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bueckets · 22 days ago

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Office Hours

Pairing: student-athlete!Paige x tutor!reader

Genre: enemies to flirting to losing your mind, paige is a little shit, slow burn but not really, tension so thick it’s basically a third character, paige is failing bio and somehow it’s your problem, cocky athlete x academically unhinged girl, tutoring sessions turned emotional warfare, dirty shirley temples, smut incoming

Description: Paige Bueckers is failing biology, and you're the unlucky tutor assigned to drag her out of academic disaster. What should be a simple arrangement becomes anything but, thanks to her complete lack of focus, relentless flirtation, and the infuriating way she manages to get under your skin—and into your head.

Between chaotic study sessions, surprise bar encounters, and more sexual tension than should legally exist between two people trying to discuss mitochondria, it’s clear that the real test isn’t the midterm. It’s whether you can make it through the semester without either making out with her—or killing her.

One thing’s for sure: Paige isn’t the only one getting schooled.

WC: 9.6k (and growing)

Notes: im back?

The library is way too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your own breathing sound deafening, where every shuffle of paper or tap of a pen echoes like a gunshot. It’s the kind of silence that should be perfect for studying. Should be.

Except Paige Bueckers is sitting across from you, and Paige Bueckers doesn’t give a single shit about studying.

Instead, she’s leaned back in her chair like she’s lounging courtside instead of being one bad test score away from academic probation. She’s got her long legs stretched out beneath the table, sneakers tapping lazily against the floor. Her hoodie—way too oversized for someone whose entire existence is dedicated to agility and precision—is slouching off one shoulder, and she’s twirling a pen between her fingers like she’s dribbling down the court with a shot clock winding down. The sleeves are bunched up just enough to show her forearms, strong and lined with faint muscle from years of training, but the only thing working right now is her mouth.

Grinning. Smirking. Teasing. Doing everything but reading the goddamn textbook in front of her.

“Alright, Paige,” you sigh, pushing your notes toward her for what has to be the third time. “We need to focus. You will fail this class if you don’t start studying.”

Paige doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t move an inch beyond a lazy stretch that makes her hoodie ride up just slightly, flashing the waistband of her shorts. Her smirk deepens like she can feel you noticing.

“Yeah,” she drawls, tilting her head, “but then I’d have to take it again next semester. Which means more quality time with my favorite tutor.”

You stare at her. She stares back. The kind of look that feels like a staredown before tip-off except way less athletic and way more are you seriously this insufferable?

She holds the eye contact, easy as anything, while you struggle to remind yourself that she is only your student, not a professional flirt sent to ruin your life. Her eyes gleam in the dim library lighting, playful and sharp at the same time. Her lashes are unfairly long, brushing against her cheeks when she finally blinks.

Your heart rate picks up. Not from that. From the academic crisis happening right now. Obviously.

“You’re not failing on purpose, right?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

Paige tilts her head, pretending to ponder, lips pursing slightly. “Hmm. No, but if I did, would that be kinda cute?”

You groan dramatically, dragging a hand down your face. “I am this close to committing academic misconduct and just taking the test for you.”

Paige gasps. Actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in faux offense. “Wow. I knew med school was intense, but I didn’t realize you were out here ready to commit federal crimes for me.”

“That’s it,” you announce, pushing back from the table. “I’m done. I quit. Find someone else to teach you about mitochondria.”

You barely make it an inch before Paige reaches across the table and hooks two fingers around your wrist, tugging you back down like you weigh nothing. Her grip is firm, all strength and control—like she’s grabbing a rebound, like she’s got her hands on the game ball in overtime. Your pulse jumps again, this time definitely because of that.

Her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary before she releases you. But she’s still watching you, expression softening just slightly around the edges. “C’mon, stay,” she says, voice lower now, like a secret. “I promise I’ll actually pay attention this time.”

You cross your arms. “Oh? And what changed?”

She leans forward this time, elbows on the table, chin propped on one hand. The lighting catches the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. She’s smiling, but it’s something different now—something slower.

“Figured out that if I fail,” she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “I won’t have an excuse to see you anymore.”

Your brain does a full system reboot. Error. What the fuck did she just say?

“Wh—Paige.”

She just winks, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip for half a second before her grin spreads, slow and satisfied. “What? That was cute, right?”

You grab your pen and point it at her accusingly. “You are so goddamn lucky you’re good at basketball, because if you had to rely on your brain—”

“I’d still get by,” she interrupts smoothly, shooting finger guns at you. “People tend to go easy on the charming ones.”

Your mouth actually falls open. Not on purpose—just an involuntary reaction to the sheer, unbelievable audacity of this girl. She’s failing biology, hasn’t written down a single note, and still has the goddamn nerve of a mathlete coasting through an easy A.

You snap your jaw shut, you refuse to let her see how flustered you are. You refuse. “Okay, charming one, then explain the process of cellular respiration.”

Paige squints, lips pressing together as she sucks in a breath through her teeth, nose scrunching like she’s really trying to make something shake in that head of hers. “Uh… it’s when cells… respire?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly through your teeth. “We are so, so fucking doomed.”

She just laughs, kicking her feet out beneath the table, accidentally knocking her knee against yours. “Relax,” she says, her grin widening. “You love tutoring me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” she nods, completely sure of herself. “You totally have a little crush on me.”

You let out a dry, incredulous laugh—one of those sharp, breathy ones, all eyebrows raised and head bobbing. “Yeah, sure.”

She shrugs, tapping a finger against the open page of her biology textbook like she might actually start paying attention. Then, without looking up—

“Nah, I know.”

You blink. Paige blinks back.

The air between you tightens like a taut shoelace, pulling, pulling—dangerously close to snapping. You could be the bigger person here. You could roll your eyes, let it go, return to the noble pursuit of keeping Paige Bueckers from academically imploding.

But something about the way she’s looking at you—too smug, too sure—strikes a competitive nerve in you. And you’re not about to lose anything to her. Not a game, not a staredown, and sure as hell not a battle of wits.

So you shift in your chair, tilting your head, letting your lips curl just slightly. “Oh, you know?”

Paige leans back again, arms crossed, shoulders loose. She’s cocky, sure, but there’s something anticipatory in her gaze—like she knows you’re about to challenge her and she’s thrilled about it.

“Mhm.” She nods, casual as ever. “Crystal clear.”

You hum, feigning thoughtfulness, tapping a finger against the open textbook. “Wow. Must be nice. I thought you struggled with retention, but here you are, remembering things that have literally never been said.”

She gasps. “Rude.”

“You’ll get over it,” you deadpan.

Paige, of course, does not let it go. She tips her chin up, meeting your gaze with something wicked and playful tangled in the blue of her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have a little crush on me.”

You exhale, relieved.

“But you definitely think about me when I’m not around.”

Your breath catches. Paige sees it. Her grin stretches wider, knowing, smug.

Oh, you are not letting her have this.

You scoff, shifting back in your chair, fighting the warmth creeping up your spine. “Paige, you are in my life solely because you can’t pass basic biology. I think about you in the same way people think about a fire alarm that won’t stop beeping.”

“Ah, so constantly?”

You scowl. She beams.

“That’s fair,” Paige shrugs, stretching her arms over her head, and the movement makes her hoodie ride up again, flashing a sliver of tanned stomach. “I am pretty unforgettable. Even when I’m annoying.”

“Especially when you’re annoying,” you mutter.

Paige smirks, but then, as if sensing your growing frustration, she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and dragging her textbook closer. “Alright, fine. I’ll study.”

You narrow your eyes. “For real?”

She winks. “Scout’s honor.”

“Paige, you were never a scout.”

“Prove it.”

You sigh but relent, watching as she flips open the book and actually—miraculously—starts reading the page in front of her. You take a sip of your now-cold coffee, reveling in the small victory.

For a blissful forty-five seconds, Paige is silent. Then—

“So, like,” she starts, “mitochondria. That’s the powerhouse of the cell, right?”

You pause. Blink. Lower your coffee. “Yes?”

Paige throws her hands in the air. “Let’s gooo. I’m a genius.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Paige, you have three weeks until your exam. We need to cover way more than that.”

“Okay, okay,” she soothes, putting her hands up in surrender. “Next question.”

You flip to another page, glancing up briefly to make sure she’s paying attention.

She’s not. She’s looking at you.

You pause, caught off guard by the way she’s watching you—not with teasing amusement or lazy smugness, but with something softer. Warmer. Curious.

“Paige,” you warn, shifting uncomfortably.

She blinks, then grins again, but there’s something slightly less sharp about it now. “Nothing, nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head, flipping a page in her book. “Just thinking.”

You hesitate, unsure if you want to ask, what about? But you don’t.

Instead, you clear your throat, turning your attention back to the book. “Okay. Explain the process of osmosis.”

Paige tilts her head dramatically. “Is that, like, when you just chill through life and things come to you naturally?”

“Oh my god, no,” you deadpan.

She grins. “Damn. Thought I was onto something.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “We are so fucked.”

Paige just laughs, bright and easy. “Nah. You’d never let me fail.”

She says it like it’s a fact. Like she knows, without a doubt, that you’d never let hers fall behind. And the worst part is she’s most definitely right.

She twirls her pen between her fingers, spinning it effortlessly like a basketball rolling off the tips of her hands. It’s hypnotizing, actually—the smooth rotations, the lazy way her fingers flick with just enough control to keep it from dropping. She’s been doing this for the last ten minutes, and not once has she even pretended to read the page in front of her.

Meanwhile, you’re hunched over your notes, taking deep, steadying breaths. You tell yourself you won’t let her test your patience today. You won’t get dragged into her game. You won’t—

“Paige,” you say, voice strained.

“Hm?” she replies, still flipping her pen effortlessly.

“Please read.”

Paige hums noncommittally. Turns a page without reading it. You inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. “Paige.”

She finally looks up, resting her chin on her palm, eyes bright with amusement. “What? I’m absorbing information. Through osmosis.”

You close your eyes, count to three. Consider what your life would be like if you had literally any other tutoring assignment.

“You are so lucky you’re athletic,” you mutter, flipping the page back to where she was actually supposed to start reading. “C’mon. Photosynthesis. What do you know?”

Paige stretches her arms behind her head, her hoodie riding up slightly—distractingly—before she drops back down with a smirk, looking at you like she’s about to deliver the most groundbreaking scientific revelation of all time.

“Plants… make food?”

Your eyelid twitches.

“Correct,” you deadpan. “And they do that through—”

“The power of love,” Paige interrupts, placing a hand over her chest. “And sunlight.”

You grip the edge of the table. Consider flipping it over. “Yes. Because that’s what biology is. Disney magic and good vibes.”

Paige grins. “Exactly.”

You open your mouth—probably to unleash a scathing lecture about the sanctity of science—when a shadow hovers at the edge of the table. You glance up—because you always have to glance up when people stop by your study sessions with Paige—and find a girl, probably a freshman, clutching her phone like it’s a sacred artifact.

She shifts on her feet, looking like she’s debating whether she should even speak to Paige. You can already see where this is going.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” the girl says, eyes darting between you and Paige, before ultimately landing—unsurprisingly—on Paige. “Could I, um, get a picture? If that’s okay?”

Paige doesn’t miss a beat. She shifts effortlessly from Slacker Paige to Cool Superstar Paige, flashing an easy grin as she leans back in her chair like she expected this. Like this is as common as someone asking her to pass the salt at dinner.

“Of course,” she says, voice warm, inviting, polished. She stands smoothly, rolling her shoulders back, exuding that same relaxed confidence she has right before sinking a step-back three.

You, meanwhile, remain seated, taking a slow sip of your coffee, already resigned to your fate as Paige Bueckers’ unofficial designated library bodyguard.

It’s routine at this point. The public adoration, the excited stammering, the sheepish thank you so much before they rush off like they just met royalty. And then Paige slides back into her chair, knocking her knee against yours like she doesn’t have an entire fan club scattered across campus.

“Where were we?” she asks casually, flipping her pen again.

You don’t even blink. “You were pretending to study, and I was contemplating my life choices.”

Paige snorts. But before she can respond, another person approaches. You glance up again, already prepared, already so tired. This time, it’s a guy—tall, student-athlete vibes, definitely not looking at you.

“Hey, sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly nervous despite the fact that Paige is already smiling at him like they’re old friends. “Could I get a picture real quick?”

Paige grins. “Yeah, of course.”

You take another sip of your coffee. Stare blankly into the abyss. Same process. Paige stands, poses, flashes her million-dollar smile. The guy stammers out a thanks and hurries off.

You exhale. Set your coffee down. “You done?”

Paige barely has time to smirk before two more people shuffle up, practically vibrating with excitement. She notices your unimpressed expression and loses it, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, now it’s funny,” she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Now it’s funny?” you echo flatly.

She grins. “Yeah. You look miserable.”

You scowl. Paige beams. Another five minutes pass before the final wave of admirers disperse, and Paige—finally—sinks back into her chair, looking far too pleased with herself.

“I should start charging,” she jokes.

You arch a brow. “Should I start charging? I’m the one sitting here like an unpaid security detail.”

Paige grins, drumming her fingers against the table. “You could be my manager, you know. We’d be an iconic duo.”

You scoff. “We’re not even an iconic study group.”

“Yet,” she corrects.

You roll your eyes but, reluctantly, glance at the time. The session should go another thirty minutes, but between Paige’s inability to focus and her impromptu meet-and-greet, you’re pretty much out of patience.

“Fine,” you sigh, shutting your book. “We’ll pick this up next time.”

Paige fist-pumps like she just nailed a game-winner. “Let’s go.”

You raise a hand. “But—”

Paige groans.

“You actually have to study next time,” you warn, pointing a finger at her like a parent scolding a child. “No excuses. No distractions. No impromptu fan club meetings.”

Paige nods solemnly. “Of course. One hundred percent. Fully locked in.”

You squint at her. “You’re lying to my face.”

She grins. “Yeah. But I did it really well.”

You let out a slow breath, collecting your things, already knowing that next time will be just as chaotic. But, somehow, you don’t hate the idea.

You barely make it two steps out of the library before Paige falls into step beside you, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie, head tilted toward you like she’s waiting for something. You don’t say anything. Neither does she. But she’s still there, walking at your exact pace, still spinning that damn pen between her fingers like she’s making it her personal mission to erode the last of your patience.

After half a block of this nonsense, you finally huff. “Why are you still here?”

Paige smirks, eyes twinkling. “Wow. I thought we were friends, and you hit me with why are you still here? I think I need to sit down. That was devastating.”

You resist the urge to shove her into a trash can. “You should sit down. With a biology textbook.”

“That,” she sighs dramatically, “sounds like a you problem.”

You groan, but the corners of your lips twitch—just slightly. She glances at you again, side-eyeing, like she’s waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. So, instead, she nudges your arm with her elbow. “You heading back to your dorm?”

“Yep,” you say, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Where some people go to actually study.”

Paige grins. “Fun. I was gonna hit the gym.”

You pretend to be shocked. “No way. The gym? You? Unheard of.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Crazy concept. Gotta keep these knees in top shape so I can keep playing dumb for you in the library.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips do twitch again. When you reach the intersection where you usually part ways, Paige hesitates—just slightly. Her foot taps against the pavement, and she glances at you, like there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t.

But then the crosswalk light changes, and she just flashes her usual grin. “Alright, I’ll see you next time. Can’t wait to waste more of your valuable time.”

You shake your head, already walking away. “You are a waste of my valuable time.”

Paige calls after you, voice dripping with smug amusement. “Admit it! You’d be bored as hell without me!” You don’t respond. Maybe, just maybe, she has a point.

You barely manage to kick the door shut behind you before dropping your bag to the floor, the weight of the entire goddamn week peeling off your shoulders like an old sticker. Your body feels wrecked—like you just played all four quarters of a game you weren’t even supposed to be in. Midterms, tutoring, the endless cycle of pretending you have your shit together when in reality, you’re two missed assignments away from a full-on breakdown.

Your roommate’s bed is empty, the perfectly made sheets an immediate giveaway that she’s already at her boyfriend’s place for the night. Which means the dorm is yours. Finally. A rare and precious occurrence, like a solar eclipse or a professor canceling class with a two-minute email. You grab your laptop from the desk, already knowing exactly how you’re gonna spend the next five hours: Desperate Housewives. Your guilty pleasure. Your lifeline. Your emotional support chaotic suburban drama. You settle onto your bed, wrapping yourself in a blanket cocoon, cracking your knuckles in preparation for an evening of zero responsibilities—when your phone rings.

You groan dramatically, not even bothering to check the screen before answering. “No.”

There’s a pause, then Jordan’s voice comes through, unimpressed. “Bitch, you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Yes, I do,” you sigh, rolling onto your back. “And the answer is no.”

“You’re being difficult,” she complains. “Come out with me.”

“No.”

“C’mon. It’s Friday night. You have no excuses.”

“I have the best excuse. I’m too fucking tired.”

Jordan makes an exaggerated scoffing noise. “Tired from what? Sitting across from your little basketball girlfriend and watching her pretend she doesn’t know how to read?”

You freeze. “She’s not my—”

“Uh-huh.”

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jordan.”

“[Redacted],” she mimics in a deep, mocking tone. “Come out. I’ll buy your first drink.”

“You say that like you’re doing me a favor. It’s literally one drink.”

“Okay, and? You’re broke.”

She’s got you there.

“I have plans,” you try again.

“What plans? Watching white women commit crimes in wedge heels?”

You frown. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Because I know you.”

You press your lips together, because yeah. She does.

Jordan senses weakness and pounces. “You never go out anymore,” she whines. “It’s tragic. I’m watching my best friend turn into a sad little academic goblin. When’s the last time you flirted with someone for fun?”

“I—” You pause. And that’s enough for Jordan.

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t need to flirt with random people, Jordan,” you argue.

“Okay, then come to keep me company. Emily’s bringing her crypto bro boyfriend and I need a buffer. You owe me.”

“For what?”

“For being my best friend, dumbass.”

You let out a long, slow exhale. Your bed is so soft. Your show is right there. Your roommate isn’t gonna be back till morning, which means you could fall asleep watching hot moms commit felony-level fraud and no one would judge you. But Jordan is relentless. And also, maybe, just maybe, she’s right.

“Ugh, okay, fine, one drink,” you say finally.

She screeches. “I’LL BE THERE IN TWENTY.”

“Wait, what the— twenty?!”

“You don’t get time to back out, babe. Love you! Bye!”

The call disconnects. You stare at your ceiling for a long moment before groaning into your pillow. Guess you’re going out. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your closet like it personally wronged you.

Twenty minutes. Less than that now. Jordan is on time when it comes to dragging you out of your self-imposed hibernation, so you don’t have the luxury of procrastinating. You run a hand through your hair, sighing as you debate your options.

Jeans? Safe. A dress? Too much effort. Skirt? Trying too hard.

You pull open a drawer, fingers brushing over the usual suspects: black tank, oversized tee, hoodie. The same exact shit you wear every day. You tug at the hem of your pajama shirt instead, already debating if you could get away with staying in. Jordan would literally break into your dorm if she had to.

You settle on something in the middle—black jeans that just hug your waist enough to be flattering without suffocating you, a tight long-sleeve that makes your arms look good, and sneakers. Cute but low effort.

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror above your desk, and your mind does that thing. That thing where you start thinking in spirals, words layering on top of each other like a too-thick coat of paint. Jordan always looks good when you go out. The hot friend, effortlessly wanted. Guys slip her their numbers, girls compliment her makeup, and you? You’re there. Background noise. The best friend, the safe choice, the one people never approach first.

Your hands move on autopilot, pulling your hair into something presentable, smoothing out wrinkles in your shirt. Your brain moves just as fast, thoughts piling up. When’s the last time someone wanted you? Really, genuinely wanted you?

Not for help on an assignment. Not for a favor. Not as a buffer against some awkward third wheel situation. Your fingers tighten around the mascara wand as you swipe it over your lashes, the thought hitting heavier than it should.

And then there’s her. Paige. Paige, who everyone wants. Paige, whose name alone makes people light up, whose smile makes the world lean in closer. Paige, who has the kind of effortless pull that shouldn’t be real, the kind that isn’t real, except it is—because it’s her.

You imagine what it must be like. To be wanted by everyone. To have people go out of their way just to see you. To be loved by an entire fucking world that doesn’t even know you. To have that kind of pull. You shake your head, dabbing concealer under your eyes, fixing nothing. Paige doesn’t have to think about this. About being ignored. About whether or not someone is really interested or if they just need her for something else. Paige is easy to love.

Your hands are steady as you apply lip gloss, but your thoughts aren’t. Because you know what’s worse? Worse than not being wanted? Feeling like you could be—if only you were someone else. A sharp knock-knock-knock at your door makes you jump, snapping you out of whatever existential spiral you were just sinking into.

You check the time. 7:59. Jordan, always on time when it comes to dragging your ass out of the house.

“Bitch, open up,” she calls through the door, impatience already seeping through her voice. “I know you’re in there, don’t make me break in.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your phone off the bed before opening the door. Jordan doesn’t even wait for an invitation. She just steps in like she owns the place, eyes immediately scanning you up and down.

“Oh, thank god,” she exhales dramatically, throwing herself onto your bed like she just finished a marathon. “For a second, I was scared you were gonna pull some bullshit and answer in sweats.”

“I was considering it.”

“And I would’ve dragged you outside as is.”

She props herself up on her elbows, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look good, though. Like, sexy but nonchalant. Very ‘I don’t try but I still eat men alive.’”

You snort, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull your sneakers on. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

Jordan flips onto her back, legs kicking lazily. “Hot girl vibes activated. I’m proud.”

You ignore the way that your brain still insists on running her words through some dumb internal filter. Hot but? Sexy but? There’s always a but. Still, you appreciate the compliment.

Jordan rolls onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “Okay, so what’s our game plan?”

You raise a brow. “Game plan?”

She grins. “Are we flirting for fun tonight? Making out with strangers? Taking free drinks and saying thanks but no thanks?”

You scoff, standing to grab your jacket. “You’re doing all of that. I’m drinking one drink, pretending I enjoy being in public, and then leaving.”

Jordan makes a dramatic gagging noise. “You’re so lame, it physically hurts me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You throw on your jacket, checking yourself one last time in the mirror before turning back to her. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jordan squints. “You know, for someone who never goes out, you could at least try to fake some excitement.”

You sigh, grabbing your phone. “Fine.” You flash her your most half-assed smile. “Yay. Alcohol.”

Jordan stares at you for a long beat. Then she cackles.

“I hate you,” she wheezes, hopping off the bed and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon, grumpy girl. Let’s get you drunk.”

You let her steer you out the door, already bracing for whatever the night has in store.

The bar hums with low conversation, the steady pulse of bass from the speakers vibrating against your ribs. The air is thick—spilled beer, cheap whiskey, the faintest trace of cologne as someone brushes past you. It’s crowded, bodies pressing in too close, the kind of warmth that clings to your skin, dampens the edges of your sleeves.

You plant your elbows on the bar, exhaling slow. Jordan’s already disappeared into the crowd, her voice lilting somewhere behind you, laughing too loud at something she probably doesn’t even find funny. You don’t bother looking back. You just need a drink, something cold in your hand, something to make this whole night feel less like a mistake.

The bartender moves in front of you, nodding once in acknowledgment, and you order—automatic, easy, something you don’t have to think about. While you wait, you glance around, taking in the room.

It’s packed, but that’s expected. The usual Friday night chaos—people gathered in clusters, leaning into one another to be heard over the music. A group near the dartboard erupts in laughter, a guy raises his arms in exaggerated victory, another flips him off good-naturedly. At the other end of the bar, a girl tugs her friend closer, whispering something into her ear, their giggles swallowed by the noise.

And then— a flash of blue. You don’t think anything of it at first. Just a hoodie, nothing more. But then there’s another. And another. A guy walks past, a UConn logo stretched across his chest, the lettering cracked and faded from too many washes. At a nearby table, someone’s peeling the label off their beer bottle, the cuff of their UConn crewneck pushed up to their elbows. A girl at the bar turns her head, revealing the unmistakable emblem stitched into the side of her cap.

Your drink lands in front of you with a soft clink. You reach for it, fingers curling around the condensation-slicked glass, but your eyes are still moving, scanning. Near the pool table, someone slams a cue stick down, shaking their head. “Bro, that was insane.”

“I told you,” another guy laughs, taking a swig of his beer. “They were fucking unstoppable.”

A bartender walks by carrying a tray of shots, and someone calls out, voice sharp with excitement—

“To the Huskies!”

A cheer rises, loud and immediate, glasses raised, grins splitting across faces. Your fingers tighten around your drink. Another voice cuts through—closer, rough around the edges like it’s been shouting for hours. “Bueckers was on fire.”

Your stomach tenses. A television flickers in your periphery, mounted above the bar, the broadcast running highlights on a loop. A flash of white jerseys, a blur of movement, the unmistakable arc of a three-pointer sinking clean through the net.

Your gaze catches on the name emblazoned across the back.

BUECKERS. 5.

Your drink sits untouched in your hand. A hand lands on your shoulder, nails cool against your skin. Jordan’s voice cuts through the hum of conversation, bright, energized.

“There you are,” she says, leaning in so you can hear her. Her breath is warm against your ear, smelling faintly of whatever sugary drink she got roped into first. “Why do you always ditch me the second we get here?”

You lift your glass, taking a slow sip before responding. “I didn’t ditch you. You ran off.”

Jordan grins, squeezing your shoulder before letting go. “Details.”

She slides onto the stool beside you, propping her elbows on the bar, the sheer confidence in her posture making it clear that she’s already in her element. You can tell from the way her shoulders are loose, from the easy way she scans the room—she’s here to enjoy herself. She tugs at the collar of her cropped tank, a calculated movement, and you don’t miss the way a pair of eyes flicker toward her from across the bar.

Of course. It never takes long. The girl is pretty—high cheekbones, sharp jaw, hair spilling in soft waves over her shoulders. She’s nursing a drink in one hand, the other tracing idle patterns into the wood of the bar. She’s been looking, you realize. Long enough for it to mean something. Long enough for it to be deliberate.

And Jordan? She notices. She always notices. You watch as she tilts her head slightly, lips curling at the edges, all slow-building amusement. Not an invitation. Not yet. Just an acknowledgment. I see you seeing me. And just like that, the girl moves.

She slides closer, just one seat between her and Jordan now, her presence a hum of subtle perfume and confidence. You feel the shift immediately, the way the space around them tightens, charged with something unspoken. You take another sip of your drink, eyes flicking between them. Jordan doesn’t look over right away. She lets it build, that delicious tension she thrives on, makes the girl wait for it. And when she finally turns her head—slow, purposeful—it’s a hook.

“Hey,” the girl says, voice smooth, honeyed.

Jordan’s lips part slightly, amused. “Hey yourself.”

There it is. The shift, the moment the conversation has already decided what it’s going to be. The girl twirls the stem of her glass between two fingers, considering. “You’re a little hard to miss.”

Jordan lifts a brow. “Yeah?”

The girl nods, a smile playing at her lips. “Saw you the second I walked in.”

You huff a quiet laugh into your drink. Jordan flicks you a glance, but she doesn’t look away for long. She’s locked in now, her full attention settling on the girl beside her.

“That so?” she murmurs.

The girl leans forward slightly, just enough that Jordan can smell whatever floral-citrus perfume she’s wearing. “Mhm.”

Jordan takes her time responding, letting the moment stretch, her fingers tapping lazily against the bar. “And what’d you think?”

The girl laughs, low and knowing. “I think I liked it.”

Jesus. You shake your head, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. This is Jordan’s playground, and she’s barely even started. Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts in.

“There you are, finally.”

Emily. And, by default, her crypto bro. You turn just in time to see her sliding in beside you, her expression teetering between fond exasperation and mild relief, like she was worried you wouldn’t actually show. Her boyfriend—god, what’s his name again?—is hovering a step behind her, already half into whatever overpriced IPA he’s nursing.

“Thought you were gonna bail,” Emily says, bumping your arm.

You shake your head. “Almost did.”

She laughs. “Would’ve sent Jordan to physically drag you out of bed.”

“She already threatened to.”

Jordan, not even looking at you, raises a hand and flicks her wrist. “And I would’ve done it with love.”

Emily grins before turning to Jordan, about to say something else—until she sees the girl. And immediately, her expression shifts.

“Oh,” she says, blinking once. Then, lips curving slightly, she leans in, dropping her voice just enough for you to hear. “She’s hot.”

Jordan doesn’t turn her head, but her smirk deepens. “I know.”

The girl doesn’t flinch, unfazed by the blatant cockiness, the sheer Jordan-ness of it all. If anything, she looks more intrigued.

“God, you’re unbearable,” Emily mutters, sipping her drink.

Jordan, at this point, is fully ignoring all of you. She’s gone, deep in the slow back-and-forth of a conversation that’s teetering right on the edge of something. You watch, mildly entertained, as the girl tucks her hair behind her ear, as Jordan lets her gaze flick lower, just for a moment, before meeting her eyes again.

Classic. You’re about to tune them out entirely, return your focus to the drink in your hand, when—

The door swings open.

And just like that, the energy shifts. You don’t see them at first. You feel them. A ripple through the crowd, a flicker of awareness in the way people turn their heads, in the subtle glances exchanged between strangers. The volume dips for half a second—not silence, just a shift, a momentary lapse before everything surges back up again.

Your eyes track toward the entrance—toward the new arrivals pushing through the threshold, stepping into the bar with the ease of people who know they’ll be noticed. White sneakers. Loose sweatpants. Jackets slung over shoulders. And that unmistakable color.

UConn blue.

Jordan is still locked in, her conversation with the pretty girl unfolding in the slow, deliberate way that only happens when both people know exactly what they’re doing. It’s all prolonged eye contact, subtle shifts in body language, the kind of flirting that exists in the pauses as much as in the words. Emily is barely paying attention, absorbed in some argument with her boyfriend about blockchain or whatever the hell it is he does. You’ve stopped listening.

Which means you’re just… there. Third-wheeling at a bar, drink half-finished, barely contributing to the conversation. The worst part is, no one even notices. Jordan, obviously, is in her own world, and Emily is too preoccupied with rolling her eyes at her boyfriend to remember you exist. You take another sip of your drink, letting your eyes wander.

The UConn girls have spread through the bar now, weaving into the crowd like they belong there. You recognize a few faces—players you’ve seen on highlight reels, names you don’t know but should. There’s a looseness to them, an ease, the kind of relaxation that only comes after a win.

You wonder, absently, if Paige is here. Not that it matters. The thought makes you shift slightly, pushing down something vague and uncomfortable. You finish off the last sip of your drink and set the glass down a little too hard, the soft clink barely audible over the noise.

“I need to piss,” you mutter, mostly to no one.

Jordan doesn’t react, too busy letting the girl touch her arm in that slow, lingering way that means she’s definitely coming home with her later. Emily gives a halfhearted wave, her focus still locked on her boyfriend, who is currently explaining something with way too much hand movement.

You slip into the crowd, navigating the maze of bodies with the kind of single-minded determination usually reserved for final exams and finding your phone when it’s on silent. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the floor, thrumming up through your sneakers, settling somewhere in your chest. Every step feels like walking through molasses—people shifting, swaying, arms brushing against yours in that careless way that comes with alcohol and too many bodies packed into one space.

You make it to the hallway leading to the bathrooms and nearly sigh in relief. It’s quieter here—not quiet, but enough that you can hear yourself think. The walls are still pulsing faintly with the music, the distant echo of a chorus threading through the air, but it’s a reprieve from the chaos of the main bar.

And then you see the door. Locked.

Holy fuck, you’re about to piss yourself. You try the handle anyway because maybe the universe will be kind, but no—solid, unmoving. Leaning against the opposite wall, you exhale sharply, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. Fine. You’ll wait. Not a big deal.

Except time starts dragging. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, tapping your fingers against your thigh. One minute passes. Two. You check your phone, even though you just checked your phone.

Okay. You can handle this.

Except—five minutes in, it’s not just uncomfortable. It’s annoying. Who the fuck is in there? Writing a novel? Performing a one-act play? Curing a disease?

You knock once, firm but not aggressive. Just enough to remind whoever is inside that there’s a whole world out here.

No response. Another minute passes. You cross your arms, shifting again, foot tapping against the floor. Seven minutes.

You knock again. Harder this time. “Yo.”

Nothing. Oh, come on. You glance toward the men’s bathroom. It’s right there. Completely open. No line. Just an empty doorway leading to salvation. Wouldn’t be the first time. But before you can talk yourself into it, you knock again. Hard. Impatient. At this point, you’re not even polite about it—you just hit the door. “Hurry up, Jesus Christ.”

The lock clicks. A second later, the door swings open, and out stumbles a couple—disheveled, flushed, and absolutely not here to use the bathroom for its intended purpose. The girl giggles into her boyfriend’s neck, her lipstick half-smeared, while his hands are still gripping her hips like they’re considering going back in for round two.

You don’t even react. You just shove past them, slam the door shut, and finally—finally—relieve yourself. Blessed silence, aside from the muffled bass still thumping through the walls. You take a moment to breathe, running your hands through your hair, shaking off the weird tension that’s been clinging to you all night. You’re fine. It’s fine.

When you step back out, the hallway’s busier—more people filing in, laughing too loud, waiting their turn. You navigate through them, dodging the wobbly, half-drunk girl clinging to her friend’s arm, sidestepping the guy trying way too hard to look casual against the wall. You’re almost back to the main floor when—

A hand catches your wrist. Firm, deliberate. Enough pressure to stop you, but not enough to hurt. Your breath stutters—not from fear, not exactly, but from the sheer certainty in that grip. Like whoever’s holding you already knew they would.

You turn your head. And there she is.

Paige fucking Bueckers.

Loose hoodie, sleeves pushed up, exposing the lean muscle in her forearms. A chain glinting under the dim bar lights, catching for half a second on the sharp line of her collarbone before disappearing beneath fabric. Her hair is a little messier than usual, like she’s run a hand through it one too many times. And her expression?

Smug. Smug as hell.

“Well, well, well,” she drawls, her grip on your wrist still firm, thumb brushing once over your pulse before she finally—leisurely—lets go. “Fancy seeing you here, tutor.”

Her voice is low, teasing. The kind of tone that makes you want to roll your eyes and press your thighs together at the same damn time.

You exhale sharply. “Oh, fuck me.”

Her grin widens instantly, wolfish. “I mean, if you insist—”

You smack her arm, and she laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a full-bodied, head-tilted-back, entirely too pleased with herself kind of laugh. It’s obnoxious. It’s attractive. It’s exactly why you need to get out of this conversation immediately.

But Paige has other plans. She steps closer—just enough that you feel the heat of her body, just enough that the crowd shifts around you, forcing you to stay exactly where you are. Her gaze drops, just for a second, flickering down your outfit before dragging back up, slow, deliberate.

“You clean up nice,” she muses. “Didn’t know you owned anything other than oversized sweatshirts.”

You narrow your eyes. “Didn’t know you left the gym.”

She hums, tapping her chin like she’s considering. “True. But, you know, when you drop thirty-six points in a game, you kinda have to celebrate.”

Of course she dropped thirty-six.

“And yet,” you deadpan, “here you are. Bothering me.”

Paige grins, shifting on her feet so she’s even closer, close enough that you can smell her cologne—something crisp, clean, expensive. Unfair.

“C’mon, don’t act so surprised,” she murmurs. “You knew we’d run into each other eventually.”

You raise a brow. “Did I?”

She tilts her head, amused. “Yeah. ‘Cause you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

Your pulse skips. “I have not—”

“Oh, you definitely have,” Paige interrupts, smirking. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you switching up your usual schedule. Skipping our tutoring session on Tuesday.” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Tragic. Really had me wondering if I did something to offend you.”

God, she’s insufferable. And yet—

“Like you care,” you shoot back.

Her eyes glint, sharp, knowing. “Oh, I do.”

Something thickens in the air between you. Something tangible, humming just beneath the surface of her cocky smirk, her unwavering stare. Her fingers twitch at her side, like she’s considering reaching for you again. You see it happen, the micro-movement, the shift of her weight like she’s deliberating. And then, just as quickly, she exhales, straightening to her full height.

“Well,” she says, her voice dipping into something smoother, softer, “if you’re not avoiding me, then I guess you wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink with me, huh?”

You blink. “What.”

She jerks her chin toward the bar. “Drink. You. Me.”

You hesitate. That same pressure returns, that feeling of everyone wants her, but somehow, right now, she’s locked onto you. Paige watches you, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. “What’s wrong, tutor? Afraid you might enjoy my company?”

Your jaw tightens. “I tolerate your company.”

She smirks. “Then come tolerate me at the bar.”

Your mistake wasn’t stopping when she grabbed your wrist. Your mistake was letting her talk. Because now Paige fucking Bueckers is smirking at you like she’s already won something, head tilted, hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie like she’s lounging through this entire interaction. You can already feel yourself being pulled into her orbit, and she knows it.

“A drink?” you echo, squinting at her. “You? Drinking?”

Her smirk grows. “Shocking, I know.”

“Lemme guess,” you deadpan. “Protein powder with a splash of vodka? Maybe a nice gatorade-infused tequila?”

Paige gasps—actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest like you just accused her of a heinous crime. “Wow. You think so little of me.”

“I think exactly the right amount of you.”

She exhales dramatically, shaking her head. “Tragic. Here I am, just a small-town basketball star trying to enjoy a simple, wholesome night out, and my own tutor is out here slandering my good name.”

You raise a brow. “Your good name?”

She nods solemnly. “That’s right. I am, at heart, a simple girl with simple pleasures.” Then, as if to punctuate the absolute bullshit she just said, she throws an arm around your shoulder, leaning in until her lips are a breath away from your ear. “Like dirty Shirley Temples.”

You choke. On nothing. Paige pulls back, just enough to see your reaction, the sharp glint of amusement in her gaze practically sparkling.

“No fucking way,” you manage. “You drink dirty Shirley Temples?”

She grins. “Religiously.”

“That’s—” You blink, at a complete fucking loss. “That’s the most unserious drink you could have possibly chosen.”

Paige winks. “And yet? It goes down smooth.”

“Oh, I bet it does.”

She laughs, full and warm, tilting her head like she’s considering something. “Y’know,” she muses, “I like this side of you.”

You narrow your eyes. “What side?”

Paige drops her voice, lowers it into something silkier, something that slides down your spine in a way that should be illegal. “The one that flirts with me back.”

Your brain short-circuits. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb now,” she murmurs, fingers tapping lazily against the side of your arm like she’s keeping count of your heartbeat. “You’re usually so good at keeping up.”

You hate that she’s right. You take a slow breath, forcing yourself to regain some composure. “You are so full of shit.”

Paige hums. “Maybe. But you seem to love it.” And then she winks. A full, obnoxious, Paige Bueckers-grade wink.

Oh, you are not going out like this. You lean in, just barely, watching the way her smirk twitches, the way her fingers still on your arm. “Tell you what,” you say, keeping your voice light, casual, like you’re not insanely aware of how close she is. “I’ll let you buy me a drink—”

Paige perks up. “Yeah?”

“If,” you continue, “you admit that I’ve been absolutely kicking your ass in our tutoring sessions.”

Her lips part. “Oh, hell no.”

You grin. “What’s wrong? Afraid of the truth?”

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head like she’s personally offended. “No fucking way. That’s extortion.”

“That’s accountability.”

She squints at you. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”

Your breath catches. For a split second, you completely malfunction, and Paige fucking sees it.

She grins—huge, like she just sank a game-winner at the buzzer. “Ohhh, that got you, huh?”

You snap back immediately. “Did not.”

“Uh-huh.” She crosses her arms, rocking back on her heels. “You were fully thrown off just now.”

You roll your eyes, trying to pretend like you didn’t just combust internally. “You gonna buy me that drink or what?”

Paige sighs like you’ve personally exhausted her. “Fine,” she relents. “But I’m getting you my favorite.”

You smirk. “A dirty Shirley?”

She grins. “Exactly.”

And with that, she grabs your hand—just for a second, just to tug you toward the bar, just long enough to make your pulse spike before she lets go.

The bar is packed. Bodies pressed together, voices overlapping, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through the thumping bass. Paige moves through it like she owns the place—shoulders loose, hoodie slouched just right, that damn chain flashing under the dim lights. You follow, pretending your eyes aren’t tracking the way her sweatpants sit just low enough on her hips to be distracting.

She leans against the bar, elbow propped up, and tilts her head at you like she’s studying something.

You squint. “What.”

Her lips twitch. “Nothing. Just trying to figure you out.”

“You’ve had months to do that.”

“Yeah, but you keep surprising me.” She drums her fingers against the counter, slow and rhythmic. “Like, for example, I knew you had some bite to you, but tonight? You’re really showing your teeth.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe I’m just extra annoyed by you today.”

Paige hums, tilting her head like she’s considering. Then, before you can react, she leans in—close, warm, too close—and brushes her lips just against the shell of your ear.

“Nah,” she murmurs, voice dipping low. “You like it.”

A slow, rolling shiver spreads down your spine.

Paige pulls back, just far enough to meet your eyes, her smirk lazy and so fucking smug. She knows exactly what she just did. You hate that she’s right. Before you can retaliate, the bartender appears. Paige turns, all casual ease, and grins.

“Two dirty Shirleys,” she says.

The bartender raises a brow but nods, moving to make the drinks. You stare at Paige. She shrugs. “Hey, a deal’s a deal.”

“You actually meant it?”

“Duh,” she says. “What, you think I just flirt for fun?”

Your lips part, because yes, obviously, that’s exactly what you think. Paige sees the way your expression shifts, and her grin deepens. “Aw, babe, don’t tell me you thought I was playing with you.”

You blink. “I—”

She tuts, shaking her head. “See, now I really need you to drink this, ‘cause you need to loosen up.”

The bartender slides the drinks over. Paige pushes one toward you, watching expectantly. You hesitate. Paige lifts hers and clinks the rim of her glass against yours. “C’mon, tutor. Don’t be scared.”

Scared? Oh, that does it. You grab the glass and take a sip, the sweet bite of grenadine and vodka coating your tongue. Paige watches the way your throat moves when you swallow, her lips parting just slightly.

Just like that, the game shifts. You lower the glass, eyes locking with hers.

“Not bad,” you murmur. Then, mirroring her move from earlier, you step in just enough to make her breath hitch, tilting your head slightly like you’re about to say something important—something deep, something meaningful.

And then— you drag your tongue slowly over your bottom lip and the blonde’s eyes darken. You almost laugh, but her hand suddenly brushes against your waist, just a whisper of contact, the heat of her palm radiating through your thin shirt. It’s brief—so brief you could almost pretend it didn’t happen—but the way your skin burns says otherwise.

“Shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, just for you to hear.

You smirk. “Something wrong?”

Her jaw tightens. “Not at all.”

She takes a sip of her own drink, eyes never leaving yours, throat bobbing as she swallows. The moment stretches. Then—Paige exhales sharply, like she’s shaking something off, and grins. “Alright, alright, you win this round,” she admits, nudging your arm with hers. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

You tilt your head. “Guess you’ll just have to keep figuring me out.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “God, you’re fun.”

Then, so casually, she hooks a finger into your belt loop and tugs. It’s playful. It’s barely anything. But it’s also everything. Because she doesn’t let go. You swallow. Hard.

Her voice is softer now, but the teasing edge is still there. “I like this side of you.”

You clear your throat, trying desperately to focus on something other than the warmth of her touch. “You said that already.”

Paige smirks. “Yeah. But I really like it.”

Paige is cocky. Too cocky. The kind of cocky that drips off her like it’s stitched into her damn DNA, like she was born knowing how to get under people’s skin, into their heads. And right now, she’s looking at you like she’s already inside yours, like she’s set up shop in the most dangerous corners of your mind and made herself comfortable. She still has her finger hooked in your belt loop. Just resting there, like she belongs there.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs, sipping her drink, tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of grenadine before it can slide past her lip.

Your jaw clenches. You look down at her grip on your jeans, then back up. Blatantly.

She smirks. “What, this?” She tugs. Not hard. Just enough to make the fabric of your jeans pull against your hip, just enough to remind you she’s right there.

You don’t move. “Let go.”

She hums, tilting her head. “Nah.”

Your fingers twitch around your glass. “Paige.”

She exhales, all mock exasperation, finally—finally—releasing her hold. But before you can celebrate your very minor victory, she leans in, voice dropping to something dangerously smooth. “Relax. You can touch me if you want.”

Your breath catches.

She laughs, tipping her drink toward you in mock salute. “You’re so fun to mess with.”

You narrow your eyes, pulse still skittering from the low, teasing way she said touch me. “You’re insufferable.”

Paige hums. “Maybe, you like it.”

And there it is. The line. The one she’s been waiting to say, the one she’s been circling since the second she grabbed your wrist.

You roll your shoulders, schooling your expression into something neutral. “You’re alright.”

Her brows lift. “‘Alright’? Wow.”

You sip your drink, unfazed. “I mean, you are failing bio.”

Paige scoffs. “Unnecessary.”

“Just saying. I don’t think geniuses need tutors.”

Paige smirks. “Nah, but they do need entertainment. And you, babe—” she tips her chin toward you, eyes gleaming, “—are so fucking entertaining.”

The casual babe nearly stops your brain completely.

You grip your glass tighter. “I should charge you extra.”

“For what? Intellectual stimulation?”

“For being exhausting.”

Paige’s grin widens. “Yet, here you are. Still talking to me.” She takes another slow sip of her drink, eyes locked onto yours over the rim of her glass. Watching you. Like she’s waiting for something.

You shift your weight, feeling entirely too seen, entirely too open under that gaze. Paige notices. Of course she does. Her lips part, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek like she’s considering something.

Then—before you can react—she leans in.

Your body locks up.

She gets close. Not teasingly close, not almost close—actual close. The kind of close that makes your heart trip over itself, the kind of close that makes your breath catch in the back of your throat.

Her lips hover right there, her breath warm against your jaw. Then, quietly, smugly—obnoxiously:

“Wanna make out?”

You freeze.

She grins. “What? You look like I just asked you to solve a physics problem.”

“Are you serious?”

Paige tilts her head. “Nah, I just like watching you panic.”

She’s so fucking unbearable. You set your glass down with a sharp clink. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I’m funny.”

“You’re a menace.”

She beams. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heat of the bar, or the way Paige is looking at you like she wants something—like she’s daring you—but suddenly, your patience snaps.

You grip the front of her hoodie and pull. She barely has a second to react before your lips crash into hers. Paige groans. A low, gravelly sound that vibrates against your mouth, sending heat shooting straight to your stomach. And fuck, she kisses back.

All cocky, eager pressure, her hands already gripping your waist, her fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt like she wants to feel more.

The bar melts away. The noise, the people, everything—all of it fades because Paige is right here, kissing you like she’s been waiting for you to do this since day one.

You tilt your head, chasing the taste of vodka and cherry on her tongue, and Paige makes this obscene little noise before she presses in, deeper, her teeth grazing just enough to make your knees buckle. You gasp, and she smirks into the kiss, like she knows, like she’s already winning again.

Asshole.

You yank at the waistband of her sweatpants, a little revenge, a little fuck you, and Paige laughs—low, breathless—before biting gently at your bottom lip, sending a full-body shiver down your spine. Your grip on her tightens.

She hums, pleased. “Knew you wanted me.”

You pull back, just barely, panting. “Shut the fuck up.”

Paige grins, lips swollen, eyes gleaming. “Make me.”

2K notes · View notes

peachylynnie · 4 months ago

Text

gift exchange

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: in which you get sick on christmas, and sylus is there to make it better.

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating but sylus is down bad), christmas themes, a singular reference to his myth, a singular reference to grassland romance, mentions and consumption of food, suggestive themes, cursing, angst, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick. again. on christmas too. you know what that means. sylus time! on a related note, i hope everyone had a wonderful christmas. my rafayel fic is gonna upload soon as well. enjoy! reblogs and comments always welcome! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

you curse as you rip open a hot chocolate packet. "sick on christmas," you grumble as you pour the contents into a mug. "how the fuck is that even possible."

of course, anyone can get sick at any time. it's inevitable. but, seriously? of all the days the pain in your throat and ears could have appeared, it just HAD to be on fucking christmas day. sure, it's not like you had any plans. normally you would celebrate with grandma and caleb by feasting on countless dishes and singing christmas songs from an old karaoke machine caleb swears isn't broken. but they're not around anymore.

you sigh miserably as you trudge over to the water dispenser for hot water, not wanting to think about your lost family. as you press the button for hot water, you lean against the dispenser, trying to figure out what you're going to do for the rest of the day. you were planning on visiting the market to make a nice dinner or perhaps order takeout at your favorite restaurant. but those are no longer viable options since your throat is killing you and your ears are incessantly burning. maybe you can order delivery? but that means you're going to have to clean up afterward, and you did NOT want to clean anything at the moment, especially with the state you're in.

shaking your head, you bring your mug back to the kitchen counter and search for a spoon.

"water for hot chocolate? i'm disappointed, sweetie."

you jump, an "oh, fuck!" leaving your mouth. sylus had materialized in front of you, a plastic bag in his left hand and a present box in his right. not like you noticed though. you were too startled by his sudden appearance. "what the fuck, sylus?! can't you knock?!"

"no," he deadpans, placing the bag and box on the kitchen counter. his fingers make quick work of untying the double knot on the bag. "besides," he spares you a glance. "i don't think someone who uses water to make their hot chocolate deserves a knock."

you roll your eyes. of course he fixates on that and doesn't explain why he's in your crappy apartment slandering you instead of downing at LEAST three glasses of wine in his luxurious penthouse on christmas day too. "well, screw me for being lazy, i guess," you mumble, crossing your arms.

"don't tempt me."

"huh?"

"what?"

you shoot him a look before grabbing your mug and heading to the other side of the kitchen counter. sitting on your squeaky high chair, you ask, "why are you here, sylus?"

he takes out a styrofoam container and opens its lid. immediately, the comforting smell of miso greets you. as sylus opens a cabinet to retrieve a pot (you don't question how he knows where to find it), you try to look at what else is in the plastic bag. tilting your upper body, you notice another container and hope it has some rice inside. what you don't notice is sylus' breath hitching when he turns back to you after pouring the miso soup into the pot and turning on the stove.

you were wearing a nice, loose top in your favorite color. except, its neck portion was completely cut off, leaving your collarbone and shoulders deliciously exposed. and because you were leaning on your side to take a look at what he had brought you (he loves when you're curious about anything involving him), the sleeve was slowly yet surely sliding down your arm, threatening to show a cup of your bra.

sylus instantly turns back to the stove, even though the miso soup shows no signs of boiling. rubbing a hand over his face, he shakes his head. no, he's not here to ogle at you (the top looks really good on you, and fuck, did your bra cup your breasts really nicely). he's here to take care of you. earlier, mephisto alerted him you were taking some cough drops. and knowing you, you probably didn't have any food on hand to sustain you through your sickness, given his last (secret) visit to your apartment to stock your (empty) fridge. taking a deep breath, sylus returns to the kitchen counter, reaching for the other container. he notices your inquisitive eyes.

"i'm here because it's christmas." he opens the container, and to your delight, it's omurice. marveling at how fluffy the omelette looks and how savory the fried rice appears, you almost miss his answer.

"huh?" you frown. "you're here because it's christmas?"

"is that not what i just said?" sylus jests as he plates the omurice and places it in your microwave.

"well," you start carefully. "shouldn't you have better things to do? like take luke and kieran shopping or pop open another bottle of wine because woo! christmas!"

the silver-haired man shakes his head with a chuckle, propping his hands on the kitchen counter. you try not to focus on his exposed forearms too much. forget the omurice and miso soup; you'll take his arms instead.

"first of all, luke and kieran are busy—"

"on christmas?!"

"yes, sweetie, on christmas." he raises a brow at you for interrupting. you drag your sleeve back up sheepishly.

"second of all, what makes you think i haven't already indulged in a bottle of wine today?" he tilts his head and crosses his arms, gazing at you with a hint of amusement in his ruby eyes.

you pout and look away. "fair point, i guess."

enjoying your cute reaction, sylus returns his attention to the stove. pleased to find the miso soup boiling, he turns off the stove and takes out a bowl from your cabinet (again, how does he know where to find that?). using a ladle to pour into the bowl, he hums a little tune. you try not to snicker at how terrible he sounds. after sliding a bowl of soup and a plate of omurice to you, sylus plants his elbows on the counter and rests his chin on a palm, allowing him a perfect view of his beloved (though you don't know you're his beloved yet; luke and kieran called him a loser before getting their asses handed to them).

"uh," you look at sylus, then at the food, and then sylus again. "you're not going to eat?"

he shakes his head. "i already ate before coming here."

hesitantly, you pick up your utensils. "you know you technically haven't answered my question, right?"

"i'll tell you once you finish." sylus responds immediately. it's almost as if he knew what you were going to say.

no longer wanting to torture your stomach, you cut into the omurice and take a bite. "mmm!" you cover your mouth as you chew. the softness of the egg, the savoriness of the fried rice—oh, you're in heaven. "this tastes really good, sylus!" you take a sip of the miso soup as well. not only does the warm broth soothe your throat, but the spice that comes with it clears up your sinuses, ceasing the burn in your ears.

the man in front of you can't help but smile at the sight. you, in your most vulnerable, beautiful state, enjoying his cooking. he could die a happy man here. and it wouldn't be the first time his cause of death is you. not that he minds or anything.

"thank you, sylus." you take a few more bites before swallowing. "seriously, i needed this."

"i know, sweetie," he says gently. "i know."

you glare at him, but not with as much malice as you used to. "did mephisto snitch on me or something?"

sylus lets out a laugh before grabbing the present box and joining you on the other side of the counter. "he simply saw a poor little hunter in need of some saving."

"since when does being sick mean needing saving?" you mutter as you set your utensils down, having finished the meal. you make a mental note to ask where he got the food. you're definitely going to visit wherever this exquisite meal came from (the man sitting next to you would die if he knew you wanted to visit his place).

sylus hands you the present box, causing your eyes to widen as you finally process its existence. "merry christmas, sweetie."

instead of accepting it, you jump out of your seat and dash to your room, though not without yelling a "wait here!" your heart beats rapidly as you open your closet door, your eyes landing on a small box wrapped in glossy black paper. yes, you were planning on spending christmas alone. yes, you were planning on giving this to sylus as nonchalantly as possible AFTER christmas (as much as he infuriates you, you still wanted to gift him something. why? you're not sure). and yet, here you are, holding the gift to your chest as you sprint back to the kitchen. "here," you pant as you thrust your gift into his lap. "merry christmas, sylus."

now it's his turn to be surprised. peering at what you just put in his lap, sylus can't help but blush profusely. you gifted him something. you actually gifted him something. you went out of your way to buy something for him. you thought of him. sylus brings a hand to his mouth, his fingers gripping the sides of his face hard. oh, you're too much. it's taking him everything to not crash himself into you and hold you tightly with his arms, to press himself so deeply into you until there is no chance in heaven or hell you could be separated from him.

"sylus?" you snap him out of his thoughts. "you okay?"

he blinks. "ah." releasing his face from his grip, sylus looks at you with a composed smile. "i'm alright, sweetie. thank you for the gift," he says as he starts unwrapping.

"it's not much," you say shyly. "thank you for your gift too. i'll open it after you finish opening yours."

sylus nods as he opens the box. his lips part when he finds what lies inside. a pair of black gloves, thermal lined with genuine fleece and adorned with adjustable straps. but most importantly, embroidery by your hands. he could recognize your handiwork anywhere thanks to your previous adventure in the grasslands. the white dove delicately sewn into the wrist of the right glove and the initials of his name intricately engraved into the wrist of the left. the man can't help but smile for the umpteenth time tonight. you really were something else.

"i noticed you wear fingerless gloves whenever you ride your motorcycle," you start as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "as stylish as they are, mr. sylus," you tease. "i think it's better to have gloves that keep you warm during late-night joyrides, especially now since it's winter." finding the courage to grin at him, you conclude your explanation with, "merry christmas, sylus."

sylus swears he sees an angel sitting next to him. how could you not be an angel? with the way you're smiling at him right now? and the amount of thought you put into this gift? (he's trying not to obsess over the fact that you observe him whenever he rides his motorcycle.) the head of onychinus has never believed in angels. but now, he does. thanks to you.

"thank you, sweetie," he tries to say as calmly as possible. "i will cherish them." when he attempts to put the gloves on, you stop him.

"wait, you don't need to put them on yet! you're going to get hot."

"it's fine," sylus assures as he secures the straps. "i want to."

"okay," you flush, happy that he likes the gift. "let me open yours now."

you wonder why his box is so heavy as your fingers rip off the tape. a gasp escapes your mouth as the wrapping paper falls to the ground. "sylus," you tremble. "i can't accept this."

a record player. a sleek, gorgeous record player with an obsidian platter, supported by a mahogany base and a crystal case. you stroke the tonearm, dragging your index finger all the way to the headshell and relishing in the cool feeling the metal provides. "sylus…" you trail off.

"there's more, sweetie." he murmurs. out of thin air, sylus materializes several vinyls with his evol. your eyes widen, recognizing the images that lie at the center of each disc.

"oh my god, sylus!" your favorite band, he got you vinyl records of each album from your favorite band. they've never even had vinyl records before. holy fucking shit. "sylus!" you chant excitedly, leaping into him as you wrap your arms around his neck. "sylus! you shouldn't have! oh my god!"

you jump up and down eagerly, leaving the man stunned in his chair. his arms are outstretched, unsure what to do for the first time ever. you freeze, realizing the position you are in. "oh uh," you quickly retract from him, a red hue forming on your cheeks. "sorry about that." you go to sit back down in your chair, but sylus doesn't let you. he pulls you back to him with an arm around your waist and a hand at the back of your head. standing at full height, the head of onychinus hugs you tightly, so tightly it's as if he never wants to let you go. you hesitate before returning the hug, questioning the man's motives. but he doesn't say or do anything. just stands embracing you. realizing he bears no ill will, you pat his back playfully. "you know i'm sick, right?"

his grip doesn't loosen. "yes, i know."

"you're going to get sick, sylus," you tease, trying to pull away. as much as you appreciate his warmth, the last thing you want is for him to get sick. just the thought of it strikes fear in your heart. you're not sure why. "come on, let go."

sylus sighs before untangling his arms and sitting back down. he'll give in for now. besides, he wouldn't trade that elated look on your face when he revealed the records for anything in the world. he supposes he can enjoy such a view some more.

you giggle excitedly as you examine the vinyl records. "oh, should i play this one first? oh, what about this one? no way! you got this one too?!"

as always, you don't catch the woozy, lovesick smile that appears on sylus' face as he folds his arms and leans back to admire you. if this is what christmas with you is going to look like in the future, sylus desperately hopes you'll spend every christmas with him from now on. but, just to be sure, because nothing is guaranteed in the future, he follows your example and says for the second time of the night, "merry christmas, sweetie."

#you have no idea how long it took me to figure out what sylus would gift mc #i was terribly disappointed to not find him under the christmas tree #oh well #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fic #lads fluff #sylus fluff

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mangooes · 2 months ago

Text

A Bath Fit for Two

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it, a rare moment of peace in the Onychinus base. No wierd business, no sudden jobs, and no distractions—just (Name), Sylus, and the blissful quiet of their home.

Well, quiet until Sylus dragged her into the bathroom, grinning like a devil.

"Sysy, what are you up to?" She asked suspiciously as he popped open a bottle of lavender-scented bath oil and poured it generously into the massive tub.

"Relaxation, sweetie," he purred, rolling up his sleeves. The water frothed into a luxurious cloud of bubbles, scented steam rising in lazy tendrils. "You’ve been working too hard. It’s time I pamper you."

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Oh? And what about you?"

Sylus smirked, already tugging at his shirt collar.

"Obviously, I’m getting in too. I can’t let my wife enjoy this alone."

She huffed a laugh. "Convenient excuse."

"Shh, kitten. Just let me spoil you, you love it don't you?"

he murmured, already helping her out of her clothes as if she couldn't resist him at all.

The warm water wrapped around her like a dream as she sunk in, sighing in contentment. The floral scent mixed with something deeper—Sylus's own lingering cologne.

But before she could fully relax, Sylus slid in behind her, caging her between his arms.

"I don’t remember inviting you this close," she teased.

"Oh? You didn’t push me away either, isn't it a sign of permission?" he countered, mischief twinkling in his crimson eyes.

She rolled her eyes, leaning back against his chest, her curls dampening in the heat. "You’re shameless."

"And yet, you love me." He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, his lips lingering as his fingers lazily traced patterns on her arm.

The bubbles shifted as Sylus suddenly cupped water in his hands and let it trickle down her skin, watching the droplets slide over her collarbone.

"You’re enjoying this way too much," she muttered, fighting back a shiver at his touch.

Sylus chuckled, his voice low and rich. "Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, bathed in candlelight, all soft and warm in my arms..." He sighed dramatically. "What a sight."

She snorted. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you planned this whole weekend just to seduce me in a bathtub."

"Who says I didn’t?" Sylus grinned.

Before she could retort, he dipped his hand into the water and splashed her—just enough to make her gasp.

"SYLUS!"

She twisted around, eyes wide in betrayal.

"What? It was getting too quiet," he said innocently, lazily leaning back against the tub.

She narrowed her eyes. "...Oh, you’re so dead."

With zero hesitation, she gathered a handful of bubbles and smacked them onto his face, right over his smug expression.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

"Oh, tsk tsk such a naughty little kitten."

Sylus lunged, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close despite the chaos of splashing water. She laughed, struggling half-heartedly as he nuzzled into her neck, rubbing his soapy face all over her like a clingy cat.

"SYLUS! Ew! Now I have bubbles in my hair!"

"Good. Now we match."

"Oh you are so on!"

"Hmm what are you going to do? now that you are trapped in my arms?"

She groaned, but she couldn’t hide the way her lips twitched up.

Eventually, their playful bickering melted into soft touches and lazy caresses. Sylus ran his fingers through her damp curls, massaging her scalp gently, while she traced idle patterns over his chest.

She let out a content sigh. It felt like time had slowed down just for them.

Sylus, noticing her relaxed state, smiled softly. "See? This is why I insisted on the bath."

She hummed, tilting her head to glance at him. "Mmm. Fine. Maybe you had a point."

He smirked. "Say that again?"

She flicked a bit of water at his face. "I take it back."

Sylus chuckled, switching his position, now towering over her, his lips brushing against her forehead. "Too late, sweetie. You admitted I was right."

She rolled her eyes her mouth couldn't hold the smile that is about to bloom. Then she leaned upwards to give her husband a quick peck on the lips, with warmth in them.

With Sylus, moments like these made everything else disappear. The stress, the long work weeks, the responsibilities—they didn’t matter.

Because here, wrapped in his arms, she was home.

LET ME MARRY SYLUS JSKADNSKJDNK anyways INSPIRED AGAIN BY THE NEW CARDD the bathtub looks so cofortable, the bathroom looks so rich too it would be such a waist if its not used properly lmao

#lnds #love and deepspace #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #qin che #sylus #lads sylus

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bu3ck3r · 6 days ago

Text

stay right here

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 5k

summary: paige gets sick first but when azzi catches it too she refuses to admit she needs help. luckily, paige is more than happy to take care of azzi, no matter how stubborn she is about it.

a/n: thank you anon for this idea i hope you’ll like it and to everyone else that reads this tell me how was it and if there’s any mistakes lmk

paige knew she was getting sick the night before — the headache creeping in behind her eyes, the scratchiness in her throat, the way her body suddenly felt heavier than usual. but she didn’t say anything. she just pulled azzi in a little closer on the couch while they watched some random show they weren’t really paying attention to.

azzi noticed her shifting around more than usual. “you good?”

“mhm.” paige rested her head on azzi’s shoulder, her voice low and quiet. “just wanna stay right here.”

azzi didn’t question it. she just adjusted a little, letting paige settle in.

the next morning though — paige looked like hell.

she was still bundled in the hoodie she’d worn to bed, but her nose was red, her voice was hoarse, and her eyes were that glassy kind of tired that made it obvious she hadn’t slept well. she shuffled into the kitchen while azzi was pouring cereal and leaned against the counter like the act of standing up was too much effort.

“morning,” she croaked, barely audible.

azzi turned, took one look at her, and set the spoon down. “oh, no.”

“what?”

“you look like you lost a fight with the air.”

paige gave a half-smile, too lazy to argue. “guess i’m fragile now.”

azzi sighed and crossed her arms. “why didn’t you say anything last night?”

paige shrugged. “didn’t wanna make a big deal.”

“well, it is a big deal if you’re walking around breathing on everything like a germ fog machine.”

“i didn’t even sneeze on you,” paige mumbled, stepping closer. she leaned into azzi, resting her forehead against her shoulder with a long exhale. “i feel like my bones are weak.”

azzi rolled her eyes but reached up to rest a hand on the back of paige’s neck. “you’re being dramatic.”

“i’m sick,” paige said quietly, nuzzling into her hoodie. “i get to be dramatic.”

azzi tried not to react to how warm she felt. “you probably have a fever.”

“i probably deserve one. karma for never taking my vitamins.”

“you literally took one yesterday.”

“yeah, but it was gummy. it doesn’t count.”

azzi sighed again — she was doing that a lot already this morning — and gently guided paige to the barstool. “sit. you’re not doing anything today.”

“not even you?”

azzi smacked her lightly on the arm. “stop talking.”

paige grinned, even as she let her head drop to the counter. “you’re cute when you’re bossy.”

“you’re clingy when you’re sick.”

“that’s not the sickness. that’s just me.”

the day passed in slow motion. paige rotated between the bed, the couch, and wherever azzi happened to be standing. she’d follow her around in slow steps like a shadow with a hoodie and a tissue box, always reaching out for a little touch — a hand on azzi’s back, fingers curled into her sleeve, head resting on her shoulder when she sat down.

azzi kept making noise about how annoying it was, but she didn’t push her away once.

she brought her tea, stood in line at the drugstore to get her cold meds, and even made soup — the canned kind, but still, effort was effort. paige, sick and quiet, just blinked at her with big, tired eyes and said, “you’re an angel.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “i’m your unpaid nurse.”

“same thing,” paige murmured, already reaching out for her again.

by late afternoon, paige was full-on cling mode.

she’d taken over the entire couch, curled under two blankets, legs stretched out across azzi’s lap like a cat who refused to be moved. she was clearly exhausted, and it showed in the way her voice had dropped an octave and her eyes kept drifting closed mid-sentence.

azzi was scrolling through her phone when paige shifted, half-asleep, and muttered, “you smell good.”

azzi didn’t look up. “that’s weird. shut up.”

“you do,” paige whispered. “you smell like my hoodie. or maybe i smell like your hoodie. i forget which one i’m wearing.”

azzi looked down. “that’s mine.”

“see?” paige smiled softly. “you love me.”

“regrettably,” azzi said.

but her hand was still stroking paige’s calf gently under the blanket.

around 7:00 p.m., paige tried to get up and nearly fell over.

azzi was immediately there, steadying her by the waist. “hey. what are you doing?”

“i was gonna go—” paige didn’t even finish the sentence. she just leaned into her, head resting on azzi’s collarbone. “forgot. i’m tired.”

azzi held her for a second, arms slipping around her waist. “jesus. you’re burning up.”

“i run hot. it’s my aura.”

“you sound like your dying.”

paige didn’t respond. just stood there, swaying slightly, face pressed into azzi’s shoulder.

azzi sighed. “come on. bed. i’ll bring your stuff.”

paige didn’t let go. “come with me?”

azzi hesitated, then hooked a finger under her chin and tipped her face up. “you’re sick. you don’t need me cuddling up in your fever dream.”

“but i sleep better with you.”

azzi groaned. “you’re lucky i like you.”

“i know you like me.”

later, paige was bundled into bed, eyes half-closed as azzi tucked the blanket up around her chest. she looked so soft like this — flushed and tired, but still smiling, like the only thing she really cared about was that azzi was within arm’s reach.

azzi sat down on the edge of the bed, pressing the back of her hand to paige’s forehead.

“still warm,” she said quietly.

paige looked up at her. “i feel gross.”

“you kinda look gross too.”

“thanks,” paige murmured, smiling. “you’re really uplifting.”

azzi reached out and brushed a piece of hair off her face. “get some sleep.”

“stay for a little?”

azzi sighed, but she kicked her shoes off anyway and crawled in beside her.

as soon as she was under the covers, paige wrapped her arms around her and let out a tiny, content sigh like she’d been waiting for that all day.

“you’re such a baby when you’re sick,” azzi said, even as she tucked paige’s head under her chin.

“only with you.”

azzi was quiet. “yeah, well. i guess i’m okay with that.”

around 2 a.m., azzi woke up with a sore throat.

she blinked a few times, confused by how dry her mouth was and how heavy her body suddenly felt. paige was still curled into her, breathing softly, radiating heat like a space heater on high.

azzi stared at the ceiling.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered.

but she didn’t move.

not yet.

azzi woke up to a raw throat and the realization that paige was half-on top of her. not in a cute, playful way. in a clingy, full-body sprawl kind of way. paige’s leg was draped over her hip, arm curled around her stomach, face nuzzled into the side of her neck. she was snoring. lightly. which was weirdly adorable and also kind of alarming.

azzi laid there, eyes barely open, debating her life choices.

her head was heavy. her skin felt too tight. and her entire body ached in that slow, creeping way that could only mean one thing.

she groaned under her breath.

paige stirred. “what’s wrong?”

“you infected me.”

paige gave a soft, raspy laugh and didn’t move. “i told you to stay away. but nooo, you had to cuddle me through the fever.”

azzi rubbed a hand down her face. “because you guilt-tripped me. you were looking at me like a dying puppy.”

“worked though, didn’t it?”

azzi coughed. “you’re literally the worst.”

“you’re warm,” paige murmured, eyes still closed. “i love it.”

“you love being the reason i feel like i got hit by a bus?”

“not that part,” paige said. “but i love you. and you’re in my bed. and you smell like my hoodie again.”

azzi groaned. “why are you so clingy when you’re sick?”

“i’m clingy all the time. you just ignore it when i’m healthy.”

azzi shifted under the blankets. her nose was starting to run. she hated that she was sick, hated that she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t. but paige had already caught on.

“i’ll make you tea,” paige said suddenly, starting to sit up.

azzi pulled her back down immediately. “you can’t even stand without wobbling. sit down before you pass out in the kitchen.”

paige flopped back with a sigh. “let me do something. i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

paige smiled to herself and reached over to press a soft kiss to azzi’s cheek. “i really do feel bad.”

azzi turned her head just slightly toward her. “yeah?”

“yeah.” paige paused. “but also… this is kinda the dream. sick day in bed with you. no practice. just netflix and cuddles.”

azzi snorted, then coughed again. “your so annoying.”

“and yet you still love me.”

azzi closed her eyes and groaned. “please shut up.”

“okay.” a beat. “you’re really hot, though. like, fever-hot. but also, like, generally.”

“i will smother you with this pillow.”

paige nuzzled into her shoulder. “you won’t. you like how warm i am.”

azzi didn’t respond. she was already drifting again, her body too heavy and warm to hold on to the irritation. paige stayed curled against her, completely still except for the way her fingers started tracing slow circles on azzi’s arm under the blanket.

the rest of the morning was a shared mess of tissues and short naps.

azzi tried to rally around noon. she pulled herself out of bed with a grunt, wobbling a little on the way to the bathroom. paige, half-asleep, peeked open one eye and said, “you okay?”

azzi stood in the doorway, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair a tangled mess. “do i look okay?”

paige grinned weakly. “you look like a beautiful wreck.”

azzi raised a middle finger as she turned toward the sink.

by the time she made it to the kitchen, the world was spinning slightly. she leaned against the counter and stared at the fridge, wondering if she had the energy to boil water.

she didn’t.

so she stood there instead, arms crossed, trying to will her body to cooperate.

behind her, soft footsteps shuffled in.

“you’re not supposed to be up,” paige mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she joined her.

“says the girl who was going to make me tea half an hour ago.”

“yeah, but i’m stronger than you.”

azzi gave her a look. “you literally had to sit down putting your socks on.”

“i was saving energy.”

azzi turned to face her. paige looked just as bad as earlier—maybe worse. hoodie pulled over her head, pale face flushed, nose red, eyes still watery.

“you look like shit,” azzi said softly.

“so do you,” paige replied with a smile, stepping closer. “want to suffer together?”

azzi leaned into her instinctively. she hated how good it felt. the warmth. the weight. the way paige smelled like laundry and lemon tea. paige wrapped her arms around her from behind and rested her chin on her shoulder.

“i was serious earlier,” she murmured.

“about what?”

“this being kinda nice. i mean, not the coughing and dying part. but this. us. nothing else to do.”

azzi let her head fall back a little. “you’re romanticizing a cold.”

“maybe.”

she was quiet for a second. “i just like having you close.”

azzi let herself lean all the way back into her, letting paige hold her up. “you already have me close. you literally climbed on top of me last night.”

“i was cold.”

“you were burning up.”

“i was emotionally cold.”

azzi groaned. “i don’t even have the energy to fight you.”

paige kissed the top of her head. “you’re so cute, baby”

azzi tilted her head, eyes closed. “alright enough talking p.”

they made it back to the couch somehow — a journey that took longer than usual because they kept leaning on each other for support. once they were there, paige collapsed sideways and immediately grabbed a blanket, patting the space beside her.

azzi hesitated.

paige patted again. “come here.”

“you’re gonna try to make me the little spoon.”

“i am gonna make you the little spoon.”

azzi stared.

then sighed.

and laid down beside her.

paige grinned triumphantly and wrapped her arms around her again. her skin was warm. she still smelled like mint toothpaste and dayquil.

“i hate how good this feels,” azzi mumbled into the pillow.

“don’t fight it.”

“i’m not fighting. i’m just being bitter.”

“okay. be bitter.” paige kissed the back of her neck. “but let me hold you while you are.”

the rest of the afternoon faded into a blur. tissues piled up. the tv played some random reality show in the background. neither of them really watched it. paige dozed in and out, and azzi did too, coughing more often now, her head pounding more by the hour.

at one point, paige felt her shift slightly and murmured, “you need water?”

azzi nodded without speaking.

paige sat up, legs trembling just a bit, but she didn’t say anything. she just shuffled to the kitchen and came back with the water bottle.

azzi looked up at her, blinking slowly. “you shouldn’t be walking.”

“i’m fine.”

“you’re not.”

“i’m taking care of you,” paige said, tucking the blanket back over her shoulders. “let me.”

azzi stared at her for a second, expression unreadable.

then she said, very softly, “thank you.”

paige blinked. “wait—did you just say something nice to me?”

“i take it back.”

paige grinned. “nope. heard it.”

azzi shoved her face into the pillow.

paige gently pulled her in and kissed the top of her head. “you’re welcome, babe.”

later that night, as the sky turned gray-blue and the world outside got quiet, they lay in bed again — both too tired to move, too sick to care. azzi was curled into paige this time, her fingers resting lightly on her chest.

paige was half-asleep, still smiling.

“i like this,” she whispered.

azzi didn’t respond at first.

then: “you’re lucky i caught your stupid cold.”

paige reached down and laced their fingers together.

“i know.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

paige woke up first. for the first time in three days, her head didn’t feel like it was full of cement. her throat still scratched a little, and her nose was stuffy, but the bone-deep exhaustion had started to lift. she blinked up at the ceiling for a moment before turning her head.

azzi was still dead asleep, breathing softly, the hoodie collar pulled up over her mouth. she looked like someone who’d fought off a lion and lost. her nose was red, and her hair was a tangled halo around her face, but her hand was still curled in paige’s shirt like she was afraid paige might float off without it.

she wouldn’t. obviously.

paige smiled to herself and reached up to brush a knuckle gently along azzi’s cheek. warm. still feverish. still deep in the worst of it.

“caught my sickness,” paige whispered. “and you called me dramatic.”

azzi didn’t move. paige leaned in, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “payback’s a bitch, huh?”

she was out of bed for maybe thirty seconds before azzi cracked one eye open and rasped, “where are you going?”

paige turned around in the doorway. “to get water.”

“you better not be doing something stupid like trying to cook.”

“that’s so rude. what if i was gonna make you breakfast?”

azzi let her head flop sideways on the pillow. “you can’t make cereal without getting winded.”

“i’m better today.”

“sure you are.”

paige walked back over, leaned down, and kissed her temple. “just lay there. i got you.”

azzi groaned. “you’re already annoying.”

paige grinned. “and you’re already obsessed with me.”

she didn’t make breakfast, for the record. paige was feeling marginally less like death, but she wasn’t delusional. she poured two glasses of water, grabbed the last pack of cold meds, and snuck one of azzi’s sweatshirts on before heading back to the bedroom.

azzi hadn’t moved. she was still buried under the blankets, looking miserable and slightly offended by her own body.

paige climbed back in beside her and offered her the water. azzi blinked at her.

“you’re hovering.”

“obviously,” paige said. “i feel better. so now i get to be the doting one.”

“you’ve been the doting one.”

“i know. but now i can stand upright while doing it.”

azzi took the water and sat up slowly. she looked like it hurt. paige tucked a pillow behind her back before she could even ask.

“thanks,” azzi said, almost too quiet to hear.

paige looked over at her. “what was that?”

“nothing.”

“you sure?”

“shut up.”

“yeah yeah i love you too, princess.”

azzi shot her a look.

paige just smiled and passed her the cold medicine.

the day went on like that: paige moving around the apartment like a ghost, following azzi from bed to couch and back again, constantly checking her temperature and fluffing pillows that didn’t need fluffing.

azzi complained about it.

a lot.

but she never actually told paige to stop.

around lunch time, paige came back from the kitchen with two bowls of microwaved soup. she handed one off and sat beside her, crossing her legs and watching azzi like she might stop breathing if she blinked too long.

azzi sipped quietly for a minute before finally saying, “you’re staring.”

“i’m just making sure you don’t collapse.”

“i’m sick, not 80.”

“you’re my sick person.”

azzi groaned. “do you hear yourself?”

“i do. and i sound adorable.”

“you sound insufferable.”

“you’re smiling, though.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

azzi looked over at her, eyes half-lidded and tired, but she didn’t argue. paige gently reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“you’re really pretty when you’re all flushed and grumpy,” she said softly.

azzi looked at her for a second, blank expression still intact.

“please get out of my face.”

paige leaned closer. “you love me.”

azzi shoved her shoulder gently. “eat your soup.”

the afternoon was a blur of soft movies, half-naps, and comfort touches. azzi had stopped fighting it around 2 p.m., finally letting paige curl into her again without a single complaint. paige felt the shift — that moment where azzi stopped trying to act fine and just gave in to being taken care of.

it made her feel warm inside in a way the fever never could.

she kissed azzi’s shoulder as they lay under the blanket, whispering soft nonsense into her ear, rubbing lazy circles into her thigh.

azzi didn’t say much, but her fingers kept finding paige’s — linking with them loosely, letting them go, finding them again.

it was the sick version of holding hands on a mountaintop: no effort, no energy, just gravity pulling them together.

by the time the sky dimmed and the outside world blurred paige was fully committed to playing nurse.

she made tea again (barely burned her hand this time), grabbed more tissues, and even found that one lavender essential oil she bought once as a joke but now insisted was “good for your nose.”

azzi was wrapped in two blankets, watching her with the flat expression of someone too tired to argue but very aware she was being ridiculous.

“smell this,” paige said, holding the little bottle under her nose.

azzi blinked. “what is that?”

“lavender eucalyptus serenity blend.”

“that’s not a thing.”

“it’s totally a thing. smells like a fancy yoga retreat.”

azzi took a slow inhale and blinked again. “…okay, fine. that does smell nice.”

paige beamed. “ you’re welcome.”

“still annoying.”

“you say that, but you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

azzi pulled the blanket tighter. “because i don’t have the energy.”

paige flopped onto the couch beside her and rested her head on her shoulder. “i knew this sickness would pay off somehow.”

that night, they ended up back in bed, both of them drained in different ways.

azzi had gotten worse. paige had gotten slightly better. but the balance worked.

paige turned on the soft lamp by the bed, adjusted their pillows again, and climbed in behind her, pressing her body flush against azzi’s.

azzi didn’t protest.

“you okay?” paige asked softly, hand resting on her stomach.

azzi nodded. “tired.”

“i got you.”

azzi let out a tiny hum and reached for her hand under the blanket.

“sorry i got you sick,” paige murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

azzi sighed. “you’re not actually sorry.”

“no, i really am.”

azzi turned her head slightly. “you’ve been happy all day. admit it.”

paige hesitated. “…maybe a little.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “you’re impossible.”

“i just like taking care of you,” paige said. “even when you’re grumpy and dramatic and pretending you don’t love it.”

azzi squeezed her hand gently.

“i do love it,” she whispered. “but don’t let it go to your head.”

paige smiled and kissed the back of her neck.

by the time the worst of it had passed, the apartment smelled like tea, menthol, and leftover soup, and paige had watched love and basketball at least three times “just for the vibes.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi, now finally on the mend, was awake more than she was asleep. her voice had dropped an octave, her nose was only mildly red instead of nuclear.

hair in a messy bun, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes half-lidded — she stood in the bathroom doorway and looked like she wanted to shower, but the sheer thought of doing it made her more tired than the sickness already had.

paige popped her head in from the hallway, toothbrush still in her mouth.

“you good?”

azzi didn’t answer for a second. then: “i don’t have the energy to do this.”

paige rinsed her mouth, leaned in the doorway, and looked her up and down. “you want help?”

azzi hesitated. “no— i mean— yes. but i don’t need it.”

“i didn’t say you needed it,” paige said, stepping in and gently tugging at the drawstrings on azzi’s hoodie. “i just said i’d do it.”

azzi narrowed her eyes. “you’re way too comfortable saying that.”

paige gave her a lazy grin. “i am comfortable. with you.”

azzi sighed and leaned against the counter. “i feel like i weigh a thousand pounds.”

paige stepped forward and wrapped her arms gently around her waist. “then let me carry some of it.”

the shower was warm, quiet, and foggy — the kind of space where everything outside of it didn’t exist for a little while.

paige helped azzi undress slowly, like every motion meant something. her hands were gentle, like she was touching something breakable — not out of pity, but out of care.

azzi didn’t say much. she just stood there, heavy-limbed and sleepy-eyed, and let paige guide her under the spray.

she leaned against the wall, eyes closed, and paige stood behind her, running her hands through her hair with careful fingers.

“you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re pathetic,” paige murmured, lathering shampoo gently into azzi’s scalp.

azzi made a low sound. “you’re annoying.”

“you keep saying that.”

“because you keep being it.”

paige smiled. she rinsed the shampoo out, then slowly slid conditioner through the strands, untangling her hair like it was something sacred.

azzi leaned her head back onto her shoulder for a moment, completely still.

paige kissed the side of her head and whispered, “you’re okay. i got you.”

“i know,” azzi said, soft enough that the water nearly drowned it out.

after, paige helped her towel off, got her into one of her big, fluffy shirts and fresh sweats, and walked her to the couch.

azzi didn’t fight it. not this time.

paige, on the other hand, was technically fine.

technically.

because even though her fever was gone and her energy was back, she’d decided that recovery was “a fragile, emotional process,” and that meant she still got to be babied.

which azzi was picking up on.

big time.

azzi was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, when paige shuffled in wrapped in a blanket like a burrito.

“you’re not cold,” azzi said without looking up.

“i might be,” paige replied, dropping into the chair across from her dramatically. “i still feel emotionally unwell.”

azzi glanced up, unimpressed. “we’re out of soup.”

paige gasped. “what? why didn’t you tell me?”

“because i was dying.”

“oh. right.”

azzi shook her head, eyes still fixed on her screen.

paige stood up slowly, blanket still draped around her, and walked around the table until she was standing behind azzi. she leaned down, resting her chin on azzi’s shoulder, arms wrapping loosely around her middle.

“i like it.”

azzi sighed. “you’re suffocating.”

“you’re warm.”

“i’m not a space heater.”

“you’re my space heater.”

azzi leaned back into her a little, despite herself. “why are you like this?”

paige kissed her cheek. “because you’re soft when you’re sick.”

“i’m literally not.”

“yeah, yeah.”

azzi shook her head. “you’re unbearable.”

paige grinned and rested her cheek on azzi’s. “but i’m cute.”

“barely.”

later, they were on the couch again — a much cleaner version of the chaos from a few days ago. blankets folded. tissues gone. windows cracked open, spring air slipping in.

azzi was finally sitting upright, flipping through netflix. paige lay with her head in her lap, fake-sighing every few minutes just to get azzi’s attention.

“you okay?” azzi asked, barely glancing down.

“no,” paige said flatly. “i think i’m regressing.”

azzi arched a brow. “regressing into what?”

“a needier version of myself.”

azzi looked down at her. “is that even possible?”

“i thought i was healed. but i think i need… more attention. just to be sure.”

azzi snorted. “that’s your actual diagnosis?”

“better safe than sorry.”

azzi rolled her eyes but started running her fingers through paige’s hair anyway. “you’re unbelievable.”

“say you love me.”

“i love you paige.”

“i love you too baby”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

an hour passed. the sun shifted across the floor. they finally landed on a documentary, which neither of them paid attention to. paige was still in azzi’s lap. azzi had started playing with the drawstring of her hoodie, absentmindedly looping it around her fingers.

paige smiled lazily. “you’re touchy.”

azzi groaned. “please shut up.”

“you love it.”

“no, i love you. there’s a difference.”

paige sat up suddenly and kissed her cheek. “you’re so cute.”

the day passed slow and warm. paige hovered, azzi allowed it. they shared tea, watched some movies, and spent more time just being together than either of them could remember.

at some point, paige ended up sitting cross-legged on the couch, blanket in her lap, phone in hand. she was scrolling aimlessly when she felt the weight of azzi’s head settle softly onto her thigh.

she froze — not because it was unexpected, but because azzi rarely initiated things like that.

she looked down.

azzi’s eyes were already closed, lips parted slightly, breaths even.

paige softened immediately, brushing a few curls out of her face.

“look at you,” she whispered. “finally gave in.”

azzi didn’t respond, obviously. she was too far gone.

paige let her phone drop to the side and started tracing lazy circles over azzi’s shoulder, a grin tugging at her lips.

a little while later, when azzi stirred and blinked blearily up at her, paige was ready.

“well, well, well,” she said, smiling. “look who decided i’m comfortable.”

azzi squinted. “didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“but you did. in my lap.”

azzi groaned. “you’re gonna bring this up forever.”

“absolutely.”

“you’re the worst.”

“you’re the cutest.”

azzi rolled onto her back with a quiet sigh and closed her eyes again. “fine. i’m not moving.”

paige grinned and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“good. you’re exactly where i want you.”

that night, for the first time in a week, azzi stayed up later than paige.

paige had conked out early, finally letting her body stop pretending it was still in danger. azzi, sitting on the bed in fresh sweats, looked over at her — tangled in the blanket, mouth slightly open, hair a mess.

she looked peaceful. for once.

azzi leaned back against the headboard and just watched her for a second.

it was weird. not the sickness. not the clinginess. but how easy it had been, despite all that.

she’d fought paige every step of the way, like she always did when she felt vulnerable. but paige — annoying, dramatic, unrelenting paige — had just stayed. quiet when she needed to be. soft when it mattered. present. every moment.

and somehow, that made her more insufferable.

but in a way azzi was never going to admit out loud. not more than once, anyway.

she slid under the blanket beside her, careful not to wake her, and curled in just close enough.

paige stirred.

eyes still closed, she mumbled, “you back?”

“yeah.”

“you still warm?”

azzi exhaled slowly. “a little.”

paige smiled in her sleep, nudging closer.

“good,” she whispered. “means i can hold you.”

azzi rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move. didn’t say anything else.

didn’t need to.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #fiction #paige x azzi #fluff #comfort

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solxamber · 7 months ago

Text

Love Bites - Floyd Leech x reader

You like him quite a bit, you really do but you're really questioning your decisions after some time spent with him ends up sending you to the ER

Crossposted from my ao3!

Floyd’s sharp-toothed grin stretches wider as you glare down at him, every ounce of annoyance in your body evident as you clutch the bandaged area on your arm. The bruises beneath your sleeve throb dully, and the memory of him sinking his teeth into your skin is still fresh in your mind.

“Are you actually mad at me, Shrimpy?” Floyd's voice is teasing, as though the whole thing is a game to him. He lounges lazily in front of you, as if your anger is nothing more than another source of amusement. “They're just little love bites.”

Your mouth opens, incredulous, but no words come out at first. Instead, you just hold up your arm—complete with the stitches and bruises that have formed there. You watch as Floyd’s mismatched eyes follow the movement, his head tilting slightly as he appraises your injuries like they’re no big deal.

“Little love bites?” you echo, finally managing to find your voice. “Floyd, I have stitches. Actual, real-life stitches.”

Floyd shrugs, still unbothered. “It’s just a few marks,” he says with a lopsided grin, sharp teeth gleaming. “You’re tough, right, Shrimpy? Bet you’re already healing.”

The nonchalance in his tone only fuels your frustration, and you can’t help but huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you glare down at him. It’s always like this with Floyd—he never quite takes anything seriously unless it piques his interest. And apparently, the sight of you with bruises and stitches wasn’t nearly enough to catch his attention.

“Floyd,” you say with as much patience as you can muster, “I’m seriously hurt. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” He cuts in, suddenly standing to his full height. The lazy grin has vanished, replaced with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His mood has shifted in an instant, his presence growing more imposing as he looms over you, eyes narrowing with a hint of danger. “What’s the big deal? You’re my Shrimpy, aren’t you? I can play with you if I want.”

You take a step back, heart racing as his tone changes from playful to something much darker. This is the part of Floyd that everyone warned you about—the sudden switch from laid-back to terrifying. He doesn’t mean to be threatening, not really, but it’s in his nature. And right now, the look in his eyes makes it clear that he doesn’t quite understand why you’re so upset.

He steps closer, tilting his head curiously as if waiting for you to explain yourself. You’re tempted to turn away, but instead, you hold your ground, even as your pulse quickens under his sharp gaze.

“Floyd, I don’t mind you being playful,” you say carefully, keeping your voice as calm as possible. “But there’s a line. This—” you motion to your arm again “—crossed that line.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Floyd’s eyes flicker down to your arm, and something unreadable flashes across his face. His expression softens, just a little, and he sighs deeply before his grin returns, though this time it’s less wild and more subdued.

“Aw, Shrimpy,” he murmurs, stepping back slightly and slouching as if the energy has drained out of him. “You’re so sensitive sometimes. But I get it, I get it. I went too far this time, huh?”

You blink, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone again. He looks at you with a mixture of mild amusement and something almost like regret, though it’s hard to tell with Floyd. His moods are as unpredictable as the sea, and sometimes you can’t be sure if he’s genuinely sorry or just pretending.

Still, you can tell he’s trying. In his own weird, Floyd way, he’s making an effort to understand your feelings—even if he doesn’t fully get it.

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice softening as the tension starts to ease. “You did go too far. I know you like to mess around, but… I’m not a punching bag, Floyd.”

He laughs at that, a light sound that seems to fill the room. “Nah, you’re not a punching bag, Shrimpy. You’re tougher than that. I was just having some fun, but I guess I didn’t realize how squishy humans can be.”

The word “squishy” makes you cringe, but you let it slide. At least he’s acknowledging the situation, even if it’s in his unusual, Floyd way.

Floyd moves closer again, but this time his touch is gentle. He reaches out, fingers brushing over the bandaged area with surprising care. His expression is hard to read, but the teasing smirk has been replaced by something quieter, almost contemplative.

“Does it hurt a lot?” he asks suddenly, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“A little,” you admit, watching him carefully as his fingers linger near the bruise. “But it’ll heal.”

Floyd hums in acknowledgment, his eyes trained on the wound as if it fascinates him. “You’re pretty tough, Shrimpy. I like that about you.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Glad to know I’ve earned your approval.”

He grins, sharper now but still playful. “You always have it, Shrimpy. Just don’t go getting too mad at me, okay? I’ll be good next time. Maybe.”

You can’t help but laugh at that—because with Floyd, “next time” will probably end up just like this. But somehow, you don’t mind as much. Floyd’s chaotic nature is part of who he is, and while it can be exhausting, there’s a strange charm to it too. He keeps you on your toes, always guessing, always wondering what mood he’ll be in next.

And right now, as he watches you with a softer gaze than usual, you realize that maybe—just maybe—he’s trying harder than he lets on.

“Just… maybe go easy on the love bites from now on,” you say with a chuckle, nudging him lightly. “I’m running out of bandages.”

Floyd’s grin returns in full force, his eyes gleaming with mischief once again. “No promises, Shrimpy. But I’ll try to keep you in one piece.”

He winks, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel your heart skip a beat. Floyd may be unpredictable and moody, but there’s something undeniably magnetic about him—and even when he’s frustrating, you find it hard to stay mad for long.

With a final playful nip at your shoulder (thankfully not hard enough to leave any more bruises), Floyd leans back, stretching lazily. “Alright, alright, I’ll be good for now. But next time, Shrimpy, you better watch out.”

You roll your eyes again, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. Despite everything, Floyd has a way of making you feel special—even if his methods are a little… unconventional.

And as he lounges beside you, his mood now seemingly light and carefree once more, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Masterlist

#floyd leech #floyd x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x you #floyd x you #twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader

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vandme12 · 2 months ago

Text

Blood, Guts, and a Lifetime Warranty- Ronin x Reader

WORDS : 11732

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Dark Themes

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : On the way to the wedding, Dressed in black, He really did it in his way didn't he? You really had a husband right now. He proposed.

INSPIRED FROM THE ART : @scary-brainrot I love their art! ahh! This was already in my drafts, I finished it!

The art's link (The one I got inspired from)

90 followers special

“That old man keeps asking when I’ll get married again.”

Annoying. Worse than annoying. Like a mosquito buzzing in your ear when you’re already halfway to losing your mind.

The garage smells like oil, rust, and Ronin—something metallic, something alive, something that clings. You could go home, but home is a ringing phone and voices that won’t like the answers you’d give. They love you. You love them. But they wouldn’t love him. Not the way you do.

Some distant uncle, some wrinkled remnant of family dinners and polite disappointment, would take one look at Ronin and say something sharp, something final. And Ronin? He’d roll his tongue along his teeth, slow and deliberate, like a lion deciding if a gazelle is worth the chase. He’d smile too wide, say something that’s both a joke and a promise of violence.

You’d defend him, though. Because you’re his. Because he’s yours.

A year, almost. Two sick minds spiraling around each other like dying stars, feeding off the heat, off the destruction. You learned more than you should. Became something sharper, something better, something that fit in the hollow of his ribs. And Ronin, patron saint of pretty rot, never lied about the world. He just pulled back the curtain and let you see it for what it was.

He loves you, but he doesn’t say it. He shows it in the way he exists—raw, unapologetic, a brush dipped in something obscene, painting your name in places no one else would dare.

And you?

You see it now. The way he sees things. The way they were always meant to be seen.

Face it, darlin’. You lost the second you met him.

The sound of metal on metal, the slow grind of a wrench turning bolts, the scent of oil and rust clinging to the air like an old, familiar ghost.

You’re watching him—your little devil in disguise, though he’s hardly trying to hide it. Ronin leans over the open hood of a half-dead car, sleeves shoved up, grease streaked along his forearm like war paint. He works with a lazy kind of precision, every movement drawn out, every flick of his wrist deliberate, like he knows you’re watching and wants you to keep watching.

And you do.

Because how could you not?

He glances up, catches your stare, and his grin spreads slow and sharp, teeth flashing like a wolf playing at civility. His tongue drags along his teeth before he chuckles, a low, amused thing that slithers into your bones.

"What, darlin’? Ain’t never seen a man work before?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrays you. He doesn’t miss it—he never does. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s about to make a meal of you, like he already has.

"Careful now. Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I might start thinkin’ you got a death wish."

And Ronin? He never breaks a promise.

He lets the wrench fall onto the workbench with a clatter, wiping his hands on a rag that does nothing but spread the mess further. Then he’s leaning on the car, watching you like he’s considering tearing you apart just to see how you’d put yourself back together.

"Y’know, a person like you could do better." His voice is slow, teasing, coiling around something darker. "Could find yourself a nice boy. One who doesn’t kill for fun, who calls his mama on Sundays, who wouldn’t snap your neck if you asked real sweet."

A pause. A smirk. That awful, wonderful, knowing look in his eyes.

"But you won’t. ‘Cause you like this, don’tcha?"

He takes a step closer, the space between you burning down to nothing. The heat of him, the weight of his attention, the sheer gravity of his existence—it's suffocating in the best way.

"You like watchin’ me. Like sittin’ there all sweet while I get my hands dirty." A slow grin. "Like knowin’ they’ll never be clean."

“You’re being too edgy again.”

Ronin gasps, all mock offense, pressing a grease-streaked hand to his chest like you just ran him through with a stake. "Too edgy? Darlin’, you wound me."

“You already established the bit, you don’t have to crank it up every time.” You cross your arms, leveling him with a look that should be stern, but the corners of your lips betray you.

He hums, considering. "Alright, alright. I’ll dial it back a lil’—for you."

But then you laugh. Because, let’s be real, you like this. Maybe not the whole performance, but the way he commits to it. The sheer audacity of him.

Ronin catches that little slip in your composure, and suddenly, he’s grinning again—your grin. That slow, teasing pull of lips that promises nothing good.

"See? You love it."

Before you can argue, he puckers his lips, exaggerated as hell, and throws a flying kiss your way. And then—the bastard throws it straight into the trash.

You shoot him a murder look so sharp it could split bone, but he just laughs, loud and unrepentant, striding forward without a care in the world.

And then, in the cheesiest, most dramatic display of affection possible, he plucks the imaginary kiss right back from the air, presses it to his chest like a treasured keepsake, and sighs.

"Alright, alright. I’ll keep this one." He pats his chest, eyes twinkling. "Right here. Close to my cold, dead heart. XOXO, baby."

You groan. He’s impossible.

“You’re an idiot.”

Ronin grins. "Yeah?"

"An idiot for idiots."

His grin stretches wider, teeth flashing. "Oh?"

"So idiotically idiotic it’s actually impressive."

That does it. He throws his head back and laughs, a sharp, delighted thing, full-bodied and reckless. Hands still smudged with oil, still clutching onto the ghost of that stupid, cheesy kiss, he leans in like he's about to whisper something profound. Instead—

"And you—" he drawls, slow and indulgent, like he’s savoring the words before he spits them out. "You got the energy of such a bad bitch. Or a bastard. Take your pick."

He flicks his fingers, like he’s throwing dice, like fate itself is something he can gamble with.

"Somethin’ real nasty about you, sweetheart. Somethin’ sharp. A bite to that pretty mouth. Ain’t that a treat?"

His eyes are dark with something unreadable, something between admiration and hunger, like he wants to see what you’ll do with his words. If you’ll bite back. If you’ll play along.

Because Ronin? He’s always playing. And he’s hoping—praying, even—that you’re the kind of idiot who won’t let him win too easily.

"It’s... nothing."

Ronin tuts, tilting his head, eyes gleaming like a wolf that’s caught the scent of something bleeding. "Oh, but somethin’ must be trickin’ your head, darlin’. I can hear it rattlin’ around in there." He leans in, voice dropping to something just above a purr. "C’mon now. Whisper your prayer to the Devil. What’s on your mind?"

You shoot him another murderous glare, sharp enough to cut, lethal enough to wound. He loves it.

And worse? He blushes.

It’s fleeting—a flicker of warmth, a betrayal of blood rushing to his cheeks—but it’s there. And then, just as fast, he throws his head back and laughs, wild and unrestrained, like you’ve just handed him the funniest joke in the world.

The audacity. The gall. The sheer joy in his eyes, like he’s never been happier than in the presence of someone who genuinely wants to kill him.

Because let’s be real—isn’t that his favorite thing?

Ronin wipes at his grin like he can smother it, but it lingers, curling at the edges. "Goddamn. If looks could kill, sweetheart—" he whistles low, shaking his head, "—I’d be six feet under already. You tryin’ to make me fall harder?"

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Ronin’s already grinning like you did.

"What?!"

You don’t even give him a chance to answer before you pinch both of his cheeks, hard.

Ronin yelps, muffled by your hands squishing his stupid, grinning face. "Owww—darlin’, what the hell—?" He grabs your wrists, but not to stop you—no, just to hold on, just to feel you, because he likes it when you get your hands on him. Even when it’s to hurt him.

Especially when it’s to hurt him.

You tug his cheeks just a little harder, watching as his face scrunches up, his nose wrinkling, eyes narrowed in exaggerated pain. "That’s what you get for talking like that."

His words come out distorted, voice wobbling from the force of your grip. "Talkin’ like wha’?"

"Like you wanna die by my hands, idiot."

Ronin wheezes out a laugh, finally prying your hands away—but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he flips your grip, lacing your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s his right.

"Ain’t my fault you’re so damn beautiful when you’re thinkin’ about killin’ me." His voice is softer now, but the playfulness lingers. His thumbs ghost over your knuckles, a mockery of tenderness, a real display of it all the same.

"Y’know," he muses, leaning in, voice dropping low, "if you ever do get sick of me, darlin’... at least make it interesting, yeah?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but you don’t pull away.

Ronin, grinning like he just won something, kisses your knuckles

You blush. Disgusting. You look away, like that’ll save you, like he won’t see it anyway. Like he won’t catch the way your fingers twitch in his grasp, like he won’t feel the heat you’re trying to will away. Like he won’t eat it up.

“You said live, not die.”

Ronin’s grin flickers. Just for a second. Just long enough for the mask to slip, the wires beneath to spark. Then—

“Oh, darlin’.” He lets out something between a laugh and a sigh, tilting his head, studying you like a painting he can’t quite decide how to ruin. “Now, that’s just cruel.”

You roll your eyes, yank your hands away, shove him for good measure. He staggers back with an exaggerated stumble, hand over his chest like you just stabbed him through the ribs. Dramatic. Always. Even when it’s real.

“Gotta admit,” he says, pressing his palms together, as if in prayer, as if he’s ever prayed to anything other than the void, “that’s a new one. You? Wantin’ me to live? Be still, my dead, black heart.”

You cross your arms, glare. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

There it is. That look. The one that’s all teeth, all sharp edges and something deeper, something raw. Something hungry. He wants you to fight him. He wants you to win.

You don’t humor him. You don’t move. You stay exactly where you are, which is somehow worse.

Ronin watches. Waits. Always patient, when it matters. Always willing to let the moment stretch, to let the silence settle, just to see what you’ll do with it.

“Go on, then.” He lifts his chin, dares you. “Say it again.”

Your stomach twists. You hate him. You hate that he knows exactly how to get under your skin, exactly how to pull words out of your throat like he’s got his fingers wrapped around your voice. You hate that you let him.

“You’re such an idiot.”

He smirks, tilts his head. “For idiots.”

“So idiotically idiotic.”

His grin widens. “Say it.”

You swallow. Fine. You meet his gaze, steady. “Live.”

Something shifts.

It’s subtle. A breath held too long, a flicker behind his eyes. Like you just flipped a switch he didn’t know he had. Like you just changed something.

Then, just as fast, he laughs—loud, reckless, full-bodied. He steps forward, gets right in your space, doesn’t touch, but you feel it anyway.

“Darlin’,” he purrs, “you keep talkin’ like that, and I might just have to listen.”

Your heartbeat stutters. Unacceptable. You shove him again, harder this time. He doesn’t even pretend to stumble, just grins like you handed him a gift.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, turning away.

“You love it.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

Ronin chuckles, something quiet, something softer than it should be. You feel the heat of him at your back, a presence that lingers, that stays even when he isn’t touching you.

Then, finally, he steps away. Leaves you with the echo of his voice, the ghost of his grin.

“Live, huh?” he mutters, almost to himself. Almost.

"Guess I can try."

And damn it—you hear the smile in his voice. That soft, dangerous edge, like he’s filing it down just for you. Like you gave him something new to chew

Your phone buzzes—loud, persistent, annoying—because of course it does. You sigh, already knowing who it is. That special brand of chaos only one person in your family can bring.

Before you can grab it, Ronin’s faster. Always is. He snatches your phone like it’s his right, thumb dragging across the screen as he answers the call with a lazy, cocky swipe.

"Hello, sweetheart’s personal assistant speakin’—" He pauses, lips curling when the sound of someone shouting blasts through the speaker.

"Hey! When will we meet the boy?!" The voice is rough, familiar, and exactly as you feared. "I’m looking at some photos—"

Oh no.

"—of some nice boys. I’ll send them to you. Tell me which one you like, so the family can arrange a date. Get you two to know each other better—"

Silence.

A beat.

Then—Ronin laughs. Real loud, too—like he wants them to hear it, wants it to stick. His head tips back, neck exposed, all sharp teeth and sharper intentions.

"Well, shit," he drawls, licking his teeth, voice sweet as poison. "You’re settin’ up a date for my baby? Kinda rude, ain’t it? I mean—" His free hand slides to your waist, casual and possessive, squeezing like he owns you. "—I’m right here."

Your stomach drops. "Ronin—"

He ignores you, because of course he does.

"I get it," he continues, mock sympathy dripping from every word. "I mean, who wouldn’t wanna line up a few pretty boys? But—" He sighs, dramatic as ever. "—gotta break it to ya, pops. They’re already taken."

The line goes silent—for a second. Maybe two. Then—

"Who the hell are you?!"

Ronin’s grin stretches, and oh, he’s enjoying this. Loves the fire. Loves the fight. He leans closer to the speaker, like he’s sharing a secret. "The Devil, baby. Didn’t they warn you?"

You slap his arm, hard, but it only makes him laugh more—warm and bright, like setting a match to gasoline.

"You—!" The old man sputters, full of righteous indignation. "You think this is funny?!"

"A little," Ronin purrs. "Kinda cute, actually. Y’care about ‘em so much you’re hand-pickin’ their future? Adorable." His fingers curl against your hip, deliberate. "But—" he hums, voice sinking into something darker, rougher, "—no one’s takin’ ‘em away from me, old man."

He means it. You feel it in the weight of his touch, the way his thumb circles your skin.

"Ronin—" you hiss again, trying to take your phone back, but he’s not done. Not even close.

"Look," he says, casual as hell, like this is a friendly chat. "I’m a real thoughtful guy. I’d love to meet the fam. Hell—" he chuckles, "—maybe I’ll even bring a gift. Y’know, to show my appreciation."

You don’t like the way he says "gift." Not one bit.

"You’re out of your damn mind," the old man snaps.

Ronin’s smile turns razor-sharp. "Yeah, well—" he tilts his head, brushing his lips against your ear, voice dropping to a whisper only for you. "—I’m your kinda problem now, aren’t I?"

Your heart pounds—too fast, too much—and you’re torn between wanting to strangle him and... something worse.

The phone crackles—your family’s favorite brand of righteous fury practically vibrating through the speaker.

"You arrogant little—what kind of punk thinks he can talk to me like that?!" the old man barks, voice sharp enough to cut. "You think you’re funny?!"

Ronin, being Ronin, grins wider—which should be illegal, really, because no one man should look that pleased while actively causing problems on purpose. His eyes gleam, wicked and bright, as he leans against the workbench like this is his personal entertainment.

"Funny?" He clicks his tongue. "Nah, old-timer, I’m hilarious."

Your head drops into your hands. Of course. Of course he’s not backing down. Not when there’s someone willing to bite back.

"Ronin—" you try, voice tight, but he holds up a hand—shh, baby—without even looking at you.

"So," he drawls, like he’s savoring every second of this. "How many poor suckers you got lined up for ‘em? Five? Ten? You hopin’ one of ‘em’s got a personality, or just flippin’ through the catalogue ‘til you find a pretty face?"

The line crackles again. Then—"You listen here, you little shit—"

"Nah, you listen." Ronin’s voice drops—still playful, but there’s an edge under it now, jagged and dangerous. His smile never wavers, but the temperature in the room feels ten degrees colder. "They’re not goin’ on any dates. Not with your pretty little lineup, not with anyone." His head tilts, lazy, like he’s considering how much trouble he feels like starting. "Y’see, they’re already busy—with me."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, torn between wanting to melt into the floor and… God help you, wanting to drag him down by his stupid leather jacket and kiss the smirk off his face.

"What the hell kind of guy are you?!" the old man demands, voice still boiling.

And that’s it—that’s the line Ronin’s been waiting for. He lifts his hand, fingers splaying across his chest like he’s been personally offended, but there’s a gleam in his eye. Something feral. Something viciously proud.

"Oh, darlin’ didn’t tell you?" His smile turns razor-sharp, voice syrup-sweet. "I’m their worst decision. And their best one."

"YOU—"

"Careful now," Ronin warns, mock-gentle. "Wouldn’t wanna get your blood pressure up. Though, hey—if you keel over, I’ll send flowers. Maybe."

Your mouth falls open. "Ronin!"

He shrugs, but his arm wraps around your waist, tugging you against him like he’s staking a claim. "What?" he says, all innocence. "M’bein’ polite."

Polite.

The old man, meanwhile, sounds seconds away from an aneurysm. "You punk! What the hell do you even bring to the table?! Huh?!"

Ronin hums, pretending to think—tapping his chin like this is a serious question. "Well," he finally says, drawing out the word like it’s a punchline, "I’m real good with my hands."

You choke.

He winks.

And that’s when you’ve had enough. With a furious swipe, you rip the phone out of his hand and hang up before anyone can make things worse. For a second, there’s silence—just the hum of the garage and your heart pounding in your ears.

Then, of course—Ronin laughs.

Deep and delighted, like you just handed him the best gift he’s ever gotten.

You whirl on him, shoving at his chest. "Are you INSANE?!"

He doesn’t budge. Just catches your wrists, lazy and loose, still chuckling like he’s having the time of his life. "A little," he admits, dragging your hands up to his lips. He presses a feather-light kiss to your knuckles, saccharine and smug. "But you love it, don’t ya?"

Ronin’s eyes narrow the second the old man’s voice blares back through the phone—louder, angrier, like he’s just realizing exactly who he’s dealing with.

“AH, FUCK—IT’S YOU! PUNK, EMO ASS, KID—”

Your head drops back with a groan. Oh, great.

The rant barrels on, unstoppable. “Look, kid. They told us ‘bout you—yeah, yeah, we didn’t even mind your ass. But then we heard you don’t like marriage. Christian-type stuff.”

Ronin snorts under his breath, lips twitching. "Oh, no. Anything but the sanctity of holy matrimony," he mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you felt shitty—because, of course, he’s not taking this seriously.

The old man is not amused. “Look, respectfully—I get it. Some people don’t like the religion shit, fine.” A breath hisses through the receiver. “But this is an event. My lil’ baby is either gettin’ married—or gonna.”

You don’t miss the way Ronin’s jaw flexes at the word "baby."

“So, please—stay outta their way.”

Before you can respond—before Ronin can sharpen his tongue into something lethal—your patience snaps. You snatch the phone from his hand and, with zero hesitation, hurl it across the garage. It hits the wall with a satisfying crack, falling in two pitiful pieces.

The silence that follows is deafening.

For once—he doesn’t laugh.

Ronin watches you—sharp, calculating—like he’s peeling back your skin with his eyes, memorizing every new layer you reveal. His head tilts just a little. Something about that look makes your chest feel tight—too much, too fast.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, like it’ll somehow smooth out the mess in your head. But when you glance back at him—he’s still looking. Still waiting.

And his voice—God, his voice—comes out too soft. “Somethin’ on your mind, darlin’?”

You look away.

His grin creeps back in, a little too sharp. “Y’know I love it when you get shy,” he teases, but the edge in his voice gives him away. He wants the truth.

Your heart stumbles. You press your lips together, fighting the way your thoughts swirl—loud, messy, too much. But the words—the real words—don’t come easy. Not when it’s this.

Still—you reach for him. Slip your fingers into his, warm and solid and steady. It’s too intimate for how casual you’re pretending to be, but he lets you.

You swallow hard. “…You don’t like these things because of—”

But you can’t finish. Your voice trips over itself, and rather than push through, you stop. Let it hang. Force yourself to smile. “It’s fine.”

Ronin doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stays locked on you.

You squeeze his hands a little tighter. “I’m happy. With you.”

It’s too honest. Too raw. And his grip tightens—like he’s daring you to take it back.

For a beat—he says nothing. But something shifts behind his eyes, and you know—you just know—that those words are going to stick. He’ll hold onto them like a blade tucked under his skin.

You lean up, quick and light, and kiss his cheek—lingering just long enough to feel the heat rising under your lips.

“I’m gonna go home,” you murmur. “Sleep well, Ronin.”

His fingers twitch in yours—tight, like he doesn’t want to let go.

But then—he does. And the smile he gives you as you pull away is dangerous—a promise.

“G’night, Darlin.”

The walk home is quiet. Too quiet. The kind that sticks to your skin and makes your head buzz. You told yourself it was fine—you’re fine—but the weight in your chest doesn’t quite lift, no matter how many deep breaths you take.

When you finally get home, the house is dark. Silent, except for the faint hum of that damned telephone still on the hook. You don’t touch it. Not tonight.

You kick off your shoes, peel off the day, and crawl into bed. The sheets are cold—too cold—without him. But you don’t think about that.

Not yet.

You’re too tired to fight your thoughts, so you let them fade. Let sleep pull you under.

Ronin doesn’t sleep.

Not well, anyway—not when you’re gone.

He stays in the garage long after you leave, leaning against the workbench with a half-finished cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curls through the air—thick, acrid—something to keep his hands busy while his mind spins.

That old bastard’s voice still rings in his ears. “Stay outta their way.” Like he’s some stray mutt sniffing around where he doesn’t belong. Like you’d ever let anyone pull that leash.

A dry chuckle slips past his lips. As if.

You told him to live. And you said it like you meant it. Like you wanted him to stick around. For you.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Because Ronin’s been circling the drain for years—grinning all the way down—and then you came along. Got your hooks in him. Made it hard to fall when you’re the one holding on.

And he likes it. That’s the worst part. He likes the way you look at him—like he’s more than just teeth and blood and bad habits stitched together. Likes the way you call him an idiot and still hold his hands like you’re afraid to let go.

It’s addictive. You’re addictive.

And maybe—just maybe—he’s not ready to lose that yet.

The cigarette burns down to the filter before he flicks it aside, crushing it under his boot. His fingers twitch against his palm, and for a split second—he thinks about calling you. Just to hear your voice. Just to prove you’re still there.

But he won’t. He doesn’t want to spook you. Not when you’ve already given him so much.

Still—he’s not gonna sit here all night stewing like a lovesick idiot.

So, he grabs his keys, swings his jacket over his shoulders, and slips out of the garage with a devil-may-care grin.

If he’s not gonna sleep, he might as well have some fun.

You don’t hear the sound of his bike pulling up outside your house around 3 AM. (Just kidding)

You don’t hear the quiet creak of the gate as he slips through, or the soft thud of his boots against the porch.

The lock clicks. A sound too soft for anyone else to notice—but you do. Always.

You move without thinking, bare feet against cold floors, fingers brushing the knob before you twist it open. And there he is.

Ronin.

He’s leaning against the doorframe like he owns it, like he’s got all the time in the world, but there’s something heavy in his stance. Something coiled too tight. His knuckles twitch at his sides. The silver glint of rings, catching low light.

You don’t ask why he’s here. You don’t need to.

Your hand curls around the front of his jacket—warm leather, worn soft—and you pull. He doesn’t resist. Never does, not when it’s you. He’s already moving before the door even clicks shut behind him.

The house is still. Silent, save for the muffled hum of appliances, the faint tick of a clock somewhere down the hall. But his breathing—his—is loud in your ears.

He smells like smoke and metal and something else—something darker, sharper, like midnight and mistakes. It clings to your skin as he steps closer.

You don’t bother turning on the lights.

His hands find you first. Of course they do—always greedy, always starving—palms dragging against your waist, thumbs pressing against your ribs. Heavy. Like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

Your breath hitches when he curls his fingers into the fabric of your shirt, knuckles brushing bare skin. He feels it. You know he does, because his mouth curls—barely—and he lets out a low, breathy exhale, like this? This is exactly what he came for.

You tug him through the dark, back to your room, back to your bed—his bed, when it suits him—and he follows without a word.

The door shuts behind you both. Quiet. Like a secret.

He shrugs off his jacket as you sink onto the mattress. The leather hits the floor in a careless heap, rings glinting as his hands hover—hesitate—before he touches you again.

Always touching. Always taking.

You make room for him without thinking, shifting under the sheets as he crawls in beside you. He’s warm—too warm—like he’s been carrying heat under his skin for hours.

You should shove him. Call him an idiot for coming here in the middle of the night. But you don’t.

Instead, you curl against him, and he… melts.

His arms slide around your waist, pulling you close—closer—until there’s nothing left between you but breath and heartbeat and something too raw to name. His nose brushes against the curve of your neck, and his fingers twitch where they rest against your back.

He holds you like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

And maybe that’s the point.

His face presses into your shoulder, too much teeth against soft skin, but it’s not rough. Not really. Not when you know how much he wants this—needs this—even when he won’t say it.

Especially when he won’t say it.

He’s touch-starved in the way only someone like him can be. Starved for you, specifically. Like it isn’t enough to watch from the edges. Like he needs to feel you—to sink in and never leave.

You trace your fingers up the back of his neck, nails dragging gently against skin. He shudders. His breath stutters against your throat.

His grip tightens.

He won’t ask you to stay like this. He won’t ask for anything. But you know he’d take it if you let him.

And tonight?

You do.

You let him tuck his face against your collarbone. Let him wrap himself around you like he’s trying to crawl under your skin. His hair tickles your cheek—soft, messy, human—and for all his edges, all his sharpness, he’s warm. Solid. Yours.

His heartbeat slows against your ribs.

You stay like that. Minutes. Hours. Maybe forever.

And when his hand slides under your shirt—fingers curling against your spine, not asking, just holding—you don’t stop him.

He’s quiet, after that. Quieter than usual. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s finally gotten what he wanted.

Morning comes slow. Too slow, and somehow too fast.

The bed’s cold.

His warmth—his weight—is gone, and you feel it before your eyes even open. There’s no leather-jacketed mess tangled in the sheets, no sharp grin waiting to bite at you the second you stir. Just empty space where he was, where he always is, until he isn’t.

You sigh. Of course.

He never stays. Not all the way.

The sun bleeds through the curtains, golden and soft, but it does nothing to fill the ache curling behind your ribs. You push yourself up, stretch the stiffness from your limbs, and try—fail—not to think about the way he clung to you last night. The way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, even when he had you pinned close.

You don’t know why you keep doing this. Letting him crawl under your skin. Letting him take whatever he wants, however he wants. But you do. Again and again and again.

Your throat feels tight. You swallow it down.

The floor is cold against your feet as you slip out of bed. You move through the motions—shower, brush your teeth, dress yourself like you’re preparing for war. Your usual uniform. The world doesn’t stop turning just because Ronin decided to ghost you.

Not that it’s a surprise. It’s what he does.

Still—you check your phone. Just once.

Nothing. No texts. No missed calls. No smart-ass messages left for you to find.

Figures.

You yank open the closet door, grab your work bag, and sling it over your shoulder. The weight is familiar. Easy. You focus on that—the rhythm of routine, the comfort of habit—because if you don’t, you’ll think about the way he felt in your arms. The way he held you like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance.

You don’t have time for that.

Keys. Wallet. Phone. You snatch them off the counter and head to the door, locking up behind you with the kind of practiced ease that doesn’t need thought.

Outside, the air is crisp—too bright, too sharp for a morning that feels this heavy—but you square your shoulders, lift your chin, and walk.

A job’s a job. And yours won’t wait.

By the time you make it to the office, your face is carefully neutral—expression smooth, words sharper than you mean them to be. No one notices. No one ever notices. You bury yourself in your work, losing hours to reports and phone calls and emails, because it’s easier than letting your mind wander.

But it does,

Slaughterhouse: Losers Very Good—a bloodstained corner of the internet where psychos, freaks, and murder hobbyists hang out like it’s a dive bar no one sane would step into. Coded from scratch, like everything Ronin does. Meticulous. Untraceable. Home sweet home.

And you?

Offline.

He hates that.

You’re too good to him. You let him touch you—hold you—and somehow, you’re still here. Soft edges in a world full of jagged glass. He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t deserve it. And yet.

Ronin leans back in his shitty leather chair, boots kicked up on the desk. The glow from his monitors bathes the room in electric blue, half-lit shadows stretching across the mess of papers, knives, and half-finished projects. One screen blinks with a list of names. His little collection of degenerates.

If he’s gonna do something for you, it’s gotta be good.

He cracks his knuckles, spins a blade between his fingers, and pulls up the first chat.

🐺 K9 (V):

Ronin: sup, robo-cop.

K9: Don’t.

Ronin: aw, missed u too, sweetheart. anyway, i got a question. hypothetical. romantic. u know what that is, or does ur metal heart not compute?

K9: I’m blocking you.

Ronin: no u aren’t. u love me. listen, if you were, hypothetically, in love with someone—(gross, i know)—what would you get ‘em?

K9: …You? In love?

Ronin: hypothetical. duh.

K9: A knife. Through the heart.

Ronin: aw. that’s practically a marriage proposal, k9. but srsly. i want ideas. gimme somethin’.

K9: Why do you care?

Ronin: because, steel-toes, for once in my godforsaken life, i want to be nice. write that down.

K9: …Whatever the hell you are, I do respect you for wanting to do something. Get them something meaningful. Personal. Something no one else could give.

Ronin: ur such a sap under all that righteous fury. thanks, babe. xo.

Ronin grins to himself. Meaningful. Personal. Easy words when you’re not the one tangled in it. Still, not useless. And if nothing else, bothering V is a highlight of his day.

Next.

💀 LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

Ronin: sup, sunshine.

Luca: YO DUDE. YO. YO. THE DEVIL IS IN MY DMS WHAT’S GOOD

Ronin: don’t wet ur boardshorts, prettyboy. i need ur expert advice.

Luca: BRO ASK AWAY. I AM AN OPEN BOOK OF RAD WISDOM.

Ronin: so, imagine someone who’s not me (obvs) wants to do something nice for their, uh, partner. ideas?

Luca: BROOOOOOO BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ARE YOU IN LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE DEVILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Ronin: chill. ur embarrassing urself.

Luca: NAAAAH THIS IS EPIC. OK OK OK OK. GET THEM SOMETHING FUN, MAN. SOMETHING THAT MAKES ‘EM LAUGH. OR LIKE. A DATE NIGHT. EVERYONE LOVES A DATE NIGHT.

Ronin: yea? what do u get feli? a golden shrine?

Luca: BRO. SHE DESERVES IT. LOVE OF MY LIFE. 10/10 WOULD MURDER FOR HER.

Ronin: u r so cringe it makes my teeth hurt.

Luca: NAH, MAN. THIS IS PEAK RELATIONSHIP. EMBRACE IT. TREAT ‘EM RIGHT.

He closes the chat before Luca can start writing you two’s wedding vows.

🎀 Angel (Angelic):

Ronin: hey, sweetheart.

Angel: Shouldn’t you be doing crimes?

Ronin: multitasking. i need a gift idea. something hot. spicy. devilishly irresistible. like me.

Angel: LMAO. You? Being romantic? Is this the apocalypse?

Ronin: c’mon, sugar. help a devil out.

Angel: Fine. Jewelry’s always a classic. But not basic. Custom. Something only you could give. Bonus points if it’s dangerous.

Ronin: deadly and pretty. like you. i’ll keep that in mind.

Angel: You’re welcome, loser.

Alright. Custom. Unique. That he can work with.

One last stop.

📚 Felicite:

Ronin: Hey Feli

Felicite: What do you want, Ronin? I hope you're doing fine!

Ronin: thought you academics liked answering questions. gimme ur best gift idea.

Felicite: For who?

Ronin: nosy. for my business.

Felicite: Books are an easy choice. But if you actually care, do something personal. An experience. Something only you could give.

Ronin: huh.

Felicite: For the record, Luca’s losing his mind. I think you broke him.

Ronin: lol. love that.

He leans back, phone tossed onto the desk. Mind buzzing.

Something personal. Something only he could give.

He taps his fingers against his thigh, a slow rhythm building. Yeah. Yeah, he’s got ideas.

hitmeuppp

goreboy: oi, sunshine. u busy killin’ or can i bother u for a sec?

hitmeupp: ✨ goreboy in my inbox?? is it my birthday?? ✨

goreboy: i’m the gift that keeps on givin’, baby. don’t forget it.

hitmeupp mm, flirty today. what’s on your wicked little mind, devil boy?

Ronin: hypothetically… let’s say i wanna do somethin’ nice for someone. y’know. romantic. cute. sweet. whatever. ideas?

hitmeupp: 👀👀👀 waitwaitwait—you?? doing something sweet?? for a special someone?? ohhh i am LIVING for this.

Ronin: don’t make it weird.

hitmeupp: too late, babe. so, what’s the vibe? like, do you wanna melt their heart? make ‘em blush? get ‘em to kiss you senseless? give me the deets.

Ronin: …all of the above, probs.

hitmeupp: aww, you’re adorable when you’re down bad. okay, listen up:

Custom gift—something only you could give. Unique. Dangerous, if you’re feelin’ spicy.

Surprise date—not boring, tho. They like you, so they probably have a taste for the unusual.

Handwritten note—bonus points if it’s a little unhinged. People LOVE that stuff.

Ronin: a note? what, like “roses are red, violets are blue, i’d kill for u, baby, it’s true”?

hitmeupp: LMAO okay, poet, calm down. but yeah—personal. even psychos like a little sentiment. and you’ve got that whole devilish charm thing, use it.

Ronin: u sayin’ i’m charming?

Misaki: 😏 darling, if i didn’t have standards, Stil no

Ronin: Ouch

hitmeupp mmm, promises, promises. now, get outta my inbox before i start liking you.

Ronin: too late, sunshine.

hitmeupp ugh, you’re impossible. good luck wooing your lover~ 💕

[Slaughterhouse Server – Main Chat]

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: AYO. EVERYONE SHUT UP. BIG NEWS.

Angelic: ??

hitmeuppp: what, did u finally find a brain cell?

Angelic: Doubt it.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NO. BIGGER. Y’ALL. RONIN DMed ME ABOUT GIFTS.

K9: …The hell?

Angelic: wait. hold on. pause.

hitmeuppp: ✨ omg no way ✨

Goreboy: Liar.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: BRO, I SWEAR. HE ASKED ME FOR GIFT IDEAS. LIKE—SOMETHING ROMANTIC. I’M NOT EVEN KIDDING.

Felicite: …what's wrong about it luca?

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: HE’S SIMPIN’.

Angelic: That's fine?

K9: This is stupid. Who cares.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: LMAOOOO LOOK AT THIS HATER. HE MAD ‘CAUSE NO ONE’S SENDING HIM LOVE LETTERS.

goreboy: you’re gonna lose a limb, surfer boy.

hitmeuppp: awwww the devil’s BLUSHING~

Angelic: no because why is this actually the most interesting thing to happen all week

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: I’M NOT EVEN DONE. Y’ALL. HE DIDN’T JUST DM ME. HE DMed EVERYONE.

K9: ......

Angelic: Hold the fuck on—

hitmeuppp: 💀💀💀 GOREBOY OUT HERE TAKING A SERVER-WIDE SURVEY ON HOW TO WOO HIS BOO??

Felicite: Oh my god.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NAH BECAUSE THIS IS TOO GOOD. IMMA SAY IT. HE’S SIMPIN’ FOR Y/N.

Ronin stares at the screen.

The nerve. The audacity.

These punks. Absolute ingrates. He gives them a space to thrive, to indulge their weird little murder hobbies, and this is the thanks he gets?

He’s cool. Ice-cold. Too smooth to care. …And yet—

The corner of his mouth twitches. A little.

They’re all still going.

hitmeuppp: if it’s NOT y/n i’m actually gonna riot.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: BRUH WHO ELSE WOULD IT BE??

K9: I hate all of you.

hitmeupp: WAIT. HOLD UP. What if Y/N SEES THIS???

Ronin’s heart skips.

Yeah. What if?

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: OMG OMG OMG I’M GONNA PING ‘EM.

goreboy: don’t you dare.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: @Y/N @Y/N @Y/N HEY, BESTIEEEE~

Ronin grips his phone a little too tight. He should stop this.

He won’t.

Because somewhere—deep down—he kind of likes it.

Angelic: luca omg ur gonna get us all murdered.

hitmeuppp: worth it.

K9: Idiots.

Felicite: …This is sort of cute.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: NAH THIS IS LORE. I HOPE Y/N SEES THIS.

Angelic: fr. like imagine logging in and seeing the whole server clowning on ronin for being a lovesick freak.

goreboy: y’all must have a death wish.

Ronin exhales sharply through his nose.

[PRIVATE GROUP CHAT – “Ronin Babysitting Squad”] (Created by Angelicc)

Members: Angelic, Eviscerator1990, Ai Hua, Goreboy

Angelic: this feels like a weird intervention

goreboy: this feels like a weird mistake

Eviscerator1990: Shut up, kid. We’re here to help.

Ai Hua: 🙂 what’s wrong?

Ronin blinks at his screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. This is humiliating. Why did he think letting Vince of all people into this would be a good idea? The guy still thinks dial-up internet is modern technology.

And Ai Hua? Pure terror in the form of a woman. Always smiling. Always watching. Respect

He should leave.

He doesn’t.

Eviscerator1990: So. What happened.

goreboy: nothing happened, grandpa.

Angelic: that’s not what the ENTIRE SERVER says~

Ai Hua: 🤔

Eviscerator1990: Be honest. You wouldn’t DM all these punks unless it was serious.

Ronin sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. Why the hell is it these three? Of all people.

His thumbs hover—then, finally, he types.

goreboy: hypothetically. if i wanted to do… something. for someone. what’s a good gift?

Silence. Too much silence.

His stomach twists. Mistake. Huge mistake.

Ai Hua: ❤️

Eviscerator1990: …Is it Y/N?

goreboy: who else?

Vince sends three dots. The dreaded “typing…” lingers for a long, long time.

Ronin’s jaw tightens. Here it comes.

Eviscerator1990: Son. You got it bad.

Ronin groans. He should burn the server down. All of it. Reduce it to digital ash.

Ai Hua: 🙂 good.

goreboy: good??

Angelic: she’s right tho.

Eviscerator1990: So. What kind of thing are you thinking? Big? Small?

Ronin exhales, tilting his head back against the couch. Big? Small? Hell if he knows.

You’re good to him. Too good. And all his sharp little edges don’t feel quite so sharp around you. It’s annoying. It’s addictive. It’s yours.

goreboy: …something they’ll remember.

A long pause. Ai Hua is still smiling. Vince sends an emoji that looks suspiciously like a knife. Angelic? Predictably losing her shit.

Angelic: oh my god. oh my GOD.

goreboy: do not.

Angelic: no because this is so cute i’m gonna DIE.

Vince, at least, is playing it straight. Mostly.

Eviscerator1990: Personal. That’s what you want. Something that means something.

Ai Hua: 💌

A love letter. Of course Ai Hua would suggest something that sappy.

Ronin scoffs—but he doesn’t immediately shoot it down. Weird.

Eviscerator1990: Back in the day, I’d leave my girl notes on the bodies. You know—real romantic.

Ai Hua: ❤️ he did. very sweet.

goreboy: romantic is one word for it.

Angelic: okay okay but what does y/n like?

He knows. Of course he knows. Your coffee order. The way you hum under your breath when you’re lost in thought. How you scrunch your nose when you’re about to call him an idiot.

You like him. Which is the real problem.

goreboy: they like me.

Angelic: ugh barf

Eviscerator1990: Okay. Make it about you, then. Something only you could give.

Ronin blinks. Something only he could give.

The thought sticks—hooks deep. A dangerous idea, curling slow and warm in his chest.

Ai Hua: 🙂 you’ll figure it out.

He hates how much that simple, sweet little emoji makes him feel seen.

Eviscerator1990: Don’t mess it up, kid.

Eviscerator1990: Listen, kid—when you’ve been married as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.

Ronin immediately regrets his life choices.

His fingers hover over the keyboard. He considers leaving. Deleting the server. Moving to a cave and never speaking again.

goreboy: oh god here we go

Angelic: oh god here we go

Ai Hua: 🙂

Vince, undeterred, continues typing like he’s delivering the gospel.

Eviscerator1990: Our wedding? Best thing I ever did. No question.

goreboy: what, was it a bloodbath?

For a second, nothing. Then—

Eviscerator1990: Nah. Garden wedding. Real classy.

Ronin nearly drops his phone.

goreboy: you. YOU. Garden wedding??

Eviscerator1990: Yeah. Had flowers and everything. I wore a tux. Looked sharp as hell.

Ai Hua: ❤️ you did.

He can feel Angelic vibrating through the screen.

goreboy: no.

Ronin scrubs a hand over his face. This cannot be real life.

Eviscerator1990: Point is— That was my gift to her.

That hooks him. Annoying, sentimental, and probably too much sugar in his bloodstream—but it sticks.

goreboy: you’re telling me the best thing you ever gave her was a wedding?

Eviscerator1990: Yeah. ’Cause it meant forever. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She still scares the hell outta me.

Ai Hua: 👍

Eviscerator1990: But that’s how you know it’s real.

There’s a long pause. Ronin swears he can hear Angelic trying to choke down her squeals.

Ai Hua: 🙂 do you like them enough to marry?

His heart lurches.

The words hang there—quiet, patient.

Ai Hua doesn’t push. She never does. It’s not her way. She just lays it out, all soft-spoken and warm, like a mother easing her child into something bigger than they understand.

And for once, he doesn’t know.

goreboy: …kinda?

Angelic: KIND OF??

Eviscerator1990: What kinda answer is “kinda?” Either you want it, or you don’t.

Ronin huffs. He leans back on the couch, biting the inside of his cheek. Want. What a word.

goreboy: i want them. i want them to stay.

Ai Hua sends a heart. Just one.

Ai Hua: 🙂 then maybe… Do it your way.

His way.

His mouth curves. Dangerous. Wicked. Oh, he can do that.

Ai Hua: I’m sure Y/N likes you enough.

Something in his chest twists.

Likes him enough to deal with his bullshit. Likes him enough to stay, even when he’s all sharp corners and messy feelings. Likes him enough to keep his name on their tongue, even when it’d be easier not to.

Ai Hua: Whatever you give them that lasts longer— They’ll love it.

He blinks. The words sit heavy.

Ai Hua: Because it’s you. That’s how I feel about my husband.

Quiet. It’s too quiet. Even Angelic—who lives to make everything her business—doesn’t send a single obnoxious emoji.

And Ronin?

He stares at the screen, stomach flipping, heart hammering out some rhythm he refuses to name.

He doesn’t do forever. Doesn’t play nice, doesn’t stick around, doesn’t—

But for you?

Yeah. Maybe he does.

goreboy: Thanks

Eviscerator1990: You’re welcome.

Ai Hua: 🙂 good luck.

Angelic: this is the CUTEST thing that’s ever happened in this cursed server...

Ai Hua: 🙂 one more thing.

His thumb hovers over the exit button. Something about Ai Hua, though—you don’t ignore her when she asks.

goreboy: what.

Ai Hua: It’s fine.

He frowns.

goreboy: what is.

Ai Hua: The way you love them. It doesn’t have to be a wedding. It just has to be you.

He freezes.

Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Something sharp scrapes under his ribs.

You.

He’s not soft. Not simple. Not the kind of guy who shows up with roses and a ring and a stupid, starry-eyed smile. But you don’t want that. Never have.

You want him. Exactly as he is—rough edges, black heart, wicked mouth.

And maybe—maybe—that’s enough.

Ai Hua: They love your style. Show them it, my son.

His mouth twitches.

goreboy: did you just call me your son?

Eviscerator1990: We kinda adopted you, kid. Sorry. No returns.

Ai Hua: 🙂

A beat of silence. Then—

goreboy: tch. whatever. not like i needed another family.

Ai Hua: ❤️ but you have one.

His chest aches. Stupid. Sentimental. Unbearable.

Eviscerator1990: And hey— Our kids keep asking when they’re gonna see Uncle Ronin again.

His laugh slips out before he can stop it—low, breathy. Of course they do. Little gremlins.

goreboy: tell ‘em i said to stay in school.

Ai Hua: 🙂 they want to be like you.

Oh, hell no.

goreboy: no they don’t.

Eviscerator1990: One of ‘em tried to make a fake server last week. Called it “Slaughterhouse Jr.”

goreboy: i am not responsible for that.

Ai Hua: 🙂 you inspire them.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. This is a nightmare.

goreboy: y’all are gonna give me grey hair.

Eviscerator1990: You’d still be pretty.

Angelic: oh my god.

Ai Hua: 🙂 will you be okay?

For a long time, he doesn’t answer.

Will he be okay? With this? With you—taking up space in his chest, clawing your way under his skin?

He already knows the answer.

goreboy: yeah.

And for once—just once—he means it.

goreboy: thanks. or whatever.

Ai Hua: 🙂 anytime.

Now onto, you and him

goreboy: Hey, darlin’.

A simple text. Too simple. He never starts like that without a plan. Trouble in four letters.

You barely get through your day before your phone buzzes again. And again. And—

goreboy: what, too busy for lil’ old me? tragic.

goreboy: bet you’re sittin’ there missin’ me, huh?

goreboy: wait—don’t tell me. you’re makin’ heart eyes at your desk or somethin’.

goreboy: don’t blame you. i’m a lot to miss.

He’s annoying. Even through a screen. Even when you know he’s probably lounging somewhere, all long legs and lazy smirk—half-bored, half-plotting his next move.

Still. Your heart gives that stupid flutter. You glance at your phone, biting back a smile as you finally reply.

You: you left without saying anything :(

A beat. Then—

goreboy: oh, baby. don’t tell me you’re poutin’.

You roll your eyes.

You: maybe.

He’s quick—too quick.

goreboy: fuck. now i really wanna see it.

Your cheeks warm. He’s unbearable. Always poking, always pushing. And yet—

You: you didn’t have to leave so fast.

His next text comes slower. As if he’s thinking. You imagine him slumped in that busted leather chair in his garage—legs spread, boots kicked up, twirling a screwdriver or some other sharp thing between his fingers.

goreboy: duty called, sugar. had to open up the garage. wouldn’t want my precious toys collectin’ dust.

You: you’re ridiculous.

goreboy: and yet, here you are, talkin’ to me anyway.

You: i’m soft for you, obviously.

A whole minute passes. When he finally replies, it’s slower. Something tugs beneath the teasing. Something heavier.

goreboy: hey.

goreboy: you’d like… whatever i did for you, yeah?

You blink. Where is this coming from?

You: of course.

goreboy: nah, i mean— like. if i did somethin’ stupid. you’d still like it, right?

Your lips curl. So that’s it. The devil himself, circling the point like a shark.

You: depends. how stupid are we talkin’?

He sends a dramatic sigh emoji.

goreboy: unbelievable. here i am, barin’ my heart and soul—

You: pfft. heart and soul, my ass.

Still, you soften. Because under all the bravado, you can hear it—the little twist of hesitation. And that? That gets you every time.

You: whatever you’re scheming, yeah. i’ll like it. because it’s you.

You hit send before you can overthink it. Let him sit with that.

And oh, does he. For a second too long. When his next message comes, it’s something softer—something unguarded.

goreboy: dangerous thing to say, sweetheart. you know i’ll hold you to it.

You bite your lip, warmth curling in your chest.

You: i’m counting on it.

He doesn’t answer immediately. You imagine him leaning back, teeth sinking into his lower lip, mind working a mile a minute. Because that’s the thing with him—he never stops thinking. Never stops wanting.

And you—you’re the worst of it.

His brain tells him he shouldn’t care so much. But his heart? His heart’s already tangled up in you.

goreboy: s’pose i’ll have to cook up somethin’ real special then. can’t have my darlin thinkin’ i don’t care.

It makes your stomach flip.

You: i never think that.

Another pause. You swear you can feel his smile through the screen—soft, a little crooked. The kind he only ever lets you see.

goreboy: I....see...

Uptown has an alley they call Purgatory.

It isn’t pretty. Never was. A place where sunlight doesn’t dare creep, where the air tastes like rust and regret. Blood dries black against the brickwork—his blood, most days. Or someone else’s, when he’s feeling generous. It smells like piss, garbage, and death.

A shithole. Perfect.

This—this—is where Ronin Beaufort decides to propose.

Because where else? Where better? It’s where you kissed him for the first time, after all—the devil himself, knuckles raw from the man he’d left twitching at your feet, teeth red and grin wide. You’d kissed him anyway. Kissed him like you meant it. Like he was something worth keeping.

And Ronin? He’s not one to let things go.

So, he makes a plan. A fucked-up, perfect plan.

The first body is easy.

An uptight corporate asshole. Buttoned-up, boring, all crisp lines and no soul. Ronin cracks his skull open like a candy shell. Blood spatters wide, painting the concrete. Nice start. But not enough. Not for you.

The second one’s better. Messier. He takes his time—drags it out. A real piece of work, some wannabe kingpin, all bark and no bite. Ronin guts him slow, pulls pretty red ribbons from his stomach. He uses the crowbar for the heart—your heart, darling—and carves it deep into the brick. Wide, jagged, dripping. Personal.

When it’s done, he steps back, tilts his head.

Huh. Cute.

He’s still admiring his work when his phone buzzes.

Angelic: yo, goreboy, you rang?

Of course, she picks up. She always does—his favorite little devil with a halo, sharp-tongued and twice as nosy. And yeah, he could’ve asked anyone, but Angel? Angel gets it.

goreboy: need a favor.

Angelic: what’s in it for me?

goreboy: the eternal satisfaction of servin’ the devil?

Angelic: pfft.

He snorts, tongue running over his teeth. Predictable.

goreboy: fine. order me somethin’. rings.

Angelic: wait. back up. goreboy’s proposing?

He glares at his phone like it personally offended him.

goreboy: shut up.

Angelic: aw, you’re getting soft. what kind? black diamonds? skulls? molten lava straight from hell?

“Funny,” he mutters under his breath. But she’s not wrong. Your ring—your ring has to be perfect.

goreboy: black. gothic. whatever screams “marry me"

The typing bubble appears. Pauses. Then—

Angelic: lucky you, i got a guy.

Of course, she does.

goreboy: knew there was a reason i kept you around.

Angelic: anything for the devil. even if i gotta play cupid for my ex.

He rolls his eyes. “Christ.”

goreboy: Thanks Angel, Won't give up my child for a week.

Angelic: I'll just kill it again

Yeah. Yeah, he would. Not that he’d admit it.

goreboy: whatever. send me the bill.

Her last message comes fast—too fast. He can hear the smile.

Angelic: oh, darling. it’s on the house.

goreboy: Send it, you know- I don't do these Angel.

Angelic: You're cute, No. Just take the rings

He huffs a laugh, shoves his phone back in his pocket. One thing down.

By the time the sun starts to dip, Purgatory looks like an art installation straight from hell. Bodies like broken marionettes. Blood like paint, dripping in slow, thick rivulets. And at the center of it all—the heart.

Your heart.

His.

If he had one.

And if he didn’t? Well. You stole it anyway.

Ronin leans against the wall, crowbar still sticky in his grip.

What the hell is he doing?

Proposing.

Fucking proposing.

He should be laughing at himself. Should be smirking, at least. But his jaw ticks, his fingers flex, and there’s something ugly crawling under his skin—a feeling he doesn’t like.

It’s not the blood. Not the mess. That’s easy.

It’s you. It’s always you.

And the worst part? The sick, stupid, beautiful part?

He wants this.

Wants you.

He wants to keep you—ruin you—for as long as you’ll let him.

His phone buzzes again. Another message from Angel—this time with a picture.

The rings.

Sleek. Sharp. One for you, one for him. Bound in black, wrapped in silver. Yours is thinner, more delicate—but not by much. No diamonds. No fluff. Just you and him, the way it’s always been.

Perfect.

He huffs a breath, tongue clicking against his teeth.

Yeah. Yeah, this’ll do.

It’s almost cute, really.

If you ignore the bodies.

And the blood.

And the fact that he’s doing this the only way he knows how—messy and wrong and completely, utterly him.

He swipes the sweat from his brow, steps back, and admires his work.

A heart, jagged and dripping. A graveyard of the unworthy. Rings on the way.

And for you? Anything.

Even this. Especially this.

Because when the time comes—when he kneels, all cocky smirk and bloodstained hands—you’ll say yes.

You have to.

(And if you don’t? Well. He’s never been good at taking no for an answer.)

Ronin lights a cigarette, lets the smoke curl in his throat.

The devil himself, on one knee.

Christ.

What the hell has he become?

Yours.

And God help anyone who tries to take that away.

goreboy: hey darlin’~

Your phone buzzes against the desk, and you barely glance down before his name flashes across the screen. Of course, it’s him.

you: hey yourself. what’s up?

goreboy: what’s up? tsk. rude—can’t a guy check on his favorite little writer?

You smile, shaking your head. Always like this.

you: oh? i’m your favorite now?

goreboy: pfft. babe, you’ve been my favorite. since day one. don’t let it get to your head, though. my heart’s fragile, y’know.

you: lmao, fragile?? you??

goreboy: i’m delicate. like a flower. 🌹

You roll your eyes, biting back a laugh. Ridiculous.

you: what do you want, ronin?

goreboy: what, a man can’t just miss you? ‘sides… i’m bored.

Of course, he is. The devil himself, restless as ever.

you: poor baby. what am i supposed to do about that?

goreboy: come see me.

You blink at the screen, heart skipping. Oh.

you: …right now?

goreboy: yeah.

you: where?

goreboy: purgatory.

Your brows furrow. He’s teasing. He has to be.

you: lmao. you’re joking, right?

goreboy: when do i ever joke, darlin’?

A pause. Then—

goreboy: seriously. come by. just for me.

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest. This—this—is why you’re in too deep.

you: fine. what’s the occasion?

goreboy: pfft. gotta have a reason? but if you must know…

Another buzz—

goreboy: maybe i got somethin’ for you.

Your heart stutters.

you: something? what kind of “something”?

goreboy: you’ll see, babe. gotta keep a little mystery alive, yeah?

You roll your eyes—fondly, though. Always like this.

you: okay, fine. any special requests?

goreboy: oh, now we’re talkin’. dress in black for me, sweetheart. if you wanna, anyway.

You tilt your head, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He’s playing, but there’s something beneath it—something serious.

you: you like gothic, huh?

goreboy: on you? hell yeah.

you: good. ‘cause so do i.

goreboy: ...perfect.

Is it your imagination, or did he just… stammer?

you: did you just freeze up?

goreboy: shut up.

The alleyway known as Purgatory is as familiar as it is haunting—a place you want to hate but can’t. Your heels click softly against the cracked pavement, the air thick with the scent of blood, metal, and something distinctly him. It’s always him. Even when he’s nowhere to be seen, his shadow lingers like an inescapable ghost.

Tonight, though, there’s something different.

Your black dress clings to you like a second skin, just the way he likes it. You don’t want to think about why your heart’s racing, or why you dressed up like you were meeting someone important. But it’s him—you know it’s always him.

And when you turn the corner, your breath catches in your throat.

A heart.

Not just any heart—A jagged, messy thing carved into the wall in dripping red. Blood, fresh and dark, soaks the concrete like an offering. The heart is wide and chaotic, edges splattered like he couldn’t help but make a mess. But in the center, etched with the brutal precision only he could manage, is your name.

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. And yet—your pulse flutters. Your stomach twists in that awful, dizzying way it only does with him.

A soft metallic scrape echoes behind you—the unmistakable sound of a crowbar dragging across the pavement. Your skin prickles, and you don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Damn,” his voice purrs, smooth and sinful. “Look at you, sweetheart.”

When you do turn, he’s leaning against the brick wall like the devil himself, framed in the neon glow. Ronin.

Black beanie pulled low over his burgundy hair, the devil horns stitched into the sides making him look every inch the trouble he is. His leather jacket gleams under the dim light—studded, spiked, with a pair of rusty scissors sticking haphazardly through the shoulder. A red ‘X’ pin glints beside it, careless and dangerous. Beneath, his black t-shirt clings to him—faded skull design stretched across his chest like it belongs there. His maroon pants hang low on his hips, ripped just enough to tease, and the chains hooked along his belt jingle softly with every move.

And—God—the piercings. Silver glints along his ears, across his tongue when he grins, and the delicate sword pendant resting against his throat? Unfair.

He’s looking at you like he’s starving. Like you’re already his, and tonight, he’s reminding you of it.

“You came,” he murmurs, dragging the crowbar behind him as he approaches. “Knew you couldn’t resist me, darlin’.”

Your throat tightens as he stops in front of you—towering, all six-foot-one inches of bloodstained disaster. There’s that wild glint in his blackened eyes, something feverish and yours. The air crackles between you, electric and dizzying.

His gloved hand reaches out, and before you can react, his fingers lace with yours—gentle, almost. His touch is rough, warm, and when he lifts your hand toward his mouth, your heart stutters.

“A devil’s gotta mark his territory, huh?” he hums, lips brushing against your knuckles.

And then—he kisses your ring finger. Soft, deliberate—like it means something. Like it means everything.

Your face burns, and you try to pull your hand away, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb traces slow circles over your skin, almost absentmindedly—like he’s savoring the feel of you. Always touching. Always wanting.

“What—” your voice catches, breathless. “What is this, Ronin?”

He grins, sharp and wicked. “You like it?” he asks, tipping his head toward the bloodied heart. “Told ya I had something for you, babe. Can’t say I’m not romantic.”

Romantic.

The mess—the blood—the sheer violence of it—this is how he shows it. Twisted, wrong, and so perfectly him. And the worst part? You love it. You love how much he’s willing to ruin things for you.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, but your fingers curl against his palm like you don’t mean it.

“And yet,” he drawls, dipping closer—his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear, “here you are.”

You shiver.

He steps back just enough to meet your gaze, head tilted, that cocky tilt to his lips—but something softer lingers underneath. Something unsure.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” his voice drops, smooth and low. “Whatever I do… you still gonna want me?”

The words shouldn’t hit you as hard as they do. Because underneath all the bravado—beneath the teasing and the devil-may-care attitude—he’s asking if you’ll stay. If you’ll keep coming back to him.

If you’re his.

And you should be scared. You should. But instead, you brush your fingers against his jaw—soft, almost too soft.

“Of course I do, idiot,” you murmur, and his breath hitches—just barely. “I always want you.”

For once, he doesn’t have a comeback. Just stares at you like he can’t quite believe it. Like you’re something precious.

And when he kisses you—slow and bruising, like a promise..

His arms curl around your waist—possessive, like he doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. Dressed in black and soaked in sin, he pulls you against him, his voice a low murmur against your ear.

“Sorry, lover,” he drawls, smooth as silk but sharp enough to cut, “you can’t look back now.”

The neon red light hums around you both, staining everything it touches—casting the blood-slick walls in a glow that shouldn’t be beautiful, but it is. Because it’s him. Because it’s you. The blood, the guts—it all looks like a twisted love letter only he could write.

And the heart—still dripping on the wall with your name carved into its center—feels like a vow.

A promise he’s daring you to accept.

He leans back just enough to drink you in, eyes black as the void and twice as deep. The silver glint of his piercings catches the light, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes your heart twist. Something dark. Something dangerous. And God, something that’s only for you.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” he muses, like the whole bloodstained mess is just a casual art project. But there’s something else in his tone—something softer when he adds, “Made it special, darlin’… just for you.”

You should say something—maybe call him out for how utterly insane this is—but your tongue feels too heavy, trapped between your teeth as you try to process everything.

It’s a lot. He’s a lot.

And yet, your body betrays you—pressing closer, heart fluttering against his chest like a trapped bird. You hate how easily he pulls you under, how effortlessly he spins you into his gravity—but there’s no escaping it now.

He tilts your chin up with one gloved finger, lips curving into a slow, wicked smile. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teases, “Cat got your tongue? Or are you just too busy fallin’ for me?”

You try to roll your eyes. Try. But his touch burns, and when he lifts your hand to his mouth—again—you forget how to breathe.

His lips brush against your knuckles—slow, deliberate—before they linger on your ring finger. It’s so soft you barely feel it at first. Just the faintest pressure. Something warm. Something cold.

And when he pulls back, there’s a glint of silver wrapped around your finger.

Your breath stutters. Your heart stops.

A ring.

Not dainty. Not soft. It’s him—jagged edges, blackened silver with the faintest blood-red inlay spiraling like a twisted promise. It’s heavy against your skin, unapologetic in its meaning.

And you didn’t even notice him slipping it on.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, but he’s already watching you—waiting.

“Ronin—” your voice catches, and you don’t even know what you’re about to ask. What this means.

His grin widens, devilish and sharp. “What’s the matter, babe?” he coos, as if he didn’t just slide a ring on your finger like it was nothing. “Thought you liked surprises.”

You blink—once, twice—your thoughts spiraling, and he takes advantage of the silence. His hand slides along the small of your back, pulling you flush against him while his other hand traces absent circles over the ring.

“Fits perfect,” he hums, pleased with himself. “Guess that means you’re mine, huh?”

Your heart does something awful and traitorous in your chest.

He’s too much. Too close. And you—you’re letting him do this.

Still, your fingers twitch beneath his—testing the weight of the ring, the feel of it like a brand. Permanent.

“You—” Your voice trembles despite yourself. “You didn’t even ask.”

His laughter spills out, low and rough. “Baby, if I asked, would you really’ve said no?”

You hate how easily he’s right.

The gloved hand on your back slides up—tracing the delicate curve of your spine—until it rests against your neck. He tilts your head back, just enough to force you to meet his eyes. Dark. Intense. Yours.

“You’re not mad, are ya?” he murmurs, voice softer now, like there’s actually a part of him that cares. “’Cause I can take it back if you don’t want it. If you don’t want… me.”

His mask slips—just a little—and your stomach twists at the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide.

But you don’t let him pull away. Not this time.

Instead, you curl your fingers into the leather of his jacket, grounding yourself in the heat of him. Your thumb brushes over the ring—cool against your skin—and it should feel too much. Too fast. Too everything.

But all it feels is right.

“Idiot,” you murmur, and his grip tightens like he’s terrified you’ll slip away. “I’d never take it off.”

The relief in his expression is palpable—masked by a cocky smirk, ]

His lips barely part from yours when he whispers it—low, rough, like a vow dragged from somewhere deep inside him.

"Promise you," he murmurs, the words brushing warm against your mouth, "this is forever… or ‘til one of us dies."

And just like that, your brain short-circuits.

Your breath hitches. Your body freezes. You’re too stunned to speak—because, what the hell?

Forever. Forever with him—the blood-streaked, chaos-wrapped mess of a man currently holding you like he never plans on letting go. His hands are still warm against you, firm, and there’s no teasing lilt to his voice. No wicked little joke behind his words.

He means it. Ronin means it.

And for a heartbeat—just one—you can’t process it. Can’t wrap your head around the weight of what he’s just given you.

The silence stretches. Grows heavy between you. And for once, he’s the quiet one.

When you lift your gaze to his, wide and unguarded, his expression is almost… shy.

Ronin Beaufort—The Butcher, the devil himself—looks like a goddamn kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

His lips twitch, like he wants to smirk but can’t quite manage it. His hands fidget slightly on your waist—restless energy bottled under his skin. And his eyes? Pitch-black and wide open, like he’s waiting for you to either run or ruin him.

He shifts his weight from one boot to the other, shoulders hunching the tiniest bit like a kid who just handed over a crayon drawing and is desperately hoping you’ll stick it to the fridge.

"Uh—" His voice cracks just a little—a little—and you swear you catch the faintest flush creeping up his neck. "You’re… gonna say somethin’, right?"

You blink at him. Still speechless.

He fumbles. Actually fumbles—one hand pulling back to rub at the back of his neck as he huffs, "I mean—c’mon, babe, this is kinda the part where you either kiss me back or tell me to go to hell."

The confidence—the usual devil-may-care arrogance—is still there, but it’s softer around the edges. Fragile in a way he never lets anyone see.

And you—oh, you’re doomed.

Your heart does a weird little flip in your chest as you stare at him, still clutching onto your waist like you’ll vanish if he lets go. He’s so much—too much—but under all that swagger and bloodlust, he’s just… Ronin.

Your Ronin.

The idiot who drags you into alleys for romantic blood-and-guts displays. The devil who slid a ring on your finger like it was nothing. The man who—no matter how sharp his tongue is—would burn the world down for you.

“Wait,” you finally manage to choke out, the word soft and breathless. “Did you… are you actually serious?”

His face scrunches up like you just personally insulted his entire aesthetic. “Babe. Did I stutter?” He lifts your hand again, thumb brushing against the cool metal band still snug on your finger. “Or do I gotta get on one knee to spell it out?”

And oh, he’s pouting.

The Butcher—slaughterhouse king, nightmare in leather and spikes—is full-on pouting.

You bite down on your lip, hard, trying to hold back the laugh bubbling up in your chest. He notices—of course, he does—and immediately narrows his eyes.

“Don’t you dare.” His grip on your waist tightens in warning, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “I just poured my goddamn heart out, and you’re laughin’ at me?”

And suddenly—you can’t hold it back.

The laugh escapes—light, breathless, overwhelmed—because what else are you supposed to do when your psychotic, bloodstained boyfriend is acting like a needy kid who just gave you the world’s most chaotic proposal?

His brows knit together in mock offense. “Unbelievable,” he grumbles, though his tone is softer—fond—as he watches you melt into laughter. “I give you my heart on a bloodied silver platter, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m not laughing at you—” you try to protest, still breathless. “It’s just… you’re… cute.”

The second the word leaves your mouth, his whole body jerks.

“Cute?!” He repeats it like you’ve committed a personal crime. “I just did the most metal, romantic shit on the planet, and you call me—” He drops his head against your shoulder, groaning. “—cute. Jesus Christ, I’m losin’ my edge.”

You wrap your arms around him without even thinking—pulling him closer, fingers curling into the back of his leather jacket. He smells like smoke, leather, and something distinctly him—something you could drown in if you’re not careful.

And in the middle of the bloodstained alley, wrapped in his arms, you realize there’s no escape. Not from this—not from him.

And, God help you, you don’t want one.

“Hey, Ronin?” you whisper softly against his neck.

“Hmm?” His voice is quieter now—hopeful, like he’s trying not to get ahead of himself.

You tilt your head just enough to press a soft kiss beneath his jaw, feeling the slight hitch in his breath. “I’m not taking it off,” you promise. “Ever.”

For a split second, he’s still. Frozen. Like he doesn’t quite believe it.

And then—he’s kissing you again.

The world could burn, and you wouldn’t care—not when he’s in front of you like this. Eyes blacker than sin, lips swollen from kissing you like he’s starving, and hands gripping your waist like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

But right now, he’s the fragile one.

Your devil—loud, reckless, always too much—is holding his breath. Waiting. Like your next words could either save him or shatter him.

And God, you love him.

Your fingers brush against the ring on your hand—cool metal, heavy with meaning—before you slowly reach for his. His hands—rough, calloused, stained in ways that can’t be washed clean—tremble just a little as you lift his left hand in yours.

"You gave me one," you murmur, soft and steady, as you slide the matching ring onto his finger. "It’s only fair I make you mine, too."

His breath catches. He doesn’t say a word—doesn’t even twitch—just watches you with this raw, unfiltered intensity that makes your pulse race.

When you finish, you lace your fingers together, feeling the cool press of metal against your skin. He’s yours now. Yours in the same way you’ve always been his.

And when you speak again—voice barely above a whisper—it’s not for show. Not a tease. Just the truth, laid bare between you.

“I’ll love you forever, Ronin Beaufort.”

Something cracks in his expression—something wild and vulnerable and so, so real.

And you’re not done.

“I’m happy,” you admit, voice trembling just a little. “Happy I met you. Happy I get this—us.” You pause, and there’s this ache in your chest when you smile, soft and almost shy. “Maybe it’ll be destructive. Maybe it’ll last forever. I don’t care how it ends, Ronin… I just want it with you.”

His grip on your waist tightens—desperate—like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go.

And you don’t. You just lean closer, until your lips barely brush against his, and whisper the words that have been burning on your tongue since the day he dragged you into his twisted little world:

“I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

For one breathless moment, he doesn’t react.

And then—he moves.

He crashes into you, mouth slanting over yours with bruising intensity, like he’s trying to brand those words into your skin—into your bones. Like he wants to crawl inside your heart and never leave.

It’s messy, overwhelming, and so perfectly him—and you give yourself to it completely.

His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against his chest as he devours you—sharp teeth grazing your bottom lip, a low growl curling from the back of his throat like he’s trying to consume you from the inside out.

When he finally pulls back—just enough to breathe—his lips hover over yours, and his voice is wrecked.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

The words are rough, but his hands tremble where they hold you. “Why would you love someone like me?”

Your heart squeezes, and you don’t even hesitate.

“Because you’re you.”

And, for once, he’s speechless.

No snark. No teasing. Just the weight of your confession sinking into his bones—binding you together in a way no bloodstained vow ever could.

He drops his forehead against yours, breathing hard, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “You better be sure, sweetheart. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me now.”

Your fingers tangle in the chains hanging from his jacket as you grin. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

His lips barely ghost over yours, teasing, waiting, giving you a chance to breathe—but you don’t take it. You can’t. Because then he kisses you.

And God, he kisses you like he means it.

Like he’s sealing the promise in blood and breath, branding it into your bones with the press of his lips. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. Like he needs to hold on just to make sure you’re still real.

It’s slow and deep—no rush, no hesitation—just pure possession.

Your heart pounds. Your fingers tangle in the chains on his jacket, desperate to keep your balance because he’s overwhelming. He always is.

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re breathless—dazed—barely clinging to reality as he huffs out a quiet, wicked laugh.

Then—he grins. Sharp and smug, eyes flashing with something wild.

"Oh, that old man won’t shut up about how we’re not married, huh?" He snickers, tapping a gloved finger against the ring on your hand. "Guess you better show it off, sweetheart. Be loud ‘n proud about it—rub it in his face."

You don’t answer.

Because you’re still dizzy from his kiss...

It's gonna be a long night

#kc #killer chat #killer chat x reader #killerchat #killer chat ronin #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #kc ronin #kc ronin x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat vn #ronin killer chat #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin x #killer chat ronin beaufort

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dokyumms · 2 months ago

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make it right

pairing: the8 x gn 14thmember!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 1k

cw: arguments, making up, minghao is mean, the beach has nothing to do with the fic i just couldn't find any other pics.

a/n: another request finished! will begin writing a long fic soon... be scared... but enjoy this for now my kings even tho the end is kind of bad

it started off as an innocent, simple practice day.

sure, you were struggling a little, but you cut yourself some slack for being sick the day before.

"okay! let's cut it off here, good job everyone!" the choreographer announced with a quick reminder to hydrate and some other stuff that you tuned out. when he finished, everyone said their thank yous and started packing up. you too, began to gather all your belongings when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

turning around, you smiled to see that it was minghao.

"need something?" you asked, getting up and slinging your bag onto your shoulder.

"no, i just noticed you were having trouble on that dance break earlier. would you want to stay back a bit? i could help." he offered.

to be fully honest, you just wanted to go home; your body ached and you were still partially recovering from your fever. but on the other hand, you didn't want to seem lazy, so thinking it wouldn't take too long, you drop your bag on the floor.

"sure, a couple runs wouldn't hurt," you replied, walking toward the center of the room.

"you're not going yet?" chan asked as he made his way to the door.

you shook your head, "just need to fix the dance break, shouldn't take more than 20 minutes,"

he nodded, a little unsurely, but after seeing that minghao was there with you, he left.

however, those 20 minutes soon turned to 45.

you wiped your forehead with the back of your sleeve, catching your breath. "one more time?" you asked, though the exhaustion in your voice made it sound more like a plea than a suggestion.

minghao was already hitting 'play' on his phone, muttering, "if you can actually get it this time," under his breath.

you could barely hear him, but the comment made your stomach twist. you understood his frustration, everyone was getting this except you- and you were supposed to be one of the best dancers in the group. so, determined to get it right, you focused as the music started again, filling the empty space between you two.

but just as you felt the dance break begin, something was off. your timing, your footwork- something. and before you could fix it, minghao had already stopped.

"seriously?" he ran a hand through his hair, frustration seeping into his voice. "do i need to slow it down again? how are you still messing it up?"

the words stung more than they should've. you clenched your jaw, taking a slow breath. "i just need a second, okay? i'm trying."

"we've done this like ten times already, were you not paying attention to anything i said?"

"wow, thanks for the encouragement."

"the music video filming is coming up. if you mess up this much during it, we'll be there all day."

"you think i don't know that? maybe if you stopped nitpicking every little thing, i'd be able to focus."

"i'm 'nitpicking' because i care about this routine. unlike you, i actually want us to do well."

you were taken aback, going silent for a second.

"what? so you think just because i'm struggling means i don't care? why do you think i'm still here?"

minghao doesn't respond, so you kept going,

"i could've went home you know, i don't even need to be here at all! we both know that with maybe another day, i'd probably get it, but you said you'd help me, so i stayed and what do you do? forget it. i'm going home."

and with that, you packed up your things again and left, leaving minghao stunned.

you didn't think he'd show up to your shared apartment that night, probably crash with jun or something, but then you heard the door creak open.

keeping your eyes closed, you intently listened to minghao shuffle around, open a couple drawers, then leave.

huh, so he only came back for clothes? but then you heard another door close and rushing water only a minute later.

well, guess he was really deciding to stay over after that. you sighed, sitting up on the bed.

should you apologize so you both don't have to sleep angry? but you were definitely not apologizing for that. ugh, you hated trying to sleep next to a mad boyfriend, especially a mad minghao.

you considered just leaving the apartment and sleeping over at jeonghan's place, but you heard the shower turn off, so you plopped back into bed, shutting your eyes.

the door opened again, you tried your best to look like you were asleep, but you couldn't tell if it was working. you heard him sigh before saying, "i know you're awake,"

you don't even question how he know, "what about it?" you shot back, almost grimacing at your tone.

opening your eyes, you expected for minghao to shove you off the bed or ask you to move, but instead, an apology came from his mouth.

"i'm sorry, y/n. i really am. you were right, i was the one who offered to help, but i didn't and i'm sorry. i'll sleep on the couch, but i came here to apologize." he said, looking around the room as if he was a little kid apologizing to his mom.

you didn't respond, wondering if you should milk a little more from him. minghao would normally never apologize this early, being the stubborn guy he was. so when he turned around, you stopped him.

"wait- you mean it?" you asked. he nodded in response.

"okay, and?"

tilting his head, he tried to think of what else to say before sighing in defeat.

"and you're the best thing to happen to me, so i owe you dinner for the next week..."

"and?"

"you gotta be joking- and because i love you, i'll buy you that stupid $300 bag, now move so i can sleep,"

you complied, moving over so he can slip into bed. "you're impossible," he mumbled,

"and you're mean," you teased back. he chuckled lightly before wrapping himself around you. "i said i'm sorry," he whined.

"hmm, make it up to me?" you asked, puckering your lips at him. "no." he deadpanned, but after your face fell a little bit, he kissed you.

"no, don't make me buy you something else. we make the same salary, you know?"

"eh, you still get more gifts at fan signs than i do, but i'll let it slide." you replied, giving him another kiss before he nuzzled his head into your neck.

#minghao #the8 #seventeen #svt #minghao fanfic #minghao x reader #minghao x y/n #minghao x you #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #minghao imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #dokyumms #dividers by toastray

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lupinqs · 9 months ago

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FOCUS ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: practice gets a little steamy…

☆ ━ word count: 3.1K

☆ ━ warnings: smut (p eating, fingering, kinda public sex but ig not really)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: okay so this is SUCHHH a scrap, i have not proofread it either, it’s just not great, i’m not very happy with it but i wanted to post something so here it is i hope you all like it more than i do LOL

YOU’RE in Maryland, visiting Paige’s family. You and her got here a little under a week ago following the first round of Geno’s summer sessions. It’s been a lazy few days so far, full of long mornings spent in bed, video games on the couch with Drew, and afternoons tanning in the summer sun. It’s been nice; a solid break that the both of you need before what Paige has dubbed her “world tour” of the summer. You’re tagging along for parts of it—though not all of it—and it’s safe to say you’re not excited for the amount of plane rides and jet lag you’re about to face.

However, you and Paige both decided that a week of sitting on your asses might do more harm than good, so you’ve gathered yourselves at the local high school gym, getting some hoops in.

A few buddies of Paige’s, as well as Drew, tagged along in the beginning, but as the hours grew longer, they began to fizzle out. Drew is the last to leave, heading to his actual basketball practice with his own team.

And then it’s just you and Paige.

The two of you could leave now; you’ve certainly been here practicing long enough. However, you can see the itch of a smirk in Paige’s face and you know what she’s going to say before the words even leave her mouth.

“1v1?” she asks, a playful challenge in her eyes.

You smirk, taking the challenge as you always seem to do. “Not too scared you’ll lose again?”

Paige rolls her eyes at the reminder of the two of you’s last one-on-one game. She waves a hand, saying dejectedly, “You cheated.”

“Nope, you’re just a sore loser.”

Paige just shakes her head, grinning. “I’m not a sore loser because I didn’t lose.”

You decide that you’re not entertaining this. You’re well aware that she will continue bickering with you about it until you give in, admitting that she’s right and you’re not. It’s always this way; she will literally go on for hours if you let her. But, nonetheless, you both know the truth—which is, you definitely beat her in that game.

And, when you begin the game, the way the first few minutes are going makes you believe you may win this one, too. You’re up a good few points—Paige has been slacking on defense and you’ve been picking up the pace on offense. When you get another bucket on her, you grin widely, calling to your girlfriend, “Gee, you a little rusty, P Boogers?” You add the nickname KK’s created, knowing how much it annoys her.

However, Paige doesn’t bother responding, instead abruptly ripping her white long-sleeve over her head and tossing it across the gym on the other side of the court. Your grin falters at that, eyes soaking up Paige’s body. Jesus. Already, you can feel your heart start to race (and it’s not from the basketball game). Paige is wearing a Nike black sports bra, and, with her shirt now shed, the silver chains are on full display along her chest. Her basketball shorts are also rolled down, so that her whole torso is practically exposed, abs included. You feel your mouth salivate at the sight of Paige’s skin glistens with sweat, the way her abs flex, the way her arms look (you seem to grow fonder and fonder of them every day, especially since Paige has been in the weight room more often).

A small smirk paints Paige’s face as she takes in your surprised expression. She just raises her eyebrows, saying with a shit-eating grin, “What? It’s hot in here.”

You roll your eyes at Paige’s obviousness, opting to resume the game rather than respond to her. She’s back on offense, you on defense. You defend as you always would, hands raised, feet tracking your opponent’s, eyes flitting between the ball in Paige’s hand and Paige’s face. However, as your eyes trail between the two, they can’t help but track Paige’s abs, the sweat shining on her porcelain skin, the way her chains go with her every movement. You swallow thickly, doing your absolute best to concentrate on the game instead of your extremely sexy girlfriend.

“Focus, sweetheart,” Paige teases, dribbling the ball slowly. The nickname makes your heart stutter. “You’re gonna lose if you keep staring.”

And then she powers forward, scoring a layup with no hesitation. She grins and cocks her head at your bad defense, tsking as she asks, “Where’d that focus of yours go, hmm?”

Your cheeks flush at her words, and you grab the basketball, doing your best to lock in. “Nowhere, I am focused,” you argue, trying to get past the blonde’s defense.

“Oh, sure,” Paige murmurs in your ear, now with her front pressed flush against your back as you dribble, attempting to find a hole. She catches the way your face turns, looking to get through, but instead your eyes once again catch the chains that have begun to stick to her skin due to the sweat. Her smirk only grows, and she adds slowly, mockingly, “You are focused. Just… not on the game, yeah?”

“Shut up,” you grunt against her, trying to get a shot in. She doesn’t let you, blocking it. You groan a little as her hands snake around the ball, effectively stealing it from you.

“I will once you tell me what you’re so focused on that has you distracted from the game. You were just doing so well, beating me for once,” she says, egging you on.

You scoff, snapping, “You know damn well what I’m focused on.”

“I wanna hear you say it, baby,” she taunts, blue eyes squinting with mischief.

You hold her gaze for a long second. You could give her what she wants, say that the only thing you’re really able to focus on right now is just how fucking sexy she looks and how much you’d love to rip her clothes off right here, right now and fuck her. But, of course, you don’t. You’re just as stubborn as Paige is, so you simply utter, “No.”

A look of annoyance—that satisfies you very much—flits across her face. She shrugs, saying, “Fine then.”

You continue the game, but things seem to only be looking worse for you. No matter how much you try to fight it, try to focus on the basketball and the basketball only, it’s like your eyes have a mind of their own, and they seem to stay locked on Paige’s body. And, of course, Paige takes every opportunity she can to flaunt it, knowing full well the effect it has on you. Her smirk never fades, especially as she gets closer and closer to winning.

However, it seems like Paige has finally had enough with the teasing. She drives to the basket, right past you (you let her; you’re done with this game), making a final layup. She then turns to you, catching sight of the way you stand there watching her, having not bothered to defend that final play. “Game over,” Paige announces. You can’t help but notice how her voice is lower, more huskier than usual. It means you’re probably going to get what you want.

You step closer, eyes darkening with pure want. You’ve given up pretending that you don’t. “You’re such a tease, Bueckers.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, her smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “Oh, yeah?” She steps closer, her body almost brushing against yours. “Maybe you just needa learn to focus better.”

The air between you is charged, and before you can even respond, Paige has you pushed against the wall of the gym, her chest pressed against yours, her face so close her nose nearly touches your own. The sound of the both of your breathing fills the space, heavy and expectant.

Paige’s eyes lock onto yours, and—without an ounce of hesitation—she leans in, her lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. It’s almost instinctual at this point, the way your respond to it. Your hands find their way to Paige’s back, pulling her closer as the blonde’s tongue traces your lips slowly, seeking entry. You willingly part them, allowing Paige to explore your mouth passionately. She’s going fast, and if you weren’t so used to it, it might’ve been hard for you to keep up. Nevertheless, you do, albeit with a couple teeth clashes.

Paige’s hands slide from their spot on your hips up to cup your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss. Your own fingers trail from her back, tracing her sweaty skin, until they thread through Paige’s hair, effectively ruining the once slicked back bun (not that either of you care much).

Paige breaks away from your mouth, trailing a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. You can’t help but tilt your head back, granting the blonde better access to your neck. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears and the shallow pants escaping your mouth as Paige’s lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear.

And then you feel her teeth biting. It’s not enough to truly hurt, but it’s enough to elicit a whimper from you—a sound that Paige loves. She does it again, gets the same reaction, and then soothes the area with a flick of her tongue. Paige’s kisses trail down the expanse of your neck, surely leaving marks that you know you’ll have to cover up tomorrow. But you don’t have it in yourself to care much about that because each press of Paige’s lips, each gentle scrape of her teeth, each soothing lap of her tongue, sends shivers down your spine and heat through your core.

Your hands tighten in Paige’s hair as she reaches the hollow of your throat, sucking hard. You feel your hips involuntarily arch toward Paige, seeking more contact. The blonde smirks against your neck, pleased with your reaction. She moves lower, kissing along the line of your collarbone, hands sliding under your tank top to caress the soft skin of your stomach.

You feel your breath hitch as Paige grows more insistent, tongue darting out to taste the salty tang of sweat that permeates your skin. Her hands travel upward beneath your shirt, fingers brushing the underside of your breasts. Your eyes flutter open at that, remembering where you are.

“Paige, we really shouldn’t,” you say, but your voice shakes and your hands find their way to the blonde’s abs, tracing the defines muscles and betraying your words. “Anyone could walk in,” you add, attempting to keep yourself composed.

Paige’s lips capture yours in a fierce kiss, silencing your protests. Her hands are cupping your breasts through your sports bra now, and she manages to reassure you between kisses, “No one’s gonna walk in.”

And, just like that, your resolve seems to crumble. That always happens with Paige—it’s so easy with her, and, though, sometimes it does frustrate you, you usually don’t regret it. “Fuck, P,” you gasp, fingers digging into your girlfriend’s skin.

She grins against your lips, and her right hand slowly but surely trails its way from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. It slips beneath them and you feel yourself growing hotter—and wetter—with each passing second.

Paige’s fingers slowly begin to tease your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that make your knees go weak. It’s in stark contrast to her kisses, so fast-paced you can hardly breathe. Eventually, you manage to break the kiss, gasping raggedly, voice a mix of desperation and need, “Quit teasing.”

Paige’s smirk only seems to widen, and her pupils—which are blown so much that her blue eyes look nearly black—are full of lust. “Am I teasing?” she asks, fingers sliding through your slick folds.

You feel your heartbeat stutter and your core pulsing with utter need. “You know you are,” you mutter, glaring. She presses her thumb harder against your clit, though it’s not in the way you need it (and she knows it). “Quit it.”

“As you wish,” she murmurs, lips ghosting along your earlobe. Without hesitation, she dips two fingers into you, the sudden intrusion causing you to gasp loudly, arching against Paige’s touch.

“Shit,” you breathe out, hands gripping Paige’s sides for support. Your head leans back against the gym wall, and Paige resumes the kissing on your neck, marking it up even more. Her fingers continue inside you with a steady rhythm, each thrust drawing out sharp gasps from your lips.

“So wet for me, baby,” Paige says against your skin, biting your shoulder lightly as she curls her fingers. You outright moan at that, and she asks, “How long you been dripping like this, waitin’ for me?”

“All day,” you admit between whimpers, practically shaking against Paige. Her fingers go deeper, fucking up into you harder. “Paige, please,” you beg, eyes squeezing shut.

Paige’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “Please what, baby?” she teases, fingers hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs feel like jelly.

“Fuck, your mouth,” you manage to gasp out between moans, body heating up with each passing second. “Please, P, I want your mouth.”

You watch as Paige’s eyes darken with hunger at your words, and you feel your heartbeat begin to quicken. “Whatever you want,” the blonde murmurs, voice filled with promise. She pulls her fingers out of you, savoring the way you practically whimper at the loss. Then, with deliberate slowness, she sinks to her knees before you, her hands sliding your shorts down with her.

Paige glances up at you, blue eyes full of a mischief and a smirk that you’ve had a habit of kissing off her face. You can’t help but think about just how fucking good Paige looks like this, cheeks rosy, lips kiss-swollen, sweat shining along every expanse of skin that’s exposed—which is a lot. Your eyes wander from her face to her chest and shoulders to her abs and back. And when your eyes meet hers again, the look in them… Jesus fuck. The sight is genuinely almost enough to make you come right then and there.

And you know that Paige knows the effect she has on you. You can tell in the way her smirk sits on her face, the way her eyebrows raise slightly, the way she leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh—so close yet so far from where you really need her.

But she doesn’t tease for long, because when she finally reaches your core, she wastes no time, her tongue flicking out to taste you.

She starts with long, slow licks, gradually building the tension in you. Each stroke of her tongue makes you feel like you’re on Cloud 9 and about to have a stroke all at once. Your fingers tighten in her hair, hips arching toward Paige’s mouth, seeking more contact.

Paige understands—truthfully, she’s so familiar with your body at this point, that you can’t remember the last time she didn’t understand what you wanted—and she dips her tongue into your entrance. Her fingers trail from their grip on your hip to your clit, rubbing in firm, quickening circles. The dual sensation makes you cry out, your nails digging into the skin of your palm, your other hand tightening in Paige’s hair, pulling slightly. She lets out a satisfied hum against you at that, and the vibrations send a new wave of pleasure through you.

Paige knows exactly what you like, and she certainly uses that to her advantage. She curls her tongue inside you, seeking out that one spot that makes you see stars. The noises coming from your mouth begin to grow louder, your hips grinding against Paige’s face, still desperate for more.

“Fuck, Paige— God,” you moan, voice breaking. “I need… I need more.”

Surprisingly, Paige doesn’t make a comment about how needy you are, instead opting to do as you say. She pulls her tongue out, replacing it with two fingers, thrusting them deep inside your cunt. At the same time, she focuses her mouth back on your clit, sucking and licking so fervently you fear she might make you faint from her head game.

Paige can feel your legs trembling, the strain of standing becoming too much. Without breaking her rhythm, she throws one of your legs over her shoulder, giving herself more leverage, her tongue and fingers continuing their relentlessness. You can feel the pressure building within you, threatening to snap.

“God, you taste s’good,” Paige murmurs against your wet pussy. You catch the way your arousal is coating her chin and the sight of it—along with a deeper curl of her fingers—makes you moan loudly. “So sweet. ’Could do this all fuckin’ day, if you let me. ’Would make you come a million times over, baby.”

You cry out again, both at her words and the pace of her fingers curling and thrusting, the wetness of her mouth on you. Your body tenses, every muscle coiled tight as you hover on the brink of release. Paige senses how close you are and doubles down, adding a third finger and sucking hard on your clit.

That’s all it takes. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your entire body shuddering with the force of it. You moan out Paige’s name, your fingers gripping her hair so tightly that it has to hurt (though Paige doesn’t mind). She helps you ride out your high, her fingers and tongue working together to prolong your pleasure.

Finally, when your body goes limp and your breathing begins to slow, Paige pulls back, planting soft, soothing kisses along your inner thighs. She looks up at you, her lips glistening with your arousal, a satisfied grin on her face.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” Paige says, eyes trailing all along your body.

You can only nod, still too breathless to form a coherent response. Your heart swells as Paige stands, pulling you in for a kiss. Her tongue slips in your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You moan against her lips, your hands wrapping around her neck, pulling her closer. You stay like that for a moment—you savoring Paige, Paige savoring you—before finally breaking apart, both of you breathless and smiling.

“I love you,” Paige murmurs, planting a short peck on your lips. Then your nose. Then your forehead. “We should probably put your clothes back on, though, before someone does walk in on us.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb x reader #paige bueckers smut #smut #wlw

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pricesprincess · 1 month ago

Text

j. price x fem reader | explicit smut 18+ mdni

tags: 1k wc + dubcon because alcohol + tipsy sex + semi public sex + I used #12 from my prompts + I love him so much I had fun writing this

One tropical cocktail after another, you felt the heat pooling in your face, spreading like wildfire, and the bathing suit you wore didn't help nor did John's heated gaze as he watched you from the other side.

It was your sister's birthday party, and she always went out for it, which meant she rented out a hotel rooftop pool for the family and her friends she met in college so there was a lot of bodies.

Music played from the DJ booth as you swayed to the beat. You listened to some woman talk about her classes, but you tuned her out as you sipped from the colorful straw staring at John.

He was shirtless, and now his bottoms were dry, but you could easily think of ways to get them soaked again. Thankfully, the rooftop area was large and in the heart of the city, basking the night sky in neon lights that reflected in the pool you debated on taking a dip in.

"Did you two just come here to eye fuck each other? There are some of these chairs in the back..." Your sister plopped down next to you in one of the oversized chairs, her fingers grazing the fabric while she wagged her eyebrows making you laugh and shake your head.

It wasn't the plan, no. But it couldn't be helped, not when John looked so good, and you were tipsy and needy, the growing feeling of want simmered in your veins along with the cocktail of alcohol. "No, but I think I will take you up on that offer." You giggled and stood.

Your sister watched as you sauntered over to John, resting your hand on his shoulder and whispering in his ear to meet you in the back in five minutes; he chuckled and gripped your waist when you pulled back with a wink and disappeared behind the bathrooms.

In the back, there were chairs next to each other, creating a makeshift bed of sorts, which was perfect for what you had in mind. With your drink in hand, you sat it down on a table nearby and sat down on the round cushion, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Five minutes later, on the dot, John appeared with a lazy smirk. "Darlin', what do you have up that sleeve of yours?" He hummed, his voice raspy and warm, reminding you of whiskey and summer heat.

You giggled and looked at him, biting your bottom lip. "I'm not wearing any sleeves silly, and I was thinking some hot tipsy sex."

It came from your mouth so freely it made John pause before he shook his head and stepped forward, your toes grazed his knees as you moved your foot up to his bulge as you tilted your head up.

He looked so good, handsome, and rugged that it made you ache everywhere, your clit became a second heart beat because you could already feel John's touch, his tongue tracing every inch of you.

John cocked his head with a smirk and grabbed your ankle gently but firmly, pulling you to the edge of the chair making you gasp and giggle, your hands tried to swat at him but he was quicker and before you knew it he had you pressed flat on your back, his hand pressed between the valley of your breasts as he stared down at you.

The sounds of the party faded as your view narrowed to only one thing; your husband. You cupped his face and tugged him down to kiss him deeply, your tongue sweeping against his as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing your heels into his ass whining.

"'S needy for me, always, my good girl. Yer tipsy, a gigglin' mess and drippin' too." John sighed as his hand trailed down your stomach making it flutter as his fingers skimmed the hem of your bottoms before sliding inside feeling your wet heat soaking fucking wet.

John groaned low in his throat as he traced your curves, his tongue licking into your mouth while his fingers spread your cunt open gently to rub your clit in slow circles racking the pleasure higher. It trickled through your veins like honey as you humped his hand.

He barely dipped the tip of his middle finger inside your quivering hole watching your lips pout, your glassy eyes to grow wet as he traced your nipple through your top with a dark chuckle.

Everything else was forgotten as John slid one thick finger inside your drenched cunt with a filthy wet squelch making your face burn hotter than the fucking sun as John kissed your neck, his lips dragging over your sensitive spots making you pant and moan.

Slow and tortuous, John finger fucked you, curling the single digit to rub the soft spongy spot while his thumb caressed making you sing like his favorite song bird, calling out his name so sweetly as your fingers curled into his hair tugging on the dark strands.

"John." You pouted and pushed at his chest gently as he teased you with slow strokes of his finger with a smirk that made you gush.

"Mhm?" He rasped nipping your collarbone before pulling out his finger leaving you aching. John grunted when you took control and pushed him on his back to straddle him, your fingers untied the sides of your bottoms and let it fall giving him a view of your glistening cunt.

You pawed at the hem of his suit bottoms freeing his cock and nothing else while John let you take what you wanted, the determination in your eye fired him up, the way you always needed him and how you looked at him with heart eyes.

Shifting on your knees you tossed your bottoms to the side and rubbed your wet cunt along the length of his cock with a sigh as you held his knees before angling yourself to sink down on his dick.

Both of you sighed in relief and pleasure.

For a moment you just sat there with him throbbing inside your aching cunt while you laced your fingers with his, you bent at the waist and kissed him pouring your affection and need into it.

"Start ridin' now cowgirl." John nipped your bottom lip and squeezed your hands before you let go so he could hold your hips helping you grind back and forth watching you fall apart with each stroke.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

#honeywrites #tw dubcon #tw alcohol #cod fanfic #cod smut #cod x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price smut #price x reader #price x you #price x y/n #price smut #john price cod #price cod #price call of duty

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amourquinn · 4 months ago

Text

JERSEY ; quinn hughes ( drabble )

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 535

genre : fluff no warnings

summary : you surprise quinn by wearing his oversized canucks jersey

it was a lazy sunday afternoon, and the gray skies over vancouver hinted at rain. you’d spent the morning lounging around quinn’s apartment while he’d been out for practice. with no plans for the rest of the day, you decided to surprise him with a little something.

while rifling through his closet earlier, you’d spotted one of his jerseys—a home blue #43, slightly oversized for you but undeniably cozy. on a whim, you slipped it on over your leggings. it smelled faintly like him—clean, crisp, and comforting.

you were in the kitchen when you heard the familiar click of the door unlocking. quinn stepped inside, wearing his tracksuit, his bag slung over one shoulder. he glanced up, his expression casual until his eyes landed on you.

for a second, he just stood there, frozen in the doorway. his gaze traveled over the jersey, lingering on the way it hung loosely on you, the sleeves a little too long for your arms. his lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“hey,” you said, breaking the silence as you turned back to the counter, trying to act nonchalant. “you’re back earlier than i thought. i was just making coffee—want some?”

quinn didn’t respond right away. you turned around to find him still staring at you, his hockey bag now forgotten on the floor.

“you’re wearing my jersey,” he said finally, his voice quiet but warm.

you raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing look. “what, am i not allowed to?”

he shook his head quickly, a smile breaking across his face. “no, no, it’s not that. it’s just…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “you look really good in it.”

you laughed, leaning against the counter as you folded your arms across your chest. “is that your way of saying you like it?”

“i love it,” he said without hesitation, taking a few steps closer. his smile was soft now, his eyes scanning your face before drifting back down to the jersey. “it’s kind of surreal, honestly.”

“what is?” you asked, tilting your head.

“seeing you like this,” he admitted, his voice a little quieter now. “it’s my name, my number… but it’s you wearing it. it just—” he stopped, clearly struggling to put his thoughts into words. “it feels good.”

you felt your cheeks flush at his honesty. “well,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “it’s comfy, so i might have to steal it permanently.”

quinn laughed, reaching out to tug gently at the hem of the jersey. “you can keep it. i think it suits you better anyway.”

he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into a warm hug. “seriously, though,” he murmured against your hair, “you look amazing.”

“thanks,” you said softly, resting your head against his chest. “i thought you might like it.”

“like it?” he repeated, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “i love it. and for the record, you’re never going to a game without wearing one of these again.”

you rolled your eyes, but his grin was infectious. “deal,” you said, laughing as he leaned down to kiss you.

#[ 📁 ] drabble #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff #nhl hockey #vancouver canucks

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readrecieptoff · 2 months ago

Note

Could you do the back muscles ficlet with Jade and Floyd please

You try to convince them to do the “Do you even have back muscles?” trend in Magicam (with Jade and Floyd Leech) but differently?

note. do you mean together or alone? i was rather skeptical eith this. i hope you like it!

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

You were scrolling through MagiCam when a particular trend caught your eye. It was a simple yet devastatingly effective challenge — someone would record their boyfriend pulling off their shirt or jacket, revealing their back muscles, and the comments would immediately go feral.

You would too for them, but we won’t speak of that. And of course, your mind went straight to them.

Would they agree to it? Would they even care about the challenge? Honestly, you had no idea. But that didn’t stop you from trying.

So, you asked.

The water in Octavinelle’s private bathhouse is quiet. It ripples in gentle waves, reflecting the dim, ambient glow of bioluminescent lanterns lining the stone walls. You shouldn’t be here, at least, not at this hour. Not when the Leech twins are lounging so carelessly, so at home in their element.

But you made a mistake.

You looked.

Not just a glance, not just a flicker of curiosity. You stared.

The realization hits you only when you see the sharp glint in Jade’s eye, the slow, creeping amusement curling at the edges of his lips as he adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves. Across from him, Floyd, in all his lanky, half-draped laziness, grins like he’s caught a little fish in his net.

“Ehh~? What’s wrong, Shrimpy?” His voice lilts with mock innocence as he stretches, rolling his shoulders. The motion is effortless, but beneath the pale light, the shift in his muscles is unmistakable. “Got something interesting to look at?”

You jerk your gaze away, heat rushing to your face. “I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” Floyd’s eyes are alight with mischief as he suddenly leans forward, elbows propped on the bath’s stone edge. His long fingers drum against the surface, as if he’s waiting for you to crack. “You totally were staring~”

Jade hums, tilting his head ever so slightly. “It’s understandable.” His voice is smooth, calm, as if he’s analyzing you through a microscope. “Bodies shaped by the sea are rather… unique. Land-dwellers wouldn’t be accustomed to such differences.”

You hate how composed he sounds, how he speaks with such calculated amusement while Floyd sprawls, his back exposed to the water, rolling his shoulders like a lazy predator stretching its limbs.

You want to argue. Tell them both they’re imagining things, that it was nothing but then Floyd moves, and your train of thought is gone.

The way his back tenses, how every muscle ripples beneath his damp skin, it’s like watching a wave crash against jagged rocks, power and motion intertwined so seamlessly. His shoulders are broad, his spine dips just slightly at the curve of his lower back before leading to where he’s propped up against the edge of the bath.

And then, without warning, he turns to you. “Ne, ne~ You wanna feel?”

You freeze. “What?”

Floyd doesn’t wait for an answer. He reaches out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward with ease, pressing your palm flat against his shoulder blade.

Warm. Firm. Alive. Buff.

Your fingers twitch slightly, and Floyd takes that as permission to move. He shifts beneath your touch, rolling his shoulders again, letting you feel the way his body works. Strength beneath the surface, raw and untamed. “Cool, right?” he muses, voice playful but just slightly lower, closer.

You swallow, the heat in your face spreading down your neck. “That’s—uh—”

“You should compare,” Jade’s voice cuts in smoothly, a contrast to Floyd’s easy teasing. When you glance at him, he’s already undone the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up with slow, precise movements before slipping off his coat. “Floyd tends to be more… haphazard with his strength. Mine is a bit more refined.”

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Jade turns his back to you, standing with the same effortless grace he carries in all things. His movements are slower, measured, almost like he’s offering something; an invitation.

“Go on,” he says, tilting his head ever so slightly, the flicker of challenge barely concealed in his voice.

And you do.

Because how could you not?

Your palm presses against Jade’s back, fingers barely grazing his skin. It’s different from Floyd’s. Cooler, controlled. Where Floyd is wild energy, a force barely contained, Jade is sharpness. His muscles are lean, honed by precision rather than brute strength. When he shifts, it’s not careless.

Floyd pouts dramatically from behind you. “Boooooring~ Bet Shrimpy likes mine better.”

Jade chuckles, low and knowing. “That depends.”

Their eyes are both on you again, waiting, watching. Two eels, two predators, coiled and amused, letting you think you had the upper hand when in reality, you were always, always the prey.

#x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #floyd leech #jade leech #floyd leech x reader #jade leech x reader

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kirbmey · 3 months ago

Text

period cramps with caleb !

💌: sfw, not proofread

it was late in the afternoon when you felt that unmistakable poke in your lower belly, making you yelp as you frowned; period was coming sooner than expected.

standing up with a low sigh leaving your lips you took lazy steps towards caleb’s office, unhappy with the decision of disturbing him even if he was busy.

he already told you many times before since you moved with him that he was more than happy to see you and help with whatever you needed, not minding leaving the paperwork behind for a minute.

“caleb?” you softly call out after knocking on the door, opening it slowly when you heard a faint ‘come in’.

once inside you saw his broad figure typing something away on the keyboard, long fingers working on the keycaps while his arms where decorated with rolled sleeves, showing the metal and vains traveling along his pale skin.

the room was dimly lighted, the setting sunlight illuminating the place with orangey colors, his desk filled with pictures of you two together, or you by yourself; even the little drawings you gifted him from time to time.

you were his little angel and he treasured everything you gave him, even the smallest knickknacks.

sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder what his subordinates would think if they saw how devoted he was to you. caleb always looked so intimidating with his uniform on, his stoic demeanor and clear instructions, but to you he was just a little puppy who wanted to give you nothing but the best.

“what’s wrong, sweets? you need anything?” he immediately asked when he gazed at your smaller frame standing in front of the big tall doors, gesturing you to step closer to him with his metallic hand after turning the monitor off, giving you all of his attention.

your steps towards your lover were quiet, your head hung low in an shy manner. once you were standing in front of him with both your hands fidgeting with the hem of your dress you felt his meaty one hold them, bringing one of them to his mouth, brushing your knuckles with his lips while looking at you from above.

his other hand found its way to you lower back, coaxing you to sit on his lap. once you obliged he noticed the discomfort drawn in your precious features, caressing your cheeks and pampering kisses all over your face, questioning what was the matter again.

“I just got really bad period cramps, that’s all.” you muttered in a whisper, gaining an adorable pout from him. caleb’s warm hand instinctively went down to your lower belly, caressing it in slow circles trying to ease the pain for you.

“want me to get you pads, meds, something sweet? I’ll go to the store to—” you interrupt his rumbling by giving a peck to his juicy lips, giggling at his wide open eyes as a reaction to the bold move. “I don’t need anything, just wanna spend some time with you and cuddle, is that okay?”

he chuckled with rosy cheeks, nodding as he held you tightly between his arms and stood up, making sure everything was turned off before taking you both back to the big couch.

everything turned quiet from there, he left you in the living room searching for a romcom to watch together as he made popcorn and brought ice cream, too. next to some medicines for your occasional pains, of course. caleb also drew the curtains since the sun completely settled and the moon decorated the starry sky, turning on the warm and dim light.

you nuzzled against his chest once you two were cuddled under the fluffy blanket, getting you hips caressed lovingly and your temple kissed from time to time, responding with little imaginary drawings on his chest and your shorter arms hugging him completely.

it didn’t take you long to fall asleep mid movie; he knew that would happen, as always. he just let it be, finishing it by himself and then turning off the television, getting in a more comfortable posture to sleep with you while he brushed your hair with his fingers, a dumb smile decorating his face.

by the morning there were no pains and you woke up to a snoring puppy, feeling happiness take over your being.

💌: I needed to write soft things with caleb without the whole big brother trope cuz sometimes I just wanna act normal yk :<

#lads headcanons #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #caleb headcanons #caleb x reader #lads caleb smut #caleb smut #caleb fluff #lads fluff #lads imagine #lads imagines #lads caleb

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faebled-stories · 5 months ago

Text

Perfect Pitch

Kinkvember Day 28: Size Difference.

LOONA/Loossemble Im Yeojin x Male reader

13.6k words

AN: I did my best to get this out in time for you all! Finals are next week, and I’ve been stressing and studying like crazy😅. Hope you guys enjoy. 💖

PS: 2 More fics left.

Sunlight filters through the blinds in your kitchen, painting soft, golden streaks across the walls and counters. The warm light blends with the muted grays and creamy tones of the decor, giving the space a comforting glow. The air carries the rich aroma of pancakes sizzling on the stove, their edges crisping just right as the batter bubbles and pops. Outside, sparrows chirp in the distance, their song weaving into the quiet hum of morning.

In the doorway, Yeojin appears, shuffling in with a sleepy grace. She’s draped in one of your oversized shirts, the fabric hanging loosely around her, brushing her knees. The sleeves are far too long, barely revealing her fingertips as she rubs at her eyes. Her hair is an artful mess, strands falling into her face in a way that somehow makes her look effortlessly adorable. A soft yawn escapes her lips as her gaze sweeps over the scene, and when her eyes meet yours, a small, sleepy smile tugs at her mouth.

“Morning, slugger,” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep as she pads toward the kitchen island.

You chuckle softly, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. “Morning, princess. Finally decided to join the land of the living?”

She groans, sliding onto a stool and propping her chin in her hand. “Barely. What time is it?”

“Early,” you reply, your tone teasing. “But I figured you’d want breakfast before I head out.”

Her gaze drifts toward the stove, watching the pancake batter sizzle as you pour another ladleful onto the skillet. “Smells amazing,” she says, her lips curving into a lazy grin. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Just doing my duty,” you reply smoothly, sliding a golden pancake onto the growing stack. You glance over your shoulder at her, catching the way she’s watching you—not just the pancakes, but you, with that fond, unguarded look that always catches you off guard.

Yeojin props herself up straighter, reaching for the syrup bottle. “You know,” she says, tilting the bottle with exaggerated precision, “you might be the only reason I eat breakfast at all.”

“Wow, no pressure,” you joke, setting the plate in front of her. “Guess that makes me essential.”

“Obviously,” she replies, rolling her eyes as she picks up her fork. She takes a bite, her eyes fluttering closed as she lets out a pleased hum. “Okay, yeah. Definitely spoiled.”

You smirk, leaning against the counter with your own plate. “It’s part of the package, princess. Breakfast, charm, the occasional rescue from top shelves. What more could you ask for?”

She shoots you a mock glare, though her grin betrays her. “First of all, I could totally reach the top shelf if I tried.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure. With a stepladder.”

Laughing, she tosses a piece of pancake at you, which you dodge easily. “You’re the worst,” she mutters, though her giggles linger as she takes another bite. “And I don’t need you to remind me.”

“Just keeping you humble,” you tease, grabbing a bite of your own. The room falls into a comfortable quiet, the soft clink of silverware filling the space as you both eat.

After a moment, she glances up at you, resting her chin in her hand again. “You know,” she says softly, “you’re kind of unfair.”

You pause mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “Unfair? How?”

She gestures at you vaguely with her fork. “This. All of it. Making pancakes, being charming, looking like that in the morning light—”

You laugh, setting your fork down. “Looking like what?”

“You know what I mean,” she mutters, cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s distracting.”

“Distracting?” you echo, leaning closer across the counter. “Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t push it,” she says quickly, though the blush spreading across her cheeks gives her away.

Grinning, you lean even closer, resting your elbows on the counter. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Her eyes widen, and she grabs a napkin to hide her face. “Shut up,” she mumbles, though the laughter in her voice is unmistakable.

You chuckle, reaching across to gently tug the napkin away. “Hey, I’m just being honest.”

She narrows her eyes at you, but the corners of her mouth twitch upward. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” you reply easily, standing straight again. You glance at the clock, sighing as you grab your cap from the counter. “Alright, I’ve got to head to practice. Can’t keep the team waiting.”

Yeojin’s expression shifts slightly, a mix of playful and reluctant. “You’re leaving already?”

“Unfortunately,” you say, slipping the cap on. “Coach might actually kill me if I’m late again.”

Before you can make it to the door, though, Yeojin hops off her stool and darts toward you, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind. “Not so fast,” she says, her voice muffled against your back. “You’re not leaving without a proper goodbye.”

Laughing, you stop mid-step and turn, gently prying her arms loose. Before she can retreat, you scoop her up effortlessly, your hands finding their place beneath her thighs as her legs wrap snugly around your waist. She lets out a surprised laugh, her arms instinctively looping around your neck as you hold her close.

“Better?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, the corners of your mouth lifting into a teasing smile.

She pretends to think about it, her gaze narrowing playfully. “Hmm, almost,” she says, her lips quirking up as she leans in to rest her forehead against yours.

“Almost?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. Without waiting for her reply, you shift slightly and press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. Her laughter fades as she melts into the kiss, her arms tightening around your neck as her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt. When you finally pull back, your nose brushing hers, you murmur, “How about now?”

Her cheeks flush, and for a moment, she looks speechless. Then she tilts her head, her grin mischievous. “Nope. Not even close,” she says, though the laughter bubbling in her voice gives her away.

“Not even close?” you repeat, feigning disbelief. “I’m starting to think you’re just making excuses.”

“I might be,” she replies, her smile widening. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Instead of answering, you plant a series of quick, playful kisses across her cheeks, forehead, and the tip of her nose. She squeals between giggles, her fingers tightening their grip around your neck as she tries, and fails, to stifle her laughter.

“Okay, okay!” she gasps through her laughter, burying her face into your shoulder. “That’s enough—wait, no, one more.”

You chuckle, tipping her chin up with your thumb. This kiss is slower, deeper, a silent promise in the way your lips linger against hers. When you pull back, her eyes flutter open, her gaze soft and slightly hazy.

“There,” you murmur, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Now are you happy?”

Her voice is quieter this time, but no less teasing. “I don’t know. You might have to remind me again later.”

Laughing, you bounce her slightly in your arms. “You’re something else.”

“And you love it,” she counters, the confidence in her voice making you grin. Then, her expression softens, and she adds, “And I love you.”

The words settle between you, warm and familiar, but they still catch you off guard in the best way. Smiling, you press your forehead to hers. “I love you too.”

For a moment, neither of you moves, the quiet intimacy grounding you in the golden glow of the kitchen. Then, as if sensing the world creeping back in, she gives you a light shove. “Okay, you can go now. But don’t you forget—”

“Let me guess,” you interrupt, smirking as you finally set her down. “Good luck charm?”

“Exactly,” she says, grinning up at you as her feet touch the ground. “You’d be lost without me.”

“Lost, huh?” you tease, brushing another quick kiss against her temple. “Guess that means I’ll have to keep you close.”

She rolls her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks gives her away. “Get out of here before I change my mind about letting you go.”

As you grab your cap and head for the door, her voice stops you in your tracks. “Hey,” she calls out, a playful lilt in her tone, “don’t forget to come back in one piece… because, you know, I sort of love you.”

You pause in the doorway, turning back to meet her gaze. A soft smile spreads across your face, your eyes warm with affection. “I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady and full of meaning.

Her laughter follows you as you step outside, the sound lingering like the warmth of her touch and the memory of her kiss—a quiet reminder of everything waiting for you when you return.

-----

The way back to her dorm isn’t a quick one, she slips through the gates and into the stillness of the early morning. Her steps are light against the cool floor of the dim hallway, grateful for the quiet that greets her. Tugging at the hem of your shirt, she catches the faintest trace of you on the fabric: a warm blend of syrup, a hint of your cologne, and something uniquely yours. Your scent wraps around her like a whispered promise, bringing a secret smile to her lips, a reminder of your late-night talks, quiet laughter, and the comfortable silences that make her feel close to you, even when miles apart.

As she opens her door and takes a couple of quiet steps, her sneaky return comes to a sudden halt. Hyeju appears, leaning casually against the wall with her arms crossed, already wearing a smirk that tugs at one corner of her mouth. She raises an eyebrow, her eyes flickering from Yeojin’s face to the oversized shirt she’s wearing. “Well, well, well,” Hyeju drawls, her tone dripping with mockery. “Look who decided to come home.”

Yeojin freezes, her cheeks flushing instantly as warmth creeps up her face. It’s as though she’s been caught mid-crime—which, in a way, she has. Swallowing her nerves, she forces a breezy smile, willing herself to sound casual. “Good morning, Hyeju!” she chirps, her voice unnaturally bright. “You’re up early.”

Hyeju tilts her head, unimpressed. “You mean unlike someone who’s been out all night?” She counters smoothly. Her gaze flicks pointedly to the shirt Yeojin’s clutching at the hem of, and her smirk widens. “So… you wanna explain why you didn’t come back last night? Or should I just take a wild guess?”

Yeojin’s mind scrambles, her blush deepening as she struggles to come up with something halfway believable. “Oh! Uh… I… stayed at the dorm studio!” she blurts out, her voice pitching higher than she intended. “Yeah, you know how I get when I’m in the zone. Lost track of time and figured it was too late to come back.”

“Hmm,” Hyeju says, narrowing her eyes as she steps closer. “The studio, huh? That’s funny, because I don’t remember you taking anything with you to work on.” Her voice drips with mock innocence, but the amused sparkle in her eye gives her away.

Yeojin tugs nervously at the hem of your shirt, glancing down at it like it might provide some magical escape route. “Well, I wasn’t planning to stay all night,” she stammers, trying to salvage her excuse. “But… inspiration hit, you know? And then I, uh, borrowed this to… stay warm.”

“Stay warm,” Hyeju repeats, her lips twitching as though she’s fighting the urge to laugh. “You’re telling me that’s the shirt you grabbed to stay warm?” She gestures at the oversized fabric drowning Yeojin’s frame, clearly unconvinced. “Smells a little… off for studio work, don’t you think? Almost like syrup or… cologne.”

Caught, Yeojin groans softly, her hands flying up in surrender. “Okay, fine! I was out!” she confesses, her words rushing out as she glares half-heartedly at Hyeju. “Are you happy now?”

Hyeju finally lets out a laugh, shaking her head. “Relax, I’m not your manager,” she says with exaggerated patience. “But seriously, you might want to work on your excuses. ‘I was at the studio all night’ isn’t gonna fly if someone else asks.”

Yeojin sighs, her shoulders slumping as she nods sheepishly. “I know. I’ll be more careful.”

“Good,” Hyeju replies, stepping back to let Yeojin pass. “Just don’t make it a habit, alright? We wouldn’t want the others—or worse, the manager—getting suspicious.”

Yeojin mumbles a quick thanks before slipping into her room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Leaning against it, she lets out a long, breathy sigh, her heart still racing. Her cheeks tingle from the embarrassment of being caught, but there’s a thrill too—a tiny, giddy spark knowing she’d stolen away one last moment with you.

Glancing down at your shirt, she brushes her fingers over the fabric, her smile softening as a secret warmth blooms in her chest. Whatever it took to keep moments like this, she decided, would be worth it.

Later that day, the rehearsal studio buzzes with energy, each corner filled with chatter and laughter as the group warms up. Excitement simmers just below the surface, each member brimming with a mix of focus and joy, until the manager enters, his presence commanding the room’s attention. He claps his hands, breaking into a grin that instantly shifts the room’s energy.

“Ladies, I’ve got news,” he announces, his voice ringing out. “We’ve been invited to perform on opening night for the Kiwoom Heroes… in just four days!” He pauses, his enthusiasm lighting up the room as he continues, “It’s a big opportunity. Let’s make sure we’re in top form!”

The announcement sparks a ripple of excitement among the girls, a mix of gasps and whispered cheers filling the studio as everyone glances at each other in excitement. But for Yeojin, the reaction is different—her heart skips a beat as a surge of nerves and excitement washes over her. Performing on such a big night would be thrilling on its own, but knowing it’s your game, the same field where you’ll be standing, makes it feel that much more special. She tries to keep her expression calm, but inside, her thoughts swirl with anticipation at the chance to perform, knowing you’ll be there to watch.

Beside her, Gowon notices her excitement and nudges her with a sly smile. “Why do you look like you just won the lottery?” she whispers, her eyes dancing with curiosity.

Yeojin forces a casual shrug, desperately trying to keep her tone breezy. “I just… really like baseball,” she replies, hoping she sounds more relaxed than she feels. But her voice betrays a hint of giddiness that she can’t quite mask.

Hyeju stifles a laugh, her gaze twinkling with amusement. “Uh-huh. You like baseball, sure,” she echoes, filling the words with teasing sarcasm.

A blush creeps back into Yeojin’s cheeks as she fiddles with her hair, smiling despite herself at her friends’ knowing looks. Their playful laughter only adds to the thrill of the moment, grounding her in the comfort of their shared camaraderie.

As the rehearsal begins, Yeojin slips into a quiet daydream, her mind drifting toward the image of the stadium on opening night. She pictures the floodlights, the crowd buzzing with excitement, the electric energy pulsing through the field. She imagines catching sight of you in the stands, your familiar smile lighting up as you recognize her among the dancers. Each move she rehearses feels charged with a secret purpose, a quiet hope that you’ll see her there, knowing that her performance is, in some small way, meant for you.

-----

Back at your place, the scent of takeout fills the air as you and Yeojin unpack the bags at the kitchen counter. The crinkle of paper bags and the soft clink of utensils blend with the quiet hum of the room, creating a cozy atmosphere. Yeojin, perched on one of the stools, peers into one of the containers with curiosity, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“You didn’t forget my favorite, right?” she asks, her tone playful as she sets her chopsticks in place.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you reply with a grin, handing her a container. “See? I’ve got you covered.”

Her face lights up as she pops it open, the familiar aroma making her sigh happily. “You’re the best,” she says, taking a bite and humming in satisfaction. “Mm, this is perfect.”

You settle into the stool next to her, digging into your own food. The easy rhythm of eating together fills the space, the kind of quiet intimacy that makes even simple moments like this feel special.

After a few bites, Yeojin glances over at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So,” she begins, her voice playful, “I heard you got the whole story about my water bottle fiasco.”

You smirk, glancing sideways at her. “Oh, I did. Something about turning it into a dramatic fall? Ten out of ten for creativity, by the way.”

She groans, hiding her face in her hands. “Ugh, it was so embarrassing. The girls have been teasing me non-stop.”

You laugh, nudging her lightly with your elbow. “Come on, you’re graceful enough to pull it off.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she replies, lowering her hands and giving you an exaggerated shrug. “I was the picture of elegance. Definitely not face-planting in front of everyone.”

“Right, right,” you tease, taking another bite. “Maybe you should add it to your choreography. Could be the next big thing.”

She tosses a crumpled napkin at you, her laughter spilling out despite herself. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here you are,” you retort, grinning as you dodge the napkin.

The playful banter continues as you finish your food, Yeojin leaning closer with each laugh, her joy infectious. Once the containers are cleared and the counter is wiped down, she hops off her stool and stretches, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips.

After dinner, the two of you settle onto the couch, a cozy silence enveloping the room. Yeojin tucks her legs under her, leaning lightly against your side as she holds the tub of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. The faint glow of the lamp casts a warm light over the room, reflecting softly off her flushed cheeks.

You nudge her playfully with your elbow, your own spoon in hand. “You’re hogging it,” you tease, nodding toward the ice cream.

“Excuse me?” she says, feigning offense as she takes an exaggerated bite. “I’m pretty sure I earned this for being adorable during dinner.”

You laugh, leaning closer to swipe a small spoonful from the tub before she can protest. “Adorable, huh? I guess I’ll allow it.”

Her giggle is soft as she settles back into your side, the easy rhythm of sharing the ice cream between you making the moment feel effortlessly intimate. She hums contentedly, her head resting lightly on your shoulder as she savors another bite.

After a moment, she shifts slightly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “So,” she begins, her tone playful, “we’re performing at the opening of your game next week.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise, and you glance down at her. “Wait, seriously? That’s amazing!” A genuine grin spreads across your face. “I’ll finally get to see you perform live?”

“Yep,” she says, nodding eagerly. “Right there on the field before the game starts. No pressure for you or anything.”

“None at all,” you reply with a chuckle. “Just a stadium full of people, bright lights, and a surprise performance from my girlfriend. Totally low-key.”

She rolls her eyes, lightly swatting your arm. “Anyway,” she says, her voice dropping into a mischievous tone, “I was thinking… maybe I could wear one of your jerseys during the performance.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “One of my jerseys? Don’t you guys usually have custom outfits for this kind of thing?”

She shrugs, taking another bite of ice cream before replying. “Custom outfits are boring. Your jersey would look way cooler.”

You laugh, watching as she fidgets with the hem of her shirt, her wide eyes glancing up at you in mock pleading. “Come on,” she says, drawing the word out. “Isn’t it a rule for girlfriends to wear their boyfriends’ jerseys? I’m pretty sure it’s, like, a law or something.”

“Oh, it’s a law now?” you tease, grinning as you take another bite. “What chapter is that in your imaginary handbook?”

“Chapter one,” she says with mock seriousness, nodding sagely. “Rule one. ‘Thou shalt support thy boyfriend by wearing his jersey.’ It’s common knowledge.”

You shake your head, amused. “And what chapter says, ‘Thou shalt not get thy boyfriend in trouble with the entire stadium’?”

She groans dramatically, flopping back against the couch as she tosses the spoon into the empty tub. “Come on! Please? It would look so good! And if anyone asks, I’ll just say you’re my favorite player.”

You can’t help but laugh, her enthusiasm impossible to resist. “Fine, fine,” you say, setting the empty tub aside and standing. “But if this backfires, it’s all on you.”

She perks up immediately, her smile wide and victorious as you disappear into your room. When you return, you hold out an older jersey, the fabric soft and a little worn. “Here,” you say, handing it to her. “It’s from my rookie year. It’s not fancy, but it’s got some history.”

Her eyes light up as she takes it, her fingers brushing over the fabric. “Rookie year?” she murmurs, slipping it on. The oversized jersey swallows her petite frame, the sleeves hanging far past her hands and the hem brushing her thighs. She stands and gives you a playful twirl. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’s about to start rumors,” you tease, stepping closer to adjust the hem slightly. “But also… absolutely adorable.”

Her grin widens, her hands fiddling with the oversized sleeves. “See? I told you it was a good idea.”

Then, as if struck by inspiration, she looks up at you with a glint in her eye. “Wait! You know what would make this even better?”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “What now?”

“Sign it,” she says, her voice bubbling with excitement as she tugs the fabric taut against her chest. Her hand rests lightly over her heart. “Right here. My friends will be so jealous.”

You shake your head in amused disbelief, grabbing a marker from the drawer. “Alright, but if you get in trouble, don’t come crying to me.” You step closer, steadying the fabric where her hand holds it over her heart.

She watches you intently, her smile softening as you lean in. The tip of the marker touches the fabric just above the number, and your name flows neatly, each letter deliberate. Your fingers brush against hers as you finish, the moment quiet but full of meaning.

When you pull back, she gazes down at the jersey, her fingers tracing the letters. A faint blush rises to her cheeks as her lips curve into a tender smile. “Now it’s perfect,” she whispers, looking up at you, her eyes glowing with happiness.

You smile, your hand resting lightly over the spot you just signed. “You’re impossible,” you murmur.

“And you love it,” she replies, her voice playful but filled with affection.

“Yeah,” you admit softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I really do.” You lean in to press a gentle kiss to her temple, the warmth of the moment settling around you both like a blanket.

------

The dressing room buzzes with excitement as Loossemble prepares for the event. Makeup brushes glide across faces, chatter fills the air, and their manager hands out jerseys. “These are for today’s event,” he announces, placing the neatly folded jerseys on the table.

As the girls eagerly grab theirs, Yeojin lingers by her bag, her hand already slipping inside. When the manager notices, he raises an eyebrow. “Yeojin, where’s your jersey?”

She pulls out the jersey you gave her, its fabric worn but comforting, and slips it on over her outfit. “I’ve got my own,” she says casually, smoothing it down.

The room quiets briefly as everyone notices the bold signature scrawled across the chest. Hyeju squints at it, her tone incredulous. “Wait... is that an actual jersey? Like the ones they wear on the field?”

Yeojin shrugs nonchalantly, adjusting the oversized sleeves. “It’s better than the custom ones,” she says simply, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Hyunjin’s jaw drops. “And it’s signed! Where the heck did you even get that?”

Yeojin gives a knowing smile, her voice calm but playful. “I know someone.”

The room erupts into laughter and teasing. Gowon shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re seriously wearing that? People are going to notice, you know.”

Yeojin smirks, smoothing the fabric with a deliberate motion. “Good. Let them.”

The manager sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just don’t make my life harder, alright?” he mutters, waving them toward the door.

At the stadium, the energy is electric. Fans in team colors flood the concourse, their excited chatter blending with the hum of announcements and the faint thrum of music. The smell of popcorn, grilled food, and sweet treats wafts through the air, adding to the festive atmosphere.

As Loossemble weaves through the bustling crowd, Yeojin suddenly stops in her tracks. Her gaze is drawn to a massive display near the merch shop, and for a moment, she forgets everything else. Your face dominates the wall, frozen mid-pitch, your arm extended in a perfect arc. The intensity and focus in your expression make the image feel almost alive, radiating the determination that’s become synonymous with you.

Around the display, racks of merchandise stretch in every direction—jerseys, caps, posters, and even bobbleheads bearing your name and number. Fans gather eagerly, their voices rising in an excited hum as they sort through the shelves. Yeojin catches fragments of their chatter: your incredible game-winning plays, your record-breaking stats, the way you’ve become the cornerstone of the team’s success. Each word feels like a glowing tribute to you, a celebration of everything you’ve achieved.

Her chest tightens, a surge of pride swelling within her as her fingers brush over the jersey she wears. The fabric is soft and worn, a personal gift that feels more precious now than ever. Her gaze drops briefly to the bold signature resting over her heart, and the simple gesture of your autograph feels profoundly intimate—a reminder of the part of you that belongs only to her.

She’s always known you were talented, but this moment reframes everything. Seeing the sheer scale of admiration for you, the fans clamoring for a piece of the legend you’ve become, is overwhelming. It takes her breath away. The magnitude of what you’ve accomplished hits her fully—how much you’ve given, how hard you’ve worked, and how many people you inspire.

And yet, through all of it, you’ve never stopped making her feel like she’s the center of your world. Whether it’s through the quiet warmth of your smile, a shared joke that only you two understand, or the way your hand naturally finds hers in a crowd, she knows she’s your constant.

Her fingers linger on the jersey’s fabric as she takes it all in. The massive display with your image mid-pitch, larger than life, radiates the determination and intensity that define you. Her heart swells with something deeper than pride—an awe at the balance you manage. With so much of the world demanding a piece of you, you’ve never let her feel less than cherished.

“Wow,” she whispers to herself, her voice barely audible over the chatter around her. Her lips curve into a soft smile as she glances back at the display. There’s no envy in her chest, no insecurity—only gratitude. Gratitude for being the person who gets to witness the side of you that no one else does. She’s the one who sees you at your most vulnerable, your most relaxed, and your most real, and in this moment, that feels like the greatest gift of all.

Now, near the front of the field, they wait for their cue, the girls chatting excitedly about the size of the stadium and the energy of the fans. Yeojin adjusts the hem of your jersey, trying to keep calm despite her racing heart.

But her focus wavers when she catches sight of you warming up nearby with your team. You’re effortlessly precise as you go through your routine, each movement fluid and confident. She can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips as she watches you work—it’s captivating, even from a distance.

Her smile falters, though, when she notices a group of cheerleaders standing just a little too close for comfort. One of them giggles loudly, her gaze fixed on you as she leans in to whisper to her friend. Another brushes her hair back dramatically, giving you a wave that’s anything but subtle. Yeojin’s chest tightens, the pang of jealousy catching her off guard. She knows she has no reason to feel this way, but seeing the way they look at you—the admiration tinged with something more—makes her jaw tighten.

She shifts her weight, crossing her arms as she tries to push the feeling aside. He’s yours, she reminds herself, the memory of your signature on her jersey grounding her. The thought brings a small, determined smile back to her face. Let them look. I’m the one who gets to go home with him.

“Yeojin, what’s got you so serious all of a sudden?” Hyeju teases, nudging her shoulder with a smirk.

Startled, Yeojin shakes her head quickly, forcing a bright smile. “Huh? Just, uh… getting into the zone,” she replies, though her voice carries a hint of flustered nervousness.

Hyeju raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further, her attention shifting as their manager calls them toward the field.

The stadium’s energy pulses underfoot as the intro notes of their song begins. Thousands of fans pack the stands, their cheers rising in a wave that reverberates through the air. Yeojin takes a deep breath, letting the rhythm of the music settle her nerves. As she steps onto the field with her group mates, the floodlights wash over them, illuminating the entire stadium.

Her eyes instinctively search for you, when she spots you near the dugout, her heart swells. Even from a distance, the pride in your smile is unmistakable, and the way you’re watching her fills her with warmth. It’s a sight that lights something fierce in her chest, a reminder of why she’s here—not just to perform, but to share this moment with you.

Each beat of the choreography feels stronger, every step infused with purpose. The girl’s move in perfect synchronization, their sharp poses and fluid transitions blending seamlessly with the music. Yeojin pours herself into the performance, her smile radiant as she twirls across the field. She can feel the joy of the moment in her bones, every movement carrying a silent message: I’m here, and this is for you.

In the dugout, your teammates notice the way you’re glued to watching her performance. One of them nudges you with a laugh. “Look at you, totally lovestruck,” he teases, jerking his thumb toward the jumbotron. “Come on, Romeo, close your mouth before a fly gets in.”

A flush rises to your cheeks as they rib you mercilessly, but you don’t look away. You can’t. Yeojin’s every move captivates you, as if you’re seeing her dance for the first time. Despite the teasing, all you feel is pride—she’s radiant, every bit the star you know her to be.

Meanwhile, Yeojin catches sight of you on the jumbotron, your flustered expression displayed for all to see. She bites back a laugh, her heart soaring at the exact reaction she’d hoped for. It’s a private moment made public, and the thrill of it fills her with pride. She flicks her gaze toward the screen whenever she can, smiling wider each time she sees you still watching her, your admiration written all over your face.

As the performance builds to its final chorus, Yeojin locks eyes with you for a brief moment. She winks, the gesture small but unmistakable, before finishing the dance with her group, arms raised as the last note rings out.

The stadium erupts into applause, the cheers washing over her like a wave. As Loossemble catches their breath, Yeojin’s heart swells. She can still feel the way her gaze connected with yours, the bond between you two threading itself into every step she took, every smile she shared with the crowd.

When the performance ends, Loossemble exits the field, their faces glowing with post-performance adrenaline. The group gathers near their seats, collapsing into laughter and excited chatter as they relive their favorite moments. Yeojin adjusts the hem of your jersey again, the warmth of your signature over her heart grounding her as the thrill of performing in front of you still buzzes in her chest.

But her friends don’t let her stay quiet for long.

“Yeojin,” Gowon begins, leaning in with a sly grin, her eyes glinting with curiosity, “did you see it?”

“See what?” Yeojin asks innocently, though the flutter in her chest betrays her calm tone.

“That pitcher,” Gowon replies, gesturing towards your area. “You know, the one whose face was glued to you.”

Yeojin freezes, trying to play it cool. “Oh, really?” she replies, her voice just a little too breezy. “I didn’t notice.”

Hyeju snorts, crossing her arms with a smirk. “You didn’t notice? He looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Seriously, Yeojin, the guy clearly has a favorite.”

“He was so obvious!” ViVi chimes in, leaning forward. “And did you see his teammates? They were dying. I swear, if you’d winked at him, he might’ve fainted.”

Yeojin laughs nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear. “He was probably just… impressed with our choreography,” she says, avoiding their knowing looks.

“Oh, sure,” Hyeju replies, rolling her eyes. “Because choreography is what had him staring like that. Not your sparkling personality or, I don’t know, the fact that you’re gorgeous or anything.”

ViVi nudges her, a playful grin spreading across her face. “You should totally go for him, Yeojin. He’s cute—and clearly into you.”

“Very into you,” Gowon agrees, her voice teasing but sincere. “I mean, the man couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d held up a sign that said, ‘Marry me.’”

Yeojin’s cheeks burn, and she quickly busies herself with adjusting her water bottle. “You’re all being ridiculous,” she mutters, though she can’t hide the tiny smile tugging at her lips.

“Ridiculous?” ViVi counters. “It’s the perfect opportunity! A cute baseball player, clearly smitten, and you, Miss Limited Edition Signed Jersey over here? It’s fate.”

Yeojin groans, hiding her face behind her hands as the girls burst into laughter around her. “You guys are the worst,” she mumbles, though her voice carries a warmth she can’t quite suppress.

“You love us,” Hyeju says with a grin, leaning back. “But seriously, if you don’t at least say hi to him before we leave, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

Yeojin shoots her a wide-eyed look. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” Hyeju replies, her smirk growing.

Before Yeojin can respond, the stadium erupts into cheers for the start of the game, giving her the perfect excuse to shift her focus. She sits back, her heart still racing as she sneaks a glance toward the field. When your eyes meet hers across the distance, your proud smile makes her breath catch, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

-----

The stadium is thick with tension—it’s the bottom of the ninth, and your team is clinging to a one-run lead. The electric energy of the crowd feels almost tangible, each cheer and murmur blending into a symphony of anticipation. Yeojin sits on the edge of her seat, her heart pounding as she watches you take the mound. She’s seen you pitch countless times before, but tonight feels different. The determined intensity in your expression, the way you square your shoulders before gripping the ball—it all sends a quiet thrill through her chest.

Her hands clasp tightly together as you take your stance, the ball snug in your glove. The batter steps into the box, and the crowd’s roar crescendos, the pitch count hovering on a razor’s edge. Yeojin’s gaze never leaves you, her chest tightening with each passing second. She watches as you grip the ball, your fingers settling into the seams with practiced precision. The tension is palpable as you wind up, your form a perfect blend of power and control.

Then, it happens.

The ball leaves your hand with a smooth snap, cutting through the air like a bullet. For a brief moment, everything feels suspended, the stadium holding its collective breath as the ball rockets toward the plate. The batter swings. The crack of impact reverberates like a gunshot, and Yeojin’s heart stutters.

A blur of motion. The ball hurtles straight back toward the mound—a split second, no time to think. Your glove snaps up instinctively, the sharp thwack of impact cutting through the noise. The ball deflects away from your head, careening off to the side, but the force staggers you. Your knees hit the dirt, and you slump forward slightly, visibly shaken.

The crowd collectively gasps, the electric energy of the game giving way to a wave of tense murmurs. Yeojin’s breath catches, her chest tightening as she watches you press a hand to your head, your face taut with discomfort. You wave off the trainer jogging toward you, trying to shake it off, but you don’t immediately rise. That’s all it takes for panic to flood her chest. Her fingers tightened around her jersey as her heart pounded as she willed you to stand.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, her voice trembling. Without thinking, she bolts from her seat, ignoring her friends’ surprised calls as she hurries down the stadium steps. Her pulse races with each step, her gaze locked on the bullpen entrance where she knows you’ll be taken.

Yeojin weaves through the throngs of concerned fans until she reaches the edge of the restricted area. A security guard steps forward, shaking his head firmly. “Sorry, miss. You can’t go past this point.”

“Please,” she says urgently, glancing past him toward the dugout. “I just need to see if he’s okay.”

The guard hesitates but doesn’t budge. Desperate, Yeojin moves to the side, craning her neck for any angle that might give her a glimpse of you. Her hands grip the railing tightly, her heart pounding as she finally spots you on the bench. From her vantage point, she can only see part of your profile, but it’s enough to confirm you’re upright, talking to the trainer.

She holds her breath, willing herself not to cry as the tension in her chest lingers. Then, as if sensing her, you glance over your shoulder. Your eyes meet hers, and though your movements are still slow and careful, the small smile you flash her is steady and reassuring. You lift your hand slightly in a subtle wave, a silent message: I’m okay.

Yeojin exhales shakily, her hands loosening their grip on the railing as relief floods her. For a moment, she lingers, her lips curving into a tentative smile in response. Then, with one last glance at you, she turns and heads back toward her seat.

By the time she climbs the steps back to her section, her friends are watching her with curious expressions. “What was that about?” Gowon asks, leaning closer.

Yeojin shrugs, brushing her hair behind her ear as she sits. “I just… wanted to check on him,” she says, keeping her tone casual despite the lingering adrenaline in her veins.

ViVi tilts her head, her lips twitching with a smile. “You’re really invested in this game, huh?”

“Well, he’s their best player,” Yeojin replies, adjusting the hem of your jersey. “Someone has to cheer for him.”

Her friends exchange amused glances but don’t push further, turning their attention back to the game. As the action resumes, Yeojin steals one more glance toward the bullpen. You’re still seated but looking steady now, chatting with the trainer. Relief washes over her as she sees you lean forward, your shoulders squared with resolve, ready to get back in the game.

The tension builds as the final moments unfold, every pitch and swing keeping the crowd on edge. Yeojin clutches at your jersey, her fingers brushing over the warmth of your signature as the last out is made, sealing the win for your team. The stadium erupts into cheers, the roar deafening as your teammates rush the field to celebrate. Her heart swells with pride, the earlier fear eclipsed entirely by admiration for your unwavering strength.

As the stadium begins to empty, Yeojin practically drags her friends down toward the field, her excitement bubbling over as she skips ahead. Her friends trail behind, exchanging confused but curious glances at her sudden burst of enthusiasm.

“Where are you going?” Gowon calls after her, struggling to keep up.

“Just come on!” Yeojin replies, glancing over her shoulder with a wide grin. Her pulse quickens as she spots you waiting in the dugout, scanning the thinning crowd until your gaze lands on her.

The moment your eyes meet, a bright smile spreads across your face, and without hesitation, Yeojin takes off across the field. Her friends stop in their tracks, staring as she runs straight to you, leaping into your arms with a joyful squeal. You catch her effortlessly, lifting her as if she weighs nothing, holding her close as she plants a quick, happy kiss on your cheek.

The group stands frozen, their eyes wide as they process what they’re seeing.

“Wait… did she just…” Gowon begins, her voice trailing off.

“Did she just run up and kiss him?” Hyeju whispers, glancing between you and Yeojin as if trying to confirm she’s not imagining things.

Their confusion grows as you set Yeojin gently back on the ground, your arm staying casually draped over her shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed, but she’s grinning ear to ear, clearly unfazed by the scene she’s caused.

With a soft chuckle, you greet her friends, your easy smile and warm demeanor making their stunned expressions all the more amusing. Finally, Gowon snaps out of it, blinking rapidly before giving Yeojin a teasing smirk.

“Okay, not to be dramatic,” she says, motioning toward you, “but… what the actual fuck?”

The rest of the group bursts into laughter, ViVi adding, “Seriously, Yeo-jin, care to explain how this happened?”

Yeojin fidgets slightly, her blush deepening as she looks between you and her friends. “What do you mean?” she asks, playing innocent. “He’s… just my boyfriend.”

“Just?” Gowon repeats, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Are you serious right now? You’ve been holding out on us! You could’ve mentioned you were dating a literal star player!”

“Speaking of which,” ViVi cuts in, her eyes widening as she looks up at you, “how tall are you, exactly?”

“198,” you reply with a grin, clearly amused by their reactions.

They all turn to Yeojin, who crosses her arms with a mock huff. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m short. You’ve all said it before,” she says, though her proud smile betrays her.

“You’re not just short,” Hyeju teases, nudging her shoulder. “Next to him, you’re basically pocket-sized. It’s kind of adorable.”

Yeojin groans, rolling her eyes. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Hyunjin steps closer, her curiosity lighting up her expression. “So…” she begins, hesitating for a moment. “Would it be weird if we, uh, tested something?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Hmm?”

She motions toward your arms. “I’ve always wanted to try hanging off someone super strong. You look like you could handle it.”

Yeojin shoots her a look, but you laugh, glancing at your girlfriend for permission. She sighs, muttering, “Fine, but don’t break him.”

With a grin, you extend your arms, and Hyunjin and ViVi eagerly grab on, giggling as they dangle from you like children on a jungle gym. You lift them effortlessly, even spinning slightly for effect, earning cheers and laughter from the rest of the group.

“Whoa… He’s actually doing it,” Hyeju says, her tone full of admiration. “You’ve got some serious strength.”

Yeojin, however, watches with narrowed eyes, her smile fading slightly. Finally, she steps forward, hands on her hips. “Alright, that’s enough,” she says, her voice firm but playful. “Let him go.”

The girls reluctantly release your arms, laughing as they exchange amused glances. But before you can lower them fully, Yeojin leaps up, wrapping herself around you with a little huff. She locks her legs around your waist, grinning triumphantly as she turns to her friends. “This is my spot,” she declares, sticking out her tongue.

The group dissolves into laughter, though their teasing glances don’t go unnoticed. “Possessive much?” Gowon quips, shaking her head with a smirk.

You chuckle, leaning down to murmur softly in Yeojin’s ear, “Didn’t know you got jealous so easily.”

Yeojin pouts, looking up at you with a small smile. “Can’t help it,” she whispers back. “You’re mine.”

The group exchanges whispered comments, their curiosity and amusement clear. But Yeojin doesn’t care. As you hold her close, the warmth of your embrace and the quiet pride in her heart remind her that no amount of teasing could take away what you two share.

-----

As the door clicks shut behind you, Yeojin spins around with a playful glint in her eyes, arms folded in mock defiance. Her cheeks are still flushed from the night’s excitement, but there’s something else now—a spark of mischief that makes her gaze dance in the dim light.

“You know,” she begins, taking a slow step closer, her voice teasing, “you owe me for making me jealous tonight.”

Leaning back against the door, you raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh, do I?” you ask, your tone light but edged with challenge.

She nods, feigning seriousness, though the smile pulling at her lips betrays her amusement. “Letting those girls hang all over you like that… What was that about?” Her hands go to her hips as she tilts her head, her mock indignation only making her look more endearing.

You chuckle, leaning forward just enough to bring your face level with hers. “If I remember right, you gave me permission, and…” you murmur, your voice dropping slightly, “you were the one climbing me like a tree afterward. I think you made your point pretty clear.”

Yeojin bites her lip, the blush on her cheeks deepening, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she loops her arms around your neck, her smile turning sly. “I’m not so sure,” she replies, her tone soft but teasing. “You might have to work a little harder to make it up to me.”

You slide your hands around her waist, pulling her closer until the space between you is nonexistent. “Alright,” you say, your voice a low murmur, “I’ll bite. How exactly am I supposed to make it up to you, hmm?”

Yeojin hums thoughtfully, as if considering her options, before gently nudging you toward the couch. Her hands stay light on your chest as she guides you, her steps deliberate yet playful. Once you’re seated, she settles onto your lap, her small frame fitting perfectly into your arms. The soft weight of her against you sends a warmth coursing through your chest as her hands slide up to rest lightly on your shoulders.

“For starters,” she whispers, leaning in close, her lips hovering just shy of yours, “you could promise I’m the only one who gets to cling to you like that.”

Her breath brushes your skin, teasing as her words hang in the air. You meet her gaze, a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Done,” you whisper back, your voice soft but sure. And then, without hesitation, you close the space, capturing her lips in a kiss that starts slow and sweet, her warmth melting into you. It’s the kind of kiss that makes the rest of the world disappear, leaving only the quiet intensity between you.

As her fingers trail lightly along your chest, Yeojin pulls back just enough to speak, her voice barely above a murmur. “And you can start by spoiling me a little more,” she teases, her playful tone returning as her fingers toy with the fabric of your shirt.

Your low chuckle vibrates against her, and you tilt your head slightly, your thumb grazing her cheek. “You don’t even have to ask, princess,” you reply, your words carrying a weight that lingers between you.

The air shifts, the laughter between you fading into something quieter, warmer. Yeojin’s breath hitches as she looks up at you, her eyes searching yours for a moment before her hands find their way to your shirt. Slowly, her fingertips trace along your chest before she lifts the fabric, pulling it up and over your shoulders with deliberate grace, her movements unhurried as if savoring the moment.

Your hand slides to her waist, steadying her as you guide her closer, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. Her breath catches as your touch skims bare skin, her body reacting instinctively to your warmth. You take your time, letting the fabric rise slowly, your gaze locked on hers, the air between you thick with anticipation. When her shirt finally falls to the floor, she exhales softly, her blush deepening as she feels your hands settle on her sides, grounding her.

Yeojin’s hands find their way to your belt, her touch sure but deliberate as her eyes flick up to yours, silently asking permission. You nod, your smirk softening into something more intimate, and she works the buckle loose before tugging the fabric free. You follow her lead, your fingers trailing down to the waistband of her jeans. Her breathing quickens as you unfasten the button, your movements steady as you guide them down, leaving them to pool at her feet.

When you straighten, your hands find the curve of her hips, your touch firm but reverent as her own hands lift to your waist, slipping beneath the edge of your pants to push them down with a gentle insistence. As the last of the fabric falls away, the space between you seems to hum, the night’s earlier excitement replaced by a quiet, electric intensity.

The room feels smaller now, the air charged as you take each other in—skin to skin, your gazes holding steady. Yeojin leans into you, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as her lips find yours, the kiss deep and unhurried, a promise that lingers between you. The warmth of her body against yours ignites something that words can’t capture, leaving the rest of the night open, unwritten, and entirely yours.

Without a word, you lean down, your arms securing her tightly as you lift her effortlessly, her body fitting snugly against your chest. Yeojin gasps softly, her legs instinctively wrapping around your waist, her arms clinging to your shoulders as she feels the full strength of your hold. The contrast between your broad, solid frame and her smaller stature sends a shiver of exhilaration through her—she feels weightless in your grasp, as if gravity itself bends to your will.

Her heart races as your hands shift, gripping her thighs firmly. In one smooth, fluid motion, you flip and lower her upside down, her thighs draping over your powerful shoulders. Her body hangs securely, her soft skin brushing against your neck while your steady grip keeps her firmly in place. The sheer size of you against her height makes her feel both delicate and cherished, a thrill sparking through her as she adjusts to the new position.

Suspended in your grasp, Yeojin’s breath catches as her lips find the warmth of your skin. The firmness of your muscles under her mouth sends a pulse of excitement through her, and she can’t help but press soft kisses there, each touch drawing a sharp, appreciative inhale from you. Her hands steady themselves against your hips, her small fingers gripping the solid expanse of your body for balance.

As you lean forward, your mouth finds her with an unrestrained hunger that takes her breath away. The first touch of your tongue sends a bolt of pleasure straight through her, and she trembles, her body instinctively pressing closer to you. Each movement of your tongue feels electric, worshiping her with a precision that makes her toes curl.

The smoothness of your skin against her inner thighs complements the warmth and wetness of your mouth, the sensations blending into an intoxicating mix that leaves her gasping. Her body trembles, her thighs pressing against your neck as her hips buck involuntarily in response to your ministrations. You grip her thighs tighter, spreading her open as you delve deeper, your tongue moving with insatiable fervor. Each stroke pulls a new, breathy cry from her lips, her whimpers of pleasure filling the room, echoing with the raw intimacy shared between you.

At the same time, Yeojin’s lips part around your length, taking you eagerly into her mouth. The sheer weight of you, the fullness stretching her jaw, makes her thighs quiver as she works to please you. Her tongue moves eagerly, tracing every ridge and vein as her lips slide along your shaft. The salty taste of precum teases her, a reminder of the effect she has on you, fueling her determination to take you deeper.

But as your tongue finds that sensitive spot within her, her resolve falters. A sharp moan escapes her lips, vibrating around you as her hips grind instinctively against your face. She fights to refocus, her cheeks hollowing as she takes you in again, but the sensations you’re drawing from her are relentless. Your tongue presses into her with precision, and her breath catches as you graze her most sensitive spot. Her movements falter, her concentration breaking as she’s overwhelmed by pleasure.

When your length brushes the back of her throat, her body jolts, her gasp muffled against you. The stretch leaves her momentarily breathless, her fingers tightening on your hips as she tries to keep pace. “Oh—” she tries to gasp, but the sounds dissolve into helpless moans, each vibration against you spurring you on. Her attempts to regain control falter again as your tongue moves deeper, coaxing another cry from her lips.

The slick, rhythmic sounds of your connection fill the room, blending with her muffled moans and your low, guttural groans. Her arousal drips onto your skin, her body trembling uncontrollably as her pleasure builds. “God, you’re amazing,” you murmur against her, your voice thick with sincerity. Your hands flex against her thighs, your grip firm and possessive as you hold her steady, your tongue stroking deeper and more deliberately.

Yeojin’s cries grow desperate as her body tightens around you, her legs trembling against your shoulders. The tension in her core builds steadily, each flick of your tongue pushing her closer to the edge. Her breath catches in sharp gasps, her body quaking with anticipation. She clutches at your hips for stability, but her movements grow erratic as she loses herself in the sensations.

When your fingers dig into her soft thighs, anchoring her even closer, the tension snaps. “Ahh—oh my god!” she screams, her voice trembling as her climax hits her with breathtaking force. Her entire body stiffens, her walls spasming uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crash through her. You hold her tightly, your grip unyielding as you press her against you, your tongue working her through every pulse of her release.

Her hips buck against your face, her cries echoing in the room as her orgasm overtakes her completely. She clings to your hips for dear life, her hands shaking as her body surrenders to the intensity. “I can’t… oh my god, I can’t,” she whimpers, the words tumbling out as the aftershocks ripple through her. Each tremor leaves her breathless, her thighs quivering as you continue your unrelenting ministrations.

Finally, her body goes limp in your grasp, her head falling forward as she struggles to catch her breath. You shift slightly, adjusting your hold to keep her steady, your touch gentle but still possessive. Her soft whimpers fill the quiet, her entire being humming with the aftermath of her release.

When she finally lifts her head, her cheeks are flushed, her mascara streaked slightly, but her smile is radiant. “You’re unbelievable,” she whispers, her voice trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction.

You chuckle softly, pressing a lingering kiss to her thigh. “That’s just the beginning,” you murmur, the promise in your tone making her shiver anew.

Still trembling from the earlier intensity, Yeojin lets out a soft gasp as you flip her to her feet, guiding her back to you with firm hands. Her body pressed flush against your chest, her soft skin warm and inviting. Without hesitation, you grip her firmly, lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion. Her legs dangle freely, toes brushing against your thighs as you hold her up by her breasts, your large hands cradling her delicate frame.

The weightlessness leaves her breathless, a shiver coursing through her as she realizes how completely you’re holding her. Your fingers curl around her sensitive nipples, squeezing gently, your thumbs brushing over her hardened peaks. Each touch draws a soft whimper from her lips, her body responding to every deliberate motion. “You’re so small,” you murmur, your voice low and rough against her ear. “I love how you fit perfectly in my hands.”

Her breath hitches at your words, and a thrill races through her at the sheer size and strength you exude. She feels utterly enveloped by you, each motion a reminder of how easily you carry her. “I love it too,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “Please… I need you.”

You don’t make her wait. Adjusting your grip to pull her closer, you angle her hips, lining yourself up with her slick heat. The first thrust is deliberate and deep, burying yourself fully inside her in one swift motion. Her head falls back, a sharp cry escaping her lips. “Oh my god,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her body stretches to accommodate you. The overwhelming sensation of being filled leaves her trembling in your grasp.

“Fuck, Yeojin,” you groan, your fingers flexing against her breasts as you begin to move. “You’re so tight… so fucking perfect.”

Her legs sway with each powerful thrust, the motion making her feel completely at your mercy. Her walls pulse around you, gripping you tightly as she whimpers, “Yes… so good. So full.” Her voice is breathless, her hands reaching up to clutch at your arms, her nails lightly raking over your skin as she struggles to steady herself.

Your hands knead her breasts as you pick up the pace, your thumbs circling and pinching her sensitive peaks. The added stimulation sends shivers down her spine, her body arching instinctively in your hold. “You feel that, princess?” you murmur against her ear, your voice thick with desire. “Feel how deep I am inside you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her back arching as the sensations flood her body. “I love it… love how you fill me.”

Her hands drop to her stomach, her fingers pressing lightly against her skin as if trying to ground herself. She gasps when she feels you pushing in and out of her, the motion resonating deep within. “I can feel you,” she whispers, her voice a mixture of awe and pleasure. “So deep…”

The sensation intensifies as your grip tightens, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of her breasts. Each movement becomes more deliberate, your thrusts deepening as you shift her slightly, driving her backward with every motion to meet your hips. The angle changes, and a sharp gasp rips from her throat as you hit the spot that sends jolts of electric pleasure through her. Her legs quiver in the air, her head tilting back as her body struggles to process the overwhelming sensation, her cries growing louder with every deliberate thrust.

“That’s it,” you growl, your voice low and rough, your rhythm relentless as her walls clench around you. “Right there. You feel me, don’t you? Taking you exactly how you need.”

“Yes, yes!” she cries, her voice trembling with desperation. Her body melts into your hold, entirely weightless as she surrenders to the intensity. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop.”

Her moans grow erratic, the wet, rhythmic sounds of your connection filling the room, mingling with your labored breaths. Every powerful thrust pushes her closer to the edge, the sheer force of your movements making her tremble uncontrollably. Your fingers tug and pinch at her nipples, her cries of pleasure growing louder with each twist of your touch.

“You’re mine,” you growl, your words reverberating against her skin as you press your lips to her neck. “Every inch of you. You’re mine.”

Her legs quiver as her head falls forward, her breathing ragged. “Yes,” she moans, her voice trembling. “I’m yours. All yours.”

Your pace quickens, each thrust deep and precise, driving her to a fever pitch as her body arches and tightens around you. The sharp cries escaping her lips tell you everything you need to know—she’s right on the edge, completely lost in the ecstasy of your touch.

The relentless depth of your thrusts drives her higher and higher as her cries grow desperate and her body tightens around you. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice barely more than a whimper. “Please… I’m so close.”

You shift slightly, angling her hips to plunge even deeper, your thrusts growing harder and faster, each motion sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her. Her trembling becomes uncontrollable, her breaths ragged as the tension builds to an unbearable height. Her fingers clutch desperately at your forearms, her nails biting into your skin as if anchoring herself to reality. Her cries escalate, breaking into frantic gasps as her body teeters precariously on the edge.

“Fuck—there!” she screams, her voice raw and shattering as her climax slams into her with devastating force. Her entire body convulses, her head falling forward onto your shoulder as her muscles give way, leaving her completely limp in your hands. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes through her, her walls clenching around you with an intensity that borders on overwhelming. Each pulsation grips you tighter, pulling you impossibly deeper into her heat, her body trembling violently as she lets out a series of breathless, broken cries.

But you don’t let up. Your grip on her tightens, your hands steadying her trembling frame as you continue to thrust, your movements deliberate and unrelenting. Each motion draws out her climax, prolonging the intoxicating waves of pleasure coursing through her. Her head tilts back, her mouth falling open as her voice becomes high-pitched and fractured, her overstimulated body writhing uncontrollably against you.

“Too much—oh my god!” she whimpers, her words tumbling out in gasping fragments. Yet, despite her plea, her hips betray her, instinctively rocking to meet yours, the overwhelming sensation mingling with an insatiable, desperate need. Her body quivers in your hold, the aftershocks colliding with your unyielding rhythm, and her cries blend into the sound of skin meeting skin, her sensitivity turning into a heady, all-consuming bliss.

And then it happens, before the first climax fully fades, another builds, the relentless friction and fullness pushing her straight into a second wave. Her entire body stiffens in your grasp, her head snapping back against your shoulder as the overwhelming sensation tears through her. “I’m cumming again!” she cries, her voice a mix of shock and unrestrained ecstasy. Her walls flutter violently around you, each contraction milking every inch of you as she tumbles headlong into a second, earth-shattering release.

Her cries of pleasure become incoherent, her body melting further into your hands as her climax washes over her in crashing waves. The slick heat of her arousal coats you, and the rhythmic clenching around your length pulls you closer to your own edge. “Fuck, Yeojin,” you groan, your thrusts growing erratic as the heat in your core builds to an unbearable peak.

With a guttural moan, you pull her as close as possible, burying yourself fully inside her as your release hits like an unstoppable wave. Each pulse surges deep within her, a searing heat spreading through her core as you fill her completely. Her body responds instantly, trembling violently as her walls spasm around you, clutching you tighter with every throb of your release. The fullness overwhelms her, sending her into a frenzy of sensation, her breaths hitching into sharp, uneven gasps.

“Oh my god,” she cries, her voice trembling as her body convulses. The sensation of being filled so completely pushes her to another peak, her climax gripping her with renewed intensity. Her walls flutter uncontrollably, their rhythmic contractions pulling you deeper, as if her body is desperate to claim every drop. The pulsing heat between you draws out her pleasure in endless waves, her cries raw and unrestrained.

Your hands find her breasts, kneading them gently, your fingers brushing against her taut, sensitive peaks. The sensation only amplifies her ecstasy, her head lolling weakly against your shoulder as she rides out the unrelenting pleasure. Her body feels weightless in your hold, trembling as the aftershocks ripple through her.

As your release continues to surge, your legs falter under the sheer intensity of the moment. “Fuck…” you groan, your voice rough and shaky as your knees buckle. Losing your balance, you stumble forward, collapsing onto the bed with her still pressed tightly against you. The added weight presses you deeper into her, burying you to the hilt in a way that neither of you is prepared for.

The effect is immediate. The sudden depth makes her cry out, a sharp, high-pitched squeal tearing from her lips as her overstimulated body is driven into another powerful climax. Her thighs quake uncontrollably, her back arching against you as the intensity consumes her entirely. “Ahh—FUCK!” she screams, her voice shaking as her body bucks beneath you, her release crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Her walls clamp down hard, the rhythmic pulsations drawing every last ounce of your release into her. Each spasm feels impossibly tight, pulling at you with relentless force, her cries dissolving into incoherent moans as the pleasure overtakes her completely. Her hands claw at the sheets, her knuckles white as her body convulses, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

The deep, intimate pressure of your release combined with the weight of your body pinning her down prolongs her climax, leaving her utterly lost in the moment. Each pump reignites her sensitivity, her oversaturated nerves sending jolts of pleasure through her as if she’s trapped in a cycle of ecstasy. “I can’t—oh my god, I can’t!” she gasps, her voice broken as her body jerks uncontrollably in your grasp.

Her second climax stretches on, each wave crashing harder than the last, leaving her trembling violently. The combination of your warmth spilling into her, the unrelenting depth, and the closeness of your bodies becomes an intoxicating overload. Her cries turn into soft, breathless whimpers, her body spent yet still clinging to the aftershocks, as though it doesn’t want the moment to end.

You hold her tightly, your hands cupping her breasts as you knead them gently, grounding her in your embrace. “You’re amazing,” you murmur, your voice thick with awe as you press soft kisses to her shoulder. Your body stills, but the weight of you keeps her anchored, every lingering contraction pulling you closer as you both ride out the final moments of bliss.

When the intensity finally begins to ebb, her body goes completely limp beneath you, her breathing shallow and uneven as she shivers against the mattress. Her warmth presses against you, and you instinctively shift to avoid putting too much weight on her, but you don’t pull away. Your chest remains flush against her back, your arms wrapped protectively around her waist as the lingering tremors of her release ripple through her.

“Are you okay?” you murmur softly, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear, the tenderness in your tone grounding her.

She nods weakly, her voice barely audible as she lets out a soft, breathless sigh. “That was… oh my god, that was… the best,” she murmurs, her words trailing off as the aftershocks continue to course through her. Her cheeks are deeply flushed, her skin glistening with a sheen of effort and ecstasy. When she tilts her head slightly to glance up at you, her eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed with a dreamy, dazed expression. She looks utterly spent yet so full of contentment that it makes your chest ache with affection.

“Not going to argue with that,” you reply, a soft chuckle escaping as you brush a damp strand of hair from her face. “That was… something else.”

As you begin to shift, intending to pull away, her hand suddenly presses against yours, her fingers curling weakly around your arm. “Wait,” she whispers, her voice trembling but firm. “Just… stay. Just for a little while.”

You pause, the words stirring something deep within you. Nodding silently, you settle back against her, letting your weight ground her as you both bask in the afterglow. The intimacy of the moment feels infinite, your breathing slowly syncing as the world outside seems to dissolve.

Minutes pass, the quiet punctuated only by the faint hum of your synchronized breaths and her occasional whimpers as the lingering aftershocks ripple through her body. She remains still beneath you, her trembling legs unable to support her fully, as if the weight of the moment has left her boneless.

When you finally begin to pull out, it’s with deliberate care, your movements slow and tender, your hand resting on her lower back to steady her. The moment you leave her, she gasps softly, her body instinctively clenching at the sudden emptiness. A high-pitched whimper escapes her lips, her voice trembling with raw emotion as her body quivers in response.

“No…” she whines softly, her forehead pressing against the mattress as her fingers weakly clutch the sheets for stability. The loss seems almost unbearable, a hollow ache that fills the void you’ve left behind. “I’m so full but… I feel so empty,” she murmurs, her words laced with both longing and exhaustion.

Your eyes lower, taking in the sight of your release threatening to spill from her, glistening as it lingers at her entrance. The sight stirs something protective and possessive in you, a reminder of the connection you’ve just shared. Reaching out gently, you press a soothing kiss to the curve of her shoulder, your hand rubbing gentle circles along her back. “I’ve got you,” you whisper, your voice full of warmth as you pull her closer into your embrace. She melts into you again, her soft, spent body fitting perfectly against yours.

The world outside feels distant, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping you both in a cocoon of warmth and trust. Neither of you speaks, the gentle rhythm of your synchronized breaths the only sound, as her body fully relaxes in your arms.

Eventually, Yeojin stirs slightly, her head lifting just enough to mumble, “We’re… such a mess.” Her voice is barely audible, her words trailing off as her eyes flutter shut again.

You laugh softly, your hands trailing down her back in soothing strokes. “You’re not wrong,” you admit, glancing down at the tousled strands of hair sticking to her damp skin and the faint sheen that glistens over you both. “How about we clean up?”

She groans softly, her arms tightening weakly around your neck. “I don’t think I can move,” she admits, her voice tinged with a mixture of humor and genuine fatigue. “You’ll have to do everything.”

“Deal,” you reply with a grin, scooping her up effortlessly. She lets out a soft gasp, but it’s quickly followed by a quiet, sleepy giggle as she leans her head against your shoulder, her arms draping limply around your neck.

The bathroom fills with soft steam as you adjust the shower, the warm spray cascading down and curling around you both. Yeojin shivers slightly in your arms as you guide her under the water, her body slumping gently against you. She tilts her head back, letting the spray soak her hair and trail down her delicate frame. A contented sigh escapes her lips as the water warms her skin, her eyelids fluttering closed.

Her small hands rest lightly on your chest, her grip loose and trusting. “You’re too good to me,” she murmurs, her voice soft and dreamy.

“You make it easy,” you reply, brushing your lips against her temple. The water streams around you both, and her body sags further against yours, her trust in your care palpable as you hold her steady.

“Let me take care of you,” you say gently, brushing a damp strand of hair from her flushed face. She nods weakly, her trust in you evident as she allows you to guide her closer to the stream. The water trails down her body, glistening over her soft curves as she lets out a quiet, contented sigh.

You reach for the shampoo, lathering it between your hands before carefully working it into her hair. Your fingers move in slow, soothing circles, massaging her scalp with deliberate care. She hums softly, her head tilting forward slightly, her balance wavering as she leans heavily into your chest.

“Relax,” you murmur, holding her steady with one hand on her waist. “I’ve got you.”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, her eyes closing as she lets herself melt into your touch. The soft hum of the water surrounds you both, a cocoon of warmth and quiet intimacy. As you rinse her hair, guiding the water to wash away the suds, her small hands rest limply against your arms, her fingers curling weakly as if to hold onto you.

When her hair is clean, you reach for the body wash, lathering it onto your hands. Gently, you trail your palms over her shoulders and down her arms, your touch light but thorough. “You’re so good to me,” she murmurs, her voice slurred with exhaustion and affection. Her head rests against your chest, her breaths shallow but steady.

You smile softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You deserve it,” you reply, your tone low and full of warmth.

As your hands move lower, gliding over her back and across her sides, you notice the slight quiver in her legs. “Can you stand, or should I hold you up?” you ask, your voice tinged with concern.

She shakes her head weakly, her hands clutching at your arms. “Just… hold me,” she whispers, her tone almost pleading.

Without hesitation, you slide your arm around her waist, pulling her closer to steady her. Your other hand continues its careful work, trailing down to her thighs. Her breath hitches as your fingers glide over the inside of her thighs, your touch gentle but deliberate. You shift slightly, intending to clean her thoroughly, but the moment your hand moves higher, she weakly stops you, her small fingers curling around your wrist.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice trembling but firm. “I… want to keep it. Please.”

Your chest tightens at her words, the intimacy of the moment stealing your breath. You lower your hand immediately, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice thick with affection. “Anything you want.”

She relaxes again in your hold, her trust and vulnerability filling the space between you with a quiet intensity. You adjust her slightly, resuming your gentle attention elsewhere, ensuring she feels cared for without pushing her boundaries.

As the water rinses her skin, you feel the last remnants of tension leave her body, replaced by a deep, bone-deep relaxation. Her head lolls to the side, her cheek resting against your chest as she exhales softly, her lips brushing against your skin.

“Almost done,” you whisper, your hand trailing down her legs one final time. The warmth of the water and the tenderness of the moment seem to lull her further, her eyes fluttering closed as she lets herself lean fully into your support.

When you’re finished, you turn off the shower and wrap her in a fluffy towel, lifting her effortlessly as her arms drape over your shoulders. “You’re spoiling me,” she murmurs sleepily, her voice muffled against your neck.

“Good,” you reply, pressing a kiss to the crown of her damp hair. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

Her cheeks flush deeper, but she doesn’t argue, simply burying her face against you as you carry her out of the bathroom. Once back in the bedroom, you set her down gently, sitting her on the edge of the bed as you begin to dry her hair with the towel.

Her head tilts forward slightly, her eyes half-closed as you fuss over her. “Okay, enough,” she protests weakly, though the softness in her voice and the tiny smile on her lips betray her affection for your care. “I can do it myself.”

“Not yet,” you reply with a grin, continuing to gently rub the towel over her damp hair. “You’re still half asleep, and I don’t trust you not to just fall over.”

She lets out a small laugh, her shoulders relaxing further as you work. Once her hair is mostly dry, you hand her the towel to finish the rest. “Keep going,” you tell her gently, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll be right back.”

Stepping away, you pull the rumpled covers from the bed, stripping the sheets and replacing them with fresh ones. The soft fabric feels cool under your fingers as you smooth the corners, ensuring everything is perfect for her. The faint scent of lavender from the new sheets fills the air, adding to the calm, cozy atmosphere.

By the time you return, Yeojin is still perched on the edge of the bed, her towel loosely draped around her shoulders. She looks up at you with sleepy, affectionate eyes, her small frame practically folding into itself as she waits.

“All done,” you announce with a soft smile, lifting the fresh blankets and gesturing for her to crawl in. She doesn’t need any prompting, slipping under the covers with a contented sigh as you slide in beside her.

Immediately, she shifts closer, curling into your chest as you drape your arm over her waist. Her small body fits perfectly against yours, and you gently pull her closer, resting your chin lightly on the top of her head. Her fingers trace absentminded patterns on your forearm as the warmth of her frame melts into yours.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, her voice muffled against your chest.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’re perfect like this.”

The quiet comfort of the moment stretches out as her breathing slows, her body relaxing fully against yours. You think she might have drifted off when she stirs slightly, her fingers tightening their grip on your arm.

“What’s up?” you ask, glancing down at her.

She hesitates for a moment, her cheeks visibly pink even in the dim light. “I… I want to hold you,” she whispers, her voice small but certain.

Your eyebrows lift in surprise, but your heart swells at the sincerity in her words. A smile tugs at your lips as you gently nudge her chin so she looks up at you. “You want to switch?” you ask playfully, your voice tinged with affection.

She nods shyly, her gaze darting away before meeting yours again. “I just… I want to,” she murmurs, her tone vulnerable but earnest. “Please?”

You chuckle softly and roll onto your back, your arm slipping under her shoulders to guide her over. “Alright, princess,” you reply warmly, settling her partially on top of you.

Yeojin wastes no time, shifting until her body molds into yours, her chest pressing against your side as her arms drape over you. One leg slides over your waist, her knee hooking securely against your hip as if anchoring herself in place.She presses into you, her cheek nestles against your shoulder as she sighs contentedly.

Her fingers rest lightly against your chest, occasionally twitching as if trying to hold onto you tighter. “This feels good,” she murmurs, her voice thick with drowsy affection. “I just wanted to… be close to you.”

You smile softly, your hand finding its way to her back, brushing gentle circles over her skin. “I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, your tone low and soothing.

She shifts slightly, her lips brushing against your shoulder in a sleepy kiss. The tender gesture makes your chest tighten with warmth, though her attempt is interrupted when she sputters suddenly, pulling back with a small groan. “Bitter soap!” she mumbles, her voice full of sleepy indignation.

You laugh quietly, your fingers trailing up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s on you for sneaking a taste,” you tease gently.

She huffs playfully, burying her face into your shoulder as her arms tighten around you. “I don’t care. I’m not moving,” she mutters stubbornly, her words muffled against your skin.

“Good,” you reply with a grin, pulling the blanket higher over both of you. “Stay right there.”

Her breathing slows as her body fully relaxes into yours, the warmth and weight of her slight frame grounding you both. Even as sleep claims her, her leg stays draped over your waist, her fingers resting limply on your chest as if to remind you she’s still there.

Under the fresh covers, surrounded by the calm intimacy of the moment, you let your own eyes drift closed. The world outside fades, leaving just the quiet sound of her breaths and the steady beat of her heart against your side as you both sink into peaceful slumber, perfectly entwined.

741 notes · View notes

cherryspicest · 8 months ago

Text

Silent Desires

BLACKPINK Rosé x Male Reader 13.6k words

It took quite a long time before I managed to finish this. Kinda struggled with the smut part since I'm not really used on writing one and it was my first time. Of course, still learning.

Was also kinda lazy to proofread it since I have no much time left to do it. PC monitor is broken as well.

The house perfectly matched what you imagined back in Indonesia: two stories painted in blue, and visible wood planks on walls. That one alone window on the second floor must be your bedroom. It had curtains so you thought it might be. Black water filled the canals below and it stretched up to four blocks from your right. It wasn’t smelly, but sure was dirty.

The driver helped carry boxes containing your stuff from home, some were heavy and not, and those light ones were under your carry. When you asked him to place it at the front door, he refused and insisted on placing it inside the living room instead. He was taller than you, a visible look of a state man on his face. Usually they’d wear red caps during work like what TV shows would portray.

Amid work, you saw the neighbor on your right took out a black garbage plastic that was twice the size of her width, and she struggled to carry it inside the garbage can. She was slender, had her hair dyed whitish purple, and a hint of Asian in her eyes. She wore a white top with thin black sleeves covering her arms, and denim shorts that exposed her pretty legs. They were mesmerizing. But you didn’t want to look like a creep either. Seeing her glance at you, you waved your hands. Hoping for atleast a smile or a wave back, you didn’t get one. She chose to ignore your greeting as she headed back to her house. Maybe she was blind or her eyes were blurred, so you didn’t take that bad too much. But the feeling of rejection still hits you like a train.

When all boxes were brought inside, the driver returned to his van and waved goodbye before pulling off. Took hours before every item from each box was pulled out, fixed in places and corners. Most furniture was made in tarnished wood. They were elegant.

The sun had started to set, you could see it by the orange clouds and vibrant violet skies outside your window. It was your first sunset in Canada and you loved the scenery. They seemed like perfect wallpapers you'd see on the Internet.

You stepped outside for fresh air and saw the girl at the right house once again. She sat on the doorway stairs, shading below the black roof. She must’ve not seen your greeting awhile ago, it must’ve been an unintentional ignore. You were shy, everyone would do, but in fear of being a loner you chose to overcome it.

A grass field separates your houses, but only a few steps, like thirty or thirty five steps from yours. She kept her composure and watched your presence coming to her property, a toothpick in her mouth. Her eyes behind those specs remained unwelcoming and a lingering bitchiness within.

“Hey there um. . . I’m your new neighbor by the way on your left so I guess it wouldn’t be bad if I introduce myself to you aye?” You began, keeping your tone calm and friendly. Behind you were nervous and shy.

She played with the toothpick with her tongue, moving it from the left to right corner of her mouth. Her eyes gazed into yours and there was silence for seconds. When you tried to talk again, she interrupted you.

“Too bad for you I don’t talk to strangers” She answered with an Australian accent, so she must be an Aussie.

“I mean like at least-“

“I don’t . . . Talk to strangers.” She stood up. She was slightly smaller than you, but she had the height. Walking slowly towards you, you began to step back. “Do I have to repeat it again to you Mister? I don’t have time for these corny things. If you’re a new bird here, keep it that way as long as you don’t bother me.”

“Alright chill” You raised both palms. “I’m sorry for disturbing you Ma’am.”

You began to walk away while she kept her eyes at you, standing firmly, watching you disappear on her property. You must’ve been so lucky to stumble upon a kind of person on your first day. They said Canadians are welcoming and appreciative, but it seemed it was all a scam.

It was a slight struggle to forget that interaction, but soon you’ve moved on. Days continued with cleaning and adjusting to the new surroundings. The town near the village had good amenities and stores to buy goods from, and you realized the currency seemed low, then you also remembered it’s pricey when converted into your currency.

Each day you’d walk past her house, you can’t resist looking for her presence. She was pretty, everyone would agree, some might not, but in your eyes she was, though her attitude said otherwise.

Days continued with no interaction with the neighborhood. A day later it was time for the first day of class. You jumbled through your closet, finding your best outfit. You wore a simple black oversized T-shirt and cargo pants, like your usual outfit when going out on malls with your parents. But it was a weird feeling to wear civilian clothes on normal days of school. In your country they’d require you to wear a uniform in some cases.

The university looked like an old British house. The walls were made in bricks, and pillars were carved in vertical strips, colored in white gloss paint, that held up much of the entrance shade. Students walk past you. They were tall; it was expected.

The first subject was Science, and it took minutes before you could’ve reached your classroom. You had to ask some professors for the room direction, told you to walk 2 floors above, then turn right, saying you’d see a cone bush at the front of the door; which was on the corner near it. As you entered the classroom, you sat on the seat near the window, third row from the blackboard. Shelves stood at the back most of the classroom. Frames of old looking people hanging on the side walls with their names below of their faces. ‘Jonathan’ if you had read some of their names correctly.

It all started with introductions and knowing each other. Some were old students so they had formed a bond already. Learning you were from Asia, they seemed surprised. When you returned to your seat, someone had already sat beside you. His name was James when you asked. He was friendly, his vibe was cool enough to make you feel comfortable to talk.

During break, he had opened up most of the happenings around the school, and some students you need to avoid stumbling into. Sounded like a cliche school scenario, but it’s the states. Three women walked over the corridor, catching most of the students eyes around the area, even the both of you.

“Who are those? They look Asian.”

“Like you, yes” James continued. “That’s Lisa, Jisoo, and Jennie. One of the popular girls around the campus, obviously. All of them were sophomores.”

“So they are Asian?”

“I just said it a second ago.” He glanced at you. “There used to be four, until that issue happened. She goddamn disappeared like a rat from a cat.”

“You know what happened?”

“I don’t know man, I ain’t touching other’s shit. But I’ll tell you, she’s hella pretty. That Australian ‘yaur’ and ‘wotah’ would make you impressed if you’ve only reached that time when she was here.”

Once they disappeared on your sights, you both continued your way back to the classroom.

You thought everything seemed to flow smoothly, until you met this group of boys who had entered the classroom late. They didn’t approach nor face you, but the way they gave you those eyes was enough for you to understand; not friendly. You didn’t mind and pretended they didn’t exist. Few hours had passed, Monday class had come to an end, and you and your friend had separate ways at the intersection near the school.

On you walk home, you saw the neighbor girl once again. The sun had set down, but it was not hard to familiarize her face on the dim. She sat on the same spot, a toothpick in her mouth, and wore her thin framed specs. You wanted to ignore her presence but she’s just too attractive to resist, and when she caught your eyes, trying to land a quick glance at her, you just bowed.

As usual, you received nothing but eyes and silence.

Back in your house you finished the first assignments of the day, it was History and Science, so it took much time despite its simple instructions. You heard voices outside your window. You were confused. The moon had shone brightly between dark clouds, and it’s eleven in the night. You peeked over your window and saw a SUV parked in front of your neighbor’s house, its headlights lit. Three women stood and one of them rushed your cold neighbor into a hug. They wore fancy clothes, like in a club or party.

You watched closely and realized they were the same girls you’ve seen back in the corridor. And when they all stepped inside, you finally pulled away. You remembered what James said, the girl who had left their circle and decided to not go to school anymore, and maybe she was that woman who chose to rot in her house instead. Maybe yes, maybe not. Questions lingered in your mind as you packed up your things for tomorrow, then later you found yourself sleeping in your bed.

Tomorrow was the same usual day, but things went sideways when the arrogant looking boy group came to approach you while you scrolled through your phone on your seat.

“Hey man, heard you’re the new rice eater around the campus again huh?” He grinned, his tone sarcastic. “So, how tho?”

“What how?”

“I mean . . . How you get into this school? I don’t remember that it’s easy for people like you to attend here.”

“Ah? By having a brain, I guess?”

He chuckles and looks back at his friends; who were grinning along with him. You reminded yourself to stay low and humble. You wanted to be known on campus, like a popular one, just like how you were known as the “Friendly guy” in your old school. And once you made a big mistake with these morons, it'd put you into a crumpled outcast inside the university.

“Alright, they like your answer rice boy, but I don’t. ” He scoffs, giving light nods. “Here, if you’re trying to act cool and shit here, it won’t work. So don’t start something that people would hate you for. I’m just reminding you boss, not threatening you. As long as you play with the system around here, you’re fine, aye?”

You nodded slowly, though deep inside you’re annoyed; you hated getting into a situation like this. You felt like getting controlled or so what, and for the sake of your positive look from the other people you just agreed to his terms.

James accompanied you most of the school hours. The Math professor was absent today, so you found yourselves sitting on the bench outside, in the park.

“So you met Deandre?” He opened up

“Yeah, he’s the bully in the classroom right?”

“Sort of. Like man, that dude came from a wealthy family so of course his attitude would be obviously like that. You remembered what you saw yesterday?”

“The girls?”

“Yeah those fine ladies, he dated one of them. I don’t remember who, but he did. So yeah, he became more known to the campus until his ego just went” He mimicked a plane with his hand and raised it upwards, making a swooshing sound.

“Well about the girls, you told me that the woman who left was ‘Aussie’ right?” You remembered last night’s event. Jisoo, Jennie and Lisa, they were three, but still unsure. They had given the vibe.

“I guess? She had the accent, so yes. Why?”

“Well I have this neighbor who speaks with that accent as well. She looks cute, and tall. You know these cute girls with specs.”

James scoff, shaking his head. “Nah man, I doubt it’d be Rose. She had left Canada already and maybe returned to her hometown.”

“Yeah, maybe I’m just assuming too much.”

So days continued like this. James has been by your side most of the time, and you met some new friends along the classroom. Clifton, Julia, and Tyrone, that’s where their names are. They were old students who began here three years ago. They had formed bonds already, knowing each other before you could have, but you didn’t mind. Every new bird starts with this.

Yet there were the morons who never stopped bothering you. During breaks, when you’re alone, they’d come and ask for some extra lunch or snack. It’s not a sort of bullying way where they’d punch you suddenly, but more like they’d threaten you when you don’t contribute; telling you they’d frame you up for stealing someone’s snack from their bag. James couldn’t do anything as well, as much as he wanted to help, he knew what this group of dick heads could do if you’d go against them.

Remembering their words, just go with the flow. You’re not some sort of a main character where punching them would turn you into a superstar

As usual, there were no changes with your interactions with the cute neighbor. Every time you’d walk past her house, sometimes you’d see her outside on the usual spot she’d sit in. Exchanging glances on each other, you were used to it, and every day that passed by, having the same usual empty interaction, you began to feel tired of chasing your wanted friendship until you start ignoring her.

One night you walked home late. You stayed in the library for a long time without realizing it. You also didn’t want to skip a gym session, so you worked out around seven in the night, then finished by nine already

You saw her at the front of her property talking to two guys, one stood behind her. They had bandanas around their forehead. They wore baggy denim shorts and some sleeves that had pockets on the chest part, where one pulled a cigarette box out from it. You walked slowly to watch the scenario, it’s strange to see her talk to someone else anyways.

The guy behind grabbed her arm forcefully and she tried to resist but was not deemed enough to match a moron’s strength. The man on the front lit the cigarette in his mouth, a hint of glow in the stick, and right as he came closer he blew smoke at her face. You kept your composure and thought she must owe them something, but then the discomfort in her eyes, pleading for help, left you no choice but to save her.

“Yo leave the girl alone.” You said as you approached, your tone calm. A hint of frustration when they looked at you in unison, despite your neighbor’s arrogant attitude, you felt the sense of needing help in her eyes.

“Who are you, punk?” The white man with the cigarette answered as he faced you, taking another in his cigarette. “Never seen your face around here yet?”

“You don’t need to know who I Am bro, just leave her alone.”

“And what will happen if I don’t?” He slowly clenched his fist, you noticed it. And as he slowly took a step forward, you reached out to your pocket and pulled out the butterfly knife you loved playing with. Their courageous eyes turned hesitant when they noticed, and as you spun and free styled the blade he took a step backwards.

You took a step forward, and they flinched when you feinted them. Just a bunch of dick-heads they were, acting strong but lacking action.

“You’re lucky, woman” The guy who held her arm said as they left the both of you, running across the empty street.

You watched them disappear from the darkness. Your neighbor slowly looked at you. Hoping for some kind thanks or appreciation for saving her life, well you didn’t get it, again.

“I can handle myself, why do you have to butt in.” She hissed and walked back to her house.

“What’s your problem?” You raised your voice. “Thanking is the least thing you can do, why do you have to be this shit ass?”

She ignored your words, shut the door closed, and the lights from her door disappeared. Guess helping her was not the right move to earn her trust. Since the start she was this toxic, she never changed, and to think she’s just alone in this house without anyone visiting her but her friends completely gives the reason. You’re tired of chasing her. She’s not worth it anyways. It’s better to be independent than to chase some person who doesn't give a single shit at you.

In your bedroom, you were about to sleep. Move your circular pillow and unroll the blanket wide. You were still bothered by the past hour scenario and worried they might come back, so you took a quick peek at her house from your curtains. It’s just that you’re worried about some bad things that may happen during the night and who else could know what those assholes have been running in their minds right now.

When you saw the lights from her bedroom shut, you finally laid back and slept the night away.

The next day at the school, a seminar was held at the gymnasium where most students were required to be at the place. Chattering and noises filled the whole gymnasium. You and your new group of friends sat together at the upper box, third row, enough to see the announcer deliver his words from the court floor.

You saw the three ladies once again sitting in the same row as yours. The morons were there as well, staying by their side, one guy carried the short hair’s bag. Were they some sort of servants? No they were not when you saw the guy who threatened you rest his arm around the cat shaped eye girl’s seat. She was fine with it, smiling at him despite the corniest move a guy would do.

Then you met them later again in the corridor as you stepped out from the male’s comfort room. The girls were with them, stood by their side and one behind. Your eyes met Deandre’s, it was full of wickedness, and a smirk forming in his lips.

“Yo rice boy, what’s good? Can help me out for some slight extra money? You know it would be bad if I’m left hungry for the day.” He began. “Just a little you know? I mean not that I have no money, but at least . . . An extra?”

“Sorry bro, I can’t help you with that.” You forced a smile and began to walk out. Then he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, making you stop.

“Come on bro” He softened his voice that only you could hear. “Remember what I said back then? I bet you wouldn’t like the consequences when you don’t provide something, right?”

And there you are, stupid enough to give half of your brought money in your wallet. Following the system, the same thing that runs in your mind over and over again for the sake of your dream popularity. Nice guy in a jean jacket, that’s what you wanted. Their eyes locked on you while you walked out, keeping your friendly vibe despite the anger boiling inside you.

Days turned into weeks, and you received the same usual treatment from them all over and over again. You just seemed to be these morons play toy. Every time you’d walk back home, it’s always frustration that you’d bring, that you just wanted to beat them until they begged crying on the floor. If it weren’t for your scholarship that required you to behave and act like a chained goat around crocodiles, then you would have shown those morons what they deserved.

As well, you continued to ignore your ‘appreciating’ attitude neighbor. Between those days, you were used to it, and then you felt it’s something normal you’d do. Until one day, while walking back home, she approached you with crossed arms in the middle of the street. The sun had started to set down on the thick, dark clouds like it’s clinging on its own. She wore a simple black shirt and denim shorts.

She pulled out a few money bills from her pocket and reached it at you. “Here.”

“For what? ”

“For saving me last week.”

“No need, thank you anyway.” You began to walk.

“I’m just returning what I owe you.” She continued, and you paused.

“I don’t look like money, Miss. I just did what a normal person would do—help somebody who’s in distress. I didn’t do that to impress and such. Just take your money.”

“Every Monday, you’d walk past my house between five and six in the afternoon. Then, all of a sudden, you appeared nowhere on the street at nine? ”

“And you’re assuming I'm stalking you? ”

“I didn’t say anything, boy?”

You groaned. “You know what? A simple thank you will end this conversation instead. Besides, I won’t even have a conversation with someone like you anyway.”

“Hm? Thank you, my neighbor superhero; that’s what you want to hear, right? ”She forced a smile, narrowing her eyes. “Plus, why do you even want to be friends with me in the first place? You boys are just the same. Tell me you’d be friends with me, then I get comfortable with you, let you inside my house, and then we wait to invite each other to fuck in each other’s mouths in my bedroom. That’s your plan, isn't it? ”

You scoffed. “This woman is ridiculous.”

“Don’t act blurry, Y/N. You guys have the same minds when it comes to meeting girls.” She tilts her head, keeping her gaze. Though she’s pretty and her pair of alluringly slender legs, it never came to your mind to fuck her somewhere else around.

“Alright, you're generalizing too much. Look Miss, I just want to be friendly to the people around me. You’re my neighbor ma’am. The lot on my left is empty, and you’re the only person I could talk to around this place. Isn’t that hard to understand?” You answered. “And, did you just call me by my name?”

She kept her composure, not even saying a single word.

“See, I must be right, you are friends with the famous girls in the university. That night, I saw three girls visit you in your house. There are three as well in the school: Lisa, Jennie, Jisoo, and you’re probably the Rose that James was talking about.”

“So what?”

“So what? It means that you’re just one of them. A bunch of assholes that make fun of students not popular as you all do, and abuse their souls out just because they don’t fight back.”

“Oh, I’m an asshole now?” She took a step forward and landed a push on your chest. “Talk shit at me if you don’t put your ass down when Deandre is around you.”

“I ain’t a coward around him, don’t you dare call me that.” You pointed at her.

“Then what do you call yourself then?”

“I’m doing it on purpose. I just want . . . “ You cut yourself off. Opening up your dream of being a popular boy in the university will just ruin your image more at her. “I’m doing it for my scholarship. You think I’d still be here if I punched him in the ground?”

“A scholar?’ She scoffed and glanced around her surroundings. “Poor for you, you have to endure that. So don’t cry on me that you’re experiencing those. You chose this University, face the consequences then.”

She might sound aggressive, but some of her words were right. Her last phrase ‘ you chose this university and face the consequence ‘ hit you. You wanted to experience life in the west because you saw how most of your relatives seemed to enjoy their lives here. Luxurious sedans, modern houses, that’s what you saw most in their pictures. Then you wished to apply your school experience here from your hometown thinking it’d just be the same.

You had mixed feelings with your encounter with Rose; disappointment and excitement. She was fierce and straightforward. Up close, you wouldn’t expect such an attitude from her gorgeous visuals. You wondered if she had a boyfriend, or probably no one would even wonder with her arrogant attitude.

She was annoyingly attractive.

The next day, it was Saturday, so you had no classes. You finished all your assignments right away before so you wouldn’t worry about chasing papers to your professors. You went for a jog around the village, no streets were missed to walk into. Most houses were colored assorted but had the same design as yours and Rose’s.

Finishing your lap, you walk past Rose’s house and see her garage door lifted open. It wasn’t hard to see her in the dim, and when you got close, just under the garage door, you saw her fixing a vehicle’s engine. The car was purple, you could tell beneath those dusts, and looked like a mustang built from 80’s

Black stains marked her arms and gray shirt. She wore baggy pants and a cap, her pony tail squeezed between the cap’s closure. She noticed your shadow from the floor and quickly looked back with her wrench pointed at you.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a warning tone. There was visible tiredness within her eyes.

“Are you trying to fix your alternator?”

“Why do you care?”

“Maybe I can lend some hand for you, I missed doing mechanical work, especially with cars and stuff.” You leaned against the wall, crossing your arms.

“I don’t need.” She turned back and continued her hands on the engine. You just watched her, she said no and you wouldn’t want to be an annoying fly that would force yourself into her.

Several seconds later, there was a spark and she squealed, pulling her arms away quickly and moving from a distance. Her eyes slowly looked at you, her face fresh from shock.

“You just made the scenario worse.” You stepped in and took a look at her engine, where you noticed a red wire with little smoke in it. “Worse thing is, you’re trying to check every wire in here when this red wire has visible tears on it.”

“What are you saying?” She gave you a look as if you’re saying bullshit, still standing at the same spot.

“Your alternator is shorted. So you might need to get yourself a new wire for this.”

She slowly took her steps closer and stood beside you, picking the red wire where the smoke had fully disappeared. She watched it close, then her eyes shut as a sigh escaped her mouth.

“You can buy some wires there in town. Just gotta tell the staff there this and that and you’re good.” You began to walk away

“Shit.” She groaned, then turned to look at you. There was frustration in her tone. “Alright, can you do me a favor?”

“Favor? I thought you didn't need my help?”

“Come on, please don’t be dick head for now.” She hisses.

“I’m now the dick head between us now huh? After talking shit at me yesterday?”

“Y/n!” She widened her eyes, warning you.

“Now, you’re turning the tables again” You scoff, then reach your palm at her. “Money.”

“I don’t have cash right now.” She dug her hands in her pockets. “I’ll just pay you in some way, Just-“ She groaned. “ Buy me the wire for now.”

Well, you couldn’t resist her. She had this sort of lack of temper management, maybe only to you or to everybody, but yet you still find it attractive and hot. The wire shouldn’t cost much of your cash so you agreed with her request.

It only took around ten minutes to find the exact wire from mechanic shops and later you arrived back at her house. The wire cost two and a half dollars. You bought two in case things went sideways, you knew how Rose would obviously act if it did so.

“You sure this is it?” She looked up at you.

“Yeah. I told him my boss would kick me out of the house if he gave me the wrong one.”

She chuckles, it was your first time seeing a smile form in her lips and it was beautiful. You hoped you’d see more of it. You began to step out of her garage again and her face became intrigued,

“Where are you going?” She asks.

“Home, why?”

“Did I tell you to?”

Your brows furrowed. “Are you my mommy or something?”

“No, but you can’t just leave right away.”

“Why not?”

She tilts her head, resting a hand over the car’s grills. “So you can just walk away from your asshole neighbor that easily?”

“Probably yeah, I hate assholes.” You grinned and she turned her back at you, continuing her hands on the car. You heard her talking with her head ducked inside the engine.

“Alright, stick with your decision then. ”

You left out a quick chuckle at her before you walked away from her garage. The sun had shown a great promise above the skies where you wanted to get off right away under its burning rays. Before you would have reached the tree near your house you heard Rose make a loud “ow” that sounded like a moan and groan at the same time. It sounded good, you didn’t deny. There was this sort of excitement inside you when you heard it, but still it’s just bad.

You ran back then found her at the same spot, her head still ducked in the car’s engine, and when she noticed your shadow she slowly looked back.

“What happened?” You asked worriedly.

“Why are you here?”

“I heard you just yell or so and I thought that something happened to you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to help me.”

You glanced away. “Human instinct bro. I mean come on, even a stray ass dog will come here when you yell like that. So what happened?”

She smirked and shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe I hit my head? Lost a finger, popped my eyeballs out.”

“What the hell is that answer?”

She rolled her eyes and threw the wrench at your front. “I obviously need help, asshole. Why the hard to get behavior?”

“I’m not.” You picked up the wrench and slowly stepped into her garage once again. “It’s you who’s doing it. Acting arrogant the whole time then turns into a little pup when things go down.”

She pushed your arm and it left a black stain on your gray tee. “Yah? Calling me a little pup as if you’re not one as well in your school, huh?”

“I’m just doing it for the sake of my scholarship and dream popular-“ You quickly stopped when you realized you slipped off your greatest secret, but it seemed too late already you saw her eyebrows raised and she chuckled.

“Popularity? So you want to be a popular guy huh?” She covered her mouth, and you watched her giggle in amusement. “This dude what the hell?”

“Alright, laugh all you want.”

She continued laughing at you, placing continuous taps over her car. You felt embarrassed that you wanted to squeeze yourself into a tin can, never to be found again. Was this a turn off? Nevertheless, you began fixing and removing the old wires of the alternator of her car, making yourself busy at least.

“Yeah yeah.” She finally uncovered and heard her sniff. “Fucking hilarious, that is something that a nerd guy would dream in a high school musical. Damn boy, I never thought you’d be funny” She stood beside and noticed your silence. “Wait, so you’re not joking?”

When you didn’t answer, she placed another push on the same spot, turning the stain even darker.

“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Y/n.” She said between chuckles. “Tell me that you need bitches without actually telling me you need bitches.”

“Hey?” You paused while ducking in. “That’s not the point why I want to be. To be honest, I don’t need one.” You lied. Though you wanted one, maybe someone like her or either herself. She gives this bitch vibe who’d you call ‘mommy’ and kneel upon while she verbally or physically abuses you. She’s hot as hell.

“And that’s something a bitchless guy would say in a girl so he’d feel like ‘I’m manly and tough, I don’t need girls in my life because they’re bunch of useless beings’ “

You tapped the battery with the wrench, sounding a ‘ting’, and you stood straight. “You know what, I’m done. Fix it yourself.”

“Oh no, baby boy is crying again.” She made a mocking sad face. “Did I hurt his feelings again?”

“It’s just annoying that you’d always make me look like I’m some weak ass shit who couldn’t do anything.”

“I did not say you are, and plus I’m just stating the facts based on my experiences.” She snatched the wrench out from your right hand, then moved closer at you.”They’d tell me the same sentences all over again thinking they’ll impress me.” She squints her eyes, tilting her head. Her hair brushing over your hand. “But guess who’s falling into their knees at the end? Calling me ‘Mommy’ while I ruin their mental shits out and even with those they’d still always look for it.” Her voice became soft, a lingering mischief within her tone. “Seems like I’m pretty irresistible right?”

You were frozen, and at the same time you’re lowkey enjoying the moment with her hidden side.

“Why aren’t you answering, you know I hate these kinds of people who leave me hanging.” She added while she kept her eyes locked on yours.

You shook your head to snap yourself back to reality, you were falling into her trap or some sort of hypnotism. She’s too alluring, every second you’d feel something pulling you into placing your lips on hers.

“Whatever, I’ll just finish this” You ducked back below the hood, continuing your hands on the wires. “I still have a meeting later.”

She scoffed. “It’s Saturday dumb ass.”

“Meeting isn’t always related to school.”

“As if I knew it?”

So you stayed by her side most of the day, fixed her broken mustang’s alternator, then had small conversations with her. You were getting dirty every hour. The amount of dust, dried oil stains and burnt ashes all over, but you didn’t care anyways. She had treated you to lunch, surprisingly for her, and you’re starting to see her bright personality on every hour that passes by. You thought James lied.

When you got some water inside her house, you saw notebooks and pens on her desk and the lamp light lit open. Most books had your university’s name on it. A brown acoustic guitar with a capo stood beside the desk. She plays instruments? Damn she’s just attractive.

Finally, you had replaced all the broken wires with new ones and when you told her to start it up, the mustang came into life, roaring while the engine shook within the rhythm. She squealed in happiness. You saw her covering her mouth from the windshield while she enjoyed the view inside like a kid who sat in a Lamborghini for the first time of her life.

You stepped a few steps backward and enjoyed the view of her car that was revived from the dead. You let out a relieved sigh. You watched her step out from her car as she approached you with a light smile on her lips; now this seems sincere rather than a forced one.

“Ko-ma-wo”

“Uh, what?”

“It’s thank you in Korean.’ She answers.

“Oh” You hesitated for a second, then gave her a quick bow despite looking stupid because you knew that’s what most Koreans do when receiving thanks. “No problem.”

“As I told you a while ago that I’m pretty cashless right now, I don’t know how I would pay you.”

There were a lot of thoughts running in your mind, and obviously they were what a guy would like for a hot girl to do: free sex, having her knees down at the floor while she devours your cock, maybe a dog style on the garage, or maybe be his boyfriend. But you were educated, not some punk ass dude who’d treat them like objects. You knew the boundaries, so instead you just kept it to yourself.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to. I enjoyed fixing your car anyways, so it’s more of my own liking rather than a forced work.”

“Well . . . I don’t think I can agree with that.” She looked skeptical. “I just don’t feel like living in a world knowing I’m indebted to someone.”

“It’s fine, Rose. I volunteered, so I don’t really need you to feel indebted just because of that. I told you myself, I don’t need it.” You emphasized the final three words, hoping she’d finally agree with your request. But it was not a request either. You’d call it a consolation thanking because she finally talked to you properly without being a bitch.

She sighed, her eyes closing while she looked down. Both of you were outside the garage, but still under the lifted door that covered you from the blazing heat.

“I’ll think about how I would pay you. But for now, thank you for your help.” She nodded lightly. The smile was still light.

“Alright, I’ll see you again.” You smiled back. “Take a shower already, you don’t wanna stink and get seen dirty by the neighborhood.”

“Yah? Even if I’m dirty like a beggar, I won’t stink.”

“Of course, you’d tell me that.”

So another point for your memorable interaction with the neighbor. She is Rose. You’d call her with that from this point. You remembered that moment where she was very close to you. And right, you were stiffing and yet you had to make yourself looked calm as possible because you didn’t want to look so weak and soft either. That voice while she tells how most of his boys called her ‘mommy’, was enough to make you gulp alone in your bed while leaning against the bed board with the blanket covering the lower part of your body.

One final check on her wouldn’t hurt, so you did peek over the window—saw the lights shut on her bedroom—then laid back to your bed, thanking god for a great Saturday.

Sunday ran past as there wasn’t something to do. You just stayed up inside the house, fixed some things and arranged your items that didn’t need to be arranged, and yet you still did. After a while Monday has come so you’re back to reality. Faced with numerous seat works and homeworks, you were buzzed—but then you remembered you had inspiration—Rose. James never knew about her being your neighbor and decided to keep it first to yourself. She might not want others to know her presence and as you knew James thought she had left Canada.

Deandre and the gang were like hornets that had their hive touched by you, they just won’t leave and disappear at least for a day until they sucked out your resources. Most will be depressed, but you were smart—bought a pack of cheap cookies that only cost around five to seven dollars, and you bring one extra every single day for him. Perfect timing, that’s all what it takes—but not now.

You washed your face in the comfort room. The water cold, it was refreshing. You were alone in the room and there was peace at least after a long day merging with crowds in the corridor and the room. The running water from the faucet. When you stepped outside, pulled the door open, a woman stood at the front leaning against the opposite wall. Her eyes on the left corridor and travels towards you once she has noticed your presence out. She had a good set of eyes—more of like a cat shaped and you realized then she was one of Rose’s friends.

“Oh there you are.” She smiled. “So I think you’ve seen me already, probably.”

“Deandre’s girlfriend?” You didn’t hesitate. She was that girl on the court where his arms were around her seat. Was she this? Maybe not, but would it make any difference?

She chuckled, covering her mouth. “Not really. How do you say so, Mr. New face?”

“Well, I just assumed? Just how he’d bring you with him taxing me for some shit everytime in the corridor?”

Her chuckles sounded so expensive that you’d wish to hear it for an hour straight. And with that pretty fierce cat face, every boy would fall for it.

“You're more confident than I thought so.” She smirked. “But anyways I’ll just get straight to the point why I’m here. It wouldn’t really sound good if rumors start to spread when that one popular girl is seen talking to a new bird like you right in front of the male’s restroom.”

“Yeah, they might think—“

“I gave you a head or such.” She interrupts you like she knew what was running inside your head. Never thought she’d be open minded. “So, do you drink or not?”

“Well . . . Sort of? Only at reasonable events and parties.”

She pulls out a card that was entirely white and blank. “Tomorrow, 10 pm in my house.”

“What’s happening? And what am I supposed to do with a blank card.”

“Show that to my guard at the front gate, and it’s a party.”

“Is this a dream or something? Are you really inviting a guy who you have never met before?”

“Well I met you right now, plus it’s more of a friend’s request rather than my own. So are you going, or are you wasting the once in a lifetime chance?”

You were hesitating while her eyes were locked at you, waiting for an answer. But then, she’s right there in front and you wouldn’t want to make herself disappointed. At Least not waste her time inviting you just for you to say ‘no’.

“Alright, I’ll be there.”

Her eyebrows lifted and a closed smile appeared in her lips. “Okay great! Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Toodles.” She walks out, maintaining eye contact for a while while she waves her hand at you. She walks sassy—not in a way she’d wiggle her butt at every step—but more of reminding everyone that the prettiest is passing by. Almost nearing the class shift, it was time for you to head back to the room.

At the final break shift, you opened up the party invite to your friends. They were surprised, obviously. Not even expecting such a popular girl to come right in front of the comfort room to reach out for a party invite.

“Jennie herself?” Clifton freaked softly that only the four of you could see.

“Yeah, she reached me out this blank ass paper”

Your friends studied the paper. There was just nothing, even you could think she’s just fooling out of you. Was she? Yes or no. She doesn’t seem to be the type of person. If she did make a fool out of you—can you even complain?

“Probably invisible ink” Julia says while she tilts it back and forth. “Just not some ordinary paper card you’d cut out”

“Well what’s your plan then?” James asks. “Can you bring friends?”

You place your hand over your face. “Fuck, I forgot to ask. But do you think I can?”

“I’d say not, blud.” Tyrone answers while he pulls his bag from the floor, placing it behind his back. “Those girls are just picky with the people they’re encountering. You're one lucky bastard.”

“How did you make her invite you?” James asks, his tone filled with confusion and curiosity. “As if you’ve done nothing and suddenly that girl just came looking for you . . . Right in the toilet? Pretty bullshit. ”

You shrug shoulders. “I don’t know. Ask her yourself. You know like when the nerd guy in a K Drama suddenly gets the popular girl’s heart?”

James swung his hand. “That’s some bullshit, you ain’t in a fantasy world bro.”

“Like I have the courage to talk to her in the first place?” says You.

“Anyways, goodluck.” Julia raises her thumb. “You have the GC to chat on. If you need help, we'll be there.”

“Thank you fellas.” You smile. Having these kinds of friends is like hitting a jackpot in a slot machine. Only the four of you, even though it might sound little, it was fine rather than a bunch of plastic backstabbers.

Back home it’s the usual routine: gym and cardio. Finished by ten in the night and it was your most late one. You had eaten a set of combo meals in a fast food chain, and it felt like carrying a baby in your tummy as you walked a kilometer.

You saw Rose outside, carrying another garbage bag to be thrown in the can at the front. When she noticed your presence on the street, a light smile formed in her lips, and of course you couldn’t help but smile back. She had a toothpick in her mouth—again.

“Late night junk works.” You began and she chuckled while she pulled the toothpick out from her mouth.

“Late night walk back home.”

“Quite a struggle to find a bus back to this town,” says You.

She pushes the lid down. “Poor you. Why? Was the date so good?”

“Date? What do you mean?”

She raises her brows. Her eyes darted everywhere but you. “Date with your girl or so . . . “

“My girl?” You scoff. “Where did you get that?”

“ I — “ Her eyes finally met yours, and the feeling was different. You could feel it. “—I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking?” She rolls her eyes. “Such an asshole.”

“Well that wasn’t a question tho?”

She sighs, her eyes closing. You loved poking her with your unnecessary follow ups, and seeing her get annoyed feels satisfying— it’s like poking your cold crush back in elementary. You still did remember it. Well, Rose is your crush, sort of? And since silence seemed to follow your words, you decide to add things more.

“I went to the gym, never realized my rest was too long until I noticed the clock, then I decided to eat outside, and here I’am.”

She nods lightly. Her mouth forming an ‘o’ then looks away. “Well, stupid you.”

“Yeah stupid me.” You chuckle, and you find yourself forcing a smile. She’s not even looking anyways so it’s fine. “Anyways, I’ll head home now. I have to rest. You should too.”

She tucks a few strands of her hair behind her ear, then gives a light nod. “Still have things to do. I ain’t like a baby kid like you who needs to sleep early.”

“Well you’re a baby as well: Baby attitude.”

She rolls her eyes; her face shows disgust. “As if I cry when I get real-talked?”

You resume your steps and pretend you don’t really listen to her words at all. Of course, she’d open that up over and over again, and she’ll always find a way to counter you. “Whatever, goodnight.”

“Yeah that’s right, walk away idiot.” She raises her voice, but not that loud for the whole neighborhood to hear. It was only meant for you. “He really always gets on my nerves. But, he’s goddamn kind at the same time. Fuck this, Roseanne.” She whispers to herself while she watches you in the distance. Then later, she heads back inside as well.

Struggling to pick whether a stylish or a casual one, you still ended up choosing nothing. And not because they were your favorites, but because you were overthinking what people like them would wear on house parties. You laid back to your bed and watched the ceiling. What are you even supposed to do now? Countless questions appear every second in your head, and then you start to feel sleepy afterwards, until you drift into paradise.

Tomorrow was just a regular school day. Finished papers and passed them to the professor, hanging out with friends during break, then later on it was wrapping up. Your friends remind you to at least enjoy and behave at the same time; you didn’t know what was about to come later as well. It was around eight and a half night when you got to your house, and surprisingly, Rose was nowhere to be found outside. Maybe she’s busy.

A black loose shirt with spread collar and khaki pants was your choice. It is stylish and comfortable at the same time, making it the perfect outfit for a whole night run with strangers. Assignments and projects were not something to be worried about, as you finished them earlier at the school during break hours. So, you’re currently stress-free—almost. And the only thing to stress right now is the later’s event.

At the front of your house, you begin to book for an Uber. You know it’s costly —as if you have any other choice for it. Tapping the book button, you realized you missed a field to answer, and it’s the drop off location. Shit, you forgot to ask her, and Jennie never said the location either. The paper was blank, so you’re left clueless.

A headlight shone at your spot from the right. You cannot see who’s car it was, but it’s annoying you. Its engine roared when it accelerated, sounding like an old car. As it parked at your front, you realized it was Rose’s, and you saw her when she rolled the windows down.

“Get in.” She began. Her tone sounds like she’s been doing this for years to you.

“Well, I have a party tonight and—“

“And you think we’re not going to the same place either?” She tilts her head and checks her watch. “Almost ten pookie, you don’t wanna miss the party.”

What a savior. Even if she was an annoying neighbor, she was there to help you at the exact time you needed one. She was hot, and her outfit made her more. A black fishnet long sleeves that revealed more of her skin beneath while wearing a black crop top inside. She also wore denim shorts—as usual. This was the most alluring outfit you have seen from her throughout the time that you didn’t even realize you were staring at her throughout the time she was talking.

“Yah!” She raised her voice, snapping you back to reality. She tilts her head with a face that reminds you she was talking.

“Oh sorry.” You shook your head. “I’m just really flaky right now. Finished some assignments and stuff, yeah?”

“Ah, weird for me to tell Jennie to invite a nerd for a party.” She scoffed.

“Do a nerd even wear like this, huh?” You show off your clothes.

“And I didn’t know you could wear something nice at least.”

“Alright, sure. So you picked me up just to insult me again?”

“Just stating the facts.” Her lips form a smirk as she moves her hand over the gear knob. “Seatbelt, Mr. Crybaby.”

You shook your head in annoyance; there’s no absolute counter to her at all. Well there was, but you’re in her car, so as if you have the courage to speak shit at her. Once she heard the click from your seat belt lock, she accelerated the car; hard enough to push you back to your seat.

Throughout the ride, you and her shared a few conversations. Watching the lights across the town, it was amazing. The car ride vibe was entirely different compared back to your home country. You’d describe it way more peacefully by the few cars that came from the opposite lane.

Shortly later, she parked her car behind a black SUV. When she told you this was her place, you stepped out and stretched your arms. The walls were perfectly trimmed bushes that were almost thrice the size of your height, it was funny. Several parked cars lined up in the same direction where Rose’s car was, and most were luxurious ones, ranging from Chevrolet’s to Mercedes’s.

She guided you inside, where you saw how wide the place was. At first, you thought it was some event place or house. But when Rose told you this was Jennie’s, it gave you another reason to believe your friend’s words that messing with them is the biggest mistake you'd make.

The guard let you both in when he inspected your invitation cards with a small blue lighted flashlight. He was well built. The clothes shaped his width, reminding the ones who would want to trespass her place. Inside the house, it was slightly dim, and it gave a sort of club vibe where you have to walk through darkness before seeing the lights. Well you did, but instead, it was a living room with some people around. The lights were pinkish red. Few people were on the second floor while some leaned against the railings.

“Rosie!” The short haired girl approached her. She was tall and was one of the three popular girls. “I like your outfit, so freaking bad.”

“Do you really have to glaze me that much, Lisa?” Rose grins while she holds her hand. Lisa’s eyes slowly land on you as her eyebrows raise.

“So, who’s this new face you’ve brought tonight?” asks Lisa.

Rose looks at you, and while she says her words, she keeps her eyes at you for a while before looking back at her. “A kind guy who helped me fix my Mustang last week in my garage.”

“Oh, so we’re bringing strangers now?” Lisa looks at her while she lands a few glances at you.

You felt Rose’s hands around your arm, and her thumb began rubbing shapes in your skin. “Darling, you really think I’m just bringing strangers here? Of course, you know the obvious."

Lisa’s expression turned bright as she nodded several times, knowing the answer through Rose’s actions at you. “You’re starting to keep stories from now, huh.” She pokes Rose. You didn’t even expect Lisa to reach her hands at you. “Lisa, by the way.”

“Y/n.” You accepted the hand offer. A judgmental person, that seemed what she is, and the courage she had to call you a stranger in front of you was bewildering. Good thing, Rose managed to play it off smoothly, and you didn’t expect her to save you at all, knowing she’s an asshole towards you.

When Lisa walks away, you look at her. “Why did you save me?”

“I’m not entirely an asshole to embarrass a person who helped me as well,” says her as she meets your eyes. “Come, I’ll let you meet my friends.”

“Shit, that would be too embarrassing.” You slightly pull away.

“I thought you wanted to be popular?”

“I do.”

“And I’m giving you the chance, yet you’re here with your baby attitude again.”

“Shit.” You sigh, resting your hand on your hips while you try to gather your courage to face such students like them.

“Tonight, you’d be known as my boyfriend, and they won’t do shit about it.”

“You’re my girlfriend?” You raised your brows. “How I wished to be.”

She tilts her head as her eyes narrow. “Just for tonight, idiot.”

“Oh.”

“And yeah, keep wishing. As if I’d boyfriend someone like you.” She rolls her eyes and starts to pull your hand with her. “Come on, no time to waste.”

Yeah, rejected as usual. You were just playing with it; you intended to act sad, but still it was quite painful to hear such rejection. She led you to a couch where her friends sat, and you saw a person that's always ruining your mood every time you see him. Deandre, he was there, at the couch sitting beside Jennie. And as Rose feels your sudden step aback, she grabs your wrist.

“If I say you touch me, you will touch me.” She softly says while both of you approach. “No but’s and if’s.”

“Hey, baby.” Jennie stands and approaches her, kissing cheeks. “Quit late, huh?”

“Sorry darling, my boyfriend is quite a snail-head in times of events like this.” She grins, looking at you.

“What a surprise, Y/n,” says Jennie. “You didn’t even tell me yesterday that our Rosie is your girlfriend already. Quite a mysterious transferee, huh?”

“Uh,” You stutter, and when Rose notices your awkward act, she warns you with her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it lowkey, I guess.”

“Ah lowkey.” Jennie lightly nods and nudges your arm. “I understand, you know. Rose is quite a popular one in school, and I assume you’d hate rumors when they realize you’re a transferee.”

“Yo Jennie, why invite an outcast here?” His voice. Once again, you heard it, and it’s enough to ruin your mood. “Guess you got the wrong person. I don’t think he’d enjoy the party by reaching out for glasses and serving us like a waiter some shit.” You heard his friends share chuckles and laughs.

“Deandre, what a fucker.” She whispers, rolling her eyes. She was still facing you.

“Babe,” says Rose, enough for Deandre’s whole friends to hear. “Come sit beside me, I’m missing your touches quite fast already.”

So she called you babe, and hearing it was enough to make you blush deep inside. You’re just both acting. You reminded yourself, and this isn’t the best time to dwell into your feelings. You followed her request and sat beside her. As you sat, she rested her right leg over your thigh, and snuggled against you.

All of their eyes, even Deandre’s, were on both of you. They were silent, some looked away and pretended like they didn’t laugh at his joke. Rose enjoyed the view on their faces.

“Touch me, now.” She whispered while keeping an eye on them.”

And gently, you did. You placed your hand over her thigh and caressed it gently, enjoying every inch of her skin. It was smooth and soft. You could stay up the whole day doing this over and over again, and not get tired.

Deandre was silent. Within those smirks and scoffs in his lips hides the embarrassment he feels towards the both of you.

“At Least he could pull Rosie than you could do.” Jisoo teases. She was sitting on the right couch.

“She just had no one to bring, trust me.” Deandre answered back.

“Not really, Drei. We both know I could bring any handsome guy in the school with a simple hi, right?” says Rose. “Just tell me you’re being a crybaby because you were not the one with me tonight.” She looks up at you; your faces are a few inches apart. “Right, babe?”

You were getting flustered, but it’s all just a plan, remember? Everything is fake.

“Yeah, yeah.” You forced a smile.

“Aww come on. What’s with those simple answers?” Rose pouts. “You don’t love me?”

“Ah, of course I do love you so much.” You took the courage to caress her cheeks, down to her neck. “You’re so gorgeous tonight.”

Then, you felt her hand over your chest, where she unbuttons one, caressing the same ways as yours.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She says between.

Your said so ‘cuddles’ was enough to shut Deandre’s mouth more. Another scoff from him, then a word never came out of his mouth again. He only watched both of you share cheeky moments together. His friends shut quiet, acting normal, some were on their phones. Deandre’s dogs, that’s what they are.

The heat between the three of you has finally cooled down, they were avoiding their eyes on you, while Deandre would place glances sometimes. Jennie came back to the table with bottles on both hands: a whiskey and gin. Shit, liquors, it’s been awhile. You had the last of those during the post-prom night event, where you stayed with close friends, drank all night; not even caring about your haggard looks.

All part of new friendship—you wanted this. Jennie insisted on pouring the liquor on your shot glass. You didn’t expect her to be this kind. You assumed she’s a two sided woman.

It was bitter, felt your throat burn as the liquid passed down. You hid your uncomfort through closing your eyes and swallowing hard, while looking emotionless. It’s a tough battle. Shortly after a few shots, your body seems to condition the liquors, until you realize you’re starting to drink it normally.

Looking at Rose, she’s hell of gorgeous. The way she sat, both legs over the sofa, her whitish purple hair free on her left shoulder while she rested her left hand on the cushion—was a sight to enjoy. Beneath those fishnet sleeves teases her curves and smooth skin. The world seemed to slow down, it was just her you see. As the pink light colors her face, there was the sense of allure and attraction within your heart.

You excused yourself for a bathroom break, they didn’t seem to care, so you went right away. Splashed cold water on your face from the faucet, that was it—you just wanted a refreshment. The bathroom luxurious. As you stepped out, you had to pass by several couples who were making out on the wall.

Back at the table, Rose had become quite more flirtatious. She was getting drunk; Jennie told you, and the fact that it was your first time seeing her act like this was a changing experience. So you just let her be. It’s only a plan, something not to be serious about, and within her touches and snuggles lies nothing but falseness and showing off to people—she’s just helping you, remember. She’d never be your girlfriend. Smiles and laughter surrounded you, and you were just here forcing yours.

You had decided to take fresh air outside Jennie’s place, right at Rose’s mustang. The sight was relaxing, though it’s nothing but a grass field. You stayed under a tree beside her car. The crescent moon shone between dark clouds, and there were the stars.

You were drunk; you knew that, and as you shook your head more makes your vision get fuzzier—it was funny.

You heard crunches of soil near you, and behind you saw Rose approaching. She walked playfully, swinging her arms freely. “Hey baby.”

“Stop that.” You forced a grin.

“Why? Don’t you love it when I call you that?”

You walked towards her car, and leaned against the hood. “No.”

“No your ass, bitch.” She stood beside you and playfully pushed your arm using her body. “What are you even doing here?”

“Taking fresh air.”

She giggles and covers her mouth. “Just tell me you’re not used to crowds.”

“I’m used to it,” says you, “I’m just exhausted.”

“Ah.” She lightly nodded, and there was silence. It’s quite comfortable to have moments like this with her alone in a quiet night—wished you’d have another of this soon after. Soon enough, you didn’t notice she was looking at you until you glanced at her.

“I like your outfit.” She smiles lightly. “Not being an asshole, but it’s really nice.”

You were flustered. “Thanks . . . I just save this kind of clothes for times like this. But you know what’s nicer?”

“What?”

“If I don’t have these on.”

You winced internally, almost wanting to run a kilometer away. Rather than a disgusted look, her face showed off more of a disappointed look.

“That’s some corny ass shit, Y/n.” She scoffed.

“Just kidding, forget about that.”

“I don’t forget corny jokes that easy, crybaby.” She tilts her head and teases you with a forced pout.

“Well . . . I’ll be honest right now,” You say, “I like your outfit as well. Quite weird for me to see you getting attractive each day.”

You said it from the bottom of your heart. She really was. Everytime you’d see her outside her house, despite the same clothing style she’d still be beautiful.

She seemed to accept your words. Then, she moved closer to you, her eyes gazing at yours. “You know what will be better?” She tilts her head, her body shifting at you. “And it’s when these are off from me, and it’s right in your hands. "

You froze, and found yourself staring back into her eyes while she wore that mischievous smile on her lips. She copied your joke, but why did it work so well for you. Her deliverance, not so maybe.

“Why is Mr. Tough guy silent, eh?” She leans, your face a few inches between, and grins while giggling mischievously. “Feels shocking when your words are thrown back at you as well, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, and you said it so well that it didn’t even sound like a joke anymore.”

“Oh?” She tilts her head, keeping her face close at you. “Did I even say I was?”

Both of you were close, and the urge to kiss her lips, pull her into you, consumes your mind. Your heart was racing fast. This is the time, to take your chance, to finally fulfill that desire you wished. It didn’t take long enough for her to notice you glancing into her cute lips.

“Come on, do it.” She says softly, her breath hot on your face and smelled of liquor. “I could see it in your eyes, Y/n.” She moved even closer. “Do you need mommy’s permission again?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, hesitating. She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean anything of this, and you didn’t want to take advantage of her—even if your urge to do it was boiling inside you. Shit, whatever. You didn’t want to miss it, and you finally took the chance as you pressed your lips on hers. They were smooth like cushions. It all started off with just presses and touches of lips, and the play had changed when she placed her hand around your nape. You’re completely clueless with kisses and such. There you let her continue the kiss, feeling her pulling your lower lip between her lips, giving it a tender suck. Your heart was racing faster, feeling the excitement consume your body. But it’s right here—it’s happening.

She slowly pulls away, tracing her hand on your cheek down to your neck. “Looks like someone doesn’t know how to kiss a girl, hmm?”

You nod sheepishly and look down in embarrassment. Never in once you did have. Shortly, she lifts your chin back at her.

“Let me guide you then.” A sly smile appears on her lips “Inside the car.” She commands as she walks towards the driver door, biting her lips at you.

As you sat inside, she pushed the retract button of your seat, then straddled herself atop you as the seat retracted full. She wasn't heavy at all, yet the feeling of her weight on top of you was euphoric. There’s no such thing as discomfort when an alluring woman is right on your front.

She flipped her hair to the right, then sensually slid her fingers from the side of her neck, down to her shoulder, where she pulled down her sleeve to expose her bare shoulder. “Am I pretty, asshole?”

“Yes, you—”

She leaned and crashed her lips once again into yours, not even letting you complete such a compliment. The rhythm turns aggressive, and the way she’d devour your lips like no tomorrow excites you even more while her hands cradle your face. Her curves were delighting as you placed your hands on it.

You didn’t know how to answer her kisses back, and you let her control you. She wasn’t even complaining, seemingly enjoying the position she had, and as the make out prolonged, you began to feel her tongue between your lips, where you didn’t hesitate to welcome it as she explored your mouth. Your hand grips into her waist as you feel your body burning into excitement.

She pulled away and sighed sensually, straightening her back. She licked her lips wet and bit her lip while she gazed into your eyes full of lust and desire. This is a drunk Rose. In any situation, she’d always look gorgeous—hot.

“Ssibal , igeo neomu segsihae” She hisses, pressing her hands over your chest, then slowly unfastens your buttons. Contemplating decisions, she stopped when you grabbed her hands.

“Rosie, do you really want this?”

She scoffed, and pushed your hand away. “You really had the audacity to stop me when you can’t even kiss properly, huh?” She leans closer into your face, making sure you’d hear the following words from her hot mouth. “And I don’t want you calling me with that name. Wouldn’t it be better if you start calling me—“ She moves to your ear, whispering “—your mommy , hmm?” Slowly, she runs her lips into your neck. “You know I hate when something gets in my way, and you just went and did it. But lucky you, I’m not in my mood to give you pain. Now, all I just want is something inside me—and I think your goddamn dick is the perfect one.”

Your cock stiffened even more. Her words were not something you’d expect from that asshole neighbor weeks ago, with only eyes and gazed communication that became tiring every single afternoon. From giving eyes, to exploring each other’s mouth in her car—it escalated fast.

She helped you pull her fishnet sleeves down from her shoulders, leaving only her black crop top and her delicate skin. Her hips began to rub into your crotch slowly, like she knows how much your cock wanted it—and you really did. A sly smile would form in her lips between grinds when she sees the enjoyment from your eyes. Your breaths and her soft moans fill the quiet surroundings.

Quickly pulling down the black crop top herself revealed a pair of tits that hid beneath the thin fabric. They were just enough for your palms to hold on; perky, petite, and soft. Her nipples hard, and while your thumb enjoyed caressing it, she’d arch her back and let out moans. Her hips continued to grind you. She went faster as you massaged her tits like it’s a separate thing from her.

“Fuck.” She moans and holds your hands, pressing it more into her breasts. “I need something more than this.”

The door clicked on your side and she pushed it open, welcoming the fresh air. You watched Rose dismount herself from you. There were no people around, and she wouldn’t be seen either as she used the mustang as a cover.

“This way.” She pulled your arm, shifting you to face her outside while keeping your ass on the seat. She knelt down; you know what’s gonna happen next, and you were bracing for it. While she unbuckles your belt, she’d give quick glances at your eyes, her lips smirking like a girl unwrapping her Christmas gift despite knowing what’s about to show up already.

Pulled your pants and underwear hard down to your feet, she let out a moan as she appreciated the view of your stiff cock.

“How I missed this.” She points it towards her mouth before her tongue darts out to give a wet lick around your tip. A shiver runs down to your body; irresistible, sort of shocking yet you wanted it for long. It was your first time, and it is addicting. She teases you with her tongue licks around your tip, then shortly, she takes you into her hot mouth, pushing herself into your base. You gripped your hands behind, on the seat, clinging yourself within Rose’s devious act.

The woman moans between swallows, her bobs going slower, then faster — then slow again. You closed your eyes to savor the sensations flowing outward from your crotch. Your hands are gripping the seat harder. You couldn’t help but get mesmerized by the view of her sucking your cock off while kneeling down on a rough concrete road outside, shirtless with her breasts exposed—nipples hard.

You run your fingers on her hair, gripping a few strands as she pulls away.

“Mind helping me?” She looked up at you with a provocative gaze.

“You can’t just suck my dick like this while being shirtless outside.”

“Why?” She raises a brow while keeping a hand wrapped around your cock. “"Don't you want them to know that the guy who they think they can just boss around like a poor pup, is currently having his cock swallowed by the popular guitarist student of Chandelier Academy?” She gives your cock a quick swallow, leaving a slick sheen of her spit between it and her lips. “Are you ashamed of mommy giving his fake boyfriend a head?”

“No.” You shake your head sheepishly.

“Now shut your goddamn mouth.” Then the ravaging continues, slightly raising herself to face your cock down, pushing herself until your base. A moan escapes your mouth; it was sensational, and you’d never get tired—wishing this would last until the morning. Your hands made way on a few strands of her hair while she gave your cock a deep throat, and sensing her struggle you gently pushed her further down, feeling more of her mouth’s insides.

She gags; you were worried, and she felt it when you started to loosen your grip on her hair, so she grasped your wrist back and pressed your hand tightly once again at her hair—telling you to continue further—and so you did. All you could do was watch your arrogant neighbor take herself deep into your cock, and as well savor every delicious sparks of pleasure radiating from your shaft, up to your spine and into an overwhelmed brain.

“I’m cumming, mommy.” You hiss between gasps. It was near, and within these seconds you’d create a mess in her mouth. Rose responded by quickening her pace, up and down—fast. And you found yourself groaning, placing your hand over her head like you were clinging your life into it. No questions needed to ask whether you’d pop it out inside her mouth or not—that was the answer. She went faster every second, and shortly, feeling it now at the edge of your cock, you released it into the back of your neighbor’s needy throat. The sense of relief consumed you. All of that stress and hesitation turned into nothing but thick white semen inside her mouth.

She finally slows her pace, her mouth still wrapped around you as a mix of your cum and her saliva glistens on your cock. Then she looks up at you.“I missed that, did you like it?”

Your nods formed a smile on her lips, and soon she stood up on her feet where she pushed you inside further. Closing the door with her, she moved to the driver seat, shifting her body facing you on the passenger side, where she spread her legs. Her denim shorts were still on, and when she noticed you just watching stupidly, she raised a brow.

“I removed your pants myself, so are you,” stated Rose. This was the greenlight, your hands made way into the button of her shorts, unfastening it, and pulled it to her knees. Her black undergarment greeted your eyes; you kept it on for a while as you admired the view of her delicate thighs, running your hands on them. You’d tease her with your slight touches over her crotch area, where she’d let out a soft moan despite the black thin fabric that separates you and her skin. “You know how to make a woman wait, huh?”

“I’m just making every second count,” says you between heavy breaths. “Might be the first and last.”

“And who said it would be?” Her fingers run on your jawline, as excitement fills you upon hearing those words. You heard it right— might not be your last ever; she said it herself and surely it wasn’t your drunk mind making up voices. “Now don’t keep me waiting before I change my mind.”

You placed kisses on her legs, up to her thighs, then to her belly. Her skin is soft, addictive. Running your hands on her hips while you plant those sweet kisses, she’d spread her legs wider, telling you she couldn’t wait to give in.

Pulling her black undergarment down welcomed your eyes with her delicious pussy, like a meal you’ve wanted for years. Your body burning with desire and lust, and you didn’t wait any longer to devour her cunt right away, latching your lips around her tender flesh.

“Goddamnit.” She grunts, her hand grabbing into your hair as she watches you. Shortly, your fingers find her opening and slip inside, sliding in and out, as you lean towards her to suck her nipples. She was at your mercy, and the sensation was consuming her.

“Faster” She let out a small whimper, her eyes shutting tightly. In response to her request, you quickened your pace, moving faster than usual. Your fingers wetter. “I’m near”

She’d keep her vulgar words until now, but that even made you like your work at her even more. Her hands were still over your head, her nails digging into your scalp. Pain was nothing but an obstacle, you didn’t really mind.

(You quickened more)

At the final reach, she lets out a gasp as she orgasms; her slick wetness dripping into your fingers. Her breath quickened, and she closed her eyes in relaxation, then ran her hand over her messy hair while her desirous eyes gazed at you. Her body was irresistible. You’d take a curvy petite figure every night and day with you without getting tired.

A sly smile spreads across her lips as her gaze settles on your cock. “Now for the exciting part.”

She pushes herself upright, wrapping her arms around your neck as she crashes her lips against yours, hungrily devouring the kiss. Your bare skin touches hers, and what excites you more is seeing her slender, naked figure right in front of you, her weight over your lap as you feel the heat of her body.

You let her do her work on your mouth. Messy? It was not for you— just entirely hot that you’d last forever doing this with her. She pulled away to position herself atop you. Your cock quivers with need. She grips your cock and gently teases it over her needy clit. Her eyes dripped with lust, mirroring the slick sheen of her body.

A moan of pleasure escapes her lips as she finally lowers herself onto your cock—a sound that’s hot and bratty, just as you’d imagine. Her arms remain around your neck as you sit upright, her body pressed close to yours, with her long hair cascading over her face, hiding it from view— you know she’s watching herself.

It started off slowly. You, who was your first time, found it slightly uncomfortable at first, but as time progressed, where she began to change her pace, made you forget such thoughts. Her hips grinding against yours was all that mattered; you loved seeing both of your naked bodies pressed together.

“ Jenjang Y/N. neo jonna himdeureo (Fuck Y/n, you’re so fucking hard.)” She muttered close to your ear, sounding very tired— though her pace over you said otherwise, grinding faster. You didn’t understood a single word from her, probably her dialect on Korea, but her tone was enough for you understand that she was enjoying it.

Throughout it all, you’re fucking her inside her car, savoring the feel of her orgasming pussy wrapped tightly around your cock with each thrust. Your hands pressed against her curves, feeling the sweat of her body, and supporting her while she gives a nice ride over your cock.

You’re nearing your peak again, and she’s grinding against you faster now, loud moans escaping her lips. One arm stays draped over your shoulders while the other runs through her messy hair and then over her head. You enjoy the view of her sweaty body, and your hands find their way to her breasts once more. Her lustful eyes lock with yours, and she eagerly devours your lips. Her body presses harder against you, matching the rhythm of her fast grind.

“‘Shit!’ Rose gasps, her voice trembling with anticipation and broken by breathless moans. She’s approaching her peak as well, her body tensing with each thrust. Just before you can release, she quickly pulls away, raising herself and stroking your cock rapidly. Thick, white semen erupts from you, spilling out with each stroke as it travels down to her fingers. At the same, she runs her fingers over her clit, her own juices mixing with the mess on the floorboard.

Her mouth finds its way back to your cock, swallowing it deep and then licking the remaining semen from around it. It glistens with her saliva and your cum, but what you appreciate most is the sight of her face beside it, a hint of your semen at the corner of her lips. Fatigue is evident in her eyes—she looks ready to sleep, or maybe not, as she hints at the possibility of another round.

“Like that?” she asks softly.

“Who wouldn’t?”

“My exes,” she shrugs, a smirk playing on her lips. “Maybe it was me, so I had to improve.”

“So I’m lucky to experience your improvement.”

“Kinda.” She rests her chin on your lap. “I’ve never slept with a guy without being in a relationship first. So, yeah, I guess so.”

#blackpink #blackpink rosé #blackpink roseanne #university #canada #smut #blackpink smut #roseanne park #bp rosé #bp roseanne #male reader #jennie blackpink #blackpink lisa #blackpink jisoo

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