#and now she’s in a sorority too

[fullsunstrawberry]

my friends said we were gonna do edibles together and then they did it without me?? 💔 crazy im lowkey mad at this but it’s the principle yk 💔

[bueckets]

The Hit List | Part 1

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Masterlist (TBA) | Part 2

Genre: romance (eventually), slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, smut (eventually), cat n mouse

Description: When an overworked engineering student's late-night CAD project gets interrupted by a very drunk, very lost basketball star stumbling into the wrong dorm room, she learns that some defensive plays work better in love than on the court.

What starts as a case of mistaken identity turns into an unexpected game of cat and mouse when UConn's golden girl, Paige Bueckers, can't seem to take a hint– or maybe just doesn't want to. Armed with nothing but sarcasm, an overprotective stuffed bear named Mr. Gummy, and a borrowed team jacket that definitely isn't helping the situation, our engineering hero finds herself drawing up plays to defend her heart against college basketball's most persistent point guard.

They say offense wins games, but defense wins championships. When you're trying not to fall for a girl who treats the court like her kingdom and your personal space like a suggestion, maybe it's time to admit some battles aren't meant to be won.

WC: 11.2k

Authors Notes: i had first written this for jkxreader on my other blog (whoretan) however plot deviates heavily after the first encounter, um, kinda fuck girly paige, but kind of just a love drunk idiot too

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Guest

Your eyes burned as you stared at the CAD model rotating on your screen, the internal combustion engine you'd been working on for the past—what was it now, eight hours?—still refusing to cooperate.

The familiar workspace of SOLIDWORKS had become both your best friend and worst enemy over the past three years at UConn, but tonight it felt particularly vindictive. You'd been trying to get the timing belt assembly to properly mate with the crankshaft for what felt like an eternity, and your deadline was creeping closer by the minute.

"Did you hear?" Riven's voice cut through your concentration as she burst through the door, her designer backpack hitting her bed with enough force to make your desk lamp wobble.

"Hear what?" You didn't bother turning around, instead zooming in on the problematic area of your model. The project was due in six hours, and you were nowhere near having it stress-tested. Sleep was starting to feel like a distant memory from another life.

Riven paused in her tracks—you could practically hear her jaw dropping in that dramatic way she'd perfected since freshman year. "Paige Bueckers was talking about how Q’s jump shot is worse than a middle schooler's."

The absurdity of the statement finally forced you to tear your eyes away from the screen. Your neck cracked in protest as you turned to face your roommate, who stood there with her perfectly manicured hands on her hips, waiting for your reaction. Three years of living together had taught you that Riven wouldn't let you focus until you properly acknowledged whatever piece of gossip she'd brought home.

“That’s literally ridiculous.”

Riven tilted her head, eyes rolling toward the ceiling in that characteristic way of hers. Six seconds of contemplation later (you’d learned to count), she shrugged and pulled out her iPhone, probably to text the women's basketball group chat about the latest drama.

Your roommate, much like all the other Huskies superfans, didn't care whose reputation a particular player tarnished. She'd much rather get on their good side, damaged reputations or not. It was a dance you'd watched play out countless times since freshman year, when you'd first been assigned as roommates.

Back then, you'd thought the random housing assignment would be a disaster—the sports-obsessed sorority girl and the robotics team president seemed like a recipe for mutual hatred. But somehow, your differences had created a strange balance. She dragged you out of your engineering cave occasionally, and you reminded her that there was more to college than chasing after basketball stars.

"Caitlin bought Kate those new custom Nikes." Riven thrust her phone in your face, revealing a photo of Clark's teammate happily posing with pristine white sneakers. The caption read, 'Thanks for the gift bb, @CaitlinClark22'.

You squinted at the screen, trying not to think about how those shoes probably cost more than your entire semester's textbooks. The basketball elite weren't just known for their court skills—their NIL deals were equally legendary. Every starter came from successful programs, the kind that built training facilities and had courts named after their alumni.

"What a lucky bitch," Riven sighed, flopping onto her bed.

Apparently, your roommate wasn't the only one who didn't care for her reputation. Last week, she'd blown up your phone with about thirty—maybe sixty—texts about how her sorority sister had seen Caitlin making out with someone else at The Tavern. Looks like those custom Nikes must've been an apology.

You looked up at your starstruck roommate with pursed lips. Riven caught your expression and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, she's being messy. So what? Those shoes are like two thousand dollars with the custom work, that's my fucking meal plan right there."

"Remind me again how you're a neurology student?"

Riven clutched her chest with an open hand, gasping dramatically. "Wow. I see how it is." She threw herself backward onto her bed with the theatrical flair of a soap opera star.

You couldn't help but grin, even as your eyes darted back to your computer screen. The smile quickly died on your lips.

Oh fuck.

The CAD model still sat there, mocking you with its incomplete state. You'd managed to complete maybe forty percent of the assembly, and the entire thing needed to be fully rigged and stress-analyzed by nine AM.

This was the cost of your procrastination, another dinner sacrificed to the gods of engineering deadlines. At least you had a good excuse this time: you'd spent the weekend helping the robotics team prepare for their upcoming competition. Being vice president meant putting in the extra hours, even if it meant cramming your actual coursework into impossible timeframes.

"I have to finish this tonight. Do not bother me with any more basketball drama." You spun your chair back to face your screen, not bothering to check if Riven was sticking her tongue out at you. You could picture it anyway, she had the maturity of a twelve-year-old sometimes.

Five and a half hours later, you finally pressed the glorious 'Submit' button on Blackboard. You turned off your PC with such violence that the desktop nearly toppled over.

"Never doing that again," you groaned, slumping into your chair and letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your neck felt like it had been replaced with concrete somewhere around hour six.

"You literally say that every time," Riven quipped from her side of the room.

If you had any energy left, you would've gotten up and punched her in the ass. Luckily for her, your eyes had started doing that thing where they drooped shut every few seconds without your permission. You'd decided about thirty minutes ago that your chair was an acceptable substitute for a bed. The walk to your actual mattress seemed about as feasible as climbing Mount Everest right now.

"How do I look? Good enough for the party?"

Fucking hell. 

You summoned what little remained of your core strength and groaned as you forced your chair to swivel around. The sight that greeted you was, admittedly, impressive, even through your exhaustion-blurred vision.

Riven wore a black dress that hit just above her knees, with strategic cutouts along her ribs. The laced-up black heels she'd spent twenty minutes struggling with (while whining very fucking loudly) completed the look perfectly. She'd devoted the last hour of your project completion marathon to preparing for KK’s birthday celebration.

“Which party?” you croaked. “The one where everyone’s fighting or the one where they’re pretending nothing happened?”

Her nose wrinkled in that way it did when she was trying not to laugh. "You're so annoying."

Yeeeaaah, definitely the messy one.

You watched as Riven stumbled toward her drawer, rummaging through three compartments before pulling out a neon orange tiny bag. And when you say tiny, you mean tiny, it couldn't have been more than two inches across.

"Can you even fit anything in there?"

A wicked smile spread across her face as she opened the toy purse, pulling out her student ID and a tube of lipstick. Of-fucking-course. “Minimalist chic, baby. Besides, I don’t need much. Just the essentials. I'm serious. Tonight's gonna be fucking legendary."

“Legendary,” you deadpanned, swiveling your chair back to your desk. “Try not to end up on Barstool again.”

You swore she lunged forward, ready to attack you with her miniature weapon. But her phone rang, which happened to be a far more pressing matter. The assault could wait. Riven pressed the phone to her ear with a smile that would have made the Cheshire Cat proud.

"Are you here? Yeah, I'm ready. You have the Pink Whitney? Okay. Bye."

She turned back to you with that same manic grin. "I'll get you back for that later. Bye!"

And just like that, Riven leaped out of the room, her neon orange bag and its singular tube of lipstick disappearing with her into whatever chaos awaited at the UConn house.

The sudden silence in her wake felt almost oppressive. You sat there for a moment, contemplating your life choices. The clean lines and precise measurements of your engineering models never gave you this much drama. Maybe that's why you preferred spending your nights with SOLIDWORKS instead of at parties—machines were predictable, logical, and they never started drama about anyone's jump shot.

After nearly crawling your way across the room for what felt like thirty minutes (but was probably closer to five), you finally made it to your bed. Or rather, to the base of your bed. The problem now was getting on top of it. UConn, in its infinite wisdom, had given everyone the tallest fucking beds in existence.

Tall enough that all of your belongings fit underneath it so they could make the rooms ten times smaller by doing so. You sat on your ass, glaring at what felt like a sixteen-foot space between you and the mattress. You could, theoretically, just fucking get up and with one last surge of energy jump onto it. But the soft cotton of your fuzzy rug was suddenly hugging your back, tucking you in, cradling you like a loving parent.

Fuck it, the floor isn't even that bad. You've slept on much worse—like that one time freshman year when you passed out in the robotics lab after a forty-eight-hour building session. At least your rug didn't smell like motor oil and desperation.

Your head lay flat on the floor, the hardwood never felt softer. Riven had left hours ago, and you'd managed to successfully knock out on your chair for a bit. That was until you jolted awake, sweating out of every crevice of your body, and made eye contact with your actual bed. You'd said goodbye to the chair and began the voyage to your proper sleeping place. Clearly, that wasn't going as planned.

It was too late now to dwell on what could've been. Tomorrow, you'd start anew. Just like every time she partied, Riven wouldn't be back for two or three days. You'd have a full day to sleep on your actual bed without the mention of UConn and internal combustion engines.

You turned to your side, the fuzz tickling your chin as you nuzzled into it. Sleep was just starting to creep in when—

"Taylor! Tay baby, please open the door!"

The hairs on your arms rose and a fart you hadn't realized you'd been holding in released into the air. Some drunk player had the wrong door.

“Wrong room,” you called, hoping they’d get the hint. With a shaky breath, you nuzzled deeper into the carpet.

Not a second later, a bang erupted through your room. "Tay, please. I'm so sorry. I fucked up."

Your heart thrashed in your chest. Could you not have one night of peace? One night of tranquility to enjoy your own company? One night to enjoy sleeping on the hard floor?

"Taylor, for fuckssake." The asshole nearly knocked the fucking door off the hinges.

First, you're going to knock her the hell out. Then, you'll find out where Taylor lives and knock her out, too. Maybe you could work it into your next robotics project—a robot specifically designed to punch drunk athletes who can't read room numbers.

"Tay, please—"

You jolted upward and ran to the door so fast you probably broke several laws of physics. Swinging the wooden panel open like a madwoman, you yelled, "Listen asshole, I don't know who Taylor is and I don't give a damn. It's late as hell and some of us actually enjoy sleeping!"

Said asshole leaned against the door frame of your room, a Nike-covered foot tapping against the floor as she pressed a finger to your lips. "Shhhhh, baby, I said I'm sorry."

Your throat locked and you nearly laughed at the audacity. Did this fucker really not notice you weren't Taylor? Through your sleep-deprived haze, you managed to register a few details about the intruder: tall, athletic build that made your mouth go dry, honey-blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders, and wearing what looked like exclusive UConn team gear. Great. A drunk basketball star. 

Said basketball star happened to also push herself off the door frame and trudge past you, right into your room as if she'd been there a million times.

Much like you wanted to before your carpet trapped you, the stranger leaped onto your bed, stomach flopping onto the cushion of your mattress. She muttered something you couldn't hear as she grabbed your favorite pillow and brought it close to her chest. She was snuggling your Mr. Gummy.

You were going to go to jail for assaulting a Division I athlete. Yeah. This was the end of your girl boss engineering career. Goodbye feminist STEM icon. Hello convict. All those years of suffering to get into UConn just for you to catch a case over the Greek Goddess, Nike, herself. At least you'd submitted your project first, might as well get credit for that before you went to prison.

"Babe, I don't remember your bed smelling this good." She'd gone into a fetal position, kicking off her—yep, definitely team-exclusive Nikes. Maybe, just maybe, you'd knock her out and then sell her shoes on StockX. The proceeds could cover your legal defense.

You rubbed your forehead with the back of your palm, wiping away the stress sweat that had accumulated. You swung your head out of your door, looking left and right, then repeat. Empty. Fuck. Fuck, and fuck.

You paced back and forth a few times, biting on the edge of your hand. You can't pick this goddess off your bed. One, she's drunk as hell. Two, she's... You gazed back at the stranger, somewhere on her journey to your bed she'd tossed her UConn warmup jacket to your floor. Leaving her in a fitted tank top that left nothing to the imagination.

Who needs that many shoulder muscles? The definition in the arm that hugged Mr. Gummy was sculpted by years of perfect jump shots. Each shift of her body revealed new curves, like a living Nike ad designed specifically to torment sleep-deprived engineering students.

Holy hell. Get a fucking grip.

Okay, so you can't drag the basketball star off your bed.

Plan B it is.

You trudged into your room, taking one last look at the hallway. Should you close the door?

If someone did hypothetically walk past would they think you drugged her? She was slurring her words and hugging your favorite bear while you paced back and forth like you happened to "accidentally" slip something into her Gatorade.

You closed the door.

You needed to call Riven. You could care less that she was at the beginning of her three-day rager, you weren't going to wait till the next morning when Nike would wake up and start accusing you of kidnapping UConn's star point guard.

You slowly walked toward your desk, making sure to avoid the panels on the floor that creaked every time someone stepped on them. Empty. You pushed your chair back to see if it happened to fall earlier. Empty.

The air stilled, and you shook your head. No. No. She was laying on it.

You'd chucked your phone onto your bed after deciding to finally start your project. You had to call Riven. There was no other choice but to tell someone. And given the fact that your contact list included your parents and Riven, she was looking like the most optimal candidate.

As silently as you could, you tip-toed toward your bed and did a quick examination. Near her head? Nope. Mr. Gummy? Nope. Legs? Nope. Hip?

Yeah.

Maybe you would go to jail after all, for assault.

You better get an A on that fucking project.

You took a step forward, awkwardly climbing the edge of your bed to get closer to your phone. Which was nicely tucked right under the curve of her ass, your camera barely peeking out as if it was taunting you.

Shit. How are you going to pull it out?

Your face contorted as you inched closer to the basketball player, thumb and middle finger clutching the edges of your phone and lightly tugging backward. She huffed out a soft groan. Dear god.

It's not budging.

In and out. Breathe.

You tugged again.

Something thudded against the floor.

Your eyes left the phone and gazed to the floor where your Mr. Gummy lay sacrificed to the floor demons. Uh oh.

You turned back to retrieve your bear when your eyes locked with hers. Her very open eyes.

She was smiling.

"Baby I didn't know you were so handsy."

You stared. That's all you could manage to do—stare at the face of the beautiful drunk idiot in front of you. And holy shit was she beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made you question if UConn's recruitment standards included a mandatory photogenic quota for certain players.

The idiot had a playful smile playing across her stupidly perfect face. Taylor must be a lucky girl. Not lucky enough, though, considering her girlfriend was currently in a stranger's bed. How drunk did someone have to be to not recognize they had the wrong person?

"C'mere," she grabbed your arm, pulling you to your side as if you weighed nothing. A strong arm locked around your waist and began rubbing circles on your stomach. The motion sent shivers down your spine that you desperately tried to ignore.

"Missed you, n' I'm sorry baby," she slurred into your ear. Her voice was much softer now, a warm whisper that made your whole body tingle.

Taylor, I'm so sorry.

The words shot straight between your legs. You hadn't been touched in almost two years. Sue me. A gorgeous basketball star was rubbing your lower stomach while she told you—her girlfriend—she missed her. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. You spend three years avoiding athlete drama, and now the universe deposits one directly into your bed?

You needed your phone. Pronto.

"Listen— I—" You raised a clammy hand to lift her, attempting to wrap your fingers around her wrist to lift it. Your engineering brain was trying to calculate the exact force required to remove her arm without waking her up further, but all mathematical ability seemed to have short-circuited.

"You're so squirmy tonight," she intertwined your fingers.

What the fuck are you supposed to do? You inched your body further away in an attempt to shrug her off. A move that, in retrospect, was about as well-thought-out as trying to integrate calculus while drunk.

Nike thought otherwise. She pulled you closer until her front was pressed firmly against your back, her breath warm against your neck. You could feel the defined muscles of her stomach through her tank top, her body radiating heat that made your head spin.

FUCK.

You'll wake up with a gay panic and a warrant.

"I'm really tired," you squirmed against the death grip around your waist. For someone supposedly blackout drunk, she had the grip strength of someone who'd spent their life fighting through double teams.

Just pretend it's not there. You do not feel anything. Just toned arms and her—

"G'to bed baby. I'll make it up— make it up to you n' the morning." Nike lifted herself to place one last sleepy kiss against your cheek.

Two minutes later, Nike’s light snores vibrated against the back of your neck, warm breath caressing your skin. You wouldn't be able to move her off you. You had no clue where your phone was. Her hip could very well have fully consumed it at this point, creating some kind of phone-eating black hole that physics hadn't yet discovered.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, pretended there wasn't a Division I basketball star sleeping in your bed, and prayed that you wouldn't end up in some viral TikTok before noon. At least if you did become internet famous, you'd already submitted that goddamn CAD project.

Your last thought before drifting off was that Mr. Gummy better not tell anyone about this.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL!"

Are you being robbed? Is someone being murdered? You jolted upwards to see Riven staring at you with an open mouth, her perfectly applied makeup from last night now resembling a raccoon's Halloween costume.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of sleep. What's her problem?

She pointed to your bed and you turned your body to the side. Oh.

Oh.

Nike was rapidly blinking, those unfairly long eyelashes fluttering as she was most likely realizing you were not Taylor. The morning light streaming through your window illuminated her features in a way that should be illegal before coffee.

You laughed nervously, hands flailing in front of you like a malfunctioning windmill. "It's not what it looks like."

"Why is Paige Bueckers in your bed?"

Paige Bueckers? The same UConn Basketball Star Paige Bueckers? No fucking way.

This Paige had cuddled Mr. Gummy half of the night before opting to trap you in the bed with her. There was no chance that this was the same Paige Bueckers that had NIL deals with Nike and Gatorade and had laid waste to half the NCAA. 

Paige—definitely Paige—groaned beside you, hands rubbing her face. "Taylor's going to kill me," she mumbled underneath her breath.

"No, we— we didn't. We." You pointed between yourself and Paige, your brain short-circuiting like a poorly wired circuit board.

"Listen, sweetie, I'm sure it was the time of your life, but this was a one-time thing." Her voice had that practiced smoothness of someone who'd given this speech before, probably more times than the number of equations in your thermodynamics textbook.

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets. Was she serious? Did she think you two—? And she was okay with it? Now, this fits the description perfectly of the cocky superstar Paige Bueckers was known to be. 

Your face burned hotter than an overclocked processor. "We did not have sex. You came in here drunk off your ass screaming about your girlfriend."

By the time the word girlfriend left your mouth, Paige Bueckers had already jumped off your bed with the agility of someone who definitely wasn't as hungover as she should be. She snatched up her UConn warmup jacket from your floor and was halfway down the hallway before you could blink.

What an arrogant little asshole. Your muscles quivered with the urge to strangle her. That is if you ever saw her again. Which, given your luck and UConn’s campus, was probably inevitable.

"How long have you and Paige been seeing each other?" The empty spot beside you filled with Riven's weight. "Is that why you never wanted to come to the games with me?"

"Riven, you have five seconds to get off of my bed before I strangle you."

"You can't avoid this conversation forever!" she called out as you stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you tried to process the reality that you'd just spent the night cuddled up with Paige fucking Bueckers. The same player whose name had been carved into the unofficial NCAA hierarchy since before orientation. 

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the memory of how her arms had felt around you, how her breath had tickled your neck, how her—

No. Absolutely not. You were not going to join the ranks of college students who'd lost their minds over a basketball star. You had bigger things to worry about. Like whether your CAD project had uploaded properly. Or if you could ever look at Mr. Gummy the same way again.

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, labs, and actively avoiding any location where you might run into Paige. You'd even skipped Tuesday's Engineering Club meeting, sending your vice president a detailed email about needing to catch up on work. It wasn't entirely a lie—you did have work to catch up on, considering you'd spent half your study time calculating alternate routes to class that avoided the usual athlete hangouts.

But by Thursday afternoon, your luck ran out. The library was supposed to be safe—the one place on campus where the basketball players rarely ventured. They had their own private study rooms in the athletic center, after all. Which is why you'd let your guard down, settling into your favorite spot near the engineering section to catch up on your reading.

The peaceful atmosphere was shattered by two girls settling at the table across from you, their whispered conversation carrying clearly in the quiet space.

"So yeah, I like totally made out with Paige in the team room. We almost knocked over Coach's whiteboard, isn't that hilarious?" The prettier of the two said as she placed her MacBook on the wooden table, her voice carrying that forced casualness of someone trying very hard to seem unbothered.

Her friend laughed and took a sip of her Starbucks, a lemonade, probably sugar-free, because of course it was. "So how was it?"

Paige's latest conquest giggled and opened her laptop, trying to seem as uninterested in the conversation as possible. You'd seen this play before, the carefully crafted nonchalance that masked the inevitable disappointment when Paige moved on to her next target. You'd bet your entire scholarship that she'd gone home crying after being ghosted, only to watch Paige pretend she didn't exist the next day.

By this point, you'd given up all pretense of studying chemical processes and electron movement. You'd reread the same paragraph in your textbook sixteen times, your brain more interested in this glimpse into the life of your unexpected bedmate. So what if you're being nosy? Everyone is nosy, and besides, you'd mentally checked out the moment these two sat down.

"She's such a good kisser.” Her friend's mouth dropped open as she placed her half-empty cup onto the table, grabbing her friend's shoulder with one hand. The former nodded, still giggling, "Sarah, I know. She like totally picked me up against the whiteboard."

Are they not aware that people can hear them? That they're in a public space? You glanced around the library, which was half-empty as usual. So maybe you were the only one eavesdropping. Still, you wouldn't go around a library of all places announcing your hookups to the world.

"Hey buttercup," an eerily familiar voice purred in your ear.

You jolted, arms flailing like a malfunctioning robot, inevitably colliding with your pencil case and sending its contents scattering across the floor. Various writing implements rolled under nearby tables like they were making a break for freedom.

You turned to lock eyes with a very, very familiar pair of hazel eyes. Shit.

"Do I know you?" You asked through gritted teeth, trying to ignore how good she looked in her fitted Nike training gear. The amount of exclusive team merchandise on her body probably equaled your entire semester's expenses.

Why would Paige, of all people, be looking for you? If you remembered correctly, she was the one to so diligently inform you that whatever happened was a one-time thing—even though nothing had actually happened.

Paige's eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips tugged upward into that infamous smirk. She leaned forward, resting one hand on the edge of the table, the other on the back of your chair, effectively caging you in. "Don't play dumb."

She was in your bubble. Way too close for comfort, especially since you'd been planning on never having to interact with her again. You groaned and leaned backward, roughly pushing your chair back to give yourself space to lean over and pick up your scattered pens. The move was partly practical and partly designed to annoy her.

"Listen, if it was up to me, I wouldn't be here either." Paige grabbed the chair to your left and pushed it closer to you, dropping into it with that natural athlete's grace. "I've been to your room every day since Sunday and you haven't been there once."

Welp. Why the hell would she be looking for you?

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I was supposed to be waiting in my room for you." You shoved the pens back into your pencil case, gripping the zipper and tugging it closed with perhaps more force than necessary. Looks like the library was no longer a safe haven.

"I lost my phone and you're the only person I remember being with that night," Paige groaned, turning her head.

Does she truly remember that night? Remember that you two didn't actually hook up but instead cuddled? You wanted to convulse at the memory of how safe and warm you'd felt in her arms. How right it had—no. Absolutely not.

"Oh fuck," she mumbled, her expression shifting from annoyed to something closer to panic.

Your eyes followed her gaze to see what had caused this reaction.

Ha. Ha. Ha. In your face, superstar. You couldn't help but grin as you realized the two girls were still very much present. Not only present but staring at you and Paige with expressions that suggested their jaws might actually detach and hit the table.

Paige leaned back in her chair, sending them a small wave and a—was that a wink? Your eyes nearly rolled directly out of their sockets. How much more predictable could she get?

You didn't bother to look back at the two girls to see their reaction. You could guess it anyway—probably swooning in their chairs, maybe even planning their own strategic "accidental" encounters with her. You wouldn't be surprised if they were already planning to show up at her next practice session.

"Anyways," Paige turned back to you, her voice dropping to that low register that definitely didn't do things to your insides, "Have you seen it?"

You shook your head, closing your textbook. Time to get the hell out of here. "No, I haven't. Sorry."

"Are you mad about what I said? Is that why you're holding my precious phone hostage?" Paige's hand shot out to land on top of your textbook, preventing you from shoving it in your bag—or directly at her stupid, perfect face.

"Mad about what exactly?" You grabbed her hand and tried to shove it off the textbook. She didn't budge. Of course she didn't, you'd seen her arms during all those ESPN highlights Riven forced you to watch. "I do not have your phone."

Within seconds, Paige's hand slid off the textbook only to trap your hand against it instead. She moved to the edge of her chair and leaned forward until her lips were at the shell of your ear. Her warm breath hit your skin and you had to resist the urge to squirm. "About what I said in front of your roommate, sweetie."

Your blood ran cold. Does she think you give two shits about what she said in front of Riven? That she made your roommate think you two were secretly hooking up and that she would undoubtedly eventually let it slip to her sorority sisters? Who will tell the rest of campus? No. Not. At. All.

Asshole. She's a no-good little asshole with too many NIL deals and too little accountability.

You turned your head to face her, ignoring the fact that you were now inches apart. If you weren't so pissed you might've paused to appreciate how her eyes looked up close, how they seemed to hold more mischief than all the troublemakers in Cambridge combined. But now wasn't the time for character studies.

You held her gaze, noting the slight knit in her brow that suggested she wasn't as confident as she was pretending to be. "Listen here Bueckers, whether or not you want to keep pretending like we hooked up or not is none of my business. I do not have your fucking phone, and if I did I would've thrown that shit into the Charles River by now."

You yanked your hand away from her grasp and turned back to your desk. You managed to successfully toss your textbook into your bag and rise from your chair without another word from her.

Before making your very dramatic exit, you turned to face her one last time. Might as well make it grand.

Paige hadn't moved an inch since you'd stood up. She stared at you with a raised brow and that infuriating smirk tugging at her lips. She found this amusing? Found humiliating you in the library a good pastime?

You bent over your chair, placing one hand on her shoulder and leaning in until you were at the shell of her ear. She stiffened under your touch, and you felt a small thrill of satisfaction. What the fuck are you doing?

You leaned in further, so close that your chest pressed flat against your arm and her body. So close that your lips actually grazed her ear as you whispered, with all the venom you could muster, “This might work on your little groupies, but, I’m not interested.” 

The last thing you saw as you straightened up and walked away was the shocked expression on her face, like she couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Good. Let her be confused for once.

You managed to make it all the way to the library exit before your hands started shaking. What the hell had gotten into you? You'd just essentially declared war on one of the most prominent athletes at UConn. The star player who could probably get you banned from every sports event without blinking.

But as you pushed through the heavy doors into the crisp fall air, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Maybe it was time someone stood up to the mighty Paige Bueckers. Someone who didn't want anything from her except for her to leave them alone.

Your muscles were still tense from your library encounter as you trudged up the stairs to your dorm room. The familiar hallway felt longer than usual, probably because every step reminded you of how spectacularly you'd just antagonized UConn's star player. At least you'd managed to get through your thermodynamics lab without dwelling too much on the way Paige's face had dropped when you'd—

No. Stop fucking thinking about it.

You fumbled with your key card, missing the reader twice before finally getting the door open. The first thing you noticed was an envelope on the floor, likely slipped under your door while you were in class. You bent down to pick it up, ready to toss it in the recycling with all the other campus spam, when Riven's voice cut through the room.

"What's that?"

You jumped, nearly dropping the envelope. Your roommate was sprawled across her bed, still in her scrubs from her hospital rotation. She must have gotten back early.

"Nothing," you muttered, but it was too late. Riven had already launched herself off her bed with surprising agility for someone who'd just finished a twelve-hour shift.

"Oh my god," she squealed, snatching the envelope from your hands before you could protest. "These are courtside tickets to Saturday's game!"

Your stomach dropped. Sure enough, two tickets peeked out of the torn envelope in Riven's hands. But what caught your eye was the note attached.

Found my phone in the team room. Who would’ve thought, right? Peace? - PB

"We're going," Riven declared, already pulling out her phone. "I'm texting the group chat right now. Do you know how impossible these tickets are to get?"

You reached for the tickets, but Riven danced away, holding them above her head like a prized trophy. "We are not going."

"Oh yes we are," she grinned, typing furiously with one hand while keeping the tickets out of your reach with the other. "Everyone's going to be so jealous. How did you even get these?"

"I didn't—" you started, then stopped. How exactly do you explain to your basketball-obsessed roommate that these tickets were some kind of weird peace offering from Paige Bueckers? A peace offering that felt more like a challenge, especially given that note.

"Earth to engineering nerd," Riven waved her hand in front of your face. "You're coming to this game. No excuses. I've already told everyone you're finally embracing the Husky spirit."

You groaned, falling face-first onto your bed. Mr. Gummy stared at you judgmentally from his spot against your pillow. Even he seemed to be saying you should have thrown those tickets away the moment you saw them.

"I have to study," you mumbled into your comforter.

"You always have to study," Riven countered. "But how often do you get courtside tickets from Paige Bueckers?"

Your head shot up. "How did you—"

"PB?" Riven held up the note, smirking. "Please. I may be pre-med, but I'm not stupid. Also, her signature is literally on every piece of UConn merch in the campus store."

Great. Just great. Now you had no choice but to go to the game. If you didn't, Riven would never let you hear the end of it. She'd probably drag you there anyway, study plans be damned.

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer some escape route from this situation. Instead, all you could think about was how you'd have to sit courtside—courtside—and watch Paige play. Watch her make those impossible passes, sink those perfect three-pointers, command the court like she was born to do it.

And she'd know you were there. That was the worst part. This wasn't just a peace offering—it was a power play. She was making sure you couldn't ignore her anymore.

"Fine," you sighed, already regretting the word as it left your mouth. "But I'm bringing my thermodynamics textbook."

Riven's squeal of delight was probably heard all the way in the engineering building.

You grabbed Mr. Gummy and hugged him to your chest, wondering how exactly you'd gone from successfully telling Paige Bueckers to fuck off to having courtside seats to watch her play. The bear offered no answers, but you could have sworn he looked a little smug about the whole situation.

The next two days were a special kind of torture. Riven had taken it upon herself to become your personal "game day preparation coordinator," which apparently meant forcing you to sit through endless highlight reels of UConn's recent victories. By Friday afternoon, you could probably recite Paige's stat line from memory—not that you'd ever admit that to anyone.

"You can't wear that," Riven declared as you pulled out your standard comfort outfit: UConn Engineering hoodie and black leggings.

You glanced down at your clothes, then back at your roommate. "Why not?"

"Because we're sitting courtside," she emphasized the word like you were a particularly slow child. "People are going to see us. The cameras might even pan to us during timeouts!"

The mere thought made your stomach churn. "That's exactly why I should wear this. I don't want to draw any attention."

Riven was already shaking her head, diving into her closet with the determination of someone on a mission. "No way. If Paige Bueckers gives you courtside tickets, you dress for the occasion."

"She didn't give them to me," you protested, even though technically she had. "They were just left under our door."

"Right," Riven emerged with an armful of clothes. "Just like she just happened to end up in your bed that night?"

You threw Mr. Gummy at her head. She dodged, laughing as the bear bounced harmlessly off your desk lamp. "We are not talking about that again."

An hour and approximately seventeen outfit changes later, you finally escaped. Your excuse about needing to pick up materials from the engineering lab wasn't entirely a lie—you did have a project due next week. The fact that the engineering building was on the opposite side of campus from the athletic facilities was just a bonus.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice the person exiting the coffee shop until it was too late. Hot liquid splashed across your chest as you collided with what felt like a brick wall of muscle.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!" A voice that definitely wasn't Paige's (thank god) exclaimed.

You looked up—and up—into the concerned face of one of UConn's basketball players. The Croatian accent and defensive intensity were legendary enough that even you, perpetually sports-oblivious, recognized her from Riven's endless team discussions.

"It's fine," you managed, trying to ignore how the hot coffee was currently seeping through your shirt. At least it wasn't your engineering hoodie—Riven would've killed you if you'd ruined her carefully planned outfit for tomorrow.

She was already pulling napkins from her pocket, dabbing at your shirt with a look of genuine distress. "Let me buy you a new coffee. And shirt," she added, eyeing the growing stain.

"Really, it's fine." You stepped back, ready to bolt. The last thing you needed was another interaction with a basketball player.

But she wasn't letting you off that easy. She grabbed your wrist with surprising gentleness for someone known for her aggressive defense. “Nah, I insist. I'm Nika, by the way. And I really do feel terrible about this."

Before you could protest further, she was steering you back into the coffee shop. The barista's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Nika—clearly a regular customer—but otherwise maintained their professional composure.

"The usual for me," Nika called out, "and whatever she wants." She turned to you expectantly.

You mumbled your name and order—"Just a black coffee"—trying to shrink into yourself. Several students were openly staring now, probably wondering why Nika Mühl was buying coffee for some random engineering student.

"And a chocolate croissant," Nika added, ignoring your attempt to protest. "Trust me, they're amazing here."

You shifted uncomfortably as she paid, very aware of the wet fabric clinging to your skin. Nika seemed to notice your discomfort because she shrugged off her UConn warmup jacket and held it out to you.

"Here, you can't stay in that wet shirt."

You stared at the jacket like it might bite you. The same style jacket Paige had left on your floor that night. The one that probably cost more than your textbooks.

"I can't—"

"You can and you will," Nika insisted, pushing the jacket into your hands. "There's a bathroom right there. Go change before you catch a cold."

Something in her tone brooked no argument. You found yourself in the bathroom before you could really process what was happening, staring at your reflection as you zipped up the warmup jacket. It was slightly too big, making you look like a kid playing dress-up in their older sibling's clothes.

When you emerged, Nika had already claimed a table in the corner, your drinks and the promised chocolate croissant waiting. She waved you over with a smile that somehow managed to be both friendly and slightly intimidating.

"So," she said as you slid into the seat across from her, "what's your major?"

"Engineering. Mechanical." You picked at the croissant, wondering how quickly you could eat it and escape.

Nika's eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Engineering— wait." Her eyes widened with recognition. "Holy shit, are you that girl?"

You froze mid-bite. "What girl?"

"The one from the library! The one who told Paige—what was it?  ‘That you’re not one of her groupies’?” Nika's grin spread across her face like wildfire. "No wonder she's been such a mess lately."

You choked on your croissant. "What?"

"Oh my god, this is perfect. You're also the one she—" Nika cut herself off, studying your increasingly red face with growing delight. "The one whose room she crashed in after KK’s party?"

Your face burned hotter than the coffee you'd been wearing moments ago. "How did you—"

"Paige tells me everything," Nika leaned back in her chair, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Well, eventually. Had to drag this one out of her after she spent three days moping around practice like someone had stolen her favorite pair of Jordan’s.”

"I didn't steal anything," you protested automatically. "Not her phone, not her—"

"Oh, she knows that now," Nika waved dismissively. "Found it in the team room yesterday morning. Right where those girls said it would be." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Though I have to say, watching her spiral about it was pretty entertaining. She's not used to people calling her out like that."

The implication hung heavy in the air. You remembered the library girls' story about making out with Paige against the whiteboard. Something must have shown on your face because Nika's expression softened slightly.

"Look, Paige is complicated. She's not used to people seeing through her bullshit." She took a sip of her drink, considering her next words carefully. "Those tickets? That's her way of saying she fucked up."

"By accusing me of stealing her phone?"

"By letting you think she didn't remember that night."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "What?"

Nika's phone buzzed before she could answer. She glanced at it and grimaced. "Speaking of her royal highness, I'm late for film." She stood, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "Keep the jacket. Consider it compensation for the coffee attack."

You watched her head toward the door, your mind spinning with questions. Just before she left, she turned back with a knowing smirk.

"See you tomorrow at the game. Front row, right?"

The door chimed as she left, leaving you alone with a half-eaten croissant and more questions than answers. You looked down at the jacket, at the way the UConn logo seemed to mock you with its pristine embroidery.

Somehow, in trying to avoid Paige Bueckers, you'd managed to get tangled up in her world anyway. And tomorrow, you'd have to sit courtside and watch her in her element, all while wearing her best friend's jacket.

Mr. Gummy was definitely going to judge you for this.

"No." You glared at the suspicious red cup Riven was waving in front of your face. "Absolutely not."

"Come on! It's tradition!" She pushed the cup closer, its contents sloshing dangerously near the rim. The sharp smell of cheap vodka mixed with what you assumed was cranberry juice wafted toward you. "You can't go to your first real game sober."

You turned back to your mirror, adjusting Nika's warmup jacket for the hundredth time. The number 10 stared back at you, a constant reminder of yesterday's coffee shop encounter. You'd tried to talk yourself out of wearing it, but everything else felt too casual for courtside seats (according to Riven) or too formal (also according to Riven).

"I'm not pregaming a basketball game at three in the afternoon."

"It's four," Riven corrected, checking her phone. "And yes, you are. The team's already been at Gampel for hours, and we need to leave in thirty minutes if we want good spots for warm-ups. I refuse to let you sit there reading thermodynamics while history happens right in front of us."

You spun around, hands on your hips. "History?"

"Yes! We're playing Notre Dame. It's huge." She thrust the cup into your hands with such force that some of it splashed onto your fingers. "And you're wearing Nika Mühl's personal jacket. Do you know how many people would kill for that?"

"I got it because she spilled coffee on me," you muttered, but took a small sip anyway. Just to shut her up. The drink was surprisingly not terrible— mostly juice with just enough vodka to warm your chest.

"Right. Just like Paige 'accidentally' ended up in your bed." Riven made air quotes with her fingers, nearly spilling her own drink in the process. "And then 'accidentally' gave us courtside tickets."

"Can we not talk about that?" You took another sip, larger this time. The warmth spread through your limbs, making everything feel slightly softer around the edges. Maybe Riven had a point about the drinking thing.

"Oh, we're definitely talking about it." She flopped onto your bed, somehow not spilling a drop. "You're wearing her best friend's jacket to watch her play. This is like, next level psychological warfare."

You choked on your drink. "It's not warfare! I just didn't have anything else to wear."

"Mhmm." Riven's knowing smirk made you want to throw Mr. Gummy at her again. "That's why you spent twenty minutes adjusting it in the mirror."

"I did not—"

"You did! You were all,” She stood up, mimicking your earlier movements with exaggerated precision. "'Oh, should I zip it up all the way? Maybe halfway? What if I push up the sleeves?'"

You drained your cup in one go, grimacing at the burn. "I hate you."

"You love me." She was already mixing another drink, this one slightly stronger than the last. "And you're going to thank me when Paige sees you in that jacket and loses her mind."

"She's not going to lose her mind," you protested, but accepted the fresh drink anyway. "She probably won't even notice."

Riven's laugh echoed off the walls. "Oh honey. Paige notices everything. Why do you think she's the best point guard in the country?"

The walk to Gampel Pavilion was a blur of Riven's excited chatter and your growing anxiety. The drinks had taken the edge off, but your heart still raced as you approached the arena. Students were already lining up outside, many wearing jerseys and carrying signs. Your hand instinctively went to the zipper of Nika's jacket, suddenly very aware of what you were wearing.

"Stop fidgeting," Riven hissed, pulling you toward a separate entrance. "You look hot. Own it."

The security guard barely glanced at your tickets before waving you through. The arena was already humming with energy— staff rushing around with equipment, the band setting up in their section, early arrivals claiming their seats. 

Your courtside seats were exactly where you'd dreaded they'd be: directly behind the UConn bench. Close enough to hear every word, see every expression, feel every moment of tension.

"This is insane," you muttered, sinking into your seat. The court stretched out before you like a stage, the overhead lights making everything feel surreal.

"Look." Riven nudged you, pointing toward the tunnel. "They're coming out for warm-ups."

Your heart jumped into your throat as the team emerged, led by the coaching staff. Players filed onto the court in perfect formation, their practice jerseys a sea of navy and white. You spotted Nika first— impossible to miss with her distinctive playing style, already intense even in warm-ups.

And then there she was.

Paige moved with that effortless grace that made everything look easy, her ponytail swinging as she dribbled two balls simultaneously. She hadn't looked toward the crowd yet, locked in that pre-game focus that elite athletes got.

"Here we go," Riven whispered, her phone already out and recording.

You watched as Paige went through her warm-up routine, each movement precise and practiced. She worked her way around the three-point line, barely seeming to notice as shot after shot swished through the net.

Then she turned to grab a rebound, and her eyes swept across the courtside seats.

You saw the exact moment she registered you. Her hands froze mid-dribble, the ball bouncing away forgotten. Her gaze locked onto the number 10 across your chest, then slowly traveled up to meet your eyes.

The intensity in her stare made your whole body flush hot. You watched as her jaw clenched, that familiar muscle ticking in a way that sent heat straight to your core. Her eyes darkened with something that looked dangerously close to possession.

Nika appeared beside her, saying something that made Paige snap back to attention. But not before you caught the way her gaze lingered on how her best friend's jacket fit your frame.

"Holy shit," Riven breathed, still recording. "I think you broke her."

You slumped lower in your seat, already regretting letting the vodka convince you this was a good idea. "Shut up."

"No way. This is better than any reality show." She zoomed in as Paige missed her next three shots in a row. "Look what you did to her."

"I didn't do anything," you protested weakly, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from Paige's form. The way her practice jersey clung to her shoulders, how her muscles flexed with each movement, the intense focus that had returned to her features – though you swore you caught her glancing in your direction between plays.

This was going to be a very long game.

The game started exactly as you'd expected— with Paige absolutely demolishing Notre Dame's defense while you tried very hard to look anywhere else. It wasn't working.

"Did you see that pass?" Riven screamed in your ear for approximately the eighteenth time. "She didn't even look!"

No, you hadn't seen the pass, because you were very deliberately studying the fascinating architecture of Gampel's ceiling. The vodka buzz had worn off about twenty minutes ago, leaving you hyperaware of every move, every sound, every time Paige jogged past your seats during transitions.

The worst part? Nika kept sending you these knowing looks from the bench, like she was watching her favorite rom-com play out in real time. You were starting to regret not bringing your thermodynamics textbook after all. At least differential equations made sense. They didn't smirk at you or have perfectly defined arm muscles or—

"Time out, Huskies!"

The players jogged toward the bench, and suddenly your personal space was invaded by very tall, very sweaty athletes. You tried to shrink further into your seat, but there was nowhere to go. Especially not when Paige dropped into a crouch right in front of you, ostensibly to grab her water bottle.

"Nice jacket," she said quietly, just loud enough for you to hear over the timeout huddle. Her eyes traveled down your body in a way that made you feel like you were wearing significantly less than a full warmup jacket and jeans.

You opened your mouth to respond with something witty, something that would put her in her place like you had in the library. Instead, what came out was: "Your friend has good taste."

Paige's eyes darkened, that same possessive look from warm-ups returning with intensity. "Does she?"

Before you could dig yourself into an even deeper hole, Coach Auriemma's voice cut through the tension. "Bueckers! Get your ass over here!"

You watched as she jogged back to the huddle, trying to ignore how your skin felt electric where her gaze had lingered. Beside you, Riven was practically vibrating with excitement.

"I got all of that on video," she whispered, waving her phone in your face. "This is going in the group chat."

"If you send that anywhere, I will reprogram your phone to only play the Barney theme song."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The timeout ended, and the players returned to the court. You noticed Paige was playing with even more intensity now, if that was possible. Her crossovers were sharper, her passes more precise, like she had something to prove.

"Twenty bucks says she's showing off for you," Riven muttered.

"Thirty says you're delusional."

But as you watched Paige sink another impossible three-pointer and turn slightly— just slightly - in your direction before jogging back on defense, you had to admit that maybe, just maybe, Riven had a point.

The game continued in a blur of strategic timeouts (during which Paige found increasingly creative ways to end up near your seat), incredible plays (that you definitely weren't watching just to see the way her muscles moved), and Riven's running commentary (which was getting progressively less about basketball and more about the "tension that could be cut with a knife").

By the fourth quarter, UConn had built a comfortable lead, and you'd developed a concerning familiarity with exactly how Paige's practice jersey clung to her shoulders when she was sweating. This was not information you needed in your life. You had CAD models to build, robots to program, a future in engineering to secure. You did not have time to notice how her hair had started falling out of its ponytail in these impossibly attractive wisps, or how—

"Game! Huskies win!"

The final buzzer snapped you out of your completely professional analysis of athletic biomechanics. The crowd erupted as players from both teams exchanged handshakes and hugs. You stood, ready to make your escape before—

"Leaving so soon?"

You turned to find Paige standing right there, still slightly breathless from the game, her presence filling your entire field of vision. Up close, you could see the flush of exertion on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the slight curl of her lips that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

"I have studying to do," you managed, proud that your voice came out steady.

"On a Saturday night?" She stepped closer, and you caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with sweat. It should not have been as attractive as it was. "After watching me put up thirty points?"

"Thirty-two," you corrected automatically, then immediately wanted to die. Beside you, Riven made a sound that might have been a squeal or a laugh.

Paige's smirk grew wider. "So you were watching."

"It was kind of hard to miss, considering where we're sitting." You gestured to the courtside seats that had started this whole mess.

"About that," she ran a hand through her hair, and those loose strands fell perfectly around her face in a way that had to be practiced. "I was thinking maybe we could—"

"Paige!" Nika's voice cut through whatever she'd been about to say. "Media's waiting!"

You'd never been so grateful for press obligations in your life.

Paige's jaw clenched in frustration, but she recovered quickly. "This isn't over," she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. Then she was gone, jogging toward the media section with that natural athletic grace that made everything look effortless.

You stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Your skin still tingled where she'd been standing close enough to touch.

"So," Riven's voice broke through your daze. "Still think she hasn't noticed you?"

"We're going out," Riven declared, already rummaging through your closet without permission. "No arguments."

You looked up from your laptop, where you'd been desperately trying to focus on anything other than replaying the game in your head for the past two hours. "I have to—"

"If you say 'study' I will literally scream." She emerged with your one decent going-out top, the black one with the low back that you'd bought on impulse and worn exactly once. "You just watched UConn destroy Notre Dame from courtside seats while Paige Bueckers eye-fucked you in front of the entire student section. We're celebrating."

"She wasn't—" You cut yourself off, heat creeping up your neck. "And anyway, shouldn't she be celebrating with her girlfriend?"

The words tasted bitter in your mouth. You'd been trying very hard not to think about Taylor, about how Paige had crashed into your room calling out her name, about how clearly serious it must be if she was that desperate to apologize. The fact that she'd spent the entire game looking at you like... that... well, it just proved what everyone said about her, didn't it?

"Oh my god," Riven threw the shirt at your head. "Put this on. We're getting drunk and you're going to tell me everything you're overthinking about right now."

An hour later, you found yourself at The Tavern, nursing your second Moscow Mule while Riven recounted the game to anyone who would listen. The bar was packed with students celebrating the win, most still wearing their UConn gear and riding the high of victory.

"I just don't get it," you said, mostly to your drink. "Why is she suddenly so interested? I'm literally nobody. I spend my Friday nights debugging Python scripts and building robots that occasionally catch fire."

"Maybe that's exactly why," Riven waggled her eyebrows. "You're different. You don't worship the ground she walks on."

You snorted. "Right. Because what Paige Bueckers really wants is someone who told her to fuck off in the library."

The doors to The Tavern burst open, and suddenly the energy in the room shifted. A new wave of celebration swept through as the team arrived, fresh from their post-game duties. Your stomach did a complicated flip as you spotted Paige among them, now changed into fitted black jeans and a white button-down that should be illegal. Her hair was down, falling in waves that your fingers definitely didn't itch to touch.

"Speak of the devil," Riven smirked. "Want to test that theory?"

"Don't you dare—" But Riven was already waving enthusiastically, catching Nika's attention. The Croatian player's face lit up with unholy glee when she spotted you.

"Engineering girl!" Nika bounded over, dragging a very amused-looking Paige with her. "Still wearing my jacket, I see."

You started to unzip it, but she waved you off. "Keep it. It looks better on you anyway." She shot Paige a meaningful look that made your cheeks burn.

"I need another drink," Riven announced suddenly, grabbing Nika's arm. "Come show me where the team keeps their secret stash."

"We don't have a—" Nika caught on quickly, grinning. "Oh, right. That secret stash. This way."

And just like that, you were alone with Paige at the crowded bar, your body humming with awareness of how close she was standing.

"Subtle, aren't they?" Paige smiled, and for once it wasn't that practiced smirk. It was something softer, more genuine. She signaled the bartender, who materialized instantly. Must be nice being a campus celebrity.

"The usual?" The bartender asked Paige, already reaching for a bottle.

"And whatever she's having," Paige nodded toward your nearly empty Moscow Mule.

"I can buy my own drinks," you said quickly, reaching for your wallet.

Paige's lips twitched. "I know you can. But consider it part of my ongoing apology for the whole bed situation."

You raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep your voice steady. "You always apologize to your drunken mistakes with expensive drinks?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to snatch them back. But instead of looking offended, Paige just studied you with those impossibly intense eyes.

"Only the ones who let me cuddle their stuffed bears."

"Mr. Gummy," you corrected automatically, then immediately wanted to die. Again.

The bartender returned with your drinks, and you grabbed yours perhaps a bit too quickly, needing something to do with your hands. The Moscow Mule was perfect – strong enough to blame your burning cheeks on the alcohol.

"So," Paige said after a moment, looking far too comfortable for someone who'd just been called out on their drunken mistakes. "Engineering, huh?"

You nearly choked on your drink. "Are we really doing small talk right now?"

"Would you prefer I go back to staring at you from across the court?"

"I prefer knowing where I stand," you shot back, the alcohol making you braver than usual. "Because last I checked, you had a girlfriend you were pretty desperate to apologize to."

Something flashed across her face – regret? Embarrassment? "Taylor and I it's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" You couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of your voice. You'd heard enough stories about Paige's "complicated" situations to fill a textbook.

She turned to face you fully, and your breath caught at the unexpected vulnerability in her expression. "Look, I know what people say about me. Some of it's probably true. But Taylor and I have been over for months. That night... I was drunk and stupid because she'd started seeing someone new, and I handled it badly."

"By trying to crawl into her bed?"

"By accidentally crawling into yours." Her voice dropped lower, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. "Which, in retrospect, might have been the universe doing me a favor."

You forced yourself to meet her gaze, ignoring how your heart raced at the way she was looking at you. "Does that line usually work?"

"I don't know," she smiled, and it wasn't her usual cocky smirk. It was something smaller, almost shy. "I've never used it before."

Before you could process that, a commotion erupted near the pool tables. You both turned to see Riven attempting to teach one of the team's shooting guards proper form, which seemed to involve a lot of unnecessary physical contact.

"Ten bucks says they end up making out in the bathroom," Paige said, amusement coloring her tone.

"Twenty says Riven chickens out and spends the next week telling me about all the signals she thinks she missed."

Paige laughed, and the sound did something dangerous to your insides. "You know your roommate well."

"Well enough to know she's going to interrogate me about this conversation later."

"This conversation?" Paige shifted slightly closer, and you caught that intoxicating mix of her perfume and something uniquely her. "What's there to interrogate about?"

You gestured vaguely between you. "This whole... whatever this is. Where you're suddenly interested in small talk about my major and making jokes about the universe doing you favors."

"Maybe I just want to know more about the girl who told me to fuck off in the library." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "While wearing my best friend's jacket, no less."

"That was an accident—"

"Was it?" She was definitely closer now, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. "Because from where I was standing, it looked a lot like a challenge."

Your grip tightened on your drink. "Not everything is about you, Bueckers."

"No," she agreed, her voice soft but intense. "But the way you've been looking at me all night? That might be."

The air between you crackled with tension. You should step back. You should remember all the stories, all the warnings, all the reasons this was a terrible idea. You should—

"There you are!" Nika's voice cut through the moment like a bucket of cold water. "Coach just texted. Team meeting tomorrow morning got moved up."

Paige's jaw clenched in frustration, but she recovered quickly. "What time?"

"Eight AM." Nika's eyes darted between you and Paige, her expression far too knowing. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You weren't," you said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly judging by Nika's raised eyebrow.

Paige turned back to you, and the intensity in her gaze made your breath catch. "We'll finish this conversation later."

It wasn't a question.

You watched her walk away, trying to ignore how your body still hummed from her proximity. Nika lingered behind, grinning like she'd just won a bet with herself.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I've never seen her work this hard for someone's attention before."

"I'm not—" you started, but Nika was already following Paige, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a half-empty Moscow Mule.

Riven materialized beside you moments later, her eyes wide. "Okay, what the hell was that?"

"Nothing," you mumbled into your drink. "Just Paige Bueckers being Paige Bueckers."

But as you watched her gather her team to leave, she turned back just for a moment, catching your eye across the bar. The look she gave you was pure heat, a promise of more conversations to come.

You were so beyond utterly fucked.

Continue Reading Part 2

[brucebabener]

god im still suffering from the consequences of switching from lexapro to wellbutrin and im just pissed at all of my friends for no good reason but also kind of good reason???

[sadbeautifutragic]

bama morgan got dropped from rush and people are speculating it's because she and bella did a teen vogue interview oof

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

𝟿.𝟼𝙺 𝚃𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝

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+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 1 | 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 2

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

⚠️ spoilers in the warnings ⚠️

swearing, Stalking, pet names, degradation, namecalling, public masturbation, dark!rafe, mean!rafe, perv!rafe, mentions of cum play, mentions of unprotected P in V, ownership kink, mentions of rough oral, violence, threats, blackmail, fighting, blood, gore, mentions of sextortion, Rafe sneaks into the reader's room, panty stealing, panty sniffing, takes pictures of the reader's private images, cum tasting, oral male receiving, oral female receiving, twist dark reader, mutual obsession, rough oral, gagging, kissing, reader doesn't ask rafe if he wants to go further than oral but he does and she starts anyway, messy sex, squirting, praise, drinking, smoking, mentions of drug use

𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓪 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓶𝓬𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮

Rafe’s POV:

I step out onto the porch, goosebumps flaring across my skin, but I’m still white-hot with adrenaline from the fight. I feel the warm ooze roll down my chin, catching the blood on my palm fast before it drips onto my shirt. I look down at my wrist. 2 a.m… My heart falls as I see my knuckles bloodied and bruised, but I can’t feel it; it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I do that shit again for her in a heartbeat. I take a deep breath, rubbing my hand on my jeans as my thoughts return to her.

My gaze sweeps over the yard, girl after girl, but not mine. I look toward the sorority, watching a pair of sisters walk inside for the night. Maybe someone in there knows where she is.

I move down the stairs fast, walking toward the sorority that I had tried to slip into during the car wash to no avail. I keep my head low, focusing on the task at hand. Anticipation bubbles in my chest as the world lightens around me. The sorority’s fully lit now in the dim night. I’ve been here more times than I can count. But this time is different. I feel alive.

My pulse spikes as I see Cassie walk inside, too. I nod, trying to think of a plan to get in. Walking into the sorority without a sister would look weird as fuck. It would raise all the red flags. I fall back, watching her pass through the door and climb up the grand staircase before the door fans shut.

I take advantage of the moment, quickly trotting up the steps, yanking the door open before it can shut all the way, my eyes darting around the entryway before turning down the hall. I move deeper and deeper into the sorority, disappearing into her space. Looking down the hallway, I see the door – her door– just barely cracked open. I feel my stomach twist in excitement as I grow closer to her. Shutting my eyes, I breathe deeply, taking in her muted scent. It’s still so new to me, but I feel like it’s been long ingrained in my mind.

I glance through the crack in the door. Empty… My fingers curl around the cool metal handle, and for a moment, I hesitate. But I can’t wait. The faint smell of her perfume grows as I push open the door. I move cautiously through the space, taking little mental pictures of everything I see.

The personal touches—photos that weren’t on her Instagram, her favorite books stacked on her desk, a fuzzy blanket strewn on her bed. It feels so intimate… and it is.

Her dresser. The top drawer… Start there, I tell myself, work down. I know what I want. I pull it open, hitting the jackpot – delicate lace, silk, and cozy cotton panties – all of which have graced her perfect body. I snag a pair of black lace panties, stuffing them in the back pocket of my jeans. Don’t get greedy, Rafe.

I look to the side of the dresser, suddenly seeing her hamper, making my heart skip a beat. A slow grin breaches my face. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better.

I lift the lid, pulling back a sweatshirt, spotting pink mesh. Picking them out, I study them, trying to find traces of her. My eyes roll back as I see just that. I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth, thinking about how I’ll ruin these later. One hand thumbing through her pictures, the other stroking my dick. I lift the material to my nose, eyes shut, drawing a deep breath, snorting my girl like a line.

My eyes flutter open, head dizzy, eyes landing on her perfectly made bed. My rough fingers run along the comforter, studying where she sleeps, picturing her hair fanned out on the pillow and her glossy lips formed in the perfect sleepy pout. My eyes fall to her nightstand. I grin to myself. If it was anything like mine, I was in for a treat.

I wrap my fingers around the handle, my hand shaking with adrenaline as I open the small drawer. My eyes dart around the contents. Nothin’ crazy, just a few magazines. Lip gloss. I pick it out of the drawer, adding it to my itinerary for the night. M’gonna cum in this shit… Sneak it back in here, watch her walk into class with that glossy smile, just knowing she’s laced with me. I pull the magazines aside, my heart clanging in my ears as I see three nude Polaroids and a pink rabbit vibrator.

I bury my head in my hands, unable to cope with the sight before me. I quickly fight my phone out of my pocket, snapping a few pictures of the snapshots before taking her toy in my fist. I turn it, watching the sparkles glint in the light. Laying my tongue flat, I glide it nice and slow, not once but twice, my aching cock pressing against my zipper, twitching with each flick on my tongue, just trying to catch a hint of her taste.

I hear the sound of her angelic voice floating towards the door. Holy shit… I stuff everything back in the dresser hastily. My stomach twists in tight knots at the thought of her walking in seeing me in her room uninvited.

Billy’s right. She doesn’t know me. Not well, anyway. Not well enough to be in her room waiting. I look toward the window for my escape, but there’s not enough time. Her footsteps grow closer with each passing moment. I quickly step towards her closet, looking back at the window one last time, trying to weigh my options. It’s cracked… Of course, it is. I could still make it. Yet, there’s this undeniable urge to stay… I internally battle myself for a moment longer. Fuck it. I slip into the closet, pulling the door shut, pinching my eyes closed with it.

Every second feels like an eternity. I curse myself, thinking back to my earlier moments of panic. No way I put everything back where she left it… I surely slipped up. What if she feels something’s off, notices that faint change in the air, and finds me in her closet? What the fuck am I doing?

I watch her shadow shift under the closet door. Changing direction slightly, I peer out, careful not to rustle any hangers and give myself away, but I can’t help myself. Not when it comes to her. The temptation to watch her is damn near impossible. I’ve lost myself completely. Right when I’m about to fall out of sight, I hear her zipper pull. My mind screams for my body to look away, but my eyes disobey, wanting to see her bare. I watch her dress pool around her feet. My breath hitches in my throat from the sight in front of me. Lingerie… That was meant to be seen by someone. That photo of her at the car wash…No question this show was meant for him and not me.

Her hands lift to her chest, back still turned to me. She pops open the eyelets of her corset one by one. Teasing me unknowingly, the universe punishing me for being here, hiding away in the shadows like a freak. She pulls the delicate material off her body, tossing it in the hamper I had opened moments before… The stolen items feel like a weight in my pocket. I hold my breath, praying she doesn’t notice they’re gone. She doesn’t. She closes it before snagging an oversized t-shirt from a drawer. My eyes fall down her perfect body, her curves, the silhouette of my girl, sheer perfection—made for me and me alone.

She walks toward the bed, pulling back the covers before crawling inside. The soft glow of her TV illuminates her face, casting the most beautiful shadows across her perfect features. Her eyes look heavy, just minutes away from shutting for the night. I can’t help but worry about her. Why is she so tired? Why is she stayin’ up still? She needs to sleep. I know it’s not smart to stay, fuck, it wasn’t sane to do this shit in the first place, but I’m not ready to leave.

My breath catches itself in my chest as she smiles down at her phone, beautiful and genuine, making my racing heart skip a beat. What are you smiling at, pretty girl? She giggles quietly—soft and angelic. She mumbles something to herself I can’t quite catch. I move closer to the slight space between the door, turning my ear to hear anything. “… so cute,” she coos. My heart swells in my chest, and I imagine her saying that to me. God, I need her so fucking bad. She just met me… No way she was thinkin’ about me. Maybe Billy… Anyone but him.

“…Rafe Cameron,” she flirts, almost like she’s speaking directly to me as she stares at something on her phone.

I fight with the urge to grab the door and step out. I’ve got no self-control and so much to lose. I stand frozen in the closet, my fingers sliding along the door, getting closer and closer to the edge. I pull my hand back at the last possible moment, settling on watching her fall asleep instead.

“You can come out now,” her voice cuts through the quiet, all the blood pumping in my head draining in a moment.

I'm hearin’ shit. I gotta be. I peer out, met with a set of gorgeous, curious eyes. Was she amused? Angry? She doesn’t look scared… The world stopped moving. Or maybe it was just my heart that stopped.

”Rafe,” she says my name, tugging at my heartstrings. I stand there in disbelief, mind racing, body pulling in all directions, wanting to fall back into the place where I felt in control.

I push open the door, breathing shakily, rustling the hangers I’d tried to silence before. My body feels heavy and awkward. I draw a deep breath, trying to think of how to explain myself, but nothing comes out. Everything is overwhelming– my emotions, her gaze, the moment.

“You’ve been following me,” her voice floats out. This should fucking terrify her, but it doesn’t. I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to stay present, but my mind reels. “I saw you at the car wash, Rafe. Watched you on the sorority Ring camera trying to sneak in while I was out.” She giggles. “That was cute, by the way,” she teases. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. Just how much had she seen?

“You were looking for me all night, Rafe. It would have been so much easier to find me if you would have just asked for my number,” she sighs. I swallow hard, clearing the lump in my throat as I try to gain my composure and say anything. “I watched you fight Billy for me at the party earlier. All for me..” She gives me a flirty smile, not at all horrified about the beating or the blood, more focused on the sentiment behind it. I wanted to deny it all but at the same time…I don’t. Does she like it?

“I’ve seen everything…” Her head tilts slightly, eyes staring straight into my soul. “You act like you own me, Rafe.” Those words leaving her lips hit me like a blow to the chest. “I think we’re kinda similar, you and I…”

I pinch my eyebrows in confusion, thinking back to her texts with Billy. “What about Billy?” I croak out dumbly, making her laugh warmly.

“He was just a part of the plan,” she smiles. “Someone who would wrong you; someone that would test you. Someone disloyal who wouldn’t stop unless you made him. And, he didn’t stop, did he?”

“He didn’t,” I mumble drunkenly, hearing her words echoing in my ears. She planned all this, using my emotions and obsession to draw me in.

She shrugs. “Loyalty is hard to find.”

Billy was just a pawn to get to me? She wanted to be seen by me tonight just as badly as I wanted to be seen by her, and she’s wanted it for a while.

“I’m loyal.” I nod desperately. “I’ll do anything for you,” my voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll worship you… That’s what you want, yeah?” I crawl on the foot of her bed, moving closer and closer as she lures me with her stare. I tilt in close, holding my breath, lips hovering mere inches from her. The air between us is charged. My heart is pounding so loudly that I’m sure she can hear it.

Her hands come up to cup my bruised cheeks, grounding me; drawing me in even deeper.

"I'm gonna take care of you, Rafe," she whispers, her voice syrupy sweet. "I've been watching you for weeks. I know everything you need– everything you want."

My body trembles, unable to cope with the emotions, shattering them all when my lips crash into hers. The kiss is deep and longing, fierce and possessive, almost animalistic, as I pull her as close as possible. “M’Yours,” I mumble between kisses, needing her to hear it. I feel her smile against my lips before she pulls back enough to let me see her eyes. Her addictive stare’s beautiful, laced with something dark and dangerous.

“I’m yours,” she smiles. Before I can respond, she reaches down to the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it off her body. My eyes widened, and my hands draw to her flesh like magnets. “I’m so wet, Rafe,” she whispers like she’s telling me a secret.

“Are you gonna let me taste you, princess?”

Her hands brush through my hair, her brow cocking teasingly. “Didn’t you already?” My stomach flutters at her words, realizing that when she said ‘she saw everything,’ she meant it.

“I want more,” I respond hungrily. I push her back into the pillows—tearing my shirt off my shoulders. Her breathing hitches, lip caught between her bottom teeth as her eyes fall down my body, working me out of my belt. The sparkle in her eyes lets me know this isn’t a want but a need.

I pull myself out of my jeans, tossing them to the side, before moving away from her soft lips, settling between her plush thighs. I kiss along her silky skin, breathing in the scent of her, bathing in it, peeling off her panties before pressing her thighs wide to get some more.

“So fuckin�� wet, baby,” I eye the mess between her legs, licking my lips hungrily. Her fingers drift into my fringe, twisting in my strands, using her hold to draw me closer. I swipe my finger up her slit making her moan, her hips lifting when I pull away, gliding her essence along my tongue.

“Please,” she whimpers. Her lips push in a pout, falling into a soft ‘o’ as my rough fingers spiral on her throbbing clit. She throws her head back into her pillow, hair fanning out just like I imagined it, even more perfect than I could’ve dreamed.

I slip a finger inside, then two, then three. Saving the best for last as my lips press against her pearl, sucking down, making her cry out in pleasure. “Fuck, daddy.” The name throws me over the edge; I start rutting and grinding into the mattress, matching my thrust, my pleasure building with hers.

“Cum for me, pretty. Let me have it,” I mumble against her cunt, watching goosebumps spread across her thighs at the heat of my words.

My body trembles as she grabs fistfuls of sheets, chanting my name like a prayer, and she cums long and hard with me. I feel my sticky load coat my boxers, the wet material clinging to my throbbing dick. I bury myself in her pussy, drowning in her arousal, huffing in her scent just like I was before, suckling and coating my tongue with her release.

Her hands reach down, pulling at my hair just like she was before, too breathless to plead for my lips. She licks her slick off my chin before plunging her tongue in my mouth, rolling effortlessly with mine, my mind-hazy, pussy-drunk off her taste.

“You came, didn’t you?” She whispers against my lips. Her vulgar words coming out angelic. She reaches her hand between us, cupping my cock, answering her own question as my warm cum transfers to her palm through the cotton. She lifts her hand, running it along her tongue with a smile.

“How did you know?”

”I’ve watched you do that a few times, baby.” She grabs my shoulders, coaching me to my back before she straddles my lap. She grinds her drenched cunt against my boxers, making me groan from the overstimulation, but she’s just trying to work her climax into mine.

She crawls off, slotting herself between my thighs, sucking my spent through the tight material. Every muscle in my body clenches tight. She strokes me over my boxers, rubbing her pretty lips all over me. I pinch the elastic band at my hips impatiently, needing her lips around my dick more than I’ve needed anything else.

She watches hungrily as my hard cock springs out, slapping against my body. Her slight fingers wrap around my dick, making my toes curl. She throats my cock again and again, moaning around my thick length, gagging like a goddamn porn star. My personal porn star. “Co’mere,” I mutter, right on the edge of cumming again, and before I can even ask if she wants to fuck she’s sliding down my dick, nails digging into my chest. She lets out a little gasp as my thumb presses against her clit, rubbing messy circles on top.

“Holy shit-”

“So fucking good,” I finish her sentence, which gets caught up in a moan as she throws her head back. Y/n bounces on my cock, chasing her climax; her perfect ass clapping against my skin as her pussy swallows me up again and again. I reach out, gripping her hips, lifting her slightly to fuck up into her, heels digging into her soft mattress as leverage. “Just like that, Rafe,” she cries.

“Yeah? You like that shit?” I pant. “Flood my cock, baby. Make a fuckin’ mess. C’mon.” And just like a good girl, she does. Gushing around my dick, wetting my thighs and the blanket below, making me cum right behind her, spill into her guts, my girl milking every last drop. She collapses on my chest, lips pushing against mine. Her taste and mind swirl together as our tongues intertwine.

KNOCK.

Both of our heads snap to the window, catching the faintest tap from outside, too caught in the moment to even shut the blinds in the first place. I pull her close, wrapping my big body around her, shielding her from the gaze from the other side of the glass. Billy—beaten and bloody. Almost unrecognizable from our fight. He looks back at the two of us, crushed and broken.

I glance back up at my girl, a smile painted across her kiss-bitten lips, twisted and mocking like this was the final piece of her puzzle that she just set in place. She grabs the blanket off the bed, wrapping it around her bare figure before stepping onto the hardwood floor. She leans down, kissing my lips, lingering for a moment before kissing me again.

I watch her carefully as she steps toward the window, eyes locked on Billy's. She lifts her delicate hand, waving at him sweetly—down-right condescending. The movement is casual, unbothered, and full of unspoken dominance over both him and me. She raises her hand, pushing the blinds shut before turning toward me, sending chills down my spine.

Fuck…

This is love.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.9 words you've been wanting to hear

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 15.6k (WHY DO THEY KEEP GETTING LONGER)

a/n. HELLO MY DEAR KICKOFF READERS IVE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH i am soooo sorry for the wait on this one. this chapter felt very vulnerable to write for some reason lmfao, but i really hope it was worth the wait :''') see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or some things don't make sense i'm so sorry i literally gave up on proofreading this i just ended up raw-doggin it and then posting it

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

an additional author's note. hellooo ellie here. there are some additional warnings/tags for this chapter, i added them to the tags above, so if you know you have any sort of triggers, please refer to them before reading! but if you don't have any and don't want to be spoiled ab anything then you can keep reading lol. thank youu <33

--

The restaurant address that Kai sent you was just a ten minute taxi ride away, save for the five minutes you spent trying to evasively maneuver through the hotel lobby in order to avoid running into people you’re not too keen on seeing right now, a list that stacks up to just one person at this moment.

It’s a Korean barbecue place, it’s been ages since you’ve been to one, probably since they’re way too expensive for any sort of outing you could afford these days, but the crisp sizzling sounds of the grills and the savory air has your mouth watering in a way that makes you indifferent to the cost. Anything to get this churning feeling out of your stomach. 

It’s instantly brought to your attention that Hana’s tipsy off of Soju because she’s slid out of the booth the second you emerge to the tablestide, and she’s onto her feet to pull you into a hug. You hug her back.

“I’m ssssoooooooo glad you’re—hic—here,” she says, voice sounding loud near your ear, but her embrace is surprisingly calming to you.

Her face appears flushed when you pull away, and you give her a smile and a kind hold of her elbow. “I’m happy to be here, sorry for coming late, I just decided I wanted to have dinner with you all.”

Minato is pulling on Hana’s arm to get her to sit down, which she finally agrees to, and you glance to the left side of the table where Kai sat, meticulously turning over pieces of meat on the grill. His eyes are on you, and the seat next to him is empty.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes falling to your lap under the table once you’ve taken a seat next to him.

Your eyes fall to your lap as well. “Oh. Thanks. I wasn’t really trying to look any sort of way, though.” Just faded jeans with a few rips & holes you made yourself, way back in high school when that sort of thing was trendy.

“I know,” he says, smirk heard perfectly through his words, “I like that.”

You ignore him, a fleeting thought passing through your head of how annoyingly forward men are to women they’ve met within a day, just something you’ve noticed recently, and then you’re accepting the glass of Soju that Minato’s poured for you. Quick to tip it back, you feel a burn on your tongue that’s just enough to distract.

“Today’s game was pretty interesting,” Minato speaks up, picking up a few pieces off the grill with his chop sticks and placing them on Hana’s plate first before taking some for himself. You find the gesture sweet. “The first half was intense.”

Hana nods enthusiastically, elbows rested on the tabletop as she waves her hands around in the air. “Uh huh, uh huh, the boys kicked the ball like whoosh. Goes all over the place! Can’t get a—hic—can’t get a single shot. No, I mean me, I can’t get a camera shot. Not them, they can get the shots of goals. The goals of shots? Huh.”

“Alright, you’ve had enough,” Minato grumbles as he drags the glass of Soju that she was nursing away from her. 

Kai lets out a laugh beside you, his knee bumping against yours under the table. “I’ve watched so many of these soccer games for this job, and I’ve still got no damn clue what the rules are.”

You blink down at your empty plate for a second before grabbing the silver chopsticks laid neatly on your napkin, and taking some food from the center of the table. “Really? I’ve only been to a couple, and I feel like I get the gist of it.” Maybe it’s because you had a personal interest, though.

Kai lets out a low whistle next to you. “Okay, you’re a smartass then.”

You give him a sidewards glance. “Maybe you’re just dumb?” 

Your own words startle you a bit. Minato lets a laugh out, but under his breath, while Hana does absolutely nothing to conceal hers. Kai’s eyes just widen. You bite down on a carrot stick.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Hana chirps, tapping at your wrist, “do you know any of the soccer players? Utahime said you doooo.”

You swallow slowly to buy yourself time, but give a preliminary shake of your head before answering, “no, not really.” You catch a whiff of the cologne on your wrist when you lift your glass to your lips.

“Oh,” she sulks her shoulders and then sinks down into the booth again, her head falling onto Minato’s shoulder. The man stiffens a bit and then there’s a content smile playing at his lips. A hint of a smile develops on your face too at the sight when you put two and two together. What an adorable little crush. It makes you feel sick.

Kai pours you some more Soju the second you drink down the last of it in your glass, and you nod to him as a thanks. “Pretty sure most of my photos from the first half are fucked,” he says, dragging the opening of the bottle against the rim of your glass before pulling it away, “didn’t realize until way later that my aperture was way off.”

You bring the glass to your lips, inhaling before taking a sip. You’re about to speak up about that when Minato beats you to it.

“Are you serious?” he asks, disappointed, like they’re suddenly talking business now. “I better see some good shots. Your side was where most of the action took place. Like that through-pass, tight behind the defensive line, from Nanami Kento to Gojo Satoru before he sunk it a couple mins before the half ended.”

You choke a little on your Soju at the mention of Gojo’s name, and then all three of them are looking at you. You wave a hand in front of your face. “Sorry.” 

Kai grumbles something under his breath and then stuffs a piece of pork belly into his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. Don’t worry.”

Dinner goes on like that, where you count the number of times Kai thinks that someone saying something funny across the table is an excuse to press his thigh against yours, but at least the cute way that Hana and Minato seem to inch closer to one another all night is enough to put you at some sort of bitter ease. But that unsettling feeling in your stomach from a couple of hours ago still lingers.

The four of you stand outside the restaurant, heels rocking back and forth in the cold as you all take up the last chance to debrief the day, and then Minato’s glancing at his watch.

“Alright, it’s probably time to head back. We can all share a ride to the hotel, it’s cheaper that way,” Minato says. Hana’s clinging to his sleeve.

“Oh, uh, I was going to stay here. There’s a cool camera shop around the corner. I was gonna check it out,” Kai says, pointing over his shoulder before glancing at you. “Wanna come? I saw they’ve got used film cameras.”

You twiddle with the hotel key card in your pocket. It’s cheap plastic, could break easily with just the right amount of pressure. Like your resolve right now. “Sure.”

He smiles at you.

“Alright, well I need to get this one back to her room,” Minato says with a sigh, pointing to Hana, “so I’ll see you all at the next game?”

You and Kai nod at him and then watch as he walks away with Hana on his arm towards the curb, pulling his phone out to call for a ride.

“Where’s this camera shop at?” you ask Kai once the silence between the two of you stretches out a little too long. 

“It really is just around the corner,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He starts walking down the row of miscellaneous shops and establishments under dim street lighting, and you follow after him before the two of you circle to the adjacent end. A tiny shop in the distance catches your eye. The LED sign above the storefront was blinking sporadically, and read 17th St Camera & Rentals, except half the letters were extinct of any light. Next to it was a 24/7 liquor store.

It’s only when you walk right up to it that you realize the sign dangling behind the glass door that says closed.

“Oh. Bummer,” Kai comments in a flat tone. “I swear it was open before I got to the restaurant.”

You sigh, pulling your phone out to glance at the time. “Yeah, at 8pm? It’s past 10 now.”

He looks at you and taps the camera case still hung at his neck. “That’s fine. I’ve still got a camera to show you, anyways.”

You blink your eyes at him, suddenly feeling a bit exhausted and then glance over your shoulder at the curb of the street to see if Minato & Hana were still there waiting for a ride. You don’t see them anymore. 

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

Kai seems to know the area better than you, since he walks down the haphazardly lain sheets of concrete across the ground with more confidence than a tourist would. The thought occurs to you that maybe the newsletter photographers have eaten here before during their time in Kyoto.

“What made you start working with the newsletter?” you ask, glancing at him as the two of you walk down further, into what seems like a neighborhood.

He shrugs. “First job I could find out of college. I had a lot of freelance experience, so I’m assuming that’s why they hired me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “What about you?”

“I’ve known Utahime for a while. She was impressed with my work.”

“Ahh, connections,” he muses, “smart. That’ll get you far as an artist.”

He suddenly stops walking and peers off to the right, into a darkness that you can’t really make anything out of until you’ve spent a few seconds staring too. He walks in that direction, the loud echoing stomps of his boots on concrete no longer audible once he crosses the threshold onto grass, and you follow behind to what seems like a deserted children’s park. You wish there were more trees in the city. There are a lot here in the countryside, and it makes you homesick for something you’re not even sure of.

A gust of wind brushes through, rattling the set of swings hung on rusty chains. The wood chips underneath your feet feel stale, with no snap to them at all as you follow Kai through the playhouses set up in connected fashion. There are two picnic benches, one looks like it’s been freshly painted with faux effort to improve its image in the line of sight of the street, while the other has red paint peeled back to reveal bronze underneath the moonlight, neglected and tucked behind a few trees. The latter is what he chooses.

He slides into the bench, and he shakes his head when he sees you try to take a seat on the other side before patting at the seat beside him. “It’d be easier for you to take a look at my side.”

He has a point, so you sit next to him instead. Although at this point in the night, you were feigning interest. He zips his camera bag open and you take a better look at the lens. There’s no way it was as cheap as he told you it was.

“There’s no way this was as cheap as you told me it was,” you say.

He laughs, pulling the camera out and handing it to you. “Yeah, maybe the guy cut me a deal since I’ve bought from him before.”

You’re smart enough to put the strap around your neck, even though you’re only holding it a few inches above the table, because a camera like this deserves the care and respect. The material is minimalist and sleek, and it’s heavy in your hands. You click the shutter button, screen coming to life with a few mechanic chirps. “Woah. Is it LCD or OLED?”

“LCD.”

“That’s nice,” you say, “paying for the OLED just seems silly to me.”

“I concur, Canon. Color accuracy is king.”

He shuffles to pull something out of his pocket while you continue to inspect the camera in your hands, and you see him fidget with said thing over the table in the corner of your eye. The flick of something and the light of something makes you turn your head to face him, and he’s pinching the end of a joint to his mouth, lighting the other end.

He gives you a glance when you stare for too long, inhaling from it before pulling it from his mouth. “What?” You can see the smoke leave his mouth in the chill of the air.

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

You blink at him, and he places his elbow on the table to lean closer to you. 

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

“Wanna smoke with me?” Two fingers pinching the origin of smoke tilt towards you. “This is my good weed, though, so, I charge by the drag.”

“That’s ridiculous, and no thanks. It doesn’t suit me.”

He lets out a laugh, releasing whatever tension he was building in your space, and the smell of weed is nauseating, but at least it's a new sensation to you.

“You’ve gotta be the only film major on the planet that doesn’t smoke weed. How do you manage?” he asks, the orange flicker of his joint being the only color you can distinctly see under the similarly flickering street lights. 

Your finger traces the rim of the camera lens and is careful to not smudge the glass. “I think I manage just fine.”

“Yeah. With delusion,” he says, coughing, scattering smoke into the air this time instead of a clean blow.

You turn a bit in your seat to face him more, placing the camera down. “You’re extremely blunt.”

His eyebrow raises in amusement and you close your eyes with annoyance at the pun. You brush it off.

“I mean, seriously, I get you’re probably just looking out for me, I guess. I appreciate that. But do you really think my dreams of becoming a filmmaker are that far-fetched?” you ask. There’s a crack to your voice at the end that you didn’t like.

He sighs, setting his wrist down on the table. There’s a long pause where he thinks about what to say. Probably the most you’ve seen him consider what words leave his mouth next. “I was in the same shoes as you, y/n. A couple years ago. I, too, had big dreams of making movies. I was going to apply to film grad school as well, although you’re shooting higher than I was at the time. There’s no way I would’ve gotten into UTokyo’s.” He tilts his head to the side a few times while looking straight off ahead. “I sent scripts in everywhere. To every fucking production company, creative agency, you name it. Never got a callback, not even once. While all my fellow grads were landing decent, respectable jobs.” He brings the joint to his mouth again, but he doesn’t inhale, just bitterly bites it. “I could’ve went on like that, but,” his brow furrows, “I’ve seen my peers torture themselves for years for those dreams of theirs. I swore I wouldn’t be one of them. Because they’re all delusional fucks.” He finally glances at you. “Are you one, too?”

Your shoulders drop a little and your lips purse. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.” 

“It’s never too early to say, if the outcome is all the same,” he tells you. 

You consider his words for a moment. It’s the easy way out. You should consider yourself lucky. Everyone wants a reason, a sign, to turn away from the one thing they’re scared to think about. And here he was, giving that to you on a silver platter.

But if what you wanted was really all that fragile, then it means there’s nothing to show for any of it. For all the effort it took you to get here, and all the effort you’re still willing to give. 

“I’ll keep going until I fail,” you say, “or until I succeed.” It’s not really something you say for him, but for yourself.

He juts his bottom lip out and raises his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head, like he’s impressed by you. But his posture remains lax. “I mean, you’re working this job. You’ve got some sort of plan, at least. It’s not like I’m your parent to tell you what to do and what not to do.” He finally takes another drag, eyebrows pinching together at the same time his fingers pinch close to the burn of his joint to pull it away. “What’s that one saying? You can take a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“Wow. You don’t sound a day older than sixty-five.”

He smirks at you. “You’ve got a lot of attitude, Canon. Where does it come from?”

You sink a little in your seat, turning away from him to look down at your hands that were still messing with the features of his camera. “My annoying feelings lately.”

“Feelings about what?”

You consider telling the truth. But you don’t. “My car is in repair and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for the bill, since things keep coming up with it.” It was the thing at the top of your mind at the moment though, for some reason, so partially truthful.

He laughs. “Yeah, cars have a way of doing that when you’re finally getting caught up on bills.”

“At what point does spontaneously picking up random, obscure jobs go from omg I’m so excited to have this opportunity to I just need the money?” you ask.

“You mean you’re not already at that point yet?” he says with a scoff. “Soon, then.”

You sigh.

“Y’know I used to work at this lousy cinema a few miles away from Central,” he tells you, hand tapping the table with a rhythm that makes no sense. “Busted my ass working minimum wage on night shifts because I thought I’d catch a big break in conversation with a director, as if Martin Fucking Scorcese would choose to host his opening night at a random Edwards in Tokyo.” His tapping on the table stops. “Tell me that isn’t pathetic as hell.”

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

“The things you’ll do for money,” he says with a sigh. He sounds detached, like it’s really just a message for you.

You lick your lips, skin feeling dry from the wind that occasionally brushes by, and when you glance at Kai again, there’s a grit to his jaw.

“Should’ve been born as one of those damn college athletes,” he grumbles, sucking in fast through the joint that was close to withering away. “Those fuckers don’t pay tuition.”

The harsh colors of the soccer team’s color-coded practice schedule on your phone are visible when you blink, as well as the exhaustion under Gojo’s eyes in the warm lighting of the hotel lobby earlier tonight. “They work hard.”

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

“You work hard as well.” Just to include you.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you can’t tell me that it’s fair.”

Your mind wanders to some of the people you’ve met on that team, who have been nice to you. You think of Gojo, and the memory of him makes you wish you were with him right now. Despite everything.

“I guess it’s not fair,” is all you say, a tactic to diffuse the conversation, one that you’ve had to use twice with him today. The sound of the swing chains clinking together from the wind in the distance runs a chill down your spine.

You feel heavy in your chest, and you glance at the joint pinched in between Kai’s fingers. He’s not keeping an eye on it, so it’s easy to steal, and you bring it to your lips before sucking in. You instantly let out a few coughs. He’s looking at you with surprise. And you’re still in desperate need of that distraction you’ve been craving.

“How long does it take for it to kick in?” you ask, coughing again and pressing a hand to your chest.

“Super long when you can barely stomach a single drag.”

You try again. He watches you. You swear you feel a buzz this time, and you hand the joint back to him. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

“No, really,” you sigh it. Even if it was, maybe your mind was just blessing you with a single moment of reprieve. “I feel…really good,” you say with your head in a haze. “Best I’ve…” you don’t know why you have to blink back tears, “best I’ve felt this whole week.”

Kai’s silent next to you. You look over at him, and he’s got a scrutinizing expression on his face. His eyes are glazed. “You seeing anyone right now, Canon?”

It’s the savory question you know has been on the tip of his tongue. Ignorantly asked, as if you would’ve been sitting here with him right now in the dead of night if the answer was yes. 

“No.”

He’s leaning towards you, and you’re dazed and also sleepy. His face is close now, there’s an urge to giggle, which means there’s no way this is all just placebo, and when his lips dip towards yours, you’re conscious enough to push him away by a weakly fisted hand pressed to his collarbone.

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow raised, still close to you.

“No. No thanks.” Because it felt wrong. 

He fully pulls away from you, and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving him. “Alright.”

You’re breathing faster now, surroundings feeling vague, like you’re in sweltering heat but the air only bites cold.

You stand up suddenly. “I…I want to go back.”

“Go back where?”

“To the hotel. To my room.” You pause. “I mean, by myself. Not with you. We can share a ride, though.”

He stands up too, hands reaching for you, gripping the straps of his camera still hung around your neck and he pulls it off to place it back into the case. You feel like you’ve lost favor with him somehow. “Okay. Sure.” 

“But not with you.” You felt the need to clarify again.

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

“Maybe you just need to fuck him aggressively without mercy.”

“I beg your finest pardon?”

You’re sitting in a booth inside this streetside KFC with Mina sitting across the table, waving a fry around in the air, and with Nobara next to you as she tries to open a packet of ketchup with her teeth. The hangout the three of you have been hyping up all week, just to be sat in the same place you always go to. You were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, but you set it back down on your tray.

Mina points the fry at you and shrugs. “I’m saying. Maybe you’re having such a hard time getting over Gojo because you got so close to fucking him in that bathroom, but you didn’t, and now you’re in, like, this constant state of edging.” She bites down on the fry. “The clit knows what the heart doesn’t.”

“Your theories never fail to amaze me,” you mumble, sinking further into the booth. 

“Perhaps it’ll take the edge off.” Mina sucks through the straw of her Diet coke. Nobara finally succeeds in opening her packet of ketchup.

“I doubt it. Besides, I technically already gave him an invitation to,” you say, fingers rubbing at your eye with a swipe as you wince from the memory, “and he rejected me, so, still swimming in the self hatred from that one.”

Mina hums. “There’s no way he’s not foaming at the mouth for it, y/n. Men never let a meal they were craving go unfinished,” she states, dramatically stabbing a chicken nugget with a fork.

“What kind of pigs do you guys associate yourselves with?” Nobara asks. She’s a lesbian, by the way.

“I raise another question. Why are we talking about this in a public restaurant?” you offer.

“Listen, babes,” Mina continues, like your words fall on deaf ears because she’s got some point to make, “it’ll either poof. Make your feelings go away like the drop of a hat because you find out he’s a bad lay. Or it’ll be so good that you realize you’re never getting over him and you’ll be thinking of his dick instead of your husband’s on your wedding night.”

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

Mina steals a biscuit from your tray. “If it ends up being the first outcome, then the whole thing was my idea. If it’s the second…then just know that Nobara has steered you wrong.”

“Why the hell do you have to drag me into this?” Nobara asks.

You’re about to take a bite from your sandwich again when you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. You pull it out and glance at the caller ID, then let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you mumble, slipping out of the booth and towards the restaurant’s exit, pushing the tense door open with a gust of fresh air brushed through you.

“Hello?” It’s the car repair man. “Really? I thought you said it was fixed.” Apparently something else came up. “Okay…how much longer will it be in repair?” Much longer than you had thought. “And how much will it cost?” Much more expensive than you had thought. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, really, I feel as though every time I’m on the line with you all, I have to wait longer to get my car back, and the bill just racks up higher.” They’re trying their best. “I know. Is it necessary to fix in order to drive, though?” State laws require it. “Okay…thanks for the update.” And then you hang up without another word, and with all the frustration in the world.

You head back inside and grumble about your car woes to Mina and Nobara, who try their best to respond with interest.

“Why can’t your insurance cover it?” Mina asks.

“Apparently they can’t claim it’s because of those rocks I drove over,” you sigh, “since it looks like it’s been a problem for longer than that.”

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

“Not really,” you say. “I’ll just have to postpone having my car for a bit.”

You sigh with a glance out the window of this fine dining establishment, into the blue skies just beyond, head drowning out the voices of Mina and Nobara as they continue to grill you about all sorts of questions that you don’t have the energy to answer right now. You had another student loan payment to make once you got home today, and just the thought of it makes your heart drop a little. And you realize you just can’t afford to be picky about your financial situation anymore.

—

“Thanks for helping me out with this,” you say, footsteps over familiar grassy hills as you head towards the UTokyo’s practice field, your digital Canon EOS hanging from your neck. 

“Sure,” Kai says as he keeps pace next to you, “why the sudden mission, though?”

You’re gazing off straight ahead, a nervous pit in your stomach since it’s been a while since you’ve walked across this landscape towards the field. 

“I just feel like I need to diversify my income somehow,” you sigh, the buzzwords leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them but it was the reality of your situation, “to make ends meet. When you mentioned freelance work during our conversation last week, it made me think it’s time for me to pick that up too.”

Kai hums. “Yeah, it’s a good plan. I’ll try to show you what I know.”

Once you’ve made it to the top of that hill, the one that oversees the field, your eyes instantly scan the field for familiar silhouettes, and your breath catches in your throat when you spot Gojo passively kicking a ball back and forth between one of his teammates for warm-ups.

It’s the second time you’ve seen him since that argument the two of you had in the hotel lobby, the first being at the post-game conference in which you did everything in your power to swiftly avoid him, and you plan on keeping that up. There’s also an urge to run away, but you’re starting to realize that’s not much of an option anymore.

“Honestly, you don’t really need to worry too much about shutter speed with freelance like you do for shooting sports,” Kai is mumbling next to you as he messes with the settings on his camera, the two of you making your way down the hill towards the field, and you’re not really listening because your eyes are on Gojo, who’s yelling something across the field to his teammates with a look of concentration on his face.

“Uh huh, I see,” you say. You see Kai glance at you in his periphery.

“You again!” you hear a familiar harsh voice call out, and you turn on your heel to face Coach Yaga who’s standing a few feet away in his custom UTokyo tracksuit with his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you on my field?”

You hold your breath for a second. “Hi, Coach Yaga, so sorry, but I’m just here to take some more photos.”

He lets out one of his hmphs, unrelenting. “You’re a distraction. Get off my field.”

“D-Distraction?”

“Coach!” Suddenly, Geto’s in your line of sight as he emerges with a light jog up to your side. “You should really be nicer to our photographers, they give us a lot of publicity for our games. And publicity means funding.”

Coach Yaga narrows his eyes. “I need all my players focused right now. Even during practice.” He gives you a disapproving glance and you’re still confused, but also weirdly angered.

“Excuse me, Coach Yaga, but last time I checked, this field is technically open for all students. And I’m a student,” you say to him, crossing your arms across your chest now. “So, I can be here if I want.”

You have no idea if that’s true at all, but sometimes you’ve just gotta fake it ‘til you make it.

Coach Yaga grumbles something and then waves his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ve no bandwidth to argue about this anymore! Just don’t distract my players.”

You’re shocked that it worked, and Geto nudges you with an elbow to correct your expression so that Coach Yaga doesn’t catch on to the bullshit you just spewed. 

“Are you here to take some photos?” Geto asks, facing you. He’s got his hands on his hips, breathing slightly fast, some of his hair falling onto his forehead. 

“Yeah, I am, just for practice though. I’m here with—” you glance at Kai, who’s standing with his fists shoved into his pockets, “Kai. He’s also with the newsletter.”

There’s a moment where Geto studies the two of you for a second before speaking. “I know,” he says, extending his hand out for Kai to shake, which he does, “I think I’ve seen you around. Not sure if we’ve formally met, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Kai’s hand is then shoved back into his pocket.

You feel awkward suddenly, and then quickly say something to Geto about how he should probably get back to practice, which he agrees to, and then you’re standing at the chalk sideline with Kai as he shows you the ins and outs about digital photography.

“Have you tried shooting in burst mode?” he asks, switching the feature on your camera and then handing it back to you. You sling the strap around your neck.

“Hm…” you start, pointing your camera across the expanse of the field to multiple areas. The trees off into the distance, the goal posts, Coach Yaga’s yapping Pomeranian. “Not really…” The grass beneath your feet, the sky above your head, and then blurrily focused before settling on Gojo who stood in the distance straight ahead.

You see through your viewfinder that he’s caught sight of you too, a look of surprise on his face seen only by the level of zoom, and you glance up from the screen to make eye contact with him in reality. He’s fully staring at you, and you can barely see the way his expression relaxes from that one of athletic concentration to something wistful and strange that you’ve had a hard time reading lately.

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

“Huh?” you snap out of it and look at Kai. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?” You quickly glance toward Gojo again, and his line of sight points towards Kai now.

“I was asking if you’ve tried panning before,” he says, reaching for your camera, pulling it towards him, but the strap around your neck means you’re pulled closer to him too. 

“Satoru!” Coach Yaga yells in the distance. “Eyes on the ball!” 

“Just got to set your camera to manual mode first,” Kai mutters, confusion in his voice. “Where the fuck is it?” He’s turning your camera in his hands, which only has you stumbling with another small step towards him, your chest pressed flush to his arm, and he looks down at you for a brief second with a smirk on his face.

You hear the sound of a ball being kicked on the field, followed by the shout of one of the players.

“Ah, here, found it,” Kai says, handing your camera back to you, and just as you’re about to say thanks and you hold your camera up, you’re hit straight in the face by a flying object and fall backwards onto the grass with a painful thud.

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Okay, that’s dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.

There’s shouting in the distance as you hold your head with a groan, eyes shut tight with images of your life flashing behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes again from where you’re sat up on the grass, you’re surrounded by soccer players.

Gojo’s suddenly in your line of sight, knelt down beside you and he’s holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him but you’re still blinking away the stars you’re seeing. “Fuck, y/n, are you okay?” he asks, and you register the concern on his face.

“Dude,” one of his teammates kicks the heel of his cleat, “where the fuck were you looking? It was clear as day I was tryna pass to you.”

Gojo grumbles something to him, his brow furrowed, and he’s lowering his head to try to make eye-level contact with you but you’re still holding your head with a wince.

“Oh shit,” Kai comments, “she’s bleeding.”

You pull your hand from your face to glance down at the wetness that you feel, and bright red color stains the tips of your fingers.

The next thing you register is Gojo picking you up off the hard grassy ground into his arms, and starts carrying you away down the field.

“W-What the hell are you doing?” you ask, his pacing across the grass is fast and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from getting dizzy.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says, voice strained in his throat, and you’ve never seen him look so worried before. 

“The hospital?! Please don’t, I don’t have health insurance right now.” His face is so close and you’re distracted from the pain of your headache.

“You’re bleeding on the face, I’m taking you whether you like it or not,” he grumbles.

You dig your nails into his shoulder through the nylon of his shirt, and he hisses from the pain before stopping in his tracks. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Satoru, I just need a fucking bandaid.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“A concussion?!” You kick your feet for him to let you down but his grip on you only tightens. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go, or I’ll bite you.”

He scoffs at that and continues walking forward. “You’re gonna bite me? That’s the most threatening thing you could come up with?”

“I’m being so dead serious, Gojo Satoru. No hospital.”

He grumbles something under his breath at your use of his full government name, and then says “fine” but he’s still walking down the grass until his cleats begin to tap on concrete, and then on what sounds like tile as he carries you into a building a few yards from the field.

He seats you on a cold counter, your hand gripping the faucet of a sink, and you finally take a comprehensive look at your surroundings. light blue, faint scent of chlorine in the air

“Is this…a locker room? The men's locker room?”

He sighs, bending his knees a bit to look at your face closely. You flinch when his hand reaches out, and he pauses, but you relax slightly and then he rubs his thumb over your cheek. You feel the smear of a droplet of blood. “Yes. I need running water.” He turns the faucet of the sink on to run his thumb under.

“For what?” you ask. His thumb is running over your cheek again.

“To take care of this cut.” He disappears behind a tile wall for a moment. You can hear metal clanking, probably of a locker opening and closing, and he re-emerges with a first-aid kit.

You slide your butt across the counter to the edge, about to hop off and make a run for it when he grabs your hips and puts you back into place. “Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles. He leans forward, grips you strongly, and you see that he’s still breathing heavily from practice, strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and you can practically taste the salt on his neck. 

You press your shin to the front of his thigh, desperate to put some space between the two of you. “I don’t wanna be in here. Men are scary.”

“Well I can’t take you into the women’s locker room,” he says, ripping the packet of an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, “I’d get registered as a sex offender.”

You attempt at an escape again, and he’s quick to get his hands on you to stop it.

“Quit manhandling me, or I’ll scream,” you threaten through gritted teeth, because you’re still mad at him. For everything.

“Go ahead,” he says, using his knee to spread your legs apart, then finds a place to stand between your thighs to get closer to you. “I’ve got a lot of ways I could shut you up.”

You blink at him, breath catching in your throat, and the expression on his face tells you he’s not interested in dealing with your stubbornness anymore.

“Just hold still,” he grumbles, placing the packet down on your thigh and then stepping off to the side to wash his hands under the sink.

“What exactly happened?” you ask, watching him dry his hands off with a few paper towels. One moment, Kai was trying to explain good digital photography to you, and the next you were dizzy from being knocked back onto the ground.

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

“I know, but how?” You remember your camera hit your face from the impact too, and now you’re worried about it.

“I…wasn’t paying attention when my teammate passed it,” he admits with a sigh, finding his place in front of you again, the knuckles of his clean hand brushing across your cheek, caressing. Your expression softens slightly. He uses a hand spread across the small of your back to push you forward to him, then he gently passes the wipe over your wound.

“Oh okay so, you failed to protect me from a flying soccer ball.” 

He pulls his hand from you to read the lettering on the back of the packet. “I’m patching you up now, aren’t I?” he says, annoyed. “…oh fuck, I was supposed to go in with water first.”

“So glad to be in such good hands right now.” 

He gives you a pointed look, but you ignore it and turn your torso to see your reflection in the mirror for the first time. You had a small wound on your cheek, right over the bone, with some bleeding and it’s wider than it is deep. But when you look at Gojo again, who’s putting some ointment onto a Q-tip now, the look of guilt and worry on his face makes you feel satisfied for some reason, and you wanted to make it worse.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed, applying the cold gel to your cheek.

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he sighs, head dipping towards you slightly to get a better look, “can you feel this?”

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

His other hand is placed flat on the counter next to where you’re sitting, and you allow it when his thumb starts to run soothing circles over your hip.

“Hmm…” you start, wide eyes looking up at him as he seems to lean closer and closer to you with every word that leaves your lips, “I really wonder if it’ll leave a scar.”

He looks tortured. His hand that was maneuvering the Q-tip in his hands drops to the counter now, and he brings his other one to your face, cupping your cheek. His eyes dart from the wound, thumb pressing at the plush of your cheek, and this time, it hurts a little so you wince. His expression is tense, some sort of inner turmoil you could read across his forehead, and then his jaw hardens.

“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”

You blink a few, then tilt your head slightly. You feel like you’re on a game show, where there’s four options and only one right answer. New boytoy, gay best friend, fuck buddy, or— “He’s my coworker.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?” 

You almost roll your eyes. “No, dad, he hasn’t.”

“Woah. Say that again but make it daddy.”

“Hey just a quick question for you. Where do you get the audacity?”

His bent index finger finds a place under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him. “It’s your fault, really. I can’t help it sometimes,” he says, voice lower now. You’re squirming a little, wanting to push him away but his lips get close to your cheek, brushing near your wound, like he wants to make it all better somehow. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, near your ear. There’s a whimper you have to stifle in your throat. He pulls aways just enough to where he can look into your eyes. “A cut…” he starts, thumb now passing over your bottom lip, “on your pretty face.” He sighs. You shouldn’t, but when he prods, you tuck his thumb under your front teeth and your tongue presses slightly against the padded skin of it. He looks like he’s being driven to insanity, and his other hand has no shame at all in pulling you towards him, to seat you at the edge of the counter, and you miss the texture of his thumb on your tongue when he pulls it from your mouth. But it’s so he can dip his head down to kiss you instead.

Of course the sensation of his lips on yours only lasts for a second, because the universe really fucking hates (or loves?) you, so the loud clanking of a metal water bottle against tile interrupts with harsh reverberation throughout the locker room walls, and he pulls away from you when you jump at the sound.

You both turn your heads towards the origin, located at the curved end of the entryway hall, and one of Gojo’s teammates is standing there with his duffle bag slung around his neck and hanging heavily to his thigh, his water bottle clutched in his hand. He blinks at the two of you.

Oh. It’s the one you kissed at that party a few weeks ago.

“What—…Why is there a—” his teammate starts, panicked, turning his head to double check the sign on the locker room wall as if he’s hallucinating, and when his eyes land on you again, they widen with recognition. His gaze shifts, and his chin tips down at the sight of Gojo’s irritated side eye from where he was still all up in your personal space. “…you know what. Nevermind.”

His teammate’s eyes are on you again, and you give him a shy little wave, just a fluttering of your fingers in the air paired with a small smile, legs swinging back and forth under the counter. He lets out an amused scoff from the entryway, lifting his hand to return the gesture, some cheeky grin on his face as he then scratches the back of his head before turning on his heel to leave the locker room, out of sight. You let out a sigh, hand dropping to your lap, and you don’t need to look at Gojo to tell that he’s staring at you with disbelief.

“What the fuck was that—”

“You,” you interrupt him, finger jabbing at the center of his chest, “have seriously got a lot of fucking nerve,” you hop off the counter, “to not only allow a soccer ball to sock me in the face,” he’s taking a step back with every harsh jab of your finger, “but to also hold me hostage in a mens’ locker room,” his back is pressed up against cold tile wall now while he just looks down at you with wide eyes and something akin to fear, “and then, oh my god, the audacity to kiss me?”

“I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” you yell, which shuts him up. “You really are just a fucking player.”

He’s stiff, not wanting to catch a punishment from you right now.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you grumble, still drilling your finger into his ribcage with the intent to cause pain. You didn’t need to be this close, but his body is warm, probably due to the blood pumping from practice, and it feels nice to be pressed up against. “Because I don’t have feelings for you anymore, so just fucking get over yourself.” It was a lie if you’ve ever told one, but you wanted to believe it so much that it could come off as the truth.

His eyes narrow down at you, eyebrows flattening. “You don’t have feelings for me anymore?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Why? Because you want me to keep suffering?”

He grabs your hips, then makes a motion that is evident of his desire to pull you flush to him, but he stops himself. There’s a moment where he just takes a few deep breaths and looks at you with a hardened expression, then a split second where his eyes fall to that little cut on your cheek, and every single feature of his face softens, and then he lets you go.

You take a small step back, breathing heavily of your own, and you feel the ghost sensation of his fingertips wrapped around your hips. It makes you feel dizzy, and your thoughts are a mess. 

He sighs. “Sorry. For the soccer ball, and this locker room. But I’m not really sorry for kissing you, and if that makes me a jerk, then so be it.”

Your heart is beating fast. “You are a jerk, Satoru,” you say. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want you. A mantra played over and over in your head that you’ve started to hear it at night. “A real fucking jerk.” And you leave him standing there in a way that feels like the hundredth time.

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

2:34pm kaito (work): i had my guy look at your camera

2:35pm kaito (work): it’s pretty fucked up

2:37pm you: :( oh okay isee. does he have an estimate for the fix? the lens is okay though right?

2:39pm kaito (work): yeah lens is fine, you should really count your blessings on that. 

2:40pm kaito (work): but nah, fix would be around the same as the cost of it, so you’re better off getting a new one

2:42pm you: i don’t have thousands of yen laying around unfortunately. my car bill has sucked me dry

2:44pm kaito (work): well let me check with him. maybe he can hook you up with a good deal on a used one

2:45pm kaito (work): i got a 50% off on one of my canon cameras i bought from him a few years back. maybe he’s still got some like that

2:46pm you: yes could you check with him please? thanks so much, really

2:48pm kaito (work): sure. although i think the guy that kicked the ball to your face should be paying for your camera replacement

2:51pm you: they were just practicing. it’s their field

2:56pm kaito (work): alright. btw, you free tonight?

You blink at your phone screen from where you were sprawled across your bed. Before you have a chance to type out a response, your phone lights up with a phone call from kaito (work). You accept the call.

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Oh uhh, I was just about to check my schedule.” You shake your head at your inability to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“Okay,” he says on the other line. You hear the sounds of cars honking in the distance. “Well let me know. I just left my camera guy’s shop, and he was telling me about how one of his friends does visuals for a short-film director, and that the director is looking for an assistant.” Kai grumbles something about someone he walked past being rude. “I think the director’s agency is Verve Films, so.”

You sit up in bed, eyes wide at the mention of the name. “Oh, oh wow. That’s insane.”

“Yup,” he says, “anyways, apparently the director is busy as fuck, so he left the hiring process up to my camera guy’s friend. I told him I knew someone that might be interested. Are you?”

You take a deep breath in and out. “Yeah, I am. Most of my experience on my resume lines up with short-film, so I’d be able to—”

“Alright great,” he interrupts, “so we can hold the interview tonight.”

“We?” you ask.

“Well yeah, me, my camera guy, the hiring guy. Maybe go for drinks or something.”

Your brow furrows. “That hardly sounds like an interview.”

Kai sighs. “Well, it’s not an interview for a desk job or something. It’s more of like—well, like building connections. I know you know all about that, since Utahime got you the newsletter job.”

Well, yes. She put a word in for you, which helped get the interview, but you still went against qualified applicants. “I guess.”

“It’ll be like that. Most opportunities you’ll get if you still want to pursue filmmaking are going to be like that,” he tells you, “if it feels informal, it means you’re doing it right. You might not think so now because you’re still in school, where they practically serve opportunities to students on platters, but it’s going to be different in the real world.”

You lay your head back onto the pillow, feeling like you’re receiving a lecture you didn’t ask for, and your first instinct is to pretend that you know better than he does. But when you think about all the stress recently, all of the not knowing, and the unsure, you question if you should start leaning into the advice of the people around you, and start to accept this career path for what it’s known to be. Unruly, unconventional, and a lot of times, unfair. 

“I see. Well, can I think about it? Tonight is too soon, I’d need time to research the director, put a portfolio together, and also do some interview prep,” you say, pulling your phone from your ear to glance at the time.

“Well, tonight’s the only night that works since their team’s shooting abroad for the weekend and they leave tomorrow morning,” he says.

You purse your lips together.

“But also,” Kai says, “it’s the nice thing to do, y’know, since my camera guy is taking the time to look at your camera for free, you could at least help his friend out. By the way, he just texted me, he does have some used Canons available at discount.”

You close your eyes for a second, just trying to process this conversation right now. Kai was speaking too fast, hardly enough time for you to even think.

“So do you want to do the interview tonight?”

“Yes, sure. Okay. Just— just send me the details. I’ll be there,” you say.

“Alright cool, will do.” 

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

A few hours pass by, where you spend some time putting together a flash drive of a couple of your best short films you’ve worked on in the past with other directors, as well as a portfolio of some recently developed film photography. The last thing to do was grab your emergency stash of print outs of your resume, and then you stuff it all into a folder before glancing at the mirror to take in your reflection. It felt extremely weird to show up to a job interview in something as casual as what you were wearing right now, but Kai insisted to not wear anything business. But at least you opted for jeans that don’t have any DIY holes in them.

Your face is glued to the navigation on your phone screen the second you get out of the taxi, and you walk down the bustling nightlife streets of Tokyo to get to this bar that Kai sent you the address of. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to your destination down the bar strip, you bump into someone’s chest due to lack of paying any proper attention.

“Ah— I’m so sorry,” you say, your grip on your phone tightening when you realize it was about to get knocked out of your hand, and then you look up to see a familiar face.

“Oh!” Geto exclaims from where he’s standing right in front of you, “You’re everywhere, y/n. What are you doing here?”

You open your mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, and then continue. “I’m here to…get drinks with some of my friends.”

He gives you a smile. “That’s nice. I am too.” He points over his shoulder to behind him. “Nanami got into his MBA program earlier this week, so, Satoru, Choso and I are buying him a few rounds. Or possibly a million. The plan is to incapacitate him as punishment for giving up on playing in the national league with us.”

You humor him with a laugh. “That’s sweet. Or not? Well anyway, tell him I said congrats.” Your heart starts to beat a little faster, because from the direction Geto came from, it meant Gojo was likely just around the corner somewhere. “Where are you heading to now?”

“We’re bar hopping, and I think I forgot my phone at the last one we went to over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “So I’m going to go look for it.” 

“Oh alright,” you say. “Good luck with that. I’m going to go find my, uh, my friends.”

Geto tilts his head at you and had a slightly more serious expression on his face, glancing at the folder in your hands. “Thanks. And stay safe.” 

You nod at him and then walk past him to round the corner onto the street that had groups of people loitering in front of restaurants, bars and all sorts of establishments as they wait in the cold to get inside or be seated. You recognize the name on one of the signs hanging as the one Kai sent you in his message, and when you’re a few feet away from it, you spot Kai. He’s wearing his typical street photographer wear, with a red flannel over a gray shirt and pants that are possibly a size too big for him, but that’s likely the style he was going for. He’s standing with two other people.

“Hey,” you greet Kai first, who has a pleasant look on his expression before he greets you back and gestures to the two people he was with.

“Yo, this is Junichi, my camera guy,” he says. “Don’t bother shaking his hand, he’s a germaphobe. Gotta keep ‘em clean for the electronics.”

“Oh,” you say. Junichi is a big man, broad shoulders and thick muscles. His neck is almost as thick as his bicep, and he has no hair on his head. His arms are crossed. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking a look at my camera.”

He nods at you in acknowledgment. “Sure thing. Pretty Boy here says you want to buy one of my used Canons. I don’t refurbish them, so you’d better know how.”

Kai sighs, nudging Junichi a little with a fist. “Relax, dude, we can talk about that later. Also, stop calling me that.”

Your eyes flicker to the right, where another man stood, who you assume was Junichi’s friend and this Verve Films director’s visual effects specialist. He’s similar in stature to Kai, with that casual artist look, and he has a scuffle of facial hair littering his jaw in less of an intentional fashion but rather a five-o-clock shadow fashion. You vaguely register the scent of weed, familiar to the one that lingers in the photo lab on campus after class hours. He reaches his hand out to you first.

“Hi, I’m Ren. I work in visual effects for director Akira Ko at Verve.”

Your eyes widen as you shake his hand.  “That’s amazing. I’ve studied a lot of his contemporary works, I’d love to learn more about his process.”

Ren lets a fast exhale out through his nose. “Yeah, you’ll learn a lot under him.” He pauses to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Most of his assistants always do.”

“We’ve been waiting for too damn long,” Kai interjects before you could ask any questions about the assistant position, and he glances at his watch, “and there’s still a lot of people ahead of us.”

You glance around to the small groups of people gathered in front of this bar on a lively Friday night, eyes jumping from one area to the next, until a familiar silhouette catches your eye.

You see Gojo standing with Nanami and Choso a few strides away, near the lamppost. He’s mostly turned away from you, Nanami nudging his arm annoyed at something he said, and the sound of his laughter in the air makes your heart feel like it’s at stray. Like that was where you were supposed to be right now, not here.

You watch him from the distance as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders up and down slightly before crossing his arms when Choso gestures towards the entrance of the bar, and so he looks in that direction too. He’s frowning slightly and he brushes some of the hair fallen over his forehead away from his eyes, in that boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you know he’s just doing it to see a little bit better, but it makes you want to cry. 

Geto walks up to them and rejoins their little circle, and holds his phone up in the air, and then there’s the melody of their voices bouncing off one another’s again. Geto rests his elbow up onto Gojo’s shoulder, leaning in a bit closer to tell him something, and when Gojo hears it, you see his entire body tense before his wide eyes are searching his surroundings, until those eyes land on you.

Your breath catches, and you hold his eye contact for only a moment before you look away, because it almost felt like too much to bear.

“What’s that folder in your hand?” Ren asks you, and you turn completely to face him so you can’t see Gojo in your periphery at all anymore.

“I just brought some of my work, for your—er, I guess Mr. Ko’s—reference if he’d like to see it after today’s…interview,” you say. “There’s a flashdrive, too.”

Ren has an amused look on his face and he shoves Kai’s shoulder with his palm. “Dude, you didn’t tell her?”

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

“What?” Kai asks, starting to sound annoyed.

Ren tips his chin up slightly to study Kai’s face, and then his look of amusement dissipates into one of understanding. “Nothing.”

“Tell me what?” you prod.

“Just that you didn’t really need to bring all of that with you,” he says. “Sorry for the trouble.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, but if you could still give it to him—”

“I’m surprised Kai suggested someone when I asked if he knew anyone,” Junichi jumps in, “I’m used to him grumbling on and on about how shit the work is in filmmaking. Would’ve thought he’d convinced you to look the other way by now.”

You blink at the gruff man, then look at Kai, and he’s just staring down at the dirt of his shoes. “Well, we had a conversation about it. But I’m pretty set on what I want to do,” you say.

Kai lets out a scoff. “Yeah, I don’t really know how else to warn you about the shit show you’re in for, but if you want to be in debt to grad school for the next couple decades of your life, then it’s up to you.”

“Hey, jackass, try to be a bit nicer,” Ren speaks up. “She’s got some goals. Big fuckin’ deal.” He turns to you. “Although, he’s got a point sweetheart, school’s not going to get you anywhere in this industry.”

You frown. “A lot of directors I look up to went through graduate schooling. Most, I would say. I don’t understand where this rhetoric is coming from.”

“It’s coming from real people with real experience,” Ren says, and you dislike the way he takes a step closer to you to reiterate his point, “honestly, you should save yourself some time and give up on applying. It’s not worth it.”

“I’ve already put my application together,” you say, brow furrowing slightly, “I’ve asked professors for my references, spent the past four years working on my profile—” 

“But working under a director, I mean really getting to work under one, beats all of that. Which is why you’re here, right?” Ren asks, but it’s not curious, it’s testing.

You feel a sheen of sweat build at your forehead, even in this cold, and you clench your hand into a fist once, twice, thrice. You’re breathing fast, and the three sets of eyes that are staring so scrutinizingly into your soul right now have you faltering, like if they took another step forward, tried to intrude what you thought you knew one more time, you’d fall backwards over the cliff.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your upper arm, and when you turn your head to the left, you see Gojo standing there.

“Hey,” he says to you, sparing one single sidewards glare towards Kai, who immediately averts the eye contact, before Gojo’s eyes are on you again, “can I talk to you for a second?”

You look at the three men in your circle, who suddenly adopt skittish body postures, and Gojo doesn’t really wait longer than a few seconds before he’s pulling you away from them over towards the edge of the curb towards the street.

“What?” you ask once he lets go of your arm.

“What are you doing here with those guys?” he asks.

“I’m—…why does it matter to you?” you ask.

“It matters to me because of the fucking absurd conversation I just overheard,” he says, “now answer me.”

His tone annoys you, and you cross your arms. “Are you eavesdropping?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, taking a step forward to you, “who are those guys, and why are you here with them?”

You blink at him, furrowed brows relaxing slightly as you drop your crossed arms to your side, and you stare straight ahead at the blankness of the white t-shirt he’s wearing, as your mind runs blank to his question. Why were you here with them? Was it because you had no other plans? Was it because the opportunity sounded too good to be true, and you just had to see for yourself? Was it because you’ve been unable to sleep at night from all the stress, the financial worries, the rejection, and you just want to finally feel like you’ve done one good thing for yourself? To feel like you’re at least making one step in the right direction, no matter the cost?

“I’m here for a job interview,” you say to him. Your tone is flat, and you feel numb.

“A job interview?” he asks, with just about as much incredulity you would’ve expected to hear from him at that answer, “At a bar? How does that make any sense?”

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

“This doesn’t concern you, okay? I’m—…I’m just trying to make my goals work for me, Satoru, and I really don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he asks. There’s confusion in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of hurt.

“Because you can’t even understand how unfair and painful it is for me that you keep—” you have to purse your lips together briefly to fight back the knot in your throat, “…that you keep interfering with my life everywhere I go.”

His expression softens, and he silently stands in front of you for a moment. His eyes dart across your face, and then he reaches out to grab your hand. “Listen, if you still want to get drinks tonight, then just get drinks with us. But don’t hang out with those guys. They’re bad news, especially the dude with the flannel, and I don’t think you’re in a good place right now to see that.”

Your eyes see white fury at that, and you all but snap. Because the irony of this whole situation, is that you’re not in a good place right now because of him. Because of all the pain that he’s put you through, for promising to stay away but then always being near, for saying he doesn’t want you but then acting like he does. 

“You know what I think, Satoru?” you ask through gritted teeth, yanking your hand from his grasp.

He’s looking at you, studying. “What?”

You take a step forward, threateningly, and he takes a step back so that he steps off the curb and onto the road, and you’re at eye-level with him now. “I think that you’re jealous,” you say, eyes glaring daggers into his.

He blinks at you, almost dumbfounded for a moment before he says “what?”

“You’re just fucking jealous that I seem to be moving on after you rejected me, because for some weird reason, you think it’s okay to not want me, and yet not want me to be with anyone else,” you say, practically hissing the words. “You don’t like seeing me with any guys other than you? You don’t want to believe me when I say that I’m over you? You’re not sorry for kissing me? Even after knowing,” you take a pause to breathe, because you feel like you can’t, “even after knowing that I like you,” eyes blinking fast because you don’t want him to see you cry right now, “you know that I like you so fucking much, and that it’s hurtful, and that it’s wrong— and even after all of that, you act the same, and still won’t promise me any commitment of your own.”

He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read, but you’ve lost all interest in trying to understand it anymore.

“You don’t want me hanging out with them?” you repeat after him, “I’m not listening to that. Because it’s possessive. And it’s wrong.”

At the mention of them, Gojo clenches his jaw. “That has nothing to do with you and me, right now. What they’re trying to convince you of doesn’t make any sense, and it won’t help you achieve your dreams either, y/n.”

“You don’t know anything about my dreams, Satoru,” you say, just to hurt him. But you think about the sincere expression on his face the first time you met him when you told him that you wanted his help with your assignment. You think about the playful nudge of his elbow that night he stayed with you on the curb, and told you that you just had to try to put yourself out there, because you couldn’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. You think about how he’s always the first to like every single one of the slideshows you post of your pictures on Instagram. You think about the adoration in his eyes, reflected off the moonlight through the hotel window, when you told him about a little cottage on the countryside, one you’ve always wanted, and those eyes told you that he was really rooting for you. “You don’t know. Because you—” there’s an echo of words in your head. Someone else’s words, not yours, “Because you’re a college athlete. And—” you let out an exhale, “and you don’t pay tuition.”

His brow furrows. There’s a beat of silence as his confusion settles in. “What?”

“You were born blessed with talent, and you’re popular, and people adore you, and you don’t have to worry about internships, or jumping from job to job just to make something of yourself,” you say, picturing your life in your head along with all the strife, “or about all of the sinking debt, and the worry, and the— and the car repair bills,” you say, almost with a scoff, eyes sheening with tears, like you’re losing your mind, “all of the fucking car repair bills.” Your chest is heaving as you shake your head. “Because you’re set for life as long as you kick a fucking ball.” 

His lips purse together, like he can tell there’s more on your tongue to say, more hurtful words, and he wants to hear you say them. And so you do.

“You’ve never had to suffer or worry about a single thing in your life. So don’t pretend like you understand what I’m trying to do here tonight,” you say, inflection signing off on the end, to tell him that you’re done. 

He stands in front of you, practically motionless except for the slow movement of his chest as he breathes. His expression, tense and hurt, softens slowly, and you see him digging his nails into the skin of his palms through fidgeting clenched fists at his sides. And then he relaxes them, too.

“Does that make you feel better?” he asks.

His question confuses you, and for some reason, regret washes over you. “What?”

“Does thinking of me that way—…does it make you feel better about all of this? Between us?”

You’re breathing fast, eyebrows pinching upwards to look at him, and the defeated expression on his face makes your heart ache. He’s waiting for an answer, and so you give him one. “Yes.”

He glances down at the ground for a moment, then at your collarbone, before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. For everything. And I—” the words catch in his throat briefly, “I’ll try to leave you alone tonight.”

His use of the word try doesn’t escape you, but you give him a furtive nod, and he studies your face for a few moments before he steps back up onto the curb and walks past you. You watch him walk all the way, no longer with that confidence or conviction you’re so used to seeing in him, as he steps back into his circle, to Geto’s side. Geto gives a small glance over his shoulder to look at you with discerning eyes before looking at Gojo again, and then he’s turned away from you. 

Heavy feet drag you back to Kai, Ren, and Junichi, and you feel feverish. They mention something about the table being ready, and you nod. The bar is rustic, with more tables than barspace, and the four of you are seated and then presented with a small food menu. You’re seated next to Kai, Ren is right across from you, and Junichi is to his right. You watch a waitress usher Nanami, Choso, Geto and Gojo to one of the tables as well, two away from yours, and you forcefully blur your vision so you don’t have to catch sight of the expression on Gojo’s face.

“So,” Ren speaks up as his eyes peruse the food menu and Junichi waves the waitress over to order a round of sake, “tell me more about your experience, sweetheart.”

You blink at him, eyes feeling heavy, heart feeling heavy. “I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”

Ren lets out a coo, and you briefly glance at Kai who’s shaking his head with a sigh. “My bad, y/n. Your experience?”

Your hands play with the folder sitting in your lap. “I started writing screenplays for small-scale directors when I was a freshman, and was greenlit on a couple into my sophomore year. One of the films I worked on, I had directing credits for, and it was nominated for best screenplay at Etoile Film Festival the year following.”

Ren swallows slightly, shifting in his chair and pushing his shoulders back, like he’s trying to establish himself now. Kai is clenching a fist on the surface of the table.

Ren clears his throat before speaking again. “Wow, okay, so you’ve actually got some serious shit going on.” His voice is a faux octave deeper. “What do you know about being a good assistant? Ever worked in customer service? Secretary?”

“Oh, I mean I have worked in customer service, but I wasn’t done sharing about my experience—” you try to say but Junichi cuts you off.

“First round’s on me,” he declares, “for bringing her out here.” He tips his chin to you and then sends Kai a glance.

A waitress brings by a bottle of sake, and Junichi begins pouring drinks into the glasses, then slides them across the table. Kai gives Ren a pointed look. 

“Don’t get too wasted,” Kai says to him as he brings his glass to his lips, “you start running that mouth of yours a little too much when you do.”

Ren grins at him and immediately knocks down the glass Junichi barely finished pouring from him in one go, and the gruff man beside him is grumbling. “Whatever you say.”

Something had been bothering you since you came here. “Wait,” you say, pointing between Kai and Ren, “do you two know each other already? Because,” you turn to look at Kai, “on the phone earlier, you sounded like you didn’t.”

Kai’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as though he’s discovered you have some skill for foresight. You glance at Ren, and he gives Kai a puzzled look.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known Kai for years,” he says, “we go way back. We went to highschool together.”

Kai shifts a little in his chair. “Sorry. Probably forgot to mention it.”

You glance down at the glass of sake in front of you, and the way it twinkles under the lighting of the bar. You slowly bring it to your mouth, taking a small sip, and the way it coats your tongue is less than pleasing. 

“Can you tell me more about the assistant position?” you ask Ren, who’s emptied out the bottle of sake and waving someone over to order more. He already has a slightly flush to his face.

“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he says, “but first, let me tell you about what I do in visuals.”

Another round of sake is dropped by, and then another, followed by another, as Ren continues to ramble on and on about what he does for work, and how it’s entirely integral to the final piece of the film, although you’ve never really had a terrible level of appreciation for visual effects in short-film craft, since it’s hardly much work. But you wouldn’t say that, you just continue to nurse your one glass of sake as the three men surrounding you knock back more and more, and there’s slurs to their speeches now.

“Sooo, I’m so sorry, sweetheart—I mean y/n, for cuttin’ you off earlier,” he says, “but what was that experience you wanted to talk to me about?” Ren asks from across the table, and his eyes are all traveling over you.

“I…” you start, “well, I started to work with one of my professors last year, she’s a two-time Cannes Film Festival winner, and she let me under her wing for one of her projects last year.”

“Who is she? Oh wait, nevermind, probably wouldn’t have heard of her anyways,” Ren says, but when you fail to laugh, he waves his hand in the air. “Joking, joking. What’s her name?”

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

“Oh shit. I have heard of her,” Ren says, followed by a shallow hiccup. Junichi shrugs his shoulders, and when you look at Kai, he’s nodding slowly and toying with the rim of his glass with a finger.

“Yes. Well, anyways—” you start up again, before Kai sets his glass of sake down particularly loud.

“This is all bullshit. Really. I told you, filmmaking is a waste of time. Just focus on your photography, and your freelance or whatnot,” Kai says, grit to his jaw, face looking red with possibly something other than just a tipsiness. 

Ren lets out a laugh. “Fuckin’ Kai. What a pessimist. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” he says, slurred, and you furrow your brow at him with a glare, “sorry. Don’t listen to him. Trust me, you’ll learn a lot under Mr. Ko. He’s a suuuper nice guy.”

“What’s the compensation?” you ask. It’s a brazen question, one you’d never ask so soon in a formal interview process, but this table was hardly anything formal.

“Real good. Mmm I think like…5200 yen an hour, and then also, you get your foot in the door.”

“Oh,” you sit up a little in your chair. It was higher than most entry-level anything for undergraduates or even new grads. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawls when he sees you’re more interested. “Good stuff. Kai used to pick these kinds of jobs up, too, back in his college days. I remember. Although, he’s hardly Mr. Ko’s type, so I doubt he’d be any good for this one.”

Your head snaps to Ren again at his words, face tensing. 

“Tell her about what a job like this—hic—entails,” Ren says as he extends his glass out for Junichi to pour him another.

Kai glances at Ren once, and you watch him grind his teeth for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Oh. Y’know, clerical work. Stuff like printing scripts out,” Kai starts, Junichi filling up his glass and then he raises it into the air to watch the liquid swish around, “grabbing him coffee. Making sure his trailer is stocked.”

“Blowing him in said trailer,” Ren says. It’s something quiet, under his breath with a small laugh, where you could barely hear it across the table. But you heard it nonetheless. And your heart sinks to the core of the earth.

“Excuse me?” you say. The benefit of doubt sitting on your shoulder, watching in disbelief as well.

“He’s joking,” Kai says, quickly, “runnin’ his mouth.”

“Oh fuck off, Kai,” Ren says, throwing his hands up in the air, “don’t act like that’s not why you brought her here.”

Your head slowly turns to Kai, who can’t meet your gaze. Your eyes flicker to Junichi, who looks amused. 

Ren leans over the table, elbows resting on top, to look you straight in the eyes. He’s got a sleazy smile, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he dips his tone down low enough to where you can hardly hear it over the sounds surrounding you in the bar. “That’s how you’ll make it in this industry, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’ll be working under those directors until you make it.”

You stand up so fast that your chair falls behind you, hand raised in the air, and you swiftly slap the man across from you so hard across the cheek that it leaves his skin even more red than the flush from before, and your palm is stinging. 

There’s gasps all around the bar, hushed voices, eyes on you, but you don’t care. There’s not a single thing in the world you care more about right now than the anger swelled in your chest.

Ren holds his cheek, surprised, blinking like a pathetic animal. He almost looks like he’s about to cry, and you let out a scoff at the sight.

You turn to face Kai, whose eyes are wide and he’s staring up at you. Your fists are clenched at your side.

“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” you ask. Your voice is trembling, anxiety at the wake, the white anger spotting your vision. But there’s also pain. So much pain, and you’re just so fed up with all of it. “Because your belittling, condescending words weren’t enough to tear my hopes apart, so you had to humiliate me in front of your friends instead?”

Kai holds his hand up. “Woah, Canon, relax. He was just joking—…” Kai glances at Ren, who’s still holding his cheek and biting down on his lip, and then his gaze hardens. “Y’know what? It’s about fucking time you get this wake-up call, y/n. I’ve been trying to do the nice thing to steer you in the right direction, and the least you could—”

“Steer me in the right fucking direction?!” you’re yelling now, registering the way your voice echoes in the bar. “You know what I think this is all about, Kai?” You grit your teeth, “You’re a sick, stupid, sexist fuck who didn’t have the balls to go after what he wanted. So miserably pathetic that you’ve got no other fucking business than to pull people down to your level.”

Kai pinches his eyebrows together, hand on the table clenching into a fist. 

You lean down closer, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Why don’t you go be his assistant instead? Since I’m sure you’re good at taking it up the ass.”

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

You grab his glass off the table and throw the alcohol into his face, eliciting another round of noises around the bar, and his mouth falls agape in shock before he gets up out of his chair, hand reaching out to grab for you. You close your eyes shut with a flinch to expect pain. Any sort of pain. But you don’t feel anything at all.

When you open your eyes, you see Gojo standing to your left, veins of his arm tense with the tight grip he has on Kai’s forearm, and you can see he’s practically shaking with rage. He steps in front of you, guarding, and you can��t see the expression on his face, but the fear in Kai’s eyes is enough to say it all.

“That’s enough,” he says, the clench of his jaw evident through the strain in his voice, “try to put your hands on her again, and I’ll split your fucking face in half.”

You can see Kai’s breathing pick up from where you’re peering over Gojo’s shoulder, and then Gojo shoves him backwards right as Choso kicks the fallen chair to his feet so he trips over it backwards then hits the ground with a loud and indignant thud.

Gojo’s hovering over Kai, his hands shoved in his pockets as he glares down at him, while Geto and Nanami put space between you and the other two men at your table. You feel a searing flush to your cheeks. You’re breathing fast, the peering eyes all around you are scrutinizing, looking at you with surprise, confusion, shock, and pity. Your mind is racing, and you wonder what your parents would think of all this. What your friends would think of all of this. What the people who support you would think of the fucked up situation you’ve found yourself in, and the humiliation courses so deep through your veins that you just want to run away and hide. The ground could swallow you whole right now, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You take one step back, then another, before you turn on your heel to rush out the door into the night, and you barely register that it’s raining. You can feel your heart thumping fast in your chest and in your head, that familiar knot in your throat twisting tight as you walk fast down the street and ignore Gojo’s call of your name from behind you.

You don’t want to see anyone right now. You don’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Especially Gojo, of all people, because he was right about everything, and the fact that you had shut him down about it, and the way that you had shut him down about it makes your head numb and your breathing pick up fast.

“y/n,” you hear him call out from behind you, his pace is getting faster and so you’re resorting to longer strides as well, puddles of water splashing under your feet with every step, “just wait—”

“I’m seriously,” you start, and the tears begin to fall, “I’m seriously so, so, so, so, so fucking embarassed right now,” you gasp out the words with no air left in your lungs to breathe as you continue to run away from him, “so please, just leave me alone.”

You can picture it all in your head. Something like I told you so from his lips, because after what you’ve been put through tonight, you just want to assume the worst in people.

But just as you round the corner into an alley, feeling lost with the sight of a dead end, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and then you’re being pulled into an embrace.

Your eyes are blinking with tears streaming, your face buried in a chest that is warm, with a heart beating so fast that it’s keeping time with your own, and the fragrance that surrounds you is so painfully him that it makes you sob even more.

Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and Gojo rests his chin at the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you can feel the rumble of his voice, “I just needed to stop you from running.”

Your arms are weakly raised, an outline over his torso but not yet grabbing on, until you hesitantly do. And when you hold onto him, it’s so tight and strong, and you realize that after everything between the two of you, it’s the first time you’ve been wrapped in his arms.

“I feel so stupid,” you start, already hating the words because you want to be stronger right now, but you can’t.

“You’re not stupid,” he quickly corrects you, “those guys are fucking insecure losers. You’re just trying your best. You always have, for as long as I’ve known you, and it’s something you should be proud of yourself for.”

You don’t know what to say to him, you just cling to the damp fabric of his shirt in the rain.  

“Things are going to work out for you, no matter what, because I know you’ve got what it takes and you’re willing to work hard for it,” he says, his chin nuzzling so you’re tucked into him even further, “and if things don’t work out, that’s okay, you’re strong and you’ll always get back up. And I want to be there to help you through everything.”

You pull your face from his chest to stare up at him, droplets of rain falling to your face and making you flinch occasionally. “I’m confused.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, swiping at a tear on your cheek, or maybe it was rain. “I thought that—” he starts, his thumb briefly running over the small cut still healing on your cheek, his brow furrowing, “I thought that I’d be okay with watching your life from afar, through cropped pictures on a screen,” he says, a chill running through you, “but I can’t. It’s killing me. And I’m really sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but I like you so much and I really want to be with you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and you don’t know how to feel. You push your face into his chest again. His thumb runs circles at your side through the dampness of your shirt.

“There are a lot of reasons I didn’t feel like I could date you, or show up for you,” he says, “but the pain of not getting to be with you, of not getting to hold you, and just share my life with you is way worse than whatever reasons I kept trying to convince myself of.”

You nod slowly, because there was a part of you deep inside that knew that all along. 

His grip on you relaxes slightly and you take that as a request from him for you to look up at him, so you do. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of pain, and I’m really not a perfect person, but if there’s room in your heart to forgive me, I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make you feel happy and cared for.”

Your eyes study his face for sincerity. They’re words you’ve been wanting to hear, words you could’ve pictured in your head, but the adoration in his eyes makes you realize you never could’ve imagined the true sweetness of those words when they’re said from him.

You press your cheek to his chest again. You’re not crying anymore. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. About kicking a soccer ball, and having it easy,” you bite down on your lip, because now there’s tears in your eyes again, “I didn’t mean it.” You sniffle a little, “I know you work hard. And it was a really mean thing to say.”

He sighs, holding you flush to himself. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But I do.”

There was no grudge at all. There was nothing withdrawn from you, nothing taken away as punishment. He just held onto you, exactly as you are, and you felt so safe in every second you spent in his arms.

You look up at him again. His hair is damp, strands clinging to his face in all the places they usually fall over, droplets of rain falling from his fringe onto your face and he does everything he can to wipe them away. “It’s too late,” you tell him, and he immediately knows what you’re referring to.

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore,” you say through a sniffle.

He knows you’re lying, and that you say it just out of spite, but he holds your head to his chest. “I know.”

“You’ll have to beg and grovel, and even then, I might not like you ever again,” you say, gripping so tightly onto his shirt for purchase, your voice sounding muffled as you breathe in the scent of him. “That’s your punishment.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. A firm press of his lips, lasting as he takes a few deep breaths. And then he kisses the same spot again, staying still in that position as he repeats himself.

“I know.”

--

a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i’ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!

➸ take me to chapter ten!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

--

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @mwtsxri @witchbybirth @tetsuski @fffinskye @gh0ulkz @beabadobeee @mandysfanfics @erencvlt @laviefantasie @sukunamylovexoxo @girlkissersco @itzjuliana @yell0wdreams @1dimas7 @strayedjeno @mo0nforme @yungbloode @sullybrothersmate @oaooaoaoaoa @swagangelllamawolf @banenemilk @inniesblog

(hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

[hiraethwrote]

i prefer it, actually

summary: after being called in the middle of the night, megumi comes over to take care of you while you're drunk

[ loner!megumi x popular!reader ]

cw: college au, f!reader, sorority!reader, pure fluff, intoxicated reader, party but mostly going on in the background, throwing up, aged up characters

word count: 2.2k

“Hello?” Megumi answered the phone in a confused haze, the blaring ringtone waking him up from his deep sleep.

“Megumi? I think you should come down here.” The voice that greeted him wasn’t one he recognised, and his confusion only strengthened when he checked the caller ID to see a picture of you.

“Who is this?” He asked, slowly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up in his bed.

In the background, he heard muffled music interrupted by a loud gag. “It’s Kasumi.”

Kasumi? There was something scarily familiar about that name, and after a few silent moments of thought he connected the dots, remembering she was a part of your sorority.

And as the pieces fell together, the concern started to fill his body, serving almost as an alarm clock as his sleepiness become nothing but a distant memory in a matter of seconds. “Is she okay?”

“Well…” Kasumi trailed off on the other end of the phone before another horrible gag interrupted the line. “She’s just really drunk.”

His shoulders dared relax just an tad. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he sighed before another sickening sound he only assumed was you hunched over a toilet bowl. Some of his worry had settled when he knew you weren’t in any immediate danger at least, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again until he was certain you were safely in bed.

As he promised, fifteen minutes later he walked through the door of your sorority, the party still in full swing as he bullied himself through the thick crowd to get to the stairs.

God, he couldn’t stand this. Too many people shoved into a house where the mere concept of personal space was long abandoned. Obnoxious music that was so loud you were unable to hear your own thoughts — and not to mention how incredibly annoying people got when drinking.

Therefore he could not for the life of him fathom why you loved it so much. Only a handful of times had he accompanied you to parties like this, and you always managed to have a good time. That might be the only thing he has ever found himself liking with these things; seeing how much you enjoyed yourself.

So for the most part, he just decided to stay in when you wanted to go out so he wouldn’t ruin your evening by moping around, constantly checking the time to see when it was acceptable for him to go to bed. He didn’t want to be that boyfriend who stopped you from doing the things you liked just because he didn’t want to.

When he reached your room, his head cleared up as the people and music from downstairs was shut out, transforming into muffled background noise through the floor. He placed three knocks on your bathroom door before it creaked open, spotting the blue haired girl he assumed had to be Kasumi. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning against the doorframe as she opened the door further.

“Thank god you’re here. She’s been begging for you for like two hours,” she groaned, not hesitating to walk out of the bathroom so she could return to the festivities. "I think she's pretty much finished in there, just tired now."

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for taking care of her,” he said awkwardly as she was about to exit your room.

“Of course,” she smiled sweetly. “She would have done the same for me,” and she was gone.

He turned back around, pushing the door fully open to reveal you just in the position he had excepted. Your hair was tied back in a ponytail, makeup slightly smudged from throwing up for who knew how long, a constant little shiver running through your body.

“How you hanging in there?” He asked, a small amused smirk creeping up on his face.

Lifting your head from where it was resting on your arm, you turned to look at him, face lighting up the second your eyes landed on him. “Megumi, you’re here!” You nearly cheered, both hands immediately extending towards him, needy for him to come join you on the floor.

He does as you wished, his hands instinctively stroking away the stray hairs that hung in front of your face, behind your ears. “Feeling okay?”

“Better now that you’re here!” You slurred, flashing your teeth at him in a huge grin. The annoyance and frustration caused by the party below was quickly forgotten at the sight of you beaming at him. Even though you looked tired, appearance tainted by the evening, it did nothing to smother beauty. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” You were clearly still intoxicated, eyelids droopy as you mumbled sentences he could barely make out.

“A little blue birdie told me you needed me, so,” he shrugged, as if it was nothing to think about.

“Awe, baby,” you squealed as you fell forward, head landing on his chest. “You’re too good for me,” you sighed, melting into his body, the heat radiating off of him soothing the shiver present in your own body.

A gentle hand finds your upper arm to give it a light squeeze. “Do you think you can get up?” He felt the movement of your head agree to his request. He stands up first, grabbing ahold of your clammy hands and pulling you to your feet, instantly lacing his arm around your waist when you nearly fell over the second you were stood up. “Easy there,” he chuckled quietly.

“I’m fine!” You rushed in a high pitched tone, grabbing onto him for support, feeling the room spin a lot more now than when you were leaned over the toilet. When you weren’t nuzzled up against his warm chest anymore, the tremble quickly found its way back to your muscles. “‘m cold.”

“You’re cold?” He asked for confirmation. You only nodded, bottom lip sticking out in a dramatic pout. “Okay,” he whispered to himself before letting go of you by the sink before walking into your room to get you something.

“No, not that one!” You whined when he came back with one of your hoodies in his hands, earning you a confused frown from your boyfriend. “Want yours.”

He just rolled his eyes, acting as if he genuinely thought you were being a nuisance — but in reality, his heart did a little skip at the fact that you so persistently wanted to wear something of his instead.

At the foot of your bed he spotted a familiar hoodie, where you’d thrown it after waking up. Whenever the two of you didn’t spend the night together, you made sure to have a piece of his clothing nearby so he didn’t feel so terribly far away.

Could you be considered a clingy girlfriend? Probably — but you preferred the term devoted.

“Thank youuuuu,” you cooed as he simply tilted his head to signal for you to raise your arms. You happily obliged and he pulled it over your head, a satisfied hum slipping out as you hugged your arms around yourself to take in the familiar scent of your boyfriend.

Without saying anything, he grabbed your toothbrush with one hand, and your face with the other to hold it still, fingers softly digging into your plush cheeks. He finds it surprisingly unproblematic to help you brush your teeth, suspecting your drunken state might actually have served as help, paralysing your usual restlessness.

He gently grabbed your hand and guided you back to your room again, but was abruptly halted when you decided to stop dead in your tracks. With pinched eyebrows, he turned to you.

“Babe, I can’t go to bed with my makeup on.” You let go of his hand to retreat them into the sleeves of the sweater, hoping the warmth it usually provided would find you soon.

“Okay?” He asked, nervously moving his hand to his neck, rubbing it slightly as he waited for you to give him the right instructions.

“There’s makeup wipes under the sink,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered under his breath and went to get the wipes. When he returned, he nearly stumbled over your limp body. During his short trip to the bathroom, you had suddenly decided to just lay down on your back in the middle of the floor. With another sigh, he positioned himself on his knees by your head before carefully lifting it into his lap.

He started with your eyes, lightly rubbing the wet wipe across your eyelids. It didn’t take long before he managed to draw a drunken giggle from your lips. “What?”

“You’re so gentle,” you opened your eyes to stare up at him, thinking he was upside down but you couldn’t be too sure as the room was still spinning. The frown — you once had thought was a chronic condition — was very much present.

“I don’t wanna pop your eyes out.”

You only laughed. “You’re not gonna pop my eyes out. C’mon, you can put a little more pressure.” He let out a long and stressed exhale before going back to work, grimacing in fear as he did as you’d told him.

Eventually, the makeup came off, but you continued to lay completely still. You kept your head in his lap, eyes closed and a small smile ever present on your face.

“Did you have fun tonight?” His voice was soft, barely audible — especially with the banging from the bass downstairs seeping through the floor.

“Meh,” you said simply as you shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you breathed as you open your eyes to meet his gaze again. “You weren’t there.” He snorted, slightly rolling his eyes at your statement, believing you were only lying to make him feel better about coming all the way down to your sorority in the middle of the night.

“Yeah, right. How much did you have to drink?”

“No, Megs, I’m serious,” you giggled as your hands acted on their own, raising to cup his cheeks. “There’s only so much fun I can have when you’re not here.”

He felt his cheeks heat against your hands — you didn’t seem to notice however. He always thought it strange, that even after the two of you became official, it didn’t take a lot of effort from you to bring that redness to his face, a colour that had only grown familiar to his features after getting to know you.

“Sure, so fun having me sulk at your heels all evening.” There’s nothing but sarcasm in his tone as he continued to try and hide his flushed cheeks.

“I don’t mind,” you said softly as you gaze directly into his eyes, his blush only amplifying. “I prefer it, actually.”

His soft eyes roamed your face, lips slightly parted in awe. He still didn’t understand how you, who was so sociable, always the life of the party, beyond stunning, had decided he was the one you wanted to be with. And time and time again you confirmed it to him that it was for real.

Without much more thought, he simply leaned forward to press a tender kiss on your lips, your lips curling up in a giddy smirk. You were unable to contain yourself, breaking the kiss by hiding your face behind your hands, strangling the sweet giggles spilling out of you.

“You still make me nervous,” you said in between the cute sounds that was like music to his ears.

“I make you nervous?” He scoffed. “Alright, you’re clearly still drunk. Time for bed.” He gently tapped your shoulder, trying to get you to lift from his lap.

“You can never take a compliment,” you grumbled, wearing the frown that was more often seen painted on his eyebrows. He didn’t entertain your complaints, merely helping you up before leading you to your bed.

When he was about to turn around, your hand grabbed a hold of his wrist, surprised by the strength in your clutch. “No, you gotta stay here tonight!”

“I’m not leaving,” he laughed. “I’m just going to get you some water,” he said as he grabbed your hand to force you to let go.

“Oh.”

He can’t help but shake his head a little. You were probably the only drunk person he liked — of course, he was biased. During the parties, you were so outgoing, in a way he always admired. And then, when it was time to turn in for the night, you became so incredibly cute.

After having fetched the glass, he returned to see you wrapped up in the covers, having pulled the hood over your head and nuzzled further into the clothing.

A content huff left his nose as he put the glass down on your nightstand before stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers, then he carefully climbed over you. He knew he’d only receive grumpy grunts of annoyance if he tried to shove you to sleep closest to the wall.

The second he closed his eyes, he felt you snake your arm tightly around his torso and burying your face against his back, wanting to consume as much of his body heat as possible. Two light taps on your hand caused you to loosen your grip before he wiggled to turn around so you were now burying your head in his chest instead.

A deep, much needed, breath filled your lungs before you simply melted into him as his arms wrapped around you, humming in satisfaction as his hands slowly began to rub your scalp.

tags (taglist is open) @sad-darksoul, @nyahctrl, @ssetsuka

a/n the layout for these drabbles and short entries will be a little different, but yeah hope you like it. oh, and if you wanna be in the taglist, just lemme know <3 - btw, all warnings will be in the masterpost at all times

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated plagiarism not authorized

[bytemee]

HOUSE OF BALLOONS — YU JIMIN.

“you're in my world now, you can stay, you can stay. but you belong to me, ooh, you belong to me."

synopsis. karina wasn’t used to sharing. seeing you laugh with someone else? that didn’t sit right with her.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). 18+ (smut), g!p reader, pet names (she calls u puppy like it’s ur name), unprotected sex, p in v, jealous!karina, dom!karina, sub!reader and bad writing ahaa...

words. 1.6k

authors note. i could go for a chipotle burrito but damn do they be taxing

karina was used to having all eyes on her. she was the kind of girl who walked into a room and made everyone else feel like background noise. and you—shy, awkward, always fumbling over your words—were her favorite plaything.

it wasn’t like you were dating. she just liked keeping you close, liked the way you turned red when she got too close, and liked knowing that you’d drop everything the second she called.

but tonight, you weren’t where you were supposed to be.

she had invited you to the party—expected you to hover near her like always, expected you to wait for her to give you attention. but instead, you were downstairs, sitting on the couch, laughing at something some random girl said.

karina didn’t like that.

she watched from across the room, arms crossed, lips pursed, as she saw the way you were smiling—actually smiling—in front of someone else.

when the girl leaned in a little too close, touching your arm, something snapped.

before you even realized what was happening, karina was in front of you, slipping between you and the girl with a sickly sweet smile.

"oh, i see you’ve met my little puppy," she said smoothly, tilting her head. "careful with this one. she gets nervous around new people.”

you were about to open your mouth to say something then she sat down on your lap, draping her arms over your shoulders. you swallowed hard, your face going pink, completely caught off guard.

karina had always been shameless with her teasing, but this—this was different. she was staking a claim, making sure everyone in the room knew exactly who you belonged to.

the girl you had been talking to gave an awkward laugh, clearly unsure of what to do now that karina had inserted herself into the situation.

"uh, i was just—"

"leaving?" karina finished for her, still smiling, though it was obvious she wanted her gone.

the girl hesitated, looking between the two of you before mumbling some excuse and disappearing into the crowd.

you barely had a second to process what just happened before karina’s fingers were suddenly in your hair, twirling a loose strand between her fingers as she leaned in even closer.

your eyes widened, your face burning up under the intense stare she was giving you. you swallowed thickly, your hands gripping the couch, unsure of where else to put them.

and then, just when you thought she couldn't get any closer, she did, her lips brushing against your ear. "don't look so surprised, puppy."

she pulled away just enough to look into your eyes again. then she got up from your lap, smoothing out her skirt before grabbing your hand and pulling you upstairs, away from all the prying eyes.

and you let her.

karina didn’t waste a second. she shoved you into the first empty room she found, kicking the door shut behind her before pinning you against the wall.

it didn’t matter whether you were hers in name—because in every way that counted, you were. and tonight, she was making sure everyone knew it.

her lips crashed against yours, rough and claiming, like she had something to prove. and maybe she did. maybe she needed to remind you exactly where you belonged.

karina was a damn good kisser, and the longer she kissed you, the harder it got to stand on your own. your fingers curled into her shirt, clinging to her for support, a quiet gasp slipping past your lips.

she loved this. loved how easily she could pull you apart, how simple it was to make you forget everything but her.

when she finally pulled away, a thin strand of saliva still connected you for a brief second before it snapped, leaving you breathless. your head spun, your lips swollen, and you just stood there, waiting—because she was the one in control, and you both knew it.

her nails raked across your skin, making their way under your shirt, and you bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan.

"you don't want anyone else, do you, hm?" she asked, her voice low and soft. she leaned in again, her lips brushing against your jaw, the gentle touch a sharp contrast to the way her nails dug into your hips.

you shook your head quickly, your heart racing in your chest, because no, no, you only wanted her. you only ever wanted her.

karina hummed, satisfied, her grip tightening just enough to make you gasp. "good," she murmured, "because i don't like sharing."

her teeth grazed your skin, and your breath hitched, fingers twitching where they hovered uncertainly at your sides. you wanted to touch her, wanted to pull her closer, but you knew better than to move without permission.

she noticed, of course she did, and it made her smirk against your throat. "what is it, puppy?" she taunted. "you want to touch me?"

you nodded, swallowing hard. "please," you whispered, barely able to get the word out.

karina pulled back just enough to look at you, tilting her head like she was considering it. her fingers trailed up your sides before she finally grabbed your wrists and guided your hands under her skirt until your fingers brushed against her underwear.

"there," she breathed out. "is that what you wanted?"

she was so wet, and the thought that she was this turned on because of you—because she was claiming you as her own—made you whine, the sound almost desperate.

"karina," you pleaded, the bulge in your pants growing more uncomfortable by the second.

karina's smirk widened. "you want me to touch you?" she asked, her breath hot against your ear.

you nodded frantically, still unable to form words, too overwhelmed by desire to do anything except obey.

"use your words." karina's grip tightened on your wrists.

"please," you whimpered, voice shaking. "please, touch me, i need you."

she hummed, satisfied. "that's what i like to hear."

and then her fingers were working at the buttons of your jeans, her other hand reaching under your shirt, sliding up your stomach before pressing against it to push you onto the bed, her lips finding yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless.

"karina," you moaned. "i—fuck..."

she didn't waste any time. as soon as you were flat on the bed, she crawled on top of you, straddling your waist, grinding against your thigh as her fingers wrapped around your cock.

karina chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. "you're so sensitive," she purred, her hand moving slowly, teasingly.

you whimpered, your hips moving involuntarily. you were starting to unravel, quickly losing control. karina knew it, and she loved it.

"is this what you wanted, puppy?" she asked, her lips brushing against your neck. "you like it when i touch you like this?"

all you could manage was a ragged moan in response.

her hand moved faster, sending a shock through your system, and you threw your head back, eyes squeezing shut. it felt so fucking good, and you couldn't think, couldn't speak, could only let her do whatever she wanted.

then suddenly she stopped.

your eyes snapped open, and you let out a whine, desperate for more.

karina ignored you, instead pulling her underwear down, kicking it to the side before she straddled your waist again, lining herself up with your cock.

her hands pressed against your chest for balance as she started to move, rolling her hips at an excruciatingly slow pace.

you groaned, your fingers digging into the sheets, trying to keep yourself from just taking over and flipping your positions. you knew that would just earn you a sharp slap and a scolding, something that you would much rather avoid.

karina leaned down, hovering her underwear above your mouth, a wicked glint in her eyes.

"open up," she commanded.

you obeyed, and she stuffed the fabric into your mouth. it tasted like her, and the thought of that alone made you twitch inside her.

your hands moved to grip her thighs, fingers pressing into the soft skin, holding her steady as she rocked her hips.

she let out a breathy moan as you tightened your grip on her. "fuck," she panted, her breaths coming in short gasps. "just like that."

you tried to say something, but all that came out was muffled by the underwear she had shoved into your mouth. karina smirked, her pace increasing, the heat in her core growing stronger, spreading through her body. she threw her head back, a few strands of hair sticking to her forehead.

"fuck," she groaned. "i'm gonna cum."

she could feel it building, her walls clenching around you, and she knew she was close. she knew the sight of her falling apart would send you over the edge, too, and that's what she wanted, needed, craved.

her grip tightened, nails digging into your chest, her breathing erratic, her hips rocking faster, harder. she was right there, teetering on the edge, and then finally, she toppled over.

"fuck!" she cried out, her orgasm ripping through her, her legs trembling.

the moment she started to come undone, so did you, unable to hold back any longer; you groaned into the underwear, your head thrown back, your spine arching off the mattress, thrusting your hips upwards as you came.

your hands held her in place, gripping her thighs so hard they would leave marks, but neither of you cared.

karina slumped against you, her chest heaving, her face buried in the crook of your neck. she was panting, trying to catch her breath, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart against your skin.

after a few moments, she pulled away, sitting back on your lap, a satisfied smile on her face. she reached forward and slowly pulled the underwear out of your mouth, her gaze fixed on you, taking in the aftermath of what she had done to you.

"mmm, looks like my puppy is satisfied."

you blinked, trying to clear the haze from your mind, but all you could focus on was the sight of her sitting on top of you, the mess dripping down her thighs, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen.

she looked so perfect.

"do you understand now?" she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. "no one else gets to touch you like this. no one but me."

you nodded, still unable to find your words.

"good," she purred, leaning in and kissing you, soft and gentle, a stark contrast to how she had been before.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Finding old man Eugene’s porn with Ellie..

Warnings: dub-con (reader and Ellie are high), smoking, mentions of porn, sexual tension, fingering (r! receiving), sloppy make-outs, Astrid is just a mention from one of the tlou patrol logs so I included her for fun idk

Word count: 1.6k

Your hands are frigid and almost numb even through your gloves. The snow from outside is only falling tenfold, and you’re lucky to have found shelter at all. You watch as Ellie ties Shimmer up nearby and turns to you, and you’re surprised she isn’t all teeth-chattering and “brrr.” The girl has way too much tolerance for the elements compared to you, who is currently freezing.

“You said you’ve been in here before?” Ellie inquires, and you nod. It’s true that you’re familiar with the creek trails; many times have you and Cat been on horseback and on foot through the town East, along the water stream that is probably now all frozen over.

You lead Ellie downstairs and without much words, you begin to scavenge around for supplies. You know what’s common here - ammo, rations, all the basics. You know that this is more than a simple scavenge-and-go, though. There’s practically a blizzard outside, and you know that at least the generator set up in case of emergencies is visible. 

You begin to power up the generator with a few clean spins. Last patrol, Astrid taught you how to crank the handle without nearly breaking it. The thing’s a little rusty with disuse since it has been a while since the temperature has called for winter weather, so it takes more arm power than usual. When the generator finally roars to life, you sigh in relief and try to find Ellie, who is more than likely still going through ammo cases. 

You find her at a door that’s closed off from the main area. She notices your presence, turning to you with a question. “Ever been this far?”

“Nah. The only person who’s ever been down there is Eugene.”

“Shall we?” Her smile is roguish. 

You nod. “There’s no telling what is even down there.”

With a little turn of the door handles (which were slightly stiff), the door is open and the sight before you is not a room but a staircase. Ellie peers down into it.

“Let’s be cautious, it may need to be cleared out.”

The sight before you is not a horde of clickers but instead a one that makes Ellie mutter out a “holy shit…” and you agree; holy shit is right. Dead marujana plants are all over the room, and there’s a small television next to a stained couch, stacks of vcr tapes in a pile on the floor.

“Well, I think we should take a much-deserved break.” You say with a smile that reminds Ellie of a kid on Christmas morning, quickly padding over to the tapes to find something worth watching. Ellie approaches as well, but she raises an eyebrow at your jaw being practically on the floor now.

“What?-” Ellie starts, but then she catches a glimpse of the tape cover. There are two women completely naked and a comically large title reading “Sorority Sisters.” She sputters out a laugh, “Eugene’s porn collection?”

“What the fuck?! I just wanted something like The Matrix, I-” Ellie’s face makes you realize that she is truly considering it- watching a porn together. You and Ellie were only friends, wasn’t that weird?

“Oh, don’t give me that look. It’ll be funny. Do we have anything better to do trapped in the middle of a blizzard?”

You sigh and relent. As much as it makes your stomach feel all hot and weird at the thought of watching bad porn with Ellie, you don’t have any better ideas. “Fine. But only if we can find something to smoke down here as well.”

You and Ellie aren’t as far apart as you should be. The film has been playing on the low quality television in front of you for only the past 20 minutes, and there’s still another 30 to go. Your body feels all warm inside from the weed, and Ellie’s thigh is brushing up against yours as the two of you sit next to each other on the couch. The two of you are out of your jackets and are in just pants and a t-shirt, the heat from the generator fully enveloping the air. The blizzard is all but forgotten. You know that you should put some distance between you and Ellie, that this could have consequences. You’ve already fucked up. You’re supposed to be on patrol, for fuck’s sake. Not watching two college girls eat each other out on a grainy screen and take occasional hits to an old joint, but here you are.

This shouldn’t be turning you on as much as it is. With someone like Cat or Dina, you would be laughing and making jokes about the exaggerated moans. With Ellie next to you, her gorgeous face lit up by the television light, you are both silent. 

And then her fingers skim over your thigh. Just slightly, but enough for you to notice. You’re losing your composure, your breathing heavier. You can feel the moment your panties become soaked. There is an unbearable heat in your lower stomach, and suddenly, it’s as if every little thing you notice about the moment surrounds you at once. You can mainly only smell the weed, but being so close to Ellie means that her crisp scent fills your nose and apparently turns you on even more. Her body heat makes you want to forget that she’s just a friend. Each (stupidly loud) moan echoing in the room from the porno even makes you clench, just because you’re aware Ellie is right next to you and you’re watching this together. 

Before you can even process it, Ellie’s hand is sliding between your thighs, massaging your inner left thigh. You feel a familiar heat pool within your belly. 

Her voice is low, just an intimate, raspy whisper in your ear that nobody else would ever be able to hear, “you can tell me to stop.”

You should tell her to stop. You should swat her hand away and tell her to keep her paws off of you. But.. you don’t. Instead, you let out an exhale, a shaky and bewildered sound before guiding her hand right between your legs. She can’t touch you properly through the stiff fabric of your jeans, but she has no intentions of rushing things. Ellie is a damn tease, distracting you by leaning down and skimming chapped lips over the sensitive skin of your neck. The breaths she takes are short and the exhales are hot against your skin, making you shudder. Her fingers are firmly rubbing over your clit through the fabric of your denim jeans. 

“Such a damn tease,” you scold, but you’re already slightly moving your hips for more friction. 

Ellie smiles against your pulse, barely sinking her teeth into the skin to make you gasp, then pulling away to laugh. “But you know you love it.” 

You can’t deny it, so you grow silent, letting her continue to play with you as if you’re a puppet pulled by strings, the major string being your pussy. Ellie knows you so fucking well, it’s almost uncanny. That is how it has always been, though. Ellie has always been able to read you like an open book. She knows your favorite things, she knows that she is your favorite person, she knows when to tell you stupid puns and insult you and when to put a comforting hand on your shoulder and wipe away your tears. Now, without ever touching you so intimately before, she just knows how to make you beg for more. 

“Ellie, please..” You plead, and the heightened pitch doesn’t go unnoticed by Ellie. She pulls away from her work on your neck to leave a soft kiss on your jawline, trailing up to your ear. 

“Tell me that you want more, and I’ll fuck you right here.” She doesn’t sound like your usual Ellie, instead raspy and so serious. You know that this isn’t a prank. All you want to hear is that voice telling you filthy things while she fucks you, and just like that, the porno in the background is washed out. 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

You’re whining, your head laid back on the couch with your legs spread out wide for her. Your jeans are on the floor, your underwear pooled around your ankles with the haste that Ellie used to be able to fuck you. Her fingers are drilling so deeply into your cunt, nearly making it impossible to hold on longer. Once she had you naked, she didn’t feel the urge to tease.

“Fingers so deep in this cunt, and you’re still begging for more,” she laughs at the way your walls clench in response and your whines are just as loud as the girls on tv who are long forgotten. 

“Ellie, fuck- I dunno how long I can hold on…I wanna cum so bad, please, please-” You’re quickly cut off by your own cry when Ellie curls her fingers up into your g-spot, her thumb padding at your clit to only heighten the sensation. She knows you so well. How does she know the way you like it, the way you touch yourself when you’re alone in your bedroom at night.The way your palm brushes against your clit as you finger your drenched hole? The fact that you grip the sheets with your free hand and moan her name? 

“Shh, c’mon, baby. I’ve got you, just cum for me.” She coos in your ear, slipping in a third finger and stretching you out so nicely, filling you up so good and then she’s stroking your walls- 

Your orgasm hits not in waves, but instead like a pulse, beating and Ellie can feel the way you flutter, she can feel the way your clit beats against the calloused, wet pad of her thumb. Your thighs instinctively close her in, you can’t beat to feel her pull out until this onslaught of pure star-striking pleasure is over. Her free hand turns your face towards her and she swallows up your moans in a sloppy kiss, her tongue fucking into your mouth lazily and sensually. 

The moments after are sweaty and sweet. She lay next to you across the couch, one of her arms underneath your body so that she can keep a hand wrapped around your waist. Everything is beautiful and so warm, like a fever dream. Your high is still on-going, and you wonder how this could ever end. 

When Jesse’s voice rings through the building, it does end.

[bloodibambiidoll]

Hiiii bb🥺 can I pretty pls request rafe x bitchy!reader with the prompts “Gonna fuck you until the only word you remember is my name.” And “Oh, I can think of many ways to shut you up right now.”. Maybe this is their first time together and she’s being all smug and he shows just what he’s capable of? Love you doll🩷

Hi, my love!! But ofc!! I went with Frat!Rafe for this one and reader is implied to be an alternative sorority girl. Enemies to lovers, flirty banter, face fucking, bondage, cum swallowing, fingering, overstimulation, daddy kink, choking, biting, breeding kink, unprotected sex. 18+!!!!

“We are never going to happen, Cameron, give it up.” You scoff as you look down at your black and red perfectly, pointed nails.

“I’m not gonna give up until you admit I’m right.” Rafe smirks as he moves in closer to you. There’s only a few inches between you and his large frame and your back is up against the wall. He tracked you down at yet another party and stopped you in the hall. Like a moth to flame, he always seems to find you. “I know you want me.”

“No, that’s just what you tell yourself so you can justify this obsession you have with me.” You glance up at him long enough to throw him a glare before returning your attention to your nails. You’re careful not to let him see your eyes for too long because then he’ll know he’s right. You do want him.

For some fucking reason. You’re pretty much the only girl in your sorority he hasn’t fucked around with and you take great pleasure in not being added to that list. “Go find Heather or something, I’m sure she’s just dying to hop back on your shrimp dick.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Rafe grits his teeth as he closes the distance between you, his face is so close you can feel his breath on your skin and smell his expensive cologne. But you still don’t give him the time of day and it drives him insane. You’re not wrong, he’s obsessed with you. And it pisses him the fuck off. He’s tried every angle with you, the only reason he even started fucking your soririty sisters was for your attention. He will take what he can get, even if it’s negative. “You’re always fuckin’ bringing other bitches into it, are you really that jealous, baby?”

“Ha!” You throw your head back with a laugh, meeting his eyes with an icy gaze that goes straight to his cock. You’re not like any of the other girls on this entire island. Your thick eyeliner, glossy dark, red lips, and your chunky shoes have him so down bad he doesn’t even want to admit it to himself. “You’re fucking delusional, Cameron. I couldn’t give a shit less who your fuck of the night is.”

“Yeah? I think you’re lying.” Rafe gives you that fuck boy smirk that you wish so badly didn’t secretly work on you and it makes you want to slap him. His arm comes up on the wall by your head, caging you in and further enveloping you in his scent. He leans down so his lips are brushing the shell of your ear and it makes your stomach tighten. “I think you want me to fuck you so bad that it pisses you off.”

“Oh my fucking god! Do you ever shut up?!” You groan and throw your head back before trying to duck under his arm but Rafe’s free hand finding your hip keeps you in place.

“Nah.” Rafe chuckles as he tongues the inside of his cheek, his eyes roaming your face like he’s wondering what to do with you. “But I can think of several ways to shut your bratty ass up right now.”

“I’d like to see you fucking try.” Rafe looks down at you like the cat that caught a mouse as he loops his arm around your waist and hauls you down the hall toward one of the open rooms. He ushers you inside before slamming the door and then he slams your back against the wood.

“You have no idea what you just fucking asked for, little mouse.” Rafe chuckles darkly as his hand comes up to grip onto your chin, forcing eye contact. You try to shake your face free but his grip is too strong. That doesn’t stop you from trying as you glare at him through your lashes. You’re not giving in that easily. “Quit fighting it, just admit you fuckin’ want me.”

“Fucking make me, Cameron.” You thrash around in his hold, not even really trying to break free, just holding onto your pride. Your sharp nails come up to claw his wrist and it only makes his grip on your face tighten.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna have you fuckin’ begging for it.” The hand on your face laces into the back of your hair, using it as leverage to pull you to the middle of the room.

His free hand grips onto your throat and he pulls your face against his, mashing your lips together in a filthy kiss. You get lost in it for a moment but when his tongue forces its way into your mouth you clamp your teeth down on it. He hisses and pulls his head back, his eyes burning blue flames into yours as he looks down at you.

“I’m never going to beg for you. You stupid fucking asshole, you’re such a -” Your words are cut short when Rafe’s sneaker clad foot sweeps under your platform heels while he uses his grip on your head to manhandle you to your knees in front of him. You growl in the back of your throat and your fingers claw his wrists again. It only makes Rafe cock twitch.

“Maybe you aren’t a mouse after all, huh? You’re a feisty little kitty.” Rafe chuckles and grabs both of your wrists in one of his big hands, holding them tight in front of you. “And kitten’s need to be taught it’s not okay to scratch.”

“You’re a joke if you think you’re gonna be the one to tame me. All you frat boys are the same. Get your nut, and get out. Why do you think I haven’t fucked you already, dumb ass?!”

“You’re always calling me names, baby.” Rafe chuckles as he keeps your hands held in place and uses his free hand to undo his belt. You watch with wide eyes as he pulls it from the loops and when he brings it up to your wrists you hate that your pussy clenches at the thought of what he’s about to do. You half heartedly try to wiggle away as he loops the belt around your wrists, restraining you. “It’s funny cause after I’m done with you the only thing you’re going to remember is my name.”

“This is cute.” You snicker as you wiggle your wrists and shift on your knees, Rafe can’t take the chance of you getting up so he grips onto your hair again, ensuring you stay right where he wants you. “I really like this whole ‘daddy dom’ act you’re putting on, very convincing.”

“Didn’t I say I was done with your fuckin’ mouth?” Rafe uses his free hand to undo his button and zipper and you can’t help the way your eyes hone in on what he’s doing. You have to physically hold in a gasp at the sheer size of his cock when he pulls it out and strokes himself a few times.

“Now why don’t you be a good little slut and make it useful?” He tilts your head back with his grip on your hair and taps the head of his cock on your glossy lips. Some of the red stain streaks onto his tip and the sight drives him insane. “Gonna make such a fuckin’ mess of you. Open your bratty mouth.”

“Open my mouth? Okay, I’ll open my mouth to tell you that you’re-” Your sentence is cut short by Rafe’s cock slipping past your lips. He pushes his shaft all the way to the back of your throat, making you gag on it. He pulls back far enough for you to take a breath of air but as soon as you start to talk again he’s back down your throat.

“Now be a good little girl and fuckin’ suck it.” The horniness in your body is starting to overpower your will to rebel against what it wants. Rafe’s hand finds the back of your head so he can push you all the way down on his cock with your nose flush against his pelvis. It makes you gag and drool and he holds you there until you swallow around him. He pulls out to the tip and you swirl your tongue around in, making his eyes roll back with a moan. You instantly become addicted to the sound, wanting to hear more. You want to hear what he sounds like when he cumes and you’re so tired of pretending you don’t. He thrusts his hips forwards and starts to fuck your throat roughly. You wrap your lips tightly around him, gliding your tongue along his shaft as he uses your mouth. “Yeah, that’s what I’m tallkin’ about baby, knew there was a cock hungry slut underneath that bratty attitude.”

“Gonna cum down this pretty little throat and then I’m going to use that pussy as I please, yeah? Nod if you understand.” You nod the best you can with him brutally fucking your throat and it doesn’t take much more than that to have him stilling in your mouth. Rafe’s cum spills down your throat as he throws his head back and moans. “Fuck. Fuckin’ swallow it.”

You oblige him, swallowing every drop he gives you. Rafe looks down at you devilishly as he pulls you from his cock. He’s already half hard at the sight of you on your knees in front of him like this. Your lipgloss is smeared around your mouth and that meticulously done eyeliner is streaming down your cheeks. It doesn’t hurt that your hands are bound either.

“What are you staring at, weirdo?” You snark at him and Rafe grips onto your arms underneath your shoulders so he can toss you onto the bed.

“You still got that fuckin’ attitude?” Rafe smirks as he grabs onto your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, making your little skirt ride up and reveal your black thong. He runs his big hands down your thighs so he can push your skirt up further, making it pool around your hips. The wet spot that’s visible even in black makes him smirk. “What’s it gonna take to get you to stop being a brat? You need it fucked out of you? The dick you’ve been getting around here isn’t satisfying you?”

“Will you just stop being annoying and fuck me already?” You roll your eyes as you wiggle beneath him, your hands still being bound limiting your movements.

“Nah, cause’ I don’t want to just fuck you, princess. I want you to fuckin’ submit to me. Beg for it.”

“Seriously?” You whine and throw your head back but it just earns you a grip on your jaw, forcing you to keep eye contact.

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ talking to you.” Rafe’s voice holds a level of authority that makes your head spin. You really didn’t think he had all of this in him and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. His free hand comes up to push your panties to the side so he can run his fingers through your dripping slit. “I know you want it baby, you’re so wet f’me.”

“Yeah, because I want you to fuck me, okay?!” You huff out as you angle your hips to try and chase his fingers that he keeps just barely dipping into your entrance before denying you the pleasure.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, princess.” Rafe licks his lips as his fingers circle your clit agonizingly slow, making your clit pulse. “Beg.”

“Please.” You whimper out, so quietly that if Rafe wasn’t inches from your face he wouldn’t have heard it. He smirks at you and you feel his fingers circle your entrance again but this time he thrusts two knuckle-deep inside of you. He pumps them in and out of you while curling his fingers against your walls and it makes your back arch.

“Gonna make you cum on my fingers till you’re begging for my fuckin’ cock.” Rafe’s thumb finds your clit and presses hard circles on it in time with his thrusts and your walls clench around him. He roughly grabs the hem of your little lace top and pushes it over your tits, moaning at the sight of them. He leans down and takes one into his mouth and it has you tumbling into euphoria embarrassingly fast.

“Oh, fuck! I’m fucking cumming, oh my god.” You moan loudly as Rafe continues to fuck you with his fingers. He fucks you through it but just as you’re starting to come down from that high he brings you back to the top again. “Oh shit!”

“Yeah that’s right, slut. Gimme another one.” Rafe’s fingers move impossibly faster and he slides a third one inside you while the heel of his palm grinds against your clit as you come undone for him again. His fingers slow and your chest heaves as you come down from your second orgasm. You think he’s going to give you a break and finally fuck you. But his fingers start to pick up the pace again and you know you thought wrong. “One more.”

“I can’t, Rafe!” You writhe beneath him but he uses a hand to pin your hip to the bed. “Please just fuck me!”

“Yeah, that’s right, slut. Say my fuckin’ name. Say it while you cum on my fingers again.” You practically scream his name as you gush around his fingers and your entire body wracks with pleasure. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Rafe pulls his fingers from you and brings them to his lips with a groan. He grabs onto the string of your panties and rips them down your legs before positioning himself between your legs with his cock in his hand. He taps his head against your over sensitive clit and it makes you gasp.

“Beg for my cock again, princess. Wanna hear it.” Rafe licks his plush bottom lip as he looks down at you through half lidded eyes. “Don’t even think about giving me an attitude either. I’ll jerk off and cum all over your pretty little skirt and leave you with nothing.”

“Please, Rafe, please fuck me? I wanna feel you buried deep inside me please -“ Rafe lines up with your entrance before pushing himself balls deep into your pussy in one hard thrust. “Oh, shiiiiit.”

“God fuckin’ damn.” Rafe moans as he pulls out of you to the tip before slamming back into you and fucking into you like a man possessed. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. Pussy is squeezing me so good, baby.”

One of Rafe’s hands grips onto your hip so hard you’re sure there's going to be prints of his fingers tomorrow. The other hand grips onto your throat and squeezes, cutting off your airflow in the most delicious way. He leans down and crushes your lips with a bruising kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and dancing with your own.

“Knew you’d look so pretty all split open on my cock.” Rafe chuckles as he grips onto your jaw and shakes your head from side to side. “Tell me you fuckin’ love this shit.”

“I love it, daddy, you’re so big.” Your voice is a breathy moan, a stark contrast to the way you were talking to him not so long ago. “You’re fucking me so good.”

“So you really did just need that little attitude fucked out of you, didn’t you, Princess?” Rafe shoves his face into your neck. He attacks your skin with little bites and sucks, surely leaving marks behind. You honestly hope he does. “Calling me daddy n’ shit, fuck. I’m gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy then everybody on this damn campus will know who owns your ass.”

“Oh god, fuck yes! Fill me up, please? Give me your cum, daddy!” Any and all attitude you had earlier on is completely erased from your mind. All you can think about is Rafe’s cock and how good he’s making you feel.

“Yeah? Gonna fuck you so full it’ll be dripping down your legs when we leave this party. I’m gonna take you back to my place and eat it outta you.” Rafe leans up on his knees and grabs his belt binding your wrists with both his hands. He props both of his knees under your ass so your hips are angled and then he pulls you down on his cock over and over again like a rag doll. “Then I’m gonna fill you again and again until it’s dripping out for days. You’re mine now, baby. Say it and I’ll make you cum again.”

“I’m yours, Rafe!” You whine as you try to meet his erratic thrusts but he’s bouncing you on his cock so fast you can hardly think. That coil in your stomach is wound so tight it’s about to explode. Your hands fly up and grip onto Rafe’s wrist for purchase, your nails digging into his skin making his cock twitch inside you. “God, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah, that’s it baby, cum all over daddy’s big cock.” It only takes a few more pumps of his cock against your sweet spot to have your walls convulsing around him. You throw your head back with a loud moan of Rafe’s name, making your back arch and your tits jiggle beautifully. It's enough to have Rafe’s cock pulse while he cums right along with you, spilling ropes of his thick cum into your walls.

He doesn’t stop fucking you until you both come down from your highs and then he’s gently unbinding your hands from his belt. The minute your hands are free your body falls limp on the bed from exhaustion and Rafe chuckles as he looks down at you fondly.

“What’re you laughing at, jerk?” You roll your eyes and groan.

“Nothin’ you’re just cute, s’all.” Rafe chuckles again and you look at him in the eyes through your tired lashes. “I like you like this. All fucked out and covered in my cum. You still got that attitude, though.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t think it’s going anywhere anytime soon, dickhead.” You giggle and throw him a playful glare that he returns with a genuine smile. It makes butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Oh? Well it looks like I’ll just have to keep trying to get you to be nice to me then, huh?” Rafe plops down on his side next to you, letting his pointer finger gently caress the side of your face. “Plus, I kinda like it when you’re mean to me. It gets me going.”

“Oh my god! You’re so annoying.” You laugh and Rafe joins in before leaning over to kiss you so gently it surprises you. When he pulls back he holds your face in his hands and looks at you so sweetly it makes you feel like you’re going to puke.

“I definitely want to see you all fucked out and sweetly begging for me some more though.” Rafe bites his lip as he looks down at you. “Lemme take you home, yeah? Then maybe tomorrow I can take you on a date?”

“A date?” You scoff out a laugh and raise your eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I’ve obviously been trying to hit this entire time. But if you would’ve given me to the time of day before biting my head off, you’d know I’ve been trynna ask your little ass out in a date for weeks now.” Rafe rolls his eyes playfully as he squishes your cheeks together with his fingers. “So, what do you say?”

“You know what? Fuck it.” You push yourself up on your elbows with a grin. “Let’s go on a fucking date, asshole.”

“Alright then, brat.” Rafe leans down and presses a messy kiss on your lips. “Get your ass up and get dressed so I can take you home with me. It’s a date.”

Tagging mooties: @cameronwillow @cxrrodedcoffin @rafeyscurtainbangs @starkeysbabygirl @starkeyprincess @oceandriveab @sarahsangelicdoll @rafesheaven

Divider by @anitalenia

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

If you're ready, all I mean is we could go, I've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.

General Warnings: an almost unbearable amount of sarcasm and snark, even more idiotic shenanigans, many affectionate empty threats of murder/violence, fluff, mentions of golf 🤢, cursing and I'm pretty sure that's it for this half

A/N: in line with the general consensus lmao this has been split, part two will be posted as soon as it's finished (lol) but it's best read as one whole fic, it isn't a multi-part situation really!! it was originally supposed to be my submission for the eras tour fic challenge (hence the graphic I'm too attached to to change) but took a different direction to the song I was given, and I missed the deadline, and I pretty much listened to the secret of us exclusively while writing this whole thing. also dropping an overwhelmingly summery fic in december might actually be my brand. keep your eyes peeled for a christmas fic in july.

very special shoutout to shea @sleepretreat I made a random comment one day that luke gives seth cohen energy, and she fanned that flame like a full time job. ily shea!! I hope this lives up to any expectations and I owe a lot to your instigating!!

AS ALWAYS!!! never proofread!! I'll probably get around to it when the thought of a spelling mistake keeps me awake at night. and also!! please let me know what you think I am like a teeny tiny little plant that can only thrive under the constant shower of validation and you don't want me to wither and die do you? (I’m kidding) (I’m not)

You kind of, sort of, think you might hate summer.

You haven’t always felt this way, though. Growing up, it had always been your favourite time of the year. 

No school? Check.

Going on vacation, sometimes multiple, all expenses covered by your parents? Double check.

Getting to do all the cool things you don’t have time for in the school year with all your friends? Concerts, festivals, beach days, bonfires on the evenings. Check, check and check again.

But 4 years ago, your whole world as you knew it was torn apart, and summers have never been the same, since.

A season that was once filled with light and companionship, never ending plans and joviality, became darker - isolated, getting yourself out of the house even if everyone else was busy, driving just to drive and making the best of your own company. 

School ended up becoming your escape, especially since you had started college - your studies and the chaos of Greek life distracting you from the calamitous state of your home life, making new friends that became like family and sticking to them like glue, where possible, clingy and possessive to the point of ruin, almost - and so the lack of it in the summers now actually sends you into some sort of warped spiral.

It’s manageable in the winter and spring, the breaks no longer than a few weeks at a time, but going home for summer is somewhat of a nightmare.

It’s hard to go back, hard to ignore the mess your mind has become when it’s just you and your mother - or, you, your mother and whatever bottle of pinot she’s 3 glasses deep into at any given time of the day - and you’re sat in a house that’s a cold reminder of the warmth that once filled it. 

But when Ellie - your best friend since moving to college, the girl who took the sister part of sorority sister to the next level at all possible opportunities over the years - found out you’d put your name down to be the caretaker for your sorority house instead of going home, she had put her foot down on your summertime sadness session.

Which is how you end up moving into her family home - spending the first few weeks integrating yourself into their routine while trying to grip desperately onto some form of your own - trying not to get too used to the feeling of such a big family when you know it won’t be forever.

You braid her little sister’s hair everyday, kick a soccer ball around with her little brother when he needs someone to stand in goal, wash the dishes with her mom, talk sports with her dad, and before long, you blend like a chameleon into their dynamic.

You pick up a summer job at the country club to cling back onto your independence. Your commute provides the solitude and quiet you‘ve grown accustomed to in the years before, a bus journey through town with headphones on, watching the scenery and admiring the greenery until you get to work, donning your navy blue polo and tucking your little notepad into your hip apron as you serve tables at the clubhouse restaurant and bar. 

It’s a much needed escape from Ellie, if you’re honest.

You love that girl with all your heart, appreciate her housing you more than you’ll ever be able to say, but if you have to hear her sit and mope about how hopelessly in love she is with Jack Hughes for even a second longer, you’re going to vomit. Or scream. Or both.

Jack and Ellie grew up together - their families close, Ellie’s dad best friends with Jack’s uncle, or something - and she’s been into him since he had teeth missing - a point she loves to hammer home when it comes to you always listing that as one of his (many, if it’s up to you) cons. Considering his job, and the fact he already lost one, not too long ago, a toothless boyfriend seems like a massive ick, if you’re honest. 

But Ellie is beyond reason when it comes to him. She worships the ground he walks on - talks about him non-stop, messages him every day, regales you with stories you, awfully, but realistically, couldn’t care less about - and it’s the only real problem about living with her.

Even beyond the summer, you two had shared a room your first two years in college, still live in the same house - and it’s a year round problem.

But being unable to escape, having your days tied to close to hers, and knowing that it’s bound to be worse with proximity, Jack back in Michigan for the summer, himself, she’s starting to drive you up the wall.

It wouldn’t bother you if you had never met Jack, but the two of you don’t exactly get along. He’s rude, and self-absorbed, and had looked down on you the first time he ever laid eyes on you, and you really shouldn’t let it get to you, but you do - the thought that your best friend is in love with an asshole, and that she won’t let you hear the end of it. 

Won’t stop whining about how he’ll never feel the same, or that she can’t handle another summer of biting her tongue, of being around him, feeling the way she does, and not being able to do anything about it.

She deserves better. 

Ellie has a heart of gold, and she deserves someone who handles it with care. If Jack Hughes doesn’t like her back, that’s his loss - but you’re kind of getting sick of telling her that.

Getting through a whole summer of it is going to be hard, you think, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than being entirely alone. So you put on a brave face, use work as your escape in the same way you usually do with school, and avoid blowing your top for as long as you can, suffering through the late nights and heart to hearts where Jack is the sole topic of discussion, and bask in the good stuff.

In the chaos of her siblings, in the closeness of her family, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms.

This summer could be okay, you’ve just got to give it a chance. 

Luke Hughes loves summer.

He loves being back home in Michigan, spending his days out on the lake, or making the trip out to parade around Ann Arbor, catching up with all his college buddies, making the rounds at all the UMich sporting events he now gets a VIP pass to thanks to his last name.

The routine of it all is familiar, and warming, and it restores a sense of normality that playing in the NHL for the past year has so brutally ripped from him, already. 

He had enjoyed starting his summer overseas - making the team for the world championships and competing beyond the abysmal end to his rookie season - had enjoyed the time away from his brothers, if he’s honest. Quinn and the Canucks making it a few rounds into the playoffs, and Jack back home recovering from getting surgery on his shoulder - and it’s the latter he needed the reprieve from.

He does love living with his brother.

Jack looks after him in ways he’ll never really be able to make it up to him for. He always has, Quinn has too, but ever since Luke got drafted to the Devils, Jack has helped him adjust to the chaos of his career without much fuss or hardship.

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

Especially when it comes to his infatuation with his best friend, Ellie.

Jack and Ellie have always been close - despite the fact she’s Luke’s age - and grew up thick as thieves, spending summers together, especially when the family moved to Michigan, and Ellie’s family were just on the other side of town. 

He’s always been obsessed with her, even if it hasn’t always been love - but these last few years have been different. Like a switch flipped in his head when Jack saw what Ellie was like when he came to visit Luke in his freshman year of college.

A version of Ellie that was no longer just his - no longer exclusive to their summer bubble, and lived in a world beyond lounging by the lake and hanging out with the Hughes family.

A version of Ellie who liked partying, liked schmoozing and charming everybody she came into contact with, liked being the centre of everyone else’s attention, not just Jack’s.

And it’s that version of Ellie that has driven Luke’s brother crazy, which has, in turn, started to drive Luke crazy. He talks about her non-stop, and it was those much needed weeks away in Czechia that almost had Luke forgetting just how stupid his brother has gotten about the whole thing.

Until he came home to Michigan, and Jack, in all the commotion with his shoulder, with ending his season early and starting his summer off alone, has worked himself into such a stupor about the whole thing that merely a week into his return, he has driven Luke up the wall. 

He’s grumpy, all the time - which leads to him being snarky, all the time. He huffs and puffs around the house so much Luke is starting to think he might need an inhaler, and he really can’t take any more.

Not when he’s making such a show of his irritation, stomping around with heavy feet and slamming doors that don’t need to be shut in the first place. 

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Luke frowns as he follows Jack into the kitchen upon his return from therapy, holding out for the doors he swings open with a little too much vigour so that they don’t swing back into his brother’s slinged-shoulder. “I thought the physio is going alright?”

“It is,” Jack huffs, storming over to the fridge and yanking it open, the jars and bottles in the door clanking together in a way that makes Luke cringe. “I’m fine.”

“Tell that to all the hinges you’re testing the limits of.” 

“Don’t start with me, Luke, I’m not in the mood.”

“You just said you’re fine.” Luke rolls his eyes as he starts to scroll through his group chat with his friends from college, trying to check who said they might be free today to get him out of this vicious circle.

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not.” It’s interactions like this that confirm to Luke just how annoying Jack has become - because what reason does he have to be so evasive? Luke is handing him the opportunity to air out his grievances on a silver platter, and he’s rather slam cupboards and create creases in his forehead from frowning 24/7.

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

Luke wishes he never bothered asking, although he has been wondering why he’s been seeing way less of her already this summer. He had figured Ellie was away with family until he saw her at the gas station the other night - had watched from the car as Jack had what seemed like a heated conversation by the entrance. 

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

“Has she said why?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t really care. He’s just asking to get it out of the way in the hopes that Jack talking about it might lighten the load, might make his own life a little easier. 

It’s the bitter muttering of your name that captures Luke’s full attention, his neck audibly cracking at the speed in which his head shoots up, no longer caring what could possibly be going on with the boys in the group chat. 

“She isn’t going back to whatever fiery hell pit it is that she comes from for the summer, and she’s staying with Ellie’s family, therefore Ellie isn’t staying with us.”

Luke hasn’t heard your name in a while. Not since he left college last year, not since he got caught up in the whirlwind life in the NHL, when a schoolboy crush on a girl he interacted with once in his entire college career became the least of his worries.

But one utterance of it has his spine straightening, just like it would have done just over a year ago.

You’re in Michigan. You’re at Ellie’s, on the other side of town. You’re barely two degrees of separation from him.

“Why can’t Ellie bring her here?” Luke asks, throat dry and voice breaking so subtly that he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. That could be fun. Would make up for the hell his brother has been putting him through since he got here. 

Maybe a little glorious sunshine might finally get you to notice his existence. He wouldn’t mind third wheeling Jack and Ellie if you were there, too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to prove he’s worthy of your attention - too shy and too scared to do so, back in college, but he’s different, now. Confident, almost. More sure of himself.

“She hates me.” Jack huffs, “Last time we met she was giving me the stink eye all night.”

And of course it would be his brother to ruin his plans, yet again. You’ll probably hate him, too - a hatred so strong for Jack that it seeps through his entire bloodline, because Luke of all people knows he can be annoying like that. 

“Trust me, she probably doesn’t care enough to hate you,” Luke scoffs, not realising the spool of information he’s just given Jack to unravel. 

“You know her?”

“We had a class together. I know of her.”

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

Luke knows a lot about you. It’s borderline creepy, the observations he can still remember, even after so long.

He knows you like only like coffee if it’s iced, had seen you with too many clear plastic cups to count, had watched plump lips chewing at straws by the time you had finished the drink. He had even, one time, tried to zoom in on a picture of your order printed on the side in one of his many states of delusion where he had been trying to build himself up to ask you out. 

He knows you can hold your own in an argument, had watched you debate with the best of them in your business comms class, has watched you shoot down most guys that approach you with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, and has watched you take down a frat guy or two, usually in defence of your sorority sisters - who Luke noticed you’re the most protective of. 

He knows you match your perfume to the colour of your outfit, had notice you smelled citrusy like lemons in yellow, floral like roses in pink, sweet like candy in purple, and clean like fresh cotton in blue. 

He knows the pieces of hair that frame your face curl when wet from the rain. Knows you used to volunteer at the pool on the weekends it was open to the kids of the community, would teach them how to swim. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift and has heard you humming just about every song of hers he knows.

But he doesn’t really know you - not on the level Jack is assuming, when his eyes widen and hope flashes across his crystal irises.

“You know how I’m your favourite brother?”

“No,”

“And I let you live with me all year?”

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

Luke sighs, shoulders heavy and eyes rolling practically to the back of his head. “I already told you, I don’t really know her like that.” 

“C’mon, you could at least try! I’m dying here, Luke! She’s hogging all of Ellie’s time, and she won’t give me the time of day if I try!”

If only Jack knew how much time you’d ever given Luke, he wouldn’t be asking him such an absurd request.

You’re so out of his league, it isn’t even funny. He probably couldn’t convince you to light a candle in a power cut, much less to give his annoying brother a shot to prove himself.

“You’re wasting your time, Jack,” Luke responds, “I’m gonna meet Dylan at the club. No, you can’t come.”

And by the time Luke makes it out to his car, he’s relieved to have ditched that conversation, entirely. He knows what’s waiting when he gets home, what his brother is going to be like for the next few months to come, but a temporary relief is all he needs.

He had already been planning on getting a few late morning holes in at the club, and meeting up with Dylan had been a white lie, needing some alone time away from Jack’s incessant whining to think about how he was going to survive the summer - and seeing you on your break, perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard by the clubhouse bar, basking in the sun and talking with your co-worker, he feels like he might have just struck gold.

Since when do you work here?

He supposes since you decided to spend your summer with Ellie’s family - it only makes sense. Ellie doesn’t live too far from the club - not as close as the lake house, but closer than Ann Arbor, at least. She’d worked in the club shop last summer, even when Jack insisted he’d pay for whatever she needed while she was staying with them - had said it was nice to pass the time with something else while they all went off doing whatever - and he assumes you’re doing the same. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you in a while, outside of coming across your pictures on his Instagram feed occasionally, or the flash of your figure in Ellie’s stories. 

He had thought that, after the year he’s had, he’d be over schoolboy crushes like this - would be over the way his breath catches just at the sight of you, over the way the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and stand to attention, over the way his throat goes dry as he watches your eyes crinkle from afar, watches your lips curve up into a heart-stopping grin.

But it’s like he’s picked up straight from where he left off at the end of his college career, pining after you from afar with hearts in his eyes and feet that start to shuffle at just the thought of approaching you.

If he’s going to do this, though, he needs to be clever about it, he thinks.

Approaching you on your break, limited to the amount of time he can use to put his point across, wasting yours, doesn’t seem like something that will work.

Which is how he finds himself bypassing you completely and walking straight into the bar, offering a friendly nod to the guy stood at the front of house, and letting him point him toward the right section to be served in. 

It isn’t long before you’re in front of him, sidling up to his booth, and he had almost forgotten how pretty you are up close. Hair clipped up with loose strands framing your face, chewing at your plump bottom lip as you scribble on your notepad to get your pen to work. And your honeyed voice settling deep in the pit of his stomach, warmth spreading throughout as you introduce yourself, like he has no clue who you are, and tell him you’ll be his server, “What can I get for you?”

“Five minutes of your time?”

The Luke that spent his college years obsessing over you might have stuttered - his voice might have broke, squeaked or choked in your presence - but while his throat does feel a little dry, he’s able to maintain his cool now, even when you look up from your scribblings to meet his eye. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he has matured.

His heart might jump in his chest, his mouth might tingle, his spine might stiffen, but he holds your gaze, hoping if you see a reflection of confidence that you might give him the time of day.

He’s seen you interact with guys before, has familiarised himself with the ten-foot walls you have in place, has seen others fold and try find a long way around, but he thinks that maybe matching your energy is the way to break through. 

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

Your eyes narrow back at him as pouted lips form around a response, looking him up and down before tilting your head, and coming back with, “I all of a sudden feel the need to inform you we do have security here,” you point the tip of your pen to the entrance, where he was greeted on the way in. “I meant a drink.”

“Water’s fine,” his gaze flickers to the movement of your wrist as you click the other side of your pen, not even writing it down. “Maybe with a side of conversation?”

“I’ll go get your water,” you offer a smile, and the insincerity of it does little to cool his bravado, even if you head off with mutterings of why do I always get the creeps?

He watches you as you make your way over to the bar, not creep-like whatsoever, and he channels the nerves that sneak up on him, now that you’re distanced, through fiddling with his fingers on the table, pinching at the tips of them when you glance back over your shoulder, probably telling the girl behind the bar just how lucky you were to once again get the weirdo in your section.

It surprises him how little he cares, possessing more of your attention now than he ever has before, and if he could tell the Luke from two years ago, who spent every shared Principles of Marketing class ritualistically watching you chew on the end of your pen, that he’d be able to make eye contact without dribbling and breaking out into full body sweats, he’d have lost his mind.

He embodies a strange level of dislocated arrogance that manifests itself in his body language, sinking into the booth with arms outstretched across the back, a dangerous smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when you return, placing a pitcher of water down on the table and a glass with ice. 

“I’m Luke,” he tells you, placing a hand on his chest and doing his best to ignore the thudding he feels beneath it. “Hughes. Jack’s brother,” and when you look back over to him with a raised brow, he adds, “Ellie’s Jack.”

“And who’s Ellie?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your voice dripping in teasing sarcasm. 

“Funny,” he quips, biting back the urge to call you what he actually means. He can hardly call you cute, you’d probably pour that water straight over him. “I went to UMich, we had a couple classes together.”

Your eyes narrow again, and he knows it’s an intimidation tactic, a way to make him feel smaller than he’s acting, shrinking him down to a version of himself you can stamp your authority on, but he finds himself being resilient for once, carrying on like he isn’t affected.

He is. Massively, in fact. Just not in the way you probably want. Your indifference drives him in a way that presses into his spine, an inner voice pleading, notice me, I’m breaking through!

“Bauman’s class, Business Comms, you sat in the second row, I sat in the third, you dropped your pencil one time and I-,”

“I know who you are.”

So he’s been yapping on at you for no reason? Fantastic.

He can’t let his momentum slip, though, so he forces the corners of his lips into a victorious smile, and counters, “So you know I’m not a creep.”

“You literally memorised my seat in a class from 2 years ago, so…” 

“I have a good memory,” he’s quick to defend, fighting the urge to let his eyes linger on your pouted lips.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, “What is it you want, again?”

“I came to talk about Jack and Ellie.” He nods to the other side of the booth, and has to roll his shoulders so that his chest doesn’t inflate with misplaced hubris when you shuffle into the seat with a huff, discarding your notepad to the side as you level him with another raised brow.

“What about ‘em?”

“About how they’re hopelessly in love with each other and doing nothing about it.”

“You got hopeless right. What’s that got to do with us?”

Us. Oh, he likes that.

“I’m thinking they need a little shove in the right direction. And maybe we could be the shovers.”

You presses your lips together in faux-apology, a lopsided, patronising, adorable frown taking over your expression. “No can do, I don’t shove, I’m a pacifist.”

“A nudge, then?”

He isn’t giving up easy, no matter how much sarcasm you try to throw his way. You wouldn’t have sat down if there wasn’t something about this situation that irks you, too.

If Ellie is being only half as annoying as Jack is, he knows that you’re having a bad time of it. And you’re supposed to spending her summer with her - it can’t be easy, having your friend constantly pining over someone and refusing to do anything about it, if anything, making it your problem.

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

“Both,” he smiles, “I just figured a problem shared is a problem solved, and all.”

“How profound.” 

“C’mon, you sat down, you at least agree they’re into each other, and I know you’re staying with her this year, so I know you’ve been getting the same grief I have.”

“I’ve been on my feet 4 hours, I wouldn’t look too deep into me sitting down.” 

“Jack’s been moping around about her for years, I can’t listen to it anymore, he’s all, she’ll never like me back, this, and, I’ll never find a girl like her, that,” he whines, imitating his brother’s voice in the most annoying, high pitched tone he can muster, “I can’t take one more breakdown of her snap stories, especially not if it’s all summer if she’s not gonna be staying over, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“How supportive,” the sarcasm in your bite does little to hide the beginnings of your smile, your glare softening into what he hopes is the start of some sort of bond, a shared feeling of exasperation. Finding your footfall in common grounds.

“It’s relentless, we can’t go a single conversation anymore without him bringing her up,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, finally giving in to all the ways this is starting to grate on him. “I don’t get why neither of them do anything.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, too, relenting a little. “She talks about him so much it kind of makes me nauseous.”

“How supportive,” he mimics, nerve endings set alight when your eyes meet his over the table, and narrow in a different way, almost appreciative, almost respectable.

“Can it, Hughes,” you scoff, “Me even entertaining this conversation right now is support enough, I’ve had it in my ear for months about how she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through another summer.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If we can get them together this summer, then we’re both better off. No more whining or crying or earaches for either of us.”

“I’d hope you didn’t make your way out here with the mere promise of no more earaches, Luke.” He tries not to preen at the way you say his name. “What’s in it for me?”

“You and Ellie can stay at our lake house.” He suggests, straightening up before he leans onto the table, elbows extending so that he can rest on them, “It’s closer to the club than her family’s place, it’s gotta be better than having her siblings running around you all the time, I can even drive you to work when I’m free, if you want?”

You blink at him slowly, as if to say, and? “So I can stay at your glorified frat house, and you can be my chauffeur?” You ask with an unimpressed raise of your brow, before letting out a humourless scoff of, “What more could a girl want to do with her summer?

“What do you want?” He asks, leaning further forward.

“To go back to work and not worry about strange guys propositioning me, funnily enough.”

Luke laughs, a deep, breathy laugh that rises from the depths of his chest and comes alive in an almost-bark, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to his mouth when it comes out.

This is fun. 

There’s no way he’s letting you leave this table without agreeing - just the thought of one more singular interaction keeping him on his toes.

“Why don’t we make it interesting, then?”

“It’s about time you tried.” The quiver of your lip tells him everything he needs to know - and that’s without the entertained glint in your eye that accompanies it. You’re enjoying this, just as much.

“We could make a competition out of it.”

“A competition?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.

There it is, he thinks. Interest: piqued. He practically has you in the palm of his hand. Who would ever have thought, the way to a sorority girl’s heart would be a friendly little wager?

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

It’s all he can think of in the moment - petulant and part-planned, but it seems to be enough.

“Wins what?” You lean onto your elbows, your gaze levelling his as he mirrors your positioning, having to slouch a little further forward in his seat to meet your pretty eyes. 

“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t intend it to come out as low as it does, doesn’t realise how close the two of you have gotten over the table, but he sees the flicker of something cross your features as your head tilts again, eyes still locked on his as yours begin to narrow, still just as pretty even when they’re glaring at him.

“It’s what you want that concerns me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he jibes, watching the way your lips part in preparation of another witty comeback. “What do you say?” He asks, not giving you the chance, seeing the way it makes your skin crawl that you weren’t quick enough, for once. “Are you in?”

You heave out a sigh, shoulders slumping - a tell-tale sign that you’re about to acquiesce - and Luke starts to feel his chest puff out in victory. This feels like a shut-out. It feels like the best performance of his life. 

“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” he smirks, eyes tracking you as you lean back into the booth, retreating from him in defeat, a hand running through your hair as he promises, “You’ll warm up to me soon enough, though.”

“I can’t see that happening.”

“I can,” he shrugs, leaning back too. “I’ve been told I’m inevitable.”

Luke can remember, like it was yesterday, the first time he ever saw you.

Freshman year, the week he moved into his dorm at Michigan, Jack had sent him across campus to check in on how Ellie was getting on. He had arrived with some extravagant gift basket in tow, plastic wrapped, a giant blue bow tied around the top and an assortment of snacks inside, and was left knocking for at least five minutes before you showed up.

“Please tell me you’re not another stripper-gram.”

If his throat hadn’t gone so dry all of a sudden, he thinks he would have had more wits about him to have questioned the use of another - a concept that had stuck in his head for weeks until he caught wind of a story of pledges for Pike being sent around campus and forced to lure girls to their house through way of humiliating song. 

But God, you were pretty. 

Siren eyes narrowed toward him, glossy lips pouted pensively, long lashes blinking impatiently as you awaited some kind of response that didn’t come in the form of an open, drooling mouth.

“I’m Luke.”

“Right.” You had sighed, pretty eyes rolling at him. “You’re blocking my door."

“Oh, I’m-,” he stuttered, immediately stepping to the side for you to come forward and insert your key into the lock. “Does Ellie live here?” He asked, confusion etched into his features as he watched you swing the door open, turning in your place to look him over again.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

“I’ll make sure she gets it, thanks, Lu!”

And when you had taken the basket from his hands, he had been too distracted by the way your skin brushed against his to properly respond, or worry if you had called him that as a nickname or had already forgotten his name, entirely.

He then spent days thinking about you, looking for you - at parties, in the campus coffee shop, online, despite not knowing your name - trying to commit to memory the way your eyes had sparkled when looking his way, until his first Business Communications class.

He had been a little early, first week nerves playing out and his constant craving for positive validation coming to the forefront, and was watching the door waiting for the professor to arrive. He had been slouched in his seat, chin in the palm of his hand, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, and he had almost given himself whiplash when you walked in. 

He learned your name from there, learned a lot just from watching you in that class, but never really captured your attention.

And if the Luke that has been driving you to work every few days, who has been living with you for the past two weeks - who sits around the same dining table, laughs at the same jokes cracked when you’re all lounging around the house, sits out under the same sun, drinks from the same carton of orange juice in the morning - could tell the Luke that sat pining after you all that time, all the little ways in which he’s captured your attention lately, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 

When you and Ellie moved in, Luke had been the only one allowed to touch your stuff - and there’s a part of him that knows it was mainly because you enjoyed watching him work like a packhorse, hauling your cases up the stairs and dropping them in front of you with a huff, but there’s a larger, more delusional part that thinks you preferred him to the others, maybe even trusted him.

He’s taking credit for how quick you’ve adapted to the dynamic of the house, too. Of all the different faces coming in and out - Quinn’s friends, Jack’s friends, his friends, sometimes even his parents. If you’re around, you’re pleasant. You abide by house rules, some of them stupid, but set by the brothers so long ago that they just work now - like no phones outside of your rooms so that you can be more present. You insert yourself comfortably into conversations, you form your own relationships with everyone - you and Quinn trade book recommendations, you and Jack bicker while Ellie mediates. You do your fare share of chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, even. 

And he’s so caught up in just sharing space, just being around you, even, that for those first couple weeks, he forgets why you even agreed to be there in the first place.

At least, he forgets the incentive part - because he watches mindlessly as you interfere in Jack and Ellie’s dynamic, without a care in the world for the fact that it means he’s losing.

He watches you push one of them out of the way to claim whatever seat at the table or in the car forces them to sit beside each other. He watches you taunt Jack to just the right point where Ellie interferes, coos at him protectively and he melts into her affections. He watches you agree to plans he knows you wouldn’t in a million years follow along with, just to get them together - and all he can do is admire how easy you make it seem. 

He admires when you come out wakeboarding with the group, when you let him fasten you into a vest and don’t flinch when his fingertips brush against bare skin. Watches you bite your tongue over the fact you just got your hair blow dried - a fact you have no problems relaying back to him when he drives you to work the next day, and you’re muttering in his passenger seat about lake water giving you frizz - just so you’re not dampening the mood.

And when you agree to tag along to the golf course on your day off, despite the fact it’s so close to work if could be considered triggering, and you stick by Luke’s side so that Ellie can feign some sort of incompetence until Jack takes it upon himself to correct her form.

You stand by Luke’s side, the two of you watching with mirrored expressions of almost-disgust as Jack wraps his arms around Ellie’s body, and send a shiver down his spine when you lean in for only him to hear as you say, “I’d ask if you’ve put any more thought into what you want out of our bet, but I so have this in the bag.”

The bet.

Luke hasn’t thought about it since that day in the restaurant, if he’s honest, but he had known what he wanted then.

He’s hardly going to tell you, now, though. 

If he’s ever going to take you out on a date, he doesn’t really want to force your hand - not that he has a chance, he’s fallen so behind with this Jack and Ellie thing that it isn’t even funny.

He needs to up his game, if only for the fact that you’ll no doubt catch on to his lack of efforts, soon.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he taunts, because it’s what he does best, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“And how long do you plan on keeping them up there?” You call him out so easily, tilting your head when his eyes meet yours, mischief highlighted by the sunshine that speckles in your irises. 

“Maybe I’m luring you into a false sense of security,” he shrugs, “Maybe I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting so I can swoop in when those weak arms get tired.” He pokes at your side, basking in the way you scowl like you pertain any sort of threat to him.

He has you figured out, by now. 

“I didn’t have you pegged as being lazy, Hughes.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about me, huh?”

“You wish,” you scoff, shoving when he dares to get too close, and it’s when Luke is biting back a full-blown grin that Ellie comes back over. 

“This sun is crazy, I think I left the sunscreen in the locker room and Jack’s nose is going all red, would you come back with me?”

You smile sweetly at your best friend and agree, only glaring at Luke over Ellie’s shoulder when she’s distracted with saying her brief, temporary goodbyes to Jack, and once you’ve turned and made your way over to the cart, he lets his eyes linger on your figure as you retreat.

The soft sway of your ponytail, the expanse of smooth skin along your legs, he’s completely hypnotised, and he needs to pull himself together, he thinks.

He tries to regain focus as he and Jack work their way through the next couple of holes, caddying their clubs around without the cart, and chatting mindlessly until Jack sighs heavily, like he’s been waiting to bring something up.

“I want to take Ellie out on the boat tomorrow,” He states as Luke tees up, resting on his club as he squints against the sun to watch his little brother, “Just the two of us, so we can talk about stuff.”

“Sounds riveting,” the disinterest in Luke’s tone is amplified by the lack of attention he’s giving overall, looking out across the green and trying to measure his swing before he takes it. “Have fun.”

“I was thinking I’d need your help for it to work.”

“I’m not being your boat-butler again,” Luke scoffs, mind immediately going to all the times their parents would make Jack take Luke out with him and his friends, and all the times he was made to wait on his older brother hand and foot to make up for crashing his hang-outs.

“I’m not asking you to tag along,” Jack scoffs, “You third-wheeling would be the ultimate buzz-kill. I thought you could be of use elsewhere.”

“You’re making whatever it is sound so fun.” 

Luke takes his swing, driving the ball and watching it soar to his desired point with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Jack watches too, stepping to Luke’s side to measure how far from his own ball it lands.

“Nice,” he mutters appreciatively as the two of them load their clubs into their stand bags. “I need you to keep Regina George busy, distract her or something, she’s stuck to Ellie like glue, it’s beyond annoying.”

If only he knew, Luke thinks, a worry in the back of his mind about how his brother owes more to you than he even realises. 

“You worried she’s gonna make her see sense?”

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

“I’m worried she’s gonna ruin the good vibes like she usually does and I won’t be able to bite my tongue from saying something and looking like the asshole.”

Distracting you isn’t the worst thing he could be doing with his time, Luke thinks. It’s not like he has to go all out, you’ll no doubt be hanging out around the house and the two of you can hang together. All he has to do is keep you off your phone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve adapted pretty well to mimicking the guys when it comes to staying off theirs.

It ticks off the box of trying to fight for a scrap of your attention. With no one else around, you’ll have no choice but to entertain his company.

And it puts him in front of your little race - lending a helping hand to Jack’s plans to talk to Ellie is surely the same as getting them together. It’s all falling so perfectly into his lap. He isn’t being lazy.

But he can’t let Jack know that, so he heaves out a sigh and offers a slow shake of his head for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he groans, “But you owe me. Big time.”

You’re starting to find it harder and harder to pretend like you don’t want to be at the Lake House.

If you’re being honest, you don’t entirely know why you’re even trying to keep up pretences, but using your disinterest as armour has become like second nature over the years, and you’re hardly going to stop now.

Even if there are already so many little things about being there that are starting to wear you down.

Quiet, early mornings, for one - birds chirping just outside your open window, sun rays pouring in through sheer curtains that flow in the slight breeze, that light feeling that blows through your chest when you’re sat out on the deck behind the house with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the still lake and basking in the peace of it all.

And even when it’s not so peaceful, when the kitchen is full of bodies swerving around each other to try and throw together some sort of breakfast spread - pastries and fruit, bacon and eggs, various boxes of cereal on the counter. Quinn had even made a whole batch of pancakes one morning, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t come down every day since hoping to see him donning that same frilly apron that Cole had draped around his waist and working his magic with a pan. 

You’ve never really been a part of such a full house. You had been an only child for so long - and by the time your parents split, and it was just you and your mom, on the days she wasn’t already at work when you got up - and were so ingrained in your own routine in the morning that you think you might actually need the chaos to function better. The rush of bodies, the arguments over who drank the last of the juice, the bickering over who’s turn it is to do the next grocery run - it’s a kind of entertainment you haven’t been privy to in a long time. 

Being kind of disconnected from everything else isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, either. You’re not attached to your phone, checking socials to see what everyone else is doing, to see if your dad has sent any messages yet this summer, and you find yourself connecting a little more with the people around you and leaving your family stress on the back burner. You’re more focused on what’s in front of you, and your relationships with other people. With Ellie, with some of the guys in the house, with your friends at work, even.

And it’s nice to be closer to work too. You don’t have to rush around trying to make the bus - Luke has been keeping his word and driving you to the club most days, and where he can’t, either somebody else has offered, or you’ve just ridden one of the bikes in the garage that the boys said were free to use - the helmet hair is an easy fix when you have access to the locker rooms.

It’s an adjustment, for sure, getting used to being in a full house. Especially this one - with a constant revolving door of faces, friends of the brothers switching out week by week to come and stay, departing just as you’ve started getting to know them with a promise of dropping by again soon.

So far, you’re almost at double-digits for the names you’ve had to memorise. Some of them you were already familiar with, guys from Michigan who you already knew or knew of, but others were more Jack or Quinn’s friends that you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before now.

Cole Caufield being one of them. 

He had arrived a couple of days after you and Ellie moved yourselves in, closer to Jack than the other two brothers, you had noticed, and was going to be staying longer than any of the other visitors - having his own designated room in the house, similar to you girls.

You like Cole - he’s good fun, can take a joke unlike his supposed best friend, and has the kind of smile that almost gives you a buzz whenever it’s flashed your way. Your first few interactions with him were seemingly pleasant, despite Jack constantly in his ear with a hardened glare pointed your way and no doubt unsavoury words uttered. Cole would just shrug him off, laugh, meet your eyes and drop a wink your way - a gesture you’d usually squirm and cringe at, but Cole kind of pulls it off. 

He joins in when you chirp Luke, too - which, if your honest, is your main source of entertainment since arriving, so your interactions with him grow day by day.

You haven’t really spent any one-on-one time with Cole yet, though. You were hoping to, before he left to visit home for the weekend - for no other reason than to get the scoop on something you’d happened upon at work last week - and had planned on asking him to hang out on your day off. But with Cole now gone for a few days, Jack and Ellie off doing god knows what, Quinn and Luke working out wherever, you have no choice but to spend your free Sunday lounging around the house, trying to find something to suppress your growing boredom.

You start with your nails, painting them a summery orangey-red and doing your toes to match, then do your laundry, abiding by house rules that you rotate the loads between the machines, and fold out whoever’s clothes were last in the dryer and place them in the hamper on the side. 

You’re hoping you haven’t had to fold Jack’s underwear but you decide to live in blissful ignorance - trying to identify the load based on the rest of the clothing in there is impossible when they all share, so it kind of works in your favour. 

You FaceTime your mom for almost an hour, getting an update on what she’s been up to with work, and giving her updates on how your summer is going, trying to focus on your time at the club and Ellie so she doesn’t worry too much again that you’re spending your summer in a house filled with boys. 

And by the time Luke and Quinn come back from their workout, you’re in the lounge, 50 pages deep into a book you really couldn’t care less about, but there’s something in you that refuses to beg one of them for company, so you suffer in silence.

Even when Luke does join you, throwing himself down onto the opposite side of the couch you’re occupying and pushing your feet off his side like it’s his sole purpose just to annoy you.

“I was comfortable there, asshat,” you frown, lifting your feet back into their previous position and using one to give him a light kick to his thigh.

“Yeah, well, I hardly want your feet all up in my business while I’m trying to relax,” he sighs, sinking into the cushions with hands clasped behind his head, biceps flexing and tightening the arms of his t-shirt in a way that momentarily catches your eye. You’re thankful for his closed eyes, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you divert your attention back to the mundane words on the pages in front of you.

“And yet here you are when there are 2 other couches.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you like to be near me.”

You try to ignore him, pulling your feet a little closer to your body and focusing back on the book, but it’s hard when Luke has such a presence. You feel the little looks he keeps sending your way like a physical touch, and the couch shifts with every slight movement he makes, so when he constantly shuffles, you start to think he wants your attention.

Of course he wants your attention. This is Luke Hughes.

“Are you just sitting down here to annoy me?”

He lights up, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask, and shuffles in his seat to face you, fully, bouncing in place like a puppy being teased with a tennis ball. 

“I’m actually trying to distract you, if you must know.”

“Bold of you to assume you have enough of my attention to be distracting in the first place,” you scoff, trying not to react to the way he smirks in your peripheral, the words in front of you all blurring together. If you were actually focused on them, you’d have lost your place, already.

“I think you pay more attention to me than you’d like to admit.”

“That’s some ego you’ve got on you, Hughes,” you narrow your eyes as you look above the edge of your book, “Is that what you spend that big NHL paycheque on, charisma classes? How to flirt for dummies?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 

Sometimes biting back at Luke comes like second nature, words first, thoughts after - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it that way. It’s easy, the back and forth, and you can’t really think of an instance with him where you’ve sat in a lingering, awkward silence. You’ve really grown to hate silence, lately.

“You wish.”

“You think I’m charismatic,” he teases in a sing-song voice, knocking at your knee and wiggling his eyebrows when you glare at him. 

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“You’re not gonna ask what I’m distracting you from?”

“I don’t really care,” you lie, eyes darting back down and diverting the attention he so desperately craves away from him.

“Jack wanted to take Ellie out on the boat.” He says, ignoring your attempts to ignore him - pushing your buttons like a full time job. Like an operator for your last nerve.

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

“Whoop-de-,” Luke straightens up, like a whack-a-mole with his head positioning itself over the top of your book, and you kind of wish you had one of those soft mallets right about now. It would be so satisfying to bonk at his head, you think. “What do you mean, whoop-de-doo, is this not what you agreed to be here for? To get them together?”

You scoff, flicking to the next page of the book in feigned disinterest. “He isn’t asking her out today.”

This is the exact something you had wanted to talk to Cole about - whispers in the staff lounge at work earlier in the week doing the rounds would imply otherwise, but your main source is kind of a gossip, and you’re not entirely sure of their reliability, despite the few degrees of separation to the subject at hand. 

Mutterings of Jack and Cole and their little country club connections. 

You can hardly ask Luke of all people if his brother is as much of a man-whore as everyone is making out. Cole was a safe bet - he’d probably just tell you straight up what they’re up to, wear his pride like a shining gold medal. He’s upfront about his promiscuity, at least. Luke is more protective. Of himself, of his family, you’re not entirely sure. There haven’t been as many whispers about him. 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because he’s a spineless idiot,” you retort, eyes flicking up momentarily to take in his furrowed brow. “No offence,” comes out of nowhere, and you surprise yourself with the instinct to lessen the blow of your words for the first time in forever.

“None taken, he’s only my flesh and blood,” Luke huffs, “You’re just jealous I’m winning our bet.”

“Sure,” you drawl, eyes widening to emphasise the sarcasm as you make a point of angling your head to the next page, like you’ve taken a single word in for the past five minutes. “He’s been talking to one of the girls from work. There’s no way he’s doing that and asking Ellie out, unless he’s completely brain dead.”

And when you look back at Luke, that furrowed brow has shifted into a full blown frown, pouted lips and eyes cast down as if he’s trying to figure everything out in his head. 

It’s probably the pout that has you cushioning your words, once more.

“Again, no offence, I doubt it’s in your DNA.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m no bio student but I don’t think there’s a genetic marker for being a fuckboy.”

“No, about him talking to one of the girls at the club. He didn’t tell me that.”

Why does he have to sound like that? Let down and unsure, quieter than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s like the tone he carries goes straight to your fingers, clasping the book closed without marking your page - because what business do you have carrying on that charade?

“Do you guys tell each other everything?” You ask as you throw the book until it lands on the coffee table with a gentle thud, shuffling until you’re sat against the arm of the couch with knees bent in front of you, giving him your undivided attention and feeling guilty that it might not be enough.

“I thought we did,” he scratches at the back of his head, nervously, “He literally told me yesterday he was taking her out to talk about stuff, why would he make a point of asking me to keep you busy if he’s not serious about asking her out?”

“You don’t want to hear my answer to a question about your brother not being serious.” 

“Who’s the girl?” He asks, ignoring your comment despite the slight ghost of a smile you see flash into the corner of his mouth. 

“Jessica, she works at the pro shop, apparently they’ve been texting all summer.”

You know for a fact that since you’ve started paying attention, you’ve seen Jack on his phone a lot for a guy who chirps you for your own screen-time, and who has enforced the house rule of no phones outside your room like a prison guard yells out no touching at visitation. So it sort of checks out. You’ve tried to sneak a peak, but he’s protective of his stuff like a yappy little dog with attachment issues at the best of times, so you haven’t really put too much effort into it.

“There were a few people talking about it in the lounge at work the other day,” you shrug, “One of the girls talking about it is Jess’ best friend, so not exactly from the horse’s mouth, but I don’t think she’d be spreading lies about her friend around like that.”

“Can you find out?”

“You ask that like I haven’t been trying.” That gets a full smile, a small chuckle that lifts his shoulder, even, “I was gonna grill Caufield about it but he’s gone. But I know you guys have plans when he gets back tomorrow, so if you want to take Cole I’ll hack away at the grape vine at the club?”

“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 

“No. It absolutely does not.”

Hacking away at the grapevine is really a lot more like plucking absentmindedly at an overgrown patch of grass when it comes to workplace gossip. 

By the end of your shift, you’re leaving the club with a fist clutched full of loose blades, fingers stained green from the amount of information people were willing to ‘fess up.

Liam who works behind the bar had overheard a conversation where Jack had mentioned Jessica, but could only give you useless tidbits, like how he had to stop by the shop for a new putter, and Jess had been the one to ring him up.

Hardly incriminating, but you had a feeling it would be a small piece of a way larger puzzle. That, and guys are notoriously useless at gossiping, there’s definitely more to that story than Liam could even comprehend in his tiny man brain.

Cassidy who works at the front desk had seen Jack and Jess talking in the main lobby last week, definitely flirting, she had said - with hair flips and giggles galore - and way too familiar to be new. 

Much better.

Paola who has the alternative shifts in the pro shop was more than willing to take up ten minutes of your time ranting how Jess’ work is never fully done when it comes to a handover, and she spends half her time on her phone. Kiran, who works the bev cart every Monday, said Jack is always one of the most charming in their golfing group, so it’s no surprise if he is exchanging texts with girls from the club. 

You get dirt from most corners of the place, and it leads you all the way back to your station, to reservations set for the restaurant, where tonight’s list - unfortunately a shift you’re not set to work, although you very much question the serendipity of that - has Jack’s name down at 7pm. A table for 2 in the back corner, shielded from prying eyes and intimate.

And if it weren’t for the fact you’ve already worked a full shift, you would consider staying just to get the full scoop. 

You know Ellie isn’t going to be the one sat across from him, she’s been sending you pictures all day of her various hauls for her quiet night in. New paints and pencils, a sketchpad, some candles - she has all intentions of working on her watercolour technique.

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

Imagine his face, you think, picturing wide, panicked eyes as you roam up to his table to take his order. He’d actually crap his pants. 

But, it’s another set of eyes that you picture when you start to enjoy the scheming a little too much. The sad, teary eyes of your best friend, when she finds out the guy she’s been hung up on for half her life, who she has all but convinced herself isn’t interested, and is - absurdly - ‘far too good’ for her - yeah, right - is dating other girls while taking her out on not-so-platonic boat dates only the day before. A boat date that she had come back to your room, flung herself onto her belly on the bed, and kicked her feet as she gushed all about it. 

So you make your way back to the house after a long day, and resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to, yet again, get all your information on Jack’s date second hand.

You primed Cara, your colleague in the restaurant, to keep an eye out, and she promised to send updates on her breaks, and you have been holed up in yours and Ellie’s shared bedroom trying to keep her busy when there is a persistent knock at the door, and a mop of soft, curly brown hair pokes in before his eyes meet yours.

“Hey, Luke!” Ellie chimes, cheery and all too blissfully unaware of the potentially horrific circumstances you’ve stumbled upon. “You need to borrow my conditioner again?”

You scoff from your position on the bed, watching a slight pink hue flush up Luke’s neck.

“What? No,” he denies, running a hand through his hair and seemingly frowning a little at the way it feels. “I’m going to the store, wondered if either of you needed anything?”

“Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Ellie smiles, attention diverting straight back to where she’s drawing in her sketchbook, missing the way Luke widens his eyes and tilts his head as if to encourage you to take him up on his offer.

“Can I come with?” You shuffle from your position on the bed, swinging your legs out from beneath you and over the side as Ellie looks back at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted something.”

“Someone’s got to show the poor guy what’s what on the haircare aisle, El.”

And you’re thankful that Ellie has settled herself in for the evening already by 6:45, showered, pyjamas on, otherwise she might have tried to tag along, too, just for something to do.

You swipe her phone before she can notice and hide it under your pillow before you leave, thinking it might reduce the risk of her getting bored and texting Jack, or, worse, checking his location.

A trip out gives you the chance for you and Luke to debrief each other on your findings of the day - or, as it turns out, just you, because Luke Hughes might be the worst information-gatherer on planet Earth.

Finding his life’s niche in hockey is fortunate, because he definitely wouldn’t cut it as an investigator.

“He just said he didn’t know anything,” Luke shrugs of his earlier encounter with Cole, and you try not to gape at him in disbelief as he fiddles with the screen in his BMW, scrolling through the interface in search of the nearest store. 

You swat his hand away with a scoff, typing in a destination, “And you believed him?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“You’re about as useless as a chocolate teapot, Hughes. What is it with guys and gossip, are you all really that dumb?”

“That’s the address for the club,” he points out, ignoring your jibe as he starts driving.

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

“Because, thankfully, one of us is a good detective.” You snark, “Jack’s there.”

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

“No he isn’t,” Luke frowns, attention momentarily taken from the road as he looks over at you. “I’ve been with him all afternoon, he would have told me if he had a date, tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d he say he was going when he left, earlier?”

He hadn’t been home when you got back from work, but that had been around an hour ago. You figured if he was sneaky enough to book into the restaurant when you’re not working, he’d have his wits about him to avoid you, entirely. Whenever the two of you cross paths, you can’t help but try get on his last nerve, and he’s hardly going to want to start his evening in a foul mood.

“To get his hair cut.”

Jesus Christ, you think, he’s so lucky he’s cute.

“You’re so clueless. He’s at the lounge with Jessica, the girl I told you about yesterday.”

“And what are we supposed to do about that?”

“We’re gonna supervise. And maybe interfere, if necessary.” 

You don’t really have a plan, but it seems like the right thing to at least get a look in as to what the hell Jack thinks he’s doing, especially if you’re going to carry on with this whole plan of getting him and Ellie together. If he’s seriously entertaining other girls while making out to Luke that he only has eyes for Ellie, your plans might have to change. You’re not sure if Luke will be on board with the new path you’re willing to take, but you’ll be happy to kill his brother on your own.

“Interfere?” Luke’s eyes are wide, but he keeps them on the road, fingers flexing against the wheel. “I just came out for chips to make nachos, not play spies!”

“Cara’s working tonight, she said she’d keep an eye on them for me. I bet if I cover her hosting shift on Friday she’d sabotage their date. We’d just have to sit back and watch.”

“Oh,” Luke’s brows furrow, as if it’s taking any consideration at all to mess with his brother. “You really are an evil genius.”

You try not to think too hard about who’s been spewing that rhetoric already in his ear, and instead you smile when he casts his eyes your way, proud and pleased. 

“Thank you.”

It takes another 15 minutes to get to the club, considering Luke’s best Driving Miss Daisy impression, so their date is already underway by the time Cara is ushering you to a booth in the far corner, where you can see Jack’s table, but he shouldn’t be able to see yours, and agreeing to play along.

“Can I get you guys any drinks?” She asks as she hands over two menus, and you’re too interested in trying to gauge the vibe at the other table while Luke looks over his.

“Two diet cokes, shaved ice, no lemon,” he says, and you can’t help but frown at the way the specificity of that order rolls so easily off his tongue. That’s your order.

“Any food?”

“Could we just get some nachos, please?” You ask, sliding your menu across the table without even looking, not wanting to give Luke too much of a chance to peruse his own out of fear you’ll be here all night. “And extra picante on the side.”

“Extra guac, too,” Luke adds as Cara scribbles the instructions on her notepad, “And some of those chicken tenders, and extra ranch. And maybe some fries. Yeah, chilli fries. And breadsticks.”

You level him with a glare, already proven right in your decision not to give him too much time to think about what he wanted. He’ll order every appetiser on the menu, if given half the chance. 

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

“Sure thing, should be around fifteen minutes. They only just ordered,” she points her pen back to Jack’s table, where Jess is leaning onto the table and Jack is leaning back in his seat - heavy on the distance but even heavier on the eye contact. That little shit.

“Does he have any allergies?” You lean onto your own table to ask Luke, quirking a brow up when his eyes darken in response, mischief swirling in his emerald irises.

“Absolutely not,” Cara interjects, “I’m doing this so you cover my job, not make me lose it.”

“Let me guess, he ordered the steak, medium-rare?” Luke asks, and she nods, hesitantly. “Char it.”

“Won’t he complain?”

“He’ll just grumble to himself about how tough it is. It’ll put him in a bad mood. That’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding your head to ease Cara’s worries despite what you really want is for Chef Michael to poison the cut, entirely. If Jack Hughes wants to play with your best friend’s heart, you’ll play with his gut. But you can settle for burnt meat. Luke can work some sort of magic with that, you think, convincing Jack of all people that any first date that resulted in him coming home all sour-puss and sulky should never result in a second. “Bad mood. Bingo.”

“Fine,” Cara grumbles, “But if he even thinks about asking for a manager, you’re covering my next 3 Fridays.”

She storms off to the kitchen, and you and Luke simultaneously sink into your seats, attention immediately diverted back to the table in the opposite corner of the room.

“We should have kept the menus,” Luke mutters from across the booth, “Could have hidden behind them.”

“What are we, children?” You snark, “You can’t think of any more creative ways to stay hidden?”

“I heard PDA makes people pretty uncomfortable,” he leans onto the table, dropping you a wink when you glance over out of the side of your eye, “We should make out to throw everyone off the scent.”

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

The way you can convince people to do your bidding with a mere flutter of your eyelashes or a flash of pearly teeth and a glimmer in your irises.

He has trouble, sometimes, skirting around his honesty or hiding his intentions - and he knows that’s not a bad thing, knows that being clear and truthful is an admirable trait, if anything - but the way you persuade others to bend to your whim with intricate white lies based on observations you’ve made or intel you’ve gathered is a praiseworthy level of genius. 

It had taken such minimal effort for you to get Cara on side, to convince her that being a little clumsy is hardly grounds for her termination, and spilling a little of Jack’s drink close to the edge of the table - close enough that it drips onto his pants and Luke can see the steams of frustration exuding from his brother’s skin from all the way on the other side of the restaurant - or bumping her hip on the edge of their table every time she passes are really just harmless irritations, not likely to cause actual complaint. 

You had used the mere tone of your voice to convince Liam from behind the bar to squeeze a little lime in Jack’s water, knowing just from observing him back at the house that he hates the taste, face curling in disgust at even the slightest hint of it, and Luke had watched your eyes gleam in delight every time Jack took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out, seeking much needed reprieve to swallow down the world’s toughest steak cut. 

You’d even worked your magic on him, pouting your lips when the food had arrived at the table, and he had initially declined to share his chicken tenders with you - your grumblings at him ordering enough to feed the five thousand fresh in his memory, but so easily wiped away by the soft, sad look in your eyes, and your whining of, “But I didn’t realise how hungry I’d get. Plotting and scheming is hard work, Luke.”

You ended up eating half, but he could hardly complain - you were doing the heavy lifting out of the two of you.

He was sitting back and enjoying the show - enjoying your company, if he’s honest. Enjoying the way his gangly limbs would sometimes knock into yours under the table, enjoying the way he kept getting little nuggets of information out of you while you were distracted, sipping at your coke and making little comments about yourself, about your life, without even realising you’re doing it. 

And an unplanned, pseudo date ends up being the first time he thinks he’s had a glimpse at the real you.

The you who knows more about hockey than you’ve ever let on before, who comes back to his stories with contextual questions about the game, even has references to a few games of his back at Michigan, and keeps the conversation flowing despite your feigned disinterest, and a constant gaze cast his brother’s way.

That would usually drive him crazy.

He’s experienced it so often that he has come to expect it, people only entertaining his company to acquire the attention of his brothers, but that’s not what you’re doing. Not really.

You pay more attention to Luke than you’d ever let on.

You ask him about his time in Ostrava at the beginning of summer, even though he’s only mentioned being overseas once while you’ve been staying with him - an offhanded comment from Quinn at breakfast that you must have taken on. Ask him about all the food he tried while out there, when he mentions he doesn’t like picante, and you use it as a springboard to talk about what sort of spices he does like, or if he’s the type to try things or stick to what he knows. 

You ask him about being the youngest sibling, and it stems from an offhanded comment Luke had grumbled about always being the last to be clued in on stuff, about how Jack had probably confided in Quinn about his extracurricular activities at the club, and didn’t trust him enough to let him in on the fact he’s going out on dates. You ask if he usually figures things out himself before he’s told them, if that’s what makes him so good at observing and analysing stuff, and he hadn’t ever realised he was particularly good at those things before you brought it up. But then you reference a day in class one time, where he had picked up on something in a textbook that you never would have figured out in a million years, and his heart leaps at the praise you don’t even realise you’re giving him.

You sandwich your perceptions in your usual snark, but he doesn’t miss the slight curve of your lips anymore when he bites straight back, knowing now that there is some part of you that feels the nip of his teeth, that acknowledges his existence beyond him being a speck of inconvenience in your peripheral.

And he gets a little carried away in that acknowledgement - stops paying attention himself to what is happening on the other side of the room and tries to focus on what’s in front of him; the girl he pined after his entire college career, sat sharing nachos and pretending not to know him at a level you so clearly do.

You must get carried away, too, because neither of you notice Jack’s date wrapping up until Luke catches him hand his card over to Cara.

He’s lost count of how long the two of you have been at the club, now - way longer than it takes to get chips from the store, that’s for sure - and all he does know is that if Jack catches either of you two here, after a night of mishaps, bad food, spilled drinks and Cara’s incessant clumsiness, he’ll know who’s to blame. 

“We better get out of here before he sees us,” Luke sighs, not entirely wanting to wrap up his time with you but knowing he doesn’t really have a choice.

“I’ve just got to pick something up before we head back,” you reply, edging out of the booth at the same time Luke does, “I’ll meet you out front just give me two minutes?”

“Be quick,” he tells you before you scurry off, and he flags down Cara, who tells him you already put your bill on your worker tab. He tells her to switch it to his, and that he’ll drop by tomorrow to pay it off, promising to leave her a good tip for her stellar services for the evening. 

He waits where you asked him to, making sure to stick to the side of the entryway where he can duck for cover if his brother makes an appearance - but you show up first, skipping out from the staff lounge with a bag of tortilla chips in hand.

“Let’s go, Lukey boy!” He follows you out like a puppy on a leash, all the way to where his car is parked, almost bumping into you when you stop and turn without warning, stretching your hand out to him. “Give me your keys.”

“Are you crazy?” He snorts, “You’re not driving my car!”

“I know a shortcut!” You reason, stepping forward and making a grabby motion with your fingers, “We gotta beat Jack home, I just paid another server $20 to spill a whole drink on him before he leaves and he’s gonna be pissed. I want to see the meltdown back at the house and you drive like a nun!”

Luke doesn’t know why he gives in so easy - it could be the proximity, the way you’re so close you have to look up at him, eyes twinkling softly under the moonlight, voice carrying over to him like a siren song, or it could just be because he’s weak - but he hands his keys over with a roll of his eyes and climbs into the passenger side, sliding the seat back with a huff to accommodate his long legs and watching as you adjust the driver’s side, cringing at the way he’s gonna have to figure out exactly how he had it before.

You drive like a maniac, to the point where Luke has to screw his eyes shut as you use some back road, can hear the squelch of mud beneath his tires and squirms at the thought of having to take it to the car wash, tomorrow. 

But you make it back to the lake house much quicker than if he were driving, he’ll give you that. So quick that you feel comfortable enough to turn to him once you’ve pulled up, in no rush to unbuckle and get out to get inside before Jack gets home.

“Just so we’re clear, this is a point under my name. You’re not claiming tonight as a win.”

Luke chuckles, turning in his seat to face you, features illuminated by the dim overhead light that turns on when the engine switches off and a slight flush of exhilaration to your cheeks. There’s no pretending you haven’t enjoyed yourself, not tonight. “But the steak thing was my idea?”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be sat watching baseball and thinking he was getting a 3 hour haircut, you can’t seriously be trying to steal this from me, I thought you athletes had integrity!”

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

If Luke’s honest, he hasn’t really thought about your whole wager all night. He’s been too wrapped up in the idea that his brother had lied to him. Twice. And now his whole plan for the two of you all summer has potentially been messed up. But hearing you mention it, hearing you talk about it like it hasn’t been flushed down the toilet by his brother’s idiocy sparks something in him - excitement, anticipation. He doesn’t want to let this go.

“I actually think we made a good team back there,” he shrugs, eyes meeting yours to gauge your reaction to the thought of doing this together.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re gonna lose,” you retort, eyes sparkling with those same sentiments he had just felt. 

“Probably,” he acquiesces, “Also ‘cause you kind of scare me a little after tonight, last thing I wanna do is go up against you when you have the power to turn half the country club against me.”

You smirk, and his eyes are drawn to the plush curve of your lips, watching them as they form around the softly spoken words, “God forbid you can’t go a round of golf without your caddy breaking down.”

“Exactly.” He mutters back, glad to see your gaze is still zeroed in on him when he meets it again. He can feel the thump thump thump of his pulse in his ears, and takes a deep breath before proposing, “Partners?”

He cocks a brow and holds his pinky out over the centre console, and you eye the digit, sceptically, narrowing your eyes into a glare before raising them to meet his. “Fine,” you grumble, then hook your little finger through his and tighten it to shake, a slight yelp of surprise filling the car when he tugs, your lax arm giving way until your knuckle touches his lips and he kisses it.

“Ew,” you whine, snatching your finger back as he fills the space himself with a hearty chuckle, wiping it on his hoody in disgust. “That’s gross!”

“No take backs,” he smiles, victorious, with his chest puffed out, primed for you to swat at with the flex of your hand, and the two of you are only pulled out of the moment by the sound of tyres pulling up on the gravel behind you, both of you stumbling to unbuckle yourselves and climb out of the car. 

Jack is exiting his own vehicle behind, and stomps down the driveway, shouldering past you until he realises who he has passed, turning back and looking at you with suspicion cast across his features. 

“Where have you twobeen?” Jack asks, glancing a curious eye between the two of you before meeting Luke’s gaze, levelling him with an inquisitive glare.

“We went to the store for chips,” Luke holds the bag up, the crinkle loud enough for Jack to hear, and he feels an insurgence rising within him, spurred on by the way his brother is looking at him like he’s the one who should be ashamed of his actions. “Nice haircut.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, surprise crossing his features in a brief flash at the call out, like he had never even expected Luke to notice his hair looks no different to the last time he saw him mere hours ago, like he would never even need to question his alibi.

“Oh, yeah, I got the day wrong. Went out for dinner instead.”

“On your own?” You ask from beside him, your presence giving Luke the kind of back up he very much needs right now, a new target for Jack’s narrowed eyes that takes the heat off of him a little, lessens the burden of lying to his brother - despite Jack being the one who started it, it doesn’t make Luke feel any less bad, doesn’t quell the need to word vomit and admit to all the ludicrous things he had done to ruin Jack’s night. “You end up having a little accident there, bud?”

Luke tries not to outwardly laugh as his attention is diverted to the wet patch that still soaks up the front of Jack’s pants, lips quivering as he presses them together, oblivious to the steam pouring out of his brother’s ears as he immediately gets riled up. 

“One of your esteemed colleagues at the club apparently lacks hand eye co-ordination. Plus, some of us like our own company,” Jack scoffs, “Some of us can go an evening without the need to annoy anybody else.”

“It’s not news to me that you’re in love with yourself, dude,” you retort back, entirely unbothered by his jibes. “Bet you’ve got all sorts of riveting thoughts swirling around that ginormous head of yours, must keep you busy for hours on end.”

“At least I have thoughts, at least I’m not some airheaded-,”

“Hey,” Luke’s tone is authoritative when he calls out, stern and demanding, “Cut it out, Jack.”

“She started it!”

“She asked you a question,” Luke frowns, disappointed with how quick his brother had taken to escalating the situation, all in an attempt to deflect the attention from his own deception. He knows you don’t need him to protect you from Jack’s sharp tongue, knows you can very much defend yourself, but he needs to vent his frustrations, somehow, without causing a bust up on the driveway. “You could have just give her a straight answer without biting her head off.”

He feels like you’re a little closer, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know it’s the slight brush of your arm against his or if it’s something else, something less tangible - but it warms him, all the same. Steadies the static thump of his heart in his chest at the thought of starting an argument with his brother out of nowhere. 

“Whatever,” Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m going to bed.”

And as Jack turns, Luke sees your lips part, ready to send him off with the last word until a large hand clamps itself over your mouth, and your wide eyes meet his over the sides of his fingers.

He’s not sure why he did it, why he all of a sudden feels comfortable enough to cross the boundaries of purposeful touch, but he doesn’t entirely regret it.

Plush lips press mid-word against his palm, and your skin is soft, cheeks warming ever so slightly beneath his hand.

“You gotta let him go, there’s no use fighting with him tonight, it’s better to drag it out. Didn’t think I’d have to teach you about the beauty of the long game,” he says, voice low as he watches his brother retreat to the house, waiting until he’s safe inside to retract his hand. “Not like this, anyway.”

“Your brother’s an asshole,” you grumble, “Full offence.”

“No arguments from me,” Luke concedes, holding his hands as if surrendering to the fact, himself. “What are you gonna tell Ellie?”

“Nothing.” You sigh, stepping a little down the drive and toward the house before turning back to him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, partner.”

There have only been a handful of times in your life you’ve ever been thankful for work coinciding with huge plans, but when the group had decided that they wanted to go see Zach Bryan play Ford Field, you had thanked your lucky stars you had been put down to work a full shift at the restaurant and wouldn’t be able to go.

Not only for the fact that he isn’t really your thing, but for the fact that you’re finally getting a full evening to yourself.

So far, in your time at the house, most evenings have been spent with everyone else - group dinners, game nights, movie nights, even a couple of girls nights with just you and Ellie scattered in there, but nothing on your own, yet. 

You can’t wait. And with an empty house, you have a full pamper night planned. You’ve been stocking up odd bits on your trips to the store over the past couple of weeks - sheet masks, aromatherapy candles, you’ve even picked up some flower petals from the spa at the club, in the hopes that you might even treat yourself to a relaxing soak in the bathtub. You can play whatever music you want, make whatever food you want, sit wherever you want in the house, out on the deck, overlooking the lake with a book in hand and no chirpy voices in your ear all night.

You can’t wait.

The only downside is not having a ride home, but you haven’t finished too late. The sun will still be up for a couple of hours, and a walk in the simmering heat back to the house doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Your feet carry you with ease down the back roads, and you even make the journey without your headphones on, taking in the scenery, the blissful peace of your surroundings, so lost in the tranquility of it all that the sight of Luke washing his car on the drive when you get home dampens your mood as quick as a torrential downpour of rain, flash floods coursing through your evening and wrecking your plans entirely. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you approach, sneakers crunching against the gravel as Luke pauses the hose, looks over at you with the sun in his eyes, and you have to remind yourself he’s just ruined the one night you have for yourself before you get distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless.

“Washing my car?” he calls back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Detroit right now?”

Luke shrugs, and you have to will your eyeballs not to move any lower than his neck to watch his shoulders lift and drop, lest you get too caught up in the broad expanse of his chest and do something ridiculous like drool.

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

“You weren’t feeling a concert you guys haven’t shut up about for weeks, but you were feeling washing your car?”

He’s dead. When he’s finished with his car and he retreats to his room, you’re gonna smother him with a pillow and discard of his body in the lake. You’re not even gonna let him shower, first. That’s what the lake’s for.

He’s crapping all over your plans because he wasn’t feeling it?

“It needs cleaning,” he shrugs again, and you swear you’re gonna jump in and run him over with the damn thing, “In fact, you really should be helping me.”

There’s a small part of you that feels like the thoughts of violence are worryingly aggressive, but then a larger part of you realises he must have a death wish.

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

“You’re the one who drove us through a swamp,” he scoffs, a pointed hand flung toward the body of his car, where the sides are lined with a thick layer of dried dirt from the other night, “You get it dirty, you clean it up.”

“As much as I would absolutely love to fulfil your pervy car wash fantasy, I have much better things I could be doing with my time.”

Or you did, until Luke rained all over your parade of solitude.

“Like what?”

“Literally anything but this.” You gesture at the show he’s putting on. The suds dripping from the roof of the car, the hose in his hand, the buckets scattered around the perimeter. “I need to shower, I just walked from the club and I-,”

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

Luke wants you to murder him in the most gruesome, horrific way you could possibly muster - he has to, because there’s no other explanation for why he’d turn the hose on, point it straight at you, and drench the front of you, entirely. 

You can feel the fabric of your t-shirt dampening and sticking to your chest, and you scrunch your eyes shut to stop droplets of water slipping into them, thankful that when they open again, his own are looking back at you, and not any lower.

You’d really have a reason to kill him, then. 

“You did not just do that.” You growl, glaring back at him with a clenched jaw as the fucker beams back at you, pressing the trigger once more in a short burst that fires straight at your chest, again.

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

You drop your bag and launch for him, aiming to take the hose from his grip, but he fires it again out of sheer panic, the water spouting out from between your splayed fingers, cold and pressured, and it soaks the both of you, raining down as you grapple for the head and Luke remains unrelenting.

There are squeals and yelps called out into the misty air between the two of you, and you get to a point you can’t tell what sounds are coming from who, but you manage to wrestle the hose from his grip and point it straight at him as he jets away with a laugh that rumbles straight from his belly.

It’s the kind of laugh that elicits another, and you don’t realise until he’s circling back to you that the laughter is coming from you - giggling, even, as the two of you engage in a water fight like misbehaving children - and it isn’t long until all aggressive thoughts wash away with the suds that slip to the gravel, forgetting why you were even annoyed in the first place.

It shouldn’t be as fun as it is, but after the long day at work, and the tiring walk back, letting your guard down and engaging it a little mindless chaos seems to wake you up a little.

Your childish game gets Luke what he wanted, anyway, the two of you working together to clean his car when you realise he’s only running in front of all the parts that actually need hosing off and relying on you having bad aim to get the job done, and you figure getting your hands a little dirty is harmless when you’re already soaked through and in dire need of a shower.

And your pamper-plans of a bubble bath and self-care don’t entirely come to fruition, but Luke promises to make up for his petulance by ordering pizza and sticking a movie on, so you bite your tongue to refrain from voicing your initial complaints, and decide to just go with the flow, for once - he hasn’t exactly led you astray, yet.  

You take a little longer in the shower than normal, with no one around to complain about hogging the bathroom or worry about them barging in unannounced, and you suppose that’s a small victory - one little luxury you get to cling to as you bask in the steam, letting all the tension slip from your aching muscles after being on your feet all day.

And once you’re out, hair dried just enough with a towel that it isn’t going to drip or soak your t-shirt, and you’re dressed in your pyjamas, you make your way downstairs, where Luke has already set up a plethora of snacks in the living room.

Nachos, popcorn, candy and drinks scattered across the coffee table as he relaxes on the couch, hair extra curly after his shower and an old Michigan t-shirt stretched tight across his now much-broader chest. 

“Thought I’d wait for you to pick a movie,” he chimes up from where he’s sat, gesturing with a lazy point to the wall of blu-rays beside the TV. 

“Did Netflix never make it to the Hughes household?” You scoff in disbelief as you take them all in properly for the first time. You’d seen them in your peripheral when you’d been hanging out down here, before, but actually looking at them up close, reading all the titles, seeing the sheer volume of how many there are, it kind of surprises you.

“We can look on Netflix if you want. They always take stuff off, though.”

You know. All your favourite movies get taken off of streaming, and you only ever find out about it when you’re really in the mood to watch them. As soon as you realise the wall is alphabetised, you know exactly where to look.

“That’s alright,” you shrug, stepping to the side as you track backwards, through M, L, K and J. “You guys are pretty analogue, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The board games, the DVDs, the whole no phones around the house thing.”

“No phones around the house is common courtesy,” he chuckles, “But I guess we’re a little weird about the other stuff.”

“It’s pretty cool,” you shrug, spotting the DVD you want and sliding it out to assess the case. “It’s old school. Probably better for the brain. My little brothers can’t really function without an iPad and they’re 5, it’s freaky, like they’re haunted by the capitalist ghost of Steve Jobs or something.”

“I didn’t know you had brothers,” Luke frowns where you almost expect him to laugh, and you spin on your heel to face him. He has this look about him like he should have known that - like the two of you have ever conversed in anything other than sarcastic quips and scrunched up faces, or whatever attempts at flirting have been on his part. 

“Technically they’re half brothers,” you shrug, “They live out in Philly with my dad and step mom, I don’t really get to see them much.”

“Didn’t know you were from Philly, either.”

“I’m not, my dad moved out there when him and my mom got divorced.”

It’s not something you really love talking about. 

The few times you’ve tried, you’ve been shot down, patronising tones scoffing at how your biggest trauma is the separation of your parents, as if your whole world didn’t crumble down with the demise of their relationship, the demise of life as you knew and very dearly loved it.

“You don’t see him even in the summer?”

“Him and his family are on vacation in Europe for 6 weeks. England, France, Spain, Germany, the boys are into soccer so they’ll be out there until the Euros.”

You don’t miss the way Luke’s face scrunches at how you call them his family, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him to start pitying you, so you throw the DVD case toward him before you can second guess your choice.

Interstellar. 

You hope he doesn’t pick up on why it might be one of your favourites. Especially not considering the topic of the conversation at hand. Something about the crippling regret Cooper has for leaving Murph behind plucks harmoniously at some unidentifiable strings deep within you, but you’re hardly about to admit that to Luke, of all people.

“I love this movie,” he smiles, almost surprised, as if he expected you to throw The Notebook his way. Maybe next time - he’d probably love that movie, too, if he gave it a chance. 

“Me too. I love space movies.”

“Like Space Jam?” He asks as he pushes himself up, going toward the TV to set up the movie with the DVD in one hand and the remote control in the other. 

“No, like movies about Space,” you say, throwing yourself down onto the same couch he just vacated and tucking your feet beneath you to get comfortable. “Although I guess Space Jam would technically fit into that bracket.”

“I didn’t realise that was a genre,” he chuckles.

“Not the scary ones, though, I don’t wanna be freaked out by space.”

“Is that like a thing? You just like any movie set in space?”

“I like anything about space, period. Movies, documentaries, books. Thinking about it makes me feel really insignificant.”

“Insignificant? Is that not a bad thing?” He asks as he makes his way back, settling into his side and angling his body toward yours.

“Do you ever think about how big the universe is, Hughes? It’s humongous! If I ever feel anxious or panicky I think about just how big it is and how I’m not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. If I’m so tiny, how big can my problems actually be?”

“I guess that makes sense,” he seems to mull it over in his head, the thought of him even considering it and not making you feel stupid warms your chest - makes you forget just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him in the last couple of minutes alone, makes you worry less that you’re sharing too much. “I think I might be the opposite, though. Probably the youngest brother in me, I only feel better if I feel bigger.”

You think that might be why he’s always trying to one up you - sassy comments and inappropriate jokes galore. Not that you mind any of it, not really.

“What about you? What movies do you like?”

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

“Look at you, knowing me like the back of your hand.” He coos, nudging at your knee with his hand. “I’ll watch anything, though. We should take it in turns, whenever it’s just us,” he says like the thought of spending time alone with you has only just crossed his mind. “Picking a movie to show each other.”

You think there’s a lot of yourself in the media you consume. The movies you watch, the music you listen to, and sharing those things with Luke feels like giving him the only other key to a high security vault. It’s something you’ve avoided so far - letting him play his songs in the car, avoiding making any sort of pick in the group movie nights. It’s daunting, and it’s a lot of pressure, and so you don’t know why you agree with so much ease - a shrug, and a casual muttering of, “Sure, why not?”

The pieces of your dynamic slowly start to slot together, and you start to realise why you’ve been entertaining his company so often, lately. Why your mood so quickly de-escalated itself, earlier. Why you’ve found yourself curled up on the same couch as him, instead of literally anywhere else in the house, doing anything other than this. Why you’re so quick to agree to letting him access all these unseen parts of you.

And why you think he might be able to read your mind, after he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

“What were you gonna do tonight, if you were on your own?”

Thank God, you think, your heart jumping at the thought of anything else he could have asked.

“I was gonna do a sheet mask and steal the bottle of wine Quinn stashed behind the laundry detergent.” You admit with a nonchalant shrug, the plans you had been looking forward to all day seeming mundane in comparison to this. “Why’d you stay behind? You love Zach Bryan.”

“I love sheet masks and stolen wine, too.”

Your lips curve up before you get the chance to huff at his non-answer, and you feel your throat go a little dry at the way his curve, too - the way his green eyes darken when they meet yours, and you feel like he’s looking straight through you.

It’s around half way through the movie that you realise how much you’re enjoying yourself - when you look over at Luke, and the light from the screen is still bouncing off the sticky white sheet plastered to his face, only just able to make out his round eyes through the little slit in the fabric. 

You sip at your wine to hide your smile, and turn your attention back to the TV until Luke nudges at your feet with his, and your eyes meet over the tops of your bent knees. 

“You tell anyone I did this, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Your laugh ripples through every inch of your upper body, rumbling up from your belly and manifesting itself in shaking shoulders, your smile wide and your sheet mask slipping out of place. “You can’t threaten me with a good time, Hughes.”

You spend the rest of the night trying not to think about how there might just be a tiny door in your heart, eking it’s way open for him to squeeze his gangly limbs into.

>PART TWO<

another a/n: I don't want to put a timeframe on when the next part will be posted bc as soon as I do that, my brain will revolt and it won't happen, but I'd love to know your thoughts in the meantime!!! I have a lot of the rest actually written, and what I don't have written, I have drafted, so it shouldn't be too long but!!! like I said no timeframe!! I've had a lot of fun with this dynamic, and hearing any opinions would mean a lot to me!!

this was my first time writing reader insert if you saw any instances of she/her where they shouldn't be, no you didn’t. I tried as best as I could to avoid using Y/N because it takes me out of it I don’t even remember if I put it anywhere but sometimes it's hard to get around I did my best ok!!!

[sonotpattismith]

where I first saw you

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 10.3k content: fluff, grumpy+sunshine vibes, sukuna is low-key an asshole, reader is depicted as a bit naive, special guest starring choso my shnookums, almost loss of virginity, smut, 18+

Sukuna loved his job— no really, he did. He didn’t have to speak a certain way to garner respect, his marked up face helped his occupation rather than hindering it, and he was finally able to put to use what seemed like the one goddamn skill the universe graced him with. Anyone who walked into the shop and saw that look on his face though might assume he’d rather be anywhere else than holed up in the dimly lit tattoo parlor he worked at, but it truly was just his face. Luckily for him though, his resting bitch face seemed to match the vibe of the shop, so his boss let it slide.

So, yeah, there really wasn’t anywhere else the daunting man could see himself working in, but there was one qualm about his job— the people. God, how Sukuna fucking hated some of the half-wits that sat in his chair most of the time. Whether it be cuddled up inconvenietnly to their significant other with whom they would soon be matching ink with, or the awkwardly beefed up masculine types that were convinced that their decision to get a big ass tiger on their back was unique. 

Perhaps he should have started working on his judgemental nature long before he decided on a career that centered around servicing people, but he just couldn’t find it in him to feign interest in their drawn out stories about why they were sitting in his chair that day. At the end of the day, it was the art that kept his soul alive while having to work with so many idiots. He loved drawing, since he received his first sketchbook at the ripe age of ten so that he’d stop scribbling on the walls of his room. 

He often joked that it was his one redeeming feature, never having been the best academic student and failing to be as charming as his twin brother so easily managed— this was his one thing. 

That was why he seriously had to exercise restraint and put on his best poker face when a group of babbling college students stumbled into the shop just shy of an hour before closing. There were about five of them, all shouting over each other and giggling obnoxiously as if they could hear any of what the others were saying. 

Don’t lose your job over some sorority kids. He had to keep telling himself as he set his pencil down, looking up from his sketchbook with his lips set in a firm line. They were huddled around the stencil book now, shoving at each other for turns looking at the choices before them. The bickering grew louder and louder until his last thred of patience snapped. 

“Oi, if you shitheads are gonna come in here so close to closing, you better quiet the fuck down and pick which one of you is getting inked, cause I ain’t got time for all of you, and you’re givin’ me a fucking migraine.” 

The group was stunned to silence, blinking up at the aggravated man behind the counter who was shutting his book with a huff. It was silent for a moment before they broke into hushed, excited rambles about how he was perfect and how fucking funny this would be in the morning. Taking in a controlled breath, he watched them shove one of their members to the front.

“It’s her, she wants a tattoo.” They all guffawed, looking at each other with barely concealed smirks that appeared far too incriminating. 

You stumbled forward, bracing your hands on the counter as the room seemed to spin around you. The apples of your cheeks were flushed red, but he assumed it was your nerves, along with the fact that your gaze couldn’t seem to focus on the man before you. 

“It’s late, so if you want something it’s gotta be small.” Sukuna explained with poorly concealed annoyance as he stood up to begin prepping a chair. He heard you begin to speak, but you were quickly cut off by the boisterous group surrounding you. 

“It can be small!” One of the guys insisted desperately as he guided you by your shoulders to sit in the leather, reclining chair the tattoo artist was standing by. “She wants a…” His words trailed off as he glanced back at the giggling group, who were all giving him a thumbs up as they shouted various ideas at him. “A tramp stamp! She wants a tramp stamp.”

Sukuna felt his jaw tick at the outdated term, but he swiveled his head to face you nonetheless. 

“You fuckin’ mute or what?” He grumbled as he snatched the stencil book from the group. 

“N-No, I… they told me they’d pick something nice for me.” Your words slurred almost unintelligbly, and, upon closer inspection, he was taking note of the blearly look in your eyes. 

“You plastered right now?” 

“She’s only had a couple drinks!” One of the girls defended quickly, leaning the entire upper half of her body across the counter in anticipation. “But she’s been talking about this for like everrr.” 

Something about their eagerness to speak for you sounded off warning alarms in his mind, but he shook his head nonetheless. 

“You ever done this before?” The pink-haired man questioned as he donned a pair of gloves. 

“Umm…” You hummed nonsensically, head lolling to the side to watch him snap on the last glove. His deadpan expression made you flush with embarrassment, staring down self-consciously at your ink-free skin. “No.”

“This one! She wants this one!” Another degenerate spoke up, pointing excitedly to the stencil depicting various sized lipstick marks that would traverse the expanse of your lower back. When you leaned your head forward to look, he quickly snatched the book away from your line of sight. 

Sukuna watched the motion with narrowed eyes, irritation slowly creeping up each of his fingers with an urge to ring someone’s neck out. Glancing back at the way you were slumped back in the chair, eyes barely able to stay open, he gave a curt shake of his head. 

“Nah,” He finalized, ripping his gloves off before tossing them in the bin beside him. “I don’t know what it is you lowlives call a joke, but I ain’t the one. Take her home.”

The group quickly broke out into a string of protests, walking around the counter to level with the man, but he had already made up his mind. 

“C’mooon, man!” The guy pleaded with the stencil book still clutched in his grasp. “She’s fine! I’ll pay extra, c’mon!”

Sukuna stepped forward to snatch the book from his grasp, pointing it back at your figure still sat obliviously beside them. 

“She can barely fucking sit up straight. Take her home before you seriously piss me off.” He repeated once again. 

There was an encore of disappointed groans from the idiotic group that had brought you in. 

“Whatever man, there are like three artists on this block. We’ll go somewhere that actually wants to make money.” The ringleader quipped before grasping at your arm to pull you up.

All at once, his patience seemed to drain from him as his hand came forward to grip the man’s wrist in warning. Sukuna towered over him, his broad shoulders unknowingly blocking you from his view as he tilted his head at him. 

“Yeah? How ‘bout I call the fucking cops?” The shadows seemed to cast an impossibly more intimidating aura to his already less than welcoming expression. “Or do you wanna take this outside?” 

The group could be heard murmuring to each other, weighing their options out and deciding their cruel joke wasn’t worth whatever fate this man had in store for them should they continue. Upon acknowledging the fearfully complacent expression on the guy’s face, Sukuna leaned back, dragging his gaze across the group where not one of them stepped up to defend you in your inebriated state. 

As the idiot rushed to get you up so they could hightail it far away from this shop, the artist shook his head, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“She’s fine there.” Sukuna said simply, not trusting that any one of these lowlives had even the slightest intention of taking you home unscathed that night. 

Baffled eyes stared up at him, but he remained resolute in his decision. It didn’t take much convincing at all though, because soon enough the group was scrambling out of the shop without so much as a second look at their ‘friend’. 

With an aggravated growl, Sukuna finally turned to face you again, only to find you passed out against the leather chair. He pursed his lips in annoyance, carefully reaching out to jostle your shoulder. You groaned softly, your still flushed face falling against your shoulder. 

“C’mon, brat.” He grumbled, glancing at the clock on the wall and deciding he deserved to close the shop a little early tonight. His boss would just have to get an explanation the next day. Reaching up, he gently pinched your warm cheek between his knuckles in an attempt to rouse you from your comatose state. “Where does your sorry ass live?”

Your eyes opened blearily, and it almost appeared as though there were two of him. Trying desperately to focus your gaze, a dumb smile spread across your face as you reached up to poke at his cheekbones. He grimaced, trying to shift his head away from your reach. 

“Haha, ‘sup four eyes?” You giggled deleriously at your own joke. 

“Yeah, real funny,” Sukuna quipped with a huff as you tossed your head back against the chair to close your eyes again. “Hey, hey, no, wake up and tell me where the hell it is I need to drop you off at.”

You only hummed sleepily at his words, and it was clear that he’d already lost you once again. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly through his nose to calm his temper. When he opened them once again, your lips were parted ever-so-slightly as you slipped off into a drunken slumber. 

He tsked in frustration before giving you a once over. You didn’t have a bag on you, and he wondered if your ‘friends’ had taken it with them. Glancing down at your pockets, he carefully reached down to feel around for a phone or wallet that he could use to get you home. When your front pockets proved to be useless, he grimaced slightly as he slumped you forward to search your back ones, sighing in anguished relief when he procured a cell phone. 

“Fuck.” He growled out when the damned thing prompted him for a passcode. 

In a desperate attempt to get you the hell out of his shop, he began pounding in random variations of four digit codes. Typical ones, 1-2-3-4, 0-0-0-0, 9-9-9-9, anything that might get him out of the situation he’d put himself in. After countless attempts though, he nearly tossed the device across the room when it alerted him that he was locked out due to too many failed attempts. Opting to toss the wretched thing on the table beside him, he groaned up at the ceiling. 

This is what I get for not minding my own damn business for once in my god-forsaken life.

There was a light scratching noise that flooded your consciousness. With it, came the realization that your brain was absolutely pounding against your skull, and you were sure there was a knot in your back that no amount of stretches would be able to unfurrow for at least another week. Parting your lips to lick the desert-like dryness from them, you noted that your mouth was just as parched. 

It was cold— far colder than you ever dared to keep your dorm room set at, and the sensation manifested goosebumps that prickled at every inch of your exposed skin. Despite this, there was a sheen sweat that was lining the back of your neck as you attempted to stretch. The nearly forgotten scratching stopped abruptly at your movements, and you slowly pried your eyes open. 

“Oh my god.” Your rasped voice blurted out as you came to the gruelling realization that the ceiling you were staring up at was not that of your room. Sitting up with a start, you frantically took in your surroundings as your mind reeled with the feeble attempt to remember what had transpired the night before. 

There were a myriad of… unique posters lining the walls, and, from where you were sitting, you could see a counter filled with various body jewelery. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front were drawn, making it difficult for you to determine what time it was, though you could swear you saw a sliver of sunlight peeking out through the cracks. 

Your hands suddenly began feeling around your own body in search of your phone, but you came up short. 

“It’s on the table.” Came an unfamiliarly deep voice on your right. 

Whipping your head around so quickly that it nearly made you dizzy, you caught sight of the monstrous-sized man lounging on the leather seat on the opposite end of the room. His hair was disheveled, but you were still caught off guard by its soft pink hue as strands strew across his forehead. An intricate work of black tattoos lined his face, emphasizing the secondary set of eyes he had inked under his real ones. 

“Oh my god!” You repeated with a mortified expression. He set aside the notebook that was perched on his lap to stand from his seat, and you shrunk farther into yours as he stretched to his full height. “Did we… oh my god, did I get a tattoo?” You weren’t sure which outcome sounded scarier to you as you frantically began assessing your skin for any evidence. 

“Check your ass.” He quipped with an amused glint on his otherwise stoic expression, but it almost broke upon seeing the horrified look on your face. “I’m fucking with you. Nothing happened— no thanks to your dumbass choice of friends though.”

You slowly settled back against the leather seat, trying to calm your racing heart as his words sunk in. With a vague haze, you could recall going out with a few members from your class who you were paired with for a group project. They weren’t exactly your friends, but you were desperately trying to change that being new to the city where you had begun university. 

“What… what do you mean?”

“I mean, they brought you in here telling me to tat you. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open. I told ‘em to fuck off.” His explanation was nonchalant as he began organizing a few things behind the counter. “And your sorry ass wouldn’t wake up long enough to tell me where you lived.”

The hazy puzzle pieces slowly started to come together, and you felt yourself flush instantly. Glancing at the time on your phone that was waiting for you just beside your seat, you noted it was still far too early for a tattoo parlor to be open. 

“I’m so sorry, this is mortifying—” You babbled as you stood up, quickly trying to straighten your rustled clothes. “I’m not from around here, and I was just trying to make some friends, but I didn’t know that—”

“Woah, woah woah,” The man before you grimaced with a wave of his hand to halt your rant. The warmth in your cheeks grew that much hotter at the realization of your rambling. “I just spent the night on a damn tattoo chair. I am nowhere near awake enough for your sob story right now, doll.”

“Right, sorry. Um, I should really get out of your hair.” You stammered, glancing awkwardly down at your feet as you made a beeline for the front door. With a barely noticeable hesitance, you turned back toward him one more time. “Thank you, by the way. That was… really cool of you.”

Sukuna watched with a lazy gaze as you pulled at the door only to be met with stark resistance. With a quiet huff, you used both hands this time to try to wrestle it open, even attempting to push it just in case. His long legs slowly dragged toward the front of the store with a tired mischievousness. Reaching over you, he switched the door unlocked before leaning back again, watching as the heat creeped up your neck. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled once again in humiliation, unable to face him as you finally pulled the door open. In an instant though, his hand was reaching above your head to hold the door closed. Your heart leaped into your throat, a nervous sweat nearly breaking out onto your forehead as you hesitantly looked up at him. 

“No friends is better than shit ones, you hear me?” One of his brows was raised as he glowered down at you, and the breath slowly escaped your lungs. 

His broad figure made sure his shadow consumed you, and from this close your clouded mind was finally able to process how terrifyingly hot this man was. Not trusting your voice, you could only nod meekly at his solemn advice, nearly crying in relief when he finally pushed off the door and allowed you to slip through it. 

In the end, you, by the grace of a higher being, made it to practice only ten minutes late, though you were still scolded by your instructor since you cut into your warm-up time. It was arguably the hardest practice you’d yet to endure, what with the crink it your back from spending the night on a tattoo chair. 

The more you thought about the mortifying events that had transpired the night before, the more you wished you could take your brain right out of your skull and hose it down in hopes of forgetting all about it. It was humiliating to think of how naive you had been to keep accepting drinks from the group you were with, who were still essentially strangers to you. Still, you were desperate for some friends after having spent an entire semester holed up in your dorm with nothing to do and no one to see. 

You had moved to the city from a small town, the kind where everyone knew everyone, and the culture of hospitality was far different from the uppity vibes you had received from nearly every new person you had met here. It was never really in your plans to move so far from home, but the university you had been accepted into had one of the best ballet programs in the country, and it had been your dream to dance professionally since you were six years old and perfected your first pirouette.

Still, you hadn’t expected to sacrifice so much to make it happen. 

You were friendly with the other members of your ballet group, but they all seemed to have already known each other for so long. It was more difficult than anything— trying to fit yourself into friend groups that had already been solidifying for years before your appearance. So, when your group members invited you out with them that night, you were more than elated to go along with whatever they had planned. 

You groaned in frustration, gently hitting your head against the wall of your shower as you washed off the sweat that had built up from your questionable night as well as practice later that day. There were at least five minutes spent inspecting your naked body in the mirror to confirm that you did not in fact have any unexpected ink anywhere. 

Despite your being in the clear, you couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of what could have happened had the kind yet terrifying tattoo artist not been as decent of a human being as he was. The guilt and embarrassment gnawed away at you in the few days that followed at the thought of the complete stranger staying with you in the shop until your stupidly drunk self decided to wake up. You thought of his parting words as well, that made you feel even a tiny bit better about your less than fortunate social circumstances.

It was an impulsive urge spurred on by your incessant boredom just two days later that had you meticulously weighing out the ingredients for the easiest cookie recipe you could manage in your dorm’s tiny kitchen. You heard the timer ring in the next room as you tied your hair up in front of the mirror. After carefully packaging the baked goods in a leftover, holiday themed cookie tin with a neatly written ‘thank you for not tattooing me!’ note written on some pink stationary, you set off for the shop that had been haunting you for the past two days. 

The lit up, neon red ‘TATTOO’ sign that hung outside the front seemed to buzz ominously as you stared up at it. It was never the type of… establishment you ever frequented, but it was far from you to judge given your previous circumstances. 

With an anxious sigh, you pushed into the door, hearing the faint jingle of the bell attached to it. The shop was fairly busy, a stark difference from that morning you’d woken up in it prior to its opening. 

“Welcome in. You here for a tattoo or a piercing?” You were pulled from your thoughts as a man behind the counter greeted you. He definitely fit the part, you thought as you took in his tattooed nose and pierced lips. What appeared to be eyeliner was smudged haphazardly around his already ominous, dark orbs, and there were two spiked out buns at the top of his head. 

“Um, neither actually.” You flushed unnecessarily, your fingers curling tighter around your tin as he raised a curious brow at you. Mustering up a kind smile, you finally found the courage to look him in the eyes. “I’m looking for a guy that works here. Tall, pink hair, face tattoos— do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Sukuna? Yeah, he’s working on an appointment right now.” The man explained as he looked at the time. You opened your mouth to ask if he would be so kind as to just give him the tin whenever he got out, but he cut you off. “He should be finishing up soon if you wanna wait here for him.”

Abruptly shutting your mouth, you weren’t sure why you couldn’t bring yourself to decline his offer, far too self-conscious about your every breath in this place. Nodding in thanks, you slowly sat down on the low, leather black couch that was in the waiting area. You clacked your nails anxiously against the tin in your lap, hyperaware of the man’s eyes still on you. 

“So, what’s in the container?” He questioned with a curious glint in his eyes, jutting his chin toward your lap. Looking up at him in surprise, you offered a bashful smile.

“Oh, they’re just cookies.” You explained with a nonchalant wave of your hand. 

His intimidating expression seemed to melt right off of his face, darkly lined eyes lighting up in a way that gave him a child-like aura. Smiling knowingly, you stood to walk over to the counter and opened the tin to offer him one. The boyish smile he gave instantly fought off any fear you previously held toward him, and the tension in your shoulders slowly faded as he eagerly grabbed one. 

“‘Thank you for not tattooing me’?” The man read the card through cookie-filled cheeks, crumbs gathering around his lips as he looked up at you in question. “I’ve gotta hear this—”

“Choso, get him a tube of aftercare, will ya’?” That familiar, deep voice saved you from the embarrassment of having to explain yourself to the kind man at the front desk. Sukuna, as you had now learned his name was, was walking in from the back followed by a shorter man. His movements faltered upon seeing you in the shop again. 

His ruby eyes took in your soft appearance in contrast to the gothic decorations that adorned the shop. You stuck out like a sore thumb, with your baby pink cardigan and perfectly glossed lips, and he couldn’t for the life of him think of why you would step foot back in here. 

“Sorry, doll, bed and breakfast is closed.” He quipped as nodded at the customer who had stopped to thank him again before exiting the store. You flushed at his jab, wondering why you bothered humiliating yourself like this. 

“She made you cookies.” Choso announced excitedly, once again with his mouth stuffed.

“Yeah? Then why the hell are you eating them?” He grumbled, swatting the man on the back of the head as he raised his hands in mock defense. The pink haired man walked behind the counter, picking up your note and skimming it with a raised brow before casting his eyes to the side dismissively. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you had flustered him. “Don’t gotta thank me for not being an asshole.”

As he leaned over to distract himself with checking the computer for his next appointment, Choso stared incredulously between him and you.

“You can thank me, I’m not an asshole.” He gushed, leaning his forearms on the counter to smile invitingly at you. His eyes skimmed your face before a flush fell over his cheeks. “Won’t tat you either if it means a pretty girl brings me cookies, too.”

“Quit being such a freak.” Sukuna growled as he elbowed him, finally tearing his gaze away from the computer to close the tin back up before Choso could steal another, but he was far too focused on getting your attention to pay the grouch any mind.

“How ‘bout a piercing, hm? Bet you’d look reeeal cute with a septum ring.” 

“Oh, um…” You flushed at his words, subconsciously reaching up to touch your bare nose. “I’m actually in ballet, and they’re pretty strict about—”

“Ballet?” Choso guffawed, much to Sukuna’s dismay as he huffed at the energetic man. “That’s so tight. So you do like shows and cool shit like that?”

“Yeah! I… actually have a recital coming up next week.” You explained enthusiastically, eager to connect in any way you can to the first person who’s shown you any sort of kindness since moving here. Without stopping to think about how desperate you might appear, you fished out a spare handout from your bag. “You should come— y’know, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

The pierced man before you snatched up the paper eagerly, dark eyes skimming the contents before he slumped in disappointment. 

“No can do, I’m working that night.” He sighed before turning to Sukuna, who had been watching the exchange with a barely concealed glare. “You should totally go though— he can go, right?”

You were undeniably flustered as you looked up at the man you had come here for, who looked less than enthused about your sudden turning up to the shop again. God, were you totally out of your element inviting this insanely attractive, crushingly edgy man to your ballet? Gulping down your nerves, you nodded softly, offering a timid smile. 

“Y-Yeah! Of course—”

“What the fuck would possess you to think I look like a dude who goes to ballets?” 

Your words died in your throat, and you felt all the blood rush to your face so embarrassingly fast that the only possible solace would be if the ground opened up below you and swallowed you whole. Looking down at your pristinely manicured nails, you dug your top lip mercilessly between your teeth. 

“Well, I-I usually invite my friends, but… it’s my first show since moving here, and I don’t… really know anyone, so…” It was as if you were growing more pathetic by the second, and you willed yourself to just shut the fuck up.

Sukuna, on the other hand, felt his stone cold heart shrivel up in horror at your words. Even with all the terrified glances he’d get from passerbyers on the street, and all the children he’d scared to tears with just a sharp glance their way, he had never felt like more of a monster than he did in that very moment watching your lively face dim so abruptly. 

He remembered what you had said the other day about trying to make some friends, and apparently you were desperate enough to get yourself in the position he’d had to pull you out of himself to do so. Beside him, he could feel Choso stepping on his toes as if to tell him to take it easy on you, but he was already wallowing in a pool of his own guilt. 

With a guarded scowl, Sukuna snatched the paper from his half-brother’s hands, red eyes skimming it furiously as you began apologizing for disturbing him. As you turned to make a desperate speed-walk toward the door, he spoke up. 

“Better be fucking good, brat.” 

Pausing mid-step, a subtle warmth spread in your chest as you slowly turned back around with a tickled smile. He didn’t deserve it, he was sure of it— not with the way your eyes lit up the entire room as if he’d just found the cure to cancer or solved world hunger. No, he’d just stepped on your innocent offer with the sole of his heavy, black boot after you’d just brought him home-made cookies for not tattooing you while you were under the influence. He didn’t deserve the way you flashed your teeth at him. 

“Heading to practice right now, boss.” You beamed with a mock salute before making your way to the exit with more pep in your step than had been there previously. Just before the door shut behind you, you shouted over your shoulder. “I hope you like the cookies!” 

“Why doesn’t this type of shit happen to me?” Choso questioned rhetorically as he stared longingly at the door you just left through with a shake of his head. “You’re a real asshole, you know?” 

And, boy, did he know it. 

While you had been flattered at Sukuna’s implication that he’d be showing up to your recital, a larger part of you was coming to terms with the fact that there was no way in hell that dude was coming. You couldn’t blame him. After all, you were essentially strangers, and it truly didn’t seem like his scene. Still, it would have been nice to have one person coming in your support. 

Sighing wistfully, you sprayed the final touches of hairspray into your slicked back bun, turning your head to the side to assure there were no stray strands. The lights of the dressing room mirror reflected the subtle glitter on your eyelids as you watched your fellow dancers bustle around behind you as they also prepared. 

Resisting the urge to bite at your lip for fear of ruining your lipstick, you glanced down at the message on your phone. 

Mom: Please send me a recording! I hate that I can’t be there for you today :(

In all your years as a dancer, you had always had someone there for you in the audience to cheer you on. Whether it be your family or your hometown friends, someone was always waiting for you outside with flowers and a proud smile. Swallowing down your self-pity, you gave yourself one last once over before you heard your three minute warning. If you weren’t dancing for anyone, you determined, you would just have to do it for yourself. 

That was the notion that got you through both of your group numbers and your solo. With every pointed kick and turn, you reminded yourself that this was for the life you were working so hard to achieve. The stage lights were blinding, and the beautifully orchestrated music almost made you forget that you were so upset in the first place. It showed on your face though, you were sure. After all, every instructor you’d ever had always told you that your expression would tell the story of your number louder than any lyrics ever could.

With all the preparation that went into every recital, you still never failed to be shocked whenever it ended so suddenly. There was a strong sense of pride bubbling in your stomach as your team met up backstage for a few celebratory photos. That familiar buzz came to an end though as everyone began departing, all greeted by friends, families, or lovers. With a wistful smile, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself as you stepped out into the frigid air. 

“There you are— jesus,” A man sighed in exasperation as you accidentally shouldered into him, his hand closing around your arm before you could walk away. “All you people look the damn same with your hair like that.”

Looking up in bewilderment, your jaw fell open in surprise upon seeing that familiar head of pink hair. He was scanning the area with an awkward tension in his shoulders, as though he felt out of place in the midst of all these ballerinas— he certainly looked out of place. 

There was a black, button down dress shirt clinging mercilessly to his sculpted form, the first few buttons undone and revealing a teasing amount of his chest. As if it was the only color that ever graced his closet, his slim-fitting dress pants were also black, emphasizing his slim waist as it contrasted against his broad shoulders. 

Your lips parted as you took in his appearance, and you could swear the air around you grew at least five degrees warmer. As if your face couldn’t get any hotter, your eyes finally landed on the arrangement of flowers clutched in his hands. He glanced down at them with what seemed like an annoyed expression before shoving them toward you. 

“My brother said you’re supposed to bring crap like this to these things…” He explained, still not looking you in the eyes as you slowly took the bouquet into your arms.

“You actually came.” You commented, still a bit shell shocked to see him here. 

“I said I was gonna, didn’t I?” It came out harsher than he would have liked, but he couldn’t help but feel so oddly out of place before you. 

“Right.” You muttered pathetically, looking down at your feet so he wouldn’t see the flush in your cheeks. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you offered a hopeful smile that struck him like lightning. “Did you like the show?”

“You were alright, brat.” Sukuna grumbled as he peered down at you. 

It was a gross understatement though, because the man was absolutely floored when he saw you on that stage. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before— so used to the heavy metal and the harsher things in life. As soon as that center light hit you though, reflecting the ardently despaired expression on your intricately done up face as you allowed the music to take hold of you, it was as though you had cast a spell on him. 

The flowers in his lap nearly dropped to the floor as he found himself subconsciously leaning forward in his seat, lips parted in disbelief. You were angelic, each of your calculated movements translating etherally into the overall story you were conveying through your choreography. Even the subtle positioning of your delicate fingers seemed intricately thought out, pulling him further into your orbit. It made him want to trap you in your own little snow globe to put you on his shelf, ready to twirl so breathtakingly each time he longed for it. 

Yeah, maybe alright was an understatement, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it to you. Even now, as you smiled up at the waiter taking your order, Sukuna pretended not to be enamoured by the way your stage makeup made your eyes glitter under the restaurant's dim lighting. He had insisted on taking you to dinner following the show, not exactly asking and certainly not taking no for an answer as he led you to his sleek, black car with an urging hand on the nape of your neck. 

And you— you were far too elated to be making a friend to care about his off-putting demeanor. You barely had the chance to be remotely nervous over the fact that this teetered very closely on the edge of being a date with a man you would have deemed far out of your league just days ago. 

“So, you own the tattoo shop?” Your soft voice pulled him from his haze once the waiter placed your plates in front of you. You leaned forward on the table, a curious smile tugging at your red painted lips.

“Hah— yeah, that’s fucking hilarious.” He scoffed with an amused grin, leaning back as he took a sip of his drink. Taking note of the barely concealed confusion on your face, he cleared his throat, trying to remind himself to be on his best behavior. “I mean, I just finished my apprenticeship— don’t got the kind of money it takes to own my own shop.”

“Oh,” You muttered with a shy smile, suddenly feeling stupid for asking in the first place. “Well, I’m sure you’re really talented. I could barely draw a stick figure without making him look deformed.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, amused by your attempt to smooth over his negativity. You nodded affirmatively as you took a sip of your wine. There was a subtle flush in your cheeks that told him your drink was starting to catch up to you, and he made a mental note to stop the waiter from refilling your glass again. “And what about you, huh? You’d let me come at you with some ink since you think I’m so talented?”

A mock hum bubbled in your throat as you pretended to think about it. 

“I don’t know, you’d have to come up with something real cool.” You teased, running your hands dramatically up and down your bare arms. “This is virgin skin you’re seeing here— not to be tainted with any of those boring designs, you know?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.” Sukuna assured with theatric sincerity, only spurring on your giggles as you played along. 

“It has to be something that’s me, you know?” You pursed your lips pensively before casting a sidelong glance his way. “Maybe like a pair of pointe shoes.”

“A pair of what?” 

 “Pointe shoes! You know, the shoes ballet dancers use?”

“That’s fucking lame.” Sukuna blew a raspberry at your idea.

“Oh yeah?” You quipped, biting down your embarrassment at his abrupt shut down of your suggestion. “What would you put on me then?”

The tattoo parlor was already closed by the time you and Sukuna stumbled inside, your excited giggle filling the deadly silent shop as he locked the door behind you and switched on the lights. He shrugged his jacket off, watching you carefully as you snooped around the store. 

“Why don’t you sit your ass down before you break something?” He grumbled, snatching a tattoo gun from your curious grasp before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs. You rolled your eyes playfully before sitting down across from him, swinging your dangling feet gently as you looked around. 

“So, what were you thinking then, boss?” You questioned, watching as he pulled out his sketchbook and flipped it open. Rummaging through the drawer for a pencil, he peered up at you with a raised brow. 

“I don’t know. Tell me something.” He murmured as he began a rough sketch. 

“Like what?”

“About you.” 

“Oh.” You looked down bashfully, toying with a run in your tights before shrugging at him. “I don’t know. Nothing to tell, I guess. I’m kind of boring.” 

“That’s bullshit.” He brushed off nonchalantly, not looking up from his book. You blinked owlishly at him a few times. Noting your silence, he continued. “I saw you dance— saw the look on your face. Can’t tell me there’s nothing to tell there.” 

You were taken aback by his astute observation, staring back at the way he concentrated so intently on his drawing. He didn’t look nearly as intimidating in this light. It was silent for a beat too long, and he glanced up at you, the sharp nature of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. 

“Well?” 

“Okay, well, um… I guess I just never know if I’m making the right decision? About anything ever?” You rationed with furrowed brows, trying to make sense of your own illogical feelings. “I moved here because of the dance program, because I thought that this was really what I wanted. Now I’m here though without all my friends and family, and I’m…”

“Lonely?” Sukuna finished for you as you trailed off. 

“I guess so. And, I mean, I know it’s supposed to be hard in the beginning, but I can’t help but feel like I made a massive mistake and my life is about to crumble around me?”

The sound of his pencil scratching against the paper filled the sudden silence that hung between you, but you knew he was listening. Taking advantage of his distraction, you stared unashamedly at his hunched over figure. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the black rings that were tattooed across both his arms. There was a subtle furrow in his brows, but for the first time since meeting him it wasn’t born out of anger or frustration, instead telling a story about his dedication to his craft.

You felt the breath get knocked out of you as you observed him. Frantically trying to veer back on topic before he noticed your creepy gawking, you cleared your throat before offering an enthusiastic smile. 

“Guess it’s just always been hard for me to commit to things.” You tried to wrap up your subtle sob story. “Maybe that’s why I’ve got no tattoos then, huh?”

He huffed out a breathy laugh, the corners of his lips curling up ever so slightly as he shook his head at your conclusion. 

“Is that what you want? You know, do this ballet shit for a living?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Then to hell with people. If they give a shit they’ll be there whenever you come back.” He scoffed as though the notion offended him personally. “You’re too talented to hold yourself back for that kind of crap.”  

His nonchalant compliment made your heart pound just a little bit harder.

“What about you?” You asked breathlessly, shaking off the butterflies waging war in your stomach. 

“What about me?”

“Why tattooing?”

“Wasn’t good at anything else.” He answered simply, and his dismissal made you roll your eyes. 

“Come on, I was just very honest with you.” 

“Yeah, well you’re probably better at all that sap shit anyway.” 

Sliding off the chair, you walked closer to him and leaned your elbows on the work table before him. Propping your chin on your fist, you grinned knowingly at him, though he still hadn’t looked up from his sketch. 

“Maybe that’s why then, huh?” You assumed. He hummed in question at your vague statement. “You draw cause you’re not good at all the… ‘sap shit’. If you don’t know how to say it, you draw it, right?” 

The careful maneuvering of his pencil slowed before pausing all together at your read. Of course, he’d always known that his drawings were an outlet for him, having learned through years of repressed feelings how to convey words through lines and swirls. No one had ever explained it so… simply to him before though. Taking note of his forlorn expression, your lips curled up empathetically. 

“I do it sometimes too, you know— when I feel too overwhelmed to put my thoughts into actual words. I put them into my choreographies instead.” 

“Yeah, it shows.” Sukuna finally spoke up,  suddenly uncomfortable with the serious energy that had invaded the space around them. Clearing his throat, he put his pencil down before handing you his sketchbook with an awkward scratch to his forehead. “That ‘you’ enough for ya?” 

Your pretty, pink nails clutched at the edge of his sketchbook, slowly bringing it toward you as you soaked in his creation with parted lips. Right in the middle of the page was a snow-globe, flowers that you recognized as the same type he’d brought you earlier decorating the base of it. Inside though, was a ballerina in the very costume you had donned just hours prior on stage, one leg curled up as her arms curved softly around her in the perfect pirouette position. 

“Sukuna, this is…” Your voice failed you as you gave each detail another weighted once over. Blinking back the haze that threatened to form over your eyes, you looked up at him with a besotted smile. There were stars in your eyes, and he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of them. “This is so beautiful. You’re incredible.” 

He tsked dismissively, trying desperately to conceal the softness in his gaze as he took in your reaction. 

“Why the snowglobe?” You questioned suddenly, glancing down at the sketch before flashing him with that eagerly curious grin. 

He opened his mouth only to shut it once again, not sure how to tell you of where his thoughts had taken him to while he watched you dance so gracefully across the stage. So, he simply huffed in feigned annoyance before snatching the book from you and jutting his chin toward the chair. 

“You questioning my artistic decisions now, brat?” He didn’t give you the chance to respond as you sat back against the leather chair. “So, where are we putting this thing?”

“Oh!” You quipped, suddenly coming to the realization that he was dead serious about giving you a tattoo. Anxiety creeped up in your stomach as you brought your hand up to chew apprehensively at your nails. “Um…”

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me now.” Sukuna teased with a mischievous smirk.

“No!” You quickly defended, much to his surprise. “I want to do this— get over my fear of commitment, right?”

He hummed thoughtfully, brushing your jacket from your shoulders to inspect your arms. Grasping at your hand, he turned the inner side of your arm out to face him, purposeful in the way he allowed his fingers to trace up the delicate skin of your forearm. It made your breath hitch, his proximity allowing for a generous waft of his cologne to flood your senses. You clenched your thighs together in a manner you prayed was subtle. 

“I think it’d look good right here.” He suggested, grazing his thumb over the expanse of skin just above where your elbow creased. 

Taking in a calculated breath to pull yourself together, you quickly shook your head. 

“Can’t be anywhere too visible.” You explained, staring down at where his hand still wrapped around your elbow. “I mean, it can, but I’ll have to worry about covering it up for every performance.” 

Sukuna’s dark eyes glanced up to meet yours at this statement. His brows were raised in suggestion, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. 

“So your friends were serious about you wantin’ a ‘tramp stamp’ then? That what I’m  hearing?”

“I don’t want a— a tramp stamp.” You scoffed with flushed cheeks, but he was just too elated at how easy it was to fluster you. “I don’t know, where else do you think that can be covered up easily?”

Sukuna sighed, eyes trailing over your body in thought. It made you squirm in your seat. After a moment, he leaned forward to pull the lever on your chair, sending it reeling backwards until you were nearly laying flat. You squeaked in surprise, quickly grasping his arm for support as he smirked at your reaction. 

You watched as his hands came up to hover over the hem of your sweater before glancing up at you in question. Despite the way your heart was beating up into your throat, you nodded softly at him. It had to have been deliberate— the way he dragged your sweater up so agonizingly slow, assuring his fingers brushed against each inch of skin that was exposed on the way. You gulped as he paused just under your bra, and he was once again looking up at you in search of approval, to which you nodded silently, far too convinced you’d embarrass yourself should you speak.

With your approval, he tugged your hem up to rest just under your chin, trying to appear professional as he took in the sight of your bra-clad chest. The truth was though, that his thoughts were so very far from the tattoo at the moment, reveling in the way your breasts strained against the confines of your cups with each ragged breath you took. Your breathing had been growing heavier since the second he laid his hands on you— and he noticed each time. 

He trailed his hands up your sides, thumbs grazing over the divets of your ribs in a manner far too sensual to just be chalked up to searching for a good placement. As his pointer fingers traced where the wire of your bra met your skin, he hummed affirmatively. 

“It would look nice right here.” His raspy voice was almost a whisper now as he tucked his finger underneath the area of your bra just between your breasts, right over your sternum. 

A breathless whimper threatened to escape you, but you swallowed it back and looked down at where he had placed his finger. 

“Y-You think so?” You whispered, and he quickly nodded, gradually leaning over you more and more with the illusion of getting a better look. 

“Might be a little painful, but…” His voice trailed, as did his hand, escaping from under your strap to dance up your chest and neck. “I’ll let ya’ hold onto me if you’re good.”

You were sure your soul had left you at that point, off to find a body whose nervous system wasn’t utterly short-circuiting. Your knees drew together as you fought to maintain your composure at his suggestive words. 

“Sukuna, are we… still talking about the tattoo?” You questioned doubtfully, and the smirk on his plush lips told you you weren’t wrong. 

“Do you want it to be about the tattoo?”

“Well, it’s just…” He thought the way you stammered over your words was endearing, and it was sending all the blood in his system rushing down south. Glancing up at him timidly, you chewed on your bottom lip. “Would it hurt more if it’s… my first? You know… tattoo, of course.”

For the third time since meeting you, Sukuna was struck by the startling realization that he seriously didn’t deserve any of this. The hand that had been slowly traversing up your neck grasped at your jaw. 

“Well, I’d make sure you were good and ready first, doll.” He assured, eyes drifting down to stare longingly at your parted lips before meeting your heated gaze once again. “But you should always be sure you chose the right artist first, you hear?” 

And you heard him loud and clear. With your heart beat reverberating mercilessly in your ears, you nodded breathlessly at him.

“I trust you.”  

And oh, how hard he worked to assure you didn’t regret those words. Something told him you didn’t though— maybe the way those pretty, manicured nails were digging into his scalp just as his jaw began to ache deliciously in tandem with his mouth’s relentless ravishing of your perfectly supple pussy.

You were dripping down his chin, evidence of you tickling down his neck as he desperately tried to drink up every last drop of you. His colossal hands had come up to hold your trashing hips down against the chair after one too many jolts away from his eager tongue. The sound of his grotesquely sloppy, open mouthed kissed against your core filled your ears as you stared up at the ceiling blearily. 

You were so grateful that you always wore waterproof makeup for your performances, because you were sure your mascara would have been smeared unattractively down your face with the sheer force of your overstimulated tears. The saccharine moans that were hurdling their way from your throat made him dig his black fingernails into your stomach as he sucked on your clit as if rewarding you for the melodies. 

He grunted when the sensation made you yank at the roots of his hair, and you quickly gasped apologetically before releasing your tight grip. 

“Oh! I-I’m— ah! I’m sorry.”

Your disappointed whine made him smirk as his face suddenly emerged from between your legs to leer at you menacingly. One of his hands left your stomach to catch yours as it departed from his scalp, guiding it back affirmatively. 

“Tear the shit out if ya’ want— quit fuckin’ apologizing.” 

His words had your eyes rolling back into your skull, more confident now as you dug your fingers through his soft locks once again. The hand that had abandoned its post on your stomach never returned, and you instead felt it gliding purposefully up the inside of your thigh. Two of his long fingers sweeped up your weeping slit, gathering some of your arousal as his lips remained focused on your bundle of nerves. 

With a thrust that seemed so uncharacteristically careful of him, he dipped his two fingers into your sopping entrance. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, the heels of your feet finding the edge of the chair to pull yourself away from the subtle sting. 

“Easy, easy,” Sukuna rasped, tearing his mouth away from your honied center in favor of talking you through your unease. The remaining hand on your stomach began tracing soft, sensual circles against your silken skin. It made you slowly release your hitched breath, apprehensively relaxing back against the leather. “Atta girl, relax for me, yeah?”

You nodded deleriously up at the ceiling, head lolling to the side to watch what he was doing, not expecting to find his ruby eyes already focused on you. A flush fell over your face, hoping your expression didn’t give away how utterly torn apart he had made you with his tongue alone. A smirk tickled his glistening lips as you met his gaze, and he turned his head to press comforting, open mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

After a few moments, his fingers began slowly pushing through the subtle resistance of your core. Casting a sidelong glance your way to catch your reaction, he gently curled his fingers up, digits massaging at the cusiony bundle of nerves at the roof of your walls, and god, how the blissed out popping open of your mouth failed to disappoint. 

Burning for a closer look, he rose from his knees to climb onto the tight space of the chair. It was by no means designed to hold two people— especially not when one of them is as abnormally overgrown as Sukuna, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t drink up those candied whimpers slipping past your lips. The steady pace of his fingers picked up as he hovered over you, taking a moment to soak in how beautifully debauched you looked just like this. 

“Sukuna—” You whined at the sensation of the steadily growing knot in your stomach, but he only offered a mockingly sympathetic nod. Your fingers dug into the soft fabric of his button down, clinging for dear life as he lowered himself closer to you until his lips brushed against your ear. 

“Call me Ryomen, doll.” 

And that was the very name that slipped from your lips in an almost strangled sob as you crumpled against him. His lips quickly found yours, though you were hardly able to reciprocate his kiss as moans continued spilling from you, falling into his awaiting mouth like a prayer. 

Much like the startled realization you had earlier that he was very serious about tattooing you that night, you were for some reason just as gobsmacked as you watched him rise with his knees trapping you in, purposefully unbuttoning his now wrinkled dress shirt as his hungry eyes stared down at you. He had pushed your sweater off of you just before burying his head between your thighs, and he was now reaping the reward of watching your breasts heave as you looked up at him. 

Your expression must have given you away, as it always seems to, as he stood up to work his belt off. The clinking of his buckle made your mind race, chest swelling with a feeling that you couldn’t decide was anticipation or anxiety. As he pulled the leather material through the loops of his dress pants and worked away at his button and zipper, he observed your horribly practiced poker face. 

He tilted his head to the side as his bottoms pooled at his feet, the outline of his erection now on full display for your already perturbed gaze. Maybe it was just because you’d never exactly seen one up close before, but, even through the straining fabric of his boxers, you were almost positive that thing wasn’t natural. Hiking yourself further up on the leather chair, you tried not to stare in a way that screamed fear. 

The motion made him pause, his thumbs slowly unhooking from their spot in the waistband of his boxers. A careful sigh escaped him, the tiniest of knowing smiles masking the subtle disappointment in his chest as he turned from you to pull up a stool. 

“W-What are you doing?” You questioned, watching with fluttering eyes as he leaned down to begin pulling supplies out from the drawer to place on the work table beside your chair. 

“I’m tattooing you— the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” 

Your mouth opened and closed much like a fish as you closed your legs self-consciously. His hair was still rustled from your fingers’ assault through it, and there was still a very prominent tent poking out through his boxers, though he still began prepping his station as though he hadn’t just been about to take your virginity in the middle of this tattoo parlor. 

“Well, um… what about you?” You stammered anxiously as he guided you by your shoulder to lay back. 

“What about me?” He murmured while pulling on a pair of gloves. 

“Didn’t you want to…” The words died on your throat, far too embarrassed to utter them aloud. Your eyes drifted to the side as you felt your face flush. “I mean you… helped me, so.”

Sukuna finally paused, tilting his head to look at you with a challenging raised brow. 

“I wouldn’t tattoo you in that chair cause you weren’t a hundred percent about it before. What makes you think I’ll fuck you in it when you clearly don’t want to?” His crude words only made your embarrassment grow that much deeper, but his fingers quickly came up to tilt your chin toward him before he winked teasingly at you. “Don’t worry— one commitment at a time, right?”

Your gaze softened at his consideration, even as he turned away from you to continue prepping his station. It made you forget how nervous you were that he was about to permanently mark you, but a small part of you already felt like he had. 

So, you allowed him to carefully pull your bra off when he asked, sighing wistfully as he pressed a longing kiss against each one before cleaning the area. Much like just minutes prior, he let you pull at his hair as the needle gradually began piercing your skin, laughing through your tears as he grumbled about how much of a wimp you were. His soft smile told a different story though as he sat still clad in his boxers and paused each time you needed to breathe, taking each opportunity to kiss and nip at your lips with the false pretense of taking your mind off the pain. 

You were sure the process was prolonged at least an hour longer than necessary with how long your breaks would last as he couldn’t bear to interrupt you as you nervously rambled about whatever came to your mind. As you began growing used to the subtle pain, you traced each of the black marks on his face as he worked with a fierce concentration. 

Pathetic tears of awe and shock spilled from your tired eyes as you stood in front of the mirror to observe his delicate handiwork. It was just as beautiful as it had been when he first showed you the rough sketch, though he would argue that your skin did it far more justice, chin hooked over your shoulder as he observed your reaction in the mirror. 

Sukuna scoffed at you when you tried to ask him the price, much to your mortification. He wouldn’t even look in your direction, busying himself with cleaning up the station as he pretended not to hear your countless protests. 

“You just spent like— hours doing this.” You gaped, through flushed cheeks as you jostled his arm. “Please, let me pay you.” 

“Wanna know how you can pay me?” He finally questioned gruffly, leaning back against the counter as he pulled you in closer to his bare chest. Breathlessly, you nodded, eyes unable to meet his as they were too focused on his curled lips. 

“Whenever you’re ready for your next big commitment,” He whispered, his warm lips brushing against the shell of your ear as you clung to his biceps. “Let it be me, yeah?”

part two

a/n: got the inspiration for this yesterday, blacked out, and suddenly it was finished the next day oops

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[sturnioz]

the fraternity formal is this weekend, and shy!reader is completely oblivious to what's going on until her friend breaks the news to her.

"i'm gonna be gone next weekend, kid," chris announces to you suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet stillness of the room, and you shift slightly, moving your head to get a better look at him. he's sprawled beside you, his eyes glued to his phone, thumb scrolling through his instagram feed. "s'you don't have to come here."

the blankets cling to your glistening bare skin as you turn to face him fully, curiosity sparking within you. "how come?" you ask, your tone light but filled with genuine interest.

the sharpness of his gaze meets yours, a familiar hint of annoyance that signals you're being too nosy in his life and you frown slightly.

"you brought it up... m'just curious."

chris rolls his tongue across his teeth, a habit of his when he's trying to brush off a question as he returns his focus to his phone, scrolling mindlessly. "just some stupid fuckin' frat thing."

you ponder this, pursing your lips as you consider his words. "why are you going if you think it's stupid?"

"it's mandatory, kid. the frat will have my ass if i don't go." chris' tone is almost defensive, as if he expects you to understand. you really don't, but you choose not to press the issue any further.

instead, your mind wanders to the idea of a free weekend — one without parties, and drunken and high people. the thought makes you smile to yourself, already imagining the little things you could enjoy in the comfort of your own space and time.

chris seems to sense your silence and shifts his gaze to you, his eyebrow raising as he drops his phone onto the bedside table with a soft thud. "y'gonna miss me, kid?"

the question pulls you from your thoughts, and you blink, suddenly aware of the intensity in his eyes as he pushes himself up, moving to kneel between your legs, the warmth of his body pressing against yours.

his hands find your thighs, his fingers gripping the soft flesh as a smirk slides across his lips. he leans in closer, tilting his head to the side, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin as one hand glides down between your legs, his thumb pressing down on your already sensitive clit, making you jolt.

"she gonna miss me, bun?"

"chris.." you whisper softly, feeling your stomach flutter as your pulse quickens, your mouth parting with a gasp as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clit.

"yeah... she's gonna miss me."

for the next few days, thoughts of him going away next weekend slip from your mind. it makes sense, after all — it's not your business, and you're not particularly interested in anything fraternity-related.

but signs of what's to come should've started creeping in when you walked across campus one afternoon, the giggles and babbles of excitement from sorority girls echoing in the air as they boast about a wild weekend filled with parties, pretty dressed, alcohol, drugs, and sex.

the suspicion should've resurfaced again when you were out with kitty and nick, overhearing kitty mention a sleek black silk dress she wanted to buy for the weekend. (truthfully, you were just glad to be spending time with them to even think about what the weekend was about).

and before you could even question her about the reasoning why, nick was already letting out a dramatic scream, having accidentally spilled water all over his pants. he raised his sandal foot towards kitty's face that's drenched in water, showing her the disaster he created and she shrieked, shoving his foot away in horror as she exclaims about how vile feet were — making you giggle and completely forget about any lingering questions about the weekend.

you're now sitting at the kitchen table in your shared apartment, blissfully absorbed in your breakfast. the spoon clicks against the bowl as you scoop up creamy yoghurt and berries, savouring each bite without a care in the world. your friend, however, is a whirlwind of energy, darting back and forth as she huffs and puffs, searching desperately for something.

you only notice her dilemma when a loud curse escapes her lips as she trips over her own feet, stumbling slightly, and you raise your head from your bowl with a startled look, your eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"what are you doing?" you ask, your voice laced with curiosity.

"i'm trying to find my dress—the silk red one with the thin straps. have you seen it?" she exclaims, her tone a mix of urgency and frustration.

you shake your head in response, watching as her shoulders drop with a heavy and defeated sigh.

"fine, alright. guess the blue will have to do. fuck..." she then turns her gaze to you. "i don't know how you're so calm about this. have you already picked out your dress?"

now that immediately catches your attention, and you stare at her, confusion washing over your face. "for what?"

"for the weekend! we're literally leaving tomorrow," she laughs, but the humour fades into awkward laughing when she sees your blank expression. "the fraternity formal," she adds, her eyes narrowing slightly as if that should clarify everything.

you feel a knot in your stomach, "what fraternity formal?"

suddenly, her laughter completely dies down, and she stares at you, disbelief etched on her features, "did... chris not tell you about it?

the weight of her question hangs in the air, and a sinking feeling settles in your chest as the reality starts to dawn on you. chris hadn't mentioned anything about a formal, but he did say he was going away for the weekend. your mind races through the past few days, replaying snippets of conversations — how he brushed off your questions about his plans, the overhead chatter of sorority girls giggling about the weekend, and kitty wanting to buy a new dress.

all those vague hints about the weekend swirl together, forming the final picture.

"no," you murmur, the word heavy on your tongue. "no, he didn't say anything about a formal."

your friend calls out your name softly, a frown settling on her lips as she watches you turn to your breakfast. your appetite has gone, but you fight the urge to let the emotions knotting in your stomach to take over as you mindlessly swirl your spoon through the yoghurt, focussing on the movement as if it would distract you from the growing unease.

"i won't go," she declares quickly, sliding into the chair beside you at the table. "fuck the formal. i'll stay here with you, and we can—"

"stop.." you cut her off gently, shaking your head. "don't do that. it's okay.. nate invited you, right?"

"i.. yeah, but—"

"then go," you insist, a sad smile breaking through as your throat tightens. "i know he would really want you there."

there's a bittersweet ache in your chest as you speak, the words feeling heavier than they should. you genuinely want her to enjoy herself, even if it means facing a weekend that suddenly feels much more complicated.

she studies your face, searching for any hint of reluctance or sadness, but you try your best to remain a steady expression despite the thought of chris, the formal—of everything left unsaid—looms in your mind.

"are you sure?" she asks, her voice softening, concern flickering in her eyes. "because i will stay.."

"yeah," you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. "yeah, i'm sure. just... go and have fun. you'll enjoy it."

authors note. i will make a part two eventually before you ask <3

© STURNIOZ

[bluesidez]

GymRat!Miguel Part 2

content warning: mentions of food because big boys gotta eat, there’s a ref photo for an outfit in here that is unfortunately NOT a plus-size girl 😞 (I couldn’t find a big girl wearing an outfit like that for the life of me, but let’s use our imagination), 18+ towards the end so MDNI!

word count: 1.7k (not very drabble-like, ik) kinda proofread

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up when his 6 am alarm rings, eyes tired and bleary. His roommate is sound asleep, thank god, and Miguel is just staring at the ceiling for a good 10 minutes before he decides to move. He has an 8 am and he needs some type of breakfast before he heads to class.

GymRat!Miguel who uses the college cafeteria to his full advantage. He made sure that his dad’s money went to the highest meal plan. One free meal plan a day and a loaded campus card for everything else. He stacks his plate high with everything the cafeteria is offering today. Sausages, eggs, 2 bananas, a blueberry muffin, and a protein shake he brought from his room.

GymRat!Miguel who made friends with one of the cafeteria ladies, Ms. Beatrice, by the third week of school. She noticed how much he visited the cafeteria and always snuck him an extra treat from the kitchen when she saw him.

“I missed you last Tuesday!” she says, squeezing his shoulder when she walks up to his table. She slides a wrapped egg sandwich across the table. “I was saving some extra cookies for you, but you were nowhere to be found.”

Miguel thanks her, happy to have something light for later, “Ah, I was stuck in the library doing a group project. Sorry about that, Ms. Beatrice.”

“As long as you’re getting your education, I don’t mind,” she says, hands on her hips. “Don’t go out there skipping class now, ok?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Miguel says, waving her goodbye. His mom would kill him if that ever happened. Not that he would tell her, she just had a sixth sense for his “fuck-ups.”

GymRat!Miguel who makes it to his class fifteen minutes early to arrange his part of his desk to his liking. Sometimes he feels so embarrassed when he needs to grab something in the middle of class, his ears hyperfocusing on every little noise he makes in quiet, crowded areas. He always makes sure to get out his laptop, a pen, a pencil, a highlighter, a notebook, some white-out, and a water jug. He prefers to be over-prepared.

GymRat!Miguel who’s feeling anxious when the sorority girls pass by his table, giggling and twirling their hair. They attempt to make conversation with him, speaking ill of the professor. He just nods along for the sake of being a gentleman. He thought the professor’s Millennial attempts at Gen Z jokes were kind of funny, albeit very 2010. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he actually enjoyed the lectures.

GymRat!Miguel who’s never been more excited for a lecture to start in his life. He didn’t know many more “wow”’s snd “that’s crazy”’s he had left in him. The noise of the ice hitting their plastic coffee cups as they struggled to get every drop out was starting to grate against his ears. He missed you and your sticker-covered water bottle. He looked over at his jug and smiled when he saw the ‘Game Over’ sticker you gifted him before the last lab. You noticed his joystick keychain and felt that his water bottle was empty.

GymRat!Miguel who declines the girls’ offer to join them on a morning jog after. He liked to work out in solitude and morning jogs with them would mean conversation. He would also have to be extra conscious about what he wore. No older lady walking her dog needed to spot him jogging with shorts that were too short for his own good and a tank top cut so deep that it was like string on his chest.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to head to the library in between class to kill time. He figured he can see if there are any science fiction he can check out to read in his free time. As he walks there, he opens Instagram to scroll. No, he has not been checking the app since this morning to see if you let him in, he’s not a freak. He stops walking when he checks his notifs to see that you accepted his follow request. He wastes no time to click your page again and is bombarded with tons of photos.

GymRat!Miguel who has to close the app immediately when he sees your first photo. It's a picture of you outside of a restaurant in a knitted two-piece. The top is open just a bit to see your chest and the long skirt is low enough to see a part of your stomach peeking through. Your smile is radiant and the caption is something about congratulating someone. You look delectable and Miguel can’t afford to run back to his dorm to let his mind wander over it right now.

GymRat!Miguel who gets another notification as he steps into his dorm room after his last class of the day and sees that you’ve liked and commented on his most recent post. It’s a mirror picture of him flexing his arm after his last work out. His shorts are riding high on his thighs and the curve of his ass is very noticeable. Gabriel had blew up his phone with voice memos of him cackling after he posted it.

“Looking good!! 🫣 Get those gains Miguel! 💪🏾”

Miguel runs a victory lap in his dorm room, thankful that his roommate wouldn’t be back until that night. He’s jumping and punching the air excitedly as if he were a boxer. If he wasn’t fearful of busting his ass, he’d do a backflip. Take that, Gabri.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to go back to your account, running on the hype of that one compliment from you. He stares at that first photo again, still mesmerized as if he didn’t see it earlier. He gives a like and starts typing.

“Wow…”

No, that’s corny.

“Loving the blue…”

Is he a frat guy?

“You look stunning”

Was that too much? He decides to add on a heart eyes emoji, afraid he might be coming on too strong.

GymRat!Miguel who goes a little further down your page. There’s a photo of you in a crochet cover up, your swimsuit peaking through the material. He groans as he slides to the next picture and the top of your cover up is off and it’s just a view of your back with your bikini string wrapped around it. Your lower half is in the water and if he can imagine it just enough, he can feel himself right behind you, taking in the view of your ass against him.

He’s hard. Again.

He decides to just let everything hang while he has the dorm to himself. His boxers are to his ankles as he sits on the bed, back against the wall. He keeps staring at your swimsuit pictures. Your breasts pushed together while you lean over the boat. Your hips swaying in a clip of you dancing with your friends. Your stomach on display as you lay in the sand, ready for him to squeeze.

He grit his teeth as he played the clips over and over again, his hand moving fast to bring him his relief. He closed his eyes and imagined he was there, watching you swaying before him. He would join you, grab your hips and let you guide him in the dance. He felt faint as he let go, voice shouting and white splattered across his shirt and fist.

He breathes fast, trying to calm down. He decides to like the photo dump and comment some aimless beach emojis under the post. It was the least he could do after using it to get off. How embarrassing.

GymRat!Miguel who jumps when his phone dings again. He was prepping to go to the gym when your response comes flying to his phone. His heart picks up when he sees you replied to his comment.

“That is so sweet of you to say! 🥺 Thank you 🥰”

He doesn’t know if you took it as a friendly gesture or a sign that he wanted you. Either way, he’s over the moon. There’s a pep in his step as he blasts Super Shy in his ears on the way to the gym. He had a new motivation to push harder in his sets.

GymRat!Miguel who tacks on 10 extra pounds during his arm workout. The guys in the gym are eyeing him in wonder and horror as he uses the 70lb weights for tricep extensions. He thinks of seeing you in lab later that week and decides to do some hip thrusts.

He can never be over-prepared.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to take a picture at the end of his work out to post on his story. He’s sweating, hair dripping towards the ends, his chest glistening. The angle is awkward as he moves the camera below him and flexes an arm for the picture. The story was meant for one girl and one girl only, so he didn’t really care how silly it looked to others.

GymRat!Miguel who almost fist pumps on the walk home when you like his story and leave a reply. He checks the private messages, grin on his face before he even reads what you have to say.

“Looks like you had a nice workout. I might have to join you next time and get some tips 🤔”

Miguel swiped the app up and texted Gabriel:

“Don’t ever question my game again”

"? Wtf are you talking about"

Miguel opened up his messages with you again and replied to text him whenever and he’d be happy to help.

GymRat!Miguel who winds down for the night, scrolling on his phone before he closes his eyes. Of course you posted a story and of course he pressed it within record speed.

It was a photo of you laying down all bundled up with a cute ‘good night’ gif moving across the bottom. You had on a spaghetti strap tank top and if your blanket wasn’t in the way, he’s sure he would see more than that.

You looked soft, adorable, kissable.

He liked the story and responded back a “good night” and closed his phone. He wanted you to visit him in his dreams once more.

dividers by: @gigittamic 🩵

a/n: tumblr mobile kept deleting full paragraphs of my draft. not happy about that because I kept losing my flow. 😒 it happened like THREE TIMES 😭

Thanks for reading! Like, comment, reblog, and tell me how you feel! 🩵

Wanna be added to the taglist for GymRat!Miguel? Comment and let me know. 🤗 (PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO. This series has been and will get even more NSFW!)

taglist: @ghost-lantern 🫶🏾🥺

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 31ST LEGALLY BLONDE ━━ seishiro nagi + coercion !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. seishiro nagi + coercion. there’s no way someone broke up with nagi because he’s too blonde!? poor baby, maybe you could provide a little emotional support…(5.5K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, dark content, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, strangers to lovers (?), teaching assistant/student relationship, dom/sub dynamics, some switching, reader is lifted up by nagi, coercion, dubcon, handjobs, virginity loss, cherry chasing, oral fixation, mind break, praise kink, creampies, soft sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, TA!reader, elle woods!nagi.

୨୧ — director’s note. happy halloween my loves! i hope you enjoy the final kinktober fic! its been super fun writing and editing for you all. stay tuned for the bonus in the coming weeks <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

this law school thing wasn’t all what it cracked up to be. 

after the love of his life, reo mikage, had broken up with him for someone smarter, blander and richer than him — nagi had been blessed with the genius idea of following his ex all the way to one of the top law schools in the world. the plan was practically fool proof, the guys at his sorority worked hard to help seishiro study — pulling all nighters for practice tests and rewarding him with naps every time he had gotten a question right. 

rin itoshi had even convinced his parents to reach out to a hollywood director so that they could film nagi’s audition tape. it obviously featured isagi and bachira too. nagi had even worn his best designer swim trunks to impress the board of admissions. they’d all been super supportive of the light haired male in his endeavours and were there when he passed his LSAT exam

with all of this combined, he had managed to get in in — if that wasn’t enough for reo, then what was?

the answer? nothing.

reo still wanted that bland, basic bitch his family was marrying him off to. she was sensible, she was rich and seishiro quickly realised that he had only ever been a bit of ditzy fun to reo — a dumb blonde to stick his dick into whenever the time felt right. eye candy and nothing more. balancing his shattering hard with the complexities of law school had been tough for the white haired male and everything seemed to be going wrong. no one would study with him, reo wouldn’t even look at him and his friends back home were busy with the wedding plans nagi so desperately wished he had. 

however, that’s when you came along. 

after having the epiphany that he didn’t need reo to succeed — nagi knuckles down and studied hard for the law firm internship being offered amongst his cohort. he was relieved to have you as a teaching assistant in the process, not only were you absolutely gorgeous but you were compassionate and empathetic. you were smart, eloquent and everything seishiro wished he could be for his ex.

perhaps that’s what drew him to you, why he followed your every word like a puppy drooling after a treat. you’d been kind to nagi for the entire semester, from helping him out with studying for the internship right down to today, where he would be taking on his very first case in a court of law. it should have been easy, the facts were simple too. the client and fellow fraternity brother  (shidou ryousei) was accused of and arrested for the murder of his wife… but something about the events weren’t seeming to add up. nagi couldn’t come up with an alibi either. 

it was as if the words; the reasonings, the justification for shidou’s freedom were right in front of grey-scale eyes, only scrambled up like morse code. “how about we take a break?” as if you were a vision from his dreams or an angel from up above, you appear behind nagi’s tall frame as he slumps defeatedly against the hotel room desk — your hands fixing themselves to his broad shoulders for a massage. “you’ve been at this all night, seishiro.”

the law student swears your touch could heal all human ailments, the warmth of your palms seeping into the tense parts of his muscles like a cell performing diffusion — relaxation forming a comfortable fog over his brain. “i know shidou didn’t do it,” nagi defends with a grumpy pout, leaning back into you so that his head rests lazily against your stomach. “he told me… he said he was getting liposuction.” 

“we’ll need evidence of that,” you note, jerking your head to the side so that nagi can write it down. this entire time you’d been such a good mentor. “good boy.” something clicks in the light-haired male’s brain, a crackle of electricity shooting down his spine at your praise — swirling around in his guts as if to activate arousal.  “run me through the witness statements again.” there’s a sensual lilt to the tone of your voice and your touch cascades from his shoulders up to his neck like a backwards flowing waterfall.

seishiro isn’t sure if he’s making things up or reading the signs correctly — but he knows that there’s some kind of tension bubbling in the air. particles that resemble an aphrodisiac using kinetic energy to collide together, painting the room with lustful colours. “shidou’s step daughter says she heard a gunshot around 2:15pm after leaving the shower, walkin’ downstairs only to find shidou hangin’ over his wife’s body — covered in blood. ugh, this is too much hassle. this doesn’t make any sense!” he tosses an annoyed sigh into quietness of the room, moaning in surprise when you cup the base of nagi’s neck to pull his head up to face you and your eyes meet.

“you need a break seishiro, we can come back to this later,” you hum, the vibrations of your voice laced with sex appeal. as he swallows thickly, the law student’s Adam’s apple bobs under the pressure of your fairy-light grip on his throat — anticipating more from you. at this point, you’re half bent over him as he leans back in the chair, pink tongue slowly darting out to cover your lips in a spit shine. “how about it?” 

this feels so wrong. nagi’s cock stirring beneath his slacks at how good and kind you’re acting towards him. no one has ever gotten him this hot before — no one aside from reo. and you were still his teacher, by technicality, it would be wrong for nagi to even consider sucking your tongue down his throat. and yet, he can’t find it in himself to stop the temperature from rising between you, for falling into your dangerously salacious trap. 

“y-yeah,” he breathes deep when you squeeze his throat a little to test the waters. “i could do with a break.” 

“me too,” you gasp all too agreeably, bending the rest of the way down to capture seishiro’s lips in a searingly hot kiss. just as he wished you pry his mouth open with the tip of your curious tongue — pushing through his plush lips and curling around his own pink appendage. the lip lock is passionate, ravenous despite the mess and spit that you exchange. he chases your lips until he can’t breathe, sloppily accepting anything you give him, letting you lead where he can’t. 

he’s never done this before, not like this, not without reo. but in this moment, the silver-blonde doesn’t think he could ever go back to making out with his ex. not now that you’re the one kissing him. 

“i-i've never done any of this before.” the blonde gulps, swallowing down the copious amount of spit that builds on the palette of his tongue — looking into your eyes as a sense of hunger dawns on him, as if you’re the very meal he’s set to devour. “not without anyone that wasn’t—“

reo. 

sure they’d done stuff together. naughty touches here and there, hands ghosting over boxer briefs and fingers tweaking nipples (sei’s were especially sensitive because of the cute little piercings his ex insisted he get) — but nothing close to actual sex, nothing with a girl, nothing with someone like you. a burning heat, unlike anything nagi’s ever felt before, begins to brew in his lower stomach. his cock rises beneath his pants that suddenly feel all too tight.

nagi’s girth twitches against his thigh as your nails rake their way down his chest and slowly pop open the buttons of his crisply pressed white shirt. it heaves beneath his clothes — heart hammering against its calcium cage of his ribs. 

“i can tell, pretty boy.” you soothe him by purring into the shell of his ear, teeth tugging at the softness of his lobe. “but you’re a good kisser though. did reo teach you that?” your lips cascade down to his neck like a gentle flowing river at the same time that your hands delve below the belt to squeeze at seishiro’s swelling erection — testing the waters. 

his hips instinctively buck up into the warmth of your palm and a grin spreads across your plush lips at the feeling of his precum soaking his underwater and smearing across your fingers in thick, clingy webs. 

white and seedy and he’s nowhere close to cumming. almost like a little virgin. 

“have you ever done this before, seishiro?” 

the sound of his name, salaciously spelt out on his tongue, earns you a high pitched whine from nagi — his head rolling to the side and his thighs squeezing together with vicious need. “n-no,” he pauses before he grunts out a response and his entire body seizes as you take a firmer grip on his cock — jamming a thumb into his leaky slit to spread his arousal. “but i wanted to i just… reo said not until marriage—“

“— you don’t have to listen to reo anymore.” you announce breathily, setting a steady pace to your fist to jerk him off with. you’ve barely started and yet your hand is already glossed in a slight sheen of pre, soiling your knuckles from its viscousness. it’s so much for someone who’s never gone father than sloppy kisses and grinding while making out. it nurtures a certain seed of satisfaction in your chest to see him so messy so fast. “you can listen to me, sweet boy. do you want this… do you want it with me?” 

without letting go of the fat, drippy cock within your grasp — you shift to stand between the desk and nagi’s chair, shoving papers and court notes to the ground in your lustful haze. nagi thrusts lazily into your closed fist as if it’s instinct, following the sensation like a moth takes to a candle light. his grey eyes grow murky like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

who was reo mikage to seishiro nagi? when there was an angel like you willing to feed this inexperienced man morsels of a heavenly pleasure he’s never felt before. the lawyer in training nods at your words like an eager man fallen to siren’s song as bait. “i want you,” he whimpers airily. “i wanna with you.” 

you rub down his thick, lengthy dick far enough to have your fingertips briefly brush against seishiro’s sensitive, weightly balls — just pulsing full of seed to give to you. the feeling makes nagi jump up from his seat so that he immediately towers over you. his height doesn’t overwhelm you, not when the towering blonde collapses onto you with a case of the shakes. he trembles above you, supporting himself by using one hand on the table while is mouth sloppily finds your neck to suck on and pacify himself.

“good boy, sei,” you coo, voice as sweet as hot sugar or candy. “i want you too. i always have. you’re such a pure, darling boy. glad to see that it’s true.” your praise is hidden in your soft moans as seishiro licks at the crystalline salt on your bare skin. you’re a little too twisted, taking advantage of his inexperience and his position beneath you as a student, but neither of you seem to care in this very moment. 

sweat beads against nagi’s hairline like diamonds on an expensive Chanel necklace and roses bloom across his cheeks with exertion — his hips rise and fall into your sticky fist in fluid motions, changing the steady stream of ecstasy you provide him. your hand is a solace for his aching cock, but you still make your student work for it. make nagi chase you since he only works hard for the things he wants. and right now, he wants to reach the end of the tight rope of pleasure you have him walking on. and to stave off the stormy frustration he feels from the case.

your hand wriggles it’s way into his wet silver locks, dragging nagi’s hungry mouth over yours since he’s so desperate to taste you, to have at you. it shows in the way he roughly grabs your hips too, grip so tight it threatens to leave bruises he’ll have to apologise for later. “ngh… please. g-god. miss…a-angel please,” he stutters, his bucking into your hand faster and harder, back and forth, back and forth through the tight ring of your fist. his bright and angry red cockhead peeks through the other side, glazed in opaque white — it’s a nice feeling, blistering hot and sensitive. “i…hah… gotta—“

nagi’s lashes flutter against your cheek — a strained whine reverbing in the base of his throat while you let him fuck your hands to his heart’s content, let him chase this new pleasure he’s never known. let him fall from the high heavens with blackened and burnt angel’s wings. you make him sin, for the first time ever. something about this should feel off to nagi, his law teacher taking advantage of him like this — but at this point, he’s too far gone, drowning in a hellfire of lust. 

mocking his moans, your mouth falls open in one of your own as you follow along with the pitiful expressions crossing the contours of seishirou’s face. “what is it, sei? what do you need?”

the room is too hot. your bodies against each other are temperate in the sex tainted air — accompanied by wet slapping sounds from your hand around his throbbing cock. “n-need to let go. it h-hurts,” he sniffles out, forcing his tongue into your mouth again to calm himself down. the more you speed up, remorselessly jerking him off, the closer nagi gets to the end of his own tether. this sensation is unfamiliar, the crumbling foundation of his orgasm coming crashing down as you fling droplets of his precum and arousal about the place — some of it landing on your clothes, the desk and discarded papers. 

again, neither of you care. 

“surrender to me baby, it’s okay. i’ve got you.” guiding the pale blonde through his first ever orgasm, you pour your heated words into his slobbering mouth — tongue running over his pearly white teeth and tangling with his drool coated tongue. that’s all sei needs to hear before he crumples against you with a shout — the first wave of his high crashing over him and pulling him under. 

it’s world shattering, brain melting as he cums. his abdomen contracts under your never-ending touch, ropes of hot white dribbling from his stimulated tip like a tap that keeps running. nagi swears he almost blacks out, falling dizzy and victim to your lustful charms as he twitches and cums and cums into your soiled palm. 

“f-fuck,” a soft whimper bubbles up on his raw bitten lips, stuttered out in suprise. “w-what was that?” 

“you orgasmed for me, sei, so pretty baby.” comes another set of your gentle praises. he feels his entire body wrack with a shakes at your words, his cock doesn’t dare to soften either. “you look so good when you cum.” 

his greyish-brownish eyes roll back into his skull when you let him go, his tip slapping against his clothed tummy. the brush of his cotton shirt against the slit on his tip makes him writhe from the sensitivity. “c-can i cum for you again? promise i’ll keep being good.” 

“of course,” you grin, proud that to have corrupted the poor boy. “are you okay to let me touch you again or do you want it now?” 

“touch me. now.” he growls, gripping your hand and guiding it towards his dribbling shaft, aiding the movement of your palm around him to start slow and lazy — working seishiro up into a heat once more. this time, the way your hand languidly jerks him off is made smooth by the evidence of his last orgasm, which you now use as lube. if you weren’t pressed for time and with a court case first thing tomorrow, you would have gotten onto your knees to clean up his copious amounts of mess. 

you quickly reduce him to a babbling mess against you, drool laden on his tongue and dripping onto his skin as you drive your thumb over nagi’s hot tip in tight circles with your free hand — touching what doesn’t fit in the other. “reo treated you so badly, poor baby,” you mewl sweetly, kitten licking at his pulse point just below his neck. “you work so hard, you deserve so much better. you deserve me.” 

he believes you, blindly and naively. nodding tenderly despite the way he widely fucks both of your hands as if they’re a makeshift hole — warm and slick, all for him. dopamine shocks him at the stem of his brain, spreading throughout his body like a wildfire only you can tame — it burns so good and  feels even better to have your dainty, perfectly manicured fingers wrap around his chubby girth so deliciously.

for a moment, you let seishiro go to squeeze at his heavy breeder’s balls — noticing the way they pulsate in your palm to signify the pale blonde’s second impending orgasm. “i think…hah… i think ‘m gonna… c-cum! again!”

pushing at his shirt, you press a kiss to the creamy skin of nagi’s shoulder and hum pridefully. “thank you for letting me know, sweetheart. cum for me. give it to me.”

with your permission granted, another blinding ecstasy takes over nagi, and he falls victim to you and your merciless hands once again. blood rushes through his ears like a storm surge, drowning at your angel coos while you guide him through his high, never letting up as you palm him through it all. he quivers and his knees buckle, shooting a hot and hefty load of seed all over your hand and clothes and the papers nearby.  “o-oh! fuck…” nagi chokes on a weak sob, bleating like an innocent lamb at the slaughter house while he weighed against your shorter frame — allowing you to bare the brunt of his weight and height. 

he’s so pretty when he cums, silvering blonde locks matted to his forehead by sweat — cheeks pink and lips swollen and red. if you could, you’d swallow him whole and selfishly devour your student for all that he has to offer. silly little blonde, stupid for trusting you, for wanting to fuck you.

your hand doesn’t slow around his pulsing cock but instead speeds up, digging your thumb into his oozing slit as arousal pearls at its centre once more. “n-no, s’too much.” seishiro cries quietly, tears stinging a pathway down the apples of his milky cheeks. “it hurts.” 

“poor you, poor baby.” you say harshly, mocking the poor blonde’s sniffles and hiccups. he’s exhausted and frustrated but doesn’t dare to pull away — his hips running after your hand hungrily. “you’re so cute sei, panting for me like a bitch in heat, fucking my hand like the dumb little blonde you are.” he hisses at the overstimulation, gargles on spit as it floods his mouth to accompany his appetite for you. 

“i’m not…ngh… ‘m not dumb.” he whinges in response and before either of you know it, seishiro is cumming again. hard. soiling his lap with abundant amounts of white. his chest heaves as he comes down, collapsing against you. he might deny it later, but being dumbed down and reduced to a stupid blonde seemed to really do it for him. 

finding his lips again, you soothe nagi with short and sweet kisses that grow more feverish by his own demand. all of a sudden you find yourself pinned to the desk below with the tall blonde between your instinctually parted legs so that he can grind against your panty clad core. “you’re…you’re right,” you say, breathing deep through your nose as your composure threatens to fall apart. “you’re so smart, sei. you’re the best lawyer on our team but…” bucking your hips once, you lower your voice by an octave so that your words slip through his ears like molten chocolate. “you’re acting like a dumb slut right now. don’t you wanna be my dumb slut, sei?”

his palm flattens against the mahogany desk just above your head, caging you in against its cold surface. “y-yes i do, oh fuck. please lemme fuck you. lemme be inside. i’ll be good.” 

“are you sure, baby?” 

“please—“ 

“but sei,” you brush a stray hair that curls at the centre of his forehead, the dumb blonde looking down at you with swimming grey eyes because he’s so needy. “it’d be your first time…” 

his face scrunches, nose crinkled at its bridge and brows knitted together in frustration. now that nagi’s had a taste of your sinful elixir he can’t seem to stop, you’re like a drug an addict can’t quit. something that could ruin his life or future prospects if he doesn’t get help. and yet he can’t look away, can’t pull his body away from yours and his achy dick from between your thighs — instead leaning closer so that it sinks between your plush pussy lips. 

nagi licks his lips, tongue rolling over his bottom one as he pants desperately. “please angel,” comes his broken beg, hanging pathetically in the sex tainted hair. “i need you. need it so bad. please please please— mph—!”

satisfied with his begging, you shove a set of cum soaked digits past the swell of seishiro’s pretty lips — chuckling darkly as his tongue laps over and in between them, and he whines at the salty taste of his arousal on your skin. “atta boy,” you coo, thrusting deep into the hot cavern of his mouth until the pale blonde gags around you, swallowing your fingers down like they’re a cock. he sucks so obediently, so desperately as if to please. like a good student too — and all the while, you work on kicking off your panties and flipping up your skirt so that he can get a nice rewarding view of your glistening cunt. 

“c’mere,” you reach out to the blonde and he leans into you, letting you wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him in place. “sei,” you gasp at the first contact of his thick, long shaft against your throbbing wet mound — mouth agape as if you’ve taken a gunshot wound to the chest. “do you know how to do this, smart boy? do you know how to fuck?”

nagi nods, pressing his forehead to yours while his hips jut forward on their own and his seedy tip brushes against your pearling clit so deliciously. at first, his movements are lax and the room is filled with the lewd squelches of your sexes moving over one another, but your breathing soon grows ragged and the salacious bump and grind becomes stickier and wetter. 

“u-uhuh.” he mumbles in response.

he’s so good for you even when his mouth is full and his mind is dazed, sucking on your fingers while he lets you overwhelm him. however, the blonde is only so well behaved and patient, and it’s not long before he slips his girth past the tight ring of your entrance without any warning. his fingertips dance up to your waist, grabbing at the fat there and using it as leverage to drag you to the edge of the table so he can sink into you further.

“oh…fucking hell!” you whimper wetly against the junction of nagi’s neck, nails digging into his shoulders to steady yourself while he sets the pace to your sinful dance. he’s bigger than what you expected (despite mapping his girth out with your hands), stretching your sloppy walls wide to accommodate for his size. you don’t complain, however, eyes rolling as he brushes up against pleasure spots you could never reach on your own. “o-oh baby, fuck me.” 

you pull your fingers out of his mouth with a lewd pop, desperate to hear the symphony of his sweet, low and sexy moans instead of having them muffled by your fingers while he fucks you for the first time. the pale blonde can hardly believe it — having your warmth wrapped around him and your cunt drool down on him like a waterfall. 

the law student throws his weight into fucking you, bullying his way into the deepest parts of your womb to slothfully fuck up your gooey insides. your cunt, your moans, your whole body has some kind of control over nagi — dumbing him down and reducing him to a sex crazed mess. to the point where he can’t even remember his ex’s name. he’s a mop of pale blonde hair and sweaty clothes, entirely hunched over you. 

“y-you’re so tight,” he tells you in a dreamy sigh, lost in the heat of your core. nagi’s grabs at your pudgy thighs and drags you back and forth onto his dick, the new deepness to his thrusts causing you to squeeze and froth around the fat base of nagi’s cock. “hah, feels so…so good.” 

wrapping your shaky legs around his slender waist, you offer up the same treatment to nagi — pulling him close to the point where he’s buried in your sluice sex right up to the hilt. his precum smears against your ribbed walls and his broken whimper echoes around your hotel room. “that’s it, fuck me like you fucked my hand, sweet boy.” lust sparks against your sex slicked bodies, your breasts bouncing with every one of nagi’s calculated yet sloppy thrusts. you can’t get enough of one another, clinging and clawing at one another’s bodies madly. “you can do it, prove to reo that you don’t need him. only me.” 

“o-only you.” nagi repeats weakly, tucking his face into your neck as he pounds you to the high heavens. the desk creaks beneath the force of his thrusts, threatening to break at the nails and bolts that hold it together. his eyelashes flutter against your skin, his low and deep moans mixed with high pitched gasps send a hot rush of dopamine across your brain and it really is all too much. 

nagi’s already cum three times and managed to fold you in half over his desk as a virgin. he feel as though he might break with how much he loves this, loves fucking you senseless. another fresh set of tears burn tracks down his face and gather in his unfairly long lashes as they tickle your skin. he hiccups and heaves against you, whilst his breathing grows ragged every time his glistening cock escapes the snugness of your tight pussy, precum stringing along your puffy folds. 

“so good baby, s-so fucking good!” your voice is broken and husky as you praise him, making his dick pulse against your g-spot over and over again. you’re fairing no better than he is, your skin blistering hot to the touch and bruised from how tight your student is gripping you — pulling you back onto his cock.

the pale blonde feels though he might burst, cream your insides like he did your hand and ruin that pretty skirt of yours — the one that sticks to his pelvis because of how close your bodies are. it’s rubbed him raw while he fucks you raw. “‘m i the best?” seishiro asks, cherishing the embrace of your viscous walls, his shaft coated in a crude mix of white as it froths from your tight little hole. “t-tell me i’m the best…” 

“t-the best i’ve ever had! f-fuck, sei!” you squeal in response, only egging the law student on, babbling your praises while fat droplets of your arousal flies about the place — painting nagi’s pelvis in a shiny gloss, curling in his white happy trail as well. 

“‘m the best. i’m the best for you.” grunting from the exertion and the very force of his own thrusts, seishiro wraps both of his strong arms around your middle and stands up from the table — taking you with him. at the new angle, the coil in your stomach only tightens and you fling your arms around his neck to prepare yourself for what’s to come next. “s’not enough, not deep enough. fuuuck you’re so wet and warm. i-i can’t,” he drawls lowly, nipping at the shell of your ear on instinct. 

that’s when seishiro begins to use his sheer strength to lift and drop you back onto his thick girth, fucking up into you at the exact same time. “g-good god!” you cry out, your impending orgasm prickling at your pelvis — shooting down each section of your spine. all of it only serves to spur nagi on. 

“give me your fingers,” he demands huskily, cantering into you from bellow — your juices running a steamy track down his heavy balls as they harshly smack against your peachy ass. “wan’ suck on ‘em. give ‘em.”

you don’t have time to register his ask because he grabs your wrist before your mind can even catch up (too occupied with the way he’s churning up your guts) and has two of your fingers in his eager little mouth — sucking on them diligently. you shudder as nagi runs his tongue between them, coats them in spit and drool that tracks across his chin once he’s done with them. 

“touch yourself for me?” he pleads through a wet whine, almost too innocently. “wanna see you cum this time.” 

it’s only then that you realise he’s been holding himself back, staving off his orgasm so he can see you writhe and gush all for him. the overstimulation must be burning at his brain, sizzling off his nerve endings and it’s probably more than the dumb little blonde virgin can take. so you do as he asks, trailing your spit slicked fingers between your bodies as they grind down on one another and you with your sensitive clit, pulling its hood back to draw tight circles over the pleasure nub. 

“o-oh! seishiro!” 

“that’s right, touch yourself f’me. wanna see you lose it like you make me lose it,” he moans softly constraining with how rough nagi pounds up into you. one of his hands slips from your hips to grope at your ass, pushing you down on him and forcing his cock to grind against that one special spot threatening to make you break. “‘m sorry,” he whimpers as though he’s going to cry. “d-don’t think i can hold back, angel.” 

“then don’t,” you gasp at the new friction, holding onto your last strings of sanity as you fumble with your clit tucked away between your ravaged folds. “i know you wanna cum for me, sei. l-let go, yeah? wanna see you break for me, like a good blonde slut.” 

your encouragement doesn’t give seishiro much choice, and while he’s in control of your bodies — his lean, strong frame anchoring you down onto his cock as it bullies your insides, you are in control of his mind. you destroy his train of thought, ruin the self-made man he was and send him tumbling into his final high. nagi’s orgasm breaks the surface viciously, pouring another load of his cum against your ripe and rippling walls. there’s still so much of it, the warm and viscous white seeping from your cunt and smearing all over your hot mound. 

the force of nagi’s high is so strong that he nearly drops you, just about managing to pin you safely to the desk once more. he’s still cumming and cumming and cumming — but that doesn’t stop him from thrusting into you hard and fast, desperate to trigger your orgasm so he can reward himself. it doesn’t take long, he’d already had you seated on the edge before his mind had shattered to pieces just from fucking you. 

you gush down his length and all over what remains of your shitty case notes (he probably didn’t need them anyways) with a pornographic shout when you finally hit your peak. it’s like the crescendo of a beautiful song — the world around you spinning and flashing white as you squirt and gush for the white haired lawyer. 

“f-fuck.” you giggle with a soft smile, fatigue washing over the both of you come down from the gates of heaven — crashing back down to earth with ecstasy still buzzing in your veins. “good boy, sei. you did so good for me,” you hum softly. “do you feel any better?” 

seishiro looks up at you from where his heavy frame has collapsed on your chest — clothes sweaty and askew, and offers you a lazy grin in return. “better,” he mumbles meekly and kisses a slither of your exposed skin, still grinding his seed into you as if to make sure it sticks. “thank you.” 

bringing a hand up to toy with his hair and soothing him, you nod. “good, we should get some rest, you’ve got a big trial tomorrow, pretty boy.” 

“do you think I can do it?” 

“i know you can, sei.” you scratch at his scalp. “i meant it. what i said earlier. you’re the best lawyer on our team. shidou’s defence stands a pretty good chance.” 

nagi grins once more, only this time he leans up to press a chaste kiss to your unexpecting mouth — pouring all of his gratefulness into it. 

because thanks to you, he feels more confident about the trial, — almost as if he’s won the trial already. and even if nagi goes lose, at least he’s won you over.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

𝟿.𝟼𝙺 𝚃𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝

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𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 1

⚠️ spoilers in the warnings ⚠️

swearing, Stalking, pet names, degradation, namecalling, public masturbation, dark!rafe, mean!rafe, perv!rafe, mentions of cum play, mentions of unprotected P in V, ownership kink, mentions of rough oral, violence, threats, blackmail, fighting, blood, gore, mentions of sextortion, Rafe sneaks into the reader's room, panty stealing, panty sniffing, takes pictures of the reader's private images, cum tasting, oral male receiving, oral female receiving, twist dark reader, mutual obsession, rough oral, gagging, kissing, reader doesn't ask rafe if he wants to go further than oral but he does and she starts anyway, messy sex, squirting, praise, drinking, smoking, mentions of drug use

𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓪 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓶𝓬𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮

Rafe’s POV:

I look out into the sea of college students piled on the road and grass. Booze, smoke, and sex hang heavily in the air. The fact that we haven’t got busted yet is a borderline miracle, the type of miracle I need because I – a fuckin’ idiot – didn’t ask for her number.

I stand near the kegs, not close enough to work them but close enough to see it as well as the front door of Phi Mu. Three hours and still no y/n. Where’s my girl? I take a pull from the bottle as my nerves start to creep in. What if she’s with Billy? What if she never left the house?

I swallow thickly, looking toward the sorority.

All of the lights are off. A soft glow of light shines from the side of the house, making my heart sink. No.

Pushing through the party, I make my way toward the house, my heart ramping up as I think about her and Billy not leaving. My jaw coils tight, teeth gritted.

What am I gonna do if he is? My threats weren’t enough. I’m gonna need to do something drastic. All my thoughts come to a screeching halt as I go to the window, looking into her empty bedroom. I turn fast, breaking into a trot, peering into Billy’s window.

Empty.

I can feel my heart rate slow, my tense shoulders falling. She’d never do that to me. Who am I kidding? She wanted me at the coffee shop. I pretty much sealed the deal at the car wash. She’s lookin’ for me. Fuck. ‘Course she is… I walk through the grass and head back to the party. The bass-heavy music thunders through the night air, making it hard to think about much more than the task at hand… Finding my girl.

I shove through the dense crowd, my head swiveling as I scan the crowd. My breathing is shallow, my heart rate climbing with every passing second, leaving me all but suffocated.

My head snaps to the side, catching a glimpse, nearly missing her as she gets swallowed up in the crowd. Or was that her? Am I seeing shit now?

I reach up, tugging at the collar of my t-shirt as my breathing tightens.

What if she found someone else? What if Billy was the least of my worries this entire time? My hands curl into my fists at the thought.

Billy’s looking for her, too. I know he is. If he wasn’t, he’d be out here. That fucker is always somewhere near the kegs. I told him y/n was off-limits. I thought I made that shit crystal clear. The coffee shop, the car wash… She was clearly interested in me.

She’s mine.

Even if she doesn’t know it yet, I don’t think these boys know how far I’d go to get what I want.

I want her.

I see another flash of hair to my left. Princess? I push through the crowd, following her just like I was this afternoon on campus, swerving and pushing through the crowd. “Y/n,” I call over the music. She turns around… Just some girl. Shit. A fuckin’ gut punch as she turns back around and joins her group of friends.

“Rafe!” One of the underclassmen calls out. “Bro – you good?” Clenching my jaw, I look over and nod, barely sparing them a glance as I continue to search.

I watch a couple disappear between the frat and the sorority, falling into the darkness. The boy pushes her against the wall before their lips lock, and for a split second, I think it’s her. My nerves ramp up, painting the worst-case scenarios: y/n’s face on her body and Billy’s on his. I rub my clammy hands against my jeans, my stomach turning. “Dammit,” I hiss, brushing my fingers through my hair nervously, my breathing erratic.

“The fuck are you on, Cameron?” Those same boys chuckle, pulling me out of my downward spiral. God, I must look like a fuckin’ mess.

“E,” I lie as I roll the tension out of my neck.

“E?” One of them asks with a wolfish grin. “You sharin’ or what?”

“Money talks, man. I’m sure as shit not sharin’ anything with you,” I snicker as I lift the liquor to my lips, drowning some more. The party grows louder as I stand there, trying to think of my next move.

I hear a familiar bubbly laugh. Cassie. Y/n’s sorority sister… Her face is plastered all over Y/n’s Instagram. If there’s someone who knows where she is, it’s her. I stalk to their group, frantic.

“Have you seen Y/n?” I interrupt them before I can think about it for another moment. Cassie blinks a few times, taken aback. I mean, we’ve never fuckin’ talked before.

”Uh, no… I don’t think so…” She watches me cautiously. “Why?” She asks curiously.

Jesus fucking christ. This is gonna get me nowhere.

I turn on my heels as my frustration mounts; I walk back to the underclassmen at the keg. The plastic trembles as I fill it to the brim with lukewarm beer. “…yeah, I’m supposed to buy some coke off Billy, but that fucker said he was lookin’ for someone.”

“Who?” The other boy asks, making my blood boil because I already know the answer.

“That Phi Mu girl he’s always talkin’ about. I don’t know. She’s hot as fuck.” I feel the liquid trickle down my forearm. Looking down, I realize I cracked my cup from my grip. Fuck, he’s a tough learner, isn’t he? My threats went in one ear and out the other.

That bitch probably thinks I’m a joke. He’s probably walkin’ around right now. Stalking her like she’s a fuckin’ animal.

I take a deep breath, looking down at the beer still leaking down my arm. I close my eyes, trying to calm down and gather my thoughts. You gotta be smart about this, Rafe.

I clear my throat, making my face passive before I make my first move.

“Hey,” I call out to the guys that were talking. “You guys got Billy’s number? Yeah?”

”Mhmm,” one of them hums. “‘Course.”

I lift my phone, feigning nonchalance. “Got shit service out here. Tell Billy his girl’s at the frat.”

One of them jabs the other in the side, gesturing for him to pull out his phone and send it off. His face glows in the light, the underclassmen quickly shoving it in his pocket as I swallow the rest of my beer, trying to remain uninterested, just hoping that he didn’t mention anything about me being the one to say I saw her.

“Thanks, buddy,” I smile, slapping him on the shoulder as I step toward the party's fringe, leaving the chaos behind to focus on watching for him. Billy thinks he makes the rules. He thinks he can disrespect me? No one fuckin’ disrespects me.

Billy.

That smug bitch struts toward the frat house, cig dangling from his lips, his head tilted down as he checks his texts. I can’t help but smile as something goes my way. Finally. Thankfully, I’ll get to take care of him first.

Billy sucks down the rest of his cigarette before flicking it into the dewy grass. He reaches up, unbuttoning the top button on his shirt and raking his fingers through his sandy blonde hair before setting his backward cap back on.

His lips curl upward the closer and closer he gets, no doubt thinking about ruining my girl in his room. He has no clue what he’s walkin’ into. I take a deep breath, moving toward the frat house, pushing through the crowd on the front lawn. “Billy! Hey, man, I’ve been lookin’ for you.”

Billy turns over his shoulder like he had been caught, and he had. “What’s up, Cameron?�� Billy asks, stuffing his phone in his pocket. I fight the urge to eye it. He’s texting my girl, I’m sure.

“Heard you got some yayo,” I smirk. “That true?” Billy stands there for a moment, running through scenarios in his head. His expressions ebbing between confusion and annoyance as I ask him for shit he knows I already have.

I shrug casually before continuing. “You holdin’ out on me, man. C’mon. I got cash. You got the shit, buddy. M’not trying to hold you up. Just need a bump,” I soften my voice on purpose to make it harder for him to hear me. Billy furrows his eyebrows, leaning closer to me.

“What?” He shouts. “Can’t fuckin’ hear you, man.” I nod over to the billiards room, making him roll his eyes and suck his teeth. Billy shoves his hands in his pockets, making his way toward the pool room without a fight. It’s not like he could tell me where he was goin’ or who he was lookin’ for… We were both puttin’ on an act.

I reach back, pulling the large wooden door shut behind me. Billy looks over at me, his eyes narrowing on mine, and at that moment, I swear he knows why he asked him in here, and it has nothing to do with a sale. He knows I’m here to settle the score. The music muffles to an eerie quiet as the tension between us builds. We both know if shit happens in here, no one’s hearin’. This is between him and I. No one’s stoppin’ this fight.

Billy’s arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, growing impatient regardless. “What’s this about, Rafe?” He asks annoyedly as he scratches his chin. A wicked smile plays on my lips; I turn slightly, clicking the lock into place, letting him know that his suspicions are valid and the threat is real. “Holy shit. Say somethin’, you fuckin’ psycho.”

“You know exactly where we’re in here, Billy. Why don’t you tell me? Huh?” I ask as I shove him roughly, sending him deeper into the dark room. “I made myself clear. She’s mine. And here you are, goin’ behind my back, lookin’ for her.”

Billy’s eyebrows shoot up, shifting his stance to make himself look bigger. He wasn’t gonna let this go without a fight. That’s fine – neither was I.

“Oh, I heard you, Rafe,” Billy chuckles smugly, his tongue gliding along his bottom lip

“I’m not gonna say it again. Aight. She’s mine. Stay. Away. From y/n,” I warn with a casual dominance.

Billy chuckles, his wild blue eyes glinting, inviting the challenge with open arms.

“Or what, Richy Rich? You gonna throw a tantrum every time you don’t get pussy. Run that mouth of yours every time a girl chooses me over you. She made it clear who she wants, and it ain’t you.”

“Bullshit.”

“That’s why she’s texting me this, huh?” He asks as he takes out his phone, showing off a picture of Y/n from the car wash. Her beautiful body is soaking wet as she gives him a look that would have had me cumming all over my phone again and again. The looks that’s only meant for me.

“Bitch-” Billy hisses as my hands grip the front of his shirt, shoving him against the pool table. Billy pushes me off, making me stumble back into the wall. ”Careful,” Billy barks, “you’re gettin’ yourself into shit you can’t finish. You’re not scaring me, bitch boy, Get the FUCK out of my way.”

He pushes me, but the contact is all I need. I grab him by the arm, throwing him off his feet and onto the floor. The impact echoes through the room as he hits the ground hard, fighting for the breath he lost. Billy quickly scrambles through his feet, charging fast.

I put my full weight into my punch, swinging for his jaw. He dodges, delivering a quick, brutal jab to my ribs. I land a punch, the blow plowing the side of Billy’s head, making him stumble back and onto the pool table, sending the pool balls scattering.

I grab him by his shirt, ripping the material in the process, tossing him to the ground like trash. “You don’t get to win. You don’t fuckin’ get her,” I shout as I stand over his body, lifting my foot to stomp on his chest, making him recoil in pain.

“And you think you do?” Billy grunts, kicking out my feet, making me stagger. He rises to his feet, chest heaving with effort. “Y/n doesn't even know you, Rafe. You met here once.” He scoffs. “One fuckin’ day. One. You’re just some obsessed fuck,” he spits as blood bubbles out of his mouth.

”Obsessed?” I laugh, shaking my head at him. “Obsessed. Maybe I’m just givin’ her what she deserves. Huh? She doesn’t need some weak pussy playin’ the long game. She needs a man who takes what he wants,” I reach down, grabbing a pool stick off the table as the room blurs, anger overtaking my being. I swing the stick, nailing Billy’s face, sending his head snapping to the side before his body tumbles to the floor. Blood spurts from his face, gathering in a puddle around his head.

Message delivered.

Billy lets out a small, feeble breath. Still alive. Barely. I roll my eyes, crouching next to his limp body, listening to his labored breaths. "You don't get to even think about her again. You stay the hell away from her, or you won’t be able to get up next time." Billy’s eyes flicker to mine before dropping down in defeat.

“Fuck you, Rafe. M’gonna tell her everything,” he mumbles, barely audible as he fights for consciousness. His blood continues to spill from his lips, making a grin grow on my face.

”No, you’re not. ‘Cause if you do, that little scandal you thought was long gone will be far from over. I’ll drag that shit out of the dirt and drag you with it, you pathetic fuck. $15,000 to some whore in Vegas after she recorded you stroking your shit online? You haven’t even finished payin’ your debt to me, asshole.”

“You got no fuckin’ proof.”

“Bullshit, I do. She was blackmailing you then, and I’m blackmailin’ you now. You don’t think I don’t have those pictures. Paid that nasty slut $5,000 extra just to keep ‘em in case of emergency and shittt… Look at what we got ourselves into, huh?” I chuckle cruelly. “Checkmate, bitch.”

I stand up, smoothing out my shirt, making myself half-presentable for her. "You can be my brother, Bills, or my enemy. Don’t make me end you.” I turn on my heels, heading toward the door, locking it from the outside. I smile as I take a few more steps, satisfied for the moment, pinching the volume button on the speakers before cranking it up even louder, drowning out any noises Billy dares to make.

I let out a loud breath, returning to my earlier thoughts.

Where the hell is she?

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 3