Stiff handshakes, and hollow smiles. Aera stood near the edge of the crowd, dressed in a silk gown her father had picked out—not for her, but for the image it painted. He’d barely looked at her, aside from a few whispers about posture and the importance of staying away from him. Across the room, Niki leaned against a marble column, all black suit and lazy defiance. His father talked to some executive, trying to make him seem like a business asset, not a threat. But Niki’s eyes—burning, bored, and sharp—never left her. They hadn’t said a word all night. They didn’t need to. Aera’s phone buzzed against her palm.

Ni-ki 🐥 ➤ Meet me outside. Left side terrace. Five minutes.

Her heart skipped. The smile she gave her father as she slipped away was picture-perfect. She walked calmly through the crowd, out into the cold night air.

He was already there.

Leaning against the railing like he belonged to the dark, moonlight kissing the curve of his jaw. When he saw her, something in his posture changed—subtle, but there.

“You wore that on purpose,” he said, his voice low. “Trying to kill me?”

She smirked, her heels clicking softly against the stone. “I needed a reason to survive tonight.”

He stepped closer. “Did it work?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

They stood in silence for a breath, the party noise distant behind them. Her father’s voice. The pressure. She looked up at him, her eyes stormy.

“I can’t stay here,” she said. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“Then don’t,” Niki said simply. “Come with me.”

She didn’t answer. She just nodded, slipping her hand into his.

His house was dark when they arrived.
No guards. No eyes. Just them.

Inside, it was quiet—just the soft hum of the city outside and the buzz in their chests. Aera moved first, her heels echoing on the wooden floor as she dropped her coat and walked past him. He followed, quiet, gaze unreadable. She stopped in the center of the room, the silence between them stretching, breaking, melting into something hot. Then she turned. Her voice was soft—but broken, full of everything she was trying to escape.

“Ni-ki…” She hesitated, breathing in deep. “Make me forget tonight.”

The look in his eyes changed instantly—dark, careful, as if checking her for doubt.

“You sure?” he asked, voice husky, serious now.

She nodded, stepping toward him, placing her hand on his chest. “Make me forgot tonight, please fuck me.”

That was all he needed.

Niki pulled her in slowly, his hand resting on her waist like she was fragile glass. His lips brushed her forehead, her cheek, her jaw—everywhere but her lips—drawing her in without taking. His fingers trailed down her back, sending chills through her silk dress. Every movement was deliberate, slow, like he wanted her to feel every second of it. And she did. Her breath hitched when he whispered her name, his mouth finally finding hers in a kiss that wasn’t gentle—but needed.

“Ni-ki.” Aera moaned

“Ri-ki , the name you will be screaming tonight is Ri-ki.”

When they finally collapsed against the mattress, tangled in warmth and moonlight and breathless laughter, nothing else existed. Not their families. Not the consequences. Not the rules. Just two people, lost in each other, trying to quiet the world.

Morning light slipped between the curtains, Aera stirred first, her body sore in places she hadn’t expected, warmth still lingering on her skin like a memory she never wanted to forget. She blinked up at the ceiling, the vivid memo of their intimacy hits her first. Her face flushed instantly. She was still tucked against Niki’s chest, his arm slung over her waist, their legs still tangled like they hadn't moved at all. She slowly tried to shift, slipping out of the bed as quietly as she could, grabbing one of his oversized shirts off the floor and padding toward the mirror.

That’s when she saw them.

The marks. Soft bruises and mark marking her pale skin. A reminder of how deeply she'd wanted to forget—and how fully she had. Just as she reached for her phone, she heard his voice—rough from sleep but laced with mischief.

“You trying to sneak out, pretty?”

Aera jumped, spinning around. “I—I wasn’t sneaking, I was—”

Niki sat up, shirtless, hair messy, a lazy smirk spreading across his face as his eyes found the marks along her neck and shoulder.

“Damn,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “I did not hold back.”

She flushed deeper, covering her neck with the collar of his shirt. “You monster,” she muttered, half-joking, half-mortified.

He grinned wider. “Wanna press charges?”

“Only if they come with breakfast,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.

He moved closer, hands resting on her waist, voice dropping. “Or... round two?”

Aera’s eyes widened. “Niki—”

He chuckled, dipping his head to press a soft kiss to her collarbone. “Kidding. Unless you’re into that kind of criminal activity.”

She rolled her eyes, but her heart was racing again, the memory of last night thick in the air between them. They stood like that for a moment, her wrapped in his shirt, his arms around her, both knowing they’d broken every rule—and neither regretting it.

Eventually, she pulled back slightly, her fingers brushing his chest. “What now?” she asked, quieter now. “Our dads... the company...” He looked at her with a calm defiance in his eyes. “Let them talk,” he said. “Let them throw whatever they want. I’d do it all again.”

She bit her lip, and before she could say anything else, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was slow and lingering—less fire, more promise.

When he pulled back, his voice was low and teasing.

“I guess pretty girls do kiss rebels.”