#Fake it confidently and no one will notice I guess

[sixeyesonathiel]

love thy neighbor — chapter one.

pairing – boy next door! gojo x fem reader

summary : you grew up with the boy next door, the one with wild white hair and a grin too sharp for someone who always left dirt on your doorstep. satoru lived to rile you up, stealing your snacks and outrunning you in backyard chases, weaving himself into your life despite every glare you threw. through the chaos of shared summers and endless spats, he became a constant you couldn’t quite escape.

college stretched you apart, states away, the silence of distance swallowing your usual bickering—until summer drags you back. nothing’s the same. the air feels heavier, the days stranger, and satoru’s still all smirks and sly glances, but his eyes linger now, carrying a quiet ache you’re only starting to notice. college has you questioning everything, and he’s waiting, like always, for you to catch up to something you’re not ready to name.

tags –> fluff, tiny bit of angst later, eventual smut, neighbors au, childhood frenemies to lovers, suburban warfare (moms edition), mutual pining, domestic in the pettiest way possible, slow burn, growing up together, long term pining, yearner satoru, summer vacation tension, alternating POVs.

a/n : releasing this as series with four chapters that will have 10k+ wc per chapter instead of a oneshot out of draft jail because i overyappped once again, i’m really sorry for second guessing and hesitating so much, making u all wait TvT

collection m.list. | series masterlist. | playlist. | next ch.

the neighborhood was perfect.

white fences, manicured lawns, and an unspoken rule that everything must remain picturesque. but beneath the surface of perfection, an ancient war raged: your mother versus satoru’s. it was a battle fought with gardening shears and passive-aggressive remarks, masked by polite smiles at neighborhood events.

your mother, ever the strategist, sipped her tea with a dramatic sigh whenever satoru’s mother so much as stepped onto her porch. “oh, did you see the way she over-fertilizes?” she mused, her voice dripping with feigned concern. “poor plants, suffocating under all that desperate effort.”

meanwhile, satoru’s mother, arranging her hydrangeas in full view of your living room window, would hum thoughtfully before muttering, “i’d be embarrassed if my hydrangeas were that dull. not that i’d let it happen.”

the tension was palpable, woven into every stolen glance and whispered insult disguised as gardening advice. neither woman ever admitted the rivalry outright, but the perfectly pruned rose bushes and the carefully curated window boxes spoke volumes.

their husbands, however, lived in blissful ignorance. every weekend, they could be found on the golf course or clinking beer bottles over the backyard fence, chuckling about how “our wives are gonna kill each other one day, huh?”

the rivalry simply amused them.

but you and satoru? you were casualties. you were dragged into their war from the moment you could walk, coached into side-eyed glares and dismissive huffs whenever the gojos were mentioned.

when your father first introduced you to satoru at a neighborhood barbecue, he did so with the same pride as a general uniting two warring factions. “this is satoru, gojo’s boy!” he beamed, clapping his friend on the back.

but instead of an instant friendship, all satoru got was a glare and the words your mother had fed you over breakfast that morning.

“we don’t talk to people who use fake grass as a lawn substitute.”

you said it with the confidence of someone who truly understood what that meant, though in reality, you weren’t entirely sure why fake grass was so offensive. satoru blinked at you, mouth slightly open, his white lashes fluttering as if he hadn’t processed what just happened.

“...huh?” he finally said, voice trailing off in confusion.

your dads laughed, the kind of laugh that men share when they think their kids are just being silly. it wasn’t silly. it was war. and from that moment on, satoru gojo was your enemy, whether he wanted to be or not.

the first time you’re sent outside to water the garden, you don’t think much of it—until you see satoru stepping out of his house at the same time, dragging a garden hose behind him. he’s still in his pajamas, some silly blue set with little clouds on it, his white hair sticking up in messy tufts, like he just rolled out of bed.

he’s wearing slippers—bunny slippers, to be precise—but what really catches your attention are the socks. white with tiny little blue stars, pulled up just past his ankles, the kind of socks that scream these are my favorite and if anything happens to them, i will never recover.

you freeze, fingers tightening around the nozzle as he glances at you, then at his own hose, then back at you. for a second, neither of you speak. but you both know. your moms, pretending to be absorbed in their baking and magazine-reading inside, have timed this on purpose.

“pure coincidence,” your mother had said, the corners of her lips twitching in barely concealed triumph, and you—foolish, naive—had believed her.

satoru, being satoru, tries to be friendly at first, tilting his head as he watches you water the tulips along the fence. “your tulips are kinda nice,” he says, casual, like he’s just making conversation, like he isn’t the enemy.

you whip your head toward him so fast your hair smacks you in the face, eyes narrowing, scoffing as if he’s just insulted your entire bloodline. “don’t lie. your mom says they’re ugly.”

his jaw drops, scandalized, and you swear you can hear the dramatic gasp of betrayal in the air. “well, your mom says our garden looks like a plastic factory exploded.” he crosses his arms, standing his ground, his voice rising slightly like he can’t believe you just threw that at him.

you stare at him.

he stares at you.

the hose in your hand drips onto the grass, but you’re too busy processing his words to care. your mother had what ? you had been raised on the belief that your family had the superior garden, the most elegant flowers, the healthiest grass. and now, satoru gojo, the enemy, was claiming that your mom had been talking about his garden?

your lips part in slow betrayal, nose wrinkling in distaste, and you take a slow step back. he mirrors you, blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, his fingers twitching against the hose. neither of you say another word. but you both know what’s coming next.

the next day, war begins. it starts simple—satoru ‘accidentally’ sprays you with his hose while you’re carefully pruning the roses, his grin widening when water soaks into your shirt. you shriek, stumbling back, clutching your watering can tighter like a weapon. fine. if that’s how he wants to play, then so be it. you take a step, then another, before gasping dramatically and tripping—the entire can of water spilling directly onto his feet.

he lets out a scream, the most theatrical, over-the-top wail you’ve ever heard, jumping back like he’s been set on fire. “MY SOCKS!” he yells, staring down at them in pure horror, his slippers useless against the water seeping in. his hands fly up to his head, gripping his white tufts in agony, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in a tragedy film. “they’re wet! my favorite socks are WET!”

“oh, please,” you huff, rolling your eyes even as your own shirt clings uncomfortably to your skin. “it’s just water.”

“IT’S IN MY SOCKS.” he’s pacing now, hands on his hips, face twisted in pure devastation. “DO YOU KNOW HOW GROSS WET SOCKS ARE?!”

the next thing you know, you’re both storming inside, loudly declaring your grievances to your fathers.

“she did it on purpose!”

“he started it first!”

you both jab fingers in each other’s direction, demanding justice, your voices overlapping in a chorus of whiny accusations. satoru’s slippers squelch with every step he takes, which only makes him angrier, which only makes you smugger. but your dads, ever the peacemakers, just chuckle over their beers and wave you off. “just work it out, kids!”

useless. completely, utterly useless.

you and satoru glare at each other from across the room, still damp, still fuming, both of you knowing, deep in your little childish hearts—whether you like it or not, this is only the beginning.

days slip by, your damp glares hardening into a silent pact—every sprinkler twitch, every sidelong glance a spark for the next war. your moms, oblivious or scheming, sip lemonade on the porch, their laughter sharp as pruning shears, while you and satoru circle like cats, waiting for the other to pounce.

it appears overnight.

one day, your mother’s pristine front yard is free of any unnecessary clutter, and the next, it’s there—perched right at the edge of the gojos’ flower bed, staring directly at your house with its beady, unsettling eyes.

the ugliest garden gnome you’ve ever seen. its paint is chipped in places, its smile is a little too wide, and its hat is a garish shade of red that clashes horribly with the hydrangeas behind it.

your mother nearly drops her morning tea when she spots it through the kitchen window.

“oh. oh, that woman wants to play dirty.”

she sets her cup down with the grace of a queen preparing for battle, fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain like she’s contemplating war strategies. her brows draw together, lips pressed into a firm line as she leans closer, scrutinizing the gnome like it personally insulted her taste in home decor.

by the end of the day, a stone fairy statue sits on your side of the fence, directly facing the gnome. her expression is serene, her wings spread wide, and her hands clasped together as if in prayer—yet something about her placement feels pointed. deliberate. a silent declaration of superiority in the war of aesthetics.

you and satoru meet at the line that divides your houses, staring at each other over the ridiculous decorations your mothers have so proudly planted in the soil. it’s early afternoon, the sun casting long shadows across the grass, and the air is thick with unspoken tension.

satoru stands lazily with his hands in his pockets, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, the summer light catching in his white hair and making it look almost silver. his eyes, bright and sharp, flit between the fairy and the gnome before settling on you, amusement flickering in their depths.

“so,” he drawls, rocking back slightly on his heels. “admiring the superior piece of art?”

you don’t answer. instead, you take a single step forward and flick his forehead, hard. his head jerks back slightly, his smirk faltering for half a second before he recovers, blinking at you like you’ve just committed a grave crime against his entire bloodline.

“your gnome looks like it crawled out of a swamp.”

satoru’s jaw drops, a scandalized gasp slipping past his lips. his hand flies to his forehead, rubbing the spot you flicked like you just inflicted some kind of irreversible damage.

“you—” he sputters, shaking his head as if in disbelief. then, with the precision of someone who has been waiting for this moment his entire life, he flicks you right back, his finger striking the center of your forehead with surprising force.

“your fairy looks like it belongs in a cemetery.”

you don’t know who lunges first, but suddenly, you’re both on the ground. hands grasping at arms, legs kicking up dirt, your yells and shrieks breaking the peaceful afternoon air.

satoru pulls at your sleeve, so you shove him, and he shoves you right back, his stupidly strong grip knocking you off balance. the scent of freshly cut grass fills your nose as your back hits the ground, satoru’s weight pressing down as he tries to pin you, but you twist, rolling and taking him with you.

“get off me, you overgrown ferret!” you hiss, your fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to push him away.

“overgrown?” he scoffs, despite being half sprawled across the dirt, panting. “you’re literally—ow! stop pulling my hair, you gremlin!”

grass sticks to your clothes, dust clings to your skin, and the world tilts as you both roll across the lawn like a pair of feral raccoons fighting over food.

from the porch, your mother gasps, her hand flying to her chest in horror. satoru’s mom, less dramatic but equally exasperated, calls out something about ruining the flowers, but neither of you hear her over the sound of your bickering.

your fathers, however, are the last to react. one second, they’re sipping their beers on the porch, talking about some old golf game, and the next, their precious children are rolling in the dirt like a pair of rabid raccoons.

both men jump up at the same time, eyes wide, jaws dropping in comical horror.

“oh my god, they’re fighting.” gojo’s dad sounds genuinely distressed, like he’s just witnessed the betrayal of the century.

your dad nearly trips over the porch step as he rushes forward, his voice heavy with disbelief. “this is a disaster! we raised them better than this!”

it takes all their combined strength to pry you and satoru apart. you’re still kicking, your hand tangled in his stupid white hair, while he’s gripping onto your sleeve like he refuses to let you get the last hit. dirt smudges both your cheeks, grass stains your clothes, and the once-perfect garden is in shambles around you.

satoru’s mom lets out a horrified gasp, clutching her chest as she surveys the battlefield that was once a pristine lawn. her manicured fingers tremble, eyes darting between the trampled flowers and her son’s dirt-streaked face like she’s witnessing the collapse of civilization.

your mom, on the other hand, stands tall with her arms crossed, head tilting ever so slightly as a slow, satisfied smile curls on her lips—like a queen who just watched her heir claim victory in a brutal duel. her gaze flickers to you, pride gleaming in her eyes before she speaks, voice low and laced with amusement.

“you see?” she murmurs, just loud enough for her husband to hear, yet dripping with the unmistakable venom of a well-placed jab. “this is what happens when you let your daughter socialize with bad influences.”

she doesn’t look at satoru’s mom as she says it, but the weight of her words lands squarely where it’s meant to.

satoru’s mom bristles, her grip tightening on the pearl necklace resting against her collarbone, but she holds her tongue—for now. the war between them is long-standing, fought with polite smiles and passive-aggressive flower arrangements, but today, your mom has landed a solid hit.

your dads, however, are too emotionally wounded to acknowledge their wives’ ongoing cold war. your father looks at you like you just kicked a puppy in front of him, his hands shaking slightly as he runs them through his hair in utter disbelief.

“you’re best friends!” he exclaims, voice cracking like his entire world is crumbling before his eyes. “this—this is not how best friends act!” his horror is genuine, as if the mere thought of you and satoru, the lifelong duo, turning on each other is an omen of the apocalypse.

satoru’s dad isn’t faring any better, hands braced against his knees as if steadying himself for what might come next. he exhales, long and pained, shaking his head like he’s about to mourn the loss of something sacred.

“we failed them,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper, but heavy with grief. he looks at his son, at the tangled mess of white hair and stubborn defiance, then at you, covered in dirt and glaring daggers at his boy.

to him, this is a tragedy beyond comprehension.

for a fleeting moment, the sheer devastation in their eyes almost makes you feel bad. almost. but then you glance at satoru, and he’s already looking at you with that same ridiculous, half-offended, half-smug expression, a silent dare in those too-bright eyes.

the pity shrivels and dies instantly, replaced by a renewed wave of annoyance. because, honestly, why does he look like he won? he didn’t win.

“you’re gonna apologize and shake hands,” your dad says, attempting to sound firm despite the evident emotional turmoil in his voice.

you and satoru both freeze, breathing still uneven from the scuffle, before simultaneously turning away with identical scoffs. the idea of making peace with each other so soon, especially under adult supervision, is downright insulting.

“absolutely not.” the rejection comes in perfect unison, as if you rehearsed it beforehand.

but then satoru’s dad straightens up, shoulders squared, and fixes you both with a rare, serious, dad look—the kind that demands obedience without words, the kind that even satoru, with all his stubborn arrogance, hesitates to challenge. suddenly, rebellion doesn’t seem worth the trouble.

grumbling under your breath, you stomp forward, satoru mirroring your reluctance with a dramatic sigh. your hands clasp together with the enthusiasm of someone being forced to shake hands with a venomous snake.

and then, just because neither of you can ever let the other win, you squeeze. hard .

satoru winces first, barely, and your lips twitch into a victorious grin. but then he recovers, tightening his grip just enough to make your fingers ache, and a smirk creeps onto his face. across the yard, your dads, completely oblivious to the ongoing war happening in your clasped hands, wipe fake tears from their eyes, murmuring about how balance has been restored.

but nothing has been solved. nothing at all.

the forced peace lasts exactly three days before you're elbowing him in the ribs for hogging the watering can. he retaliates by “accidentally” spraying your shoes.

you step on his foot.

he tugs your hair.

you pinch his arm when no one’s looking—fingers darting quick, nailing the soft spot under his sleeve. he yelps “ow!” under his breath, swatting back with a pouty glare. by the time the roses are watered, you’ve racked up twelve secret scuffles—stealthy masterpieces hidden from the kitchen windows where your moms sip grudges with their brew.

he trips you into a rosebush with a sly nudge—smug grin flashing, all teeth and blue-eyed glee. you lob a fistful of fertilizer like a prank grenade. it dusts his face gritty brown. he sputters “gross!” and wipes it off with his t-shirt hem.

your cackle cuts the air when dirt clumps in his perfect white hair. he shakes it out like a wet dog, strands spiking like a porcupine. then he shoves you—hands fast on your shoulders—sending you splashing into the birdbath. water soaks your shorts.

“jerk!” you hiss, scrambling up, nose scrunched in fury. he giggles “serves you right!” and dodges your swat, slippers squishing on the grass. it’s exhausting—this endless tug-of-war. arms ache. slippers muddy. but stopping? not an option. you’re magnets, doomed to clash.

the backyard brawl simmers all week. each morning brings sneaky jabs and muffled yelps. roses and hydrangeas stand as silent witnesses.

your dads catch on eventually—dirt-stained clothes you try to sneak past the laundry, faint bruises on your knees, satoru’s slight limp after you “accidentally” drop a watering can on his foot. they’re done. sick of scuffs. sick of whining.

sick of their wives’ icy fence-side stares—each blaming the other’s kid, their garden rivalry now a cold war over mulch tips and pta brags.

one afternoon, mid-scuffle—over who stepped on whose garden bed and if that’s an act of war—you’re shoving his chest, his elbow jabs your side. your dads roll in like tired storm clouds.

“enough!” yours barks, arms crossed, flannel sleeves rolled up, face etched with exhaustion from your week-long nonsense.

satoru’s dad nods, rubbing his temples. “you’re driving us up the wall—cut it out or you’re grounded ‘til christmas.” 

“he started it!” you snap, pointing at satoru—your pout deepens, your muddy slippers leaving a smudge on the patio as you cross your arms tight.

“she pinched me first!” satoru fires back, his voice high and whiny as he jabs a finger at you, his hair still dusted with fertilizer flecks, his blue eyes wide with mock innocence.

“that’s it,” your dad says, rubbing his temples like this is physically paining him. “you’re best friends now. deal with it.” his voice is firm, final, like a judge handing down a life sentence.

satoru’s dad stands beside him, nodding like he’s just made peace with some deep, personal tragedy.

“if you’re gonna keep fighting, you might as well do it under supervision,” he adds, voice hollow with defeat. “playdates. every day. no exceptions.”

you and satoru freeze, eyes locking in an unspoken moment of horror. playdates? every day? with him?

“no,” you start, shaking your head as panic sets in, “no, no, no, i refuse—”

“you can’t make us!” satoru cries, taking a step back like he might actually run for it.

but your dad is already walking away like the matter is settled, and satoru’s dad claps a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder, muttering something about “team bonding” before disappearing inside.

betrayal. this is betrayal of the highest order.

you whip around, jabbing a finger into satoru’s chest, voice dripping with accusation. “this is your fault.”

his jaw drops, indignant. “my fault? you’re the one who threw the first punch last time!”

“because you called my hair stupid!”

“it is stupid!” he fires back, arms flailing as he gestures wildly toward your head. “it looks like a mop!”

you take a deep, dramatic gasp, clutching your chest like you’ve been personally wounded. “oh, yeah? well, at least i don’t look like a walking snow cone!”

his mouth falls open, blue eyes wide with pure, unfiltered rage. for a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t even process what you’ve just said.

then, with the air of a man who has lost everything, he lets out a long, exhausted sigh and stomps away, muttering under his breath about how this arrangement is going to kill him.

good.

you hope it does.

the next day, you arrive at his house with a plan. if you’re going to suffer through this nightmare, you’re dragging him down with you.

so you stride through the front yard like a queen arriving at her court, the tiny porcelain tea set clinking in your bag with each step. a plastic crown sits atop your head, slightly askew from the wind but still regal in its defiance.

your expression is the picture of authority as you set down your things, the miniature table unfolding beneath your hands with all the grandeur of a royal banquet being prepared.

“sit,” you command, voice dripping with the kind of entitlement that demands obedience.

satoru, standing barefoot in the grass with his wild white hair falling messily over his too-blue eyes, just blinks at you. then he tilts his head, gaze flicking between you, the tea set, and the absurd little chairs you’ve arranged.

“i’m not drinking imaginary tea,” he says flatly.

your smile is slow, syrupy sweet—too sweet, the kind that signals incoming disaster. “oh, but you are.”

he narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. it’s a battle of wills, a silent exchange where neither of you so much as blink.

then, with the exaggerated sigh of a man facing his own execution, satoru flops onto the tiny chair, legs sprawled out, arms still folded like he’s being forced into some great injustice.

you nod in satisfaction, pouring the invisible tea with practiced elegance, your pinky raised just so. the delicate porcelain cup is extended toward him, an offering of peace—or, more accurately, an invitation to his suffering.

he takes it hesitantly, fingers curling around the dainty handle like it might shatter under his touch. then, in the most over-the-top display of mock refinement you’ve ever seen, he lifts it to his lips with the grace of a nobleman.

“ah, yes,” he drawls, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his chin upward. “delicious. simply divine.”

your hum of approval is sharp as you sip from your own cup, matching his theatrics with an air of superiority. “good.”

the corner of his mouth twitches, his eyes peering at you over the rim of his cup, and you know—this isn’t over.

revenge comes swiftly.

the moment you step through the door, satoru is on you like a storm, all grabby hands and reckless energy, fingers locking around your wrist before you can so much as take off your shoes.

he yanks you forward with the force of a battlefield general rallying his troops, pale strands an untamed mess, sticking out in wild tufts like he’s been plotting for hours. there’s an unmistakable glint in his too-bright eyes, something electric, something that makes your stomach twist with impending doom.

you try to plant your feet, to demand an explanation, but he tugs harder, practically dragging you down the hallway like a man possessed.

“sit,” he commands, throwing his arm out with a flourish the second you cross the threshold into his room.

your gaze sweeps across the floor, and your stomach drops. an army—an entire army—is laid out before you, meticulously arranged in tight, strategic formations.

tiny soldiers stand at attention, their weapons poised for battle, knights lined up with their plastic swords raised high, towering mechs positioned like silent sentinels at the edges.

even a couple of dinosaurs lurk ominously in the back, their beady little eyes trained on the battlefield as if waiting for their cue to wreak havoc.

you swallow, suddenly aware of the tiny doll clutched in your hands—a delicate princess with golden curls, her dainty features carved into a permanent, gentle smile. she does not belong here.

satoru turns to you, the grin stretching across his face so wide it practically glows. “war,” he declares, voice heavy with self-satisfaction.

your fingers tighten around the doll. “… war?”

he nods, far too pleased with himself. “yeah. your princesses are under attack. they’re defenseless.” his head tilts, expression shifting into a mockery of pity, but the gleam in his eyes betrays him. “tragic, really.”

your lips press into a thin line, suspicion creeping in. “what happens if they lose?”

his grin sharpens. teeth. teeth everywhere. “they get executed.”

your gasp is immediate, theatrical, hands clutching your chest as if he’s personally driven a dagger through your heart. “executed?!”

satoru shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “war’s brutal.”

your grip on the princess tightens, rage curling in your chest like a wildfire. the urge to flip his entire battlefield, to scatter his perfectly aligned soldiers like fallen leaves, is almost unbearable. you could end this before it even begins.

but then satoru smirks, slow and confident, tilting his head in that infuriating way that makes your blood boil. and just like that, losing is no longer an option.

and so, the war rages on.

tea party chaos one day, epic war games the next.

you haul out fancy tea sets, doilies, and plastic tiaras, daring him to squirm. he counters with action figures, spinning tragic tales to pin their doom on you.

you snatch his favorite snacks, munching with a glare; he traps you in marathons of your least-liked cartoon, smirking at every grimace.

playdates turn into battlegrounds, a clash of stubborn wills. you bake fake cookies; he chokes theatrically, flopping to the floor. he stages a war; you parade your princess dolls, decreeing peace to ruin his plans. neither of you yields.

yet somewhere amid tea-sipping and battle cries, the venom softens. it’s still a fight, but now it’s about who cracks a smile first. the worst days are quiet ones, no one to spar with. it’s not fun, but it’s not awful.

and maybe you don’t mind the challenge.

not that you’ll say it.

it hits like rain on a sunny day—sudden, uninvited. you didn’t plan to enjoy satoru’s chaos. but between the shouts and shoves, you laugh. he laughs too, not smug, but real, and your stomach flips, like maybe—maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought.

but your mom notices.

she always notices. when you come home from his house, she watches you extra close, her eyes sharp like when she’s trying to catch you sneaking extra cookies before dinner.

that night, when she brushes your hair, she doesn’t say it right away. her fingers are careful, gentle, but her voice is not. “remember, sweetheart, we don’t get too close to them.” it’s not a question. it’s a rule. the same kind of rule as don’t run with scissors or don’t talk to strangers—except this one hurts.

so the next day, you fix it. it should feel like something big is happening, like the sky should turn black and lightning should strike right between you, like the world should know this is the worst thing ever. but no. the stupid sun is still shining. the wind is still blowing. and the ugly little garden gnome by satoru’s front steps is still sitting there, laughing at you. it makes you want to kick it. but you can’t, because you have something more important to do.

“your hair is ugly.”

satoru’s head snaps up so fast you think he might get dizzy. “huh?!”

you cross your arms, lifting your chin like you totally mean it. “it’s so white. it looks like bird poop.”

there’s a long, long silence. satoru’s mouth hangs open, like he’s waiting for you to say just kidding! but you don’t. his hands ball into little fists at his sides, his face going all red—not the angry kind of red, but the kind that looks like he just swallowed a rock. “why are you being so mean?”

you look away. your chest feels all tight and weird, like when you’re about to cry but you can’t, because if you do, then it’s over. your mom’s voice rings in your head again— we don’t get too close to them. “ i was just bored.”

and just like that, everything breaks.

he stares at you like you just kicked his puppy. his stupid blue eyes get all shiny, like he might actually cry, and that makes you feel even worse. “but… but yesterday—”

he stops. his lips press together, and he swallows really hard, like there’s something stuck in his throat. then, before you can say anything else, before you can even take it back—he steps away.

“fine,” he says, and his voice sounds wobbly, like a popsicle stick bridge that’s about to snap. “i don’t care, anyway.”

but you know he does. because satoru always cares—loudly, annoyingly, in ways you don’t even understand yet. and for the first time ever, he turns away first. doesn’t yell, doesn’t push, doesn’t try to win.

he just leaves. and for some reason, that makes you want to cry more than anything in the whole wide world.

satoru didn’t talk to you after that day. not in the loud, teasing way he usually did, not in the begrudging, petty way you’d come to expect. not even when your dads gathered for the weekend barbecue, laughing over beers about how their kids had finally made peace.

you could feel his glare from across the yard, burning into your skin like a laser beam, but the second you turned to look, he was already stomping away, white hair bouncing with every step.

you’d won the war, hadn’t you? you should’ve felt victorious, you should’ve been skipping circles around him just to rub it in his stupid face. but instead, your stomach twisted up all weird, like you swallowed a rock—or maybe a whole pile of them.

and then, as if the universe had personally decided that your life wasn’t miserable enough, disaster struck.

the evening air was thick with the smell of damp dirt and fresh grass, but all you could smell was your impending doom.

your mother loomed over the flowerbed—or what was left of it. crushed petals and snapped stems lay scattered, a wreckage you caused. the porch light stretched her shadow, sharp and accusing, across the dirt. her arms were crossed, lips a thin line, but her eyes—piercing, soul-searing—made your stomach plummet.

you swallowed, glancing at the ruined flowers under your shoes. you’d only chased a butterfly, but—crunch—they were gone, and you were doomed.

“look at what you’ve done!”

your hands balled up, body rigid. “i’m sorry,” you mumbled, voice small, but she didn’t flinch.

she sighed, pinching her nose like you were her endless headache. “i work hard on this garden, and this is how you repay me?” her head shook, disappointment stinging like a slap. “these plants are my babies, and you trample them like you don’t belong here.”

…oh.

your breath snagged, heart stuttering. her babies? your chest clamped tight, ears buzzing, and it clicked—too perfectly. your mom’s lawn obsession, how you didn’t quite match your parents’ looks, your weird food quirks, her sighs, heavy with unspoken weight when she bragged about you to neighbors. 

this was it.

you were adopted.

panic flared, wild and sharp. if she knew you’d cracked her secret, would she… return you? like a mismatched shirt shoved back to the store? would she ship you to some grim place where unwanted kids ate cold broccoli forever, no cookies, no warmth? no way. you wouldn’t let her.

you had to run.

before they could box up your stuff, before their soft, syrupy voices cooed, we’re sorry, sweetheart, it’s just not right. you’d need clothes, snacks, a flashlight—money? (where did money even come from?)—maybe a blanket. you could live in the woods, charm squirrels, nibble berries. 

or you can find your real family.

maybe they were out there, longing for you. maybe you were a lost princess, a royal carriage just waiting to whisk you to a castle. maybe your true parents, rich and heartbroken, ached for their stolen kid. maybe this was your big break.

you had to get out.

you scanned the room—not yours, not anymore. glow-in-the-dark stars speckled the ceiling, stuffed animals slumped in the corner, soon someone else’s, someone who’d fit this family better. your throat tightened, but you shook it off. no time for tears. you had a mission.

you grabbed your pink backpack, stuffing it fast—three snacks, a hello kitty juice box for style, a flickering flashlight, and your stuffed bunny, because even runaways need a friend. it was heavier than you thought, tugging at your shoulders as you crept to the window. you nudged it open, wincing at the frame’s squeak. night air slipped in, whispering of adventure, maybe a real home.

but doubt crept in too.

not about running—that was still the plan. but the actual escaping? harder than it looked. your grand exit felt shaky, and you wondered if you were really built for this runaway life.

now, for the hardest part: actually leaving.

you climbed onto the windowsill, fingers gripping the edge as you looked down. it wasn’t that high… right? you just had to dangle, drop, land, and run. simple. foolproof.

you sucked in a breath and shifted forward, lowering yourself carefully, your feet searching for the ground—but it wasn’t there.

your legs kicked uselessly, toes barely brushing the wall, and for a humiliating ten seconds, you dangled there, flailing, before gravity made the decision for you.

with a yelp, you plummeted straight into the bushes, a sharp rustling of leaves accompanying your graceless fall. a dull pain shot up your arms, the sting of scraped skin making your eyes prick with tears, but you bit them back.

a true runaway does not cry! with all the dignity you could muster, you pushed yourself up, shaking off leaves and twigs, ready to make your grand escape—

“you look like an idiot.”

your breath caught in your throat. your stomach dropped.

oh no.

slowly, you turned your head, dread curling in your chest. and there he was, perched at his own window, elbows resting on the sill, white hair catching the fading sunlight. gojo satoru.

he had the nerve to look completely relaxed, chin resting in his palm, his stupidly bright blue eyes filled with unmistakable amusement.

he had been watching you.

“what are you doing?” he asked, voice laced with barely-contained laughter.

you straightened your backpack straps, shooting him a glare. ”leaving.”

“leaving where?”

“away.”

his head tilted slightly, studying you like you were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. “that’s not an answer.”

ugh. always so annoying. always questioning everything. wait—why is he even trying to get you to explain yourself to him? this wasn’t his business!

you huffed, turning on your heel with a dramatic flip of your hair. "none of your business, satoru. goodbye forever."

you had barely taken four steps before the unmistakable sound of feet landing lightly on the pavement made you freeze.

your eyes widened. you turned back just in time to see him straightening up, brushing invisible dust from his pants, completely unbothered—because unlike you, he hadn’t fumbled his escape. no flailing, no tragic bush landing. just an effortless, cat-like jump from his window, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

you clenched your fists. of course he made it look easy.

he fell into step beside you, hands buried deep in his pockets, his pace maddeningly unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be but right here, ruining your night. 

it was infuriating how effortlessly he matched your pace—never rushing, never struggling, just there, lingering like an annoying ghost you couldn't shake in the darkness.

“you don’t even know where you’re going.”

his voice was light, almost teasing, but you caught the undertone of amusement laced beneath it.

you spun around so fast your backpack nearly smacked you in the face, eyes blazing as you glared up at him. “yes, i do.”

he didn’t even blink, just tilted his head, one white eyebrow arching with skepticism. “oh yeah? where?”

your mouth opened—then promptly shut. under the weight of his expectant gaze, your mind scrambled for an answer, something grand, something impressive, something that would prove you weren’t just some clueless kid storming off on a whim. but all that came out was a very unconvincing:

“...the forest.”

satoru pulled a face like you had just suggested something utterly pathetic. he actually wrinkled his nose. “lame,” he declared flatly. “if you’re running away, at least go somewhere cool.”

your eyes narrowed dangerously. “oh, and where would you go, genius?”

his expression shifted instantly, brightening with exaggerated thoughtfulness as he tapped a finger against his chin. he dragged the moment out, milking the attention for all it was worth, before finally grinning. “probably the moon. or mars. as long as it’s on space.”

you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw the inside of your skull. “be serious.”

“you be serious.”

“i am serious.”

“then why are you running away with just a backpack?”

you froze, shoulders snapping rigid. your fingers clenched around the straps of your backpack as heat crept up your face.

right. that.

you knew something about your plan felt slightly underdeveloped, but it wasn’t like you were going to admit that. you forced your expression into something defiant, lips parting to throw back a retort—but nothing came. because, well... he had a point.

“why do you even care?” you snapped instead, turning the conversation away from your failure. “just go back inside and leave me alone!”

he shrugged, completely unaffected by your growing irritation. “nah. watching you fail at running away is way more fun.”

your jaw clenched so tight it ached.

you should have known he’d be a problem.

but you were determined. you were going to run away, and there was nothing gojo satoru could do about it.

you slung your backpack higher, stomping down the street, ignoring the patter of footsteps dogging you. maybe speed would shake him, but no—satoru’s smirk followed, wide and smug, like your escape was his evening show.

you sped up. he kept pace. you crawled; he mirrored, whistling a tune that clawed at your nerves.

hours dragged—maybe two, but each step burned eternal with him bouncing beside you, white hair aglow under streetlights, practically engineered to irk you. at first, you’d burned with purpose—flee your mom’s scolds, her heavy sighs, and start fresh, maybe in a city, baking in some cozy shop.

now? your legs screamed, feet pulsing. regret piled high, and you just wanted to collapse.

“i’m hungry,” satoru whined, his voice grating, lips twitching with mischief.

you groaned, dragging slower. “shut up, satoru,” you muttered, exhaustion coating your words, shoulders slumping.

“no!” he snapped. “this is your fault! you should’ve at least rode a bike if you were gonna run away like a loser!”

“i’m not a loser!” you shot back, voice wobbling, defensive. your glare faltered under his teasing glint.

he sidled closer, face moonlit, mischief dancing in his eyes. “you kinda are. only losers run away and don’t even know where they’re going.”

your cheeks flared. “i do know where i’m going!” you insisted, but doubt gnawed. the dream of running was souring fast.

he arched a brow, smirk widening. “oh yeah? where?”

you froze, scanning the dark—nothing. words failed. “…” you mumbled, purpose fraying.

satoru’s smug hum stung, his grin widening as he stood, hands on hips, relishing your fluster. “exactly. loser.”

you huffed, stomping toward the park’s swings. “whatever. let’s just sit.” annoyance masked relief as you sank onto a seat, sighing into the quiet night.

satoru flopped beside you, stretching with a groan. “ugh, finally. thought my legs were gonna fall off.” his white hair spilled over the swing’s chain, catching moonlight like a mocking halo.

 you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, the swing creaking under your shifting weight. “stop being so dramatic.” your fingers gripped the cold metal chains, grounding you as a breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

“says the one who ran away over some flowers,” satoru shot back, kicking his legs lazily, bunny slippers scuffing the dirt. his smirk glinted, sharp in the dim light.

“says the one who followed me,” you snapped, arms crossed tight. damp grass and metal tinged the air, his stare prickling even without a glance.

he grinned, shameless, leaning to sway the swing. “well, yeah. what else was i supposed to do? let you get eaten by raccoons?” his brows wiggled, voice thick with fake worry.

you stiffened, rigid against the creaky seat. “…there are no raccoons here.” your tone held firm, but your eyes flicked to the shadowy bushes, doubt nibbling.

“are you sure?” he tilted his head, blue eyes twinkling, finger tapping his chin to stretch your unease.

you froze—breath catching. the night yawned wider, leaves rustling too lively.

he leaned closer, voice a mock whisper. “you know, i heard they sneak up on dumb kids who run away.” his breath grazed your ear, swing rocking as he shifted.

your fingers clamped the chains, knuckles pale. “you’re lying.” your voice wavered, small against the vast park.

he gasped, clutching his chest, eyes wide with fake shock. “why would i lie to you?” he flailed, nearly tipping the swing, slippers flopping.

���because you’re you!” you shoved his shoulder, steadying the creaking metal. an owl hooted, siding with you.

“fair point.” he shrugged, grin lazy, settling back as the swing slowed. crickets hummed, playground groaning softly.

you kicked his shin—hard. “ow—hey!” he yelped, rubbing it, hair bouncing as he glared.

“you deserved it.” you huffed, chin high, swing swaying gently, cooling your flush.

“did not!”

“did too!”

“did not—ugh, whatever, i’m too hungry to argue,” satoru groaned, flopping against the swing, hand splaying over his stomach. “feed me.” he batted his lashes, moonlight catching his mischief.

you scrunched your nose, leaning back. “excuse me?“

“you packed snacks, right?” he flicked a finger at your bag. “hand ‘em over.” his palm opened, expectant.

“why should i?” you hugged the bag tight, zipper glinting.

“because i followed you and kept you safe from raccoons.” he puffed his chest, slippers swinging with smugness.

you scowled, lips thin. “you were literally just saying you wanted me to get eaten by them.”

“so? didn’t let it happen.” he shrugged, teeth flashing, chains rattling as he leaned in.

“ugh,” you groaned, yanking the bag off, unzipping it sharply. “fine, only so you shut up.”

you pulled out a biscuit, fingers brushing his as you dropped it in his palm. he stared at it, then you, jaw dropping. “…are you serious?”

you smirked, leaning back. “take it or leave it.”

he grumbled but bit in, crunch loud in the stillness. silence settled, heavy, until he swallowed. “gimme another one.” crumbs dusted his fingers, eyes glinting.

you scoffed, loud and dramatic, head thrown back like he’d demanded your soul. “absolutely not.”

“c’monnnn, i’m starving.” he whined, slumping forward, elbows on knees, white hair flopping over his pouty face, moonlight amplifying the ridiculousness.

“too bad. should’ve brought your own food.” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

“i would’ve if you actually planned this runaway properly.” he muttered, crossing his arms, mimicking your huff.

“ugh! just be grateful i even shared at all!”

“pfft. what else do you got?” he asked, leaning toward your bag, curiosity undimmed.

you glared through the dim light. “nothing.” your lie was sharp, hugging the bag tight, the hello kitty juice box now a state secret.

satoru’s grin turned wicked, teeth glinting. “liar. you have a juice box, don’t you?” he leaned closer, breath teasingly warm.

your fingers dug into the fabric, heart tripping. “no.” your voice wavered, face turning away as the swing creaked.

“you totally do.”

“do not.”

“you do.”

“do not.”

“oh yeah? then what’s this?” he lunged, snatching your bag and unzipping it in one swift move.

“hey!” you yelped, diving, but he twisted away, laughing as he held it high.

“aha! knew it!” he crowed, waving the hello kitty juice box like a prize, pink design flashing in the moonlight. he leaped from the swing, chains clattering.

your face burned, horror spiking. “PUT THAT BACK!” you shrieked, lunging, but he danced away, cackling through the empty park.

satoru spun, keeping it out of reach. “oh? what’s wrong? embarrassed about your cute little juice?” he taunted, dodging your flailing hands.

“shut up! give it back!” you swiped, slippers skidding, but he sidestepped effortlessly.

“hmmm… nah,” he said, popping the straw in with flair and sipping dramatically. “mmm, tastes like victory.” he leaned against the swing pole, smirking.

you gasped, betrayal hitting hard. “YOU. DID. NOT.” your voice shook, fists clenched.

“i did,” he smirked, sipping again. “mmm. strawberry.” he twirled the box, straw bobbing.

rage narrowed your vision. “GOJO SATORU, I HOPE YOU CHOKE!” you roared, tackling him off the swing, both crashing to the dirt.

satoru yelped, hitting the ground with you on top, a tangle of fury. “OW—YOU MANIAC, GET OFF ME!” he flailed, slippers flying, juice box rolling free.

“GIVE IT BACK, THIEF!” you snarled, pinning his arms, reaching for your prize, hair falling in your face.

“I HOPE YOU CHOKE, SATORU!” you yelled, snatching at the box as he squirmed, laughing through indignation.

“JOKES ON YOU, I ALREADY SWALLOWED!” he wheezed, bucking beneath you, hair now dirt-dusted.

“YOU’RE A MONSTER!” you shrieked, shoving his chest, betrayal stinging sharp.

“AND YOU’RE A GREMLIN!” he shot back, twisting, nearly toppling you, voice cracking with laughter.

“THAT WAS MY JUICE!” you wailed, grabbing the box, clutching it like a lifeline, breath heaving.

“IT’S OUR JUICE NOW!” he argued, propped on elbows, grinning like he’d won. your elbow accidentally jabbed his ribs.

“OWWW!” he howled, flopping back, clutching his side theatrically, rolling in mock agony. “THIS IS IT. I’M DYING.”

you froze, juice box dangling, blinking down. “…what?” your voice softened, anger fading.

satoru whimpered, curling up, eyes squeezed shut for effect. “you got me. this is the end. tell my mom i love her. tell your mom i don’t love her. tell my dad he owes me twenty bucks.” he peeked one eye, gauging you, breath hitching.

your heart stuttered—he was faking, clearly, but doubt whispered: what if? tears pricked as you sniffled. “satoru, you idiot!” you choked, voice wobbling, “you can’t die! who am i gonna fight with if you die?!” you dropped beside him, dirt cold.

“i dunno…” he groaned, head lolling, faint and pitiful. “maybe get a pet goldfish. name it satoru junior.”

“but i don’t want a goldfish!”

“too bad… this is fate…” he wheezed, going limp, playing dead.

“shut up! shut up, stupid! you’re not allowed to die!” you cried, throwing yourself onto him, hugging tight, tears soaking his shirt.

satoru wailed, chest shaking, real tears mixing with fake. “ow, ow, ow! you’re squishing me!” he pushed at your shoulders.

“I’M SORRY, OKAY?! I DIDN’T MEAN TO KILL YOU!” you sobbed, hugging harder.

“YOU’RE KILLING ME RIGHT NOW! STOP HUGGING ME SO TIGHT!” he wailed, kicking, feet smacking dirt.

“DON’T DIIIIE!”

“I WON’T IF YOU GET OFF ME, YOU GREMLIN!”

“PROMISE?!”

“YES! I PROMISE!” he shouted, hoarse, flopping back in defeat.

“PINKY PROMISE?!” you pressed, holding out your trembling pinky.

“I CAN’T PINKY PROMISE IF YOU’RE CRUSHING ME, LOSER!” he snapped, tears streaming, hair sticking to his dirt-smeared face.

eventually, your sobs calmed into sniffles—your grip loosening as exhaustion took over. satoru’s cries faded into tired little hiccups, his chest still rising and falling fast beneath you. the playground settled back into quiet, the night wrapping around you like a heavy, damp cloak.

you fell asleep with him right there, sprawled across the cold playground floor, too worn out to move. you curled up against satoru, your face smushed into his shoulder, your breath evening out into soft, snotty snores. satoru, despite all his whining, let an arm flop lazily over you, his own snores mixing with yours as drool pooled between you.

your dads found you like that, a tangled heap of dirt and tears under the moonlight.

“oh, for fuck’s sake.” your dad muttered, rubbing his face with a tired hand, his voice rough with exasperation. he stood there, hands on his hips, staring down at the mess you’d made of yourselves.

“wait, wait,” satoru’s dad whispered, already fumbling for his phone, a grin tugging at his lips despite the late hour. “we have to take a picture.” he crouched down, angling the camera to catch the full disaster—your drooling face, satoru’s sprawled limbs, the abandoned juice box lying pitifully in the dirt nearby. the flash went off, immortalizing the chaos, and the night carried on, oblivious to the two little warriors who’d fought themselves to sleep.

the morning after your playground disaster hits like a dodgeball to the face, jolting you awake with your dad’s laugh booming through the walls, drowning out the birds chirping meanly outside. you blink against sunlight stabbing through your blinds, legs caught in sheets, and stumble out of bed in messy pajamas—one sleeve drooping, hair a wild puff.

you shuffle downstairs, steps creaking, eyes gummy with sleep, and freeze. there, on the mantle, sits the awful proof—you and satoru, a muddy pile under broken monkey bars, drool on your face, his arm flopped over you, both smeared with dirt and chaos.

your dad’s laugh erupts again, shaking the couch as he slaps his knee, grinning huge.

“look at you two! thick as thieves!” he hollers, wiping a tear, his flannel stretching tight.

you squeak—a whiny, horrified sound—hands flying to your face. “it’s so gross!” you wail, voice muffled, peeking at the photo—your drooly cheek squished against satoru’s shoulder—and step back, foot scuffing the floor. “burn it, pleeease!”

“oh no you don’t.” your mom snaps from the kitchen, stirring coffee like she’s brewing a curse, burnt toast smog around her. her glare could zap you dead. “running off over flowers—with that gojo boy? you’re lucky you’re not grounded forever.”

you cringe, twisting your fingers, shoulders curling.

“aw, honey,” your dad chuckles, sipping juice, all calm. “she was just eloping with satoru a little early—gotta practice for the real thing!”

“don’t encourage her!” your mom barks, slamming her mug, coffee splashing, eyes flicking to satoru’s mom’s smug hydrangeas outside.

you whine, flopping against the wall. “i’m running away forever!” you mumble into your sleeve, sun warming your pout as your mom mutters—“that boy’s trouble”—her spoon clinking angrily..

next door, satoru’s trapped in his own morning horror, stomping into the kitchen, fuzzy blue slippers squeaking on tile. he freezes, blue eyes popping wide, and jabs a finger at the framed photo wobbling by the toaster—same drooly wreck, same muddy faces, a twin to your nightmare.

“rip it up!” he wails, voice cracking like he’s auditioning for tragedy, arms windmilling wildly, nearly toppling a mug. “i look like a zombie!”

his dad leans back in his chair, coffee mug in hand, completely unmoved, a lazy grin tugging at his lips as he reaches over with a broad hand.

“aw, come on,” he chuckles, ruffling satoru’s already doomed hair until the strands rebel further, flopping into his face like a snowy avalanche. “you two are inseparable—gonna tell this story at your wedding one day.”

satoru shrieks, staggering back, knocking a spoon to the floor with a clatter. “noooo! she tried to murder me!” he howls, clutching his head like it’s about to explode, hair flying as he thrashes.

his mom sips tea at the sink, sunhat tilted primly, lips smirking sharp. “if he even survives her chaos,” she murmurs, swirling her tea with a clink, “she’s a tornado.”

satoru wails louder, flopping against the fridge, face squished in despair. “my life’s ruined!” he whines, kicking the floor, sock drooping, as warm bread’s scent mixes with his sulky gloom.

satoru groans, long and dramatic, dragging his hands down his face until his cheeks puff out, his slippers scuffing as he spins to glare at the photo again—his drool-glossed lips parted, your muddy handprint on his shirt—and flops against the fridge with a thud.

“i’m never living this down,” he mutters, voice muffled as the fridge hums behind him, the scent of warm bread from the toaster oven curling around his misery while he kicks at the floor, his sock slipping further down his ankle.

outside, the hydrangeas bob in the breeze like they’re in on the joke, a silent audience to the disaster unfolding on either side of the fence. watering plants shouldn’t be this chaotic, but with satoru involved, everything turns into a summer storm—the air already thick with cicadas and the sharp, damp scent of upturned earth.  

your mom shoves the hose into your hands, coffee sloshing dangerously as she snaps ”don’t let him ruin my tulips” before vanishing inside, the screen door slamming behind her like a warning shot.

you trudge out in your slippers—ratty pink ones with a half-peeled bunny face—squinting against the sun as it beats down, smug and unrelenting, like it’s waiting for you to crack first.  

and there he is.  

satoru slinks across the yard like a villain caught mid-scheme, dragging his hose behind him, the green coil snagging on every patch of grass. his eyes—bright, sharp, unfairly blue—lock onto yours over the fence, mischief sparking in them like a lit fuse. his hair’s a mess of white strands flopping over his forehead, one fuzzy slipper kicking at the dirt as he straightens, grin already in place.  

“your dad’s a jerk for framing that,” you snap, twisting the nozzle with a jerk—only to spray your own shin, cold water seeping into your pajama pants. you scowl.  

“yours too, idiot,” he fires back, voice dripping with faux innocence as he angles his hose, misting your toes with deliberate precision. the droplets glitter like tiny knives in the sunlight. “now everyone’s gonna think we’re friends.”  

“jerk!” you yelp, and retaliate, your aim wild but effective—water arcs straight for his chest, drenching his stupid oversized shirt until it clings to him, fabric going sheer in patches.  

he barks a laugh, half-shielding himself with the hose like it’s a sword, free hand swiping wet hair from his eyes. “hey! watch it—”  

the air crackles with spray and tension, the sun casting long, warped shadows of you both across the grass. your mom’s voice slices through from the porch: “keep it civil!”—coffee cup in hand, frown sharp enough to cut.  

his mom’s shout follows, sunhat bobbing as she leans over the railing. “watch my sod!”  

“like i’d ruin her precious grass,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you redirect the hose toward your tulips, water pooling around them like a makeshift moat.  

“you would if you could aim,” satoru taunts, leaning forward, smirk widening as his hose dangles, dripping onto his already-wrecked slipper. 

“shut up,” you hiss, flicking another spray—just enough to make him hop back with a squelch.  

“oi!”  

you bite your lip to hide the grin, turning away before he sees it.  

later, through your window, the day fades into gold, and you catch him pacing his room, backlit by the dying light like some dramatic silhouette. he flips you off—long fingers splayed, wrist twisting with unnecessary flair—before yanking the blinds shut, hair flopping like a defeated flag.  

you press your nose to the glass, fogging it with your breath as you stick out your tongue. “loser.” 

outside, the cicadas drone on, relentless. across the gap, you can feel him glaring at his own window, probably plotting his next move—all sharp eyes and slouched shoulders, one slipper abandoned in defeat.  

you wouldn’t expect anything less.  

somehow, that’s the point. 

summer lingers, sticky and slow, your mornings a ritual of traded barbs across the fence—his smirk sharp, your eye-roll sharper. but the days stretch, and the battles blur, until the leaves hint at gold, and your dads' voices boom, calling you both to the yard like it’s time to rewrite the rules.

then—almost without warning—the air turns crisp. the hydrangeas fade from vibrant blue to dull brown, their petals curling like old paper, while the maple out back erupts in flames of red and orange. one morning you wake to find the grass glittering with frost, your breath fogging the window as you peer out at the changed world.

fall sweeps in with crisp air nipping at your cheeks, golden leaves crunching underfoot like nature’s tiny applause, and the dads declare it barbecue season with all the gusto of backyard kings.

they drag mismatched lawn chairs—wobbly legs and faded stripes—into your yard, smoke curling from the grill in lazy spirals, the scent of charred burgers doing a clumsy tango with your mom’s lavender bushes, their purple heads bobbing in the breeze.

you step outside, the grass cool against your slippers, and spot that cursed photo—yes, that one—propped dead center on the picnic table like a first-place ribbon from your playground disaster, its tacky gold frame glinting in the late afternoon sun.

your dad chuckles “look at our little warriors!”—his voice a rumble as he clinks a soda can with satoru’s dad, the aluminum clank sharp against the fire pit’s crackle. he leans back in his chair, flannel stretched tight over his belly, grinning like he’s just told the joke of the year.

satoru’s dad nods, sipping his own soda with a smirk. “bet they’ll run this neighborhood someday,” he says, his laugh booming over the snap of burning logs, the firelight dancing in his glasses.

your mom’s mouth thins into a tight line, a silent protest as she crosses her arms, muttering “over-fertilized nonsense” at the hydrangeas peeking over the fence like nosy neighbors. her eyes narrow, sharp as the lavender’s scent, while satoru’s mom hums louder—a smug little tune—pruning her bushes with a snip-snip of her shears, each cut a tiny victory carved into the air.

you and satoru are squeezed onto a rickety bench, paper plates wobbling precariously between your knees, the wood creaking like it’s begging for mercy.

he elbows you hard—his bony arm jabbing your side—making your soda fizz over the rim in a bubbly hiss, and you scrunch your nose, glaring at him through the corner of your eye.

“this is your fault,” you hiss, shoving him back with a quick nudge, ketchup smearing your fingers like war paint as your plate tilts dangerously.

“nah, yours framed it first,” he retorts, flicking a fry at your face—his long fingers quick and precise, his blue eyes glinting with mischief as it sails through the air.

you catch it mid-flight with a snap of your hand, popping it into your mouth with a defiant crunch. “good, hope they frame it in the hallway,” you snap, your pout deepening as you chew, glaring at his smug face.

“hope you get detention,” he mutters, leaning closer, his white hair flopping forward like a messy curtain, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

“hope you get ketchup in your eye,” you fire back, flicking your stained fingers at him—he flinches just a bit, his smirk faltering for a split second.

you shove him again, a quick push with your shoulder, and he shoves back, his slipper brushing your leg—your plate flips onto your lap with a sad plop, ketchup splattering your shorts like a crime scene.

“ugh, you’re the worst!” you yelp, smearing a dollop of ketchup onto his arm—his t-shirt sleeve now a canvas of red streaks—and you pout harder, lips trembling with mock fury.

“you’re welcome!” he laughs, snagging a fry from the mess on your lap with a quick swipe, popping it into his mouth with a grin that shows too many teeth, his cheeks dimpling.

“quit stealing my food!” you snap, swatting at his hand—your fingers barely graze him as he dodges, leaning back on the bench like he’s king of the chaos, his fuzzy blue slippers swinging lightly.

“it’s payment for sitting next to you,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head, his t-shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of his stomach as he smirks, daring you to argue.

your mom’s glare from the porch could melt steel—she stands there, arms crossed, a shadow against the sunset—while his mom’s pruning pauses, her shears glinting as she shoots you both a look that screams behave, her sunhat tilting like a crown of judgment.

you huff, plotting to fling a pickle slice at his head, your fingers itching to grab one from your ruined plate. but the dusk sky turns orange behind your petty war, painting the yard in a warm glow, and you settle for glaring instead, your slippers scuffing the grass beneath the bench.

you slip away to the tire swing after dinner, the oak’s gnarled branches casting long shadows across the grass. the rope groans under your grip as you push off, bare ankles brushing cool blades of grass. the distant crackle of the fire pit fades behind you, replaced by the whisper of leaves overhead.

of course he follows.

pebbles skitter against your shins, each one a tiny declaration of war. you don’t have to look to know he’s smirking—can picture the way his slippers scuff against dirt with deliberate laziness. when you finally glance back, the dying light catches in his eyes, turning them electric. his hair glows like embers, white strands lit from within.

“quit it!” you snap, swatting at nothing as another stone finds its mark. your fingers tighten around the rope, knuckles going pale.

“make me,” he dares, and suddenly he’s there, long fingers wrapping around the rope. the world tilts violently as he spins you, your stomach lurching into your throat. his laughter cuts through the dizzying whirl—bright, sharp, dangerous.

“you’re gonna kill me!” the words tear free as colors blur into streaks, one slipper dangling precariously from your toes.

“maybe then you’ll stop hogging the swing!” the rope slips from his grasp, sending you wobbling to an unsteady stop. He rocks back on his heels, hands shoved deep in pockets, grin wide enough to split his face.

you’re moving before the world stops spinning—launching yourself at him with a wordless shout. you collide in a tangle of limbs, rolling through crushed grass and fallen leaves. the earth smells rich and damp beneath you, filling your lungs with each gasping breath.

from the porch, your dads’ voices carry across the yard, “there they go again!” their applause ringing through the twilight. firelight dances in their raised soda cans, painting their grinning faces in flickering gold.

your mom’s groan cuts through the celebration. “not again.”

satoru’s mother’s shriek follows, “not my sod!”

you come to rest with him pinned beneath you, knees digging into soft earth. “say sorry!” you demand, hair wild around your face. your breath comes in quick puffs, stirring the strands that have escaped into your eyes.

“never!” he gasps between laughter, his whole body shaking with it. one blue slipper hangs half-off his foot, swinging uselessly as he squirms. his eyes crinkle at the corners, bright with challenge even as he lies trapped in the grass.

later, when the fire’s burned low to embers and your dad shoves a half-melted popsicle between you with a gruff “sharing’s caring,” you could scream.

satoru takes the first bite—obnoxiously loud, teeth cracking through the ice—and his mouth goes instantly blue. “tastes better stolen,” he declares, tongue swiping at a drip sliding down his wrist. his hair’s a mess of white strands falling into his eyes, backlit by the dying firelight like some kind of haloed menace.

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, yanking the popsicle back. the cold burns your teeth when you bite down, but you force your scowl to stay put, even as your slippers swing uselessly from your toes.

“and you like it,” he sing-songs, leaning in so close you can smell the sugar on his breath. his tongue’s still stained, lolling out in a way that should be gross but just makes your fingers itch to shove him.

so you do.

one sharp push to his chest sends him sprawling into the grass with a soft oof. “dream on,” you snap, but he’s already laughing, arms splayed like he’s making snow angels in the dirt, gaze fixed on the purpling sky.

dusk settles around you both, thick with woodsmoke and the lazy chirp of crickets. your pout falters—just for a second—when the popsicle’s sweetness hits your tongue again. across the yard, the fire pit’s glow paints long shadows that dance over his grin when you sneak a glance, already scheming. always scheming.

by the time you drag yourself inside, the night’s gone quiet save for the memory of his laughter, clinging like burrs to your thoughts. the stars blink down, sealing your truce—or your war—in their cool, indifferent light.

the years blur like a popsicle melting under a summer sun, sticky and sweet, your battles with satoru piling up like crumpled homework in a backpack—each one louder, messier, sharper. 

sixth grade drags you into school’s squeaky halls, where lockers slam and whispers sting, and satoru’s there, always, his white hair flopping, his lanky frame shooting up overnight like a weed that won’t quit. he towers over you by spring, his sneakers scuffing the linoleum as he leans too close, smirking “shorty” while flicking your forehead—his voice cracks mid-taunt, a squeaky betrayal that makes you cackle, water spraying from your bottle like a victory fountain across his shirt. 

you chase him through the cafeteria, trays wobbling, your laughter bouncing off the walls as he trips over his own gangly legs, his blue eyes wide with mock outrage. your moms’ war rages on—hers with her smug wind chimes, yours with that chipped gnome glaring from the lawn—while you and Satoru hurl insults over the fence, hoses flailing, your shadows tangling longer now, stretching into dusk like a sloppy braid that won’t untie. 

but the walks home, your backpacks swinging, his slippers squishing, carry a rhythm neither of you name—a truce woven into scuffs and shoves, your glares softening when no one’s looking, the cicadas humming like they’re in on it.

middle school crashes in like a rogue wave, and satoru’s growth spurt turns him into a walking skyscraper, his arms too long, his grin too wide, his voice settling into a teasing lilt that makes your stomach flip in ways you won’t admit. 

you’re still elbowing him in the ribs, still dodging his paint-flecked flicks in art class, but now he’s stealing your fries at lunch, his long fingers snatching them with a lazy “tax for sitting here” while you kick his shin under the table. 

the block parties keep coming, your dads clinking beers and shouting “teamwork!” as you and satoru spill lemonade, tumble into grass, and wrestle over the last popsicle—his blue-stained tongue lolling out as he pins you, your shriek loud enough to scare the crickets. 

yet something’s shifting, soft as the breeze rustling new leaves—you catch him staring once, his ears pink, his smirk faltering when you shove him off the tire swing, and your own cheeks burn when he lingers too close, his shadow swallowing yours. through your glass window, he’s still tossing that rubber ball—thunk-thunk—his frame filling the frame now, his grin flashing across the gap like a sparkler you can’t look away from. 

you mutter “he’s so annoying” into your pillow, but your lips twitch, your glow-in-the-dark stars winking above, and the night hums with a truth neither of you will say: you’re magnets, doomed to clash, bound to stick, your war softening into something that glows brighter than the summer sun.

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @lilychan176 @n1vi @myahfig4 @here4dafics @stfusatoru @mintcheery @44ina @twinkling-moonlilie-reblogs @getoicious @flowerpot113 @satoruxsc @whytfisgojosohot @emoedgylord @your-mum3000 @chich1ookie @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @drunkenlionwrites @katsukiseyebrows @heartsforseo @beabamboo @bnbaochauuu @cupidsfrost @ethereal-moonlit @arabellasolstice @captainhoneythebunny @scryarchives @fancypeacepersona @anathemaspeaks @ilovebeansyay

plz comment if u want to be added on the tag list xx

[waitingandwishing]

Hi wish!! If u arent too busy i was wondering if u could do sbg x a reader whos pretty popular in school comes from a well off family kinda like aidens and seems pretty intimidating at first but turns out to be really sweet and a considerate person?

-> context: reader is pretty chill

-> fandom: school bus graveyard

-> warnings/tags: female reader, reader has sort of a resting bitch face

ASHLYNN

She thought you were... Arrogant at first. You walked around like you owned the place. Everyone watched you, stepping out of the way like it’s natural. She guessed it must've been nice. Expensive clothes, perfect posture. You're too polished. Too quiet. Kind of intimidating with that really serious face you had on almost every class, 24/7. She couldn't imagine you ever having a bad day (Even though you sort of looked like you did) or a real conversation.

But then, she saw... More. During Savannah, you had given her ear plugs when she had winced at the loud sounds in the house, you had trusted her and listened to her even when Tyler didn't in that motel room. You didn't understand her but trusted her even when she was a complete stranger.

She remembered your name, too. That shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Ashlynn noticed how soft your eyes got when someone talked about their day. Or how you slowed down your steps when she or Logan was walking behind. You’re still too shiny, too well-put-together. But... That’s not all you are.

You sat next to her at lunch when everyone in the group was busy with extracurriculars and said she looked lonely. Ashlynn told you she wasn’t. You didn’t believe her, but didn’t push about it either. You ate your sandwich and asked if she liked old music. Ashlynn said something sarcastic and you laughed. Not just with your mouth but with your eyes too. She didn’t know she liked that look on you. And now she kept thinking about it. About you.

AIDEN:

At first Aiden pegged you as one of those types. Another polished rich kid with a perfect smile and a reputation built on image. Probably boring. Probably soft. You were kind of scary too with that face of yours. But you didn’t flinch when he pushed boundaries. You didn’t show off, but you didn’t back down either. That quiet confidence? It wasn’t fake. And that smile? Yeah, there was something real behind it. Sweet, even. Unexpected.

He then noticed the way you listened when people talked. Really listened. The way you helped someone without making a scene about it. The way your eyes softened when you thought no one was watching. You didn’t chase thrills like he did, but you weren’t afraid of them either.

Suddenly, you weren’t just “the pretty, popular one.” You were someone real, someone surprising, someone Aiden wanted to know more about! You didn’t chase thrills like he did, but you weren’t afraid of them either.

It didn’t hit all at once. It crept in between moments, like the way his stomach flipped when you laughed, or how e started looking for you in a room without meaning to. And maybe the worst part? You weren’t trying to impress him. You weren’t even trying to change him. You just saw the real him and didn’t look away. That’s when Aiden knew. Not because his heart raced, but because it finally didn’t have to.

LOGAN:

He noticed you before you even spoke. Everyone did. You carried yourself like you belonged. To everyone, including him, you were untouchable. Too cool, too pretty, too everything. The kind of person he'd admire from a distance and never speak to unless absolutely necessary. Not because you were mean, just because you were intimidating. Like getting too close might burn a little.

Logan assumed you’d be like everyone else in that crowd. Popular and politely indifferent. But then you had confronted Barron when he had been harassing him for his homework answers and asked how his project was going with actual interest.

That’s when things got worse. Or better. Because now he couldn’t just write you off as some unreachable stereotype. Now you were real. Kind. Thoughtful. Still intimidating, sure, but you had been... Nice. And genuine. He could get behind that.

You had helped patch him up after that phantom gave him a nasty scrape across his torso. Logan couldn't help but go pink when your hands gently traced along his torso to help him. You were so kind, and so... Attractive? You went from “intimidating and way out of my league” to “oh no, I like them” in the span of a few heartbeats. Every time you talked to him, even just a “hi” or a casual glance, he short-circuited a little. Practiced lines? Gone. Coolness? Nonexistent.

TAYLOR

To Taylor, you looked… Sharp. Put-together. Maybe a little cold. Like someone who had it all figured out and didn’t need anyone else to slow them down. It wasn’t like she thought you were mean. Just… Distant. The kind of person she wasn't sure she were allowed to talk to. Like saying the wrong thing would make you turn away.

The more time she spent with you, the more the edges around you softened. She noticed how you checked in with people without making a big deal of it, how you always seemed to know when someone needed a moment of peace, a distraction, a laugh.

You weren’t intimidating to her now, you were someone she admired, respected… Similar to her brother but not in a loud, overwhelming way. Just in that quiet, steady way. She liked that, she liked how powerful you were with your kindness.

Everything was a blur for the whole group. Shouting, blood. Tyler, pale and still. Taylor tried to hold it together. For him. For her mom. But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and her chest felt like it was caving in. Taylor never really had anyone really listen to her. She didn't want to burden Tyler, or bother her mom, so when you simply let her cry on your shoulder she didn't know what to do but know that she loved you.

TYLER

He saw you across the hall, surrounded by people, laughing like you owned the place. Great. Another one. You looked like the type who had it all, nice clothes, good grades, effortless charm. Probably used to people bending over backwards just to stay in your orbit. It annoyed him, it got under his skin.

At first, Tyler didn’t want to admit it. It didn’t fit with the image he had in his head. The cool, untouchable, perfect you. The more he saw, the more it messed with his brain. You didn’t need to act all sweet and innocent. You didn’t need anyone’s validation. You just… were.

Maybe it was the way you smiled at people, how you actually listened to what others said. It drove him nuts, because now he didn’t know what to think. Maybe you weren’t so intimidating. Maybe you were… Kind. Sweet, even. That, he couldn’t wrap his head around. You, sweet?

Honestly he hated you. Every time he saw you do something sweet, something thoughtful, something that wasn’t for the benefit of your “perfect” image, it made his chest tighten. It didn’t help that Tyler found himself watching you more than they should. He'd catch himself staring at you when you weren’t looking, studying the way you smiled at people, the way your voice softened when you were being kind. And damn it, it was messing with him. You were everything he thought he didn’t want, and yet, suddenly, everything he wanted. You were sweet. And he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

BEN

At first, you seemed like the kind of person who didn’t need anyone else. The kind of person who could fill a room without saying a word, whose every move was sharp and composed. You were intimidating, like you lived in a world Ben wasn't invited to.

Of course, he had his suspicions based on stereotypes and his past. Were you a bully? He wasn't sure. But those thoughts soon evaporated when he saw you defending Logan from Barron. He had smiled to himself then. It was nice to see someone with as much power as you did at this school stand up to an asshole like him.

Still, there was a hesitation. He didn’t know how to break through your walls, how to reach you when he couldn’t even speak. It's never stopped him before, but Ben could only watch from afar, silently hoping you’d notice him. Maybe even see him the way he sort of saw you. Someone who understood how to exist in the quiet, the kind of person who could connect without saying a word.

The way you smiled, the way your eyes softened when you helped someone without hesitation, the way you seemed to see people, not just the surface. It was a strange kind of affection, Ben couldn’t find the words to explain it. But every time you walked past him, it felt like their heart fluttered in a way that music couldn’t capture. He didn’t know if you saw him the way he saw you. He didn’t know if you’d ever understand, if you’d ever see past the silence to what they truly felt. But he couldn’t help it. He liked you. He really liked you.

[shirajellyfish]

So many writers put so much work into their robot lore and how the robots work and where the components are and meanwhile I'm just like

High research writers with actual notes on how robots work: I both respect and fear you. And most of all love you.

[yougavememyopia]

Here's the result from the poll! Sorry, it took long. I lost my progress and had to write it over T-T. Longer than usual to make it up to my lovely peeps. Anyway, here is the confident, popular yandere who becomes a desperate pathetic mess for you.

Popular yandere, who was never alone. Circled with adored gazes and loud chatters, people gathered around him like he was some kind of celebrity. His overstretched smile full of fake glee. Crinkled eyes masking a hollow emptiness. No one would care enough to truly look at him, all too busy talking nineteen to the dozen.

It was so easy to predict them. The mundane topics boring him to death. Nothing exciting ever happened. Gritting his teeth, he endured their ramblings. Endured their dullness. Their stupid problems.

Taps of his pencil slapped the wooden desk rapidly. A practiced, charming grin when he greeted you— his new project partner. The invisible loser at the background whose face he rather recognized.

"Hey there, guess we're partners, huh? What a total unplanned coincidence! Uhh, anyway, you can pick the topic. Nono, please, go ahead. I'll just follow your lead."

His crew strolled passed you in the fields. Always sinked down on the grass with your back against the concrete wall. Blue light reflected on your face, nose buried deep in your phone.

Your lack of a life amused him. Fascinated at how isolated you were, and yet you were beaming. Giggling at your screen while your posture got worse. Not seeming a bit sad about being alone or wasting your time playing on a machine.

Simple enquiring quickly led to obsessive stalking. Justified by stating how he was merely observing you. Interested in your name and your hobbies, what you ate for the day, where you walked when you had no school, how the interior of your home looked like. A bit of curiosity, that was all!

The school project was the key to getting closer to you. Instant refusal to every person coming his way, sweet talking them into grouping together by pointing out their strengths. No objections were made. His judgment very well-trusted. Now you had the idolized annoyance as your group member, exactly like he planned.

FINALLY, he could talk to the nobody persistently invading his mind. The endless thoughts of you giving him heartache. He couldn't get his beauty sleep at night, and when he did, the dreams were all about you. He wasn't normally the type to approach people, not like he had the time to. Every waking moment of his day was stuffed with zealous yet shallow admirers. Everyone loved him. Gawking at his good looks, adoring his style, praising his intelligence.

You didn't even bat an eye.

He was nonexistent to you. Eyes boring into indifference. Frustrated, at how you treated him like he was someone insignificant. People already began to question his strange, out of the blue behaviour. How he stared at the wall without blinking. You were getting the best of him— he couldn't keep his mask on, uncontrollably snapping at people, apologizing as if he was having a bad day. Every day was a bad day. A torturous wait for you to just look his way.

If you didn't notice him anytime soon, he was going to do something crazy.

Thanks to the project, you finally spoke to him. Irritated, sure. But you saw him, a dopey grin on his face when you repeated back his name. Even getting away with patting your shoulder. He greeted you in the hallways the day after, approached you during lunch the next week, and then started to text you like crazy the following month. No idea how clingy he was acting until you pointed it out. Falling more in love with your weirdness and hidden personality.

You acted uncertain towards him. Hesitant that this was a prank. Afraid that you'd become a laughing stock if this progressed any further. So you built a metaphorical wall between you.

Questions after questions overwhelmingly flooded his brain. Your behaviour much different than the way he was used to being treated. Sarcastic remarks and harsh dismissals hurt his poor, sad heart.

He started to crave even the slightest approval from those around him— what did they think of his carefully picked outfit? Or his light makeup and shiny hair? He needed you to drool over him like the rest of the school did, yet you still didn't trust him. Accusing him of being fake, when all he wanted was to befriend you.

"B-but I swear, I genuinely want to be your friend. Please, listen. I can be myself around you. I don't have to be perfect, y'know? I thought you'd understand..."

As you grew more doubtful of his intentions, he became more hopeless. Desperate to change your mind while fighting the insecurity that loomed over him.

You pushed him to completely give in to the urge to follow you home and watch over you from a distance. He'd ask his many connections to keep an idea on you when he couldn't, but since their questions and teasing and judgement would get on his nerves, he settled for a tracking device instead. The digital dot always beeping in the same, familiar spots on the map.

His mind jumbled into a chaotic mess. Your dislike for him beyond his comprehension. All he ever did was be nice, so why did you not give him the time of day? Gifts nor compliments, nothing was good enough for you. He had never did anything like this before. Chase after someone. Love, actually love someone.

For your attention, he was willing to do whatever.He longed to be useful to you. Be at your beck and call at any time like a loyal dog. Everything from your terrible posture to your poor diet to your sleep schedule, he could take care of it. He could take care of you.

In the end, he had no patience, he couldn't stand the wait— he had to ask you out. A spontaneous minute that he wished he could take back. Stutters left his lips while he tried to make the date sound super romantic. Roses, candle lit dinner, moonlight. A perfected plan delivered with anxious jitter. Red face burning hotter than glowing coals and big, round eyes awaited the response.

"Eh... no thanks."

His eyes twitched. You were a loser! A common known label that he hated to use. But how could you turn down the first guy who pursued you? Choosing fictional anime crushes over a live flawless boy pleading for a date. How long were you going to stay in your lonely shell as a kissless virgin?

His determination didn't waver. He was willing to do anything to win you over. Countless attempts turned down due to excuses. Weeks after weeks of him chasing after you. You were driving him insane. Like you were doing this on purpose. "No?!? W-Wha... Why not? You don't want to go outside, you don't want to come to my place, why... Why can't I come to yours? I-I don't care if it's messy or if it s-smells. I actually love it. Um, I just need a chance, please. I need to prove to you that my love is real."

How did he end up being the one begging at your feet? Fingers clenching around your calves, while he looked up with a shameful blush on his face. Embarrassing himself in front of everyone he knew. Their gasps and murmurs ringing through his ears. Humiliation turning his body weak. Hot unwanted tears flooding his vision. He didn't care— he couldn't take the rejection anymore.

"Please believe me, please. It hurts so bad. Ah, I can't breathe. I love you so much. Pleasepleaseplease don't push me away. Don't cast me aside. I want to be with you. I want to be with you..."

He could barely make out your face with the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His forehead rested on your knee, his head down as if waiting a death sentence. It was getting more awkward the longer he stayed on his knees. Yet he stayed glued to the harsh, cold floor. He'd never felt emotions to this level of intensity before you came. The hurt tightening his chest. A vice grip clamping down to crush his lungs.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you sighed. Feeling bad about the dishevelled flawed mess he turned into. Sweat worked up on your skin from the many eyes staring at the scene.

"You won't stop until I say yes, huh? I guess you proved you were telling the truth. So, fine. Let's get going now... You brought quite the audience here."

"..." His head remained stuck against your knees. Hands shaking against your legs while he exhaled. Not budging at all. The hushed whispers exchanged in the background making your blood boil. "What are you guys staring at? Scram! Go away! Leave him alone."

And they slowly faded one by one. You ran a hand through the soft, silky hair of the needy boy. More attentive to the mess on the floor to care about your surroundings anymore. Sitting on the floor beside him, you lazily wrapped his arms around your neck. A finger pressing his chin up so you could take a good look at him. He sniffed. Eyes all puffy and red. A deprived beg escaping his glossy lips.

"Please... I—"

You cut him off with a small smile. "You can hug me until you're satisfied. I'll be here."

Arms tangled tighter around you. Head tilted in, and you realized what this meant. A hint of anxiety bursted butterflies your stomach. But you went for it. Suppressing the flinch and moving in. Eyes half-lidded when velvety flesh met. Low hum buzzing from him. He pulled you closer and closer. Lips parted while you snaked your tongue into his mouth. A loud moan met your eardrums. Your little theory of him wanting you to take charge confirmed correct.

He melted like butter despite how you barely knew what you were doing. Uneven movements and unsure licks were just met with pathetic whimpers. Each stroke of saliva making him hot and dizzy. You had a way of making him unbelievably sensitive. No clue to why he felt like this was his first real kiss too. Never understanding the fuss about this pleasant feeling until now.

He pulled back for breathe much too soon, and panted against your face. "I'm so glad we found each other, darling. C-can I call you that? Since I'm your b-boyfriend now... Right?"

You didn't answer. He didn't give you a chance to. Another peck was placed on your lips. Desperate tongue reaching to wet your lips while you cupped his face. Hands grabbing your wrists to ensure you keep them there. Determination ran through him; He was going to plead and plead until you finally gave in.

[jjjjisun]

All Because Of A Nap

Tzuyu X Male Reader | 20039 words

TW: Incest

—

It wasn't something I planned. I'd swear that to myself later, again and again. When I look back, it wasn't as if I should have anticipated it all along. It just... happened. Okay, part of it, a large part of it, was my doing but I swear she started it. My head is still all mixed up about exactly how we got here. I guess I'll just start from the beginning.

My little sister Tzuyu was cute, hot even. Sure I've occasionally gotten excited upon seeing her scantily clad about the house, but we were truly normal siblings. Tzuyu and I fought, played, loved and hated each other the way most brothers and sisters do. She had her friends; I had mine. Sometimes we saw each other out on a Friday or Saturday night, but other than to try and hit on her friends, I pretty much stayed out of the way. It wasn't one sided either, as I had to deal with friends hitting on my little sis too.

Admittedly, she was the best looking of her friends, many of which I tried and occasionally succeeded in taking home with me. So, I just sucked it up and accepted that people were going to gawk at her wherever she went, even if she was my little sister and they were my own damned buddies.

Tzuyu was eighteen - pretty young for already having her first semester under her belt in college. She was on the volleyball team, had a steady boyfriend, and seemed to be popular in her circles. She was a pretty confident and independent girl, but I still looked out for her whenever she needed it. She had a fake ID too, and that combined with her 110 lbs. or so and inexperience with alcohol established the watchful eye I kept on her.

Like I said, she was cute. She had warm brown hair that she wore in all kinds of ways; I thought it looked best in a ponytail. Her body was athletic, but she had amazing, shapely breasts that looked like a fun handful to play with. She was almost 5'-7," and toned every inch of it - most volleyball girls were. It wasn't like I'd been fixated on her young body, but the uniforms volleyball players wore, with the tight little shorts and tops... I couldn't help but notice how enticing she'd become. Her adorable smile and deep blue eyes were just the cherry on top; I admired them often growing up.

Sure, being raised under the same roof we'd caught each other changing or coming out of the shower once or twice. Tzuyu had definitely been the first girl whose pussy I'd seen. There was that one time when I'd accidentally walked into her room while she was bottomless and bending over to pull on that damned uniform. I learned quickly that not all of them were so small and hidden between puffy little lips the way hers was...though I wished they were.

I imagine mine were the first male parts Tzuyu had seen. I was admittedly proud to see her reaction and glad she caught me soon after waking up when my morning wood had just begun to fade. Hey, that she was my sister doesn't mean I minded her seeing me at decent size; I thought maybe she'd even tell one of her friends. Then again, who was I kidding, the last thing I was going to do is tell my buddies that Tzuyu's was as perfect and sexy as they all thought she would be when naked.

All of this might make it sound like I had the hots for my sister, but I swear I did everything a brother could to not to make her an object of my fantasies. Living with such a hottie I didn't always succeed, but I did my best. I simply hoped that I got a shot with a girl as attractive;- Tzuyu definitely set the bar high.

And then, in one fateful moment things just... unraveled.

------

It was a pretty standard routine for us. Every couple of weeks when Tzuyu and I got antsy, or it was a holiday like this time, we'd make the long drive home. I did most of the driving and the little princess slept when it suited her. We made good time on this trip home for the semester break but I was still beat when we got back and needed to sleep of the road's monotony.

I was minding my business, taking a nap, when I found myself lying next to my little sister in her bed. I'd simply gone in there to lie down after a long drive home, no other reason. Her bedroom was closer than mine and always colder - far better for a much needed nap. Fuck if I was going to walk twenty more steps to my door. She must have wanted the same thing and came in later after chatting with our parents downstairs.

It wasn't uncommon, but ultimately my laziness had caused a small problem. As usual whenever I wake up, I had a rock hard erection. And with a pretty, slumbering teenager asleep next to me in her bed, my mind was soon racing with thoughts of taboo and risk. I hadn't intended it, I just couldn't prohibit my mind from putting two and two together: my arousal and my hot little sister.

My eyes wandered; I needed to 'examine the situation'. The covers were pulled over her so I couldn't see what she was wearing, but she was cuddled close enough that I could feel her bare legs against mine. She must have taken her jeans off and gotten in bed with me after I'd fallen asleep. Her hair was pushed back and I could see that second piercing on top of her ear I always liked.

'Oh no,' I thought. 'Please tell me she's asleep and has no idea.' It wouldn't have worried me if Tzuyu hadn't snuggled up so close. My erection was dangerously close to my eighteen-year-old sister and I would die if I had to explain myself because she woke up. It was likely a total accident, but I didn't know what to do; any movement could stir her awake and who knew what she might think or say.

My cock betrayed me. I heard her slow breathing, I felt her warm skin, and my hardness swelled with want that hadn't even consulted my conscious brain. It nudged against her butt, poking directly into a tender cheek. I held my breath, hoping...praying that she hadn't woken up. When I thought the coast was clear I lifted my hips and slid backward as slowly as possible, doing my best not to shake the bed or call any more attention to the forbidden contact I was making with Tzuyu's ass.

I settled about half a foot backward on the bed, listening to my little sister breathe and thinking I might have avoided a very awkward situation. Just after I came to rest, I heard a loud creak from her bed. I cursed inwardly, thinking I was done for. At least I wasn't still poking into her with an erection she could easily take the wrong way.

It was then I realized I was mistaken. It was my little sister that had caused the sound as she'd rolled my direction, bringing her hand behind her to the place where I'd touched her. And she didn't take my hard cock the wrong way, she took it in her hand. Without saying a word she wrapped her fingers around it over my thin athletic shorts.

I didn't just roll her over and fuck her or something. No way, this was my little sis and it could be a total accident that she had me in her hand. She might even have been asleep.

She simply stayed still with her fingers wrapped fully around me. It seemed like she was testing me, seeing if I would be the first to pull away. I didn't move an inch, but again my hardness gave me away. It throbbed in Tzuyu's hand, telling her how good it was to feel her holding on to her brother's cock. She maneuvered her palm to my head, extending all of her fingers and then closing them down over my shaft before drawing away and stimulating my tip wonderfully.

At first I'd wanted to believe that she was sleeping. Surely my little sis had just grabbed for something in her slumber and I just happened to be in the right place. But after a moment or so, I could feel her fingers searching and stroking. She was sliding her hand up and down the length of my shaft. People don't just do that; I knew Tzuyu had to be awake and touching me purposefully.

Even through my shorts I couldn't help but growl in approval. I didn't know what had gotten into her, but Tzuyu's hand felt so good I couldn't fathom stopping her. Did she suddenly decide she wanted to fool around with me? Was it a problem with her boyfriend? What could make her act this way with seemingly no warning? All those thoughts crowded my mind, still planted firmly in her hand.

And she didn't stop there either. I laid there anxiously as Tzuyu put her hand on my abdomen, both of us knowing what she intended to do.

Her fingers halted. The pause was long enough to make we wonder if the naughty eighteen-year-old had changed her mind or realized what she was doing. I was nervous and yet craving my sister's touch again.

I had been looking at the back of her head, with hair behind her delicate ear, and I watched as she slowly turned toward me. She looked directly into my eyes. I knew there hadn't been a mistake; she knew exactly what she was doing. I knew it better when she slid her fingers under my waistband and once again brought them to my now bare member. Her eyes were locked into mine the whole time.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't fathom what I had done to deserve my beautiful little sister's daring hand stroking me as she began to move it up and down. I tried so hard to hold her gaze but once or twice my eyes rolled in response to a strong grasp of my sister's soft palm.

Maybe I should have questioned her. Maybe I should have asked if something was wrong and she was acting out. The doubts crossed my mind for one last second when I watched my little sister do something entirely new.

Still staring into my eyes, she brought her hand out of my pants and quickly pulled my waistband down and over my bulging cock. Then, with a kind of mischievous confidence, she brought her hand to her mouth and licked a path up her palm before sinking two fingers at a time past her wet lips.

I was speechless - as I had been the entire time. I was seeing the hottest girl I knew do the sexiest thing I'd ever witnessed, awestruck as she lowered her hand back to my painfully hard staff.

Her hand slid easily over my shaft before she paid incredible attention to my sensitive tip. My hips thrust involuntarily toward her, and I finally saw Tzuyu crack a grin in pride. She rewarded me with a quickened pace, slipping her hand over my head and all the way down my shaft over and over again. Too soon I felt I was going to cum.

I reached out for her body. I simply had to feel her, to get my hands on her soft breasts or that toned midsection I'd seen too many times before. Now was my chance, the way I was spooning her gave me plenty of access to her perfect little body.

With her hand back the way it was, her chest was poised proudly for my admiration. I started with my hand on her thigh before guiding it up over the gentle curve of her hip. I was careful not to go under her shirt as I neared her ribcage, not wanting to push my luck. It was a thin cotton top, with a small spaghetti strap I could see just above the covers on her smooth, tanned shoulder.

Tzuyu purred quietly when I grasped her tit in my hand. They'd always looked so soft and squeezable and now I had proof as I cupped it carefully. Where before I hadn't even allowed the thought of feeling up my little sister beyond a quiet daydream, now that I had her, I couldn't get enough. I wanted to run my hands over every inch of her, and soon I worked my fingers under the hem of her shirt.

She didn't protest as I daringly climbed higher, feeling the bottom of her ribcage again, this time without the shirt atop it. She inhaled deeply when my fingers finally reached her breast, and I took her nipple quickly in between my thumb and forefinger. Pinching it, I heard my little sister moan. Grasping her, I felt her hips writhe beneath the covers. I pushed her shirt up swiftly and threw the covers off of us in one motion, I wanted to see her.

All this while, we hadn't said a word, and she kept stroking me below. Her head was still turned in my direction and her eyes held mine,, though occasionally we broke when pleasure got the better of us. With the blankets thrown off, I gazed down at my sister's beautiful frame. Her shirt was bunched above her breasts where I'd shoved it, and our hips had drawn closer. Now and again I could feel my tip brush against her bottoms, sending a shiver up my spine.

I continued massaging her breasts and midsection, and the look in her eyes told me she loved it. Tzuyu licked her hand a second time to wet it and once again placed it on my cock. Watching her hand descend my eyes stopped on her underwear - a wide pink band of lace wrapped around her cute hips and butt with a strip of white between her legs connecting and covering what I knew would be a tight little pussy.

The thought inspired me, I wanted to know what it would feel like if I got my fingers to Tzuyu's mound. Was she enjoying this as much as me? Would she be warm and wet like I imagined? I motioned toward my sister's panty line with the hand that had been playing with her tits, hearing her sigh regrettably that I'd left them alone.

As soon as my fingers brushed the band of pink lace around her hips, Tzuyu reached for the bottoms and pushed them down around her pert butt. As she shimmied to remove them, my head contacted dangerously close to her most forbidden place which I had yet to touch. Her willingness to take off her panties both excited and confused me, almost as much as the gentle prod to the gap between her thighs.

I was eager, I couldn't help it. I grasped her hips and thrust forward. I don't know what I was thinking. The haste at which we'd stepped into this exciting and yet frightening bout of incest had me doing before considering any kind of consequences.

Tzuyu flinched when she felt my cock between her legs. I was spooning her perfectly so if I played my cards right I could soon be fucking my little sister. Minutes ago the thought would have made me chastise myself back to reality, but now that I had the chance I wanted nothing more than to take it. I shoved my hips against Tzuyu's backside. She reached back quickly and held me off.

"Nuhh uhhh," she huffed, freezing me in place.

I wanted to so badly, my little sister was right there for the taking. Seeing her body laid out on the bed, her full tits holding in place and her abs flexing as she ground her hips against me - I wanted to simply pin her against the bed and push into her quim where my member lingered so frighteningly close.

But it was those hips and her beautifully soft butt gyrating against me that caused me to reconsider. She was trying hard to make it pleasurable for me despite being unwilling to go further.; Tzuyu was a good girl and would not tease her brother without reward, apparently.

I was close now, and though disappointed I would not be able to take Tzuyu's inner temperature with my own pulsing hot shaft, when I felt her hips rolling impressively around my cock, my regret subsided. I leaned toward my hot little teen sibling, and she back toward me.

At first I let Tzuyu continue to rotate her hips around so my cock slid beneath her lips without my moving a muscle. I had my answer to my baby sister's arousal, she was so wet I could hear the slick sound of our act below. Eventually I began to return her efforts with thrusts of my own. I was holding on to her hip and forcing my pulsing staff between her legs.

It was obvious I was doing right by Tzuyu as well, because within a moment or two her breaths were labored and quiet moans escaped her mouth between them. Each time I pushed against her, I sensed my cock rubbing her clit. She was completely bare and smooth. Her skin was soft and silky the way an eighteen-year-old's should be.

I reached my hand down between her legs from the front, wanting to bring her to an orgasm as I was so desperately near mine. I quickly found her clit, pressuring it while continuing to thrust between her legs. I think it was too much for her, like the building sensation and taboo were more than she was prepared to handle because her hand shot to mine after only a few pushes against her button.

She stopped my hand, but she was unable to stop my hips. I couldn't help grunting with each thrust between my teenage sister's gap, and Tzuyu was beyond trying to conceal her enjoyment so she was moaning and gasping louder now. I worried our parents would hear; they were probably in the kitchen getting dinner ready and not far enough to be so careless. But none of that was enough to stop chasing our climaxes.

I hadn't had a chance to think about what we were doing. One thing had simply led to another and I knew that I was willingly along for the ride. Tzuyu had started it, surely, but I wanted her badly and with my hands holding her tight I wasn't going to let go until we had both finished. I loved Tzuyu so much, and what we were doing was crazy and impulsive and wrong, but I didn't care. As I slid my cock between her thighs the only thought I had was if I would get the chance to fuck my incredibly hot little sister. Tzuyu had unlocked me, for now, into unleashed desire for her and realization that she was every bit as beautiful and seductive as my buddies said. I'd always known but I'd buried it deep, until now when she was naked in bed with me and unthinkably approving of the way my cock was gliding between her legs.

Her hand started to encourage mine in circles over her clit again, and once or twice my head took a slightly different angle, just barely prying her lips apart and threatening entry. I think it got Tzuyu even hotter because of it.

Then, suddenly she was shaking. Her hand was clenched around mine and forcing it roughly against her mound. I watched as my little sister turned to muffle herself against the bed.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck... " she said into the pillow. It was too much for me.

I felt the familiar feeling of semen rising from deep inside of me. Withdrawing so my head was just within the diamond shaped opening between her thighs I spurted out what would be an incredible amount of cum onto my little sister. Still I urged my cock between, not wanting to let the wonderful feeling of her legs hugging me go away.

She was a mess, quivering and panting while I coated her with my forbidden sperm all over the place a brother was never supposed to see, let alone touch. When it was all done, and I could feel she had ridden out her orgasm, I began to take in my surroundings.

What we just did, whatever it was, had to have been as erotic a scene as I would ever experience. Tzuyu, my little sister, lay there with her shirt bunched up and panties around one ankle. She looked beautiful with a light sheen of sweat and that incredible chest of hers still rising and falling with each panting breath. And Tzuyu's tiny opening was utterly smeared with the result of our "nap."

After all, that was how it had all begun. An innocent nap on my sister's bed had ended with me pumping generously all over her young mound. God it was so wrong and simultaneously so unfathomably hot:: her little pink pussy coated in my cum and the way she was purring because of it. I desperately needed to know what she was thought of it all.

She finally turned toward me, surveying my emotions, and with raise of an eyebrow and a sideways little glance, I knew she was with me. What had happened, whatever it was, was okay with both of us. In fact I was still hard and I had not even gotten the chance to make love to my baby sister. Where it hadn't been before, now all I could think about was fucking Tzuyu, making her athletic little body squirm ... and soon.

It didn't seem she was going to allow it. She rolled off the bed and stood up from it gracefully.

"Wh...where are you going...?"

She looked at me curiously from above.

"Well..." she said, reaching for her shirt and pulling it up over her head right in front of me. "I have my brother's cum all over my pussy, and I'm not on any birth control right now soooo... I should probably take a shower and wash it off."

I was stunned... I had been the entire time. Looking at my naked little sister and admiring the body I'd just had my hands all over, I still couldn't believe what we'd just done. She looked down at the mess we had made and I did too. She was right, there was gleaming white spunk all over her and her inner thighs were shining with her own fluids as well.

As she turned to walk toward the bathroom I called after her,

"Waitt... Tzuyu... I..." but I couldn't say any more. My brain was spinning in circles and whatever I'd thought to tell her was gone.

"Oh shush," she said casually, "We were just having a bit of fun. Thanks for making me cum by the way Oppa!"

With that, she smiled and closed the door to the bathroom behind her. I wondered if she meant for me to follow her in, but I heard the door lock instead.

All I could think was... 'what...the...fuck...just happened?'

My mind may have been racing, but as I heard the shower running I kept envisioning one thing definitively: Tzuyu's naked little body pelted with warm streams of water. I imagined her nipples were hard and she was slowly washing away our sticky remnants from between her legs. I laid there for a few more moments before slowly pulling myself up, putting my shorts back on and going to my own room to shower as well.

It was all I thought about. In the shower...later at the dinner table with our parents... as we sat and watched TV... Tzuyu didn't show anything that might give us away. Before she had come into the room there had been no indication we would be fooling around any time soon, and as I looked at her, totally casual in a tight tank top showing her stomach and grey sweatpants beneath, I believed for a moment nothing had changed.

'Fuck,' I thought, creating a scene in my head where I tore her clothes off and ravished her on the couch with no regard for our parents sitting there. I was just to the part where I had pulled her pants and underwear down at once and was about to finally line up and...

"I'm gonna go to bed," Tzuyu announced to us. My mom and dad said goodnight, and I mumbled the same. As my sister walked by I watched closely. She smiled at me and raised her eyebrows. That look... it was as if everything Tzuyu did turned me on. Did she want me to follow her? Maybe I would get to have another go with her after all.

Watching her saunter off, I decided I would wait an appropriate amount of time before heading upstairs after her. I was a man possessed. My hot sister had given me a little and I wanted it all. And I'm not selfish, she looked so cute as she was cumming in my arms earlier that I absolutely wanted to see it again. I would kiss her and lick her, worship her, for hours if that's what it took, especially if it meant I could sink into her afterwards and fuck her tiny pussy until she screamed.

I reached her door, mouth watering, and seeing it open I walked near to look inside. She was in the bathroom, and when she came out she was wearing a t-shirt that just barely covered her bottom and concealed her tantalizing parts beneath. She saw me in the doorway, frozen once again, and walked toward me purposefully.

I was leaning in to the room when she reached the door, and she outstretched a hand to my chest. Cocking her hips to the side she addressed me,

"So... you're here for more or something?" she said with attitude.

"I...I..." I stammered. I was usually never at a loss for words, but Tzuyu had me.

"Look, I'm not sorry about what happened today..." she paused, "but it doesn't mean you can just come up here and expect to get in bed with me."

I didn't have an answer for her. That was exactly what I had come upstairs for.

"Mom and Dad are right downstairs, they'll be up to say goodnight soon... or didn't you think about that?"

Nope, I hadn't considered that either. Tzuyu read the answer on my face and giggled, which made me feel only slightly better. She smiled at me; I couldn't help but look disappointed which obviously entertained her. I was hard, rock solid, and I desperately wanted to get in bed and play with her.

She used the hand that she'd placed on my chest and pushed me out of the way of the door. Slowly shutting it she looked down before it finally closed, seeing the tent in my pants and then back up at me.

"It's pretty big... by the way... That's why I wanted to feel it. Goodnight OPPA." She spoke with a smirk, and shut the door.

Again - 'what... the... fuck...is going on here,' I said to myself. I felt cheated, and horny, and desiring my little sister more than ever now that she'd denied me. I limped back to my room with a hurt pride and a throbbing problem. All I wanted was to feel Tzuyu's tiny hand wrapped around my shaft again and she'd unfalteringly told me no. I hated being so helpless.

I must have gotten myself off three times that night thinking of her. I knew it was wrong, but I was past the point of caring. I was merely worried that I'd never get my hands on her perfect breasts or feel that pert little ass of Tzuyu's rubbing up against me again. I schemed ways I would be able to get her alone in the next few days.

And then... nothing.

None of my schemes were possible the next day, I only saw Tzuyu for a moment or two and she locked her door that night. It was Tuesday night that we'd woken up together and by Saturday I still hadn't gotten more than a moment or two alone with her. I prayed that she was just biding her time, and when we were together she was normal as can be - which meant cute, bubbly and talkative as she always was with me. I don't know how I hadn't been drawn to her like this before...

I'd never felt doubt and uncertainty like I did in those few days. Did Tzuyu know the effect she was having on me? She would avert her eyes if they met mine for too long, but then she'd brush by me and touch my arm as we did dishes in the kitchen after dinner. She smiled affectionately and laid down next to me on the couch with her long legs across my lap on Friday and Saturday morning, but with my parents there I didn't dare touch.

She must have known. I concluded that Tzuyu was playing hard-to-get perfectly, but even believing that didn't cause me to want her less. By the time our family had come over on Saturday afternoon for our little cousin Ren's birthday party and a sort-of family reunion, I was so confused I had trouble focusing on anything.

'Oh... My... God..." I thought as I watched Tzuyu step out onto the deck to help prepare for the gathering. She looked so amazing in her bathing suit that I practically fell in the pool instead of skimming it.

It was dark blue... wonderfully simple, and yet fit so well it looked like it was made for her. On each hip there was a gold hoop connecting the bottoms, and one atop both triangles over her tits. The bikini top held her breasts snugly in place, with enough skin showing to remind me just how ample they'd been in my hands. When she ambled down the steps both wonderful globes jiggled in place. And finally, her beautiful face glowed tan, with a hint of makeup and framed by brown hair which was full, tussled and wavy.

Part of it was my recent decision to let my eyes wander and mind free to dream up all of the things I wanted to do to her. But mostly, I think Tzuyu had finally become the absolute beauty I always knew she'd be growing up. At eighteen, I don't think she could have gotten any hotter than she was walking around in that snug two-piece, and if not I was in trouble. I tried so hard not to stare, but I knew she saw me. As my little sister approached me she blushed, and I quickly looked down like I hadn't been undressing her with my eyes.

"Do you need help?" She asked sweetly. Girls that looked the way Tzuyu did weren't supposed to be so kind or loving. It would have made things easier for me at least.

I flicked my eyes up at her and tried not to stare anywhere, like her bare, flat stomach and the tiny jewel she'd begged my mom for when she was fourteen. "Y...yeah... I still gotta vacuum the bottom, think you could grab it from the shed?"

"Sure!" She agreed with a pretty smile before turning around and walking away.

How could she be so cruel to me, I thought. It wasn't fair that she could look so gorgeous and parade around the house like she was, dangling herself in front of me.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as the petite brown-haired beauty sauntered over to the shed in our backyard. Her bottoms weren't a thong or anything, but they left enough bare cheek for a flashback to thrusting against Tzuyu's backside in her bed.

"NO No no no no..." I heard my little sister say frantically from across the yard. "There is no way I'm reaching under there to get that!" She called to me.

I laughed. I should have known a few cobwebs would make Tzuyu squeal; she could be such a baby. I quickly set down my skimmer and walked back to the shed.

"Please Oppa,?" She yelled, still standing in the doorway and looking in. When she turned around I was already there.

"Ohh," she gasped, giggling a bit and looking up at me. She hadn't expected me right behind her. "Do you think you could...um..." Tzuyu was a little flustered, and I thought I saw her eyes wander over my bare chest. "Can you get it for me?"

She didn't step back, and neither did I. For the first time since Tuesday, I kind of felt like I was in control of the situation. I could have reached out and touched her, maybe taking hold of her hips. I think both of us expected something. Nobody was around, nobody would see, perhaps just a touch... I could hear Tzuyu inhaling deeply through her nose; her body language begged me to act.

What little distance there was between us, Tzuyu attempted to close it. With her back arched to show off her wonderful boobs to me, and her mound covered in only the fabric of her suit, I could have lifted up her tiny body and pinned her against the shed.

I wanted to. Actually, I wanted to lay her in the grass right there and fuck her senseless. I wanted to rip off what little bit of clothing she was wearing. Seeing the faint outline of her nipple through its fabric I wanted to tear the top from her and free her perfect breasts.

But I didn't. Knowing I might curse myself for it later, I reached out,...hearing Tzuyu inhale sharply... I touched her on the shoulder, and with enough force to surprise her I pushed her aside.

I didn't bother to look at her; the little gasp she emitted said it all. I had shunned my little sister who, despite her best efforts, had expected me to bend to her every will. It was no match for that time in her bed, but it felt good.

During the party I would replay the event in my head between visions of what had been, and what could have been. Sometimes I caught Tzuyu looking my way when she thought I didn't know. Giving my cousin Jin too much attention seemed to buy me her watchful eye.

Tzuyu gained the upper hand again when we were playing a game with the younger cousins. I'd ended up wrestling her in the deep end and couldn't avoid my hands finding their way to her butt. Whether her thigh ended up between mine and rubbed against my crotch intentionally or not, it was my little sister who pushed away first. That quick interaction left me unable to get out of the pool for over ten minutes.

As I soaked in the water, waiting for my arousal to subside before getting out, Tzuyu stood nearby drying off. Something seemed different, I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but her eyes seemed suggest she was scheming. Her hands were over her head, drying off that mane of hair, and her body was on display for my hungry eyes.

It was strange having this secret between us. My other cousins probably noticed how phenomenal my sister looked in that blue number, or how alluring it was to watch her use both hands to adjust each breast in the top. But the exchanged glances, and the unknown feelings and urges we were having toward each other were uniquely our own.

Everyone was getting their food out on the patio and sitting down about the yard when I finally got out of the pool. Tzuyu had left my sight just long enough for my blood pressure to drop back to a normal level.

I walked inside and immediately the cool air in the house made goosebumps appear on my skin. I knew Tzuyu was inside too; I guess I just wanted to be nearer to her. She smiled at me as I walked in and grabbed a glass from the cabinet nearby, filling it with iced tea. I stood against the countertop and looked at her, leant over the sink and washing a few dishes. The silence... the tension... it was palpable.

Tzuyu looked in my direction with a mischievous smile. She knew I would be watching her, and this time she didn't seem inclined to pretend I wasn't - everybody else was outside and she could see them safely through the window.

Our gaze met for the umpteenth time that day. It wasn't as if we were too scared to talk, our eyes simply said more. Tzuyu looked toward her backside, she was obviously bending an extra bit to show it off. My eyes followed hers and I watched as she shook her butt deliberately. It jiggled ever so little, and fuck was it sexy to watch.

"Tzuyu..." I breathed. I didn't even know I'd said it until she smiled wide upon seeing my reaction. She bit her lower lip, I must have made her feel truly sexy.

"Come here," she called to me.

I moved toward her, entranced. My feet carried me so I was right behind her. When I was close enough she reached behind for my hand and pulled me in tight, placing my palm on her tummy. I felt like a child as she showed me what to do. The unknown territory and the absolute puzzle of teasing and withholding she'd drawn me into had my intentions drawn up in knots.

"You want me, huh?" she asked quietly, leaning back as I wrapped around her a bit tighter. I found my voice.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked. She giggled adorably, and my cock throbbed between us. She wasn't moving her hips, but I could feel her cute ass pressing against me with only a few layers of fabric between us.

Now full and hard, my erection had made its way up to my waistband. My little sister could feel it there, I knew it because she eventually began to wiggle her hips up and down on me, standing on tiptoe to do so.

"God you're big," she whispered to me, both my ego and my cock inflated in response. I reached in front of her and brought my fingers to her mound. I knew we had to be extra careful with so many family members near but I had to feel her, to make her squirm.

"Tzuyu?"

"...unhhh... what Oppa?" She huffed as I pressed my fingers against her clit.

"I can't help it..." I started, feeling her squeeze me between the cleft in her cheeks as I spoke, "you're just so fucking gorgeous...I want..." I paused, afraid how she'd take what I wanted to say.

Tzuyu pushed me back with her backside, turning in my arms.

"I know what you want Oppa..." she said sweetly, looking right at me as she did before kissing my chest.

"I know you've been thinking about it, because I have too..." she kissed my neck... "I know how bad you want it..." Finally, she kissed my lips. We hadn't yet done that, and the feeling of her, warm and soft... I wished it would never end.

"We just... can't..." she said, with true remorse in her voice. I looked at her, and we stood there in silence. The yelling of our cousins and the boisterous laughter of our aunts and uncles came through the sliding door. Looking deeply at me, she spoke again.

"It's too risky... look at how we're acting right now!"

Sure, she had a point, but hadn't she initiated this very embrace? It seemed to me that despite her games, she wanted it as badly as I did. Instead of arguing with her, I did what my body told me to and pushed my hips against her, hoisting her slightly against the edge of the counter. I was hard, very hard, and I know she felt it against her because she inhaled sharply.

"You have to stop..." she demanded.

But I didn't want to stop, I liked having my little sister's waist in my hands and the undeniable feelings we were both having, despite her protest. I knew that this might be my last chance to be with Tzuyu now that she'd stated her case.

A few days before we had just been loving brother and sister. Indeed, lust had gotten the better of me. Tzuyu, in her infinite beauty, had me pining to touch her more, feel her, take her... But the pure ferocity of my desires was fueled by that long-standing love and affection we'd shared; I knew that much. Now, with my beautiful little sibling ripe for the taking, I badly wanted to make love to her and discover her more deeply as a sister and a lover. Pinned against the counter and with all the signs of her physically allowing my actions, I grew bolder.

I slid my hands down a few inches and took her bottoms with them. Tzuyu let me, and looked over her shoulder through the window to ensure nobody was going to catch us in the act. I don't know why she let me do it, maybe she didn't know what I intended to do.

I looked down below us, at the bare skin above Tzuyu's slit. Even from this angle I could see she was very wet. I reached down with my palm upward. My sister caught my wrist, but not before my finger could land perfectly over her clit and positioned just right for me to urge into her.

I did just that, after teasing around her opening for a few seconds. Her grip tightened on my arm as I slipped my middle finger into her. My god was she tight. Only one finger inside and I knew that my little sis was as snug as they come.

"Fuuuucck..." she hissed as I wiggled it inside of her. Though Tzuyu was resistant to having sex with me she certainly wasn't making any moves to stop me fingering her.

My little sister reached back and braced herself with a hand on the countertop. As she nervously glanced through the window to the party outside, we both felt the exhilaration of our forbidden actions with imminent discovery only a frighteningly close distance away.

I began plunging my finger inside of Tzuyu faster and pressuring her mound as much as possible with the palm of my hand. Watching her writhe, her gorgeous body half on and half off of the countertop, I found myself urging my hips against her as well. I was hard for her, so incredibly filled with lust that it couldn't be helped.

"Oppa... seriously... uhhhh... Oppa!"

I knew if I kept going, I would make my beautiful little sister cum. It was obvious that my hand was caressing her insides just right, but the tone of Tzuyu's voice was probably spurred by something else. Whether she meant to or not, my little sister's hand had found its way over my shorts and to the long path of my hard cock beneath. I simply reached down and tugged at the waistband to free the velcro and drawstring that had kept my erection within.

Now that my shorts were open, Tzuyu's hand was on bare skin, and I don't think she expected it. Either that, or the fact that seconds later my tip was precariously close to her dripping wet lips, but my little sister was not happy. I knew it was a risky situation, and that we could be found committing incest by any one of our nearby relatives with little notice. I could hear my dad laughing and my uncle finishing another one of his stupid jokes through the open door, but I didn't care. Yet, my middle finger was still immersed in my sister's tight, teenage pussy and I wanted nothing more than to replace it with my cock.

"Don't... don't... ohhhhh... dooooon't...please Oppa...fuckk..." I really shoved my finger up into her then; Tzuyu was going to cum. I massaged her, with a finger inside and a hand under the triangle of cloth over her breast.

I wanted to, but I simply couldn't fuck my little sister without her permission. It felt good enough that Tzuyu had my shaft pinned against her thigh and was stroking me to the best of her ability as orgasm approached and overtook her. Her other hand was haphazardly scanning my body, grabbing at the arm which was reaching down below, or at my chest and shoulder so she could simply feel me.

Her breasts felt incredible, her body felt incredible, and when our lips touched as Tzuyu was trembling through the remainder of her orgasm, that felt incredible too. We'd hardly more than peck each other's lips yet, and my little sister might not have allowed the darting of our tongues if she hadn't been shivering through a wonderful climax. We were lucky that nobody had decided to step inside at that moment, because neither of us intended to part, at least until the beautiful brunette in front of me had given me leave.

Slowly, I withdrew my finger from Tzuyu's tunnel. Her walls objected with gentle suction until my fingertip brushed finally over the hood of her clitoris, causing Tzuyu to shudder in such a way that my cock bobbed against my little sis with arousal.

Our foreheads were pressed together, and my little sister had her delicate hand still wrapped convincingly around my shaft. I wondered what she was thinking, for her body language spoke a message utterly apart from the words she had spoken. She whispered to me, as if someone might overhear.

"God you're such a jerk," we both laughed, Tzuyu between shortened breaths, "why did you do that to me?"

"Because I know you wanted me to..." I told her. She was still sliding her hand up and down my shaft, the feeling of her thigh and fingers driving me wild. "Come on Tzuyu, why did you let me?"

She rolled her eyes, annoyed, but with a smile so I knew my question wasn't entirely unfounded. And still she was holding on to my hard staff. She must have meant to, because below us my little sister was playing with my tip and it was lingering but an inch from her opening. Between her thighs and in her hand she held me, her bikini bottoms hastily pushed down to the floor and my trunks open just enough for her access.

At first I was watching her hand and agonizingly wondering what she planned to do. When I looked up I could see that she, instead, had been watching me. I think it excited her, my uncertainty and simultaneous desire for her. I could have come then if I didn't think I might be inside of the gorgeous little teenager in a moment or two.

"This is as far as I'm gonna let us go, Oppa, I'm serious." She said when our eyes locked.

Damnit, I thought, she wasn't going to give in. The little tease. I'd just made her moan and shiver herself into a huge climax on our kitchen counter and she was still withholding. The depressing thought that I'd never make love to her was a real possibility that entered my mind.

I tested her anyway, urging my hips forward so my cock was sent between her legs. Tzuyu shook her head no. And though I could feel her jump when my tip was sent skirting her clit and the lips I so desperately desired to open to me, she prevented it with a push of her hand.

"It's not gonna happen Oppa..."

It didn't seem fair. I hadn't started all of this. It was Tzuyu who had caused the evolution of my thoughts and the final acceptance of how undeniably gorgeous and seductive my little sister was. It was Tzuyu who had flaunted her body and delivered those mischievous glances and touches in the last few days. Sure, I had jumped at every opportunity, but I wanted to consummate what she'd been hinting at all along.

I grabbed her hips tight, feeling her hipbones beneath. I felt her grip on my cock loosen as she sensed what I was doing. If she let go I could just shove forward and bury myself into her, ending this stupid game and breaking through the wall that stood between us.

"Don't you dare," Tzuyu said.

I pushed, she wasn't strong enough to stop me. My cockhead mashed against her clit, and Tzuyu's head swiveled in response. I thought I could feel her lips parting as my tip found them. My little sister had her hand on my cock so she was unfortunately still in control. Though I tried to angle correctly, she swiftly guided me so when my hips met hers I was snug between her thighs again. I'd felt that already; I wanted more.

I think my little sister knew by the time she looked into my eyes that I didn't intend to give up. She glared at me, then down to where she was holding me tediously close to sinking inside of her... then through the window again. It suggested to me that she wasn't entirely committed to stopping me; my heart was pounding in my chest at the possibility.

I was holding my breath and feeling incredibly nervous. I wondered if Tzuyu could tell. I was about to fuck my little sister on the kitchen counter; would she blame me for being so brazen? It seemed as if I had wanted her forever. Now was my chance. I took hold of her wrist; inches from my grasp she had her fingers wrapped around my hard cock. And inches from that was my tip, the head of her own brother's cock, prodding at her tiny opening and begging her to allow me to lock us together in incest.

I tugged at her wrist strongly. She could have stopped me. She could have put up a fight, but I knew her heart wasn't in it when I felt her willingly let go of my rod and allow me to guide her hand to the counter on which she sat and hold her there. She was going to let me fuck her.

One hand on her left wrist and the other on her right, she still feigned to resist me. I watched her bite her lip, felt her stand on her toes. She wiggled in front of me, halfheartedly trying to free her hands.

I think I could have angled just right to follow through with it, she was just so damn wet. My head urged at her outer lips, and quickly slid enticingly up her slit, missing her entrance. Tzuyu opened her mouth a little bit; I could feel her tremble.

I wish I had done it: finally pushed my cock into my little sister's pussy... filled her up with every inch of me. I wish I had because that's when my mom called from the patio...

"Kids!" we heard through that open door.

'God damnit!' I thought. We both stood in silence. My cock was shoved between us against Tzuyu as we listened for our mother's next words.

"What are you doing in there, can't you come out?"

Tzuyu and I looked at each other, my intentions were unchanged but she looked as if she'd changed her mind. I was still going to go for it, and withdrew from her in order to try again. If I just hurried I could take her... I pointed my cock back toward her entrance. 'Please just let this temptation end,' I thought.

This time she actually did stop me, slipping her hands from beneath mine on the counter and shoving me away.

I was dumbfounded. My mouth hung open in disbelief.

She quickly reached for her bottoms and pulled them up, lucky that they were still wet from the pool. The sheen of her arousal was apparent to me on her mound as I watched until she lifted the blue bottoms to cover it. I thought she might just walk out without saying anything, but she then walked up close to me.

She reached down; I had no words. She grabbed my cock and shoved it into my trunks. It didn't fit well, still sticking up and out of my waistband.

"I told you we couldn't do this. See what I mean?" She had this smug grin on her face that I thought still looked sexy.

"You might want to wait to come out until you're not so..." she began, lacing up my shorts deliberately "...large." An inch or two of me was still showing above the bow she tied, she tenderly slid her fingers around me and pushed my cock to the side.

I was still speechless. I watched her spin hastily towards the door, seeing her breasts and butt jiggle beautifully. I knew she was smirking, though I couldn't see it as she walked away without another word.

'Again!' I screamed inwardly. I hated Tzuyu for depriving me after she'd so clearly teased me into a sexually starved frenzy. There were other girls I could have, some even that were only a quick text message away. But I wanted this one. I wanted my little sister. I wanted to strip her, manhandle her and then, finally, fuck her like she'd been begging and teasing for.

It took me a few minutes before I could even walk outside, mostly because I was fuming and partly because my cock refused to forget the sight and feeling of my hot little sister bottomless on the kitchen counter.

Tzuyu didn't even avoid my gaze when we were both seated outside. When my eyes pointed in her direction, whether to glare angrily or stare at her perfect breasts in that bikini top, she looked back unapologetically. I saw her bite her lip once when she felt me look down at her chest. I had to focus on eating just to withhold my animal instinct to pounce across the table and lay Tzuyu out in front of the entire family... even that thought made my trunks stir.

The rest of the night went pretty much the same way. God was I mad at her. I couldn't understand why she would initiate everything and then just go cold on me at her convenience. She had to know what she'd started and that I'd want more now that she'd granted me a sample of the fantasies of her that had often as I slept.

Tzuyu may have sensed it, but she didn't steer clear of me. I allowed the sympathetic thought that she might have been as fixated on thoughts of me as I was her and that was drawing her close. I lightened up by the time it was getting dark. When she came to sit close to me around the bonfire later that night I could feel my frustration begin to eek away, replaced instead by her presence as she wrapped around my arm.

She was making little effort, in my opinion, to hide that there was something going on between us. I kept looking around nervously to determine whether someone around the bonfire could tell. I guess they didn't know that my little sister and I had gotten each other off in her bed a few days ago, or in the kitchen as they ate, so they didn't see her affection as out of the ordinary.

I knew I wasn't going to get a chance to do anything more than squeeze my fingers against Tzuyu's side as we sat together that night. I was so distracted. Feeling her next to me, the warmth of her body and that subtle vanilla smell I think came from her conditioner, most of the night was a blur. I did have a good time; hanging out with my extended family and putting back a few beers always proved fun. I could tell Tzuyu was getting a bit drunk off her intake because she leaned more and more into me as the fire burned down. I would never tire of the feeling of her breast squished against me; she was probably doing it intentionally.

Tzuyu and I were both going to have roommates that night as we had little cousins littered about the house while their parents, my aunts and uncles that had a few too many drinks that night, slept it off until the morning. Something about the way Tzuyu had looked at me when she knew what I planned to do on the kitchen counter had me drifting off to sleep that night with a glimmer of hope.

But before I got in bed, with our cousins chattering in each of our rooms and my little sister and I preparing for bed, I found myself alone in the hallway. Tzuyu stopped me on her way to the bathroom. I was walking sleepily toward my door and before I reached it I felt a hand on my chest. Next thing I knew my little sister had pushed me into the darkened laundry room and was pinning me against the door.

Her lithe little body was pressed against mine and I felt no inclination to move as I took her in. She was wearing a pretty simple flannel PJ set with low riding pants cinched around her tiny waist. She must have 'accidentally ' forgotten to button up the top because it was hanging open and she'd changed into a light purple bra that snugly held her tits in place.

She was silent at first. The only sounds I could hear were the giggling of my nearby cousins and my little sister's quiet breathing. For a few moments she seemed content just to let me look at her, and her at me. Then she looked as if she was going to say something, but decided against it. Instead she stood slowly on her tiptoes to level her eyes with mine.

Her eyes were fixed on mine and her lips so close. My hands moved on their own to my baby sister's sides. They slipped easily past her open nightshirt and found her bare skin. She was so fit I could feel her core muscles flexing as she stretched to stand as tall as me. As soon as she felt me holding her she gained some confidence and kissed me.

At first I just let her. I wanted her so badly, but playing directly into her game hadn't worked out so well for me yet. She fidgeted, seemingly hoping I would move my hands around on her stomach. When I did, I guess I just melted. I couldn't touch her like and feel her lips hungry for me to kiss her back without doing so. It felt dangerous, so close to our own cousins and kissing like we hadn't a care in the world.

I eventually gave into her entirely, and before long I was fully hard and pushing out my hips into Tzuyu. She was grinding against me, and every so often I could feel my cock wedging between her thighs. We were making out unabashedly, my hands were roughly handling her and palming her breasts over the bra. I'm not sure I've ever been so passionate with a girl besides her before or since.

I wondered if it was because Tzuyu had been drinking. After all, she was only a tiny eighteen-year-old and I'd seen her toss quite a few back. Or maybe it was because we'd been so close to the real thing before. She had protested convincingly, but once again I was utterly confused by her behavior. I suppose this unknown territory we were traversing had both my little sister and I acting unpredictably at every step.

I remember I was moving my hands down beneath the waistband of her PJs when we heard the bathroom door close.

"Holy shit!" my little sis whispered. She leaned into me as close as possible and peeked out the door.

Had someone seen us? Had someone walked by when we were caught up making out in the room right next door. I looked around us, we were obscured in darkness in the tiny room and only the light from beneath the bathroom door was casting a pale light into the hallway. I hoped we were safe, but couldn't know for sure.

Seconds later someone was brushing their teeth in the bathroom and Tzuyu and I breathed a little easier. If we had been seen, whichever one of our cousins that had walked by probably wouldn't have just moved on and gone about their routine. Regardless, Tzuyu still spoke very softly.

"Are you still mad at me?" she asked sweetly. Her big blue eyes looked up at me nervously.

I wanted to say yes. I was pissed, at some point in the evening, that she was denying me what I thought we both wanted. I guess I had kind of forgotten for a while that I was her big brother, that I should have been able to keep my composure and not anger so easily at her withholding.

It was for that reason that I told her "No, I'm sorry I was so pissed for a while there."

"I could tell," she responded, "you were being kind of a dick."

I didn't really like hearing that, and she must have noticed because as soon as she saw my glare she continued. "You were going to fuck me, right on the kitchen counter. I said no and you were still going to do it!" Again, I was not pleased. She was right, but I could feel her riling me up. "I bet you'd fuck me right now if I let you!" She was whispering as quietly as possible while still gazing at me wide-eyed and with plenty of attitude.

It was all incredibly confusing. Here I was with a hard-on for my little sis, which was still pinned between us and my hands still in her flannel PJs on her pert little ass, but I was getting scolding for wanting to bang my younger sister. Not to mention she kept saying "fuck me" and her language was arousing me like none other.

"Tzuyu, come on!" I complained. I had to catch myself so I wasn't too loud. "I won't blame you for what I want to do with you, but please don't pretend you're innocent."

I could tell that she was actually listening to me, for a change.

"One day we're fooling around in bed and the next morning it's like you've completely forgotten." She scoffed as I said it. I continued anyway, "and you looked fucking gorgeous in your swimsuit... you look fucking gorgeous right now, You keep teasing me too; what do you want me to do? "I could tell she liked hearing me praise her, but she was way too stubborn to give in so easily.

"Look," she answered, "I'm not saying I don't want it as badly as you do, because I do. I've had dreams about you since I was fifteen, and then you were in my bed, and then I felt you poking my butt with your big cock and I got horny and then I just kind of acted without thinking."

She was racing through the explanation, probably because we heard our cousin stop brushing their teeth in the room next door. "But you can't just fuck me. First of all, you're really big and I can't just take you on the kitchen counter. Which you were GOING TO DO."

"Second, look at us. We could get in so much trouble. What if whoever is in the bathroom had seen us?"

"Hey," I interrupted, "you stopped me and kissed me!" I was still reeling from hearing that she had fantasies about me. I'd definitely thought about her before, but until she was stroking me in her bed I'd never been bold enough to do anything about it.

"Ugh," she sounded, "whatever."

We were silent for a moment. We were both feeling argumentative, turned on, and confused. The combination made it hard to fire back at each other. Even so, the little tease was still moving her hips around. I don't know if it was just to screw with me or, more likely, she was doing it to make herself feel good.

I ran my hands firmly from her hips all the way up to her breasts, massaging her roughly as I did. Despite her attitude and the words coming out of her mouth, I could feel her breathe deeply and writhe in my hands. I wanted her to just give in to the desires she was clearly feeling and stop posturing herself.

But I knew she wouldn't, especially not tonight. Before my cousin could come out and pass us again Tzuyu pushed away from me and walked, no strutted, back to her room. I backed further into the laundry room and waited for my cousin Chao to pass. He clearly had no idea we had been in there.

I went to bed that night frustrated and still completely turned on. The hour or so it took me to fall asleep my mind raced between visions of my bottomless little sis in the kitchen, or in that cute bra in the hallway, and then the anger I felt about her teasing. A selfish part of me hoped that she would be brooding just the same in the room down the hall.

The next day most of our extended family left. To my dismay, my Aunt Cheng and Uncle Wei hadn't booked a flight out for another two days. They always pulled shit like that: overstaying their welcome, in my opinion. And this time we'd be stuck with little ones sleeping in mine and Tzuyu's bedrooms for two more nights. I was utterly depressed. If only I had a little privacy, where perhaps I could slip into Tzuyu's room and lay with her for a little while until she snuggled up to me like she'd done before. Sadly, I'd not get the chance.

And yet, the next morning, more inexplicable behavior from my sister. I was brushing my teeth in the same bathroom we'd made out and then argued next to the night before. Tzuyu came in wearing some ridiculous workout outfit. Her top was not much more than a light blue sports bra and her shorts a tiny pair of black spandex material with white trim. Her tube socks that matched the top and a pair of new sneakers rounded off the whole thing and made her appear beyond adorable. The eighteen-year-old looked incredibly tan and lean, and showing so much skin that I was practically drooling as I watched her in the mirror.

I expected to get nothing from her after our disagreement the night before. I was wrong. Maybe having cousins in her bedroom for the night had kept her from taking care of some of the sexual tension I'd felt between us in the laundry room. Whatever it was, I watched in disbelief as Tzuyu came up behind me and I could feel her breasts pressing against my back. Holding my gaze in the mirror she slid her arms, slowly but determinedly , to my front and over the shorts I'd worn to bed.

"Are you always hard?" she asked innocently.

"That must be difficult for you." She continued, sounding snide.

Her hands were both, one after the other, caressing the length of my shaft through my shorts. I had been somewhat hard as I usually was in the morning, and more so when I saw my little sister in that damned running outfit. But after feeling the teenager's hands rubbing me, I was positively pining for relief.

I'd stopped brushing my teeth, so my hand hung there suspended in my disbelief. With my other hand I had to brace myself on the vanity because Tzuyu's touch was so amazing that my knees were feeling weak. She was holding tightly to me from behind so I could feel all of her tiny frame and still she was leaning to look at me in the eye.

It felt incredible, though I wanted to get my hands on some of the exposed stomach of my little sister's or the tight material that made her butt look so graspable. I was content to let her continue rubbing me for another minute or so, but thinking about how hot she looked in her outfit made me excited to seat her on the vanity like we had in the kitchen the day before.

I was glad I waited because a few seconds later Tzuyu pulled back the elastic of my shorts and shoved her hand in to grab my cock. She took it firmly in her hand and encircled it with her fingers.

"Holy crap," she exclaimed with big eyes, "I guess I keep forgetting how big you are."

She gently ran her fingers from base to tip and back before grabbing me firmly again. I knew my little sister hadn't had more than a boyfriend or maybe two so her experience was limited, but it was if everything she did was just perfectly sexy. I could never tire of the taboo behavior we had been acting out in the last few days.

And then... it was over.

No warning, no cause like a relative walking by or our parents calling; she just stopped.

"I gotta go for a run," said the beautiful brunette.

She pulled her hand out of my pants and the waistband returned with a 'snap' against my skin. Tzuyu put her hands on my sides and squeezed gently, giving me a jolt before saying "See ya later alligator!" and heading for the door.

"Tzuyu, what the fu..." I called after her. But she was gone, and for the umpteenth time that week I felt totally cheated. I'd let my little sister completely screw with my mind and now my desire and arousal. She wasn't just teasing me innocently or playfully; she was stringing me along for her own evil enjoyment.

It took a full fifteen minutes before the damned sexually starved frenzy my teasing, baby sister had left me in subsided, and when I sat down I was fixated on the image of Tzuyu in her outfit. Someone asked me a question at breakfast and think I actually asked them to repeat it three times before I was able to answer; I was that bound up.

I had to do something. I had to stop fantasizing about Tzuyu and letting her prey on me the way she had been. She was not going to end her torment; that much was clear. But she was also not going to let me call the shots.

I was thinking about how I might sit her down and talk to her, or tease her right back, when she returned from the run. She was glistening from the exercise, her skin shiny but only just. She walked past the six of us seated at the table. I could tell that every one of us guys, even my youngest cousin of around thirteen, had noticed her. I remember thinking how funny they looked, pretending not to watch her as she filled a glass of water and tipped it up in front of the sink. A few drops of condensation landed on the tops of her breasts, and I watched them roll down into her top in the wonderful cleft between each breast.

Then I realized that I probably looked no less pathetic than my cousins, my dad or my uncle. I was as bendable to Tzuyu's will as they were, and I felt the familiar anger at my helplessness climb into my brain.

"Have a good run honey?" My dad asked.

"Yeah!" Tzuyu said, "but it was really hot out there and now I'm all sweaty."

She sort of stuck out her abs and looked at the shining surface of her skin as she said it. My relatives got to talking about their workout routines and such. I was pretty much zoned out, thinking about Tzuyu, what I wanted to do to her and watching her as she walked around the kitchen. At one point, Tzuyu even got competitive, talking about how she thought she could probably beat me in any workout.

"You are really BIG," Tzuyu emphasized. She raised her eyebrows at me as she said it. I knew what she meant even if our family didn't, "but I think I could take you!"

My cousins both laughed, thinking she was issuing a dare. And as I remember, it was then that I decided to take her up on it and to put an end to Tzuyu's teasing. Watching her, with the tight spandex hugging her breasts that I longed to see bouncing up and down as I fucked her, with the taut midsection I would hold on to as I thrusted... the miniature shorts that cradled her pussy so I could just make out her mound and lips... And again she was just dangling herself in front of me like there was nothing I could do.

Well, I could do something, and I was going to. Tzuyu told us that she was going upstairs to shower, and I just nodded my head. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of shooting me another naughty look.

I sat in silence at the table for a few moments. My heart started to pound. I was too fed up, and I was going to explode if I waited until the next moment that Tzuyu and I were alone, whenever that would be. Would I be able to pull it off? What would Tzuyu do? Could I be caught?

Throwing caution to the wind, I mumbled a few words, excused myself and headed upstairs. With each step, my heart pounded harder. I felt like it was going to jump out of my chest.

Thump

Thump

Thump

It was like my heartbeat was at my inner ear and the door handle to Tzuyu's bedroom was a million miles away. It was probably only a few seconds but my head was pounding to the fall of each step until I reached her door. 

I heard her turn the shower on within. There was a bathroom in her room actually, so the fact that she was out in the hall the night before meant she had intended to run into me. All the more reason I had to keep pushing ahead with my plan.

I reached her door and listened. I imagined that inside my little sister was peeling her clothes off If I went in now I might be treated to the sight of the teenager bent over as she stepped out of her shorts. Tempting as it was, I had to wait.

It was the longest thirty seconds of my life. Standing there, knowing my naked little sis was just feet away, and knowing what I intended to do... I was indescribably tense.

Finally I heard the sound of the bathroom door close and shortly thereafter the shower door sliding shut. I took a deep breath and turned the handle to her bedroom as quietly as possible. Peeking in, I saw that the coast was clear. I could hear Tzuyu in the shower, probably just beginning to cool off after her run.

I closed her bedroom door behind me, and then stood at the bathroom door: the final threshold between me and the naked teenager who had been teasing me into submission and plaguing my thoughts and dreams. It was with that realization that I opened the door swiftly and silently, slipping in without making a noise.

Tzuyu was turned away from me; I was thankful for that. I could see her through the clear shower door. Her workout clothes were in a heap on the bathmat and she was running her fingers through her hair. She had no idea I was inside or that my hungry eyes were upon her.

Her hair was dark and wet, and even from behind Tzuyu was stunning, drawing me closer. I hadn't yet had the chance to see my little sister fully naked and standing up, stretching to thread her fingers through her hair. The swell of her breasts from the side and the slender and youthful nature of her frame reeled me step by step toward the shower.

My heart was beating incredibly fast and my hands were shaking. At the last minute, I looked up and down my little sister's body. She was absolutely gorgeous, wet and unspeakably alluring. I recalled the desire I felt for her and the way she'd driven me to it and found my confidence. In seconds I tossed off my shirt, shoved my shorts to the floor and grabbed the handle of the shower door.

Quickly, I cast the door to the side and stepped inside. Tzuyu finally heard me and was attempting to wipe the water from her eyes and turn, but she was too late. I'd already shut the door and pinned my little sister against the tile wall of the shower before she could stop me.

"What the fuck Oppa!"

I had been hard from the second I stepped into her bedroom. I had been waiting for this moment since I'd first felt Tzuyu's little backside against me in her bed.

She knew 'what the fuck' was going on because I had her hands pinned against the wall with mine and my cock was planted between her legs. Her chest was pressed against the tile too, and her face turned sideways. I could see the mounded flesh of her tit spilling out to the side of her.

"Oppa, I'm warning you!" She said.

"You're warning me what?" I asked, "What Tzuyu? That you're going to just fuck with me all you want and then just walk away like you own me?"

She didn't answer, but I swear I felt her hips move. The water was only on my legs, but I could see steam rising up between us. I tested her by moving my hips backward and sliding my cock, which had been tucked into the gap between her thighs, against her pussy lips. Then, right away, I pushed it back. Her soft ass stopped me as I forcefully thrust against it. I intentionally missed entering her, but I got so close that I know it got Tzuyu's attention. My brain was positively spinning; I withdrew and set my head at just the right spot where I'd finally push into my little sister's pussy and wiggled it there against her lips.

Tzuyu tensed and her body writhed perceptively. I couldn't be certain, but it didn't seem like she was trying to muscle out of my grasp but that she'd unintentionally responded to the suggestive movement of my hips. For all her denial, for all her teasing and refusal, her body wanted me as much as I did hers. It wasn't just the shower, my little sister was wet and I couldn't wait any longer. She opened her mouth to speak,

"Fuck you Oppa...uhhh...ooouwwhhhhh."

I'll never forget the sound she made when I first felt my cock slip into my little sister's pussy. I don't think she believed that I was actually going to do it. But as I watched Tzuyu's head roll and felt her stand on her tiptoes to slow my entry, she obviously knew what was happening. And the feeling of Tzuyu's teen pussy wrapping around my cockhead was like nothing I'd ever felt before in my life.

It was so wrong, so taboo and so incredibly risky. My hard cock was finally inside my little sister. She had been asking for it long enough, but this time she'd thought I was too chicken to oblige. My hands were wrapped around her wrists at her sides, close enough to still squeeze her hips with my thumb and forefinger.

I grabbed right above her butt, depressing into the soft cheeks and I pushed her down from her toes. She came to rest with her feet flat on the tile floor and my tip an inch deeper inside of her.

I'm not cruel, I knew that she would need to adjust to me as she'd warned before and her wide eyes told me so again. This time, Tzuyu knew that I was in control. Yet, I was content to stand there, unmoving, as we both accepted the reality that we were finally committing the incest we'd been dancing around for days.

I wasn't going to speak first; whoever spoke first would lose this standoff.

I gripped Tzuyu's hips and arms at her sides. Slowly I forced her to bend more and take another inch and another inch of my cock into her tiny pussy.

"Ouuuwwww...Fuck Oppa...stop... oh it's too big... please."

I know it's awful, but for once I liked hearing her beg. With her whimpering as motivation, I stood up taller and continued the thrust into my naked and wet little sister. Her pussy was incredibly tight. It resisted me every bit of the way, but there was no mistaking that she was aroused. By the time I was ready to bottom out inside Tzuyu, she was putting up little resistance to keep me from bringing her backside lower so I could be buried inside her.

I thought I might climax immediately. Every inch of my penis was being snugly sheathed by Tzuyu's pussy. The thought that I was fucking her completely unprotected made me throb inside of her. I remembered her saying that she wasn't on birth control, and the added risk was only more motivation. The fact that she'd denied me so many times and now I was finally getting what she'd teased without her permission was even better. I wanted to simply fuck her, cum inside her and break all of the rules at once.

It was then that Tzuyu revealed the last, unknown piece of the puzzle.

"Fu...fu... fuuuuck Ke..Oppa." She cried with wavering words, "I'm a... ouhhhhhaa... virgin."

I couldn't believe it.

I knew she'd had boyfriends before, and all the teasing and playing... I'd just assumed she was a seasoned seductress. Now I wasn't just fucking my fertile little sister without her consent, I was taking her virginity too. I knew that nobody in the world had ever been so lucky, so aroused and so ready to fuck their little sister in earnest as I was at that moment.

It all made sense now, why Tzuyu wasn't on birth control, why she kept talking about how big I was despite that I'm certainly no pornstar, and why she'd teetered so close to the edge without letting us go as far as we now were.

"Is that why you wouldn't let me fuck you Tzuyu?" I asked her, she turned her face away.

Slowly I removed a few inches of my cock from inside her before steadily sliding it back in. "Ouuuuuwahhhhh... fuckk Oppa... fuck you...you're fucking... ughhh...raping me."

"You knew you were doing this Tzuyu..." I argued, "And you just kept teasing and teasing."

Ever so slightly, I felt her little butt jiggle against me. Perhaps it was a reaction to feeling her first cock inside of her. Her hands were no longer fighting to be free of my grasp, though I didn't risk letting them go.

"Try not to be so tense sis, you'll make it hurt.."

I didn't expect my little sister to comply, but in a few seconds I could feel her insides loosen their grip on me. It truly seemed like she was going to allow me to continue.

Again I fucked her from behind. She felt absolutely wonderful like that. Her height, the smoothness of her skin, the way her back arched just right so that when my hips met her; she was every bit as perfect as I'd dreamed. As I once again shoved my cock into her, hard, I met resistance and knew I was all the way buried to her cervix.

"Fucking dick... uhhhh fuck...oh my God... you're such a fuuuuhhcking asshole!" she said through my next two thrusts.

"What's that Tzuyu," I asked sarcastically, "you want it in your ass?"

I know I saw a smile across her face at my humor, but she quickly concealed it. I had no intention of being anywhere but my little sister's virgin pussy at the moment, but I loved seeing her adorable smile amongst her insults.

I chanced to let go of my little sister's hands; knowing that she might use her newfound freedom to escape. I guess I just thought that I'd already done enough and she deserved to at least have some dignity back. When I let go, I could see her thinking hard about what she would do. I immediately grabbed her hips to hold on tight and keep fucking her as it might have been the end of my chance to do so.

But what happened next was absolutely amazing. My hips slapped against her pretty butt and I watched in awe as Tzuyu slowly lifted her hands to the wall. She pushed away from it, but only enough so her breasts hung free and her head was able to move as she pleased. My little sister was going to willingly let me fuck her from behind. I depressed my thumbs into those tantalizing dimples she had in her back and humped her like I'd only dreamed of doing.

And that wasn't all. After a few thrusts I finally got my hands on her perfect chest. I cradled each breast and then squeezed them firmly against her to continue to fuck her as I had been. My fingers found her nipples and I pinched them, hearing her moan immediately. I guess that was a lot for Tzuyu, and the feelings of having me inside of her for the first time were bringing her to new heights.

"Ahhhhhh... oh fuck Oppa... I... ohhhgod... stop I'm gonna..."

No way. No way was I going to stop. I only held her tighter. She was holding herself from the wall with one hand and trying to fend me off with the other. She was hopelessly uncoordinated in her attempt, and each thrust only made her motions more desperate.

"Oppa don't...ohfuckkkk... Oppa... Oppa... please..." she said. Tzuyu didn't know what she was begging for; I knew she'd never felt anything like she was about to. I couldn't stop. She had to experience what I had built up inside of her.

"Ohhh please brother...pleaaaase.. oooOOOUUUW."

She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever laid eyes upon in that moment. I held her as best I could because I could see her knees giving out beneath her. My hands wrapped around her chest and midsection; my hips continued grinding into her.

My little sister quaked and tensed in my arms. Tears formed in her eyes as she was overcome with feeling. She grabbed at my encircling arms and held them tight. Her nails dug into me until it hurt. Her head lolled back, her graceful neck so close to me that I could smell the remnants of her perfume. Her lungs were filled with the breath she had taken and been unable to expel until the numbing climax released its hold on her. I held on to that beautiful young girl so tight that our bodies were melded together in passion.

Her tunnel squeezed my cock with such ferocity it was almost painful. I could feel her walls rippling as her body revealed to her for the first time what made sex something she'd never be able to go without. And still I just held her. I'd gotten into the shower, penetrated her for the first time and even fucked her into a mind-numbing orgasm without her permission, but I would keep her in my arms, despairingly hopeful that she might forgive me when she came back... that it would all have been worth it.

She did, eventually, regain herself. I could feel strength returning to her limbs. Her panting breaths got deeper, and her nails finally disengaged from me. I'd stopped moving my hips because once she had reached the height of her orgasm I knew she would be incredibly sensitive; Yet, I was lodged as deep as her tiny frame would allow.

The only sound at that point was the constant drone of cascading water. I could feel Tzuyu's little body struggling to take enough breaths to fully recover; her vulnerability was adorable. I didn't mind either, because I took the opportunity to continue lightly massaging her breasts. The first reaction I heard from my little sister was a giggle when I took both her breasts in my hands from behind her and playfully jiggled them against each other. They were simply the perfect size, and I wanted to duplicate the motion I'd seen so many times when they'd been hidden from me in one of her push-up bras. I couldn't help myself, and my little sis seemed to appreciate my admiration.

To my dismay, Tzuyu reached back and put her palms on my hips. With considerable effort, she pushed me away and stood up as tall as she could, sliding my swollen cock from her slowly. Each exposed inch felt cold and uncomfortable when not secured snugly inside my teenage sister. I worried, as my cockhead finally emerged from Tzuyu's tiny opening with the faintest sound of suction, that I'd never get back in.

Now it was my turn to hold my breath. I was hard, longing to finish our incestuous tryst inside my little sister and anxious about what she might say when she turned toward me. At first she didn't look at my face, only down where my staff was pressed against her abs as she turned. It was as if she was staring in wonder at the culprit of her wonderful orgasm, her brother's cock that had invaded her untouched pussy and forced a climax on her.

When she did finally look up, I saw on her face no blame or disappointment. She could have said something to confirm it but when she stood on her tiptoes to kiss me I knew that she'd embraced what we'd just shared. Tzuyu's hands were more aggressive than ever as she reached out for some way to hold on to me as her lips and mine were joined. I felt my cock slip into the incredibly wet cleft between her legs.

"You bastard..." she said with a smile as I tried to prolong our kiss when she pulled away.

"What?" I asked with feigned innocence.

"I can't believe you just did that!" my little sister continued.

"Did what?"

"Well, for starters you took my virginity, and you fucked me without a condom on..." she said with raised eyebrows. "Not to mention you basically forced yourself on your little sister when the rest of our family is like 50 feet away."

"The door's locked," I said with a shrug, "I think..."

Tzuyu hit me on the chest hard and laughed aloud, "You are the worst!"

She looked so pretty, naked with the shower running on her taut little butt and leaning against me. I pulled her tight and could see that her face was still flush from her orgasm minutes before.

"What's the matter, are you worried they heard your big brother "force" you to cum?" I asked while making the quotes motion sarcastically.

"Oh fuck you," she said and then she surprised me with another hungry kiss. The sudden motion pushed me back so that the tiled ledge behind us took out my legs and I fell with a soft 'thud' to a seat there. Without missing a beat, my little sister was straddling me with her back arched athletically.

"I guess I knew you'd snap eventually," she said quietly, in between kisses, "I just didn't think it would be like this..."

I felt Tzuyu searching with her hips slowly for the path of my member, and finding it she whispered, "I'm glad it was."

I was enraptured by the little brunette. My conscious brain was still struggling to accept that I'd just fucked my little sister and watched her cum during her first time. It was far more difficult with the petite eighteen-year-old slowly grinding on my cock. I wanted to beg Tzuyu to take me back inside her, but she wouldn't release my lips yet. Feeling her slit and the opening to her young quim so close was torturous. When she finally did stop to look into my eyes I said,

"So...are you going to show me what all that tight workout gear has been for," my little sister's mouth was already agape as she listened, "or are you gonna just pretend to fuck me while you're up there?"

I knew Tzuyu too well; she could never resist a challenge.

She quickly lifted her hips to position herself, but I could see she was nervous as she held me right at her opening. I lifted my hips up toward her without thinking, causing my tip to prod and then enter her before she could react. Her body jolted and she lifted higher to remove my head from inside her.

"It's really big," she said with big eyes pleading for approval. "I didn't have time to worry about it before."

So I decided to help her... a little. I grabbed Tzuyu's hips firmly and pushed her downward. She must have allowed it, to some degree, because I was able to get her to take almost half of my cock into her tiny channel with one steady push.

"Ohhhh fuck..." she cried, her hands scrambling to mine upon her hips, "God damnit, I shoulda...ughh...shoulda known you'd do that."

Her face was absolutely beautiful as I watched her come to rest with me buried fully inside her. I hope to never forget the way she gasped when I was as deep as I could go.

"You feel so good sis," I told her as I pushed my hips firmly against her, "you are so incredible Tzuyu...mnnnhh... and so freaking tight."

She smiled through a scrunched, focused face and hugged me, kissing my neck when she got close enough. She was still adjusting, which made sense having been a virgin only minutes before. I was content to hold her and feel her body against mine until she lifted her hips off and tried again.

"God...mnnhhhhh... I can't believe it fits in me." Her voice was mesmerizing to me. "You can't cum in me, okay?"

"Why not?" I asked, hoping she'd change her mind.

"Because," she said without much conviction, "because I could get pregnant."

I'm not sure why exactly, but the thought of cumming inside my little sister made me more aroused than ever. I grasped her hips as firmly as I could and helped her along the path of my cock. To my surprise. Tzuyu began rotating her hips in small, front-to-back circles like she'd done it a million times before. I don't know why I was so shocked; I guess with her indescribable sexiness came a natural affinity for being the perfect little plaything.

"Fuuuck Tzuyu..." I said as her hips rotated into mine again.

"Hmmm... what's wrong Oppa?" my little sister asked with a giggle.

"uhhh, unnghhhh...does that feel good big brother?" She was really exerting herself as she said it, moving her hips amazingly up and down on me. Both of us stared in disbelief as my cock disappeared into her over and over.

My hands wandered all over her, fingers spreading as I touched her flat stomach and felt the bottom of her ribcage. Tzuyu had an arm around my neck to steady herself as she kept her hips moving and her other hand guided me to her youthful breasts. They were so soft and perky; her nipples were stiff and the perfect shade of pink to my eyes and plying fingers. I don't know if all teenage girls have a chest like my little sister's but in that moment I thought that Tzuyu's were the most beautiful tits I'd ever see. A couple times I cupped one and lightly licked her nipple. She tried to help me access her, lifting up until my cock was almost out of her. Tzuyu clearly liked it because she arched her back to help me take her puffy little nub in my mouth.

Tzuyu and I were both breathing heavily and she was quietly moaning into my ear as I held her breast and lapped at it. She took my chin aggressively in her hand and kissed me; her forwardness made me throb with desire. I couldn't believe how well my little sister was doing for her first time, and I only wanted more.

I think Tzuyu could tell by the look on my face that I was really affected by the way she was grinding on top of me. She slowed.

"Are you getting close Oppa?"

I didn't want to change anything about the way we were fucking each other. I lifted my hips to maintain the speed she had established with her own. "Ohhh Oppa... fuck that feels...uh...uhh...good! Are you gonna cum soon?"

"Yes... keep going Tzuyu!"

"Unhh uh," she denied me.

Even though I tried to hold my little sister on top of me, her skin was slippery and slid from my grasp as she gracefully lifted herself from me and my cock abruptly popped from her quim. I cursed as she got to her feet and left me sitting there, deprived of my orgasm.

Again she could tell from the look on my face that I was disappointed. She tried to console me as she stood up and leaned in to kiss my cheek and the corner of my mouth.

"You know we shouldn't Oppa, I told you I wasn't on birth control and we could get in so much trouble." She said with those pleading eyes I loved seeing so much.

"I know Tzuyu," I said, placing both hands on her hips and forcing her to lean against me "and I still want to."

If she was intent on subduing my desire to continue with our incestuous sex and fully consummate the act, she wasn't doing a great job. Even as she tried to talk me out of it, Tzuyu had taken me in her hand and was using the fluids that she'd left on me to slide up and down on my cock. I flinched because I was still close to my climax

"That's bad Oppa... I'm in the middle of my cycle and you still wanna come in my pussy... in your little sister's pussy?"

I only moaned in response.

"I wonder what it feels like," she said, working her hand on my tip and leaning in so I could feel her breath on my ear. "I wonder what it would feel like if you squirted all your sticky cum inside me?"

"Fuck Tzuyu," I swore as she teased me.

"But we can't..." she said, never stopping the movement of her hand, "if you did... if you picked me up and fucked me right now... until your big cock squirted all your sperm in me..."

"Tzuyu, stop..."

"You could get me pregnant, you can't get your little sister pregnant..." she said unrelentingly, "what would mom and dad do?"

I couldn't take it much longer. My naked, teenage little sister was too tempting and her words were giving me visions of her belly showing the signs of our incest.

"If they knew my big brother had cum in my pussy, without any protection...

Oh God that would be so naughty," she whispered while her hips thrust her needy mound against my thigh. "fuck, uhhhh."

It was the adorable sound she made as she spoke that forced me to act.

I grabbed her, hard, standing up from my seat and wrapping an arm around her like a naughty child. I swiftly shouldered the shower door and brought her out into the room. On the floor was a furry looking bath mat: the place where I was going to finish with my little sister.

"Wha...what are you doing!?" she asked as if she didn't already know.

"You know what I'm gonna do Tzuyu..." I said with hungry eyes as I laid her on the ground with a thud. I watched her beautiful tits shake and marveled at her young body laid out for the taking beneath me.

"I'm gonna fuck you like you've been asking for..." I was bound by an animalistic drive, "and then I'm gonna cum in that tight little pussy of yours."

"No... Oppa... I" she stuttered, she looked nervous and cute and I was a million miles away from stopping. "I was just being mean... I didn't think you really wouuOOUUUuHHWWW"

I had kneeled at her entrance and pushed my tip into the tiny slit between her lips before she had even begun to protest. There was no chance her words could reach me now.

"Ouhhhh fuuuck Oppa," she tried to yell, but I covered her mouth with my hand. I didn't want our family to interrupt this last thing I had to do if they heard us.

Tzuyu tried and failed to push me off with both hands on my chest as I slid my cock into her in one steady stroke. Her mouth opened wide and she let out a muffled cry into my hand. I took both of her tiny hands over her head in one of my large ones and weighed down on them as I leaned over her.

Her look was a combined one of dismay and pleasure simultaneously. She tried to wiggle free but only succeeded in stimulating my buried member further. I released my hand from her mouth, her eyes begged me to let her speak.

"Ughhhh... fuck you!" she spat as I thrust into her roughly. Her petite body below me was mesmerizing to watch shake each time our hips connected, "Fuuuuck... ouuhhh owww... I hate you!"

I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea, but I leaned in close to kiss her. Tzuyu let my lips connect for a second and then bit my lip. I tried to pull back but she wouldn't let me go. So I forced my hips even harder against her; my tip found my little sister's cervix and prodded it roughly.

She released her hold on my sore bottom lip and gasped. "Ohhh goooddd," she breathed, "Uhhhfuuuck..."

I daringly darted my tongue to flick her lip as she was distracted. She didn't pull away. I slid my cock out and back into her again, and she let me press my lips to hers. She kept them pursed at first, resisting. So I thrust into her again and felt her jaw loosen. Twice more and she opened her mouth... and then we were making out, forcefully.

It was the hottest, angriest sex I'd ever had, and I was very near cumming in my little sister. I left her hands where they were, restrained above her head and grabbed on to her hips. I needed to hold her tiny pelvis as I prepared to climax.

Her hands stayed above her head for a moment, I could tell she was overcome by the feeling of being so roughly handled by her brother and still dealing with the relentless thrusts I was delivering into her. She looked up at me,

"Don't," she warned, her eyes fierce.

"I won't...ugh..." I said, "If you won't."

I had no idea if I could hold my end, but I was pretty sure that by the way my little sister's body was writhing and squirming in my hands that she would soon be helpless to stop herself cumming.

She darted her hands to my back and dug in, scratching me as I pounded her teenage pussy and desperately tried to withhold until she was overcome. As her fingers raked my skin I knew she'd leave a mark. It only made me fuck her harder, deeper. Her legs we wide and her hair was splayed out on the ground. With each drive, her whole body shook and she could do nothing to prevent her whining as I watched my little sister reach the edge and teeter with wide eyes upon me before she finally toppled.

"Ouuuuuuwhhhh oouuuhhh..." she howled, gasping for breath

Her thighs clenched around my waist and I could feel her heels on my buttocks. Instead of nails, I felt her tiny fingers holding onto my upper arms for dear life.

And then... blackness. I saw stars as I rolled my eyes back and buried into my little sister's vulnerable little pussy. I was glad she was holding me so tight because it grounded me as I began the most prolonged orgasm of my life. I felt my cock swell inside her, and my balls tightened to release the first flood of cum into the warm entrenchment of my little sister's quim. I listened to her squeal, knowing she sensed in as each rope of semen splashed her insides and searched to find the perfect path to her womb.

"Ohmygod...ughhh...I can feel...," my little sister breathed through her orgasm, I could hear the strain in her voice, "I can feel you cumming in me!"

I groaned with excruciating sensation as I withdrew a fraction of an inch and then mashed my hips against Tzuyu again, spouting yet another torrent of sperm into her fertile young pussy. Each time I did, I felt my little sister's body tense and her hands squeeze tightly. Seeing her climax was almost as rewarding as having emptied an incredible amount of seed inside of her.

I still held onto her body tight; the shower still ran relentlessly behind us, and for a few seconds my cock refused to stop emitting its incestuous contents into my baby sister. Even then, I knew that if there was any truth to what Tzuyu had told me, she could be pregnant by the very load that now threatened to seep out of her.

I had collapsed on top of her, still trying to hold myself up so I didn't crush my petite little sister. Her breaths were labored, and mine equally so. I could feel her hands gently draped on my back, and her breasts and midsection hot, damp and mashed against me.

It was an indiscriminate amount of time before Tzuyu rolled us over. I tried to help, but she did most of the work. My cock had refused to soften, so it stayed lodged inside of her as she came to straddle me in the middle of the bathroom floor.

Again, silence. Tzuyu halted in a prominent position, knees bent and surrounding my hips tightly. Her eyes were, at first, focused on the place where my cock remained stuffed into her teenage pussy. Our fluids were eking out of the tautly split lips at her opening. Slowly, my little sister lifted her beautiful blue eyes to me. I watched her intently and met her gaze without a blink or a word.

I knew that look; I'd seen it a million times before. She squinted at me and furrowed her brows, looking angry. I didn't flinch. She tried to glare more intently. But slowly, surely, her pursed lips gave way. She did this when she was trying to pretend she was mad at me but knew she was simply acting.

I took hold of her hips; her eyes following my hands. I could probably fuck the little brunette again right then, but I just wanted to give her a jolt. She was small enough that I could urge her up an inch on my cock before dropping her back onto me. I watched as her whole body cringed.

And then she broke out into a full, gorgeous smile before giggling, though she was trying hard not to.

"You..." she said with her big blues, "are a JERK!"

I laughed outright, "What did I do?" I asked with a drawl.

"Ha!" she scoffed, "Are you fucking serious?"

I just smiled at her. Tzuyu directed her eyes between us to where my manhood stuck proudly up into her channel. I was dreading the moment, but as we watched she began to lift herself up and off of my cock. It felt like it took forever, but when she reached my tip, she paused and looked at me again, knowing what we were about to see.

She freed my head from inside of her, and after a second or two, the white gleam of my sperm showed between her recovering pussy lips. After all the cum I had shot deep into her that was surely now making its way to impregnate her, there was still plenty left that dripped out onto my head and shaft which lingered just below.

"Oh... my... God!" she complained. "Are... you...FUCKING...SERIOUS?!"

Again, that adorable look on her face. I knew she'd be mad, but she couldn't hide her smirk. Some of her had to know that she'd been teasing me into a situation just like this.

"Do you always cum this much?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"Hmmm..." I pondered, "nahh... only when my little sister's been a cock-tease for about a week."

"Fuck you!" She snapped back, "I should just tell mom and dad that you fucked me... no raped me in the shower and then came in my pussy without a condom or anything!"

"Ha-ha you go ahead, but don't leave out the part where you jerked your brother off while he was taking a nap, or the part where you..."

"Oh shut up!" Tzuyu interrupted, "I'm not gonna tell them anything, because then I'd have to tell them how I'm not gonna take the morning after pill either."

"Wha..." I started, unable to find words. I hadn't thought it through, I might have been turned on by the thought of getting my little sister pregnant, but I thought for sure she'd be against it. I'd filled Tzuyu up with cum without really considering it.

"You heard me, it's, like, terrible for your whole body and I'm not fucking taking it." She said confidently. Then her face changed a little; she bit the corner of her lip and spoke more softly.

"Plus, it makes me really horny thinking about my big brother getting me pregnant..."

My mouth was agape, I must have looked silly.

"You can close that mouth of yours big brother. You are the one who wanted to cum inside me so badly, now deal with it."

And she was right. I had fucked my little sister and spurted my cum into her with full understanding of the risks only minutes ago. And now that I really thought about it, I would do it again.

"Well, you little slut..." Tzuyu gasped and slapped me, I responded slapping her ass with both hands and leaving them there..

"I guess you won't mind then if I fuck you again!"

"Wait... I...no..." She attempted to say as I quickly grasped her and lined up her entrance with my cock. Before she could utter another word I lifted my hips and brought her down so my cock, covered in my overflown cum, was once again buried at home in the eighteen-year-old's pussy

I was overcome by lust, fueled by the thought of filling up my baby sister again, and roused by her defiant attitude and willingness to risk pregnancy. I sat up, bent my knees below me, and cradled Tzuyu's soft little ass in my hands. 

She resisted at first, probably sore from the pummeling of moments before. But her walls were coated in our fluids and my cock slid more easily between them. Before long, Tzuyu was moaning again and complementing my strenuous effort to make love to her. I couldn't drive as deeply into her, but I loved how the two of us worked together to fuck each other like long-lost lovers.

"God I love the way you fuck me," Tzuyu told me.

"I could do this forever sis," I said as we stared into each other's eyes.

"Well how about you just fill me up again... uhhh fuck... for now...ouhhhh...I wanna feel you cum inside me again!"

Like before, we kissed and then made out arduously. My palms stayed locked onto her plump backside, I could tell she was too weak to stay up on her own. And fortunately, before long, I felt the familiar tightening deep within my groin and the following jolt of sensation that would couple my orgasm.

I don't remember if Tzuyu came. I think she did, because I remember her whimpering, practically sobbing as I urged my cock snugly inside of her. As if I had not already done enough, I began adding yet another surge of my forbidden semen to my little sister's laden pussy. It gushed forth and Tzuyu whined as she felt it splatter deep within. I came so hard for the second time that it hurt, and when I was done I nearly tossed my little toy aside for I could hold her no more.

She panted and laughed at the same time, and I watched her as she laid out on the floor. Her opening, outer lips, and the tiny channel within were soon shining with the unruly cum I'd spent into her. Her beautiful body shimmered with sweat and her breasts heaved up and down as she tried to catch her breath.

I heard Tzuyu laughing; she was as shocked at the whole experience as I.

My little sister... laid out... untouched until I'd gotten in the shower with her... and now, if fate would have it, filled twice and made pregnant by her older brother's semen...

I struggled to catch my breath too, and eventually I laid down beside her and took her in my arms. I have no idea how we got so lucky that nobody had come to find us. I'd later find out that our family had been in the pool and nobody was willing to get out and call us down. For if they had, the state they would have found us in would have been... dramatic

"Well that was... interesting." she said when she'd finally come to.

"Just interesting?" I asked

"It was a lot of things Oppa," she continued, "a lot of things I'd like to do again."

I leaned in and kissed her, long and slow.

"Whatever you want little sis, though, maybe we ought to be a little more careful next time."

"Where's the fun in that?" She asked with a naughty smirk.

After that we showered together, playing and touching each other and watching as my cum leaked down my little sister's leg. A couple times she tried to hold the fluid inside of her that kept making its way out, but it was no use. I told her I would love to fuck her again, but she begged me not to as she was too sore from the first two times I had. Instead I simply played with her entire body and we stayed within inches of each other for the duration of the shower.

When we were done, Tzuyu wrapped a towel around herself and peeked out of the bathroom. She checked up and down the hall before whispering to me that the coast was clear. She didn't have an extra towel so I was stark naked, and before I sidled out into the hall, I snagged the towel from her and pinned her against the wall at the entrance to her bedroom.

I kissed her, and she kissed me right back. I held her tight, and she grasped me like she'd never let go. My erection threatened to go right back where it belonged as it poked between us, and she giggled as it prodded her below.

"Get out of here!" she warned.

"Alright alright," I said regretfully.

Of course, I pinned her one last time against the wall and put a hand on her breast and one on her butt while stealing one last kiss. I held her tight as I took her in for the last time in however long it would take to be back at her side. Her tongue lingered beyond her lips as I pulled away and left her wanting at the door.

Just as I made it to my room I heard our father call. "Kids! What the heck are you doing?"

I yelled something about being right down, and he just assumed we'd been texting in our rooms or something of the like. Before I went in the door, I saw Tzuyu step halfway out of her door, daringly, and put one arm over her breasts while biting her finger and one over her pussy. The pose was something out of a dream, and I'd spend every minute of that day remembering it until I found myself once again fucking my little sister senseless.

When we came back downstairs, our family was none the wiser. I watched my little sister swim around playfully and chat with our family, knowing that her little pussy was still filled with my cum, her big brother's cum, even though she was still acting like her usual, innocent self.

"What were you two doing up there?" my mother asked.

"Just taking a quick nap and a shower," Tzuyu answered, smiling my direction when she knew nobody could see "I needed to rest up and get ready to take my big brother like I said I would."

I couldn't believe my ears. I just nodded and acted disinterested; how Tzuyu was able to lie like that, knowing the truth and hiding it perfectly, I just do not understand.

"Think you're up to the challenge after dinner Oppa?" she asked me, "cuz' I'll be ready for you."

I mumbled something and flashed her a very concerned look when she stopped egging me on. She smiled and gave me that naughty look again, knowing that I'd be fucking her senseless just like she was asking me to right in front of our family like it was no big deal.

If only they knew.

I have no idea how long our secret can stay hidden, but I can't help myself around Tzuyu anymore. She's even more insatiable than me, and our dangerous behavior has only gotten worse since we first started up. But, I don't regret one bit the day I decided to be lazy and take a nap in my little sister's room rather than mine. I love Tzuyu more than anything else in the world, and I know we're both glad that we finally became more than just brother and sister on that day. Someday, maybe soon, we both know what might happen: I'll sit by her side and help explain how happy my little sister and I are together, and why we're so excited to be adding another member to the family...when that time comes.

Until then, I'll be spending every minute I can finding out just how naughty my little sister Tzuyu can be... All because of a nap.

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jjk men with a s/o who has social anxiety

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

Gojo is, hands down, the worst person to have around when you have social anxiety because he’s the human equivalent of putting your phone on max brightness in a dark room. Subtlety? Never met her. He thinks the best way to help you “get over” your anxiety is to throw you directly into situations that terrify you—which is objectively the worst way to handle it, but he’s Gojo, so logic does not apply.

“Just talk to them! What’s the worst that could happen?” he says, as if your brain hasn’t already created 19,294 possible worst-case scenarios in the last three seconds.

But if he sees you really panicking, he does become your ultimate human shield. He will talk so much and so loudly that no one will even notice you’re in the room. He’s like a one-man hype squad—dramatically introducing you to people, telling fake stories about how you once saved a baby from a burning building (??), and physically spinning you around like a confused sim to “showcase” you to others.

He also thinks he can fix your anxiety with money. You’re nervous? BOOM—he just bought the entire café so no one else can be there while you order. Scared of talking on the phone? Don’t worry, he hired a personal assistant to do all your calls. You get anxious at big events? Guess what—you’re now watching the concert alone in a VIP skybox, courtesy of Satoru “I Have No Concept of Boundaries” Gojo.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

Unlike Gojo, Geto actually listens when you say you have social anxiety. He’s your calm, soothing presence who always has your back. If you’re at a social event, he stays close, and does all the talking for you.

Someone pressures you into talking? Geto immediately places a protective hand on your shoulder and effortlessly takes over. “Ah, they don’t feel like talking right now. You understand, don’t you?” (Read: You better understand, or you will be dealt with.)

Geto has zero problems with being your designated spokesperson. If you need something from the waiter but are too anxious to ask, Geto just lifts a lazy hand and orders for you like it’s second nature. And if you ever need an excuse to leave somewhere, he straight-up lies for you.

He always notices when you start getting overwhelmed, even when you try to play it cool. “Do you need a break?” “You wanna go home?” “I can fake an emergency if you need an out.” He has 10 different exit strategies prepared at all times.

He also gaslights you into confidence (in a good way). If you say, “Ugh, I was so awkward,” he immediately replies, “No, you were mysterious and cool.” He refuses to let you spiral.

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami takes your anxiety very seriously and does research to figure out how best to help you. He probably has a folder of PDFs titled “How to Support Someone With Social Anxiety,” and he reads all of them.

He notices you struggling in conversations and subtly steps in, redirecting attention away from you without making it obvious. He also has the unique skill of making excuses for you so smoothly that even you believe them. He never forces you into situations that make you uncomfortable. If you don’t want to go somewhere, he’ll just stay home with you—no questions asked.

He also takes over any “adult” interactions you dread. Need to call and schedule an appointment? Nanami’s already dialing. Don’t want to talk to a stranger? He steps in like a well-paid lawyer. You once told him that you hate making returns at stores because the confrontation stresses you out. Next thing you know, he’s standing at the counter, receipt in hand, calmly saying, “This item was defective. We’d like a refund.” The cashier is terrified. You’re in awe.

At restaurants, he’ll call the waiter over if you’re too nervous. At events, he’ll stand in front of you like a personal barrier so you don’t feel exposed. And if someone talks too much or makes you uncomfortable, he stares at them until they wither away into dust.

Nanami never makes you feel bad for being anxious. He just accepts you as you are and adapts accordingly.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

Choso, bless his soul, does not understand social anxiety, but he understands you—and that’s enough for him. The first time you explain it, he just blinks slowly. “So… you feel like dying when you talk to people?” You nod. He nods back, solemn. “Okay. I will protect you.”

He takes this very seriously. If he senses your discomfort, he physically puts himself between you and the offending person, staring them down like a guard dog. Someone talks too much and won’t let you leave? Choso suddenly appears behind you like a horror movie villain, towering and unsmiling. “They don’t want to talk anymore.” You swear you hear boss music.

He thinks hand-holding is the solution to all your problems. If you’re anxious, he just grabs your hand—even in situations where it’s unnecessary. Grocery store? Holding hands. Walking through a park? Holding hands. Sitting next to each other in silence? Holding hands. It’s like his instinctual support system.

He also never pressures you to be social. If you don’t want to go somewhere, he just stays home with you. You could literally say, “I’m too anxious to go outside today,” and he’d nod and say, “Understandable. We stay inside forever now.”

Choso also becomes way too invested in your coping mechanisms. You once told him that looking at your phone makes you feel less awkward, so now, if you ever get anxious, he just wordlessly hands you his phone. No explanation. No context. Just here, take it. It’s always open to some weird Google search like “How do birds know how to fly if nobody teaches them?"

You love him so much.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji has no clue what social anxiety even is. You try explaining it, and he just squints at you like you’re speaking another language. “You’re scared of talking? Just don’t talk.”

You sigh. It’s a lost cause. Despite this, he is somehow still your biggest protector. His solution to your nervousness? Make you feel like you own every room you walk into.

If you hesitate before going somewhere, he hypes you up. "What do you mean you're nervous? Look at you. You’re hot. If anyone even looks at you wrong, I’ll break their kneecaps."

That being said, Toji lives for watching you suffer (affectionately). If you get flustered in social situations, he finds it hilarious. You mumble your order at a restaurant? Toji leans in, smirking. “What was that, sweetheart? Speak up.” You turn red. He grins.

But if anyone else makes you uncomfortable? Oh, they’re dead. Toji has zero patience for people who push you too hard. If someone tries to force you into a conversation, Toji just slings an arm around your shoulder and leans in, voice deceptively casual. “They don’t wanna talk, dumbass. Walk away.” They always walk away.

If you’re anxious in public, he distracts you with absurd nonsense. “Bet you ten bucks I can steal that guy’s drink without him noticing.”

Toji also loves using you as an excuse to leave events early. You both hate being around people for too long. If you’re nervous at a party, he just physically carries you out like a sack of potatoes. If you get overwhelmed in a crowd, he bulldozes a path through people like an unhinged linebacker.

And despite all his chaos, he always makes sure you feel safe. Because at the end of the day, Toji might be a menace, but he’s your menace.

[cbeargyu]

affection ✧.* c.soobin

summary: you weren’t looking for love. just… something. a hand to hold, a moment of quiet, a heart that didn’t feel so heavy. but chasing affection in the wrong places had left you emptier each time — until you met him. soobin. kind, gentle, patient soobin. you pushed him away when he tried to reach the parts of you you didn’t want anyone to see. but he stayed. he saw the broken pieces and didn’t flinch. and somehow, just standing next to him felt like coming home.

pairing: nerd!soobin x fem!reader

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, slow burn, mutual pining, emotional vulnerability, past trauma, soft smut, comfort sex, college au, emotional intimacy, fluff with heavy angst, crying during sex, heartbreak, toxic ex (jaehyun).

warnings: sexual content (soft smut, explicit but tender), emotional vulnerability, references to emotional manipulation/past toxic relationship, crying during intimacy, self-worth issues, mentions of emotional trauma, angst-heavy scenes, mild cursing, reader has intimacy and trust issues, soobin is the softest human alive and will make you cry (18+ only, minors DNI).

notes: i’m so happy and grateful for all the love the beomgyu fic has received — it truly means a lot to me 🥺🖤 just a reminder: English isn’t my first language, so thank you for your patience! This is also my first time writing smut, so I hope you enjoy it and feel the love I put into every word.

soobin never planned to go to that party. he had a project due on monday, a group report no one else was helping with, and a whole list of unread notifications in his coding forum. parties weren’t his scene. they were loud, chaotic, full of meaningless chatter and fake small talk.

but his roommate, choi beomgyu begged him to go — “come on, hyung, the girls from visual communication are joining this time. you can't code your youth away.”

so, reluctantly, soobin showed up, neat as always — white button-down shirt, black slacks, and his usual black-rimmed glasses that he adjusted every few minutes out of habit. while his classmates shouted over music and downed shots of soju like water, he sat at the far end of the table, sipping a soda, quietly observing.

that’s when you walked in.

he saw you before you noticed him. you wore confidence like perfume — not overwhelming, but impossible to ignore. your black crop top hugged your body perfectly, a short skirt revealing just enough, and those heeled boots clicked against the floor like a beat only you could walk to. your hair fell just right. your eyes scanned the room like you already owned it.

and then they landed on him.

you tilted your head curiously. he looked different from the others — formal, stiff, awkwardly seated like he was out of place. but there was something about him... maybe it was the way his lips twitched nervously whenever someone made a joke, or how his fingers tapped rhythmically on his glass, like his brain was always working on something unspoken.

you slid into the empty seat across from him.

“hi,” you said, voice clear and sweet, but assertive. “soobin, right?”

his eyes widened slightly. “y-yeah. How’d you—?”

“you’re the only one not yelling,” you smirked. “kinda refreshing.”

he chuckled nervously, pushing his glasses up. “i guess i don’t blend in much.”

“that’s a good thing,” you replied without hesitation. “wanna drink?”

he hesitated, eyes flickering to the soju bottle you were holding.

“i don’t really drink.”

you leaned closer, a playful smile on your lips. “i won’t let you overdo it. promise.”

something about the way you said it — lighthearted, but sincere — made him nod.

you poured the drinks. one. two. light sips. soft laughter. his walls started to come down, little by little. you asked about his major. he asked about yours. you joked about how communication students always had to look flawless for presentations, and he admitted he didn’t even own hair gel.

then, the conversation shifted.

“so, uh,” soobin began, scratching the back of his neck, “i’ve been playing around with some indie game engines. just as a hobby. i’m trying to create this… interactive narrative? like a retro pixel art game with moral choice-based paths. i know it sounds kinda nerdy—”

“nerdy?” you interrupted. “that sounds sick. wait—so, like, the player’s decisions affect the storyline?”

his eyes lit up. you weren’t mocking him — you were interested.

He nodded, and as he talked, he got more animated. His voice rose with excitement as he described the branching paths, the artwork, the emotional arcs. he didn’t notice the way you shifted closer, your hand now resting on the table near his. he didn’t notice the way your thigh gently brushed his leg under the table.

“so... moral choices, huh?” you say, chin propped on your hand as you watch soobin’s eyes light up with every word he speaks. “like what? save the princess or let her die?”

he laughs, warm and unguarded. “kind of. but more... morally gray. like: help your friend cheat on an exam and risk your own grade, or tell the professor and lose the friendship.”

you raise a brow, intrigued. “damn. that’s... deep. and very specific. did that happen to you?”

he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “no. maybe. it’s a hypothetical.”

“right,” you say with a smirk, reaching for the soju bottle to pour another round. “well, professor choi, i hope you gave your digital friend some slack.”

“i made two endings,” he replies, then pauses. “wait, professor?”

you shrug, tilting your glass toward his. “you talk like one. all serious and nerdy.”

“i’m not that serious,” he protests, smiling now, more relaxed.

you lean in slightly, voice soft. “you kind of are. but I like it.”

he’s silent for a moment, blinking.

then, in a softer voice, he asks, “what about you? i’ve been rambling this whole time. what’s your major again?”

“media production,” you say casually. “i make pretty things look important.”

he smiles. “sounds fun.”

you nod. “it is. lots of editing, lots of late nights. but i like telling stories.” you pause, your gaze dipping to his lips for the briefest second before locking eyes again. “even the fake ones.”

he laughs at that. “maybe you could help with the cinematics for my game.”

“only if you give me creative control over the main character’s love story.”

he raises a brow. “that’s... oddly specific.”

you wink. “everything’s a love story, soobin.”

he swallows, hard.

but he noticed when you suddenly leaned into him to hear better — the bar had gotten louder, the music thumping. your shoulder touched his. your chest grazed his arm. and for the first time in his life, choi soobin forgot how to breathe.

you didn’t pull away.

neither did he.

you both sip your soju, and for a moment, neither speaks. the table around you has gotten louder. someone yells out a drinking chant. you glance sideways, then lean in just a little more so he can hear you.

“you know,” you murmur near his ear, your breath warm against his skin, “your friend beomgyu is wasted.”

soobin follows your gaze. beomgyu’s halfway off his seat, swaying dramatically while trying to sing along to a girl group song.

he huffs a laugh. “he’s always like that. gets drunk off three shots and starts performing like he’s on music bank.”

you turn your face toward soobin’s, still whispering. your lips are inches from his ear. “at least he’s not in the bathroom with a sunbae.”

soobin blinks. “what?”

you grin. “my friends went with a few. they’ve been gone for a while.” you pause for dramatic effect. “you do know what happens when girls go to the bathroom with sunbaes, right?”

soobin’s entire face flushes.

“i—uh—i mean—maybe they’re just—talking?” he stammers.

you burst into soft laughter, brushing his knee with yours under the table. “you’re so pure, soobin.”

“i’m not!” he protests, but he’s still red, ears pink and glowing.

“oh, really?” you tease, tilting your head. “then why are you blushing so hard?”

he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. he looks away, adjusting his glasses, trying to hide the way his eyes keep drifting back to your lips — still glossed and shining from the soju.

you lean closer, your voice barely above a whisper now. “you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

soobin freezes.

you smile.

and he realizes something, right then and there: you're not just beautiful. you're dangerous.

the music booms louder. someone starts chanting for shots again. but for you and Soobin, the world has narrowed into one tiny space: the few inches between your face and his.

he’s looking at you like he’s not sure if this is real — like you might vanish if he blinks too long.

but you don’t.

instead, you stay close. too close. your perfume has wrapped around him like a spell, and your knee is still brushing against his. the room is hot, but it’s nothing compared to the burn beneath his skin.

“soobin,” you whisper again, teasing, your voice honeyed, “are you really as pure as you look?”

“i—” he starts, voice dry, but you cut him off.

you tilt your head and, without warning, you press your lips to his.

it’s soft.

just a taste.

he freezes for a second — surprised, breath caught — and then, like something deep inside him snaps, he kisses you back.

harder.

with need.

his hand finds your waist, gripping tight, pulling you closer with a quiet desperation. you gasp slightly against his mouth, not expecting the sudden boldness. but you love it. you lean in more, wrapping your fingers around the collar of his button-up shirt, tugging him toward you.

he tastes like soju and mint gum and something that’s just… soobin.

his other hand fumbles before settling on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. there’s something both unsure and intense in his touch — like he’s scared he’ll mess it up, but even more scared to stop.

you pull back just enough to breathe, your lips swollen and your eyes glazed with heat.

“not so pure now, huh?” you murmur, teasing again.

he looks at you like he doesn’t know whether to kiss you or confess something bigger — but he chooses the first, crashing his mouth back onto yours with a groan that rumbles from his chest.

when you shift closer, almost climbing onto his lap, he holds you with more force than you expected. his fingers dig into your hips as if anchoring himself, as if he doesn’t want to let go.

your hand slips beneath his shirt, palm brushing his stomach, and he exhales sharply against your mouth. his lips move to your jaw, then your neck, uncertain at first… until he hears your soft gasp.

“let’s go,” you whisper in his ear, breathless, the suggestion hanging hot in the space between you.

he stiffens. “to… my place?”

you smirk. “too far.”

your hand slips into his, firm and electric.

“my apartment’s closer.”

you don’t wait for him to agree.

you just lead him out — past the pulsing music, past beomgyu still singing in his drunken stupor, past your friends who are nowhere to be seen — and into the cool night air, where soobin’s heart beats so loud he’s sure you can hear it.

he doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

but he knows he’s not stopping you.

and that he wants this — you — more than anything he's ever wanted before.

your apartment was dimly lit — soft, warm, intimate. the moment the door clicked shut behind you, it was like the air changed. soobin stood there for a second, his eyes scanning your space like he’d just stepped into another realm. then you turned to him, a teasing smile curling at your lips, and tugged him gently by the hem of his shirt.

he followed like gravity.

the first kiss happened slowly — a hesitant brush of lips that turned into something deeper. desperate. heated. you tasted of soju and strawberry gloss, and he tasted like restraint finally snapping in half. his hands found your waist, clumsy at first, then firmer, as if he was trying to memorize the shape of you with his fingers.

clothes fell off in pieces — half-forgotten in the trail from the hallway to your bed.

soobin’s eyes never left yours, even when you pulled him over you, even when your nails raked softly down his back. he asked you quietly if this was okay. you answered with a kiss that made him groan against your mouth.

and when he finally moved inside you — shaky but tender — it wasn’t perfect.

it was better.

it was real. hot. messy. and achingly good.

you guided him, whispered to him, taught him what you liked — and he listened. god, he listened. every sound you made, every arch of your back, he responded like he was being graded on it.

and if he was, he passed with flying colors.

he was intuitive. curious. attentive.

no man had ever made you feel like that.

the climax hit you like a wave crashing too fast — unexpected and all-consuming. his name fell from your lips like a secret, like a confession. and when it was over, when you lay tangled together in the silence of your room, your heart was racing not just from the sex, but from him.

you should’ve felt satisfied.

instead, you felt… addicted.

the hum of the editing lab wrapped around you both like a low heartbeat. it was almost midnight, and the room had long emptied, save for the soft glow of the screen and the occasional sound of soobin typing, hesitant, as if even his fingers were overthinking.

you leaned back in your chair, eyes on the render but mind somewhere else — maybe still tangled in his sheets from last night.

“you okay?” he asked quietly, glancing sideways at you.

you nodded, absently. “just tired.”

"so..." he starts, voice low, not meeting your eyes. “last night. i didn’t mean to stay so long.”

you tilt your head, smirking. "you mean, you didn’t mean to keep me up 'til 3 am?"

his ears flush pink, but he chuckles. “well, you didn’t seem to mind.”

you lean in, your voice dropping an octave. “i didn’t.”

it was a half-truth.

you weren’t tired. you were numb.

not from exhaustion, but from the repetition — the cycle.

work. touch. release. silence.

he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, then stopped. instead, he scrolled through the code, pretending to focus, but his eyes kept drifting.

you noticed. of course you noticed.

you always did.

“you know,” you said, breaking the silence, “your animation loop still stutters at frame 27. i can help you clean it up later.”

he smiled — small, shy. “you don’t have to. I already owe you too much.”

you shrugged. “it’s your project, soobin. i’m just… happy to be part of it.”

another silence fell, but this one was heavier. His gaze lingered on you longer now. not the way he did when you were naked and under him. this was different. softer. wanting.

you hated that look.

so you stood up, stretching slightly, letting your shirt ride up just enough to tease.

“i should go,” you said.

he blinked, caught off guard. “already? it’s not that late—”

“you need rest,” you cut in, grabbing your bag. "big day tomorrow.”

he hesitated. “can i… can i come over?”

you turned to him slowly, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“do you want to?”

his ears flushed. he looked down at his hands. “you know i do.”

you stepped closer, just enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “then say it.”

soobin looked up, meeting your eyes. there was something fragile in his expression — hope, maybe. longing.

but you didn’t let it bloom.

you leaned in, brushing your lips against his, soft and fleeting. a kiss with no promise.

no future.

“i’ll text you,” you whispered. “if i feel like it.”

then you turned and left, the door clicking softly behind you.

it was past 1:30 a.m. when you heard the soft knock at your door.

three short taps. hesitant. familiar.

you were in bed, hair loose, wearing nothing but an old oversized tee and underwear, your laptop glowing softly with a paused movie. for a second, you thought you were imagining it. but then it came again — one more knock. you got up slowly, half-annoyed, half-curious.

when you opened the door, there he was.

choi soobin. hoodie slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his glasses fogged up. eyes wide, like he didn’t plan on actually doing this until he did.

you leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “couldn’t sleep?”

he looked down, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted quietly. “i didn’t want to wait for a text.”

your lips curled slightly. “bold tonight, aren’t you?”

he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “can i come in?”

you stepped aside, not saying a word. he brushed past you, and you closed the door behind him with a click that sounded like permission.

as soon as he turned around, you pressed him against the wall, your hands sliding under his hoodie. he gasped softly, but his hands found your waist like instinct.

“i wasn’t sure you’d come,” you murmured against his jaw, lips ghosting over his skin.

“i told you i would if you asked,” he whispered, already breathless.

“i didn’t ask.”

“you didn’t have to.”

you kissed him then — no teasing, no buildup. just lips crashing, hungry, messy, desperate. he kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like he’d imagined this moment a hundred times, and now it was finally real. your fingers tangled in his hoodie, pulling it up, and he broke the kiss only to help you tug it off.

your hands roamed his chest, down to his abs — firm, warm. he wasn’t the scrawny nerd you first thought he’d be. He had strength, a body that surprised you. you tugged him down by the waistband of his sweats, eyes locked on his, voice a low whisper against his lips.

“sit back for me, soobin.”

he blinked, confused, aroused. “w–what?”

you pushed gently at his chest, guiding him to the edge of the bed. he obeyed without protest, legs parted, hands gripping the sheets.

“i want to taste you,” you said simply, dropping to your knees between his thighs.

his breath hitched. “y/n…”

you smiled up at him, slow and sinful. “relax.”

with one hand, you pulled his sweats and boxers down in a single motion, exposing him fully. He was already hard, flushed and twitching, and the sight of it made you ache.

“shit,” he whispered, covering his face with one hand. “i can’t believe this is happening.”

you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh, then up, up — teasing, warm, slow. he trembled under your mouth. when you finally took him in, inch by inch, his hand flew to your hair, not to push, just to hold. like he needed something to ground him.

“f–fuck, y/n—” his hips bucked slightly, but you pressed a hand to his stomach, holding him in place. your tongue swirled around him, dragging moans from his throat like music.

“you feel so good,” he groaned, head falling back. “i don’t think i’m gonna last…”

you pulled back just enough to say, “then don’t.”

then you took him deep again, your rhythm relentless, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on his. watching him fall apart under your touch. his thighs tightened, his moans got louder, breath ragged.

“y/n— i’m— i’m gonna—”

you didn’t stop.

you stayed right there, even when his hips jerked, when he spilled into your mouth with a broken, helpless cry of your name. you swallowed, slow and deliberate, then licked your lips as you sat back on your knees, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

he looked down at you, completely wrecked.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, eyes still glazed.

you just smirked. “not yet.”

then you pulled him down to the bed, climbed on top, and whispered against his lips:

“soobin,” you whispered, voice low, sultry. “you gonna just stay there, or are you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

his eyes widened, dark with desire. “i don’t wanna mess this up.”

you stepped closer, pressing his hand against the curve of your ass. “then don’t.”

That was all it took.

he grabbed your thighs and lifted you easily, like instinct, like he’d wanted to do this forever. you wrapped your legs around his waist, lips finding his again as he carried you, bumping into the walls, breathless laughter between kisses. when he laid you on the bed, his hands trembled — not from fear, but anticipation.

he knelt between your legs, pulling your panties down slowly. watching your expression. eyes flickering between your parted lips and the way you bit them.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “i’ve never seen anything like you.”

you smirked, “then show me how much you like what you see.”

and he did.

his mouth, warm and eager, exploring your skin, your thighs, your core. It wasn’t perfect, but it was passionate. raw. messy. and so damn real. you moaned his name, fingers tangling in his hair, and when he finally slid inside you — slow, deep — he gasped like it was the first breath he’d taken in hours.

“so tight,” he groaned into your neck. “fuck—i... i love this..."

you rocked your hips against his, matching his rhythm, breath against his ear. “feel me, baby. you’re inside me now. nothing to overthink.”

his pace quickened, your bodies moving in sync, sweat slicking your skin. his name spilled from your lips, breathy and broken. he looked down at you, jaw clenched, fighting to last.

“i’m close,” he warned.

you cupped his face, kissed him deep. “then don’t hold back. cum for me.”

he did — with a soft, choked moan against your neck, his whole body trembling. and you followed soon after, your climax crashing into you like a wave, sharp and sweet and overwhelming.

you lay there for a moment, tangled in sheets and each other, chests rising and falling in sync.

but then, the moment passed.

you pulled away first.

no words. no promises. you grabbed his hoodie from the floor and tossed it to him.

“It’s late,” you said, voice flat now.

he nodded, quietly getting dressed, still catching his breath. “right. i’ll… see you tomorrow? for the project?”

you smiled faintly, eyes unreadable. “of course.”

and just like that, he left — around 3 a.m., hoodie half on, hair messy, heart heavier than he’d admit.

you lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

he was addictive.

but this wasn’t love.

just affection.

the next day, you were already in the media lab by noon, hair up in a clip, sipping an iced coffee like nothing happened. like you hadn’t spent half the night moaning his name into your sheets. you were scrolling through some reference animations when you heard the door creak.

he walked in — soobin, hoodie slightly rumpled, eyes darker than usual, laptop tucked under one arm like a shield.

“hey,” he said, voice low, careful.

you didn’t look up right away.

“hey,” you replied casually, then shot him a glance. “you look like you slept five minutes.”

“three,” he muttered, sitting beside you. “thanks to you.”

you smirked. “you're welcome.”

he chuckled under his breath, but the way his eyes lingered on your collarbone, on the way your fingers tapped against your straw — it wasn’t casual for him. not anymore.

“so… did you get a chance to work on that npc dialogue system?” you asked, flipping the screen toward him.

he blinked. took a second too long to switch gears. “yeah, uh—yeah. i built the first tree structure. i’ll show you.”

you leaned closer, shoulder to shoulder, like nothing. like you hadn’t had him inside you hours ago.

he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his position, fingers suddenly awkward on the trackpad.

“you okay?” you asked, feigning innocence.

he nodded, then… hesitated. “do you… always do that?”

your brows lifted. “do what?”

he stared at the screen. “act like it didn’t happen.”

you tilted your head, biting back a grin. “did you want a commemorative plaque or something?”

soobin flushed immediately, lips pressing into a line. “no. just—forget it.”

silence stretched for a moment. you let it.

because you were fine. it was what it was.

friends. collaborators. occasional bodies tangled in bedsheets.

no promises.

no future.

just affection when the night hit hard and the skin craved warmth.

you leaned in again, voice low and playful, barely above a whisper. “i like you better when you’re coding instead of catching feelings.”

that made him laugh — small and bitter, but still soobin.

“yeah,” he murmured, “me too.”

you sat side by side, going over the storyboard edits for soobin’s game. but his knee kept brushing against yours. your fingers kept finding excuses to linger near his. every time you spoke, he looked at your lips instead of your eyes.

a laugh. a brush of fingers when you reached for the same pen. the hum of your breathing syncing unconsciously as you leaned over his sketchpad, discussing the new character render.

but the tension was undeniable — thick, like summer air before a storm.

you shifted in your seat. soobin’s gaze followed the curve of your mouth when you smiled at something dumb he said. his knee bumped yours under the table — once, twice — and this time he didn’t move away.

your eyes locked.

he licked his lips.

you tilted your head.

“are you going to kiss me,” you whispered, “or just keep pretending you’re focused?”

soobin blinked, startled — but only for a second. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a hunger he rarely let slip. his mouth found yours in a kiss that was wet, desperate, a little uncoordinated, but still made your body heat like a fever.

you straddled him in the lab chair, fingers digging into his shoulders as his lips mapped your throat. he groaned quietly when your hips rolled against his. you loved how sensitive he was, how new it still felt to him.

his fingers fumbled at your waistband, and yours slipped under his hoodie, nails grazing the skin of his stomach.

and then—

his voice broke through the haze.

“i think i love you...”

time paused.

the kiss didn’t end — not completely. but you stilled in his arms, lips barely touching.

he looked up at you, chest heaving. there was no mask, no hesitation in his gaze — only raw, trembling honesty.

you swallowed hard.

“someone could see us,” you murmured, pulling back slightly. your hand pressed flat against his chest. “we shouldn’t… not here.”

he nodded slowly. “right. sorry.”

but you saw the flicker in his eyes.

he knew you weren’t talking about getting caught.

and you knew… he meant every word.

soobin picked at his food, eyes blank, fingers tapping against the side of his glass.

beomgyu dropped into the seat across from him with the energy of a man who hadn’t just bombed an engineering quiz. “yo, you look like someone stepped on your graphics card.”

before soobin could reply, minah slid in beside beomgyu, planting a kiss on his cheek. “hey, babe.”

soobin blinked. “you guys are dating?”

minah giggled. “it’s recent. we met at that party a few weeks back. y/n introduced us.”

beomgyu grinned. “she’s basically the campus matchmaker.”

soobin tried to smile.

minah looked at him with a knowing softness. “she said you two are close. working together?”

“yeah,” he said, voice low. “the game project.”

“she always puts her heart into everything,” minah said, stirring her coffee. “she’s one of the kindest people i know. genuinely warm. i’ve never seen her turn anyone away.”

beomgyu smirked. “you sure that’s all it is, soobin? that game project?”

Soobin froze, caught.

minah’s smile wavered. “can i… tell you something?”

his throat tightened. “yeah.”

minah took a breath. “she dated someone last year. jung jaehyun. from the film department.”

beomgyu’s eyebrows rose. “that asshole?”

minah nodded. “he cheated on her. more than once. manipulated her too — made her feel like everything was her fault. she loved him so much, and he treated her like she was disposable. it took her almost a year to recover. she still isn’t fully herself.”

soobin felt the blood drain from his face.

“she stopped believing in love,” minah whispered. “she’s terrified of it now. of letting someone in. that’s why she pushes people away when it gets too real.”

suddenly everything made sense.

the kiss that ended too soon.

the soft panic in your eyes when he said those words.

the coldness in your voice that didn’t match your trembling fingers.

you were afraid.

not of him — but of what he made you feel.

the soft hum of the bustling street outside the café filled your ears as you stepped out into the cool evening air. you hadn’t expected to see soobin again so soon after that moment in the lab — after everything.

but there he was, standing a few feet away on the sidewalk, looking lost in thought, as if he had been waiting for something… or someone. the moment you saw him, your heart did something unexpected. It skipped, then raced. the last few hours replayed in your mind like a movie — the confession, the words you couldn’t quite process, and the tension that clung between you two.

it felt as if the air around you was thick, but in a way that made it harder to breathe, harder to stay composed. you didn’t know what to expect. but you couldn’t walk away now. not after what had happened. you hesitated, then took a step toward him, the streets buzzing around you as you made your way through the crowd. and when he turned to face you, his eyes met yours, searching. they held something — hope, maybe.

but beneath that, a vulnerability, something you’d never seen in him before. “soobin,” you said softly, just to break the silence that seemed to hang in the air. his lips parted as he spoke your name, but before he could say anything else, he took a step closer.

“i didn’t expect to see you here,” he said with a small smile, his voice a little breathless. you stood there, unsure of what to say next. the weight of your emotions was too much to voice. you’d been trying to keep your distance, but everything you’d told him in the lab — everything that had been left unspoken, was still so fresh. "y/n," he began, his tone softer than before, as if he was carefully choosing his words. "i heard something earlier... from minah. about you and jaehyun."

you froze for a moment, your heart dropping to your stomach. you hadn’t expected this, not now, not after everything. the mention of jaehyun's name immediately brought a rush of old memories — the good and the painful.

soobin noticed your reaction, his expression filled with concern. he continued, his voice quiet but sincere. “she... she told me about your past with him. how he hurt you. how you’ve been carrying that pain for a long time.”

the words hit you like a cold wave, and you immediately felt the familiar wall go up inside you. the one you had built after jaehyun shattered your trust. you tried to keep your composure, but it was hard to suppress the hurt that resurfaced in an instant.

"i didn’t mean for anyone to know," you said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

soobin stepped closer, his gaze steady but filled with empathy. "y/n, i... i didn’t know. but hearing that from her, i just want you to know that i’m not like him. i’m not going to hurt you. i care about you."

it was like everything about him had a magnetic pull on you, drawing you in. but what was it? you wanted to understand it, but you weren’t sure you were ready for that yet. you had never really thought about falling for someone again — not after what jaehyun did to you. but soobin? he was different.

from the moment you met him, something in you had clicked. his presence, his voice, the way he made everything seem lighter. it had been almost a shift in your routine. the days had become brighter, the moments when you found him beside you felt full of a warmth you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. and, just like that, your feelings for him had grown, but slowly. subtly. almost like an invisible thread that tied you to him.

and now, standing here, you realized that in the short time you’d known him, everything had changed. your world had shifted, in the best way possible. you couldn’t even remember what life was like before him anymore. the routine of school, the small annoyances that once felt like mountains, they didn’t matter anymore when you were around him. soobin made everything feel like it could be okay, like things could be light again. he made you smile without trying, made you laugh just with the way he looked at you, or the way he spoke to you. and as your heart raced now, looking at him, you realized it had been him all along, ever since that first encounter.

he took a slow step toward you, his eyes full of something sincere. “i never expected to meet someone like you,” he said. “you… you’ve made things so much better. i wasn’t sure how to say this before, but now, i have to tell you. i’m really glad i met you.” your heart skipped a beat. the words, his honesty, made your chest tighten.

"i am too," you whispered. "but i’m just... scared. you know?" he paused, looking at you with understanding.

“scared of what?” he asked gently.

"scared that i’m not ready for this," you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. "scared of... falling for someone again. what if i screw it up? what if i can’t do this? i don’t want to hurt you, soobin."

soobin stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. his voice was barely above a whisper.

"y/n... i'm not going anywhere. i’m here for you. whatever this is… i’ll be here, for as long as you’ll have me." you felt like you were losing control of everything inside of you. his words, his sincerity, the feeling of being cared for in a way you hadn’t felt in so long, it made your heart ache in the best possible way.

you looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. but then the fear crept back in. the fear that maybe you weren’t ready to trust again, that maybe you weren’t worthy of someone’s love, especially not someone as kind as soobin.

"why does it have to be so hard?" you whispered, almost to yourself.

soobin squeezed your hand, his voice steady and calm. "because it’s worth it. if we give it a chance. if you give me a chance."

you didn’t know what to say. the vulnerability that you felt in this moment was overwhelming, but you also realized something. soobin wasn’t asking for perfection from you. he was asking for honesty, for a chance to show you that he wasn’t like jaehyun.

and despite all the fear, despite the scars left by the past, you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

soobin and you walk into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you like sealing a secret. neither of you speaks—there’s no need. the electricity between you crackles in the silence, heavy with all the things you’ve both wanted to say but instead chose to show.

soobin shrugs off his hoodie in one smooth motion, and underneath, the fitted polo clings to his arms, hugging every inch of muscle you’ve fantasized about. your eyes drag over him, slow and hungry, and he catches your gaze, a smirk twitching on his lips.

“come here,” he murmurs, voice thick with intent.

you don’t even make it to the bedroom before his hands are on your waist, his mouth crushing into yours with a hunger that steals the breath right out of you. you melt into him, fingers gripping the fabric over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart pounding like it wants to break free.

the kiss deepens, lips sliding, teeth nipping, tongues meeting with desperation. he backs you into the wall, grinding his hips into yours just enough to make you gasp. one of his hands travels under your shirt, grazing the soft skin of your waist, while the other cups your jaw to tilt your face and devour your mouth deeper. you moan into the kiss, your knees going weak, and he catches you like he was waiting for it.

“you feel so good,” he breathes into your neck, licking and sucking at the skin there, leaving you marked—claimed. “you drive me fucking insane.”

by the time you reach the bed, your shirt is gone, your bra unclasped, and soobin's hands are everywhere—greedy, but still careful. he kisses down your chest, slow and savoring, like he’s worshipping you with his mouth. then his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, finding you already soaked.

“fuck,” he groans, voice rough, eyes hooded as he pulls them down. “look at you. so wet for me already. you want this?”

“god, yes,” you whisper, breath trembling.

he slides a finger inside you, slow at first—testing. then a second joins, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that makes you whimper and arch into him. he watches you like you’re his favorite sin, completely mesmerized by how you fall apart under his touch.

your moans get louder, higher, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his thumb circling your clit with expert pressure. he kisses your thigh, murmuring praises between each stroke—how beautiful you look, how tight and perfect you feel, how he could stay between your legs forever.

when your climax crashes into you, it’s sudden and overwhelming. Your walls clench around his fingers as you cry out, your hips jerking and your thighs trembling. he doesn’t stop until he’s milked every last spasm from your body, until you’re panting and spent and completely undone beneath him.

“shit… that was so hot,” he says, his voice low, lips brushing against your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers. you catch his gaze and, feeling bold, you take his hand and pull his glistening fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean while holding eye contact.

soobin lets out a broken sound—half-moan, half-growl—as he crashes his lips to yours again, desperate, messy. he pulls you into his lap, settling you on top of him, both of you half-naked and feverish with want.

your body is still humming, trembling in the aftershocks of your climax when soobin kisses you again—hungry, desperate, like he’s chasing something deeper. his hands don’t leave your body, fingers tracing over your hips, up your stomach, down between your thighs again.

you whimper when he strokes you, still sensitive, but the way he looks at you—so enamored, so lost in you—makes the overstimulation morph into pleasure all over again.

“you can take it,” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “you’re so fucking perfect like this… i need to feel you again.”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. his fingers glide between your folds, spreading the wetness he’s already coaxed from you. he groans low, almost a growl, as he guides himself to your entrance, teasing you just enough to make you whine.

then he pushes in, slow but deep, stretching you inch by inch.

a gasp leaves your lips as he bottoms out, your body molding to fit him. he shudders against you, his arms wrapping around you tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“fuck—” his breath stutters. “you feel so good, baby… so fucking good.”

he starts moving, slow at first—rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, savoring the way your body clenches around him. His forehead rests against yours, and when you open your eyes, you find him staring at you like you’re something sacred.

that’s when his voice breaks.

“i love you,” he confesses, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline. “god, i love you so much it hurts.”

tears spill from his eyes, slipping down his cheeks before he can stop them. the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability in his touch—it makes your chest ache.

you don’t answer with words. instead, you hold his face, kissing his tears away, soothing him with soft whispers, with the warmth of your body moving in time with his.

then you shift, pushing gently on his shoulders, guiding him onto his back. he lets you take control, his lips parted in awe as you settle on top of him, sinking down onto him so slowly that he swears under his breath.

“fuck—” he gasps, head tipping back against the pillow.

you start moving, rolling your hips, riding him at your own pace, watching the way his brows knit together, how his hands grip your thighs, his lips falling open in pleasure. he looks wrecked beneath you, completely at your mercy.

“you’re such a good man, soobin,” you whisper, leaning down to press kisses along his damp cheeks. “you don’t have to hide from me. i see you… and i want you. just as you are.”

a broken sound leaves him—half-whimper, half-sob—as his hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. you keep moving, slow and deep, letting him feel everything.

his hips stutter under you, his breathing turning erratic.

“baby, i—” he cuts off with a strangled moan, his body tensing beneath you. “i can’t— i’m gonna—”

“cum with me” you whisper, kissing him deep as his release overtakes him.

soobin lets out a wrecked, breathless moan, his whole body shaking as he spills inside you. sis hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he rides out his high. his chest rises and falls in heavy gasps, eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed and undone.

even as the tremors subside, the tears don’t stop. you brush them away with gentle fingers, pressing soft kisses over his damp cheeks, his forehead, his lips.

“you’re okay,” you murmur. “i’ve got you.”

he exhales shakily, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you against his chest, still buried inside you, still trembling. he doesn’t say anything, just holds you—like you’re his anchor, his salvation.

and you let him.

because even though you didn’t say it back, he knows.

he feels it in the way you kiss him. in the way you hold him. in the way you don’t let go.

and for now, that’s enough.

he stops, just for a second, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaky and shallow.

“i love you,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, but it hits like thunder.

you freeze, just for a moment. your heart skips, your lips part—but you don’t say it back. not yet. instead, you kiss him. slow, deep, tender. you pour everything into that kiss—every spark, every silent yes, every beat of your heart screaming me too.

he exhales like it’s all he needed. you hold his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, and whisper, “you’re everything right now.”

he nods, tears brimming in his eyes.

and for the rest of the night, you show him. again and again, in every touch, every breath, every moan—you show him exactly what he means to you.

it’s more than just affection.

[mattrempeswife]

THE CALL-UP

series: blue and blind hearts | part: 01 02 03 04 05 06

pairing: quinn hughes x f!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers.

warnings: unrequited love, emotional angst, pining, mention of quinn’s girlfriend, reader feeling left behind, soft heartbreak, alcohol mention (legal age).

summary: quinn makes it to the nhl. you’ve always known he would but knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less. you were supposed to be by his side for everything, but somehow, you’re starting to feel like an afterthought. especially now that there’s someone new.

You always knew this moment would come.

Quinn Hughes drafted 7th overall, signed to Vancouver, called up to the big leagues.

You were there for every step leading up to it. The early morning workouts, the late-night self-doubt, the injuries, the pressure, the quiet confessions after tough games. You were the one who reminded him to breathe. To eat. To sleep.

You never missed a thing. Never.

So why did it feel like you were missing this?

He called you right after the news broke, voice loud and ecstatic.

“I made it,”

He said, out of breath like he’d run to the phone.

“Y/N! I fucking made it.”

You pressed the phone to your chest for a second, just to feel it. His excitement. His joy.

Then you put it back to your ear and whispered,

“I knew you would.”

“I’m flying to Vancouver in three days,” he continued.

“They want me on the ice immediately. Can you believe that?”

Yes, you could. You always did.

But your chest still ached like he was slipping through your fingers.

You helped him pack that weekend.

Folded t-shirts, rolled up sweatpants, shoved his favorite hoodie into the side pocket of his duffle bag. He stood across from you, tossing socks into the suitcase with no real aim, talking about ice time and coaches and city life like it was all a dream come true.

You didn’t say much. Just smiled when he looked your way.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, like a thought had just hit him.

“You’ll come visit, right?”

You looked up. “Of course.”

“I mean it,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to lose you just because I’m moving.”

Your heart stuttered at that.

Lose you.

He didn’t realize he already was.

You watched his debut from your college dorm, curled up on a beanbag with your laptop on your knees and a blanket over your shoulders. Your roommates cheered every time his name was mentioned on the broadcast. You smiled through it, pretending you weren’t watching with blurry eyes.

He looked so different out there.

Confident. Poised. Electric.

He looked like he belonged.

And for the first time in a long time, you wondered if you still did.

The first visit didn’t happen right away.

He was busy. Training. Adjusting. You understood. You always did.

He called when he could, FaceTime while walking home from practice, late-night check-ins when he couldn’t sleep. You tried to be happy for him, and mostly, you were.

But you started to notice things. Small things.

Like how he didn’t ask about your classes as much. Or how he cut calls short more often than not. Or how, one night, when you finally worked up the courage to say I miss you, all he replied with was.

“Yeah, I miss you too. Guess what though… met someone today.”

You didn’t remember much else from that call. Just the sound of your own heart breaking behind a quiet smile.

Her name was Sophia. (sorry 🥲)

You saw her first in a tagged photo on Instagram.

A group shot Quinn in the middle, smiling wide, his arm around a girl with perfect hair and that effortless kind of beauty you couldn’t fake. Someone in the comments had written ‘new couple alert???’ and Quinn hadn’t responded.

But he didn’t deny it either.

You waited for him to bring her up. He didn’t.

At least not right away.

—

You finally visited Vancouver two months later.

It was raining when your plane landed. Gray skies, city lights, the kind of cold that clung to your bones. He met you at baggage claim with a wide grin and that same old spark in his eyes.

“God, I missed you,”

He said, wrapping you in a hug that felt like home.

You closed your eyes and held on a second too long.

His apartment was bigger than you’d imagined.

Sleek, modern, still kind of empty. You dropped your bags by the couch and glanced around at the barely furnished space.

“Still living like a frat boy, I see,” you joked.

He laughed.

“Hey, I added a rug last week. That’s called aesthetic.”

You rolled your eyes and flopped down on the couch, trying not to think about how it smelled like someone else’s perfume.

Sophia showed up that night.

You weren’t expecting her. He hadn’t mentioned she was coming.

She walked in like she belonged there kissed his cheek, slid her arm around his waist, smiled at you like you were just another face.

“Oh!” she said brightly.

“You’re Y/N. The best friend. I’ve heard so much about you.”

You forced a smile. “All lies, I’m sure.”

Quinn didn’t notice the tension. He never did.

That weekend was hard.

Harder than you thought it would be.

They were cute together. She brought out this easy, flirty side of him you hadn’t seen before. And he seemed happy. That was what killed you.

Because deep down, you always thought you’d be the one to make him happy.

He invited her to everything, the game, the dinners, the late-night TV marathons. You slept on the pull-out couch in the living room, listening to them laugh behind a closed bedroom door, trying not to cry into the pillow you’d bought him last Christmas.

The night before your flight home, you found him on the balcony, wrapped in a hoodie, looking out at the city lights.

You joined him, shivering in your thin sweater.

“She’s great,” you said after a long silence. “Sophia.”

He nodded slowly.

“Yeah. She is.”

You didn’t say anything else for a while.

Then he turned to look at you.

“Do you think… I’ve changed?”

The question caught you off guard.

“Changed how?”

“Like… since all this started. Since the league. Since her.”

You studied him for a moment. He looked tired. Older. Like the weight of the world sat behind his eyes.

“No,” you said softly.

“You’re still you. Just… further away.”

He frowned. “I don’t want to be.”

You smiled, a little sad. “I know.”

But you already were.

When he hugged you goodbye the next morning, you didn’t say I love you.

You just said,

“Take care of yourself, Hughes.”

He smiled like he didn’t hear the crack in your voice.

“Always do.”

You watched him disappear into the terminal crowd, your heart heavier than your suitcase.

You’d loved him for so long. Long before the cameras and the crowds and the jersey with his name on the back.

But now you were starting to wonder if that love had a place in his new world.

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it's time to return the second favor. and for that reason, spencer finds himself invited by you...on a date?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist!female reader, fake date at the bar, reader's ex makes an appearance, kinda inspired by blank space taylor swift

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.5 k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

[unknown number] wake up pretty boy

[unknown number] time to pay your debt

Spencer, sitting on his bed with a book resting on his lap, stared at the message for a moment, his brows slightly furrowed. Evening, the warm glow of his lamp making it easy to read. He had the next day off, no real plans, just a quiet night ahead. The sudden chime of his phone had caught him off guard.

For a split second, he was surprised—but he didn’t have to think too hard to guess who the sender was.

He typed out how did you get my number, then deleted it before hitting send. Something else was far more interesting. And a little concerning. That second message. Pay your debt. She remembered about that now, at this hour?

Before he could ask, another text came in.

[unknown number] taking you on a date

[unknown number] dress nice

For a moment, deeply confused, he just stared at his phone, already sensing somewhere deep inside that this was going to be a really weird night.

[spencer] What do you mean by ‘date’?

A minute or two passed. He didn’t put his phone down. Didn’t even look away from the screen.

[unknown number] the one who asks questions loses his way

His fingers moved automatically.

[spencer] That’s not how the saying goes

✓ Seen 10:12 pm

Reid sighed. He had absolutely no plans to go out that evening, and he wasn’t thrilled about the fact that he hadn’t been given any details about this so-called date. Unless she was joking? There was something off about this—some kind of trick, a twist he hadn’t figured out yet.

The only thing stopping him from ignoring her messages—something he very much wanted to do—was the simple fact that he did owe her. Technically, twice. Though he had managed to repay one of those debts in an easy way, requiring almost no effort on his part.

He had a feeling this second one wouldn’t be nearly as simple.

And now he found himself wondering what exactly she meant by dress nicely.

*

"Wait, one more time. We’re going there as her… what?"

"Mental support," she said, moving forward with that usual quick stride of hers, the sharp tapping of her heels almost aggressive. Whether unconsciously or fully aware but not caring, she got a few steps ahead of him, speaking without turning back. Her voice hung in the night, street air.

Spencer hated when she did that. It made him feel like a dog on a leash. He sped up to match her pace.

"Well, I heard you," he scoffed. "Doesn’t mean I get what you mean. And maybe you should clue me in if I’m supposed to be part of…whatever this is” 

She stopped with a sigh so heavy it was as if giving him any details about something he was supposed to be part of was beyond her patience and strength. Hands tucked into the pockets of his blazer, he gave her a questioning look as she finally turned to face him.

His gaze dropped—quick, casual. Or at least, that’s how he thought it looked. Even at night, under the less-than-ideal glow of the streetlights, he could register how her outfit hugged her figure, emphasizing every curve.

At work, she dressed more formally. With her looks, that face, and the unshakable confidence she carried, she could probably make a burlap sack look like a designer gown. But Spencer had noticed something about the way she dressed for nights like this. Or rather, the way she became something else entirely. Like she belonged to the night, completely in her element.

Quick, casual glance—yeah, right.

To make the situation even more embarrassing, she snapped her fingers in front of his face, demanding his attention.

"Alright, listen up," she started, shifting her weight onto one hip. "I’m explaining this one last time. My friend, Liv—you might know her from my team…"

"Olivia, you mean," He said her full name in confirmation, recognizing the woman he had indeed seen before.

"Do you really have to correct me on how I call my own friends? Anyway, fine. Olivia has a date tonight with some guy she met online. The thing is, Olivia is a hopeless romantic who’s waiting for the love of her life to magically show up at her door, but she’s also buried in work and can’t even remember the last time she went on a date. Plus, she’s a little worried about ending up with some psycho. You know what I mean."

"All too well," he nodded, recalling all the missing persons cases that had started exactly like this—an online match gone wrong.

“Exactly. So Olivia asked me to come along. You know, for physical backup if anything goes sideways. And mental backup. Just to make her feel safer."

Well, he didn’t want to praise her out loud, but it was…nice of her. Okay, nice wasn’t the perfect word—honestly, the fact that she even had to do something like this was a little bitter at its core—but it didn’t change the fact that she was being a good friend.

He watched her for a moment, not even realizing he had gone quiet. He realized he’d never actually seen her interact with her people, her team, but he had somehow assumed their dynamic was more… detached. Not that she genuinely considered them her friends and actually cared.

"Finally caught up, genius?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Spencer snapped out of it. Okay, so maybe she cared about her friends—but she was still seriously unbearable.

"I get it. Except for one thing," he replied, matching her slightly rude tone, one that made him sound almost offended. She raised a brow, nodded as if giving him permission to continue, and started walking again—this time at a slower pace.

Actually, they were moving at almost the same rhythm now, nearly side by side.

"Why do you need me for this?"

Their eyes met, but this time, she didn’t look like she was about to mock him. In fact, the corners of her lips lifted slightly, as if she thought that was a very good question.

"Because tonight, pretty boy, I plan to stay completely on the sidelines," she explained. "Not interfering with my friend or her date in any way. Being completely invisible."

"Invisible?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

It wasn’t even just about what she was wearing. Drawing attention was simply an unavoidable part of her presence. She nodded in confirmation.

"Exactly. But I figured that to keep away all the desperate guys trying to get my number, all I need to do is bring one with me," she looked like she was trying not to laugh. "You’re gonna be my scarecrow."

Spencer's mouth fell slightly open, completely at a loss for words.

"You…you are just… just…"

"Amazing, smart, beautiful, wonderful…"

"Shameless. That’s the word"

For a moment, she didn’t respond, her expression filled with a strange kind of complacency.

"Love when you compliment me," she said in an overly sweet tone.

"That wasn’t—" he started, but then cut himself off, realizing there was probably no point in arguing with her. He sighed.

"You’re welcome."

*

Despite the late hour, the bar wasn’t overcrowded. Sure, there were plenty of people inside, but most were engaged in quiet conversations over their drinks. Spencer noticed quite a few couples. As if they were one of them, they found a secluded spot in the corner, right next to a small pool table made of dark wood with a striking green surface.

"That’s them," the woman discreetly motioned with her head toward the pair at the bar— a cascade of blonde curls and the man accompanying her. She fixed them with an assessing gaze, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Hm. He looks like his pictures. I’ll take that as the first good sign."

"She shows you pictures of her dates?"

"Every single time. We rate them on a scale from one to ten."

Spencer wasn’t surprised in the slightest. His gaze briefly shifted in their direction, though he made sure not to stare, not wanting to make them look weird. The pair seemed to be talking a little shyly—it was obvious this was their first meeting.

“So,” he started. “Is this what we’re going to do all night? Just stand here?”

“Basically, yeah. I mean, we don’t have to just stand around like a couple of creeps, staring at them. We can enjoy our date. Just because it’s fake doesn’t mean it can’t be fun,” she said, slowly circling the pool table until they were on opposite sides.

She slipped off her outer layer, and Spencer couldn’t help but notice that her outfit underneath did anything but help her stay invisible. Reaching for a pool cue, she nodded at him.

“What are you waiting for?”

“You want to play?”

“No, I want to duel you with the cues,” she scoffed. “I’m a professional, you know.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow slightly as he grabbed a cue of his own.

"Professional?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mhm. World championships and all that. But that was a while ago. Then came the injury, and I had to say goodbye to my career. After that, I had no idea what to do with myself, so I became a chemist," she said, with a casual shrug.

He chuckled at the made-up story, setting the pool balls up into a perfect triangle at the center of the table. Once they were ready, he gestured for her to go ahead.

She refused with an exaggerated, almost overly generous smile. "Oh, no. Amateurs go first."

He held back a roll of his eyes, leaning over the table. The balls scattered across the surface, and from that point on, he'd play with the cue ball. It was her turn now, and Spencer watched her movements closely.

"I didn't know your story before the FBI job was so fascinating," he remarked, trying to throw her off a little.

They hadn't made any bet, but there was a subtle competitiveness in him now.

She shrugged.

"I don't think it's fascinating. More tragic. Lost dreams."

"Right, sorry for my disregard. What kind of injury was it?"

She paused for a moment, focusing on her next shot. One of the balls sank smoothly into a pocket, and a small smile played on her lips.

"Shoulder," she replied casually. "Sometimes it still acts up. I have to go for regular massages."

"Poor thing," he said, his tone teasing.

Her gaze briefly scanned the entire bar, landing once again on her friend. Nothing seemed to bother her, so she returned to the game.

"We're playing just for fun? Don't you think that's a bit boring?"

"Sorry, I don’t want to bet with you again. Paying off debts with you is never easy."

"Come on. You’re having fun with me” 

"You think so?"

“No. I know it."

She potted another ball, gaining the upper hand. Spencer puffed his lips, deciding to focus more on the game. They both did, though it didn't stop them from continuously exchanging similar comments, remarks, and jabs. And despite the countless huffs and eye rolls, he had to admit, he was really having fun. With her.

And even more fun when he realized he was close to winning.

With a certain satisfaction, he noticed she was watching his moves with more attention, her eyes slightly narrowed with cool competition. As he leaned over the table again, she moved toward him lightly, almost as if tiptoeing. She passed by almost unnoticed. In fact, he only realized how close she was when her breath softly grazed the inside of his ear as she spoke in the voice of a social commentator.

"Ladies and gentlemen, to the surprise of the entire audience, amateur Spencer Reid has managed to take the lead," her whisper was laced with feigned suspense. Of course, he refrained from moving, making sure not to make a mistake from distraction. "Will he manage to win today's tournament?"

He straightened up with a sigh, which made her step back slightly. He gave her a look full of mock pity, and she responded by slowly blinking her eyes, imitating the gaze of an innocent angel.

"I'm pretty sure this counts as sabotage," he remarked.

She raised both hands in the air, as if defending herself against the accusation.

"Hey, I'm not doing anything," she denied, a subtle spark in her eye. She gave a quick nod toward the table. "Come on, finish it."

Spencer, uncertain and sensing she was up to something, tried to refocus. When he found the perfect angle and was about to hit the white ball, something nudged his elbow, causing it to roll in the completely wrong direction.

He directed a look at her, mouth open in indignation.

"This is... this is cheating, pure cheating..."

"No idea what you're talking about!" she shot back. She pretended to be serious, though in an incredibly clumsy way. Her lips kept trembling, trying to form a smile, and she struggled to suppress it. "I didn't do anything. Your hand must have slipped..."

At the sight of the expression on his face, she couldn't hold back anymore and burst into laughter. It mixed with the sound of his incessantly muttered, mildly irritated comments under his breath, which absolutely didn't reach her conscience. In fact, it seemed to only make her feel more smug. Spencer finally gave in, letting out a sigh.

"I demand a fair rematch."

With her arms crossed over her chest, she raised an eyebrow.

"Go ahead, then," she said, grabbing the cue stick again.

Her friend and her date were still deep in conversation, sitting much closer than before, with small smiles on their faces. They didn't seem like they were in any hurry to end the evening. A few new people had arrived at the bar, making it louder, but Spencer didn't even notice. He was completely focused on this small, occupied space between them where they were slowly giving in to the growing rivalry, even though nothing had been wagered. It was probably just about pride.

His opponent was doing everything in her power to make his game harder. He'd abandoned all pretenses of fairness and stood right beside her whenever she leaned over the pool table. He didn't even intend to nudge her—but when he was close, she assumed he would and became incredibly cautious, often elbowing him in the ribs to make space for herself to focus. Despite all of this, they were laughing. He even forgot for a moment that he had planned to spend the evening entirely differently.

They played a few more rounds, each of them winning the same number of games. He announced the next one, but before starting, he briefly disappeared into the bathroom. Simply because, well, he needed to use it.

As he washed his hands, he could hear the hum of conversations, laughter, and music, all muffled by the door. It felt a bit warm, despite the fact that he'd taken off his jacket a while ago. For some reason, he suddenly became self-conscious about how he looked, though he hadn't thought about it at all before. After all, it wasn’t like he was on a date with some woman he was trying to impress. Still, driven by some inner impulse, he fixed his hair and smoothed the fabric of his shirt with his hands, rolling up the sleeves so they wouldn’t get wet while washing. He hesitated for a moment before lowering them again, surprised to sense someone's gaze on him.

The tall man with black hair, a rather sturdy build, and narrow glasses on his nose didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at him. Spencer wasn’t sure if he should just walk away, but something made him raise an eyebrow skeptically. He had no idea what was going on.

“Do we know each other?” he asked, genuinely considering the possibility.

He couldn’t recall this man from anywhere, which, given his memory, pretty much ruled out the idea.

“No,” the man replied briefly but confidently, still not breaking eye contact. After a moment, he added, “But I know your friend. I know her well.”

Reid stood still for a moment, embarrassingly slow to realize which friend the man was referring to. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that it struck him—this guy had likely been watching their game for a while and was talking about her. Before Spencer could say anything, the man continued.

“Actually, I used to date her. And listen, I’ve got some advice for you. Just give up on her.”

Spencer blinked, trying to process if he’d misheard.

“Beg your pardon...”

“I’m serious, man. Not because I’m jealous or anything like that,” he quickly clarified, raising both hands as if to declare his sincerity. “It’s just simple, you know, guy solidarity. Don’t waste your time.”

He was struck by a strange feeling that his conversation partner had some mistaken idea about their relationship. Besides, even though the man had clarified that he wasn’t jealous, he sure sounded like a jealous ex. Spencer knew he should just laugh it off and walk away. After all, he wasn’t dating her, didn’t intend to, and whatever the guy had to say about her shouldn’t matter. Yet, his legs refused to simply walk away.

Some curiosity, one he couldn’t shake off, took hold of him.

“What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

A slight smirk appeared on the man’s face as he noticed he had Spencer’s attention.

“I get that you might see something in her. She’s pretty, you have to give her that. At first, even...kind of charming in her arrogance. But once you get to know her...it’s a strong word, but you need to know, she’s fucking insane.”

The language seemed to twist strangely in his mouth.

“That doesn’t tell me much,” he replied dryly. “I mean, anyone could mean something different by saying fucking insane.”

The man scoffed with a bit of contempt. Spencer was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the whole conversation.

“Okay, you’re probably going to deny it and defend her because you like her, I’ve been there, I get it.”

Because I like her? He almost denied it but stopped himself, letting the man continue.

“She’s just insufferable in the long run. She acts like she knows everything, gives orders, always has to have the last damn word. And you know, at first, you think she’s just playing that part. And then she’ll start acting, well, you know…”

Spencer felt the urge to laugh.

“Submissive?” he suggested, the missing word that seemed to want to spill from the man’s mouth.

“Normally. Just normally.”

Something started to smell between them. A distinctive scent. Wounded male ego.

That alone was enough for Spencer to know not to take this conversation seriously. That alone was enough for him to know he could end this conversation whenever he wanted. But before he could take a single step away, he thought about the entire evening he'd spent with her. Everything, from the first message he’d received while still at his apartment.

He counted how many times during their meeting he’d just laughed, having more fun than he’d had in a while. In some unclear way, he felt he owed her that.

“Let me sum this up,” Spencer began, gesturing with his hand and never breaking eye contact with the man. “Because this, in its way, is strange to me. Funny, even, when you think about it.”

The man furrowed his brow, listening. Spencer remained unfazed as he continued.

“First, you met a commanding, confident, and, okay, a little cheeky woman. That didn’t scare you off, though, and you decided you wanted to start a relationship with her. And when it happened, you were surprised she was commanding and cheeky? You know, she doesn’t pretend she’s not like that. You knew what you were getting into.”

"Fine, you know what, this doesn’t make sense," the man sighed. "Do whatever you want. Just remember, I warned you. One day, you’ll be grateful for this."

"Maybe you're right," Spencer admitted, nodding slowly. "It doesn’t make sense."

The man gave him one last look before scoffing and walking away. Reid was left in the bathroom alone, actually reflecting for a moment on the entire conversation. He didn’t think he should have been a part of it at all. The guy must’ve assumed he was interested, or that they were dating. He didn’t have any insight into what their relationship really looked like. In any case, Spencer imagined what it would be like if another guy were in his place. Her actual date. I wonder if a conversation like that would make him turn away, push him away entirely.

After a moment, he concluded that no, it probably wouldn't have. Assuming, of course, that the other guy wasn’t a complete idiot, blindly believing the words of a hurt, maybe even a little jealous ex.

Though, maybe he couldn’t really judge from his position. The position of someone who wasn’t planning on dating her, and who wasn’t interested in her in that way.

He thought for a moment about whether he should tell her about the conversation. He decided against it, not wanting to spoil or ruin the good mood of their evening. Instead, he straightened his hair and, completely unfazed by what he'd just heard, returned to the pool table where she was leaning, clearly growing impatient with his prolonged absence.

"Finally," she hissed at the sight of him. She almost shoved the cue stick into his hand, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "I thought you were trying to escape me. The thought of another loss scared you, huh?"

He paused for a moment, staring at her face—the slightly parted lips, the warm bar light reflecting in her eyes, and the familiar, confident gleam. For a brief moment, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—what did she even see in that guy?

But almost immediately, he dismissed it, considering it none of his business, and took the cue stick from her, ready to start the next game.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Kitten | The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Something about you catchs his eyes. Now he wants you all for himself.

Warnings: Obsess!Salesman - Canon violence - Suggestive - Manipulation - Reader loves cats - Maybe OOC - Kind of pet play - E/C = eye color - Reader gets called Kitten -

Another morning, another day ahead, names to meet and recruit, a speech that was deep in his mind.

His movements were calculated, robotic, his smile a fake one, to hide the disgust he felt towards the peopel he had to met.

The last hour, the last train and last name. Your name. The Salesman did his usual thing while waiting for you to appear, get himself a coffee from a cheap machine and let his mind wonder.

Even if he had read your file in order to have the upper hand in the exchange, he was curious to see how you truly were, how would you react to his approach, what would you say or do once he told you about the game.

Maybe the work of the day was getting him, his eyes did let (only for the observant ones) that he was tired to not degree.

One more, one more worm and I can go home.

The train came, lots of faces walked pass him, he only wanted to find yours and put an end to his day.

Finally He saw you, you were looking at your phone, smiling? Well he guessed even someone in your situation could smile.

Maybe you got a lover back home.

He saw how you took a seat, most likely to rest after a long day at your underpaid work, that did not cover any of the debts you had. Yet you did not look discouraged or sad, you were rather animated by what your body language gave out.

Feets moving side to side like a song was playing only for you. That smile and a spark in your eyes...

How dumb yet cute.

Still, he needed to end the day and your name was the last one. So there he went, moving with confidence till he took a seat besides you, his trusted briefcase close.

"Miss.." He tried to get your attention but nothing, you were too deep in your phone writing something. He dared to take a look.

What in-

Cats. Multiple pictures of cats. Different colors, shapes and ages.

It was not the most strange thing he had seen from someones phone but still...

A new photo came in, it was a cat, rather slim with one leg missing but it seemed full of life.

"Im glad you are fine" He hear your whisper thanks to the sitation now out of peopel and that even if you whispered it was rather loud. Most likely you had no sense of self preservation or did check your surroundings since he was able to basically see your phone screen and your messages for...four minutes?

Yes, defently too much for the little patience he had, he wanted to end his day now.

"Excusme Miss" He tried again this time louder and it did finally caught your attention.

You turned to him, too lost checking your cats and how they were doing so far. You never noticed the man besides you. He was tall, black hair and wearing a suit. You could tell it was a rather expensive one, at his feets was a briefcase.

Ah Salesman, he must sells life saves or something.

"Sorry Sir, im in no position to buy anything" You said looking at his dark eyes and bowing then you went back to check your phone.

Well someone ignoring him was not a first.

"Miss, im not here to sell you anything" He started getting your attention back with a rather funny and confused look on your face. "Im here to ask you to play a game with me"

"...A game?" You asked not really beliving your ears. What man would ask a stranger to play a game with them at 11 p.m. in a subway station?

Was this a scam ? A trap maybe ?

Ah, the confusion, he was used to get that too and could only give you a polite fake smile back.

"Yes a game, a game of ddakji" He clarifited pulling from his suit pocket two papper pieces, one blue and other red. "If you manage to win I will give you ₩100.000" He recite just as he always did.

Your eyes opened a bit after that information, while it would not help you that much it would be free money...you could get a warm dinner, something that your current situation did not let you do.

But, there was not a thing as simple as free money, right ? There must be a catch.

"And what would happen if I lose?" You asked him, the hesitation in your voice was clear for The Salesman who just smiled again.

"If you lose, you pay me back ₩100,00. But I doubt you will lose in a childs game" He added trying to incite you to engage in the game.

He studied your face, you were thinking about it, temped by it. Even if the money was not enough, the chance was all it needed to start a chain of thoughts in your mind and finally accept.

And while you were indeed thinking a ring from your phone took your attention away, a new message a new cat pic.

Right, I cant do this. You thought.

"Sorry Sir I must refuse" You started giving him a bow "Even if my chances of winning were high, Im not in position to give you ₩100,000 if I lose. It would not be fair to you" You smiled at him thinking all of this was ending.

He blinked a bit taken back, not because you refused, he had deal with that before, but what you said.

Fair.

The world was not fair. The information in your file let that clear, it was obvious that you knew it.

Then why not take advantage of this? Even If he was just giving you the illusion of money, why not try ? And more, why be worried over whats fair ?

"May I ask why you cant play with me?" He finally said, pulling the pappers back inside his suit pocket. "Its not a big amount of money and I would not make fun of you if you lose"

He was trying for you to feel safe, maybe you were nervous he would judge you ? He knew he could be quiet intimidating

"Oh! Well its rather...embarrassing" You responded, nervously biting your lower lip then looking at the ground.

The Salesman's eyes lingered over your lips, the way you just bite them. Maybe he was getting tired but something from that action  just called him, made his body react.

"It cant be that bad" He tried again, trying to sound gentle

"Well, im in debt because my ex-boyfriend ran away with the money for the Cat Shelter we had together, took away all my savings and I ended in debt cause of it" Your tone did let him know you were angry, sad, frustrated and ashamed.

Well, he did know. But hearing out loud did make it sound funnier he could not lie to himself.

But seeing your face now, that sad look and how you had looked so happy earlier at the cat pics (probably some cats you managed to save and find a home before all things went wrong). It made him feel bad for you, something he never felt towards anyone in his line of work.

"Mhm so your ex-boyfriend ran away and then you kept the shelter by yourself?"

He cant lie, it was a cute reason.

But stupid no less.

"I did, we had too many cats and all of them were sick. They needed someone, I could not ignore them" You tried to explain, a sad smile now on your face as you remember the old promises and memories.

And look where that took you.

"I dont hope that you get it, most peopel laughts when I tell them. Even the load sharks had got a good one" You said pulling out your phone and looking at something while the Salesman let his mind wonder.

You were right. He did not get it. It was something he would never do, an act so compassionate towards a creature...it was not in his nature.

"Look, this is Fat Luigi" He hear you said as you showed him your phone with the image of a big fluffy black cat. "When we first got him he was underwheight, most vets told us he would not make it. It was hard, I passed many nights awake taking care of him, and spent lots of money on him. But now seeing him healthy and happy, it just makes it worth it"

"But are you happy right now? Arent you afraid of your debts?" He asked, curious to know how your brain was working under the stress you most likely had.

"Happy...., well I cant say I love my life right now, I work long hours and the job its bad, I have load sharks on my back and the place where the shelter is will most likely be destroyed since I cant pay..."

He nodded listening to you.

"But im not sad. Yes the situation sucks but when i see the cats i managed to help...honestly even if it sounds crazy, I would do it again" You ended giving him a tired yet honest smile. One that made his heart beat a bit faster.

For a few moments he did not say a thing, his mind wondering, he was not sure what, something about you made him feel slighty different.

Maybe it was your wish to help ? Even when you had passed and suffered ? How you still wanted to play fair ?

You two were different in many ways.

"You would?" He asked seeing you nodd without thinking "And tell me, do I look like a cat person ? Would you get me one if you still had your shelter ?" He continued now trying to entertain himself.

You defenetly were not made for the games.

"Well, you do give the energy of a cat person" By the look on his face he was amused "I mean, you seem like you pass many hours outside your home, cats do need their humans but they can work fine alone for a few hours, you would need to pet them for a bit once you get back"

"Oh I see, and what more?" He leaned in closer, his elbow resting on his knee, one hand holding his face as he turned himself to you invading your personal space.

"You seem like someone who will prefer company thats not always over them demanding attention and cats often give you that, well depends on the cat" You explained blushing at his proximity.

"Then, dont you think it would be better for me to get a kitten?"

"They can be handfull-"

"Mhm, I would need a submissive one" He said leaning even closer, you could now see his dark eyes and smell his cologne. "One that will wait for me at home and will...please me when I want it and how I want it"

His hand went towards your face slowly touching your cheeck with his knuckles, it made you blush even more and be more aware of him. Something was telling you that this was dangerous, this man who had approach you, and yet you could not get yourself to move.

"Maybe a kitten with (E/C), a bit dumb, stupid, has no sense of self preservation, needs help to do anything. But" He paused his eyes studying your face "But its also cute, on its way"

You did not respond. Mouth dry, your mind worked around his cryptid words. Was him...insinuating something?

"How big its your debt?" He asked keeping the small distance.

"Too big" you responded your voice letting out how nervous you were. It was a miracle you managed to get these words out.

He smirked, he knew the exact number and also, he loved knowing he was the one causing you to feel nervous, maybe you were scared?

The idea that he could be scaring you excited him.

"Tell you what, I will pay your debt" He saw the suprise in your face and disbelief  was impossible to hide "But, you must pay me back" He added moving his hand, his thumb now over your lower lip. "You can pay me with your body, I said I should get a kitten right? I believe you are perfect for that position. All you will have to do.." He trailed off forcing his thumb inside your mouth "Its obey me, when I tell you to do something I expect you to obey. If you dont behave, well lets say I can be very creative with my punishments"

He could see the terror in your eyes but also the combination of hope and arousment.

Sick cute thing, just what he needed

"Mhm, lets give it a try shall we? Suck my thumb like a good kitten, I want to see how well you can obey"

Timidly under his dark stare and big pupils your tongue touched his thumb, a shiver went down his spine as he felt it. Your wet tongue licking his finger trying to give it as much attention as you could.

The Salesman moved it around your tongue, almost groaning when he saw you close your eyes and use one hand to take his arm, like you were grounding yourself. He felt a bulge starting to form and couldn't wait to see how wet you were getting.

Abruptly he took off his finger from your mouth taking your neck and kissing you, it was demanding and not loving. He sucked on your lower lip till you moaned and he used this chance to push his tongue into you, caressing yours and sucking it. Needing to hear you moan one more time for him.

What came first were the sounds of steps, The Salesman separated, breathing hard, just like you. Your face was red and eyes wide open and also full with lust. He moved his hair giving you a twisted smile getting up and taking your hand.

"W-wait were are we going?" You asked at him confused by all of the exchange, "Will you really pay my debt?"

"Oh I will my kitten, you will have your loved shelter back and will be able to rescue all the dam cats in Seoul" He said opening the bathroom of the sitation checking that it was empy.

"But first, I need you to take care of something" He said pointing at the bulge between his legs.

He did not miss how you licked your lips.

"Dont worry, I will get you a collar later, now. Get on your knees and show me just how well you can suck, kitten"

[nymphaura777]

The truth about embodying your manifested self:

You visualize. You affirm. You script. You do everything manifestation coaches tell you to do.

But when it comes to actually living as the version of you who already has it?

You freeze. You doubt. You slip back into old patterns.

And suddenly, it feels like you’re faking it instead of being it.

Sound familiar? Then keep reading. Because this is where most people get stuck.

Your current reality—the version of you that struggles, doubts, and overthinks? It doesn’t exist because you want it to.

It exists because it’s familiar.

Your mind clings to the known, even when the known is uncomfortable. That’s why:

You affirm confidence but still avoid eye contact.

You say you’re wealthy but hesitate before buying something.

You manifest love but keep checking if they texted first.

Not because you don’t believe in your manifestation—but because your nervous system isn’t used to it yet.

But here’s the thing—every version of you felt "unnatural" at first.

Eventually, what once felt fake will feel effortless.

Your job? Keep going until your nervous system catches up.

Remember the first time you tried driving? It felt awkward. Forced. Unnatural.

But now? You don’t even think about it.

The same thing happens with your manifested self.

Right now, confidence might feel fake. But the more you move as if it’s already you, the more it becomes your normal.

Wealth feels unnatural—until you stop second-guessing your worth.

Most people quit because they expect their new identity to feel real immediately.

But here’s the catch— it won’t.

At least, not at first.

Your dream life will feel like a fantasy—until it’s not.

Your new self will feel fake—until you become it.

The people around you might be confused—until they see the shift.

And then?

One day, you wake up and realize…

You’re not faking it anymore.

It’s just who you are now.

Embodying your manifested self starts with small, intentional shifts in how you think, act, and carry yourself daily. Instead of hoping for change, speak and think as if it’s already yours. Make choices the way your ideal self would—whether it’s how you respond to challenges, present yourself, or navigate opportunities. Adjust your body language to reflect confidence and ease, and surround yourself with things that align with your new reality, from music to daily habits. Most importantly, notice when old patterns resurface and choose differently. Over time, these subtle shifts make your new identity feel natural and effortless.

The fastest way to embody your new self immediately is to make a definitive decision that you are that person right now—no waiting, no trying. Shift your inner dialogue from “I’m becoming” to “I already am.” Move through your day as if your manifestation is undeniably real. Speak, walk, and make choices from that mindset. The moment you stop questioning and fully claim it, your energy shifts—and so does your reality.

"If you assume your desire and live there as though it were true, no power in the world can stop it from becoming a fact." - Neville Goddard

hope this post was helpful for y'all!!!!

- xoxo 💋

With love, Celeste

[s4svnn]

oob!couple :

Jungkook and oc are out on a date and girl starts flirting with jungkook and oc gets jealous (possible jealousy sex 🫥)

No touching - Out of bounds drabbles

You always knew your boyfriend was hot, but it still caught you off guard just how many girls asked for his number whenever you were out together. So, to make it clear who he belonged to, you set a rule as punishment—no touching.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader (Aylah)

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings/content tags: teasing, punishment, begging, sub Jungkook, dom reader, blindfolding, bondage

Word count: 3k

The night had started out perfectly. Jungkook and I were out on a date at a cozy little restaurant in the heart of the city, tucked into a booth by the window. The soft hum of conversation blended with the low clink of glasses and silverware, the warm candlelight flickering between us, casting golden hues against his sharp features.

And God, did he look good. Jungkook was the kind of man who turned heads without even trying. His black leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders just right, the white tank top underneath stretching over his toned chest, leaving little to the imagine. His silver rings caught the dim light as he idly tapped his fingers against his glass, a habit of his when he was lost in thought. But the real kicker? His hair—gelled back, exposing every inch of that dangerous jawline, making him look like he had just stepped out of a classic movie.

He was effortlessly cool, effortlessly untouchable. But unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. The stares had been relentless all night—lingering gazes from across the room, subtle peeks from waitresses, even a few not-so-subtle ones from women walking past our table. But I ignored them. I was used to it. People always looked at Jungkook.

Look, but don’t touch. That was the unspoken rule.

But apparently not everyone got the memo. Tall, gorgeous, and exuding confidence, she sauntered right up to our table, her heels clicking against the floor like she owned the place. Her dress clung to her body in all the right places, her hair styled perfectly, and her bold red lipstick made her smirk look even cockier. She didn’t even spare a glance at me as she approached us stopping right in front of Jungkook.

"Hey," she purred, placing a manicured hand on the table, leaning in far too close. "I just had to come over and say—you have the most incredible eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?"

I blinked. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Jungkook, ever the polite one, gave her a small, forced smile. "Uh… thanks?"

That should have been the end of it. A polite brush-off, an awkward silence, and she’d leave. But, of course, she didn’t. Stupid bitch.

"You from around here?" she continued, tilting her head, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers like she was a walking cliché. I took a slow sip of my drink, waiting to see if Jungkook would shut this down himself. But when he hesitated—whether out of politeness or just not knowing how to cut her off—I decided to step in to preserve my sanity. I leaned forward, casually placing my hand on Jungkook’s forearm, my fingers lightly dragging against his skin. "He’s with me," I said sweetly, my voice laced with fake innocence. "His girlfriend."

Finally—finally—she looked at me, blinking as if she had just now realized I was sitting there. And then she laughed. She fucking laughed. The audacity.

"Ohhh," she dragged out, shaking her head. "I thought you were his sister."

I stared at her, deadpan. "His what?"

"Sister," she repeated, like I was the one who wasn’t getting it. "You guys don’t really look like a couple, you know?"

Jungkook visually tensed in front of me, his jaw clenching, his fingers tightening around his glass. But before he could say anything, I tilted my head, mirroring her condescending smirk.

"Aww," I cooed, my voice just as fake as hers. "That’s funny, because I thought a bitch like you would know her place." I flashed her the sweetest smile. "Guess we were both wrong."

Her smirk vanished instantly. "Excuse me?"

"You’re excused," I said, giving a dismissive wave of my fingers. "Bye bye now."

She scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Wow. Insecure much?"

Jungkook finally spoke, his voice laced with irritation. "You should leave."

The girl huffed, rolling her eyes before muttering something under her breath and stomping off. I smirked, stabbing my fork into my dessert with a little too much force. "Well," I muttered, chewing aggressively, "that was fun."

Jungkook exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back in the booth, watching me with amusement. "Damn, I didn’t know you had it in you to be jealous?"

I shot him a glare. "Shut up I’m not jealous."

His smirk widened. "You totally are."

"Oh, so now you see things clearly, huh? Where was all this awareness when she was flirting with you?" I huffed, grabbing my drink.

Jungkook lifted his hands in mock surrender, "I wasn’t even flirting back."

"You didn’t shut her down, either."

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "I was trying to be nice."

"Nice?" I scoffed. "Jungkook, she practically climbed into your lap."

He rolled his eyes. "You’re being dramatic."

I lifted my chin, turning away. "Whatever. Enjoy your fan club."

Jungkook chuckled, reaching for my hand, but I pulled it away before he could touch me. A flash of something dark flickered across his face, and I smirked in return, if he thought this was over he had another thing coming.

The second we got home, Jungkook was all over me. His hands slipped around my waist as soon as we stepped inside, pulling me against him. His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he murmured, "Still mad?"

I smoothly stepped out of his grip, strolling toward the bedroom without so much as a glance in his direction.

Jungkook frowned. "Uh… babe?"

Silence. I grabbed my oversized sleep shirt—the one that barely covered my thighs—and changed into it, knowing exactly what I was doing. When I climbed into bed, Jungkook was already watching me, arms crossed, brow raised. "Alright, what’s going on?"

I sighed dramatically. "Nothing. I’m just enforcing a new rule."

His eyes narrowed. "A rule?"

"Mhm." I turned onto my side, away from him. "No touching."

Jungkook blinked. "No touching?"

"That’s right."

He scoffed. "You’re joking."

I didn’t respond. A few beats passed, then I felt the bed dip as he slid in beside me. His body heat was familiar, comforting—but I refused to acknowledge it. A second later, his lips ghosted over my shoulder, fingers trailing down my side. "Baby…" he murmured, voice low, coaxing.

I dodged, rolling over at the last second. "Goodnight, Jungkook."

He groaned. "What?"

I stretched, pretending to get comfortable. "I’m sleepy."

Jungkook sat up, eyes darkening. "You’re actually doing this?"

I smiled, acting completely oblivious. "Doing what?"

His jaw flexed. "You know what."

I shrugged. "Maybe next time, you won’t let other girls flirt with you."

Jungkook groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Babe, come on."

Jungkook was silent for a few seconds, and I thought maybe—just maybe—he’d give up and go to sleep. But I was wrong. Because a second later, I felt him shift again, his fingers trailing down my arm, slow and deliberate.  He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and dangerous. "No touching, huh?"

"Mhm."

His fingers moved again, this time ghosting over my hip. "So if I do this—" his hand grazed my thigh, barely touching, teasing, "—you won’t react?"

I forced my expression to stay neutral, even as a shiver threatened to creep up my spine. "Nope."

Jungkook exhaled a quiet laugh, but I could hear the frustration underneath it. "Baby…" His voice dropped, taking on that tone—the one he used when he wanted something. When he was desperate.

I fought the urge to smirk.

"Jungkook," I said, feigning innocence. "Why are you still awake?"

He let out another sigh, flipping onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow for a second before turning his head to look at me.

"Because you’re torturing me," he grumbled, voice muffled.

I turned my head slightly, finally meeting his gaze. "Oh? And here I thought you didn’t mind when girls played with you." He groaned, reaching out again, but I moved away just before he could grab me.

"Aylah," he whined, his patience slipping. "Princess, come on—I didn’t do anything wrong!"

I raised a brow. "You let her flirt with you."

"I was just being polite!"

"You didn’t shut her down fast enough."

His eyes narrowed. "She didn’t shut up fast enough."

I hummed. "Mm, interesting. And yet I had to be the one to do it."

Jungkook groaned again, rolling onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. "Baby, please," he muttered. "You know you’re the only one I want, just let me make it up to you."

I stayed quiet.

"Oh, you’ll definitely be making it up to me," I mused, tilting my head slightly. "But we’re going to do this my way."

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with something dark, something intrigued, and before I could even process it, he was already nodding eagerly. "I’ll do anything," he murmured, his voice low, dripping with sincerity. "As long as you forgive me."

I let the silence stretch for a moment, letting his own anticipation work against him.Then, I smirked. "Good boy," I murmured, reaching out to lightly trail a single finger down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

His breath hitched. "Now… lay down for me."

Jungkook swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes searched mine. There was something almost vulnerable in his expression—like he was completely at my mercy. And he was. Without hesitation, he shifted back onto the mattress, lying flat against the pillows, watching me carefully. His chest rose and fell a little quicker now, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but was forcing himself to behave.

I grinned, leaning over him, my lips hovering just above his. "Now, let’s see how well you can listen." I whispered, watching as his eyes darkened. Jungkook lasted about five seconds before he broke. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling, his entire body tense with the urge to touch me. But when I leaned in just a little closer, my breath ghosting over his lips, he snapped.

He moved—fast—his hands flying up to grab my waist. I swatted them away immediately. "Oh, come on," he groaned, his frustration obvious, his head dropping back against the pillow.

I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. "I mean what I said—no touching."

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching. "Baby, please—"

I smirked, dragging a finger down the center of his chest, watching as his muscles tensed beneath my touch. "You’re not in control tonight, Jungkook." My voice was soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.

His eyes flickered with something dangerous—something needy. And then, before he could protest, I reached over to the bedside table, my fingers brushing against the delicate ribbon I had worn in my hair earlier that night. It was smooth and silky, the perfect length.

Jungkook watched me carefully, his brows furrowing. "What are you—" But he didn’t get to finish. Because in one swift movement, I grabbed both of his wrists, pinning them above his head.

His breath hitched. "Aylah—"

I wrapped the ribbon around his wrists, looping it securely before tying it in place. It wasn’t too tight—I wasn’t actually trying to restrain him. But it was firm enough that he wouldn’t be able to touch me unless I let him. When I sat back, admiring my work, Jungkook let out a sharp breath, tugging at the restraints experimentally.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered under his breath, his fingers flexing as he realized he was actually at my mercy now.

I smiled sweetly. "Told you—you’re not in control tonight."

Jungkook exhaled shakily, his eyes darkening as he looked up at me, completely at my mercy. "Babe…" His voice was lower now, more desperate. "What are you gonna do to me?"

I grinned, dragging my fingers down his chest again—just light enough to tease, just enough to drive him insane. "Oh, love," I whispered, leaning in close, my lips barely brushing his jaw. "You’ll see."

Jungkook was falling apart. His body tensed beneath me, muscles flexing as he pulled against the ribbon, his fingers curling into fists like he was dying to touch me—but he couldn’t. And that made it so much better. I smirked, letting my lips trail back up his chest, slowly, taking my time, dragging my nails lightly over his skin just to tease him. His breath hitched when I reached his collarbone, and I felt him tremble as I hovered there, letting my lips ghost over the sensitive spot.

"Aylah," he groaned, his voice strained. "princess, please—"

I ignored him. Instead, I sank my teeth into the delicate skin right at the base of his neck, sucking hard, determined to leave a mark—something deep, something dark, something no one could miss. Jungkook gasped, his back arching slightly off the bed. "Fuck—"

I grinned against his skin, my tongue flicking out to soothe the bite before moving lower, repeating the process. Biting. Sucking. Marking. His breath came out in ragged pants, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might break. "Aylah—fuck—"

I moved to the other side of his neck, my teeth grazing over the smooth skin before biting again, just as hard.

"Shit—"

His head tipped back, exposing more of his throat to me, and I took full advantage of it, trailing my mouth over every inch of bare skin, leaving a path of dark purple and red in my wake. Jungkook was completely at my mercy—helpless, desperate, mine. I smirked as I moved up, kissing along his jaw, feeling the way it tensed beneath my lips, the way his breath shook.

Then, finally, I reached his ear. I let my lips brush against the shell of it, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Let me show all those bitches who think they have a chance who you belong to."

Jungkook groaned, his body jerking beneath me, his hands pulling at the restraints like he was seconds away from breaking free. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Baby, please—untie me—"

I smirked, pulling back slightly to admire my work. His neck and collarbone were covered in marks, deep bruises painting his skin—a map of my possession. I ran my fingers over them lightly, watching the way his stomach tensed at my touch. "No," I murmured, tilting my head. "Not yet."

Jungkook let out a frustrated groan, his eyes dark and hazy as he looked up at me. "Aylah," he gritted out, his voice almost a warning. "You’re killing me."

I grinned. "Good."

Jungkook groaned loudly, his fingers twisting against the ribbon, his entire body shaking beneath me. "Baby, please—"

I smirked, dipping down, letting my lips barely brush his. "Beg me."

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

"Babe—"

"Beg, Jungkook," I murmured, tilting my head slightly, my lips ghosting over his but never quite touching. "Tell me how much you want me."

Jungkook swallowed hard, his body thrumming with need. "I want you so fucking bad," he rasped. "Please, baby—just let me touch you. Let me hold you. Let me—" He cut himself off with a groan, his head falling back. "Fuck—Aylah, please."

I let the silence stretch, just watching him, letting him writhe beneath me. I watched as Jungkook’s body tensed, every muscle tight with anticipation as I slowly untied the ribbon around his wrists. He let out a shaky breath, clearly relieved, but there was no release just yet.

"Sit up," I commanded softly, my voice cool, but with an edge that made it clear I wasn’t done with him.

He nodded, his eyes still burning with desire. As he moved to sit up against the headboard, I helped him with a hand on his chest to make sure he wasn’t too unsteady. His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling quickly. I could feel his heart pounding beneath my fingertips. Once he was sitting back, his body leaning slightly against the headboard, I stood up, watching him with a smug smirk on my face. His eyes followed my every movement, the fire in them never dimming. He was desperate, and that just made the moment even sweeter for me.

"You’re so good for me, Jungkook," I said quietly, my voice dripping with sweetness and something more dangerous. His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything—he was waiting. His hands clenched at his sides, still unused to not being able to touch. I smirked, bending down to grab the ribbon from the bed. The same one that had bound his wrists just moments ago. I brought it up to his face, letting it trail across his cheek. He looked up at me with those dark, desperate eyes, his mouth opening again like he was going to say something. But I stopped him with a raised finger.

"I told you," I said, my voice just above a whisper. "You’re not in control tonight."

He exhaled sharply, his lips trembling, but he didn’t argue. He understood. Slowly, I took the ribbon and held it in front of his eyes, making sure he was watching it, letting the silk slip through my fingers. Then, with one smooth motion, I wrapped it around his eyes, tying it gently at the back of his head, effectively blindfolding him.

His body froze, but he didn’t protest. His breathing was shallow, his entire frame on edge. He was blind, vulnerable, and I could feel the shift in the air—the power had shifted, and now he was completely dependent on me.

"How does it feel?" I asked softly, watching him as his lips parted again, the words caught in his throat. "Not being able to see? Not knowing what I’ll do next?"

He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he replied, "Fuck, it feels..."

He didn’t finish, but I could tell what he meant. He was on the edge of losing control, and I was loving every second of it.

"Good," I said, my fingers tracing the edge of his blindfold. "Now you’ll have to trust me, won’t you?"

He nodded, his head slightly jerking up, but his hands remained still at his sides, as if waiting for my next move.

"I’m going to make sure you remember who you belong to," I whispered, stepping closer, my lips brushing against his ear, letting my breath tickle his skin. "Every inch of you."

He shuddered beneath me, his body alive with electricity. I could feel his restraint, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. He was mine—completely and utterly mine. And tonight, I was going to take my time making sure he knew it.

[leeeedith]

SEVENTEEN reaction to their S/O fangirling over another idol

S.Coups 🍒

At first, he tries to act like he doesn't care. He's the leader of SEVENTEEN, after all—he's confident! But the moment you excitedly gush about another idol's charisma, he pouts. "Oh? So you like him that much, huh?" he asks, arms crossed. When you tease him by saying the idol is so cool, he huffs and pulls you into a tight backhug. "I thought I was your favorite." For the rest of the day, he randomly flexes—whether it's showing off his rap skills, lifting heavy things, or casually leading the group like the charismatic leader he is—just to remind you who your bias should be.

Jeonghan 😇

You don't even have to look at him to feel the dramatic side-eye. "Wow, so all this time... I was just second place?" he sighs, leaning back against the couch with his arms spread like he's been betrayed. If you try to cuddle him, he leans away dramatically. "No, no, go tell your new favorite idol how much you love them." Later, you catch him watching clips of the idol, and when you ask why, he shrugs. "Just checking the competition." Expect him to tease you forever after this: "Should I dye my hair like him? Would that make you love me more?"

Joshua 🐰

At first, he just laughs and nods. "Yeah? He's talented, that's cool." But when you start going on and on about how amazing the idol is, Shua's smile flaters for just a second. You don't notice it until he randomly pick up his guitar later that night. He just so happens to start playing a song by the idol. "Oh, what a coincidence! I felt like learning it today," he says casually. But you notice the way he's looking at you, waiting for a reaction. You kiss his cheek and whisper, "You're still my number one, you know?" and boom, the biggest sunshine smile appears.

Jun 🐱

The moment you start fangirling, he immediately tries to one-up the idol. "Hah! That's nothing. Watch this!" And suddenly, he's performing an entire dance routine in the middle of the living room. If you compliment the idol's visuals, Jun runs a hand through his hair and smirks. "But I'm still the most handsome, right?" If you don't answer, he gasps automatically. "You hesitated! Betrayal!" Later, you catch him watching videos of the idol, muttering, "Hmph. He's okay, I guess."

Hoshi 🐯

Dramatic. That's the only way to describe it. "WHAT?!! I THOUGHT I WAS YOUR ONE AND ONLY??!" He literally falls to the floor and fake cries into his hands. If you keep talking about the idol, he'll suddenly jump up and start doing the most intense dance routine you've ever seen, just to prove he's better. Later, he sulks, poking your cheek. "You don't love me anymore..." When you assure him that he's still your ultimate bias, he hugs you tightly and grins. "That's right! Your heart only belongs to Horanghae!"

Wonwoo 🦊

He just... blinks at you. "Oh, really?" Acts completely unbothered at first, but later that night, you catch him subtly researching the idol. "I just wanted to see what's so great about them," he says, trying to sound casual. If you keep teasing him about being jealous, he deadpans: "I'm not jealous. I'm just... analyzing the competition." But the next day, he starts dressing a little differently, just a little bit closer to the idol's style. Coincidence? Maybe.

Woozi 🍚

He pauses, squints at you, and says nothing for a solid five seconds. "...Excuse me?" Act like he doesn't care, but a few hours later, he's suddenly in the studio, making a song 10x better than the idol's latest track. If you keep teasing him, he roasts the idol's entire discography. "That beat? Weak. Lyrics? Mid. Melody? Could be better." He won't outrgith admit he's jealous, but when you cuddle up to him and whisper, "I love you the most," he smiles to himself.

DK 🍕

Gasps. Loudly. Dramatically. "WHAAAAAT, BUT I'M YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN!" He acts like you just broke his heart. But five minutes later, he's back to smiling because he can't stay mad at you. Still, he starts randomly singing the idol's songs around the house. In a ridiculously dramatic way. "Oh, this song? Yeah, I could totally sing it beter. Should I cover it?" If you kiss his cheek and say, "You're the best singer in the world to me," he melts into a sunshine ball of happiness.

Mingyu 🐶

Insant pout mode activated. "Hmph, I thought I was the only handsome guy in your life." He purposely becomes extra clingy, wrapping his long arms around you and nuzzling into your neck. "You don't need another idol when you have me." Will literally try to distract you from fangirling by flexing his muscles or cooking your favorite meal. And if you giggle and call him cute? He pouts even more.

The8 🐸

Minghao glances at you with mild disappointment the moment you start gushing about another idol. "Tsk, tsk. Bad taste." He shakes his head dramatically before sipping his tea like an ancient philosopher. He acts completely unbothered, but later, you notice he's scrolling through photos of the idol. "Hmph. He's okay, I guess," he mutters. Then suddenly, he's dressed even more stylishly than usual, rocking a whole new outfit like he just stepped off a runway. "What? I just felt like changing things up," he says cooly. If you keep teasing him, he'll just smirk and casually backflip away. "Okay, but can they do this?" When you finally hug him and whisper, "You're still the coolest in my heart," he smirks. "I know."

Seungkwan 🍊

Gasps. Loudly. Dramatically. Hands over heart like you just shattered his soul. "EXCUSE ME?! I give you my heart and soul, and this is how you repay me?" He immediately starts roasting the idol. "What do you mean he's funny? I'm funnier. What do you mean he sings well? Have you heard my high notes??" If you try to explain, he turns away dramatically. "No, no. I understand. I was a fool to think I was special." For the rest of the week, he randomly reminds you: "Oh, you like him so much, why don't you go to his concert, huh?" But the second you grab his face and say, "Seungkwan, you are my one and only bias," he immediately melts and hugs you. "Okay, I forgive you. But just know, I'm the best."

Vernon 🐢

Blinks. "Oh... cool, cool." Tries so hard to act chill, but the next day, he suddenly starts rapping more or copying the idol's vibe. "Oh, they rap? Hm. Interesting. I also rap." You catch him watching clips of the idol, and when you call him out, he just shrugs. "Just... checking something."

Dino 🦖

Oh, it's on. "Pfft, I bet I can dance better than them." Immediately starts showing off his moves, even when it's completely unnecessary. Later, he crosses his arms and huffs. "I'm still the best maknae in your heart, right?" When you assure him he is, he grins. "Good! Because no one outshines Lee Chan!"

[amirasainz]

Hey could I request one where mini alonso meets the wags and takes a liking to Alexandra and lily zneimer.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Princess Make-Up

The paddock was alive with the familiar hum of engines, chatter, and clinking coffee cups, but today, something — or rather someone — was stealing the spotlight. Three-year-old Yn Alonso, sporting a pair of sparkly play high heels, oversized sunglasses, and a mini Disney handbag, strutted alongside her father, Fernando, with all the confidence of a seasoned model. The F1 paddock, usually reserved for roaring engines and serious faces, had suddenly transformed into her personal runway.

Fernando chuckled as he watched his little girl prance with exaggerated steps, clearly relishing in the attention. "Where did you learn to walk like that, mi princesa?" he asked, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Yn pushed her sunglasses up her nose with a dramatic flair, barely glancing back at her father. "Papá, I'm busy. I need to get to my fans," she replied, her voice full of sass as she twirled around, causing a few members of the pit crew to chuckle.

As they made their way through the paddock, they encountered several drivers lounging around. Oscar, Lando, and Carlos were chatting near McLaren’s hospitality area when they spotted the duo.

"Well, well, who’s this little superstar?" Carlos grinned, kneeling down to Yn's level. "Can I get an autograph?"

Yn looked at him over the rim of her sunglasses, one eyebrow raised in an unintentional imitation of her father. "Hmmm, maybe later," she said nonchalantly, waving her tiny hand. "I’m busy right now."

Lando laughed. "I think you’ve been dethroned, Fernando. She’s got more attitude than half the drivers here."

Fernando took a sip of his espresso, an amused smirk on his face. "Oh, trust me, I know."

Just then, Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend, walked over, giving Yn a warm smile. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest little princess I’ve ever seen?”

Yn's face lit up. "Princess?" she gasped, her eyes widening as she took in Lily’s perfect hair and stylish outfit. She tugged on her father's sleeve excitedly. "Papá, she’s a princess!"

Lily crouched down, her eyes softening. “Of course I am. But I think you’re the real princess here.” She held out her hand, and Yn immediately placed her tiny hand in it, looking up at her in awe.

Yn took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "We could be princesses together," she proposed, as if revealing a grand secret.

Lily laughed, absolutely charmed. "Oh, I would love that."

Seeing his daughter’s pure delight, Fernando couldn’t help but chuckle. He leaned back, sipping his espresso with a relaxed smile. He hadn’t seen Yn this animated around anyone besides him.

As they continued their little princess chat, Yn noticed Lily had a compact mirror out, carefully touching up her lipstick. Intrigued, Yn dug into her tiny handbag and pulled out her wooden play makeup set, the pieces worn but clearly loved. She opened a pretend lipstick and began mimicking Lily’s movements with utter seriousness.

“Oh my gosh, is that your makeup set?” Lily asked, amused.

Yn nodded proudly. "Yup! This is my special makeup. It’s got sparkles," she explained, applying her invisible lipstick with practiced precision. "Do you like it?"

“I love it,” Lily assured her, applying her real lipstick while Yn kept at her imaginary one. The two of them giggled and compared "lipstick" shades, drawing quite the audience.

Lando crossed his arms, watching the scene unfold with a look of fake jealousy. “What happened? I used to be Yn’s favorite,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

Oscar nudged him. “Mate, you’ve been replaced. Look at them — they’re a royal duo now.”

Carlos shook his head, sighing. "This is hard to watch," he said with a grin. "I don’t think we’ll ever be able to compete."

Fernando watched, a smirk playing on his lips as he listened to the drivers' banter. "I guess you boys just don’t have what it takes," he said, chuckling.

Lily, noticing the crowd, gave Yn an encouraging look. “Should we show everyone our princess wave?”

Yn, always up for a new challenge, nodded. Together, they held their hands up in that classic royal wave, greeting the imaginary crowds. The drivers chuckled and applauded, while Yn, clearly delighted by the attention, curtsied as best as she could in her little heels.

After a while, Yn seemed to remember something very important. She ran over to her father, practically leaping into his arms. “Papá! Can Lily come with us forever?” she asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Fernando raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. "Forever, hmm? Well, princesa, that might be a bit tricky. Lily has to stay with Oscar, remember?"

Yn looked over at Oscar, clearly considering this dilemma. She furrowed her little brow. "Hmm. Oscar can come too, I guess."

The entire group burst into laughter, with Oscar raising his hands in mock surrender. "Well, I don’t mind being part of the Alonso crew,” he said with a grin.

Lily smiled, patting Yn’s shoulder. “How about I come visit you as often as I can, okay?”

Yn nodded happily, seeming satisfied with this arrangement. She grabbed Lily’s hand and led her back to their “makeup session” while the drivers continued to watch, each one more smitten with Yn than the next.

Fernando took another sip of his espresso, a soft smile on his face. "Better get used to it, boys. She’s got the Alonso charm."

[kiwriteswords]

Could I please get a fake dating or like Hotch jumps in to be Reader's date for a wedding or something story?

Everybody Loves Somebody

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I keep telling myself that I want to post something every day of December, so let's see if I can keep this up! This one I fought myself back and forth if I liked it, so I hope you guys do! I also need to update my masterlist...like bad.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 13.5k

Tags/Warnings: Female Reader, BAU Reader, Hotch and Reader are Best Friends, Reader is being breadcrumbed by another guy, insecure reader, reader does not know her worth, weddings, mentions of alcohol in a wedding setting, smut, smut with feelings, smut that you have to use your imagination for in some points, not specified, but unprotected sex, one-bed-trope, romance, fluff, angst, eluding to reader being in toxic relationships before, hurt/comfort.

Sypnosis: At a wedding filled with laughter, romance, and unexpected revelations, You and Hotch find yourselves navigating the fine line between friendship and something more. What starts as a favor soon becomes a night of quiet truths and unspoken emotions, as the two of you grapple with feelings that can no longer be ignored.

Aaron Hotchner had long considered himself an observant man. It was, after all, an essential trait in his line of work. But when it came to you, his closest friend and confidant, observation was more than professional—it was personal. He prided himself on knowing you better than anyone else, even if the knowledge sometimes brought him a frustrating ache he didn’t dare examine too closely.

That ache flared again today as he glanced across the bullpen to where you sat at your desk. To the untrained eye, you were simply busy—typing emails, jotting notes, occasionally furrowing your brow in concentration. But Hotch knew better. The tight set of your jaw, the way your leg bounced beneath your desk, and the fact that you hadn’t laughed at any of Morgan’s jokes all afternoon—those were your tells. Something was wrong.

He waited until the team dispersed for lunch to approach. You didn’t notice him until he leaned against the edge of your desk, his arms crossed, and gave you one of his signature looks—the kind that said he was waiting for answers.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you glanced up at him.

Hotch raised a brow. “You’re upset.”

You scoffed lightly, turning your attention back to your computer. “I’m fine.”

The evasion only confirmed his suspicions. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a sigh, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms defensively. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just... plans fell through, and I’m annoyed. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t nothing. He knew exactly what—or rather who—was behind this.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice hardening despite himself. “It’s him.”

Your silence was damning.

Hotch felt his stomach twist. He hated this—hated how that man, who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time, could still have this hold on you. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this—hopeful one minute, crushed the next. He clenched his jaw, reigning in the frustration that wasn’t entirely directed at the man.

Hotch remembered every instance in painful clarity.

The blown-off phone calls. The texts left unanswered for hours, sometimes days. The signs of interest one day, only for them to vanish into disinterest the next. It was a cycle so predictable it made Hotch’s blood boil, not just because it hurt you but because you still held out hope every time that this time would be different.

And then there were the worst moments—the ones that left marks even you couldn’t brush off.

There was the time you’d shown up to work after a rare weekend off, a hopeful sparkle in your eye as you mentioned that things finally seemed to be turning around with him. Hotch had wanted to believe it for your sake, but he’d barely had time to hope before you confided—over lunch in the BAU’s break room—that the man had stood you up for dinner, citing a “misunderstanding.” Hotch had gripped his coffee mug so tightly he thought it might crack.

Through it all, he’d stayed quiet. He’d been your friend, your colleague, your confidant. He’d listened when you needed to vent, offered advice when you asked, and let you lean on him when the weight of disappointment became too much. But inside, he’d been screaming.

Screaming at the man who couldn’t see the incredible person standing right in front of him. Screaming at himself for letting it go on for so long without saying more.

“What happened?” he asked, forcing his tone to remain gentle.

You sighed again, this time heavier. “My friend from college and grad school, Annie, is getting married this weekend. I had a plus-one, and—well, he was supposed to come with me.” Your voice wavered just slightly. “But he bailed last minute. Said he couldn’t make it because he’s ‘too busy.’”

Hotch’s jaw tightened further. Too busy? The excuse was laughable, infuriating, and so painfully predictable. He hated seeing the way you tried to downplay your disappointment as if his latest betrayal were somehow your fault.

“I don’t get it, Hotch,” you continued quietly, staring down at your desk. “I thought things were finally going somewhere this time. But he’s always—” You shook your head, blinking back tears. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just—”

He wanted to tell you why. Wanted to tell you that you hoped because you were good, because you believed in people even when they didn’t deserve it. He wanted to tell you that your hope was one of the things he admired most about you—and the thing that tore him apart when it was weaponized against you.

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted, his voice firmer than he intended.

You blinked up at him in surprise.

“This isn’t about you,” he said, holding your gaze. “It’s about him. He’s a coward who doesn’t see what’s right in front of him. You deserve better than this—better than him. You do this because you care. But he doesn’t deserve it.”

You smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Hotch. But it’s not like I have a backup plan. It’s just one weekend. I’ll survive.”

Hotch watched as you tried to bury your hurt under a mask of indifference, but it didn’t fool him. He wasn’t sure when he made the decision—it was instinctive, like every protective impulse he felt when it came to you.

“Then let me go with you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could overthink them.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “If you’ll have me.”

The stunned look on your face made him wonder if he’d overstepped. But then your lips curved into a genuine smile—a rare one that he hadn’t seen all day.

“You’d really do that?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his own lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

You laughed—a light, incredulous sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. “Aaron Hotchner, my wedding date. Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s a first for me, too,” he admitted, his tone light but sincere. “But I promise, you won’t regret it.”

For the first time that day, Hotch saw a flicker of hope in your eyes, and he silently vowed to make good on his promise. Because whether you realized it or not, you deserved someone who saw your worth—someone who would never dream of leaving you hanging.

And if that someone couldn’t be him, he’d at least make sure you saw what it was like to be treated the way you deserved, even if just for one weekend.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somehow, agreeing to accompany you to this wedding had become the most complicated logistical endeavor of his week. Which, considering he led a team of profilers tracking violent criminals, was saying something.

He sat across from you at the round table in the break room, a notepad in hand as you went over the details for the weekend. You were in full planning mode, leaning forward, your fingers tapping rhythmically against your coffee cup.

“So,” you began, grinning. “The wedding is in Stafford. I already booked a room because I wasn’t sure how late I’d stay, but now that you’re coming, I can probably cancel that and just—”

“You should keep it,” Hotch interjected.

You raised an eyebrow, your grin morphing into something sly. “Aaron, are you worried about your reputation? Afraid of being seen walking out of my hotel room in the morning?”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile. “I’m worried about getting enough sleep and having to share a room with someone who steals the covers.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, pretending to clutch your chest. “Accusing me of being a cover thief without evidence. Profiling me already, Hotchner?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

Your laugh was light and easy, the sound wrapping around him in a way that momentarily made him forget you were planning this trip because someone else had let you down. He knew better than to dwell on that, though, especially now that you were in good spirits again.

“So,” you continued, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “you’re driving, right? You’ve got the serious FBI Dad car that won’t break down.”

Hotch raised a brow, unsure what quick-witted joke you were making at him. “FBI Dad car?”

“Yeah, you know,” you teased, gesturing vaguely. “Sturdy, reliable, no-nonsense. It practically screams, ‘I’m an authority figure, and I have juice boxes in the back seat for emergencies.’”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Yes, I’ll drive.”

Before you could respond, Morgan’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Sounds like we’re right after all,” he said, loud enough for both of you to hear.

Hotch turned to find Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi standing in the doorway, all wearing expressions ranging from smug to amused.

“Right about what?” Hotch asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Oh, nothing,” Morgan replied, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth said otherwise.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at the trio. “Okay, spill it. What conspiracy theory are you cooking up now?”

Prentiss smirked. “Oh, it’s not a conspiracy. Just a little… friendly office speculation.”

Rossi, ever the instigator, folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Let’s just say there’s a reason the betting pool has been so active lately.”

Hotch blinked, confused. “Betting pool?”

“On what?” you asked, your tone equal parts curious and incredulous.

Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “On when you two were finally going to get together.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, simultaneously:

“What?” Hotch said, his voice clipped with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” you said, your tone higher and filled with mock outrage.

The trio in the doorway looked utterly unfazed.

“Oh, come on,” Prentiss said, rolling her eyes. “You finish each other’s sentences, you bicker like an old couple, and don’t even get me started on the way you look at each other.”

You snorted. “The way we look at each other? What is this, a rom-com?”

Hotch held up a hand, his expression stern but his tone baffled. “This is absurd. We’re colleagues and friends. That’s it.”

Morgan raised a skeptical brow. “Friends, huh? You’re going to a wedding together. And if I’m not mistaken, Hotch just volunteered to drive—sounds pretty couple-y to me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Oh, Derek, sweet, sweet Derek,” you said, your voice dripping with exaggerated condescension. “Are you trying to tell me that I can’t ask my best friend to be my date to a wedding without it being some grand romantic gesture?”

Morgan grinned. “Not saying it, just calling it like I see it.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

Prentiss gave him a mock-serious look. “It’s not ridiculous if it’s true.”

“It’s not true,” you and Hotch said in unison, which only seemed to amuse the team further.

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said, exchanging a knowing look with Rossi.

Hotch turned to you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “They’re crazy.”

“Oh, 100%,” you agreed, giving him a quick, conspiratorial grin. “But let’s not correct them. Let’s just let them spiral into their own delusions. It’ll be fun to watch.”

Prentiss smirked. “You know we can still hear you, right?”

“Then you’re welcome for the entertainment,” you shot back, standing and grabbing your coffee cup.

As the team finally dispersed, still laughing and muttering amongst themselves, Hotch shook his head, bemused.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Hey, look at it this way,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly as you passed. “At least now you’ve got a reputation as a fun wedding date. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Despite himself, Hotch felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Right.”

Hotch arrived at your apartment a few minutes early, the morning sun casting long shadows across the quiet street. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket while waiting, catching himself fidgeting—a rare occurrence. He told himself it was because of the unfamiliarity of the situation, not because of you.

When you finally emerged, his breath hitched. You were dressed simply but elegantly, exuding a confidence that he found himself noticing more than usual. As you approached the car, you waved with a teasing smile.

“Wow, Aaron, I didn’t think punctuality extended to wedding duty,” you quipped, opening the passenger door.

He smirked as you slid into the seat. “You make it sound like this is an interrogation.”

“Depends. Will there be a polygraph at the reception?” you shot back, buckling your seatbelt.

Hotch chuckled softly, pulling away from the curb. “Let’s hope not.”

The silence between you was comfortable as the car rolled onto the highway. Hotch found himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were scrolling through your phone, your brow furrowing in that way it always did when you were deep in thought.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet, “what’s the plan for the reception? Do I stand in the corner and look intimidating, or are you expecting me to charm your college friends?”

You turned to him with a mock-serious expression. “You’re under strict orders to charm, obviously. What’s the point of bringing you along if you’re just going to brood in a corner?”

“I don’t brood,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you absolutely brood,” you said with a grin. “But don’t worry—I’ll coach you. Step one: smile occasionally. It won’t kill you.”

Hotch shot you a dry look. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Your laugh was light, but it held an edge of something deeper—something that lingered in the air between you like a static charge.

After a beat, you shifted in your seat, your voice softening. “You know, you really didn’t have to do this. I would’ve survived.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was something in your gaze—a mix of gratitude and something unspoken, something he didn’t dare put a name to.

“Well,” you said, your voice tinged with a sly edge as you broke the comfortable silence. “If we’re doing this, we might as well make it fun. Tell me, Hotch—how’s your dancing?”

Hotch glanced at you, arching an eyebrow as his lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Impeccable.”

You blinked, your grin faltering in mock surprise. “Wait, really? You can’t just say that and not elaborate.”

“I don’t think there’s much to elaborate on,” he said, his tone light but confident. “Years of events, fundraisers, and... the occasional gala. I can hold my own.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, then let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, this is going to be fun. The FBI’s most stoic agent is secretly a Fred Astaire in disguise? Who knew?”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t say I was flashy.”

“Flashy is overrated,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Grace, timing, presence—those are the real markers of a great dancer.”

“And you’d know this how?” he asked, shooting you a sidelong glance.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I took some lessons in college. Turns out I have two left feet, but I’m a great judge of talent.”

He smirked. “Two left feet? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” you said, grinning. “So, looks like I’ll be depending on you to keep us from embarrassing ourselves on the dance floor.”

“I think we’ll manage,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet warmth.

There was something in the way you looked at him then, your teasing smile softening just enough to give away the unspoken tension humming beneath the surface. Hotch forced his attention back to the road, though his mind lingered on the way your presence seemed to fill the space around him so effortlessly.

“You know,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence with a playful tilt to your voice, “if you’re this good at dancing, I’m starting to think I’ve been seriously underestimating you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone carrying the faintest hint of a challenge.

“Yeah,” you replied, tapping a finger against your chin in mock thought. “What other hidden talents are you keeping from me?”

Hotch smirked, but instead of answering, he let the question hang in the air, his silence calculated.

“Oh, come on,” you pressed, laughing lightly. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and leave me hanging.”

He shrugged, his expression unreadable but his tone unmistakably amused. “Maybe I like keeping you guessing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Your laugh filled the car again, bright and unrestrained, and Hotch allowed himself a small smile. It was moments like this—when the walls between you seemed to lower without effort—that he felt the tug of something deeper. Something he’d long ignored, even as it grew impossible to deny.

As the miles stretched on, the banter gave way to quieter moments, but the tension never left. It simmered beneath the surface, in the way your knee brushed against the center console, in the way his name sounded when you said it, in the way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long at every red light.

By the time you reached the venue, Hotch found himself gripping the wheel a little tighter, his usual composure shaken just enough to make him wonder if this was really just about being a good friend.

And judging by the way you looked at him as you stepped out of the car, he suspected he wasn’t the only one wondering.

By the time Hotch pulled into the parking lot, the late morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the small boutique hotel nestled on the edge of town. He stepped out of the car, grabbing your overnight bag from the trunk and trying not to notice the way your dress caught the light as you smoothed it out.

The lobby was quaint, adorned with rustic charm, and the check-in process was quick. Hotch couldn’t help but notice the faint blush that crept up your cheeks when the receptionist handed him a single key card.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said with a knowing smile, though Hotch couldn’t decipher if it was genuine or merely part of her routine.

As you both stepped into the elevator, you glanced at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “So, any guesses on the room situation?”

Hotch gave you a sidelong glance, his voice steady. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

But the moment the door to the room swung open, he realized "fine" was a stretch.

There it was. The single bed. Large and neatly made, taking up most of the modestly sized room.

You stopped in the doorway, your bag slung over one shoulder as you surveyed the scene. “Well,” you said after a moment, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow, “this is cozy.”

Hotch cleared his throat, stepping inside and setting your bag on the chair in the corner. “It’s practical,” he said, though even he didn’t believe the words.

You smirked, closing the door behind you. “I didn’t realize practicality came with a built-in proximity test.”

He gave you a faint look, his lips twitching despite himself. “If it’s an issue, I can take the floor.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing past him to set your phone on the bedside table. “We’re both adults. I think we can survive one night.” You looked back at him and had almost a nervous laugh, “Plus, I have to prove to you I’m not a sheet thief.” 

The confidence in your voice didn’t quite match the flicker of something else in your eyes—nervousness, curiosity, or perhaps the same undercurrent of tension he’d felt since the drive.

“Well,” you continued, shaking off the moment as you dug through your bag, “we don’t have much time before the ceremony, so I’m claiming the bathroom first. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”

Hotch chuckled softly as you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water quickly filling the room. He loosened his tie, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing around. The space was neat, understated, with soft lighting that made everything feel strangely intimate.

He caught himself staring at the bathroom door longer than necessary, then stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

When you emerged a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your lipstick reapplied, you looked radiant. Hotch found himself at a loss for words, though he masked it by stepping into the bathroom with a curt, “Your turn to wait.”

The cool water on his face did little to clear his mind. By the time he stepped back into the room, fully composed, you were seated on the edge of the bed, slipping your shoes on.

“All set?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

You glanced up at him, your smile soft but teasing. “Ready when you are, Fred Astaire.”

He smirked, grabbing his jacket and gesturing toward the door. “After you.”

As you walked ahead, Hotch allowed himself a brief moment to exhale, the weight of the growing tension settling over him like a second skin. The day had barely begun, and already, he found himself wondering just how long he could keep his thoughts—and his feelings—in check.

The sun filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled light on the guests as they made their way toward the outdoor ceremony space. Hotch walked beside you, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot filling the brief silence. He couldn’t help but glance at you as you adjusted your dress, the soft fabric shifting gracefully as you moved.

“You look...” Hotch began, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, glancing ahead at the clusters of chairs. “You look incredible.”

You turned to him, surprised. “Hotch, was that a compliment? Are you feeling okay?”

He smirked, his lips twitching. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all day,” he admitted, his gaze steady now. “Just... took a bit of courage.”

Your playful grin faltered slightly, your eyes softening as they met his. There was a flicker of something in your expression—something unspoken, almost vulnerable. Before you could respond, a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh my God, is that you?”

You barely had time to turn before a woman approached, her enthusiasm unmistakable. She was around your age, with bright eyes and a warm smile that radiated familiarity.

“Wow, it’s been forever! How are you?” the woman gushed, pulling you into a quick hug.

Hotch stepped back slightly, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he watched the exchange.

“I’m good,” you replied, your voice friendly but a bit guarded. “Hotch, this is Taylor. We were in the same program in grad school. Taylor, this is Aaron Hotchner.”

Taylor’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile widening. “Oh, Aaron. You must be her boyfriend!”

Hotch blinked, the words catching him off guard. He opened his mouth to respond but paused, glancing at you as you froze slightly, your lips parting as if to correct her. But something stopped you—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

Instead, Hotch smiled faintly, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, his tone calm and composed, deliberately sidestepping the assumption.

Taylor shook his hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about this wedding. You’re both going to have such a great time! Anyway, I should grab my seat before I lose it. So good to see you again!”

She darted off, leaving the two of you standing there in her wake.

You turned to Hotch, your brow raised. “Boyfriend?” you asked quietly, your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch glanced at you as the crowd began to settle into their seats, his expression calm but with a glint of dry humor in his eyes. “Is ‘boss’ better?”

Your lips quirked into a smirk as you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

The ceremony began before either of you could say more, but the weight of the word lingered between you. Hotch tried to focus on the officiant’s words, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the quiet murmurs of the gathered crowd. But his mind kept drifting back to your reaction—and to the flicker of a thought he didn’t dare voice.

Maybe the assumption wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed.

Hotch settled into his seat beside you as the ceremony began, the soft murmur of conversation fading into a respectful silence. The bride and groom stood at the altar under an archway adorned with delicate flowers, the golden light of the late afternoon casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow.

He tried to focus on the ceremony, the gentle cadence of the officiant’s voice blending with the rustle of the trees. But your presence beside him made it difficult.

The chairs were close together, the space between you almost nonexistent. He could feel the warmth of your arm just brushing against his, a subtle contact that sent a current through him more powerful than it should have. You shifted slightly, your knee brushing his, and Hotch held his breath for a moment, willing himself to remain composed.

When the officiant spoke about love—about commitment, vulnerability, and the courage it took to give yourself fully to another person—Hotch found himself watching your profile instead of the couple at the altar.

Your expression was soft; your lips curved into a faint smile as you listened. There was a light in your eyes, one that made his chest tighten unexpectedly. You looked beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way you seemed so present, so genuine, so effortlessly yourself.

And for a moment, he let himself imagine.

He imagined reaching for your hand, letting his fingers curl around yours in the quiet simplicity of the moment. He imagined what it might be like to sit beside you at a ceremony like this as something more—more than friends, more than colleagues. The thought was fleeting but potent, leaving a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite shake.

When the bride and groom exchanged their vows, their voices filled with emotion, Hotch stole a glance at you. A soft smile played on your lips, and you leaned forward slightly, your focus entirely on the couple.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice so quiet he barely caught it.

He nodded, his throat tightening. “It is.”

Your gaze flicked to him briefly, your smile widening just a fraction before you returned your attention to the altar.

The ceremony continued, the romantic atmosphere growing thicker as the couple’s love story unfolded in front of the guests. When the bride’s voice cracked with emotion as she promised to love her partner for the rest of her life, Hotch’s gaze shifted back to you.

You were blinking quickly, your hands folded in your lap, and Hotch recognized the subtle effort to hold back tears. It was a side of you he rarely saw—vulnerable, unguarded—and it stirred something deep within him.

Without thinking, he let his knee press more firmly against yours, a quiet gesture of solidarity. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing his for just a moment.

By the time the ceremony ended, with cheers and applause filling the air as the bride and groom shared their first kiss, Hotch found himself acutely aware of every inch of space between you—of how close you were, yet still not close enough.

As you turned to him, your eyes bright with unshed tears and a soft smile lighting up your face, Hotch realized he’d never been less composed in his life.

The cocktail hour unfolded in the garden, a charming space strung with delicate fairy lights and buzzing with soft laughter and the clinking of glasses. Guests mingled near tables laden with hors d’oeuvres, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the crisp evening air. Hotch stood by your side, his hands resting lightly in his pockets, watching as you stared out at the crowd, your expression thoughtful.

You hadn’t said much since the ceremony ended. It wasn’t like you to be quiet for so long, and he could see the internal battle playing out behind your eyes. Your shoulders were slightly tense, your gaze distant as you watched couples and old friends chatter happily around you.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Hotch didn’t press. He knew you well enough to know that if you wanted to share, you would. So, he waited, his presence steady and unintrusive as you worked through whatever was on your mind.

Finally, you let out a soft sigh, leaning slightly against the high-top table between you. “You ever watch something beautiful—like that ceremony—and feel… I don’t know, happy for them, but also kind of… sad?”

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Sad?”

You nodded, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your glass. “Not for them, of course. They were perfect. It’s just…” You hesitated, then let the words spill out, your voice quieter. “It makes you wonder if that kind of thing is in the cards for you, you know? If someone could ever love you like that—unconditionally, fully. If someone would show up for you, every single time.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words. He could see the vulnerability in your eyes, the doubt you were trying so hard to mask. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to say—not because he didn’t know the answer, but because the truth came so quickly and easily that it startled him.

He straightened slightly, his voice steady as he replied, “It’ll happen for you. And when it does, the guy will be the luckiest man in the world.”

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips, your eyes snapping to his. The disbelief on your face caught him off guard, and he realized too late how much he’d revealed.

He cleared his throat, quickly adding, “Not that I’d know, of course. Divorced, widowed, single father—not exactly a stellar track record.” He offered a small, self-deprecating smirk. “I’m hardly an expert on what works.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was light, genuine, and for a brief moment, Hotch felt a flicker of relief that he’d managed to deflect.

“Wow, Hotchner,” you said, your laughter fading into a warm smile. “Way to lift me up and immediately knock yourself down.”

“Just keeping things balanced,” he replied, his tone dry but his eyes warm.

You shook your head, still smiling, but he could see the wheels turning in your mind. Your expression softened, and for a moment, he wondered if you were going to say something else—something that might push the conversation back into deeper waters.

Before you could, a cheerful voice interrupted.

“Oh my God, there you are!”

Both of you turned to see a small group of your college and grad school friends approaching, their smiles wide and their arms outstretched as they greeted you enthusiastically.

Hotch stepped back slightly, letting you take center stage as they enveloped you in hugs and started chattering all at once. You lit up in their presence, your wit and charm on full display as you bantered back and forth with them effortlessly.

And though he stood quietly on the periphery, Hotch couldn’t help but smile. Watching you like this—vibrant, confident, and so fully yourself—he couldn’t imagine a world where someone wouldn’t see what he saw.

But as he met your gaze briefly across the group, catching the subtle flicker of something lingering in your eyes, he knew the conversation wasn’t over. Not yet.

The introductions at the cocktail party unfolded with an ease that surprised even Hotch. One by one, your old college and grad school friends greeted him, their initial curiosity about the date you brought quickly melting into admiration. He’d never thought of himself as particularly charming—polished and professional, yes, but charming? That was usually Morgan’s department.

But as he exchanged handshakes and polite banter, he could feel their approval growing. They teased you relentlessly about him, their questions playful and occasionally pointed. And you, ever quick-witted, deflected with a grace and humor that kept the mood light, though your blush betrayed you more than once.

“He’s even more put-together than you let on,” one of your friends teased, nudging your arm.

“Don’t let it fool you,” you replied, smirking at Hotch. “He’s secretly a pain.”

Hotch raised a brow, his tone dry but warm. “Only when necessary.”

The group laughed, and you glanced at him, your smile softening in a way that made the noise around him fade for just a moment.

If your friends noticed the subtle looks passing between you and Hotch—the way your eyes lingered on him or how his posture seemed to relax in your presence—they didn’t say anything outright. But their knowing smiles spoke volumes.

By the time the cocktail hour wound down and everyone was ushered toward the reception hall, Hotch felt more comfortable than he had in weeks. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, but with you by his side, the evening felt lighter, more vivid.

The reception began with all the hallmarks of a joyous celebration: a lively band, glasses clinking in toasts, and the soft glow of candles casting a romantic haze over the room. Hotch and you were seated at a round table with some of your friends, their easy chatter filling the gaps between the speeches and the plated courses.

At first, the chemistry between you and Hotch was subtle—a shared glance during the bride and groom’s first dance, the way his arm brushed yours as he leaned closer to hear you over the music. But as the evening progressed, it became impossible to ignore.

“Are you going to dance?” you asked, your tone teasing as you sipped your wine.

“Eventually,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know. That depends. Are you going to make me dance alone?”

Hotch leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’d never let you dance alone.”

The words hung between you, the air charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked in a way that made the noise of the room fade into the background.

One of your friends called your name, breaking the spell, and you turned with a quick laugh, brushing off the moment as though it hadn’t happened. But Hotch noticed the way your hand lingered on your wine glass, the slight flush creeping up your neck.

As the reception continued, the moments between you grew bolder. A comment from you that lingered just long enough to feel intimate. A brush of his hand against yours as you both reached for something on the table. The way his gaze followed you when you stepped away to talk to someone else, his focus sharper, more intent than he realized.

By the time the band struck up a slower tune, Hotch found himself standing, offering you his hand before he could think twice.

“Care to dance?” he asked, his voice steady but softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, surprised for only a moment before your lips curved into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As you took his hand and allowed him to guide you onto the dance floor, Hotch felt a quiet certainty settle over him. Whatever lines had existed between you—coworkers, friends, allies—were beginning to blur. And for once, he wasn’t in a hurry to redraw them.

Hotch turned to face you, his other hand resting lightly at your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was light at first, almost cautious, but as the music swelled, he felt you relax, your movements fluid as you let him guide you through the gentle rhythm.

“You weren’t kidding about being a good dancer,” you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Where’ve you been hiding this talent?”

Hotch smirked faintly, his lips twitching upward. “It’s a rare occasion that calls for it.”

“Well,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with mischief, “consider me impressed.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting briefly to the way your hand fit so perfectly in his, the way your eyes lit up even under the dim glow of the candles. Finally, he said, “You should be. I don’t make exceptions for just anyone.”

Your laugh was quiet, a warm ripple that he felt as much as heard. “Is that right? I should feel honored then.”

“You should,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile still playing at his lips.

The conversation lulled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The silence felt full, weighted by the unspoken tension that had been simmering all day. You swayed together, your movements perfectly synchronized, and for a moment, Hotch allowed himself to forget everything else—the cases, the team, the boundaries he usually held so firmly in place.

As the music slowed further, you tilted your head, your eyes searching his. “What are you thinking?”

Hotch hesitated, his gaze holding yours for a beat too long. “That you shouldn’t doubt what’s in store for you,” he said quietly. “Not after today.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

He paused, considering his words carefully. “You deserve what you saw at that ceremony. Someone who shows up, who doesn’t hesitate. And when it happens, it’ll be because they know just how lucky they are.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you might pull away. Instead, you blinked up at him, your expression unreadable but undeniably softer. “Hotch—”

Before you could finish, the music swelled into its final notes, the moment broken as the song came to an end. Couples around you began to clap politely, the spell of the dance slowly lifting.

You stepped back slightly, your hand lingering in his for just a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet but sincere.

Hotch nodded, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

As you turned to head back to the table, Hotch stayed where he was for a moment, watching the way your shoulders seemed a little more relaxed, the way you glanced back at him briefly before rejoining your friends.

He exhaled slowly, his hands falling to his sides. Whatever line you’d both been toeing all evening had grown impossibly blurred, and he wasn’t sure if it was something to step back from—or cross entirely.

The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded Hotch as he followed you back toward the table, the energy of the reception lively yet intimate. Before either of you could sit, the bride approached, her radiant smile lighting up the room. Her white gown swayed slightly as she moved, the sparkling embellishments catching the light.

“There you are!” the bride exclaimed, her voice warm and effusive as she wrapped you in a quick hug. “I’ve been looking for you all evening.”

“Hi, Annie,” you said, your tone fond as you pulled back. “You look stunning. Everything about today has been absolutely perfect.”

Annie beamed, her hands clasping yours. “Thank you. But ook at you! And you must be...” She turned to Hotch, her expression curious and eager.

“This is—” you began, but Annie cut you off before you could finish.

“Oh, I knew it!” Annie said, clapping her hands together and glancing between you and Hotch with unrestrained glee. “I always said you’d find someone who looks at you the way he does. You deserve it so much. After everything you’ve been through. Terrible guy after terrible guy. I’m so happy for you.”

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, her words catching him completely off guard. He glanced at you, noting the way your eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up your neck.

Annie, oblivious to the tension she’d just created, kept going. “I mean, honestly, it’s about time. Look at you two—you’re such a beautiful couple. And the way he watches you? Like you’re the only person in the room? Come on.”

Hotch’s lips parted, his usual composure slipping as he scrambled for a response. Should he correct her? Deflect? Or...

Instead, he did neither.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said, his voice steady but quieter, as if weighing each word carefully. “She deserves everything. More than anyone I know.”

His gaze lingered on you as he spoke, watching the way your expression softened into something he couldn’t quite name. For a moment, Annie’s chatter faded into the background, the room seeming to grow smaller around the three of you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Annie’s delighted laughter filled the silence first. “See? I knew it,” she said, her tone triumphant. “I knew you’d get that fairytale ending you always talked about wanting.” 

Hotch smiled faintly, his hands slipping into his pockets as Annie hugged you again. “Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice still warm as she pulled away. “It means so much to have you both here.”

You nodded, your voice unusually soft. “Of course, Annie. We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Annie turned back to the dance floor, leaving the two of you standing there, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You glanced at him, your brows knitting together slightly as if you wanted to ask something but weren’t sure where to start. He’s sure from the array of comments he’s thrown at you tonight or the charged energy building between you, you must have a few.

Hotch offered a small smile, his voice low. “She’s a good friend.”

“She’s... enthusiastic,” you said, a weak laugh escaping you.

“Enthusiastic,” he repeated, amusement flickering briefly across his face. “And observant, apparently.”

Your blush deepened, but before the conversation could go any further, another group of your friends waved you over from the bar, calling your name.

“I guess we’re popular tonight,” you said, your tone lighter as you gestured for him to follow.

Hotch nodded, trailing behind you, but his thoughts lingered on Annie’s words. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to agree with her so openly, but as he watched you laugh with your friends, something told him he wasn’t wrong.

You deserved everything. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t impossible to imagine being the one to give it to you. He was just glad he could try, even if it was just for tonight.

The energy in the room shifted as the bride announced the bouquet toss, her cheerful voice drawing a crowd of eager participants to the dance floor. Laughter and playful shouts filled the space as single women jostled for prime positions, their eyes gleaming with competitive determination.

You, however, stayed firmly rooted at the edge of the room, leaning casually against a table with your arms crossed. Hotch stood beside you, holding the glass he was nursing on the table.

“Not interested?” he asked, glancing at you, a teasing flint in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” you replied, your tone wry. “I’m perfectly fine over here, out of the line of fire.”

Hotch chuckled softly. “Strategic decision. I can respect that.”

You grinned, turning your attention back to the bride, who was hyping up the crowd with exaggerated gestures. The band struck up a playful tune, and the anticipation in the room reached its peak as Annie turned her back to the group, bouquet in hand.

The toss was dramatic, the bouquet soaring high into the air in a perfect arc. The crowd erupted into shouts and cheers as hands shot up, grasping for the bundle of flowers.

But no one caught it.

Instead, the bouquet ricocheted off a hand, sailed over the group entirely, and arced straight toward you.

You barely had time to react before it bonked you squarely on the head.

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned as the bouquet bounced off you and landed unceremoniously on the table beside you. There was a beat of silence before laughter erupted around the room, the crowd clearly amused by the unexpected trajectory.

You stared at the bouquet, your mouth slightly agape, before looking up at him, your expression caught somewhere between mortification and disbelief.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice rising just enough to carry over the laughter. “I wasn’t even participating!”

Hotch’s lips twitched, his amusement barely contained as he raised an eyebrow. “Looks like fate had other plans.”

“Fate needs to work on its aim,” you muttered, grabbing the bouquet and holding it up like evidence in a court case.

Hotch allowed himself a full laugh, the sound rare but genuine. “Or maybe it’s trying to tell you something,” he teased, his voice lower as he leaned slightly closer. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the start of a grin. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely,” he said, his tone deadpan but his eyes gleaming with humor.

You shook your head, muttering something about cosmic irony as you placed the bouquet back on the table. But Hotch could see the faint blush creeping up your neck, and the way your lips curved into a reluctant smile despite your feigned indignation.

As the laughter in the room began to settle and the bride called for the next event, Hotch leaned slightly closer to you, his voice quieter now.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer but no less teasing, “I think the roses suit you.” He pulled a few petals from your hair.

You shot him a look, but your smile widened, and for a brief moment, the space between you felt smaller than ever. “I’m more of a sunflower girl,” You played along. 

The band’s leader tapped the microphone, his cheerful voice cutting through the chatter of the reception. “All right, folks, this one’s for the happy couples out there! Join us on the dance floor for one last dance before we call it a night.”

Around the room, couples began to rise, hands intertwined as they made their way to the dance floor. The lights dimmed slightly, casting the space in a warm, golden glow. Hotch stayed in his seat, his gaze drifting to you as you sipped the last of your wine, clearly intent on remaining at the table.

He set his glass down with deliberate precision and stood, extending his hand toward you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing,” he replied simply, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Hotch, that’s for couples—”

“According to your friends,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk, “we’re a couple tonight. Might as well play the part.”

For a moment, you stared at him, clearly torn between amusement and incredulity. But then you sighed, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. “Fine,” you said, standing with exaggerated reluctance. “But if this ends up being another metaphor, I’m blaming you.”

Hotch chuckled softly, leading you to the dance floor. The band struck up a slow, tender melody, the kind that wrapped itself around you and seemed to quiet the world.

He turned to face you, his hand resting lightly on your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was familiar now, but this time, the air between you felt heavier—charged. You moved together effortlessly, swaying in time with the music, your steps perfectly in sync.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, your fingers tightening slightly on his shoulder. “You really are impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, his tone dry but his expression softer than usual.

The conversation lulled, and for a moment, there was nothing but the music and the quiet sound of your breaths mingling in the space between you.

Hotch’s eyes dropped to your face, taking in the way your lashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the faint flush that lingered from the evening’s laughter and wine. You looked up at him then, your gaze meeting his, and the intensity of the moment hit him like a wave.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, your voice tinged with nervous amusement.

He didn’t look away. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath hitched, and Hotch felt your hand shift slightly on his shoulder as though you were steadying yourself. The tension between you was palpable now, a tangible thing that neither of you seemed willing—or able—to break.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said, your tone quieter now, almost tentative.

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “So are you.”

The song began to wind down, the final notes stretching into a soft, lingering cadence. The room seemed to grow smaller, quieter, as though it held only the two of you.

As the music ended, Hotch realized he hadn’t let go of your waist, and you hadn’t stepped back. For a brief, breathless moment, you both stayed where you were, the silence between you heavy with possibilities.

And though neither of you said it aloud, the line between what you were and what you could be had never felt thinner.

The walk back to the hotel room was quiet, the air between you and Hotch humming with the kind of unspoken tension that had lingered all night. The elevator ride was no better; you stood beside him, close enough that your arm brushed his, and though neither of you spoke, the weight of the evening seemed to settle in the confined space.

By the time the door to the room clicked shut behind you, the silence was thick. You slipped off your shoes with a sigh, placing them neatly by the door as you turned to him with a tired but genuine smile.

“Well,” you said, your voice soft, “that was... something.”

Hotch nodded, setting his jacket neatly over the back of a chair. “It was.”

You glanced at him, your smile tilting into something teasing. “That’s all you’ve got? Just ‘it was’?”

He smirked faintly, loosening his tie. “I think the bouquet toss and the dance floor antics speak for themselves.”

You laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and Hotch felt his shoulders relax slightly despite the tension coursing through him. He watched as you moved to your bag, pulling out a pair of comfortable clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room, and Hotch took the opportunity to change into a plain T-shirt and sweats, folding his dress shirt with precise care. When you returned, your makeup washed off, and your hair pulled back, you looked softer somehow—more yourself than you had all night, and it hit him with a quiet force he wasn’t prepared for. Sure, he’d seen you in casual clothes before, but something about the soft cotton clothes, the clean face, and the messy pulled-back hair…it was a sight that warmed him somehow. 

“You’re up,” you said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Hotch nodded, slipping past you and closing the door behind him. The cool water against his face did little to calm his thoughts, and when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he found his usual composure slightly fractured.

By the time he returned to the room, you were already under the covers, your head resting against the pillow as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone. He hesitated for a moment, the sight of you there—so comfortable, so familiar—stirring something deep in his chest.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” you asked, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moved to the other side of the bed. Sliding in beside you, he was acutely aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. When was the last time he shared a bed with someone?

The room fell into a soft silence, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. You set your phone down, turning onto your side to face him, your expression unreadable but open.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly. “For coming with me. For... everything.”

He met your gaze, his voice steady but softer than usual. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decipher something you weren’t quite ready to name.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence stretching but never feeling uncomfortable. Hotch could feel the warmth of your presence, the subtle weight of your gaze, and it was enough to make his throat tighten.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone light but tinged with something quieter, something unsure.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught, and Hotch felt the space between you shrink—not physically, but emotionally, the air thick with everything unspoken.

“Why do you do that?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Hotch hesitated, his throat tightening as he searched for the right words. “Like what?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re trying to figure me out. Like you already know something I don’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, his voice soft but steady. “Maybe I do.”

You blinked, your breath catching just slightly, and Hotch felt the air between you grow impossibly still.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence crackling with tension that neither seemed willing to break. Then, as if pulling yourself out of the moment, you let out a small laugh, your tone turning lighter.

“You’re an enigma, Aaron Hotchner,” you said, your smile faint but genuine as you turned onto your back, breaking the spell.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he reached over to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

“Goodnight,” you replied softly, your words carrying a warmth that settled over the room like a blanket.

As the darkness enveloped them, Hotch lay still, the steady sound of your breathing filling the silence. The unspoken connection between you—the moments that had lingered and stretched throughout the evening—felt as tangible as the bed they shared.

And though he knew crossing the line between friendship and something more was fraught with uncertainty, Hotch couldn’t shake the quiet realization that maybe—just maybe—you were worth the risk.

Hotch stirred awake in the dark, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains casting soft shadows across the room. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had woken him—a sound, a shift—but then he became aware of the warmth pressed against him, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

Somehow, in the night, the two of you had gravitated toward each other. His arm was draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, and your head was nestled against his chest. Your hand, delicate and warm, had found its way to his side, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him.

He froze, his breath hitching as he registered the intimacy of the moment. Every instinct told him to pull away, to put space between you before you woke up, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

The soft scent of your hair drifted up to him, and without thinking, his thumb began to trace small, absent circles against your side. The simple act sent a rush of warmth through him, a tenderness he couldn’t quite contain.

You stirred slightly, your body shifting just enough for him to realize you were waking up. His breath caught again, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he waited—half expecting you to pull away or panic.

But you didn’t. Instead, you tilted your head up, your eyes blinking sleepily in the dim light as they met his.

Neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick, electric, the air charged with a tension that felt almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand stilled on your side, his palm now resting against the curve of your hip. He watched you closely, his eyes searching yours for any sign that he should pull back. But you didn’t move away. If anything, you seemed to lean into him, your gaze softening as you stared at him in the quiet.

His chest tightened as he felt the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. The feelings he’d been trying to push aside for months—years, maybe—were suddenly impossible to ignore.

And then, you moved.

Your hand slid upward, hesitating briefly before coming to rest against his chest. Slowly, tentatively, you shifted closer, your lips brushing his in a kiss so soft it sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the kiss tender and delicate, as though you were both testing the boundaries of something fragile and new. But then he felt your hand tighten against his chest, and his restraint broke.

Hotch deepened the kiss, his free hand sliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair. Your lips parted for him, and the kiss grew more heated, more insistent, as though all the tension that had built between you over the years was finally finding its release.

You shifted closer still, your body pressing against his, and Hotch couldn’t help the quiet sound that escaped him. He felt your hand slide up to his jaw, your fingers brushing against the stubble there as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss even further.

It was slow but consuming, a meeting of everything unspoken and everything undeniable. He couldn’t tell where he ended, and you began, the lines between friendship and something more completely and utterly erased.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the dark, your forehead rested against his as you looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his fingers still tangled in your hair, as he let out a shaky breath. “Say my name like that again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

You laughed softly, your hand brushing against his cheek as you leaned in again, this time with more certainty.

And as your lips met his once more, Hotch felt the last of his walls crumble, leaving only the quiet, undeniable truth: he didn’t want to hold back anymore. Not with you. Not ever.

Hotch’s pulse quickened as your lips met his again, this time with a heat that left no room for hesitation. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate but charged with the kind of intensity that came from years of unspoken longing. Your hand slid from his jaw to his chest, your fingers splaying against the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the moment.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The world outside this room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the dim light of the night.

When your leg shifted, brushing against his, a low sound escaped his throat—a soft, guttural hum that he hadn’t meant to let slip. You froze for the briefest moment, your eyes flicking up to his, and the sight of you—so close, so vulnerable, so his in that instant—was almost too much.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice breathless and tinged with something fragile, like you were teetering on the edge of disbelief.

Hotch cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he nodded. “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, pressing another kiss to your lips. This one was slower but no less fervent, his hand sliding from your face to rest against the curve of your waist, pulling you closer.

Your body shifted against his, your hands wandering—tentative at first, but quickly growing bolder. One hand curled around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs there, while the other slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, your palm pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

Hotch’s breath hitched, his own hands growing less restrained as they skimmed your back, tracing the line of your spine. The soft, sleepy rhythm of your breathing was broken by quiet, barely audible gasps as his hands found the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Aaron,” you murmured against his lips, the sound of his name sending a shiver down his spine.

His lips left yours, trailing a path along your jawline to the soft curve of your neck. He felt the way your body arched into his touch, the subtle press of your hips against his igniting something deeper, something he could no longer hold back.

“You have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and uneven, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tightened against him, and when he pulled back to look at you, your eyes were glassy, your lips slightly parted. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His restraint was unraveling with every second, every touch, every soft sound that escaped your lips. But he forced himself to pause, his forehead resting against yours as he took a steadying breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his hands stilling against your waist even as every fiber of his being begged him to keep going. “If you need me to, I will.”

You shook your head slightly, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned up to kiss him again, slow but filled with unmistakable intent. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the words a quiet promise.

Hotch exhaled shakily, his lips capturing yours again as he shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. The weight of you pressed against him, the warmth of your skin beneath his hands—it was everything he hadn’t let himself dream of, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t imagine ever letting it go.

The kisses grew more urgent, more consuming, the sleepy haze between you dissolving into something sharper, hungrier. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that bordered on worship, memorizing every curve, every tremble, every quiet sigh that spilled from your lips.

Hotch’s breath hitched as you shifted over him, your hands braced on his chest for balance. The delicate weight of you, your thighs straddling his hips, was intoxicating in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Pressing your center against him, a breathy groan left his lips. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers splaying across the soft fabric of your shirt as though memorizing every detail of this moment.

Your hair fell slightly into your face, and you looked down at him with a mixture of nervousness and desire that sent his pulse hammering in his chest. He met your gaze, his eyes dark and searching, trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t say aloud.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, the words a quiet plea for confirmation. He knew after this there was no going back. 

You nodded, your smile soft but steady as you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was equal parts tender and heated. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered against his mouth.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate at first, but quickly growing more fervent. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him as though anchoring yourself to him, while his hands slid upward, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the side.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, the soft glow of the moonlight making your skin seem almost ethereal. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

You flushed under his gaze, but instead of shying away, you leaned down, kissing him again with a new intensity. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward until he helped you remove it entirely. The cool air brushed against his skin, but all he could focus on was the warmth of you, the way your touch left a trail of fire in its wake.

As the last remnants of clothing were shed, the barrier between you dissolved entirely. You settled back over him, your bare skin pressing against his, and he let out a low, shaky exhale as his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion as he looked up at you.

You smiled softly, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned down to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every moment. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with a quiet confidence that made his chest tighten.

Hotch’s hands guided your movements, his touch firm but reverent, as though you were something precious—something he didn’t want to break. The connection between you was electric, every touch, every kiss deepening the bond that had been building for years.

As your bodies moved together, the world around you faded completely, leaving only the quiet hum of your shared breaths and the unspoken promise that whatever had changed between you tonight was something neither of you could—or would—ever take back.

As you rocked against him, his breath hitched, and he couldn’t stop the quiet groan that escaped him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you down into a kiss that was as tender as it was consuming.

When you pulled back, your gaze locked with his, your expression soft but filled with intensity. “I never knew it could feel like this,” you admitted, your voice quiet but raw with emotion.

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Neither did I.”

The words hung between you for a moment, the weight of them adding a new depth to the passion that had overtaken you. And as you moved together, Hotch felt a sense of completeness that he hadn’t known he was missing—something he realized, in this moment, he could never let go of.

Hotch’s breath came in uneven gasps, his body attuned to every shift of yours, every quiet sound that spilled from your lips. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to guide you, to hold you steady as you moved together.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured again, his voice thick and low. His eyes traced the line of your jaw, the way your lips parted as you moved, your body responding to his in a way that made his pulse race.

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling lightly around the base of his neck as you leaned closer. “I don’t think you realize,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion, “what you’re doing to me.”

His lips curved into a faint, breathless smirk as he leaned up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was deep and consuming. “I think I have an idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

You laughed quietly, the sound trailing off into a soft sigh as his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. “You make it hard to think,” you admitted, your tone teasing but edged with something deeper, more vulnerable.

“Good,” he replied, his hands shifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Because right now, all I can think about is you.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of your gaze made his chest tighten. “I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Hotch exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against yours as he slowed your movements, savoring the connection between you. “You have me,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me.”

Your lips parted as if to respond, but instead, you kissed him again, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you.

The rhythm between you was slow but deliberate, each movement, each touch, carrying a weight that neither of you could ignore. It wasn’t just passion—it was everything you hadn’t said, every unspoken feeling finally given form.

When you pulled back slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, Hotch found himself gripping your hips just a little tighter, grounding himself in the reality of you above him. Your skin glowed in the faint moonlight, and the look in your eyes—dark, heavy with desire—took what little restraint he had left and shattered it.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you whispered, your voice breathless, a mix of teasing and reverence. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He let out a low, quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines. “I could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice rough as his lips brushed the curve of your jaw.

You shivered under his touch, your lips curling into a small, wicked smile. “Are you saying I’m full of surprises?” you asked, your tone playful, your hips rolling against his in a way that made his breath catch.

Hotch let out a soft groan, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands found their way to your thighs. “I’m saying,” he said, his voice low and filled with heat, “that you might just be the death of me.”

You leaned down, your lips hovering just above his, teasing him with the barest of touches. “I guess that makes us even,” you whispered, your words trailing off into a kiss that was anything but tentative.

The kiss deepened, your movements growing slower, more deliberate as your hands roamed over him, pulling him impossibly closer. Hotch’s fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his other hand tracing the curve of your back in a way that made you arch into him.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed against your lips, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Like you were made for me.”

As the room filled with nothing but the quiet sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of sheets, Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at how natural this felt—how right it was to have you like this, in his arms, every unspoken word replaced by the undeniable connection between you.

And as the tension between you reached its peak, he realized with startling clarity that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment—this was something neither of you could ever undo. And he didn’t want to.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your face was still buried against his neck, and he could feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat gradually slowing against his chest. Hotch tilted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling.

It wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t casual. It was something far deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe he could feel again.

You stirred slightly, shifting so you could meet his gaze, your hair falling messily around your face. Your eyes searched his, and the vulnerability there—soft and unguarded—made his throat tighten.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice quiet but tinged with a nervous laugh, “that just happened.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his thumb brushing lazily against your back. “It did,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface.

You blinked down at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice carrying a hesitance that tugged at his heart.

He shifted beneath you, his hands settling on your hips as he met your gaze. “I’m more than okay,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “Are you?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering between his eyes as though trying to read him. Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. “I think I am.”

The tension in his chest eased slightly, but his thumb continued its soothing motion against your hip. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t—” He paused, exhaling quietly. “I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“Regret?” you echoed, your smile widening faintly. “Hotch, do I look like someone who regrets this?”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “No,” he admitted, his voice lighter now. “But I had to make sure.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss so soft it made his chest tighten all over again. “You’re impossible,” you whispered against his mouth, your tone teasing but filled with affection.

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk as he kissed you again.

You laughed softly, resting your forehead against his as your hands slid to his shoulders, your touch light and lingering. “Here we are,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, almost reflective.

Hotch let the silence stretch for a moment, his hands tracing gentle patterns along your sides as he memorized the feel of you against him. Whatever this was—whatever it had turned into—he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice tinged with humor as he glanced toward the faint glow of the bedside clock.

“Sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. “After all that? I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You grinned, leaning into his touch as your eyes softened. “Good. You should.”

As the quiet settled over the room once more, Hotch let his eyes drift closed, your body still pressed against his, your warmth anchoring him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside could wait. All that mattered was here and now, with you.

Hotch wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his chest blurring the line between minutes and hours. His hand rested against your back, his fingers tracing slow, idle patterns along your skin, grounding himself in the reality of your presence.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured after a while, your voice soft and drowsy, the words more of a thought spoken aloud than a question.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting on his chest, your hand lazily draped over his ribs. “I’m just... thinking,” he admitted, his voice low, the weight of the night settling over him in a way that felt both overwhelming and comforting.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your expression sleepy but curious. “About what?”

His fingers paused for a moment, resting lightly against your side. “About how different this feels,” he said honestly, his eyes meeting yours. “How right it feels.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression softening into something vulnerable, open. “It does,” you agreed quietly, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “It scares me a little.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, but he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It scares me too,” he admitted, his voice steady but filled with quiet emotion. “But not enough to make me stop.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing small circles against his skin. “What does this mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “For us?”

Hotch exhaled, his hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It means I don’t want to go back to what we had before,” he said softly. “Not after this.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his words settling between you. “Me neither,” you said after a moment, your voice carrying a quiet strength.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second. Hotch shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him, his arm wrapping around your waist as if to keep you there, to keep this moment from slipping away.

Your fingers curled against his chest, and you tilted your head up, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was softer now, slower, as though sealing the unspoken promise you’d just made.

When you pulled back, your eyes searched his, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess we’ll figure it out,” you said softly, the words carrying a quiet certainty that made his chest tighten.

“We will,” he replied, his voice low but firm.

Hotch lay awake long after you’d drifted off, your body warm and relaxed against his. The weight of what had happened between you lingered in the air, a heady mix of tenderness and an undeniable shift in the foundation of your relationship.

He let his fingers trace idle patterns along your back, his touch feather-light as he memorized the curve of your spine, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing. For years, he’d been disciplined in keeping the boundaries of your friendship intact, maintaining the line that separated what was and what could never be. But tonight, that line had dissolved completely, leaving in its wake something deeper, something that felt achingly right.

You stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh as you nestled closer to him, your hand sliding across his chest as though instinctively seeking him even in sleep. His chest tightened, a quiet warmth spreading through him as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

He’d spent so much of his life thinking he wasn’t allowed to have this—not after everything he’d been through, not after the sacrifices he’d made. But with you, it didn’t feel like he was taking something he wasn’t entitled to. It felt like finding something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all along.

Tomorrow would bring its own questions, its own complications. The team would notice the shift between you, and the world wouldn’t wait for you both to navigate whatever this had become. But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of the room, with you tucked safely against him, Hotch allowed himself to just be.

And as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, he held you a little closer, silently vowing that whatever came next, he would be ready. Because for the first time in a long time, he felt whole. And he wasn’t about to let that go

Hotch’s gaze lingered on your sleeping face, soft and unguarded in the early light. A quiet determination settled in his chest, stronger than anything he’d felt in years. You deserved to know—without question or hesitation—that you were worth everything. Worth the quiet moments and the stormy ones, the laughter and the tears, the time and the effort. Any man too blind or foolish to see that had only done him a favor, because now, you were here with him. And he would never take that for granted. He would make sure, every single day, that you never doubted your worth again. Because with you, Hotch finally understood what it meant to have something—and someone—he could never let go. And he wouldn’t let you forget it.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

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@averyhotchner

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@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | 02

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

You didn't want to ask Rafe for help.

You never like doing it in general. The concept is foreign to you and it makes your skin crawl with a sense of dread, but you were desperate.

He hasn't come back to your bar in a while; probably off finding a new replacement for a fake girlfriend. Before, you hadn't given it much thought. You did decline. However, now, you wish he hadn't found one yet. Now, the offer sounds appetizing given the situation you're in.

You need to get in contact with him. You knew that showing up to the Tannyhill estate would raise questions but you didn't know where he would be. An idea suddenly popped up in your head and you decided to scroll through social media and find the nearest Kook party. You found one, just uploaded fifteen minutes ago, at Topper's house.

Parking in the street, you stare at the party in full swing. It has been a while since you've been to a party—too focused on working full-time at Sailor and taking care of your siblings—and the idea of going in unnerves you. You were still in uniform, well, it's something you try to wear everyday to get tips. A simple black crop top and a mini skirt. You find it ironic that you were at least dressed for the part.

Leveling some confidence, you push open the creaky door of your old car and head inside. It is absolutely crowded with people, with girls and guys drinking and dancing outside in the yard, near the pool, on the porch. Your eyes glaze over every single one of them, trying to find the one person you hope would be here.

You find Rafe near the back porch of the mansion. He's with a couple of his buddies, Topper being among them, and a girl on his arm as he holds a beer with the same hand. You weren't surprised in the slightest. This was his plan after all. You were just surprised by the feeling in your stomach.

The lick of jealousy you didn't understand where it came from.

You step up. His friends were the first to notice you, scanning over your body that you wish you had worn a jacket over yourself. When you are just in front of him, his gaze finally focuses and meets your gaze.

"Can we talk?" You ask, sparing no attention to the girl on him.

He scoffs, "fuck off."

Of course he's going to be an asshole. You didn't bother with entertaining his comment by grabbing his arm, pulling him up. You knew you didn't have the strength to take him completely so you were pleasantly surprised when he assisted and got up. He even pushed the girl to the side as you dragged him off to somewhere quiet.

Well, as quiet as the live party can be.

"What do you want?"

His words are sharp and harsh, but you expected nothing less. You figured something happened—that's why he entertains his vices, right?—and plus, you told him that you wanted nothing to do with him. If anything, he has a bit of justification to be pissed.

But that doesn't mean you would accept it.

"I was going to talk to you about your offer, but seeing as you're being too much of an ass, I guess I should come back another time," you snap, turning around to head out because fuck him. You weren't going to take it. You had other things to do. You would be forgiving, perhaps, if he actually talked to you about his problem but to be a dick off the bat? Not a chance in hell.

"Wait," he grabs your arm before you move far and this contrasts the strength you hold. One hand and a lazy attempt to hold you in place. "What do you want?"

He said that somewhat nicer.

You turn back with a glare, contemplating what to do, before remembering what's at stake. You're already here. Might as well get it over with.

"I'll do it." You say, your voice coming out smaller than you intended. It’s so embarrassing to ask for help. It feels even more so to backtrack into something you said you couldn't—wouldn't—do. "Be your fake girlfriend, I mean."

The corner of his lips quirks into an amused smile. Even in his drunk state, where his blond hair is darkened from the humidity of the space and his eyes glossed over, you can't help but admit how attractive he is. "Couldn't stay away, could you?"

"I'm not trying to be the next Mrs. Cameron," you snap, feeling the need to clarify. "But, I do need the payout."

His eyes narrow. "Thought you didn't want it?"

"I don't," you answer. "It's something else."

He tilts his head to the side, studying you. "What?"

Sighing, you wished you could talk somewhere more private. But, this truly is the best place you can get him. "When you get your father's company and start doing all the Kook bullshit of hosting charity events, galas, and dinners, I want you to use Sailor as your drink caterer."

It sounded like a good deal when you thought of it. You didn't want the money because you don't know how long this little facade is going to last. You needed something stable. You need something that would benefit you in the long-run. Since Sailor has been slipping off the profit margins and you've been dealing with some trouble regarding its ownership, you figured the business from all the catering would boost it up. It would give you status and credit. It would benefit you long after this engagement with Rafe ends.

His eyes look thoughtful of the idea. You wonder how he's calculating, how he's weighing the options about whether to accept your negotiation or to decline—telling you he already found a replacement. You hope it wasn't the latter. You needed this.

"No."

You clench your jaw. Of course. The one time you sought out help, instead of cleaning up the mess yourself, you got shut down. It's embarrassing.

"Fine." You say, ripping your arm out of his grasp and heading straight to the exit. You want to leave as soon as possible and use the time you should've spent going here to actually come up with a solution. It was a wasted effort on your end. You make a mental note of that.

Just a few steps short of the exit, some guy nearby grabs your arm and holds you in place. "Where you going, pretty?" He slurs his words, his eyes cascading down your body that you wished you pulled down the length of your skirt. "I didn't get the chance to talk to you."

You try to rip your arm off of his but his grip is firm. "Leave me alone."

"Come on, pretty," he gets closer, his intoxication reeking from his breath that you had to turn your head to avoid the smell. "I can make you feel real good."

Your hand clenched by your side while the other places a palm directly on his chest, trying to place some distance between you and the stranger before you commit to your next move. "If you don’t leave me alone—"

It happened in a flash. One minute he's holding you, the second he's getting knocked back with a punch delivered straight on the mouth.

You look up to see Rafe, his knuckles clenched and redden while the beer he was cradling had dropped on the ground into a million broken pieces. His breathing heavy while his eyes are a little distant, lagged out.

"Rafe," you call out, but before he gets the chance to face you, the drunk stranger comes staggering back with a punch in return. The crowd gasps and quickly moves out of the way as a circle forms, Rafe and the man trading swings.

No one is helping them. No one is attempting to. Rafe is significantly more drunk than the stranger, his footing is slightly off, and the drunkard is getting in more decks on Rafe's face.

When Rafe tries to duck from a delivery, the guy does directly to his stomach and it causes him to topple over with a grunt.

Having enough, you step forward and grab the stranger's shoulder. He turns around with a look of confusion—just in time for you to deck him as hard as your hand can swing, right in the face.

"Shit!" You swear under your breath, the blow rippling back and returning straight to your fist, aching.

The stranger staggers back, his back hitting the floor while you grab Rafe. You don't know where you're going, you don't know the layout of this house, but pushing through the crowd, you find an empty bedroom and slam the door close with a lock.

Thankfully, it had a bathroom attached to it. You set Rafe on the mattress as you flick the lights on and search for the cabinets for any aid. Rafe's bottom lip is busted, there's a cut on one of his brows, and bruising forming against his jawline. You don't even want to think about the mess on his knuckles.

Finding a first aid kit, you step back to see Rafe laid out against the mattress, his eyes closed. You rush to his side, afraid he has a concussion and he's falling asleep.

"Rafe!" You shout, hitting his cheeks with the back of your hand in light taps, causing his eyes to flutter open. "You can't do that."

Willing himself back to a sitting position with your assistance, you set the first aid kit to the side as you attempt to help him. Using your hands to cradle his face, you assess the damages.

"Where'd you learn to punch like that?" He asks, the heat of his gaze follows you as you remove your touch.

You shrug. "You need to learn two things growing up in The Cut," you hold up a finger, "how to deliver a good right hook,"

You pause for a moment.

Impatiently, he prompts. "And?"

You hold up his gold signet ring and his watch. "How to take advantage of a drunk."

He scoffs, snatching his things out of your grasp as you laugh, releasing some tension in your shoulders. "Pogue." He sneers.

"Kook." You retort, but there's a lightness in your tone.

Rafe says nothing as you return to your search through the aid kit. When you find what you were looking for, you start on his face, first cleaning the cut around his brow.

He hisses at the sting, but allows you to continue. It was an awkward position to be in, sitting beside him as you try to clean the damage, and he must've noticed how irritated you were getting with his constant shifts away from the pain. Without a word, he grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap with one swoop, both legs on either side of his waist as his hands settle on the small of your back.

"Better?" He questions, raising a brow.

You don't say anything, attempting to adjust your skirt rising up to your hips, before you nod.

Cleaning the wound, you tilt your head to examine what your next step should be. It's hard to figure out because the bruise is slowly forming and while the cut may be small right now, it's going to be nasty tomorrow.

To ease some tension of the silence, you prompt with a conversation. "You got into another fight with your dad?"

He stiffens under you, clenching his jaw. "What makes you say that?"

You feel his eyes trained on your face, but you refuse to acknowledge it. "Because you're out here getting drunk instead of getting wasted at my bar."

Rafe smirks. "Miss me?"

"No, it was good for business." You say, matter-of-fact, and the look on his face dies off. You feel guilty. Adding on, you rectify, "and, you would've had someone to talk to. I don't think the people around here are offering that."

He says nothing, watching you work. You exchanged the bloodied pads for some ointment.

"It's just about Sarah again." He mutters, almost like he didn't want you to hear but knowing you would. "Same shit. Same golden child."

You nod, finally flicking your gaze down to his. His blue eyes are so prominent now, so clear, you wonder if you could get lost in them.

Rafe doesn't disclose any details like he normally does. When he goes on long tangents about the problem. It must've been bad. So, you lower your hand and cup his face, tilting his face to meet yours. "Want to talk about it?"

He swallows hard. "I don't want to talk."

"What do you want to do?"

"Fuck." He answers without a thought, the ability to shift into a fuck-mode is easier than digesting his feelings. You laugh, inappropriately, dropping your hand from his cheeks. You're about to push yourself off his lap—having bandaged him up—and let him go find his next hookup, but his grip on your waist tightens.

He doesn't say anything with that move, and you tilt your head at him.

"I thought I was below your level?" You tease.

"Yet, you're sitting on my dick right now," he says, eyes following yours. "What do you think that means?"

While you're not directly on him, you can feel his hard-on swelling under his pants, lightly grazing against your core, and causing a small ache between your legs.

"That you're horny enough to go for a Pogue."

He scoffs, lowering his hands to your ass and palms the flesh. Your eyes flutter close at the moment. "Who knew you were hiding such a nice body behind that counter?"

"You just haven't been paying attention."

"I am now."

His hands lowering to your hips, slowly pulling you down his lap, realigning your cunt until it sits directly on top of his zipper. He leans forward, his hot mouth against your ear. "If I tell you to grind on me, would you do it?"

You place a hand on his chest, trying to ease some space between the two of you, but your attempt was weak. Some part of you didn't want to leave.

"You're pushing it."

"What if I told you it would make me feel better?" He whispers, his fingers trailing up your skirt, against your bare thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "That you can consider it part of your deal."

Your breath hitch in surprise. "You're saying yes?"

"I was going to," he pulls back to meet your face, "but you ran away."

"You said no to me," you remind him.

"To rile you up," he says, like an asshole, and you scoff. "Didn't think you would just leave like that."

"Maybe you should give me clear answers then."

"Fine," his breath is right in front of yours. "I want you to ride me."

Your eyes trail his face, your hands finding his shoulders. You know you shouldn't. You know if this is supposed to be fake, why do you feel a deep, carnal urge for him. If this happens, it opens the door to other things. But, something in you softens. He did get a bruise for you. He did defend you. He's in pain and you're in need.

Maybe you could use each other.

Slowly, your hips roll against his. The look on his face hints at surprise that you took the bait and causes you to smirk, gripping his shoulders harder when you find the hard cock lined against your panties. You press down.

"Fuck," he groans raspily, "just like that."

The praise lights something in you. "Like that?" You repeat, pushing yourself against his jeans, rubbing up and down, that you can feel him grow harder and harder against the seams of his pants. He nods shakily. "Is it making you feel better, baby?"

He knows you're taunting him, using his words, but he fucking loves it. You're listening. For once, you're not actively trying to spite him and knock back—but willing, to him.

"That's right," he compliments, his gaze following your body as you are starting to find a rhythm against him. Your movements are getting sloppier. "Just what I need. A Pogue who listens to whatever I fucking say."

You nod vigorously, feeling your wetness growing against your panties, drenching the material enough to leak through and rub off against the front of his pants.

"God, look at you," he muses in your ear, glancing down, and a chuckle leaves his throat. "You made such a mess."

"Feel so good," you moan, you tip your head back as the friction of his jeans feels incredibly perfect against your swollen clit.

"Come on, sweetheart," his grip around your waist tightens, afraid with the way you're moving, you're going to fall off. "Ride me."

You follow his direction, quickening your pace as low groans and rasps leaves his lips at the sensation you're making him feel. The sound is like drugs to you, fueling you, because you want to desperately help him arrive at his own climax.

You wrap both your arms around his neck, grinding ruthlessly against his lap. Leaning forward, you dip your face into the crook of his neck. "Come on, Rafe," you whisper into his ear, closing into your own orgasm. "Come for me."

As you came with a moan, your movements didn't stop. Your legs ache, begging to stop, but you want him to get there too.

"Fuck, fuck," he moans at your aggression, at how hard you're pressed against him, moving against him, it's a mesmerizing sight. "I'm coming."

You feel it against your core. The subtle twitch of his dick under the jeans. The faint wetness under you, mixed with your own cum, produces a small smile against your lips.

You slow your grind, pulling back, just to meet his eyes clearing from their post-orgasmic haze, and his grip has weakened significantly around your body. When you stop completely, you push yourself off of him, finding your feet on solid ground with wobbly legs.

"Better?" You tease, to which he nods weakly through heavy-lids. With a satisfied smile, you turn around and head for the door.

"I'll see you on our first date." 

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