#anyway just wanted to scribble him in that look again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

guliexe · 2 months ago

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━━━ONE ON ONE 18+

Nishimura Riki x Female!Reader — University AU

.ᐟwarnings/tags: study buddies to lovers, inexperienced reader, hard dom!riki, crush!riki, porn with some plot, texting, teasing, making out, praising, fingering, oral (f. receiving), choking, marking, slapping, possessive, demanding riki, spit, handjob, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare

♡ you start studying with your quiet crush, until one day, he invites you over, and you end up sobbing, ruined in his bed.

.ᐟwc: 7.4k

It wasn’t anything serious. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. You and Riki didn’t really talk. Not the way other classmates did—casual, loud, back-and-forth in lecture halls. He was… quiet. Always showing up late but somehow still getting a seat near the front. Always in dark clothes and expensive jewellery. Always watching more than speaking. He didn’t try to stand out. He didn’t raise his hand. And yet somehow, you noticed him first. Well. Maybe not “noticed”, more like kept noticing. Like your brain started analyzing him every time he walked into the room: black hoodie again, earphones in, notebook half-open but never messy. You never even thought he’d noticed you at all.

Until he did.

It was a Tuesday, and you were stuck. The professor handed out a printed exercise to be solved in pairs, but your usual friend wasn’t in class. You were halfway through trying to solve the second question alone, chewing the cap of your pen in mild panic, when you heard a voice behind you. “…You’re doing it backwards.” You looked up. He was already sitting in the empty chair beside you, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Riki. His voice was lower than you expected. He leaned over and tapped his pen against your sheet ,not correcting you, just quietly showing you. You blinked at him. “Oh. Thanks,” you managed. He didn’t reply. Just kept working beside you until the time ran out. And when the professor collected the papers, he stood up and left without saying anything else.That was it. Or… you thought that was it. Until a week later, when you were reviewing notes from the last lecture and couldn’t find a single readable thing in your handwriting. You remembered his — clean, sharp, borderline aesthetic. You didn’t know why, but you pulled up the class group chat, scrolled, found his number from a previous message, and tapped it. You weren’t even sure he’d remember who you were. You weren’t sure why you were nervous. But you texted him anyway.

You

hey riki!! do u still have the notes from class today? i zoned out halfway :(

♡

Riki

yeah

figured you would

♡

You

what’s that supposed to mean

♡

Riki

you always zone out around the halfway mark

kinda cute tbh

You stared at your screen, heat blooming in your cheeks.

You

i’m gonna take that as a compliment

♡

Riki

was one

He was so casual, unreadable, like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain. It started with a single text from him the next day:

Riki

still need help with the lecture stuff?

library’s dead today, come by if u want

Your stomach flipped a little when you read it, mostly from surprise. You hadn’t expected him to follow up. Definitely hadn’t expected him to remember your struggle with the content. So you said yes. You found him at a tucked-away table in the back corner of the campus library, hoodie pulled over his head, one earbud in, notebook already open. He looked up once when you arrived. Didn’t smile, just nodded. You sat beside him. Close, but not close enough to touch. You opened your laptop, pulled out your notes, and tried to pretend your hands weren’t slightly shaking. For the first ten minutes, neither of you spoke. He scribbled something down. You typed a few lines. It was quiet, comfortably quiet. But there was something about being this close to him that made it so fucking hard to focus and he smelled so good. You weren’t sure why it made your mouth dry. After a while, he leaned over just a little to glance at your screen. “You copied that part wrong,” he said. You blinked. “Huh, really?” He reached out, brushing your hand by accident—or maybe not—and pointed directly at the mistake. “This line. He was talking about this, not that. You flipped them.” “Oh,” you said, staring dumbly at the highlighted section. “That makes way more sense.” He hummed. Barely a sound. Then sat back again like he hadn’t just leaned close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek.

You tried to keep reading, but your eyes kept drifting.

To the way his fingers drummed against the edge of his notebook.

To the way he chewed on his cheek while concentrating.

To the way his sleeve slipped up just enough to show the veins in his wrist and arm.

You forced yourself to focus. Mostly.

You didn’t plan to run into him again. Not really. You were just looking for somewhere quiet, someplace your brain might actually work for once, and the upper floor had study rooms that no one ever used. It was a last resort. You walked in with your headphones already on and your brain half-fried. And then you saw him. Riki. Sitting alone in one of the back corners. Legs sprawled, earbuds in. A pen spinning between his fingers, that same black hoodie pulled halfway off one shoulder. You froze in the doorway. He looked up, and for a second, he just stared. Not surprised. Not curious. Just calm. Like he’d been expecting you. Then he jerked his chin, wordless, inviting you to sit with him. Your pulse jumped. You tried not to show it as you stepped inside. “You’re here a lot,” you said quietly, settling into the chair beside him. “Yeah,” he replied, eyes dropping back to his notebook. “Quiet’s good.” It was. Too good, maybe. Every time he shifted in his seat, every time he tapped the table or flipped a page, it felt louder than it should’ve. You tried to focus on your own material, but your eyes kept wandering. To the veins on his hands. The way he leaned back and chewed on his pen cap. The curve of his lip when he was thinking. God, you needed to get a grip. You were scribbling out notes on a problem you didn’t totally understand, squinting your eyes, when his voice came low beside you.

“You’re writing the wrong formula.” You blinked. He leaned in, arm brushing yours as he took your pen without asking and struck a line through your equation. His handwriting replaced it. Clean and annoyingly perfect. “That’s how you mess the whole thing up,” he said simply, handing your pen back. You stared at the page. “Thanks,” you said. Quiet. Maybe too quiet. He didn’t move away. Just sat there, watching the way your eyes lingered on the ink he’d left behind. Then finally, with a slight tilt of his head, “You always squint your eyes when you’re stuck?” You stiffened. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing that. You looked up, startled, and he was already looking at you. Calm. Casual. His gaze didn’t move. It felt like too much, suddenly.Too much eye contact. Too much attention. Too much heat. You forced a laugh, ducking your head. “Wow. You’re observant.” He didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away either. And for the rest of the session, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still watching you. Not obviously, not openly, but just enough to make you not being able to focus. The study session lasted just under an hour. By the end of it, your head was clearer, and your notes were neater. You were packing up your bag when he finally spoke again. “You work better in silence,” he said simply. Not a compliment. Just an observation. You paused. “Do I?” He met your eyes. “Yeah. You get distracted too easily when it’s loud.” Something about the way he said it made you wonder what else he’d noticed.

He’d asked you after the last session — just kind of offhand, like it didn’t mean anything.“It’s quieter in my dorm,” he said, packing up his notes. “You can come by next time if you want.” That was it. No expression. No explanation. You’d nodded too fast. Now you were standing outside his door, staring at the number. You knocked twice before you lost your nerve. It took a second, but he answered. His dorm was small, neat, two desks, one unmade bed, the faint smell of detergent and whatever cologne he always wore. His roommate wasn’t home. He didn’t say that part, but it was obvious. The room felt still. You stepped inside carefully, clutching your bag, suddenly hyper-aware of your outfit. You hadn’t meant to dress like this, not for him, anyway. The kinda sheer tank top was just convenient, and the skirt? You told yourself it wasn’t that short. You’d worn it a million times. But Riki’s eyes dropped for just a second before he stepped aside to let you in. And that second? It lit your whole body on fire. He didn’t say anything about it. Of course not. He just sat at his desk, motioning to the chair beside his. “Here.” You took your seat.

For the first ten minutes, it was normal. Mostly quiet. His pencil scratched lightly against his notebook. You tried to copy a few things he wrote down, but your focus was elsewhere. You could feel the heat of him beside you. His knee brushed yours once, and it sent your heart into your throat. You didn’t move. Neither did he. You thought maybe he hadn’t noticed. But then, after a long pause, he spoke. “You wore that on purpose?” His voice was low and calm. Almost lazy. Your stomach dropped. “What?” you asked, too quickly. “That skirt.” You froze, heart hammering, unsure if you were supposed to laugh or deny it or what. You weren’t even sure if he was joking. But when you glanced at him, he was still staring at your thighs, then your face, with that unreadable, maddening expression. “I didn’t mean to,” you said, breath caught. “I just… it’s hot out.” Riki’s eyes dragged over you one more time, slowly. Like he was thinking about something. Measuring it. Then he looked away. “Shame,” he muttered. It was barely audible. And he didn’t elaborate. He just turned back to his page, pen in hand, like that was the end of it.

But your whole body was lit up. Nerves everywhere. Blood rushing to your face, your throat, your fingertips. And even though you tried to keep reading, keep writing, keep breathing normally, you couldn’t stop feeling the heat of his presence beside you. Still quiet. Still unbothered. You tried to keep your hands steady, not to squirm in your seat, not to think about the way his voice had dropped on that one word—Shame—like he meant more than he said. Riki hadn’t touched you. He hadn’t even looked at you again. But it didn’t matter. Everything between you had changed. You stole a glance at him. He was focused again, or at least pretending to be. The sharp angle of his jaw, the loose way he held his pen, the little crease between his brows , it all looked the same, but you knew it wasn’t. He had noticed. And worse, you couldn’t stop wondering what else he’d noticed. “Need help?” he asked, suddenly. You blinked. “Huh?” He nodded at your page. “You’ve been staring at that question for five minutes.” You scrambled to look down, pretending like you were just distracted. “Oh— yeah. I don’t get it.” “Let me see.” He reached for your notebook, leaned in close enough for your shoulders to brush, and took it gently from your hands. Your breath caught. His thigh pressed against yours. Just slightly. He didn’t move.

He explained the answer softly, pointing as he spoke, the tip of his pen gliding over your paper. You weren’t listening. You couldn’t. Because all you could feel was how close he was. How warm he felt. How good he smelled. How careful and deep his voice was. You swallowed hard. He handed your notebook back, fingers grazing yours. “You okay?” he asked. You nodded fast. “Yeah. Just— tired.” He studied you. His eyes flicked down your face, slow, deliberate. “You always get like this when you’re tired?” You blinked. “Like what?” Riki didn’t answer right away. He slightly shifted in his seat and turned toward you. Then, in that same dead-calm voice: “Fidgety. Quiet. All flushed.” Your breath stopped. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t teasing. He looked completely composed like he was stating facts, which somehow made it worse. “I’m not—” you tried, voice weak. He cut you off. “You are.” Then silence again. The air between you was thick. Too heavy to breathe. And then, his hand moved. Slowly. He reached out and touched the side of your thigh, not high, not too far, just above your knee. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look away from your face. He just watched. Watched like he already knew what you were thinking. Your lips parted, but no words came out. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t move. And maybe that was all he needed. His touch dragged a little higher. Still slow and patient. Your chest rose with a sharp breath, and his eyes flicked down, just briefly, to your mouth, then back up. Debating.

You stared at the notebook in front of you like it might save you, but your body was already betraying you. Heat bloomed under your skin, your hands twitched in your lap. You couldn’t look at him, but you felt him. Silent. Watching you. Then, finally, his voice, low, right beside your ear. “You’re shaking. You bit the inside of your cheek. He didn’t move his hand, didn’t tease. You turned your face slightly, just enough to catch his eyes and he was already looking at you. Expression unreadable. Completely composed. Then, after a beat, his thumb dragged slightly along the inside of your thigh. Barely anything, but it lit you up. He leaned in, voice low and even, “You get like this for anyone else?” Your heart slammed in your chest. Your mouth parted, but the only sound you made was your breath hitching. He didn’t push, he just watched, already knowing the answer. You couldn’t answer him. Not with words. Not like that. So you just stared, lips parted, heart in your throat, too warm, too aware of every place his hand touched. Then, his fingers slipped slightly higher. Slow and measured. He was feeling it too, the shift in the room, the heat between you, the way your body leaned in before you even realized. He leaned closer, not fully, just enough that his shoulder brushed yours, his thigh pressed against the side of your leg.

You swore you heard the faintest breath from him like he was steadying himself. Then his hand slipped under the edge of your skirt. Bare skin. You sucked in a breath and finally looked at him. His expression hadn’t changed, but his dark eyes gave him away. There was nothing casual in that stare anymore. His fingers moved again, a little higher, then stopped just before the heat of your core. You tensed, but you didn’t pull away. “Knew you’d let me.” he said, softly. The words slammed through you like a current. Your breath hitched hard. Still, he didn’t move further. He just watched you squirm, fingers barely pressing into your thigh, letting the weight of everything unspoken hang thick between you. You weren’t sure if you were going to melt or burst. His hand moved again, slipping just a little further, fingers grazing the soft curve where your thigh met your hip. Your breath caught, shallow and quick. Riki’s breath hitched softly against your neck as he leaned in, just enough that you could feel the warmth, his steady, quiet presence like a steady flame flickering against your skin. You could feel him—so close now, that his chest brushed against your arm, his steady heartbeat like a silent drum beside you.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, loud and urgent. He stayed there, patient, watching. Then, the quietest sound, a breath, almost a sigh, right at the hollow of your neck. Your skin tingled. And then, his lips brushed your skin. A gentle ghost of a kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. You turned your head slightly, searching for more. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, holding yours with an intensity that made your heart leap. Without breaking eye contact, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours. It was soft at first, testing. But then it got deeper, firmer, as if he’d been holding back all along. Your hands twitched at his waist, unsure and desperate. The world shrank until there was only the two of you—breath mingling, heat pooling between you. He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, voice low and steady. “Finally.” His lips pulled away from yours just long enough to catch his breath. Then, without a word, Riki’s hand slid from your thigh to your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you up and pressed you back against the edge of the desk. The smooth wood was cool beneath your palms, but his body was hot and heavy, looming over you, shadowing your smaller frame. You could feel the weight of him, the strength in his arms holding you in place. His mouth crashed back onto yours, more demanding now, hungry and fierce. His hands roamed freely, sliding up your sides, cupping your ribs, fingers pressing into the soft skin of your tummy.

You gasped when one hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers ghosting over bare skin, no barrier, nothing between you and him. Your back arched instinctively. His other hand found your throat, thumb brushing lightly, fingers framing your pulse. His eyes closed as he kissed you like he was starving, like he needed to devour every inch of you. Your hands tangled in his hair, desperate to hold on, to pull him closer. His mouth moved against yours with an urgent rhythm, deep, claiming. You felt every heartbeat, every breath, every touch. You were pinned but free all at once, lost in the heat of him. And even as his grip tightened just slightly at your throat, it wasn’t rough, it was possessive, controlled, making clear you belonged to him in this moment. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of you, pressed close, skin on skin, heat and hunger tangled in every kiss and touch. You couldn’t keep still anymore. Your legs squeezed together, your hands gripping the edge of the desk like you’d fall apart without it. His touch was everywhere—soft palms sliding under your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare chest, knuckles grazing places that made you gasp and twitch and whine without meaning to. You were dizzy with him. Every breath came out too fast, too shallow. He pulled back from the kiss just enough to look down at you. Your lips were parted, swollen. Your chest rising in frantic little jolts. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, gaze dragging across your face.

You whimpered. It slipped out before you could stop it—quiet, needy, helpless—and his eyes darkened instantly. He liked that. One hand splayed across your stomach, holding you still, the other slid higher, over your chest again, thumbs brushing your nipples until your head tipped back and a shaky moan slipped through your lips. You were panting now, thighs pressed together, aching. “Riki…” you breathed, barely a whisper. His hand came back up to your throat, firm but gentle, tilting your chin so you had no choice but to look up at him. You were flushed. Eyes wide, lips wet, a total mess. And he looked down at you like he’d never seen anything more perfect. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he said lowly, like he was talking to himself more than you. You blushed, a sigh leaving your mouth, back arching into his touch. His mouth crashed onto yours, hungrily, like he needed to shut you up before you begged. His hips pressed forward, caging you completely, and you felt him, hard through his jeans, pressed against your lower stomach. You made a soft, desperate sound in your throat, and he swallowed it down. Your hands moved without thinking, tugging at his shirt, trying to get closer, trying to do something with how badly you wanted him, but he didn’t rush. He kissed you harder, messier, until your legs felt weak and your body trembled beneath him. Until all you could do was gasp and whine and let him touch and take. You weren’t thinking anymore. Just feeling. Every brush of his fingers, every scrape of teeth, every low breath against your skin. And the worst part was how badly you wanted more, how badly you needed it. How you would’ve said yes to anything he asked.

Your chest rose and fell in short, shaky breaths as he pulled away just enough to look at you again, eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-bitten. His hand slipped down from your throat, trailing slowly along your collarbone, then lower, until his palm flattened over your ribs again. His eyes dragged slowly over your body—the way your chest heaved, the way your thighs pressed together like you were trying to hold yourself in place. Then he leaned in, voice brushing against your ear, low and steady, “Look at you,” he murmured. “So worked up and I haven’t even done anything yet.” Your breath caught, eyes fluttering shut for a second, because God, he was right. His fingers skimmed just above your waistband, dragging across your lower stomach, the touch featherlight, maddening. “You want it that bad, baby?” he asked, quietly, like he already knew the answer. You let out a whimper, soft and high, nodding before you could even think. That made him smile, just barely. Almost smug. His fingers dipped under the hem of your skirt, warm and unhurried. “Let me see how bad,” he said.

His hand moved with ease, sliding beneath your skirt, soft fingertips dragging the fabric of your panties down your thighs—slow, almost teasing. He didn’t take them off, just pushed them down, exposing you enough to make you shy. The cool air hit you, and then, his fingers. Two of them, thick and warm, sliding through your soaked folds like he was testing you. Your hips bucked. He chuckled, quiet, deep in his chest. “So wet already,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Dripping.” Your face burned, but you couldn’t look away. You were panting, lips parted, eyes wide as his fingers pressed in just a little. You whined. He exhaled slowly, enjoying every second of watching you unravel. And then, without warning, he pushed his fingers in—deep, smooth, filling you so easily your head fell back with a broken moan. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tense. “You feel insane.” Your walls clenched around him, and he felt it, smirked a little when your legs twitched, when your body rocked instinctively against his hand. His other hand slid up your thigh, settling on your hip to hold you still. Then he started moving. Slow thrusts of his fingers, curling just right, his thumb dragging over your clit in lazy, perfect circles.

You were gone. Melting. Whimpering with every curl, every press, every stroke. Your thighs trembled. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging in like you needed something to hold onto. “Riki—” you gasped, voice wrecked and whiny. “Please—” He leaned in again, his breath hot against your neck. “Please what, hm?” You whimpered, hips jerking. “Need m-more,” you managed. His fingers thrust a little deeper, a little faster, his thumb pressing harder on your clit. “You’ll cum for me like this,” he said lowly, lips brushing your ear, “and then I’ll give you more.” Your body arched. The pressure built fast, tight and overwhelming, and all you could do was nod, desperate little noises spilling from your lips as your climax started to crest. You were already close, right on the edge, hips twitching, thighs shaking, the pressure unbearable. But then his hand shot up, suddenly, firmly gripping your jaw. His fingers pressed into your cheeks, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him. “Let go,” he whispered, fingers thrusting faster now, relentless. “Be a good girl and cum.” That was it. Your entire body shattered. You came with a cry, legs clamping around his wrist, hips jerking against his hand as waves of heat and pleasure rolled through you. Your eyes barely stayed open, wide and glossy, locked onto his as you came undone right there on the desk, whining, pulsing hard around his fingers. He watched you, tight grip still on your face, other hand working you through it like he wanted to see you lose control. “Good girl,” he muttered, lips brushing yours. “Just like that.”

You were still trembling, thighs twitching from the aftershocks, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. He pulled his fingers from you slowly, watching the way you flinched from the overstimulation. His hand was slick with you, dripping, and he stared at it for a beat, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he dropped to his knees. Your breath hitched. You barely had a second to react before his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, and his mouth was on you. A gasp tore out of your throat as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and greedy. “Ngh—Riki!” Your hand flew to his hair, the other on the desk, fingers gripping the edge until your knuckles turned white. He moaned softly into you, the vibration making your hips buck. His hands squeezed tighter, holding your thighs apart, keeping you open for him as he lapped up every drop of your release, messy, shameless. Your head fell back. Another whine escaped your lips, high and breathless, and still—still—he kept going, tongue swirling around your clit, flicking with just enough pressure to make your eyes roll back. When he finally pulled away, your skin was hot and damp, your whole body still twitching, breath caught in your throat. He stood, and then his hand wrapped around your neck again—firm, possessive—and he yanked you into a kiss. His mouth crashed into yours, lips slick with your taste, tongue sliding against yours with no warning, no hesitation. You whimpered against him, hands reaching for his shirt, for anything to ground yourself.

He kissed you like he owned you. Like he needed to devour you. His grip on your throat tightened and you moaned into his mouth, helpless and hazy, your whole body pliant against his. And when he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his eyes dark, and his voice—fuck—his voice was low and raw when he spoke. “You’re mine,” he said, quiet but rough, meant for just you. “Got it?” Your heart stuttered. He’d barely said more than a few words to you since you met—always calm, unreadable, barely emoting—and now he was gripping your throat, kissing you like he wanted to ruin you, claiming you like you already belonged to him. You didn’t even hesitate. Your head nodded, small and shaky, your whole body still trembling under his touch. “I’m yours,” you whispered, breathless. It came out like a confession, sitting heavy in your chest for too long, just waiting for him to pull it out of you. Your eyes met his, wide and glossy, and the look on your face, sweet and desperate, giving him the biggest puppy eyes he’d ever seen. But you looked so pretty like that—wrecked and breathless, your lips parted, your thighs still shaking, feeling like you needed him more than air.

Riki’s jaw tightened, and something dark flickered across his expression. His grip on your face stayed firm, fingers digging just a little harder into your cheeks. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, voice rough, barely held back. “You’ll make me fucking crazy.” But he was already leaning in again, mouth finding yours in a mess of tongue and teeth, kissing you so hard your head tipped back from the force of it. You moaned into him, needy and sweet, letting him take whatever he wanted, and he did. Then suddenly, his arms wrapped around your thighs and he lifted you. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your body still trembling from the aftermath of his touch. He carried you the short distance from the desk to his bed and laid you down gently, never breaking contact. His body hovered over yours, eyes locked on your flushed, fucked-out face. Your shirt was rucked halfway up your stomach, your lips swollen from his kisses, thighs still twitching where they wrapped around his waist. He stared at you for a long, quiet second, trying to memorize you like this. Then his hands came down, one to your thigh, pushing it open wider, the other to your ribs, sliding up your bare skin under your shirt, slow and deliberate until his palm cupped your chest. No bra. Just you, soft and warm and whimpering under his touch. “You don’t even know what you do to me,” he muttered. You bit your lip, hips shifting instinctively, seeking friction. Anything. But he didn’t give it to you, not yet. He just leaned down, mouth brushing your neck, tongue licking a slow stripe up to your jaw before he kissed you there, hot and open-mouthed, leaving a mark. Your fingers clutched at his shirt. “Riki…” He hummed lowly, like the sound of his name falling from your lips lit something in him.

His mouth found your ear, breath hot, “Tell me you want it,” he said. “Say it.” Your whole body was burning now, flushed from head to toe, your voice coming out in a shaky, helpless whisper, “I want it. I want you.” And that was all it took. He kissed you again, before his hands moved, yanking your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside without a second glance. Then he just stared. Your bare chest rising and falling, skin flushed, nipples already hard from his teasing. His hands dragged up from your waist, until they cupped your tits, thumbs brushing over them gently, considering the way his jaw clenched like he was barely holding back. “Look at you…” he muttered, voice ragged. “Fuck.” And then he was on you. Mouth hot and desperate, he ducked his head and devoured you, lips closing around one nipple while his hand kneaded the other, tongue flicking and sucking until your back arched off the bed with a gasp. He bit,not too hard, just enough to make you squeal, and soothed it with his tongue right after, moving between your breasts like he couldn’t choose which to ruin first. You were already panting, fingers tangled in his hair, thighs rubbing together. Sloppy kisses turned into bites. He left hickies on your neck, down your collarbone, over the swell of your tits, under them, across your ribs. You could feel the bruises blooming under his mouth, red and raw, one after the other like he wanted to brand every inch of you. He kissed down, mouthing at your tummy next, dragging his teeth over the soft skin before sucking another mark right beneath your navel.

And all that while watching you. Smirk barely there, eyes half-lidded but burning, soaking in every whimper, every twist of your body, every broken moan. “No one else gets to see you like this. Only me.” he said against your skin. He leaned back just enough to yank his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside carelessly. You barely had time to look—at the lean muscles, the toned arms, the sharp lines of his waist—before his hands were back on you again, sliding under the waistband of your skirt. “Lift your hips.” he said, and you obeyed without thinking. He dragged the skirt down your thighs, watching the way you shivered beneath him. He took his time peeling it off, letting his hands skim down your legs like he was memorizing the feel of you. Then he tossed it aside and looked down at you—naked, body covered in marks, chest rising and falling fast. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, eyes roaming like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. His hands found your hips, big, warm and possessive, and then they started moving. One slid up your side, across your stomach, over your breast, the other to your jaw, fingers stroking gently before slipping between your lips. “Suck,” he said, low and commanding. Your lips parted automatically, and you wrapped them around his thumb, letting him press it down on your tongue. He watched you—watched your pretty, desperate mouth take it in, cheeks hollowing slightly as you sucked. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Good girl.” You whimpered around his thumb, pussy pulsing, body practically buzzing from the tension. His other hand was still moving—down your ribs, over your tummy, lower, skimming just above your heat. Then he sat back a little on his knees, keeping his thumb in your mouth as he reached for his waistband.

He hooked his fingers into the edge of his sweats and slid them down just enough to reveal the outline of his cock through his boxers—thick, hard, straining against the fabric. Your breath caught, eyes flicking down before darting back up to his face. And he was already watching you. A soft smirk curved his lips as he tilted his head, thumb still resting on your tongue. “My cute girl,” he cooed. “So needy for me already… you really can’t help yourself, can you?” You hummed around his thumb, cheeks flushing even deeper, thighs pressing together as the heat pulsed harder between them. His hand drifted back to his waistband, and this time, he slipped his fingers under. You watched with wide eyes, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat when he finally pulled his cock free. So big and heavy, flushed at the tip, already leaking. The sight made your stomach flip, your mouth go dry, and you could barely look before your gaze darted away, face burning. “Aww,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “what’s wrong, baby?” You shook your head quickly, eyes flickering back up to his face, trying not to stare but completely failing. Your thighs squeezed together instinctively, your body so hot you could hardly stand it. He leaned in closer, one hand returning to your cheek, fingers stroking your flushed skin. “Shy all of a sudden?” he teased, a dark smile playing on his lips. “You were being so brave for me a second ago.” You whimpered, squirming under his gaze, his cock now resting heavy against his abs as he leaned. He took your hand and gently guided it to wrap around him. “Come on,” he whispered. “Touch me.” Your fingers curled around him, tentative and trembling, and his breath hitched like he hadn’t expected you to feel that good.

He swore under his breath, hips twitching slightly, and his head fell down. “That’s it,” he whispered, his hand covering yours, guiding your movements slow and steady. “Just like that.” You stroked him softly, your touch shy, eyes flickering between his flushed cock and his face—so close, so focused, the sight of your hand on him was driving him insane. Your hand stayed on him, guided by his, and the longer you touched him, the more confident your fingers became. You swallowed hard, heart racing at the weight of him in your palm, pulsing in your hand. His cock twitched again, and a low groan left his lips, rough and strained. “Fuck,” he muttered and leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours. His breath was warm and shaky, fingers tightening over yours. “Doing so good.” You looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted. There was something in the way he stared back, eyes hooded, jaw tight, he was barely holding himself back. He took your hand away from him gently, kissed your wrist, and pressed your arm back against the bed “Spread your legs for me.” You obeyed. Slowly, nervously. But the second your thighs parted, his gaze dropped and darkened. “God,” he said under his breath. He crawled between your legs, hands running up your thighs.

He leaned down, kissed you—soft, slow, deceptively gentle—before lining himself up, one hand wrapped firmly around his cock, slowly moving it up and down your folds, the other resting over your ribs grounding himself. “You ready f’me, baby?” he asked, voice quiet, low against your mouth. You nodded, a soft, breathy sound escaping your lips, but it wasn’t enough for him. His hand slid to your throat again, “Use your words.” “I—I want you,” you whispered, and the moment the words left your mouth, his hips pushed forward slowly. The stretch made your breath catch. His hand slid under your thigh, hitching it up. You could feel him, pressed just against your entrance, stretching you, but not moving yet, giving you time. His hand curled around your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip with surprising tenderness for someone who’s splitting you in half. You gripped the sheets beneath you, lips parting in a gasp as the pressure built inside you. Every inch filled you more than you expected, and it was overwhelming, unfamiliar, but somehow addictive. Riki’s mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly over your skin, like he was trying to distract you from the way he was sinking deeper. “You’re doing so good,” he murmured against your skin. You whimpered, your body tensing. “Breathe for me,” he said, and his voice was so calm, so steady, it soothed you even while you felt like falling apart. You let out a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering shut, and after another moment, he was fully inside.

Your eyes met his, teary and wide, and your lips trembled. “Riki—s’too much,” you admitted, voice almost shy. He smirked, “I know,” leaning down to kiss your jaw. “You’ll take it for me, won’t you?” Your stomach flipped at the words. You nodded, more sure this time. Then he pulled back just a little, before thrusting again, and your whole body shuddered at the sensation. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice ragged as he buried himself deeper. “So tight… fuck, y’feel so good.” His hips rolled into you slow, dragging against your walls, making you moan louder with each stroke. You clung to him, nails digging into his arms, breath coming in sharp little gasps as he set a rhythm. It was too much, too full, too good, and your body couldn’t keep up. Every time he moved, you clenched tighter around him. He pulled back slightly and grabbed your leg, lifting it high and pressing it over his shoulder. The angle changed everything—you cried out, high and helpless, your head tilting back against the mattress as he thrust deeper, harder, splitting you open with every roll of his hips. “Yeah,” he muttered, fingers digging into your thigh, mouth kissing it softly, as he started to lose control. “That’s it. Let me hear you.” You were loud. Whining, whimpering, trembling under his body, your hands gripping the sheets. “R-Riki—!” you sobbed his name, tears welling at the corners of your eyes as your body jolted under the force of each thrust.

And that did something to him. His hand shot to your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. You were a mess. Eyes wet, lips trembling, mouth open in breathless, broken sounds, and when the first tear slipped down your cheek, he smiled. Not sweet. Not soft. A sharp, dark twist of his mouth like he was proud of it. And then he slapped you. A clean, firm hit across your cheek—quick and shocking—and you gasped, more in disbelief than pain. Your head whipped slightly to the side, your moan caught somewhere between pleasure and stunned heat. His hand lingered there, fingers spread across your cheek, claiming you. “Fucking love seeing you cry for me.” Your stomach dropped, heat flooding your veins, and you started sobbing harder—overwhelmed, aroused, completely undone. Your hands reached up, grabbing the one that had just hit you, fingers curling around his wrist, holding it like it anchored you. You couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that your crush—the one who barely spoke, who barely looked at anyone—had slapped you, and now he was fucking you like this, praising the tears he pulled from your eyes, and you fucking liked it. You needed more.

He shifted his weight, grabbed both of your thighs, and lifted—guiding your legs up and over his shoulders in one smooth, strong movement. The change in angle made you moan loudly, the new depth dizzying, the sound leaving your lips raw and wrecked. Your hands fumbled at the sheets, knuckles white as you held on, tears spilling down your cheeks again as the pleasure pushed you past the edge of sense. “Riki—” you choked out, completely gone, “I… I can’t—” “Yes, you can,” he groaned, slamming into you harder, his hand tightening on your jaw. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch.” Your eyes rolled back, body arching, sobs turning into moans, hands gripping him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. His gaze locked onto yours, dark, possessive, mouth parted slightly as he caught the sight of you all spread out and shaking for him. “Open your mouth.” You gasped, but you did—lips parting, eyes wide and waiting. He leaned over you, hips never slowing down, and with a sharp breath through his nose, he spit into your mouth. “Swallow.” You did. Without thinking. Without hesitation. And that seemed to please him. His hand came to your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear like he was calming you, and then—Slap.

A soft one. Just enough to make your breath catch, to light another spark under your skin. You whimpered and he firmly gripped your jaw, tilting your head to make sure you looked at him. “You’re fucking perfect,” he whisper softly. “You’ll do anything I say, won’t you?” Your pussy clenched around him, back arching from the bed. And still, you nodded, too far gone to form words, too desperate for him. You were gasping, moaning brokenly into the heat of his neck as he pounded into you, deep and rough, your legs high on his shoulders. His grip on your thighs was bruising, and you clung to the bedsheets, your vision blurred from tears and pleasure. Your body was stretched and aching, but it didn’t matter, not when he was murmuring filthy praise in your ear, not when every thrust perfectly hit your cervix. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “This pussy—” he snapped his hips hard, making you cry out, “—belongs to me.” You sobbed, nodding, walls fluttering around him. “Want you to cum with me,” he said roughly, teeth gritted as his rhythm got sloppy. “Let go, baby. Make a mess on my cock.” You couldn’t hold back anymore. You came hard, a cry catching in your throat as you clenched around his cock, trembling, unraveling. The moment your body gave out beneath him, he buried himself as deep as he could go and let go, filling you with a whimper, low and desperate in your ear. His cum making you feel so full, so warm inside you. “Mine,” he muttered again, softly kissing your neck.

Your breathing was still shaky when he pulled out, careful and slow. You winced a little at the sensitivity, and immediately, Riki’s expression changed. The fire in his eyes dimmed and his hand came to rest on your thigh, warm and gentle. “You okay, baby?” he asked quietly. “Yeah… just sore.” you blinked up at him. He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Stay here.” You watched him move around his small dorm room, grabbing tissues. He cleaned you up gently, his touches surprisingly sweet and patient. When he was done, he tugged the sheets over your bare body, then slid in next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. It was quiet for a while. Your heart was still trying to calm down, and Riki just lay there, soft hand caressing your tummy. Then, out of nowhere, he spoke. “Wanna go to the movies tomorrow?” You blinked, turning your head to look at him. “What?” He glanced down at you, his face unreadable, but there was something softer around the eyes. “You heard me.” You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. After everything, after the rough, possessive way he’d claimed you, this was the last thing you expected. You buried your face in his chest, cheeks burning. “Okay,” you whispered. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Cool.”

my other works ➵ masterlist

a/n: i got a little carried away with this one yall lmao i've been so fucking obsessed with this man lately i can't stop thinking abt him please i need him so badddd :(

#enhypen #enha #enhypen smut #niki smut #enhypen niki smut #enha niki smut #nishimura riki #ni-ki smut #niki x reader #ni ki x reader #ni ki smut #riki smut #jungwon smut #sim jake smut #heeseung smut #jay smut #sunoo smut

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palevcr · 1 month ago

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SIT PRETTY FOR HIM

he always knew she was smart. knew she was brilliant, really—sharp-tongued, stubborn, way too serious for her own good. but exams made her spiral. and fred couldn't stand watching her fall apart when she deserved to fall apart on him instead. maybe she thought she could out-focus him. outlast him. but she should’ve known better—because fred weasley wasn’t about to let his girl forget how good it felt to be taken care of. even if it meant fucking her through the stress, filling her up so thoroughly she’d leave the library dripping. he loved her. but he also loved making her fall apart for him. over and over again.

pairing: Fred Weasley x stressed!reader

genre: smut, soft dom!Fred, slight comfort, Hogwarts era

tw: MDNI 18+, sexual content, size kink, breeding kink, public risk (library), praise kink, overstimulation, aftercare, soft dominance, fingering, penetrative sex, possessive thoughts, Fred being obsessed in the sweetest way, cockwarming, mild power play (consensual), emotional support through sex

NEWTs loomed like storm clouds—unforgiving, relentless, all-consuming. Hogwarts thrummed with anxious energy: students hunched over desks like prisoners to their revision, quills scratching with frantic desperation, parchment stacking in teetering towers. Even the castle seemed to hold its breath.

Fred Weasley, for once, was almost stressed. He’d never say it aloud. Not with his signature grin, the easy charm that made stress bounce off him like rain off an umbrella. But the truth was, he was worried. Not for himself.

For her.

Y/N was unraveling.

Her brilliance was the kind that made professors whisper and peers seethe with envy—sharp, precise, terrifyingly clever. But now she looked like a storm herself: eyes rimmed with exhaustion, lips bitten raw, shoulders knotted with tension as she buried herself in another impossibly dense potions textbook.

Fred found her in the farthest corner of the library, so still and so tense it made something primal twist in his chest. She hadn’t even noticed him approach.

He stepped behind her and leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of ink and lavender.

“You hiding from me now?” he asked, voice low and teasing, his breath grazing her ear.

She didn’t look up. “I’m studying.”

But she reached for him anyway—always did—her hand ghosting over his as he slid into the seat beside her. He smiled. She was cracking at the seams and still, she reached for him.

“Let me help,” he said gently, arms snaking around her waist, tugging her into his lap like she weighed nothing. “Come on, clever girl. You’ve been at it for hours.”

Her body stiffened in protest, but he was already adjusting her, letting her rest against the broad plane of his chest, her back pressed to him like a second skin.

“Fred—” she began, heat creeping up her neck. “We’re in the bloody library.”

“And it’s late. Quiet. Empty. And you’re barely breathing, love.” His voice dipped, lips brushing her ear again. “Let me take care of you.”

The textbook was still open, pages cluttered with potion instructions, her handwriting scribbled in the margins. He shifted her just enough to lay the book in front of them.

“Read it to me,” he murmured. “Out loud.”

She blinked. “You want me to read…?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, fingers already skimming beneath her skirt, warm palms rough and careful all at once. “Productivity, right?”

She hesitated. Then began.

Her voice was soft, shaky—struggling to stay steady as his hand found her inner thigh and stroked up, deliberate and slow. His touch burned like a promise, teasing her through the thin fabric of her panties. She gasped softly, the word *"asphodel"* breaking on her tongue.

“Keep reading,” he whispered, brushing his mouth against the shell of her ear. “You stop, I stop.”

The fabric between them was growing damp. Fred groaned, so low it vibrated against her spine.

“You’re soaked already?” he teased, his voice all velvet and heat. “You like this, don’t you? My clever girl pretending she can focus with my cock pressed against her.”

She whimpered, hips twitching—and he immediately stilled her with a firm grip on her waist.

“Don’t move. Not yet.”

And then she felt it—the unmistakable sound of his belt loosening, the rustle of denim, the sudden, heavy weight of him nudging at her entrance.

“Fred—” she breathed, voice tight, caught between panic and arousal.

He chuckled darkly, soft and affectionate. “You know how big I am, love. You know I need time to stretch you out. Just sit pretty for me baby, yeah? Be good.”

She clenched around nothing, aching, the anticipation unbearable.

When he slid inside, it was slow, inch by inch, thick and unrelenting. She gasped, hands scrambling for the edge of the table to ground herself as he filled her completely.

“Fuck,” he growled against her neck. “You’re always so tight. Always take me so well.”

He stilled once he was buried to the hilt, arms tightening around her middle like he was holding himself together by a thread. She could feel every twitch of him inside her, every soft pulse.

“Just sit pretty,” he murmured. “Read for me.”

Her voice was nearly gone, breathless, cracked. Still, she obeyed, her body trembling as she stumbled over potion ingredients, her thighs shaking as Fred started tracing slow circles over her clit.

“That’s it,” he praised softly. “Good girl. Let me take care of you.”

Her orgasm built fast—too fast. She bit down on her sleeve to muffle the moan, hips jerking despite herself. Fred groaned, low and guttural.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Soak me. Show me how much you need me.”

She shattered around him, body convulsing in his lap, trying so desperately to stay quiet as she fell apart. Fred didn’t stop—he kissed the side of her face, her neck, whispered praise into her skin like she was a prayer.

And then he started moving.

Slow, deep thrusts, rocking into her from beneath. She was so wet he slid in easily, the sounds obscene in the silence of the library.

“I love you,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

She barely managed a reply, her body boneless in his arms.

And then he said it—low, right against her ear, like a secret:

“Gonna fill you up again. Want you dripping when you walk back to your dorm. Wanna see it leaking down your thighs, love. My cum. My girl.”

She moaned, clutching at his arms, overwhelmed.

“You like that, don’t you?” he cooed. “You like being full of me. Bet your pretty little cunt was made to be bred.”

She clenched around him at the words, another orgasm cresting as he thrust harder now, chasing his own release.

“Fuck—gonna come—gonna fill you up,” he groaned, hands holding her in place, hips stuttering as he spilled into her, hot and thick, so much she could feel it leaking already. “Take it. All of it.”

They stayed like that—panting, shaking, still connected—until her breathing slowed.

She turned her face, pressing a dazed kiss to his jaw.

“I’m gonna fail my exams,” she whispered, limp and fucked-out in his arms.

Fred chuckled, still half-hard inside her. “You’re top of the class, love. You’ll be fine.”

He shifted slightly, and she gasped again.

“You’re not done?” she asked, breath catching.

His grin was all teeth, wicked and soft.

“I said I’d help you forget, didn’t I?”

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #hogwarts fanfiction #harry potter smut #emmy writes!#fred weasley smut #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fanfiction

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thepencilnerd · 3 months ago

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Glasses Be Damned

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: Lazy Sunday mornings. You in his shirt. Him wearing—glasses? What could be better? genre/notes: domestic, tooth-rotting fluff, banter, implied-but-not-explicit smut, steamy and fluffy like the perfect scrambled eggs (or tofu), beard scruff, you being down so bad for your man in glasses, age-gap relationship word count: 1.8k a/n: happy sunday! I worship those damn 1x01 gifs that live in my head rent free

It was a sleepy Sunday morning. You’d stayed over the night before—his place, not yours—because he made a surprisingly excellent omelet and your apartment was a barren wasteland save for one expired can of soup and half a granola bar. You were planning on moving out soon anyway—leases expiring, schedules syncing, toothbrushes and charger cords already blurring the lines—and in with Robby.

One cold morning not long ago, you’d rushed into the hospital just a few minutes late, hair still dripping and teeth chattering from the walk over. Robby had looked up the second he saw you, eyes narrowing in concern, about to ask what was wrong.

You’d beat him to it. "My apartment’s basically falling apart," you said, breathless as you rubbed your arms. "No hot water, the heater’s busted, and I'm pretty sure there's black mold. I’ll call the landlord later. It’s fine."

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at you for a second longer, then quietly shuffled through the papers on the counter.

"You should move in with me," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked. "What?"

So he repeated himself, just as casually. "Move into my place."

He said it like it was nothing—like he was asking you to grab coffee, or teach the interns how to perform proper chest compressions. Calm. Nonchalant. Then, as if to prove his point, he started listing the benefits: less commuting, better water pressure, warmer blankets, shared groceries, an actual place to hang your coat that wasn’t a pile on your chair, cuddle cards redeemable for forehead kisses and back rubs, and—most importantly—no more freezing walks alone or in the dark. He even threw in something about matching mugs and leaving notes on the fridge like it was a feature, not a fantasy.

You opened your mouth, prepared to deploy every avoidant tactic in the book—because even after dating for a couple of years now, there was still a part of you that worried about taking up too much space, too much of him. But before you could spiral into worrying about boundaries, permanence, or him getting sick of you, he looked up again and softened.

"Hey," he said gently. "If you’d rather find a new place, I’ll help you. Really. I just want you safe, healthy, and not at risk for mold poisoning or hypothermia."

Then, with the same ease as his offer, he pressed a warm kiss to your cheek. "See you in five," he murmured, as if he hadn’t just tilted your entire world off its axis, and walked away.

You stood there, frozen—and slowly, a small smile formed at the corners of your lips.

And that was it. No grand declarations. Just a calm, matter-of-fact offer that left no room for protest. So you said yes.

Robby had frozen for a second like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. And then—he lit up. That slow, rare smile spreading across his face like sunrise. He pulled you into a tight hug, spinning you once in the middle of the hallway, laughing against your temple. He kissed you—your cheek, your forehead, your lips—soft and quick and too many times to count, like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like he didn’t want to waste a second not holding you.

"You're going to regret it," you teased.

"Never," he said, kissing you again. "Not in a million years."

Now your things were already half there anyway—socks in drawers, your favorite mug on the drying rack, your name scribbled under his on the mail by the door. And every morning like this only made it feel more like home.

You’d rolled out of bed in one of his soft, worn-in T-shirts—the one with the hem that just barely skimmed your thighs—padding barefoot toward the kitchen in search of coffee, warmth, and maybe a kiss if you looked pathetic enough.

You’ve seen Robby in a dozen different states—bloody scrubs, half-asleep during pre-dawn rounds, in command in a trauma bay, soft and half-melted in post-call cuddles. But you’ve never—never—seen him in glasses.

Until today.

You weren’t expecting it. And there he was, standing at the kitchen counter, hair still a little tousled, wearing black, round-framed glasses while flipping through the newspaper like it was the 80s.

You froze.

He glanced up. "Good morning."

You stared. Mouth agape. Said nothing.

"What?" he asked, wary.

You pointed. "Since when do you wear glasses?!"

He blinked, then winced, lifting a hand to take them off. "I—only for reading. Usually. I forgot I had them on."

"No. No, no, no, no." You crossed the room like a woman possessed. "Do not take those off."

He paused, hand halfway to his face. "Why?"

You stepped closer, practically beaming as you drank him in with eyes like saucers. "Because that—is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life."

He stared at you like you’d just said you were into spleens. "You’re joking."

You weren’t. "Robby," you deadpanned. "You look like the hot professor everyone has a crisis about in college. It's a rite of passage."

"I’m decades older than you."

"Exactly! And only by a decade and a half. It’s working for you." You took a step closer and lowered your voice in the hopes of enticing him. "And totally doing it for me."

He squinted, expression unreadable for a beat. "They make me look old." But his voice was softer now—like he wasn’t entirely put off by the idea. Like maybe, just maybe, his interest had been piqued.

"They make you look like you read poetry before bed and know how to ruin someone emotionally and intellectually."

He blushed—actually blushed.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, tugging him close. "Why have you been hiding this from me?"

"Because," he mumbled, suddenly very interested in the crossword puzzle, "I thought you’d think they made me look... I don’t know. Grandpa-ish."

"You’re out of your mind," you said, tugging the paper from his hands. "This is my Roman Empire now."

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. "You’re never letting this go, are you."

You grinned into his hair. "Not a chance."

His fingers skimmed under the hem of his shirt on your thighs—the one he always liked seeing you in, the one he claimed looked better on you than it ever did on him. His rough thumbs brushed against your bare skin in slow, reverent passes, toying with where the fabric met the soft curve of your hips. Goosebumps followed in their wake, your skin tightening under his touch.

He lingered there, gaze locked on the contrast between cotton and skin, the intimacy of it. The way you wore his shirt like it belonged to you—like he did. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his eyes darkened behind the lenses.

"You wore this on purpose, didn’t you?" he asked, voice low, one thumb brushing just beneath the hem like it had every right to be there.

You shrugged, playing innocent, but your smile was all heat. "It's pretty cozy."

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes soft but hooded, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or pin you to the nearest surface. "That’s not an answer."

You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. "What are you going to do about it, sir?"

His breath hitched, gaze dipping to your lips before dragging back up to your eyes, hungry and tentative all at once. You felt the shift in the air—warmth curling low in your belly as his grip tightened, just slightly, like he was reminding himself you were real. And here. And his.

"You are unbelievable," he murmured, voice low and slightly hoarse, each word curling around the edges of a smile he couldn't quite suppress. There was awe behind it—fondness and a hint of reverence, like he still couldn't believe you were his.

"And you're absurdly attractive in those frames," you murmured, fingertips sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair, curling gently as you tugged him down to meet you. The kiss you gave him was slow, thorough, but it carried heat—a teasing sort of promise beneath the softness.

His hands spanned your waist, thumbs brushing bare skin with growing intent as he kissed you back, deepening it until your breath hitched against his mouth. The glasses stayed on, slightly askew, and it only made your pulse race harder.

You gasped softly when his lips left yours to trail along your jaw, then just beneath your ear, the scruff of his beard dragging deliciously against your skin. It was just long enough to rasp, to make you shiver, to remind you that this wasn't just soft Sunday morning, off-duty Dr. Robby—this was all of him. "This what does it for you?" he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing your pulse point, beard scraping lightly as he spoke.

"God, I want you to ruin me," you whispered, lips ghosting the shell of his ear, your voice low and just shy of reverent. The grin on your face was wicked, but there was no mistaking the heat behind it—the way your breath caught, the way your body leaned into his like gravity had given up pretending.

He stilled for a moment, like you’d short-circuited something vital in him. Then, wordless and driven by something primal, he kissed you again—hungrier now, hands roaming, touch reverent and desperate all at once.

You giggled against his mouth, breathless. "Race you to the bedroom. Winner gets bragging rights and top position."

His eyes flared with something dangerous and amused. "Is that a challenge?"

"I’m just saying," you murmured, backing out of his arms with a wicked grin, "you’re not the only one with stamina, Dr. Robinavitch."

The next second, you bolted.

Robby cursed softly, then took off after you with a kind of urgency that had nothing to do with competition and everything to do with getting his hands back on you.

Your laughter echoed down the hallway—right up until he caught you halfway to the bedroom, spun you around, and pressed you back against the nearest wall like he’d just won gold.

"Called it," he murmured into your skin, beard scraping, lips insistent. "I can’t wait until this is every morning. Waking up to you, going to sleep with you…" he trailed kisses along your jaw, voice low and reverent as though he were citing a prayer.

You smiled against his mouth, fingers curling into his hair. "Then don’t let me go. Not tonight. Not ever."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and tender all at once. "You’re it for me."

The omelet could wait—left forgotten on the counter alongside the crossword and cold coffee. And the glasses? They stayed on. Fogged, slightly crooked, and forever etched into your memory.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt x reader #the pitt fanfiction #dr. robby #michael robinavitch #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #noah wyle #dr robby imagine #the pitt spoilers #dr. robby x reader #dr robby x you #the pitt imagine #michael robinavitch imagine #michael robinavitch smut #dr robby smut

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flwrstqr · 15 days ago

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ADORE YOU ⭑ WHEN THEY'RE YOUR HUSBAND

𝐈𝐕────𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈��𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗈

❪ 𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗦&𝗖𝗢 ❫ husband!enhypen & fem!rea 1OOO ◞ ◟书 fluff established relationship headcanons 𝘄 ｡ drinking skinship petnames ❞ DAILY

다니 ⦂ i miss my flueries a lot TT i promise i'll be more active soon ><

LEE HEESEUNG

your cheeks are flushed and you're giggling into his shoulder, arm slung lazily around his waist as you sway just a little, drunk on champagne and the fact that you’re married to the prettiest boy in the room—he's yours. “he’s my husband,” you whisper again to a poor stranger who just smiled too politely, and heeseung’s laughing under his breath, hand slipping down to squeeze your hip as he presses a kiss behind your ear. “i know, love,” he murmurs, “i’m right here.” you pout when he tries to tug you away from the hors d'oeuvres table, your fingers lacing with his. “he’s mine,” you tell the bartender next, and heeseung just grins like a fool as he spins you into his chest. “yes, baby. forever. now let’s get you some water before you propose to me again.”

PARK JAY

you’re leaning over his desk, the soft clack of your pen against paper filling the room as you scribble your signature—mrs. park, almost out of habit now—and you don’t even notice the way jay’s watching you until he hums lowly. his arms looping around your waist as he leans in, the soft brush of his loosened tie grazing your shoulder. “my last name looks good on you,” he whispers, smirking. you blink, caught, heart skipping. “jay,” you say, pretending to scold, but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to. he chuckles, brushing your hair aside so he can kiss your neck ever so lightly. “yes, princess?” he teases, hands stroking your hips, his thumb lazily traces your waist. “sign all the papers you want, baby. i already put a ring on it.” god—this man. in his office. and only eyes for you.

SIM JAKE

you don’t even notice the guy at first—not until he leans in too close and asks, “are you single?” with a half-smile that makes your stomach churn, but before you can answer, jake’s arm is suddenly around you, pulling you so close your back hits his chest, “she’s married,” he says, voice smooth but laced with steel and coldness, and the guy blinks, stunned, until jake adds with a little smirk, “by me,” his eyes are locked on the poor guy who’s suddenly stammering and backing away, palms raised. “jesus,” you mutter, half-laughing as jake presses a kiss to your cheek. “what?” he shrugs innocently. “can’t have people thinking my pretty wife’s up for grabs.” you roll your eyes but your heart stutters anyway, the ring on your finger suddenly burning with meaning, and you lean into him, whispering, “jealousy looks hot on you.” “good. now dance with me, baby.”

PARK SUNGHOON

you’re leaning over the bathroom counter, fixing your lip gloss with practiced ease, when you catch sunghoon’s reflection behind you—shirt half-buttoned, hair still damp, but his gaze is soft, entirely on you. you pause, blinking at him through the mirror, and that’s when he murmurs it, voice low, almost like he’s thinking out loud—“how did i get so lucky?” the gloss wand stills in your hand as your heart stumbles, and you turn just slightly, smiling despite yourself. “you say that like i’m not the lucky one,” you tease, but he only walks closer, slipping his arms around your waist from behind, nose brushing your temple. you lean back into him, fingers brushing over his. “you’re gonna ruin my makeup,” you whisper. he just smiles, “worth it.”

KIM SUNOO

you’re half-distracted, phone pressed to your ear as you rattle off your order, casually adding, “and my husband will have the strawberry one,” not even thinking twice—meanwhile, sunoo’s halfway across the room, frozen with a spoon in his hand as he tries to hide his smile. his ears go red instantly, and when you hang up and turn around, he’s just standing there, grinning like an idiot. “what?” you laugh, confused, and he practically skips over, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck. “you called me your husband,” he whispers, voice all giddy. “i mean... you are?” you smile. he just melts more, and three hours later, he’s still smiling like he just won the lottery.

YANG JUNGWON

you’re curled up beside jungwon, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you both lounge on the couch. the warmth of his body makes everything feel perfect, his soft breath tickling the top of your head. "babe," he murmurs, gently kissing the ring finger of your left hand, the one he’s kissed so many times, his lips lingering there a little longer than usual, sending a small flutter through your chest. “you’re so beautiful,” he adds, making you smile. you tease him, "flattery will get you everywhere, hm?" he chuckles, pulling you closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "i just speak the truth, sweetheart," he whispers, wrapping his arms tighter around you. his fingers trace slow circles on your arm, a grin. dimples.

NISHIMURA RIKI

it’s funny how people still think riki is your boyfriend, even though you two got married early , he knew from the start he wanted to be with you forever. as you two were talking with some friends, one of them teased, "so, your boyfriend is here?" riki, with a smirk, quickly corrected them, "no, i'm her husband." he leaned in to press a quick kiss on your temple. you roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. he loves it—loves making that little correction, watching the surprise flicker across their faces. "a little more serious than boyfriend and girlfriend," "i guess he can’t stop showing off that ring," you add, with a teasing tone. "can't blame him,"

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sixxels · 2 months ago

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fratboy!sukuna x fem reader

wc: 14k

!!disclaimer!! situationship, smut, p in v, mdni, angst! comfort. this is messy, so so messy but what fic of mine isn’t?

the first thing anyone ever smells when stepping into choso’s house is weed and watermelon vape. the second is tequila, the third is him. the one guy you really didn't want to see right now.

smokey, rich, him. sukuna.

you try to ignore it, the lights are dim and pink and pulsing. it’s not packed yet, but it will be. choso’s parties always fill up like bathtubs. slowly, hot.

you step through the threshold and into the thrum of it all. maki grabs your wrist the moment she spots you. “thank god,” she says, tugging you toward the living room. “i need someone sane to witness this mess.”

you barely manage a hello before she’s dragging you in, past the sliding kitchen door and down the short hall, until you see a group of all your friends sitting in a circle.

“truth or drink,” gojo booms, slamming his empty solo cup down on a wonky wooden frat table like he’s just cast a spell.

you roll your eyes. maki groans beside you.

“oh god, not again.”

“no, listen,” gojo says, serious. “this is character development. this is growth. this is—,”

“—an excuse to be nosy,” suguru cuts in.

“exactly!”

sukuna’s already here, of course he is. spread out like he owns the couch. one leg over the other, cigarette burning low between two tattooed fingers, eyes slouched half-lidded as if he’s barely awake. like he didn’t just watch you walk in.

and just like that, it begins.

choso pulls out the question cards he made last semester, a mix of drunk scribbles and genuinely soul-destroying prompts. shoko hands everyone a refill. yuki raises her eyebrows at you like, ‘buckle up, baby.’

you sit, shoulders tight, pretending not to care when the bottle lands on sukuna.

your chest pinches anyway.

“truth,” he says lazily, eyes half-lidded.

choso reads the card. “do you think you’ve ever been in love?”

the room hushes, tension vibrating like a tight string.

sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. he drags from his cigarette. smoke curls out the corner of his mouth.

“no.”

a few snickers. gojo coughs dramatically, little did you know he’s the only one who sukuna tells about your little… situation, so he was as uncertain as you were. he gave you a sympathetic look from across the circle.

“no offense,” maki mutters under her breath, “but i believe it.”

your stomach sinks. you don’t know why you expected anything different. maybe you didn’t.

you just hoped.

the bottle spins again. lands on you.

your throat goes dry, and maki grabs your hand under the table.

gojo perks up like a kid in church who just got told the sermon’s about sex.

“truth,” you say.

suguru plucks a card. “do you think the person you want wants you back?”

silence again.

you look down at your cup.

you think about sukuna’s mouth. the way he kissed you that night at the party like he was afraid he’d forget how. the way he didn’t call for two days after. the way he still texts you at 2am like you’re a convenience store.

your voice is soft. “i think maybe, like halfway?”

no one says anything for a moment.

even sukuna.

especially sukuna.

then yuki murmurs, “you deserve more than half-love, baby.”

you nod, but you don’t say anything.

what would be the point?

as the game dissolves into teasing and too-loud laughter, gojo throws himself dramatically across suguru’s lap and starts fake-crying like a soap opera housewife. “you never loved me!” he wails, half-choking on his drink, and suguru just hums and pets his hair like a tired husband with a golden retriever.

shoko steals the card deck. maki yells something about how is he crying without tears, and choso starts explaining the thc content in his gummy stash to a girl in a crocheted top who keeps giggling like she doesn’t understand a word.

the circle splinters. the warmth disperses. the night, like a bruise, begins to spread.

you lose sight of sukuna in the crowd.

the room gets louder. people you don’t know start filtering in. loud boys in snapbacks yelling about beer pong. girls in glitter boots clacking across the hardwood like they own the place. someone walks by with a bong shaped like pikachu and a glowstick necklace that makes your eyes hurt.

it’s not that you don’t want to be here. it’s that you suddenly feel like you’re watching it all through glass. like you’re not in the room anymore. just near it.

you slip away. quietly.

the kitchen is cooler than the rest of the house, the hum of the fridge a steady drone underneath the bass. you lean against the counter, press your palms into the tile. you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the silence makes your ears ring.

then,

“you gonna pretend i’m not here all night?”

you freeze.

you don’t need to look to know who it is.

that voice always comes just after you start to forget it. low, lazy, soft with smoke and something sharp underneath.

sukuna.

you inhale slow, steady. then turn.

he’s leaning against the counter like it’s a throne. one hand braced on it. the other running through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the night. his eyes are heavy-lidded. glossy. the slow drawl in his voice tells you what you already know.

he’s high. probably drunk. maybe both.

he’s beautiful in that unbearable way he always is, like a nightmare you mistake for a dream.

you don’t say anything. you just look at him.

he raises his eyebrows like that’s the joke. “didn’t even look at me,” he says, voice dipped in that honey-slick sarcasm. “kinda hurts.”

you let out a breathless laugh. cold. “didn’t know you could feel pain.”

he snorts, like he expected that. “guess you bring it out in me.”

the music from the living room pulses through the walls, muffled and rhythmic like a heartbeat you can’t trust.

you cross your arms. “you high?”

“little bit.”

you nod. “figures.”

he shrugs. “you looked good tonight.”

it’s casual. too casual. like it costs him nothing to say it. but the way his gaze flickers over you, slow, warm, like he’s memorizing you, that betrays him.

your stomach flips. you hate that it still reacts to him. that your body remembers every place he’s touched even when your brain is begging you to forget.

you steady your voice. “that why you ignored me?”

he blinks. “i didn’t ignore you.”

“you didn’t look at me,” you say, softer now. “not once.”

he tilts his head like a dog hearing a strange sound. “would that have made a difference?”

you swallow. “not to you, probably.”

and there it is, the flicker in his eyes.

brief. but real.

like he didn’t expect you to say that. like it hit somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

he pushes off the counter. takes a step forward. then another.

too close. always too close.

his voice drops low. “don’t do that.”

you meet his gaze. “do what?”

“don’t act like you don’t know i care.”

you laugh. it’s not kind. it sounds like heartbreak breaking in reverse. “do you?”

“i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.”

“you’re here,” you say slowly, “because you always come back when the buzz wears off. when you’re bored. when it’s dark and quiet and you remember i’m soft.”

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t deny it.

you go on, voice barely above a whisper. “you only show up when you want something. and i keep letting you.”

he stares at you. there’s a crack forming in his expression, small, hairline, but there, then he says it, just one word.

“yeah.”

no apology, no excuses, no fix, just that.

and somehow that hurts worse than all the lies he could’ve told.

you drop your gaze, chest tight.

the silence between you is thick with everything you’ve never said. everything he’ll never give you.

after another awkward silence you're interrupted by a voice.

“didn’t think i’d find you in here.” you both turn, yuki is standing in the doorway, hip cocked, drink in one hand, the other braced against the frame like she’s leaning into a scene she’s already seen too many times.

her gaze flickers between you and sukuna. calm. sharp.

“you good?” she asks you directly.

you nod. automatically.

she hums. doesn’t buy it.

she steps into the kitchen, slow and easy, like a tiger circling a campfire. her eyes settle on sukuna. “didn’t peg you for the type to haunt kitchens like a ghost with unfinished business.”

sukuna scoffs. “didn’t peg you for the type to care.”

“don’t,” yuki says, voice crisp, “mistake my presence for forgiveness.”

he doesn’t reply. but he holds her gaze.

she walks past him, pours herself another drink, doesn’t bother asking. then turns back to you.

“you want me to stay?”

it’s a soft question. one you feel all the way down.

you think about saying yes. about grabbing her hand and letting her drag you back to the circle, where maki will make you laugh and choso will roll his eyes and shoko will hand you something that tastes like pain and nostalgia.

but you don’t.

you shake your head.

yuki nods. doesn’t push. “come find me if he says anything stupid.”

then she leans in, kisses your temple, warm, steady, and says, low enough that only you hear:

“you don’t owe him anything. not even your silence.”

and just like that, she’s gone, and you’re left with him again.

sukuna is quiet now. the tension that always coils around him is looser, but not gone.

he watches you.

you watch the floor.

then you speak.

“i think i wanted you to fight for me.”

he closes his eyes for a beat. then opens them. “that’s not something i’m good at.”

you nod.

“i know.”

silence, heavy and final.

you brush past him. he doesn’t stop you.

doesn’t even move.

you leave before it gets too late. before you can talk yourself into staying. before sukuna can kiss you like a promise he’ll never keep.

choso finds you on your way out. he wraps you in a hug, tight and lingering.

“you okay?” he murmurs.

“yeah,” you lie.

he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t say so.

he just presses something into your hand. a shirt you must of left in his room, the one you left the last time sukuna ghosted you after 2am.

“text me when you’re home,” he says.

you nod.

you glance back once, just once, and see them through the window:

gojo dancing stupidly with a bottle of tequila. suguru with his phone flashlight on, filming it like it’s high art. maki yelling at shoko, who’s dumping popcorn in someone’s drink. yuki standing near the back…

the party ends slow. like the last drag of a cigarette, burnt out, bitter, and a little too quiet. music still thumps from inside choso’s place, muffled through the walls, but the energy has thinned out. people are either too drunk to notice or already stumbling home with the wrong shoes and the wrong names.

gojo’s the one who calls it. “yo, let’s dip,” he says, slinging an arm around sukuna’s shoulders like he always does, loose and lazy, like he owns the world and you’re lucky to be living in it. suguru’s behind them, silent and steady, hoodie pulled up and smelling like weed and sandalwood. they leave without saying goodbye to anyone. that’s kind of their thing.

outside, it’s humid. the kind of summer night that sticks to your skin and makes the air taste like sweat and smoke. sukuna’s already lighting another cigarette, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. he doesn’t offer one to gojo or suguru. he doesn’t need to. gojo’s got a vape in one pocket and a flask in the other, and suguru doesn’t need anything to look high. he just always does.

they don’t talk much on the walk back to the frat house. it’s not far. five blocks, maybe. quiet streets and broken streetlights. gojo’s whistling something off-beat. sukuna’s got his hands in his pockets. suguru hums low under his breath, something old and haunting.

when they get back, the house is dead. empty beer cans in the grass. some kid passed out on the porch. the usual. sukuna steps over him without blinking. gojo kicks the kid’s leg, laughs when he groans. suguru opens the front door and lets it creak.

they go upstairs, past the chaos of the main floor, past the girls’ hoodies still draped on the railing and the smell of stale liquor clinging to the carpet. third floor. the balcony. sukuna’s spot.

it’s dark out there. just a sliver of moonlight and the distant flicker of someone else’s backyard party. sukuna leans against the railing. suguru drops into the broken plastic lawn chair. gojo pulls out a blunt from somewhere deep in his jacket and waves it like a magic trick. “you’re welcome,” he says, sticking it between his teeth.

sukuna exhales slow. smoke curls up into the sky. “what, you want a medal?”

“nah. just a thank you and maybe a little kiss on the mouth.”

suguru snorts. sukuna rolls his eyes.

they pass the blunt in silence for a bit. the air’s thick with something that isn’t just weed. something quieter. heavier. the kind of shit that settles behind your ribs and makes everything feel too loud even when no one’s talking.

gojo breaks it first.

“so.” he’s watching the street below like he’s waiting for someone to walk by. “you gonna talk about it or do we have to play twenty questions?”

sukuna doesn’t look at him. doesn’t have to. “talk about what?”

gojo tilts his head. his hair’s a mess, sweat sticking to his forehead. he’s still got glitter on his cheek from some girl that kissed him three hours ago. “you know what.”

sukuna flicks ash off the balcony. “nah. i don’t.”

“you and her.”

the silence tightens. suguru shifts, leans back. he’s not getting in the middle of this. he knows better.

sukuna takes another drag. his lips twitch, just barely. “there is no me and her.”

“bullshit.”

“seriously.”

“nah, that’s bullshit and you know it.”

sukuna finally looks at him. his eyes are sharp, red in the moonlight. not angry. just tired. “i don’t owe you an explanation.”

“you don’t,” gojo says, shrugging. “but you owe her something.”

sukuna doesn’t say anything.

gojo doesn’t press. not yet. he just lets it hang there, like smoke between them. like a threat.

after a minute, sukuna mutters, “she knew what it was.”

“did she?”

silence again.

gojo sighs. leans his elbows on the railing. “look, i’m not trying to play therapist or whatever. that’s shoko’s job. but you gotta know she’s not like the other girls that come to our parties.”

sukuna scoffs. “i know that.”

“do you?”

he doesn’t answer.

gojo watches him. he’s serious now. which is rare. his voice drops low. not angry. not mocking. just honest. “she’s sweet, man. like… good. not in that fake ‘pick me’ way. like… genuinely good. and you’ve got her looking at you like you’re the sun or some shit.”

sukuna exhales through his nose. “she doesn’t.”

“she does.”

“whatever.”

gojo’s smile fades. “you’re gonna break her.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“you’re already breaking her,” gojo says softer this time. “and i don’t think you want to. i think that’s what’s messing you up.”

for a second, sukuna looks like he might say something. like he might throw the blunt off the balcony or snap gojo’s neck or punch the railing until it splinters.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he says, “i didn’t mean to.”

gojo blinks. a little surprised. but he doesn’t let it show.

“i didn’t plan for any of this,” sukuna says, voice low, rough. “she was just… there. and then she wasn’t just there. she was everywhere. all of a sudden.”

gojo nods.

“i don’t do feelings,” sukuna mutters, like it’s a confession. “i don’t do this.”

“yeah, no shit.”

sukuna glares at him. gojo raises his hands, grinning.

“look,” gojo says. “i get it. you don’t wanna hurt her. you’re scared. whatever. but stringing her along? pretending she’s just some random girl you fuck when she’s clearly not? that’s worse.”

“i know,” sukuna snaps. then softer, almost like he hates himself for it—“i know.”

they go quiet again.

suguru lights another joint.

gojo leans his head back and stares at the stars. they’re faint out here. hidden behind pollution and bad choices.

“you like her?” he asks, sukuna doesn’t answer right away.

“…yeah.”

“how much?”

“too much.”

gojo grins. “gross.”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“so what now?” gojo asks. “you gonna keep acting like a cold asshole? or maybe try something new, like honesty.”

“it’s not that easy.”

“yeah, it is. you just say what you feel. preferably with your mouth and not your dick.”

sukuna doesn’t laugh, but his lips twitch again. that almost-smile he gets when he’s trying not to admit he finds gojo funny.

gojo turns to him, cocky glint in his eye now. “look, i’m just saying, if you don’t treat her right…”

he pauses. lets it hang there.

“…i will.”

sukuna snorts. “shut the fuck up.”

“i’m serious.”

“you couldn’t handle her.”

gojo grins. “oh, i could. and you know it.”

they’re both smiling now. but underneath it, there’s something sharp. something real.

a warning.

sukuna finishes his cigarette. flicks it over the railing. watches the ember fade in the grass.

“i’m not gonna let her go,” he says finally. “but i don’t know how to keep her either.”

gojo looks at him. really looks. “figure it out. before someone else does.”

the stars above them don’t offer any answers. but maybe that’s okay.

they stay out there a little longer. talking about everything and nothing. until the night bleeds into morning and the city starts to yawn.

and somewhere, not too far away, you’re still thinking about him. still waiting.

and maybe now, maybe finally, he’s starting to realize what that means.

mondays economic class.

he’s sitting in the back again.

legs spread like the seat was made for him, hood up, sunglasses on even though they’re indoors and the windows are closed. he hasn’t looked at you once. not during roll call, not during the lecture, not even when the professor called on him to answer a question about marginal cost and he replied with a deadpan, “pass.”

you hate him.

you hate that you’re still thinking about him even as you type notes you’ll never read again.

you hate that you still notice the way his fingers tap against the desk like he’s impatient with the whole world. you hate that you can’t forget what those hands feel like on your hips. you hate the weight of his gaze—when it’s on you, when it’s not. it doesn’t matter. he’s in your head either way.

you scroll back in your notes, realize you’ve written the same sentence three times.

you sigh. close your laptop. rest your chin in your hand and stare at the front of the class.

you didn’t even wear anything cute today. you’re in sweats. your hair’s a mess. you didn’t think he’d be here—he barely comes to econ unless he needs to cheat off someone’s midterm. so why does it feel like your heart’s pounding just because he’s breathing the same air?

you glance back, like you can help yourself.

he’s leaned back in his chair, chewing on the end of a pen. his eyes are behind his sunglasses but you know, you know, he’s watching you too.

god.

you hate that he gets to do this to you.

he fucked you once and now he gets to haunt your life like some ghost with a nicotine addiction and a fratboy attitude. it’s been months. and somehow, you’re still here. still hoping for more. still checking your phone for messages that don’t come.

you tell yourself you’re over it. you lie, the class ends. people start packing up. zippers and shuffling and half-asleep small talk.

you gather your things slow. give yourself a moment to breathe. you don’t want to walk past him. you don’t want to look like you’re trying. you don’t want to care, but you do.

you head for the door. keep your head down.

you almost make it.

but just as you step into the hallway, a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you sideways, into a side corridor no one uses, behind a column of lockers, where the lights flicker and the air smells like dust and old paper.

you already know who it is.

“sukuna,” you breathe, not quite surprised.

he looks at you like he’s bored. like this is a chore. like he didn’t just corner you like a secret. “hey.”

you try not to let your voice shake. “what do you want?”

he shrugs. leans a shoulder against the wall. everything about him is infuriatingly casual, like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. “you wanna come over?”

you blink. “…now?”

“yeah.”

he doesn’t elaborate.

you shift your weight, heart pounding. “why?”

his jaw flexes. “you know why.”

and yeah. you do.

you look up at him. his face is unreadable. dark eyes under his hood, mouth set in a line that’s too hard to call a smile. he looks tired. he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. he looks like the last time he touched you is still on his fingertips.

you shouldn’t.

but god, he’s looking at you like he wants you again, and it’s been so long since he’s looked at you like anything at all. and you’re weak. and stupid. and still in love with a boy who never says your name unless he’s dragging it out of you in bed.

“…okay,” you whisper.

he nods like he expected you to say yes.

his room’s dark. always is. it smells like weed and cologne and something distinctly him. the sheets are still messy from the last time he was here, probably with someone else.

you don’t ask.

he doesn’t offer.

he locks the door behind you, tosses his hoodie to the floor, lights a cigarette and leans against his desk like he’s thinking. like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that won’t come out.

you stand awkwardly near the bed. your fingers twitch. you almost ask him what’s wrong. you almost ask him if he’s okay. you almost ask—

“you look tired,” he says instead, like it’s the only thing he knows how to offer you. you laugh, quiet. “yeah. i am.”

he stares at you. exhales smoke through his nose. walks over, slow, until he’s standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell the nicotine and aftershave and the faint scent of whatever cheap shampoo he uses.

he reaches out. brushes your cheek with the back of his hand. something in your chest pulls tight.

“you’re still sweet,” he mutters. “even now.”

you swallow hard. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he doesn’t answer.

inside his head, he’s screaming.

'tell her you think about her all the time.

tell her you can’t stop dreaming about her mouth.

tell her it’s been eating you alive that you made her feel disposable.

tell her you miss her. tell her you’re sorry. tell her—'

“take your shirt off,” he says instead.

and you do.

of course you do.

because that’s what you do when it comes to sukuna. you say yes even when you mean no. you give him pieces of yourself like they’re nothing, just hoping one day he’ll realize how much they cost you.

he kisses you like he’s angry. hands rough. mouth hungry. he kisses you like he’s trying to say all the things he’s too much of a coward to say out loud.

you let him.

you let him use your body as a place to bury his feelings.

you let yourself pretend it means something.

he fucks you like he’s punishing himself.

like he’s trying to carve you into his skin, leave a mark deeper than anything words could say.

your back hits the mattress and he’s on you in a breath, mouth everywhere, hands urgent, grip bruising. his rings drag down your ribs, your hips, your thighs, leaving fire in their wake. his teeth scrape your collarbone. he bites your neck, your shoulder, your chest, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

you moan for him. soft. breathy. helpless.

and god, the way he reacts, like your sounds are gasoline. like they’re unraveling whatever threadbare control he’s got left.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “fuck, baby. you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you want to ask what that means.

but then he’s pushing inside you — rough, deep, unforgiving — and the question dies on your tongue.

you gasp. arch. dig your nails into his shoulders.

he groans like he’s in pain. like being inside you is the only thing that makes him feel human.

“always so tight for me,” he mutters against your mouth. “like your body fucking knows who it belongs to.”

you shouldn’t let him say things like that. not when you both know it’s not real. not when you know he’ll go cold again once the high fades.

but you nod anyway. whisper, “yes.”

because in this moment, in this darkness, you do belong to him.

he fucks you slow at first. deliberate. deep enough to make your toes curl. he presses his forehead to yours. watches your face. watches the way you fall apart just for him.

“look at you,” he breathes. “so fucking pretty like this.”

his hand wraps around your throat, just enough to make your breath hitch. not enough to hurt. just enough to say mine.

he kisses you again, messy, possessive, desperate, like he’s trying to crawl inside you. like he’s trying to make you forget any name that isn’t his.

and you let him, you always let him.

his pace gets rougher. harder. the headboard slams the wall and you don’t care. you’re shaking. sweating. whispering his name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

“sukuna—” you gasp. “i’m gonna—”

“yeah, baby?” he pants, fucking you through it. “you gonna come for me? make a mess all over my cock?”

you nod. cry out. your body tenses, then shatters.

you fall apart beneath him, and when you do — when you come with your whole heart in it — something in his face breaks.

his rhythm stutters. his jaw clenches. his breath catches like he’s never seen anything more devastating than you loving him out loud without saying a word.

he finishes with a groan. deep. guttural. like it hurts him.

and maybe it does.

because when he pulls out, he doesn’t speak.

he just collapses beside you. chest heaving. jaw clenched.

and you both lie there in the dark, skin slick, hearts racing, silence choking, pretending it didn’t mean everything.

afterward, he doesn’t say much. he smokes while you lay on your side, back to him, eyes fixed on the crack in the wall.

he wants to reach out. wants to trace his fingers down your spine. wants to ask if you’re okay. wants to say i’m sorry i don’t know how to love you right.

but all he says is:

“you can sleep here if you want.”

you don’t answer.

you fall asleep anyway.

he stays awake long after you’ve started dreaming.

'fuck.'

the door creaks when you open it.

you wince, glancing back at sukuna’s bed. he’s asleep, sprawled on his stomach, breathing deep. the sheets are tangled around his waist. his hand is stretched toward where you were laying minutes ago.

you leave anyway.

your sweater is inside-out and you don’t bother fixing it. you don’t look in a mirror. you don’t even grab your shoes. the floorboards are cold, but you move quiet. like a secret. like a ghost.

you’ve done this before.

the house is quiet. mostly. there’s a low hum from the fridge and the drip of the bathroom sink down the hall. you turn the corner into the kitchen, eyes blurry, mind fogged, and stop short when you see… gojo?

gojo satoru. shirtless. sleep-mussed. drinking orange juice straight from the bottle.

he freezes. you freeze.

“…uh,” he says, mid-sip.

“…hi,” you whisper, not really sure why.

he lowers the bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “i wasn’t expecting company.”

“i wasn’t expecting anyone to be awake.”

he looks at you then. really looks, eyes narrowing.

taking in the state of you, your hoodie, half-zipped. your hair, messy. your bare feet. the too-quiet look in your eyes.

“…he do something?” he asks, voice low, unusually serious.

you blink. “no. no, i just—”

but the words don’t come. you shake your head instead. try to smile. it doesn’t stick.

gojo doesn’t push. he just sets the orange juice down and hops up on the counter, like he’s settling in for something. “you want tea? or whiskey? or, like… both?”

you laugh, soft. “just water’s fine.”

he nods. gets up. finds a glass. fills it. hands it to you without meeting your eyes.

you sip slowly. the silence stretches.

“…you’re not gonna ask?” you murmur.

“not yet,” he says, sitting back down.

“trying to be cool.”

you glance at him. “you’re not very good at that.”

he grins, a little sheepish. “yeah, i know.”

another beat. you lean against the fridge. hugging yourself. “he didn’t kick me out. i just… didn’t wanna stay.”

“because?”

you swallow.

“because it hurts.”

that gets his attention.

his smile fades. his whole posture shifts, shoulders tense, jaw tight, hands curling around the edge of the counter. he looks like he wants to say something sharp, but reins it in.

instead, he says, quiet: “he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

you look at him. “what does that mean?”

gojo shrugs, but it’s a lie. “it means you’re not like the other girls. you’re not easy to forget. and sukuna…” he sighs. runs a hand through his hair. “sukuna likes things he can throw away. he doesn’t know what to do with something real.”

you stare at your water. “i don’t even think he likes me.”

“he does,” gojo says immediately. then catches himself. “i mean—he feels something. he wouldn’t keep you around if he didn’t. that guy doesn’t even keep leftovers.”

you almost smile.

gojo swings his legs a little, like a kid. “look, i’m not… i’m not good at this. feelings. girl stuff. crying. whatever.” he gestures vaguely at you. “but i know you’re too good for this. you’ve got this… i don’t know. softness.”

you raise a brow. “softness?”

“yeah. like. you care about people. even when they don’t deserve it.” he scratches the back of his neck. “it’s rare. makes you a good person. but it also makes you a really easy target for people like him.”

you’re quiet.

“i’m not saying sukuna’s evil or anything,” gojo adds. “he’s just… scared.”

“of what?”

“of being known. of letting anyone close. of you seeing all the ways he’s already fucked up and leaving him for it.”

“…i wouldn’t.”

“i know that,” gojo says. “you know that. he doesn’t. he grew up thinking love was a weakness. that closeness meant pain.”

you stare at the floor.

“he uses sex to avoid feelings. you use it to get closer. that’s never gonna work,” he says gently.

and it hits you like a slap.

you sit down at the little kitchen table. press your palms into your eyes. “why does it feel like i’m always the one getting hurt?”

gojo’s smile is sad. “because you’re the one who feels the most.”

silence again. this time thicker.

gojo watches you. watches the way you hunch your shoulders. the way you’re trying not to cry. the way your fingers tremble around your water glass.

inside, he’s fuming.

because he likes you. not romantically. not like that. but in the way a big brother likes his little sister’s best friend. in the way a guy who’s been in the game too long recognizes something rare and soft and good,and wants to keep it that way.

he remembers the first time he saw you. walking into their party with maki, eyes wide, sweater too big. he remembers thinking: she doesn’t belong here.

and now you’re sitting in their shitty kitchen in the dark, heart bruised, eyes tired, wearing his best friend’s hoodie and nothing else.

and he feels like he failed you.

“hey,” he says, softer now. “can i tell you something?”

you nod.

“if you ever decide you’re done… like, really done. if you ever stop waiting for him to grow up… i hope you find someone who deserves you.”

your voice is quiet. “you think he never will?”

gojo shrugs. “i think he might. i just don’t know if it’ll be soon enough.”

you bite your lip. look away.

he hesitates. then grins—teasing, but there’s something pointed underneath it.

“…and if he doesn’t figure it out?”

you glance back at him.

he winks.

“maybe i will.”

you laugh—really laugh—for the first time that night.

“shut up.”

“i’m just saying. i’m tall as fuck. hot. emotionally available.”

“you’re not emotionally available.”

“okay, but i pretend really well.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in it now.

gojo stands. ruffles your hair. “come crash in my room. i’ll take the floor. you can take the bed. no weirdness, just… company.”

you hesitate.

but you’re so tired. and gojo’s safe. and you can’t go back upstairs.

“…okay.”

“cool,” he says, and grabs his juice on the way out. “also. if you hear any weird noises in the walls? that’s just nanami. he lives in the vents.”

you blink. “what—?”

“long story,” gojo says, already walking away. “come on.”

you follow him down the hall.

and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel so alone.

meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, sukuna was closer than you’d thought.

he hears her laugh before he hears her voice.

soft. almost shy. tired in a way that isn’t about sleep.

sukuna leans against the wall at the end of the hallway, just out of sight. cigarette burning slow between his fingers. his hoodie half-zipped, throat dry.

he hadn’t meant to get up.

but he always wakes when she leaves. like his body knows. like something inside him panics when the bed goes cold.

so he got up. quiet. just to see.

and now he’s standing in the dark, eavesdropping like a fucking coward while she sits in the kitchen and talks to gojo.

he can hear her voice low and sad, cracking around the edges. can hear gojo trying to make her laugh, trying to make it okay.

he listens anyway.

even when it hurts.

“why does it feel like i’m always the one getting hurt?”

“because you’re the one who feels the most.”

sukuna exhales smoke, slow. clenches his jaw.

he knows gojo’s not hitting on her. not really. he knows it’s not like that.

but it doesn’t matter.

what matters is that she’s downstairs spilling her heart out to someone else. that she didn’t wake him. that she didn’t stay.

that she left.

and that gojo was the one who made her laugh.

“he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

“he uses sex to avoid feelings. you use it to get closer. that’s never gonna work.”

he scoffs. quiet. bitter.

like hell gojo knows him. like hell anyone does.

they don’t know what it’s like to have something good and be too fucked-up to hold it. to want softness and flinch every time it touches you. to love someone in silence because saying it out loud would make it real.

they don’t know what it’s like to want to be better but still ruin everything you touch.

they don’t know him.

he flicks ash to the floor. keeps his back to the wall.

he should be angry. should storm in. tell gojo to back off. tell her to come back upstairs. tell her—

tell her what?

that he felt something? that he missed her the second she slipped out of bed? that he hates the way she makes him feel like there’s still a heart in his chest worth breaking?

no. instead, he presses the cigarette to his lips, takes a long drag and walks silently back upstairs. because it’s easier to leave than admit you care.

it’s easier to pretend you didn’t hear it.

it’s easier to be the villain than try to be anything else.the bedroom door clicks shut behind him.

the bed is cold.

he doesn’t sleep.

“wait, wait, so you’re telling me you failed your chem midterm because you got too high and thought the beaker was flirting with you?”

choso shrugs, dragging a fry through a sad puddle of ketchup. “not flirting. just… vibing.”

you snort into your drink, shoulders shaking. “you vibed with a glass container and flunked stoichiometry?”

“the beaker started it.”

the table erupts with laughter. maki bangs her fist against the wood. “you’re such a freak.”

“hey,” choso says, mouth full, totally unbothered. “i passed the retake. c’s get degrees.”

you’re sitting at a picnic table behind the campus dining hall, where the sun cuts through gaps in the tree canopy and everyone’s pretending it’s not a monday. someone smuggled beers in gojo’s oversized backpack (probably him), and there’s music playing low from geto’s speaker, something beachy and stupid and perfect for pretending your life isn’t a mess.

it’s the full crew today. rare. loud.

gojo’s got on sunglasses even though you’re in the shade, and he keeps pulling dumb faces behind them. shoko’s halfway asleep with her feet in suguru’s lap. maki is chain-eating sweet potato fries while ruthlessly cyberbullying nanami for being too good at Wordle. yuki’s got a cherry lollipop between her teeth and is quizzing you about your classes, occasionally pausing to threaten to beat up your econ professor for “crimes against women.”

and sukuna—

sits at the far end of the mat, leaning back on his hands, shoulders tense, smoking slowly. saying nothing.

i mean, at least he came?

you haven’t spoken to him since you slipped out of his bed this morning. since you wandered barefoot into the kitchen and laughed with gojo until you felt human again.

now you’re sitting between gojo and choso, sipping lemonade like you’re not thinking about it. like you’re not wondering if he notices. if he cares. (he does. not that he’ll say it.)

“so,” gojo says, nudging your elbow. “have you seen that econ TA since the last midterm? the one with the man bun?”

you groan. “don’t remind me.” maki perks up. “what did you do?”

you bury your face in your hands. “i thought he was just some guy in the hallway and told him his fly was down.”

gojo cackles. “was it?”

“unfortunately, yes.”

yuki whistles. “bold of him to teach supply and demand with his dick out.”

“stop—”

“i won’t,” yuki says, pointing her lollipop at you like a mic. “queen behavior. you saw something, you said something. brave.”

“heroic,” maki adds.

“horny,” suguru mutters.

“you would know,” shoko mumbles, eyes still closed.

the table descends into delighted chaos again, voices overlapping, laughter sharp and bright. you lean into choso’s shoulder, still grinning, cheeks warm. this — this moment — feels like breathing after being underwater. like coming up for air.

you feel normal. safe.

but you don’t miss the way sukuna’s jaw ticks as he stubs out his cigarette. or the way he keeps glancing at you from beneath his lashes, pink hair falling in his eyes, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s holding something in.

something that’s starting to crack.

from the corner of your eye you catch suguru leaning towards sukuna.

“you good?” he asks, looking down the mat.

sukuna doesn’t answer.

he lights another cigarette instead.

“you’ve had, like, four of those already,” shoko says, dry. “gonna give yourself cancer and a bigger attitude.”

gojo snorts. maki snickers.

sukuna exhales smoke toward the trees. “you want me to light one for you too, doc?”

shoko raises a brow. “i only diagnose, baby. not treat.”

the group titters again, but sukuna isn’t smiling. his gaze flicks across the mat — past gojo’s shit-eating grin, past maki’s teasing smirk, past you.

his voice comes out flat. “then shut the fuck up.”

the laughter stutters. dies.

you glance at him, startled.

shoko just blinks. “you always get this bitchy when your vape dies?”

“maybe he’s cranky ’cause someone didn’t say good morning,” gojo mutters, too quiet for most to hear — but sukuna hears it. you hear it.

your stomach drops.

sukuna stiffens, slow and cold. “the fuck did you just say?”

gojo shrugs, casual. “just saying. might’ve helped. sunshine and rainbows. breakfast in bed. a little serotonin.”

“don’t start.”

“not starting anything,” gojo says, smile sharp. “just making conversation.”

“then maybe shut your mouth.”

“jesus christ,” maki says under her breath. “chill.”

“no, really,” sukuna snaps, eyes narrowed. “why are you talking, satoru? you want her to climb into yourbed next time?”

the table freezes.

you flinch.

gojo’s grin falters, just a second — then returns, brittle and bright. “damn. someone’s projecting.”

“fuck off.”

“no, seriously. you get all bent out of shape the second she talks to someone else—”

“shut up.”

your voice cuts through the noise.

everyone turns to you. eyes wide.

you’re trembling.

“just—stop it,” you say, softer now. “you’re talking about me like i’m not sitting right here.”

silence.

sukuna looks at you like you’ve slapped him. maybe you have. metaphorically. emotionally. whatever. he goes still, face unreadable, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

you swallow. “if you’ve got something to say to me, say it. don’t take it out on everyone else.”

no response.

just a quiet, dangerous inhale. smoke curling from his lips.

you shake your head and scoff. the silence stretches — too long.

awkward. loaded. sharp as glass.

until choso clears his throat. “well,” he says, a little too loud, clapping his hands together like he’s brushing off the tension. “that was fun. but also maybe we all need to get blackout drunk and pretend none of this ever happened.”

maki snorts. “best idea you’ve ever had.”

“i’m serious,” choso says, pulling out his phone. “i was gonna wait, but whatever. we’re throwing a rager this weekend. big one. everyone’s invited. bring whoever, just don’t break my fucking windows this time.”

gojo perks up immediately. “you mean like… priject x kind of rager?”

“like ‘campus cops get called and ignore it because they’re scared’ kind of rager,” choso says, grinning.

“fuck yes,” yuki says, leaning back on her elbows. “i haven’t blacked out and woken up next to someone emotionally unavailable in weeks.”

“i thought you were seeing someone,” shoko says.

“i am,” yuki shrugs. “he’s just out of town.”

everyone laughs. it breaks the tension. just a little.

suguru raises a brow. “you sure your house can handle it?”

choso grins. “nope. but that’s the fun.”

“i’m in,” gojo says immediately. “i’ll bring ket, just got some for free off this blonde sorority girl i boned-.”

“gojo shut the fuck up,” maki says.

“aww,” gojo replies, smug.

you force a smile. nod. “yeah. sounds fun.”

choso glances at you, gently bumping your knee under the table.

you bump him back.

even sukuna mutters something that sounds vaguely like “whatever.” which, from him, is practically an rsvp.

everyone starts packing up. wrappers and half-empty cups, chattering and laughing as they get to their feet. the afternoon sun is mellow now, casting soft gold over everything. it should feel easy. warm.

but when you glance over at sukuna, he’s already standing. already walking away.

you step toward him, hesitant. “hey—”

he doesn’t stop.

doesn’t even look at you.

just shrugs. “don’t.”

your mouth opens. closes. something twists in your chest.

“i just… i thought maybe we could talk,” you say, softer now. quieter. just for him.

he slows. barely. the wind tugs at the hem of his hoodie. he looks over his shoulder, eyes cold and unreadable.

“what’s there to talk about?” he says.

it’s cold. effortless. the kind of line someone drops when they’re already halfway out the door.

you stand there, hands loosely curled at your sides, trying not to look as stupid as you feel. “sukuna…”

he finally looks at you.

and it’s worse than him not looking at all.

his expression is blank. not cruel, just tired. unreadable. like you’re just another thing he has to deal with. like this — whatever this is — doesn’t live under his skin the way it lives under yours.

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters.

“i don’t want you to say anything,” you say quietly. “i want you to be honest.”

he scoffs. looks away, runs a hand through his hair. you catch the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants a cigarette but doesn’t light one.

you step closer, not touching him. just enough so you’re in his space. maybe trying to remind him that this matters. that you matter.

“you look at me like i mean something,” you whisper. “and then you act like i don’t. like i’m a problem you never meant to have.”

his mouth twitches. but he says nothing.

“we sleep together,” you go on. voice soft, cracking at the edges. “and i know it doesn't mean nothing. not for me. not the way you look at me. not the way you touch me.”

his shoulders tense.

“you’re not like this with everyone,” you say. “you’re not cold like this unless you’re trying to hide something.”

“don’t start,” he mutters.

“start what?” you say, heart racing. “caring? because i do. and i know you do, too. even if you won’t say it. even if it scares you.”

that hits something. he flinches like the words sting.

and then — nothing. a breath. a long silence.

“you don’t know me,” he says.

it’s quiet. vicious. said without heat, but it lands like a slap.

your throat tightens. “i think i do.”

“you don’t,” he snaps, louder now. “you don’t know anything about me. you think you do because i fuck around with you every now and then — and that was a mistake.”

you flinch. physically step back.

his eyes dart away, jaw locked. you see the panic in the way he won’t meet your gaze. like he hates himself even as he says it.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say, barely above a whisper. “i just wanted you.” he says nothing. just stands there, staring at the grass, at the sky, anywhere but you.

you swallow. blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “i’ll stop. if that’s what you want. just… tell me.”

for a second, you think he might. you think he might give in. say something real, but then he looks at you, and it’s gone.

the softness. the almost, he shrugs. “do what you want." and with that, he turns and walks away.

you don’t stop him, don’t cry, you just stand there in the sunlight, hands trembling, heart cracking, watching him disappear like he always does.

the screen door slams behind him hard enough to shake the frame.

sukuna storms into the kitchen, kicks a chair out of his way, and yanks open the fridge with the kind of force that screams unresolved issues. there’s nothing in there but a half-empty bottle of orange gatorade and someone’s leftover pasta.

he grabs a beer instead. cracks it open without looking. downs half of it in one go.

“yo,” gojo calls from the living room. “there he is. you get lost or something?”

“yeah,” geto adds, laid out across the couch with his phone in his hand. “thought you died or ran off with some groupie.”

sukuna doesn’t answer. just slams the fridge shut and leans against the counter, eyes dark.

gojo appears in the doorway a second later. grinning, barefoot, stupidly beautiful in that careless, smug way that always makes sukuna want to punch him. “what, the picnic get a little too emotional for you?”

“fuck off.”

gojo raises a brow. “whoa. easy, killer.”

geto looks up from his phone. “damn. he’s brooding. who pissed in your cheerios?”

sukuna glares. “both of you need to shut the fuck up.”

gojo snorts. “jesus. what crawled up your ass?”

“i said shut the fuck up,” sukuna snaps, voice sharp and ugly. “don’t make me say it again.”

gojo tilts his head. his grin fades just slightly. “what’s your problem, man?”

“you’re my fucking problem,” sukuna spits.

geto whistles low under his breath. “okay.”

gojo blinks. “me?”

“yeah, you. always looking at her. always acting like you give a shit.”

“maybe i do,” gojo says, folding his arms.

sukuna shoves off the counter. closes the distance fast. “then why don’t you fuck her?”

geto sits up.

gojo’s smile drops.

sukuna’s breathing hard. eyes narrowed, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “you want her so bad, right? always hovering. always asking about her. if you’re so worried, go fuck her.”

gojo’s mouth twitches. not a smile this time. something colder. “you think this is about fucking?”

“you want her,” sukuna growls. “don’t pretend you don’t.”

“of course i fucking want her,” gojo snaps, stepping in close. their chests almost touch. “you think i’m blind? you think anyone’s blind? she’s the best fucking thing to walk into our lives, and you treat her like trash.”

sukuna shoves him.

gojo stumbles back half a step, then laughs. “hit a nerve?”

“don’t talk like you know anything,” sukuna says, low and mean.

gojo’s face twists. “i know enough. i know she looks at you like you hung the fucking moon. and you look at her like she’s a mistake.”

“shut up.”

“you’re not scared to lose her,” gojo says. “you’re scared you already have, and you’re too much of a coward to fix it.”

sukuna grabs his shirt. fists it in both hands. “say one more word.”

“you wanna hit me?” gojo challenges. “go ahead. but it won’t make her stop crying about you. it won’t make her stop waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass.”

“fuck you.”

“you already said that,” gojo says, eyes gleaming. “try something new.”

sukuna shoves him hard. gojo crashes back against the wall, laughing like he’s enjoying this. like the fight is foreplay.

geto sighs loudly from the couch. “jesus christ. this is the most homoerotic thing i’ve seen all week.”

“shut up, suguru,” both of them snap at once.

geto just sips from a water bottle and settles in like he’s watching an hbo original.

gojo wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. there’s no blood, but it feels close. he’s breathing hard now, too. “you think you’re the only one who could’ve had her?”

sukuna freezes.

gojo steps forward, lower now. his voice a little quieter, sharper. “you think i couldn’t have kissed her that night in the kitchen? when she looked at me like she wanted to fall apart? you think i haven’t had the chance to touch her? to fuck her?”

something ugly twists in sukuna’s gut. his jaw ticks. “then why didn’t you?”

gojo stares him down.

“because she’s in love with you, you fucking idiot,” he says. “and i’m not the type to take advantage of a girl crying over someone else.”

that hits like a punch.

sukuna reels back, lips parted. chest rising and falling too fast. his heart feels like it’s trying to escape.

gojo’s voice is quieter now. lower. almost sad. “she’s too wrapped up in you to see the way you treat her isn’t normal. but i see it. geto sees it. everyone sees it.”

sukuna says nothing.

gojo sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “you don’t deserve her.”

geto stands up, finally. claps a hand on sukuna’s shoulder. “you okay, man?”

sukuna jerks away.

he can’t be in this room anymore.

he storms past them both, heading upstairs without another word.

he slams the door behind him and doesn’t bother locking it.

the room’s a mess, it always is, clothes on the floor, textbooks on the desk collecting dust, ashtray full from three nights ago. he kicks a chair out of the way and collapses into the couch shoved against the wall.

his fingers are shaking when he rolls the joint. it’s not even a clean roll, he’s too pissed for precision, but he lights it anyway. inhales like it’ll kill the thoughts if he burns them fast enough.

it doesn’t.

smoke curls out of his mouth in lazy spirals, and he stares at the ceiling like it might have answers. but all it has is water stains and a crack in the corner that keeps getting bigger. he exhales. slow. watches it fade.

and thinks about you.

fuck.

he should’ve kissed you at the picnic. when you looked at him like that. like he meant something. like you were hurt, but still reaching for him. he should’ve fucking said something. instead, he walked off like a coward. let you stand there in front of everyone, soft and wide-eyed and trying, and all he did was shrug you off. like you didn’t matter.

he ashes the joint into a beer can. stares at the ember. lets his thoughts get loud. why does he do that? why does he push you away like you’re nothing, only to think about you constantly when you’re gone?

you looked so pretty today. he noticed — even though he pretended not to. he always notices. the way your voice goes quiet when you talk to choso, like he’s the only one who really sees you. the way you laugh at gojo’s stupid jokes, but your eyes flick to sukuna like you’re hoping he’ll laugh too. like you’re hoping he’ll give you something.

and he doesn’t.

because he’s fucking scared.

scared that if he lets himself want you out loud, he won’t be able to stop. scared that you’ll look at him the way his father looked at his mother — like love was a leash and a punishment all in one.

scared he’ll ruin you.

because that’s what he does, right?

he ruins things.

gets high. gets laid. ghosts the ones who stay too long. pushes until they leave so he doesn’t have to watch them choose to. you haven’t left yet. and that’s what makes it worse. you stay. even when he hurts you. even when he’s cold. even when he’s drunk at a party and pretends he doesn’t see you standing across the room in a dress that makes his chest ache.

god.

he remembers how you looked that night. the one at choso’s. on the couch, tequila on your tongue, heart in your eyes.

you touched him like you meant it. like he wasn’t just another party boy with a lighter in his back pocket and no soul in his stare, you touched him like he was yours.

he exhales. coughs a little. blinks the sting from his eyes, he can still feel your fingers in his hair, he’s never had that. not really. not the kind of want that runs deep. the kind that leaves bruises you ask for.

but you gave it to him, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do with it.

so he threw it back at you. let it rot. let it sit between you like a loaded gun and dared you to pull the trigger, but you didn’t. you just looked at him today, so sad, like you knew he’d break your heart and you were still hoping he wouldn’t.

like you loved him.

and maybe that’s the part that scares him the most. that you do.

he tips his head back against the wall. closes his eyes, takes another hit, and thinks about what it would be like if he were someone else.

someone better, someone whole, someone who could say it back,vsomeone who could hold you in public. let you fall asleep in his bed and mean it when he said stay.

but he’s not.

he’s just him.

all rough edges and bad decisions. full of want and fear and ugly things he doesn’t know how to name, and you — you’re everything soft. everything gentle. everything he doesn’t deserve, but fuck, he wants you anyway. more than he’s ever wanted anything.

he ashes the joint again and stares at the wall. and for the first time in a long time,

he feels like crying.

you’re sitting cross-legged on yuki’s bedroom floor, eyeliner in one hand and heartbreak in the other.

“i just feel stupid,” you mutter, carefully lining your waterline in the mirror she propped against the bed. “like… i know he's a dick yuki but it still hurts.”

the girl in question is sprawled out on her stomach, applying highlighter with the kind of nonchalant ease that makes her look like she belongs on the cover of a magazine. “you’re not stupid,” she says, voice soft, “you’re just in love with a boy who’s emotionally fucked up and terrified of intimacy.”

you snort.

“i’m serious,” she adds, rolling onto her side to face you. “sukuna is the human version of a locked file. password protected. probably booby-trapped. and yet here you are, trying to romance him with your full heart and soft eyes.”

“it’s like i’m trying to love a brick wall.”

“a hot brick wall. with great arms.”

you laugh despite yourself. “and a great dick... wait, hey! don’t gas him up.”

yuki grins. “i’m just saying. if you’re gonna have your heartbroken by anyone, at least it’s by someone with good bone structure.”

you finish your eyeliner, lips pressed tight. “you think he feels anything for me?”

yuki pauses. looks at you. “i think he feels a lot. i think that’s the problem.”

you don’t respond. just sit in the quiet buzz of your own nerves as she helps you fix your hair.

by the time you both finally leave, it’s past eleven, and the party’s already in full swing.

or, more accurately, it’s a fucking riot.

cars lined down the block. bass shaking the pavement. the frat house looks like it’s about to combust, people hanging off the porch railing, lights flickering through the upstairs windows, the whole front yard packed with bodies and booze and cigarette smoke.

you’re barely through the door when you get bumped into, hard.

“jesus,” yuki mutters, grabbing your wrist so you don’t get pulled away. “this is worse than i thought.”

inside, it’s chaos.

liquor spilled on hardwood. sweaty bodies pressed together. someone already passed out on the stairs with sharpie all over their face. strobe lights flash in the living room, where people are dancing like they’ve never heard the word tomorrow.

it smells like weed, beer, and cologne — heavy and dizzying.

you spot gojo first, shirt half-unbuttoned, pouring tequila directly into someone’s mouth on the kitchen counter. he’s laughing so hard he nearly drops the bottle.

maki’s by the fridge with shoko, both leaning against the door like it’s the only thing keeping them upright. shoko looks bored. maki looks hammered — but still effortlessly hot in a cropped corset and leather pants.

and sukuna —

god.

he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread, head tipped back, a blunt in his fingers and a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor.

he’s wearing that stupid silver chain and a black tee stretched across his chest like it’s painted on. eyes half-lidded. hair tousled. cheeks a little flushed.

he looks fucked up.

high as a kite. drunk as hell. somewhere between earth and oblivion.

and he still manages to look right at you like he owns you.

you blink. look away.

“there you are,” choso says, suddenly at your side. he pulls you into a one-armed hug, his voice low in your ear. “was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“sorry,” you breathe, grateful to see him. “yuki took forever curling her hair.”

“hey,” yuki says behind you, flipping him off.

he just grins and hands you a red solo cup. “you okay?” he leans in a little, lowering his voice. “looks like it’s hitting you.”

you nod, hand gripping the hem of his hoodie like a lifeline. “it’s just… packed. i forgot how insane these parties get.”

“yeah,” he says, glancing around. “they started pregaming at like eight. gojo took three shots of fireball in a row and tried to backflip off the couch. shoko had to stop him. it was a whole thing.”

you glance toward the living room where the couch looks like it’s been through a war. “jesus.”

“you wanna go to the backyard?” he offers. “it’s still loud but it’s not, like, madhouseloud.”

“maybe in a sec,” you say. “i need to… settle.”

his gaze softens. “you saw him?”

you nod, eyes flicking again to sukuna, who’s now leaning forward to light his blunt. you can see the way his jaw clenches when he exhales. how his eyes sweep the room like he’s looking for a reason to get in a fight.

“he’s already gone,” you murmur. “i don’t even know if he knows i’m here.”

choso’s quiet for a second. then, gently: “he knows.”

you look at him.

“you look like that,” he says, giving your outfit a subtle once-over. “there’s no way he hasn’t noticed.”

you smile a little. sad. “yeah, but it’s not like he’ll do anything about it.”

choso shrugs. “maybe not. but it’s still driving him crazy. you showing up like this. looking like that. it’s the closest thing to revenge you’ll get without breaking something.”

you sip your drink. “what if i don’t want revenge?”

“then that makes you a better person than most of us.”

you lean against his shoulder. “thanks for always looking out for me.”

“someone’s gotta,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the room. “and god knows it’s not gonna be him.”

he sees you before you see him.

you always show up late. always soft around the edges. always looking like heartbreak dressed in something tight.

and tonight—

tonight you look unreal.

you’re holding choso’s arm like the party might swallow you whole. he’s leaning in close to talk to you. protective. always too fucking close.

sukuna takes a slow drag of his blunt and exhales through his nose.

it’s like trying to smoke the jealousy out of his chest. like maybe if he gets high enough, he’ll stop caring that your hand is still on choso’s hoodie, like it belongs there.

he doesn’t.

he watches the way your eyes sweep the room. how your mouth twitches when you spot him. that quick flicker of emotion—surprise, disappointment, something soft and sharp all at once—and then you look away.

that’s what fucking kills him.

you used to look at him like he was everything.

now you barely hold his gaze.

he wants to blame you. wants to pretend this whole ache is something external, something happening to him. but it’s not. it’s him. it’s all him. his mess. his coldness. his fucking cowardice.

his fingers twitch.

you’re laughing now. some guy just handed you a drink. not choso — someone else. taller. probably some econ prick you sit next to in lecture. he’s leaning into your space like he’s earned it, and you’re letting him.

you’re fucking letting him.

sukuna watches from the couch like a phantom. bottle of jack between his boots. blunt burning slow between his fingers. high out of his goddamn mind but still crystal fucking clear on one thing:

he’s going to kill that guy, or kiss you until you forget he exists.

maybe both.

maybe he won’t do anything. maybe he’ll just rot here, on this shitty leather couch that smells like weed and sweat and spilled seltzer, and keep watching you talk to some nobody like you didn’t fall apart in his arms three weeks ago.

he should look away, he can’t.

you smile at something the guy says. tip your head back, eyes soft, lashes fluttering. sukuna’s throat goes tight.

he remembers the sound you make when you laugh for real. how it tastes against his mouth. how you cling to him like you’re afraid he’s going to disappear.

but he already did.

he disappeared the second you looked at him like he meant something.

and now he’s just here. watching you be wanted by everyone who isn’t him. letting his own silence fuck up the only good thing that’s ever looked at him like he’s worth something.

you take a sip of your drink. the guy touches your arm.

sukuna sees red.

he sits up straighter. crushes the end of the blunt into an empty red solo cup and grabs the bottle of whiskey off the floor.

if he’s going to watch you flirt with someone else, he’s not going to do it sober.

not tonight.

not when you look this good.

not when you’re glowing in the middle of a crowd, and he’s the one who turned you into a ghost.

he downs the rest of the whiskey like it’s water. doesn’t even flinch.

liquid courage or liquid idiocy — at this point, what’s the difference?

you’re still across the room, still talking to the same guy, still pretending you don’t feel his eyes on your back like a second skin.

fine.

you wanna ignore him?

then he’ll make sure you can’t.

“yo,” he slurs, pushing off the couch. “gojo. shotgun?”

gojo, already halfway through a white claw, perks up instantly. “now we’re talking. someone get the funnel.” like the two weren't arguing a day ago, crazy what alcohol does to you.

someone cheers. music blares. lights pulse.

sukuna doesn’t look at you — not yet. but he knows you’re watching now. he can feel it, that slow drag of your attention pulling back toward him like gravity. like instinct, because he’s being loud. reckless. stupid. because this is what he does best: burn bridges and light himself on fire just to feel warm.

someone brings the beer bong over and sukuna barely waits for it to fill before dropping to one knee, taking the nozzle in his mouth with that cocky little smirk that means he’s about to do something he knows he’ll regret. gojo claps him on the back. “you’re so fucking dumb, man.”

“jealous?” sukuna sneers, head tilting, eyes flicking over to you — finally.

and yeah. you’re watching. your expression is unreadable. somewhere between worry and frustration and that familiar ache he’s seen too many times in your eyes. good.

maybe now you’ll remember.

he downs the beer like it’s nothing. wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flashes a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. "another,” he says.

“dude,” geto mutters, shaking his head. “chill.” but sukuna’s not listening, he’s already halfway to the kitchen, already demanding shots, already making a fucking scene, and he doesn’t stop.

not until he sees you moving toward him. slow, uncertain. choso trailing after you, clearly annoyed. clearly ready to drag sukuna outside and beat his ass if he doesn’t knock it off.

but sukuna just grins wider, sloppier. his eyes lock onto yours like you’re the only person in the world that matters.

and in his fucked-up little head, you are.

“look who finally noticed me,” he drawls, voice syrupy and bitter all at once. “what, couldn’t hear me being a complete disaster over the sound of you flirting?”

you stop a few feet away from him. choso lingers close, protective, but quiet. “what are you doing?” you ask, soft. wounded.

it hits him in the chest like a punch.

he hates that tone.

he hates that he made you use it.

“partying,” he shrugs, gesturing around. “that’s what we do, right?” you stare at him. your lip trembles.

fuck.

fuck. this isn’t working.

he wanted your attention, not your disappointment, he wanted your eyes on him — not like this. you glance at the crowd — the people watching, whispering, smirking.

"come outside,” you murmur. “please.”

and for a second, he wants to. for a second, he thinks he might follow you anywhere. but instead, he laughs. harsh. cruel. drunk.

"why? so you can lecture me? tell me to get my shit together?”

your eyes glisten like they always do when you’re trying not to cry.

"i just want to make sure you're okay..." you shyly murmur. you look so small right now. not physically, no, you’ve always filled a room just by breathing, but emotionally. fragile in that heartbreaking way he hates himself for craving. like you’re bracing yourself for him to break you again.

and that’s the moment it hits him.

his high? gone. like a match snuffed out under cold rain.

he stares at you.

'fuck.'

he doesn’t know what he expected. maybe for you to scream at him, finally give him the reaction he’s been provoking all night like a sadistic asshole. or maybe to just turn your back, disappear into the crowd with some guy who’ll actually treat you right.

but this?

you’re just… sad.

sad and soft and waiting. hoping.

it guts him.

he runs a hand down his face and mutters something under his breath, like a half-formed curse or maybe your name—he’s not even sure anymore—and then sighs. “come on,” he says, voice low. rough. “let’s get outta here.”

you blink at him, confused. “what?”

“outside. fresh air. you look like you hate it here.”

he doesn’t wait for your answer. just slips through the crowd, trusting you’ll follow. and you do.

out back, it’s quieter. still messy. kids lighting joints, someone making out against a fence, music thumping faint in the distance. but it’s better. open.

he lights a cigarette, takes one drag, then flicks it away like it’s poison. because it kind of is. his throat feels tight. tighter than it has in weeks.

you cross your arms, biting your lip. “are you gonna say anything or—?”

“i’m sorry.”

it’s like a gunshot in the silence.

you freeze. blink. “…what?” he turns to you, finally really looking at you, and god, it fucking hurts.

you’re standing there in this little dress that hugs you in all the places he’s dreamed about touching with reverence instead of recklessness. hair mussed from the heat, lips parted, looking at him like you still see something good under all this rot.

“i’m sorry,” he repeats, slower. quieter. “for being a dick. for tonight. for every night.” you don’t say anything. not yet. just watch him, wide-eyed, while he runs both hands through his hair, pacing like he’s going to combust.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he mutters. “feelings. talking. whatever the fuck this is between us.”

“sukuna—”

“no, let me finish,” he snaps, then softens when he sees you flinch. “sorry. again. just… let me talk.”

you nod, and he breathes.

"you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel anything real. and that scares the shit outta me. i’m not good at this. i fuck up. i push people away because it’s easier to ruin shit than risk needing it.” he looks at you like he wants to fall apart but doesn’t know how.

“but you? you’re different. you look at me like i’m not some piece of shit frat guy with a lighter and a nicotine addiction and a god complex. and it makes me wanna be better. not just for you—fuck that, that’s too easy—but for me. because for the first time in my life, i care.”

you take a shaky breath. “then why do you keep hurting me?” his voice cracks. “because i’m a coward.” and that’s the truth of it. plain and ugly. he moves closer. slow. tentative.

“i didn’t mean to fall for you,” he says, voice hoarse. “but i did. so fucking hard. and every time you smiled at me, i felt like i couldn’t breathe. and i told myself i didn’t care. i slept with other girls. i ignored your texts. i acted like you were nothing. but you weren’t. you aren’t. you’re everything.”

you look up at him, eyes shimmering. “then why—”

“because i didn’t think i deserved you.”

his hands hover near your arms, like he wants to touch you but is afraid he’ll taint you. “you’re so fucking good. you care. you love so deep it’s terrifying. and i’m… i’m not that guy. i drink too much, i sleep around, i lie to myself. but with you… i don’t wanna lie anymore.”

and then finally—finally—he touches you. hands gentle on your waist like you’re porcelain. like he’s holding something sacred.

“i love you,” he says, and it breaks something in his chest to say it out loud.

your lips part in a quiet gasp.

“i don’t know how to love right. but i know it’s you. it’s always been you.”

you stare at him, tears falling now. not sad—just overwhelmed. and when you whisper, “i love you too,” it’s like something inside him clicks into place.

he pulls you into him.

not like the rough, fast, dirty hookups from before. not like the careless nights or the sneaky touches at parties. this is different. this is soft. reverent.

he holds your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “i’m gonna fuck up,” he says. “i know it. but i’ll try. for you. i’ll try.” you nod, leaning into him.

“you don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper. “you just have to be real.” and for the first time in his life, he is.

he kisses you like you’re the last good thing in the world. slow and deep and aching. his hands trembling just a little as he holds you closer, because he knows what this means.

this isn’t just a kiss, this is a promise.

and when you finally pull back, breathless, foreheads pressed together under the stars and the hum of a party you’ve both forgotten, he exhales something that feels like peace.

this feels like peace, neither of you says it, but it’s obvious in the way you walk side by side through the humid night, your pinkie brushing his. in the way the music fades behind you. in the way he doesn’t light another cigarette, even though his fingers twitch for it. "you wanna crash at mine?” you ask quietly, like you’re afraid the magic might snap if you speak too loud.

sukuna shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “sure. your bed’s comfier anyway.”

you nudge him with your elbow. “you’ve never slept in it.” he smirks, boyish. “yeah, but i’ve imagined it. mostly with you naked.”

“gross,” you say, laughing despite yourself, cheeks warm. he catches that. stores it. your laugh. the tilt of your head. the way you look at him like you’re still trying to believe this version of him is real. your dorm is quiet when you slip in. your roommate’s gone for the weekend, and everything smells faintly like you, warm shampoo, vanilla lotion, the fruity candle you always forget to blow out.

he toes off his shoes, watches as you dig through your drawer for a t-shirt. you toss it at him. oversized. soft. “wear this.” “you want me in your clothes now?” he raises a brow. “kind of possessive of you.”

“shut up and change.” he obeys. mostly because you’re watching him with this amused little smile, biting your lip like you’re trying not to. he peels off his hoodie and shirt, and you don’t look away—not this time. you just stare. like you’ve got a right to, and maybe you do.

you crawl into bed first, and he follows, letting the blankets swallow you both whole. your body finds his like it always does—like instinct. his arm wraps around you, snug. grounding. for a while, you just lie there. tangled up. listening to the faint buzz of a streetlamp outside and your twin heartbeats slowing in sync. "so,” you murmur into the quiet, “you ever gonna tell me what your first impression of me was?” he exhales a half-laugh. “you mean besides thinking you were way too sweet to be within a ten-foot radius of someone like me?”

“yes.”

he stretches, arm still looped behind your back. “alright. first time i saw you, i thought, ‘she looks way too cute for a party like this.’” you blink. “that’s it?”

“that’s everything.”

you smile against his chest. “i thought you were a douchebag.”

“accurate.”

“but also hot.” he snorts. “can’t blame you.” you reach up to flick his earring. “modest, too.”

“deadly combo.”

he goes quiet then, thumb brushing the curve of your hip beneath the blankets. his body is warm. relaxed. but his eyes are open, staring at the ceiling like there’s still something heavy on his chest. “you okay?” you ask, soft.

he doesn’t answer right away. just pulls you closer, tucks your head under his chin. your breath ghosts over his collarbone. “yeah,” he says eventually. “just thinking.”

and he is.

his thoughts spiral and drift, but they always land back on you. on how you smell like sleep and sweetness. on how your leg’s thrown over his like it belongs there. on how your fingers trace lazy patterns against his side, like your body’s memorizing him in real-time. he looks down at you. your lashes are fluttering now. not quite asleep yet, but close.

you don’t even know what you do to him. how you make him want to stay in one place, when he’s always been the type to run. how you make him feel clean, even when he’s covered in smoke and guilt and sharp edges. how he’d burn down his whole world just to keep yours bright. he doesn’t know how to say it, not out loud. not yet.

but he’ll show you, in the way he lets you hold him, in the way he watches you sleep like you’re the moon and the ocean and the sky all at once, in the way he lets his walls fall, brick by brick, as he lies beside you in your too-small bed and thinks 'god, i fucking love you.'

he’s not sure when it happened. maybe it was that first party, when you looked at him like you knew better but stayed anyway. maybe it was every little moment since. the after-class coffees, the way you talk to choso, the time you kissed him in the rain and told him he was worth more than he believed.

but he knows this:

he’s yours now, in the way that matters. not in words. not in labels. not in frat boy bravado. but in the stillness. in the way his heartbeat slows when you touch him. in the way he doesn’t feel high tonight—just whole.

"you awake?” he murmurs.

you hum against him. “barely.” he presses a kiss to your temple.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, like a secret. and maybe you don’t hear it. maybe you’re already dreaming.

but he means it.

god, he means it.

and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to wake up alone. he wants mornings with you. bad coffee and cold feet and sleepy smiles. he wants all of it. you and your stupid candle and your oversized t-shirts and your too-big heart. so he kisses your forehead again. lets your scent bury into his skin.

and as you finally drift off in his arms, sukuna closes his eyes and lets himself want something real.

something like this.

something like love.

extraaa

frat rats and others ig

yuki 🪩: chat what the fuck am i looking at

yuki 🪩: [photo attached]

yuki 🪩: LMAO THEYRE NOT EVEN NAKED WTH

maki 🥋: HUHHHHH

maki 🥋: omg they are so like... calm looking.

shoko 🩹: bro no way

shoko 🩹: sukuna looking content that's some voodoo shit

choso 🍃: i literally watched him almost rock some guys shit for talking to her last night now he's sleeping with a fucking smile on his face wth bruh give me a break

geto 🍷: free y/n bro

choso🍃: su man I'm glad it finally happened lowk

gojo 🧿: alright fuckers, i’m taking full credit here

gojo 🧿: this whole meltdown-to-makeup saga? that’s me pulling strings like a puppet master

gojo 🧿: if i hadn’t pissed him off just right, this whole tender bullshit never would of happened

shoko 🩹: you mean emotionally blackmailing him until he cracked? real noble, gojo

gojo 🧿: hey, desperate times call for desperate measures

gojo 🧿: plus, someone had to wake him up :(

maki 🥋: you’re the worst kind of manipulative and it’s honestly impressive

gojo 🧿: proud of my work here, thank you very much

gojo 🧿: i deserve an award for making sukuna less of a complete dickface

yuki 🪩:you're getting your ass beat when he wakes up and sees that bro

choso 🍃: lol watching him fail to keep his shit together all this time was tragic but so funny icl

gojo 🧿: nah but let’s not act like he didn’t look a little too happy to be clinging onto her in that pic

gojo 🧿: mf was in REM sleep dreaming about her saying “i’m proud of you”

choso 🍃: he’s gonna wake up and act like he didn’t say all that emotional shit too

choso 🍃: “idk what you’re talking about” ass boy

geto 🍷: someone record his gaslight attempt when she brings it up later

geto 🍷: “that wasn’t me babe, that was the tequila talking”

shoko 🩹: tequila didn’t make you cry into her neck and whisper “don’t leave” king

maki 🥋: he’s gonna delete himself from the chat when he sees this convo

gojo 🧿: and yet i’ll still be the villain somehow

gojo 🧿: just know none of this would’ve happened without my psychological warfare

yuki 🪩: congratulations on being the most chaotic matchmaker known to man

gojo 🧿: i’ll be taking referrals now

gojo 🧿: hit me up if your situationship needs emotional waterboarding

shoko 🩹: Jesus Christ

choso 🍃: y’all think he’s gonna be normal now or…?

geto 🍷: define normal

maki 🥋: if he stops growling every time someone breathes near her, i’ll take that as a win

yuki 🪩: god imagine him showing up to econ actually smiling. i’d drop the class

shoko 🩹: if he starts doing couple shit on campus i’m gonna barf

gojo 🧿: imagine them holding hands in the dining hall. i will LOSE it

gojo 🧿: i’ll flip the table

geto 🍷: y/n has the patience of a saint and the taste of a girl who needs therapy

choso 🍃: she’s in love let her be 😭

maki 🥋: yeah well she better be charging him hourly for emotional labor

gojo 🧿: alright placing bets now

gojo 🧿: how long before he fucks it up again? i say three weeks tops

yuki 🪩: shut the fuck up gojo

ooo finally done another, not as good as my choso fic but i still fw this oneee (subtle plug go read this shit it’s fire: sex w/ a stoner)

m.list.

your guy’s comments make me the happiest girl in the world i will respond to them all you are all my biggest supporters omg kiss me lololo

1K notes · View notes

nebularsung · 3 months ago

Text

⭑ studying with donghyuck is so easy ﹙+18﹚

your hands trembled as you gripped the pen, legs barely holding steady under the weight of the pleasure still coursing through your body. your handwriting—usually clean, confident, practiced—was a mess. letters skewed, curves jagged, ink blotted with hesitation. everything past the fifth question looked like it was written by someone drunk on something far stronger than wine.

and in a way… you were. drunk on him.

donghyuck, your annoyingly brilliant boyfriend, was pressed up behind you, heat radiating from his chest into your back. he’d been helping you "study" for your quiz all night. that’s what he called it, anyway—study. though with how your nightgown was bunched around your waist and his cock was buried deep inside you, it felt a lot more like punishment than preparation.

“ten questions, baby. that’s all i asked,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low, silken drawl that made your stomach twist. “you’re smart, yeah? you’re my girl. you can do this.”

his lips trailed down your neck, warm and wet and maddeningly slow, leaving kisses like little bursts of heat. you barely registered your scribbled answer to question eight until he glanced down and hummed approvingly, grinning like you’d just won an award. “good girl,” he cooed.

and then came the choice. “another reward?” his voice dipped, words slow and intentional. “or are you too tired already?”

you could still feel the ghosts of the earlier ones—the first few gentle, teasing licks that left you breathless… the way he had tugged your top down, flicking your nipples as he whispered filthy things that somehow made your toes curl and your heart flutter. he knew just how to talk to you. knew how to praise and corrupt in the same breath.

by the time you reached question six, he had you seated on his lap, legs spread, your slick soaking his thighs while he teased your clit with patient cruelty. and now? now, you were cockwarming him—his cock buried in your heat, thick and pulsing, unmoving—but so incredibly there.

every now and then, he twitched inside you, reminding you that he was just as needy, just as worked up.

you whimpered softly and reached for his hand, guiding it to your breast with a trembling breath.

“that’s my girl…” he whispered, pressing his lips to your shoulder. one hand rolled your nipple between his fingers, gentle but insistent, while the other ghosted down your stomach until it cupped your clit. you gasped as his fingers dipped lower, brushing against your slick folds, feeling just how ready you were for him.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled, more to himself than to you. “you really like studying with me, huh?” a hint of mocking in his tone.

you couldn’t even answer. your eyes fluttered shut when he shifted beneath you, rocking his hips just enough to make you feel the stretch all over again.

but just when you tried to grind down against him, desperate for friction, for movement—for anything—his hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you still.

“nuh uh.” he chuckled, deep and dark. “not yet, greedy girl.”

“please…” you whined, voice breathless, almost broken. “just a little—”

“no.” he pulled his hands away from your body, making you feel the loss instantly. “you want to cum? answer the last question.”

you turned your head, eyes narrowed, lips trembling from frustration. “you’re so mean.”

he tilted his head and smiled sweetly, devilishly. “you’re the one who said you needed help studying. i’m just making sure you pass, baby.”

you let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking down to the page. one question left. just one. your thighs trembled from the effort it took not to move on his lap. your core ached—pulsing, dripping, desperate—and he was right there. inside you. still. waiting.

“do you wanna fail?” he asked, voice suddenly stern, dark and commanding in the way that made your stomach tighten. you shook your head quickly. “then you better start thinking.”

your hand trembled again as you reached for the pen, every nerve alive and alert—driven now by need, by frustration, by want and pride. and love. because god, you loved how he did this to you. how he could be so smart, so smug, so in control, and still look at you like you were his whole world.

you’d finish the damn quiz.

and fucking guaranteeing what you deserve.

your heart pounded as you scribbled down the final answer, shaky and barely legible, but you were sure it was right. or maybe you just hoped it was right—because you couldn’t wait another second. you dropped the pen, your breath catching in your throat as you whispered, “done…”

donghyuck leaned forward, resting his chin on your shoulder again as he glanced at the notebook. his eyes scanned your answer, and when he saw the correct words scribbled there, a slow grin stretched across his face.

“well, look at that,” he murmured, voice dripping with pride and something far darker. “my girl really is a genius.”

his hands moved instantly—no more teasing, no more holding back. he grabbed your hips and lifted you just slightly before slamming you back down onto his cock. the force knocked the air from your lungs, and your head lolled back onto his shoulder with a moan that sounded like surrender.

“fuck, i’ve been waiting,” he groaned against your ear, thrusting up into you again. “you feel that? that’s your reward, baby. you earned it.”

your fingers gripped the edge of the desk for balance as he began to move—slow, deep thrusts that rocked through your body like waves. the friction was intense. the fullness, overwhelming. you could feel every inch of him, stretching you just right, filling you completely.

and he didn’t stop praising you. “so smart. so fucking pretty when you’re focused. bet you’d ace every quiz if i fucked you like this after each one, huh?”

his lips found your neck again, this time biting softly before soothing the skin with warm, wet kisses. you were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t from nervousness. it was from the way your body was unraveling beneath his.

“you were so patient,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “now let me take care of you.”

one hand left your hip and moved between your legs, fingers sliding to your swollen clit. he circled it expertly, already knowing the rhythm that made your thighs twitch and your moans get high and breathless.

“hyuck—” you whimpered his name like a prayer, and he moaned softly, gripping your waist tighter.

“i know, baby. i know. let it go.”

and when you came—hard, fast, clenching around him like your body was trying to pull him deeper—you did so with your head thrown back, lips parted in a silent scream, tears welling in your eyes from the overwhelming wave of heat crashing through you.

he followed not long after, with a deep groan and a few more hard thrusts, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled into you, his whole body trembling.

for a few moments, there was only the sound of your breaths mingling—fast, uneven, needy. he wrapped his arms around you from behind, his mouth pressing lazy kisses along your shoulder.

“see?” he whispered, voice soft again. “i told you you’d ace it.”

you laughed, weak and breathless, leaning into his hold. “next time,” you murmured, “just quiz me in bed.”

he chuckled, pulling you tighter against him. “deal.”

｜ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𖹭 the smut part looks so rushed 😫😫 but i still like it sjdkkfk hope you enjoy anon!

#haechan.jpg ★#nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct smut #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #haechan fanfic #haechan smut #haechan imagines

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hyuckiefluff · 5 months ago

Text

call out my name | lee jeno

pairing: stepbrother! lee jeno x fem reader genre + wc: smut / enemies to lovers-ish | 17k+ summary: your stepbrother suddenly starts acting a bit different after fixing your laptop, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the endless posts you’ve made about wanting him to fuck you brainless. content warning: stepcest, voyeurism, masturbation, cheating, smoking and brief mentions of drug use, unprotected sex, hard dom jeno, oral (fem receiving), face riding weee, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, jeno is a bit mean (but like in a hot way), lmk if i missed any! a/n: haven’t written for jeno in soooo long and my body needed it. also, beatbox era jeno still has me in a chokehold, so i imagined him looking exactly like that while writing this. that mullet-undercut combo was LETHAL i need him to reheat his own nachos expeditiously. also the lowercase is back too, i'm still trying to figure out if i like this more lol ps: if u catch the twilight reference you’ll get a kiss from me :p

jeno stomped into your room, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, jaw tight with irritation. your voice still echoed in his head.

‘fix my laptop and i won’t tell your dad you’ve been skipping almost every class since the semester started.’

fix it? he wasn’t a damn IT guy. and how the hell did you even know he’d been skipping? what were you, a stalker?

seriously, it wasn’t his fault you couldn’t take care of your stuff. and why couldn’t you just take the damn thing to a repair shop?

“i need it for college work,’ you’d said.

yeah, right. like he didn’t hear you at night. his room was right next to yours, and those walls were way too thin. not only were you loud, but you also needed headphones, because he could hear exactly what kind of videos you watched.

he exhaled sharply through his nose, stepping up to your desk. the laptop sat there, taunting him in its sickly sweet pink case covered in hello kitty stickers.

“god, what a child,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before plopping onto your chair. the cushion was still warm from you sitting there earlier. he flipped the laptop open, and a password prompt appeared.

he tried your birthday first. denied.

with a sigh, he scanned your desk. you were forgetful, he was sure you had the password written somewhere. his eyes landed on a cluster of polaroids, mostly of you and your boyfriend. he grabbed one and flipped it over. sure enough, there was a scribbled note in your messy handwriting.

‘happy anniversary, my baby ❤️’ and a date.

jeno scoffed but typed it in anyway. the screen unlocked with a soft chime.

the moment your desktop loaded, he was met with a picture of you sprawled out on a beach towel, skin sun-kissed, in a tiny white bikini that barely covered anything. jeno swallowed.

several seconds passed before he snapped himself out of it, shaking his head and forcing his attention elsewhere.

your laptop was a disaster. it was clogged with files, random downloads, and so many pop-ups it was a miracle the thing still functioned. he clicked around, deleting error files and clearing out junk.

then a notification popped up from a browser window that was open in the background.

he opened the tab out of habit, not expecting anything interesting, but then the page loaded and he had to blink twice to make sure he was seeing right.

it was a blog called ‘horny antidotes.’

"what the hell is this?" he snorted.

he scrolled, thumb hovering before tapping on a section labeled confessions. a list of posts loaded, the oldest ones stretching back to the beginning of last year. against his better judgment, he clicked the most recent entries.

i tried it again tonight. used my fingers since the new toys i got don’t really feel good either. i think my boyfriend’s starting to suspect something. it’s kinda weird that i barely get wet when he touches me (╥_╥) we even try watching porn together, but it does nothing for me. we just scroll through hundreds of videos and i feel nothing, while he gets hard so easily. so i end up sucking him off.

jeno’s brows lifted. jesus.

i get more turned on looking at pictures of LJN. but i can’t touch myself to him… it feels wrong. so i gotta find an alternative. any tips? (>д<)

LJN?

his lips parted. those were initials. your boyfriend’s? no… his.

L. J. N.

lee jeno.

his pulse jumped. before he could think better of it, his fingers typed LJN into the blog’s search bar.

hundreds of posts popped up.

he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

no fucking way.

today LJN helped me with my homework. he looked like he hated every second of it. it was hard to focus when he sat so close… his cologne makes me feel so… hot (/ω＼).

jeno dragged a hand down his face. he’s not imagining all this? right?

my boyfriend and i broke up again (kinda) (μ_μ). same reason as always… our sex life sucks. he thinks i’m not into him, but that’s not true. he tries… i just… anyway, LJN knocked on my door today. he was only wearing a towel. i almost dropped to my knees right there and then. how does someone get abs like that? god, those arms… veiny and strong… maybe i should call my boyfriend and try again…

a slow smirk stretched across jeno’s lips. so your boyfriend can’t get you off, but i make you wet that easily? he thought.

his gaze drifted to your bed. the sheets were a tangled mess, barely clinging to the mattress. did you write that post after touching yourself last night? thinking about him?

he exhaled through his nose, head shaking like he couldn’t believe it. but god, his stomach clenched at the thought of you squirming with his name in your head.

sure, he knew people found him attractive. girls threw themselves at him all the time. but you? who argued with him over stupid shit, called him an asshole just this morning while throwing a sock at his head?

you wanted him. wanted him so bad you spilled it online for strangers to read.

his gaze flicked back to the screen, to the words where you described his cologne driving you crazy.

he should’ve stopped reading but instead, he clicked on another post.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

the next morning, you woke up to find your laptop working perfectly. no note, no sarcastic comment scribbled on a post-it, nothing. just fixed.

weird.

you headed downstairs, fully expecting jeno to be in his usual morning mood, grumbling about chores, throwing half-hearted jabs just to rile you up. but when you found him on the couch, he was… quiet.

"hey," you said, grabbing a drink from the fridge. "so… thanks for fixing my laptop."

he barely glanced up, his gaze flickering over your bare legs for a heartbeat before settling back on his phone.

"yeah, no problem."

...that’s it?

you waited. no snark about your messy folders? no whining about how you owed him now?

your brows knit. "you okay?"

jeno stretched his legs, shorts riding up just enough to show more of his muscular thighs. "yeah, why wouldn’t i be?"

"i dunno," you said, eyeing him. "you’re acting weird."

he chuckled, head tilting as he shot you a lazy grin. "i’m always like this in the mornings. maybe you just don’t pay enough attention to me."

"trust me," you muttered, taking a sip from your drink, "i pay plenty of attention to you."

jeno’s lips twitched almost into a smirk.

then he hummed.

"yeah, i know."

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

the next few days, jeno turned it over in his mind—how to play this.

sure, the whole thing was entertaining, but you were still his stepsister. technically. your parents weren’t married, but they’d been together for about four years, and you’d been living under the same roof since last year.

not that you and jeno were close. you barely crossed paths, always out with friends or holed up in your room when you were home. plus, he found you immature. spoiled. maybe it was the three-year age gap, or maybe it was how quickly you’d settled in and made this place your own. his dad had asked him to be patient with you—“it’s a big change for her”—but if you were struggling, you hid it well.

especially with how you put on that perfect little act for your parents. sweet and responsible. as if you weren’t sneaking your boyfriend in through the window at night. or slipping out when you thought no one noticed. jeno noticed.

he just never cared enough to call you out. but the hypocrisy definitely grated on him. pretending to be miss goody-two-shoes when, by your own confession, you were getting railed by a guy who couldn’t even get you off?

the irony wasn’t lost on him. neither was the opportunity.

he could confront you. he’d definitely enjoy to watch you squirm, see that spark of defiance flicker into panic. tempting.

but maybe… maybe he’d keep this to himself a little longer.

drag it out and see just how much fun he could have before you caught on.

the perfect opportunity presented itself only a few days later when your parents announced their trip to italy for valentine’s day. conveniently their anniversary was also coming up, so they’d be gone for two whole weeks.

“we’ll be back next sunday,” jeno’s dad said, ruffling your hair. “don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone.”

you rolled your eyes, half-smiling, but then his tone shifted as he turned to jeno.

“jeno, take care of her. don’t let her get into any trouble. no parties or anything reckless.”

jeno nodded without a word, eyes flicking toward you before he turned back to your dad with a forced grin. “got it.”

you mom stepped forward, kissing your cheek, her hand lingering on your shoulder a moment longer. “be good, okay? we’re trusting you.” her gaze softened but held an unmistakable warning beneath it.

you knew exactly why. after all, it wasn’t like you had a spotless record. just three months ago, you had come home drunk after sneaking out to a friend’s party. what was supposed to be "just a few drinks" had turned into you singing on top of the table and someone posting it to their story. your parents found out the next morning, thanks to your neighbor, of all people, who’d seen the video. it hadn’t even been that scandalous, except for the fact that you were obviously drunk and under 21 at the time.

the hangover was bad, but the lecture was worse. "you’re lucky jeno was there to drag you home," your mom had said, shooting you a disappointed look. jeno had played the responsible older kid that night, carrying you out before things got worse. but that didn’t stop your parents from being more protective now. especially of you.

still, it annoyed you that all the warnings were directed your way while jeno stood there looking like a saint, when you knew he was anything but. sure, he hadn’t gotten wasted like you, but he was at the same party smoking weed on the back porch, making out with some girl whose name he probably didn’t even know, and encouraging shots like he was the party host. he was just lucky none of that was caught on camera, unlike you.

when the front door closed behind them, a strange silence settled over the house. you watched through the window as they loaded their luggage into the car and drove off. two weeks alone with jeno. what could possibly go wrong?

“guess it’s just us now,” you muttered.

jeno’s lips twitched into a small smile. "looks like it."

his gaze flickered over your body while you were distracted. this will be so much fun, he thought.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

the house felt bigger without your parents around. normally, you’d take full advantage by inviting friends over, staying out late, and enjoying in the freedom. but something about being alone with jeno had you on edge.

not uncomfortable, just… wary.

he’d been acting strange lately. not openly, but enough that you noticed. it was in the way he looked at you now, like he knew something you didn’t.

you were scrolling through your phone in the kitchen that night when he strolled in.

"big plans while they’re gone?" he asked, pulling open the fridge.

"nothing crazy," you said, thumb still flicking at your screen. "just enjoying the peace and quiet."

he let out a low hum, the kind that sounded like he was holding back a laugh. "right. because you’re such a quiet, well-behaved girl."

your scrolling stopped. your gaze snapped up to him. "where’s that coming from?"

jeno didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stepped closer reaching past you for a glass in the cabinet overhead. the movement brought him close enough that his cologne hit you warm, musky, annoyingly good.

"you know," he murmured, voice just above a whisper, "you might fool them. but not me."

your heart skipped. "i have no idea what you’re talking about."

he dipped his head slightly, eyes flickering to your cleavage.

"sure you don’t."

then he was gone, leaving you in the kitchen with your pulse pounding and a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

the weekend arrived quicker than expected, and despite jeno’s weirdness lately, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

until saturday.

jeno was sprawled on the couch, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his knee. his gaze drifted up just as you wandered into the living room, barefoot and still in your sleepwear—a thin tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass. you didn’t even glance his way, too focused on your phone as you padded toward the kitchen.

it was almost funny, how careless you were around him. clueless, really.

jeno bit back a smirk.

"you’re up early," he said, breaking the quiet.

you glanced over your shoulder while pouring cereal into a bowl. "uh… yeah?"

he shrugged. "figured you’d be catching up on sleep after sneaking out last night."

your hand faltered for half a second. it was subtle but enough for him to notice.

his grin widened as he leaned back against the couch cushions, arms draping lazily over the backrest. "right."

you set the cereal down with a little more force than necessary and turned to face him, arms crossed. "okay, what’s going on with you?”

"me?" he feigned innocence, eyebrows raising. "nothing, just making conversation."

your eyes narrowed, studying him. when he offered nothing else, you scoffed and turned back to the counter, muttering under your breath.

he’d never cared before. never commented on where you went or what you did. why was he suddenly so interested in you?

jeno used to treat you like background noise, a mild inconvenience at worst. now his gaze lingered longer whenever you walked into the room, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your skin prickle in ways you didn’t want to think about.

later that evening, you curled up on the couch with your laptop, half-heartedly scrolling through an assignment you had no intention of finishing. jeno sat across from you, phone in hand, occasionally flicking through something with the tv playing low in the background. it was peaceful enough… until he spoke.

"you know…" he stretched, shirt riding up just enough to expose the waistband of his boxers. "your boyfriend kinda sucks."

your fingers froze mid-typing.

"what?" you asked, tone clipped. you didn’t look up, but your jaw tightened on instinct.

he hummed, "if i were sneaking out every night, i’d hope it was worth it."

you shut the laptop with a snap. "why do you even care?"

jeno grinned, clearly satisfied that he’d gotten under your skin. "i don’t."

you stood abruptly, blood buzzing with irritation. "whatever. i’m going to bed."

he chuckled under his breath as you turned to leave, but the sound grated on you. it echoed in your head as you stalked halfway down the hall before…no. screw that.

you spun on your heel, storming back into the living room. "you don’t know shit," you bit out.

jeno glanced up, unconcerned. "about what?"

"me. my boyfriend."

that finally got his full attention. he set his phone down and tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "oh, you mean the boyfriend who keeps getting dumped and crawling back like a stray?"

your nostrils flared. "fuck you."

"i’m just saying—"

"no, you’re not ‘just saying’ anything," you cut him off, stepping closer. "you think you know everything about me just because we share a roof?"

"you’d be surprised," he shot back, annoyingly calm.

your fists clenched. "you don’t know what i need. so stop acting like you do."

for a split second, something flickered in his expression, gone too fast to name. then his usual smirk slid back into place.

"i don’t need to know what you need." he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "i already know what you want."

your breath hitched. you hated that, hated the way your pulse jumped at his words, at the confidence in his voice. what the hell did that even mean?

"you’re an asshole," you snapped. "i don’t owe you an explanation."

jeno nodded, like he agreed. "then why are you still standing here?"

your face burned with frustration, but you bit your tongue. there was nothing you could say that wouldn’t make this worse. so you did the next best thing, you turned on your heel and walked away, slamming your bedroom door behind you.

and yet, lying in bed later, the back of your mind replayed his words on a loop. you still felt like you’d lost.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

hours passed and you were still pissed.

your whole body ached with it, hot and restless, like something crawling under your skin. jeno’s words sunk in deep, wrapping around you like barbed wire, too sharp, too true.

‘your boyfriend kinda sucks’ his voice rang in your ears.

no, your boyfriend was nearly perfect. he had all the right looks, the right voice, the right everything and yet… somehow, even after months of trying, of letting him touch you, of trying to want it—

you never got turned on with him. not the way you were now after a simple argument with jeno.

your hand moved before you could think, fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts, finding that sticky warmth between your thighs. a shaky breath left you, head tipping back against the pillows. it wasn’t enough. god, it wasn’t nearly enough. you needed—fuck, you didn’t even know what you needed. just more. something to fill the ache, to drown out the way his voice echoed in your head. i don’t need to know what you need. i already know what you want.

stop.

you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to picture your boyfriend, to think about the way he kissed you, the way he whispered your name, the way he touched you.

but your body rejected it. the images blurred, twisted, morphed.

and suddenly it wasn’t his hands you were thinking about.

It was jeno’s slender fingers.

your fingertips grazed that sensitive spot, slick and throbbing, pulling a broken sound from your lips. your hips rolled up into your hand, chasing any semblance of relief. you let out a quiet, shuddering breath as your stomach clenched, your pulse kicking up as you fought it, fought him, fought the way his image took over.

but it was useless.

your body didn’t listen. it latched onto the memory of him. the way his pretty lips curled right before he was about to say something you knew would piss you off, the way his voice dipped when he was toying with you, the way his hands always fidgeted, tapping against his thigh, against his lips, always doing something.

your lips parted as your fingers moved faster, your other hand slid up your stomach, pushing up your shirt as your breath stuttered.

would he keep his rings on while touching you?

the thought sent a sharp pulse of arousal through you, your body tightening, the wetness between your thighs growing slicker.

you imagined his long fingers and the coolness of the rings against your skin. would he drag them over your stomach, trace your thighs, tease you with them first? or would he shove them inside right away?

you bit your lip, your fingers pressing down harder, teasing yourself the way he would, the way he might if he ever—

a moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “jeno…”

outside your door, jeno’s world fucking stopped. his body was tight, his breath stuck in his throat as he pressed himself against the wood.

he shouldn’t be here. he shouldn’t be standing outside your room, shouldn’t be looking through the small crack where the door hadn’t shut all the way.

but fuck.

fuck, you were so loud. did you even realize?

did you know how needy you sounded? the way your voice cracked, the way your breathing hitched, the way you whimpered when you…

jeno exhaled sharply, gripping the doorframe, trying to keep himself in check. but his mind was already too far gone. because if you were touching yourself to him, and if you were so desperate you couldn’t even keep quiet or make sure the the door was closed all the way… then maybe you wanted to get caught.

maybe you wanted him to see.

his breath came out slow and measured as he peeked through the crack, his body heating at the sight before him. the dim glow of your bedside lamp cast soft shadows over your skin, your legs spread wide, fingers buried deep inside yourself. the slick sounds of your movements, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted as you moaned his name. fuck, it was too much.

he felt himself throbbing painfully against his sweats, already aching from just watching you. his cock was so fucking hard it hurt.

he pulled himself out, his fingers wrapping around the thick length, hot and pulsing in his palm. he let out a sharp breath as he started stroking himself, matching his pace to the rhythm of your fingers slipping in and out of your pretty cunt.

he wanted to be the one touching you.

he imagined it, his fingers stretching you open, pumping in and out, his thumb circling your clit until you were shaking, whimpering against his mouth. would you let him fuck you raw the first time? god, you’d feel so good around him, so tight, clenching down on him like you never wanted him to pull out. he let out a quiet groan, biting his lip to keep himself from making any noise, even though part of him wanted you to hear him, wanted you to know exactly what you were doing to him.

your moans were getting louder, your breaths coming faster, more frantic. you were close, he could tell, your body was begging for release, and he wished, more than anything, that he could be the one to push you over the edge.

he knew that no one else could make you feel like this. not even your boyfriend, the one you pretended was enough for you. that idiot had the privilege of touching you, of being inside you, and still you weren’t getting off on thoughts of him. no, it was jeno’s name spilling from your lips as you fucked yourself.

his hand tightened around his cock, his strokes quickening. "cum for me, baby," he whispered under his breath, his forehead pressing harder against the doorframe.

maybe you heard him, maybe you didn’t, but your moans pitched higher, your fingers moving faster, your body trembling on the other side of the door. fuck—you were close, so fucking close, and he was right there with you. his jaw went slack, his breaths coming in ragged pants as the pleasure slammed into him, hot and heavy. his cock pulsed, his body shaking, cum spilling over his fingers in thick streaks as he saw you falling apart in your bed at the same time.

his body tensed, every nerve sparking as he milked himself through the high, swallowing back the urge to moan out your name. he barely had the presence of mind to tuck himself back into his sweats before he started dripping onto the carpet. that would’ve been a dead giveaway. but even as he came down from it, the heat in his chest didn’t fade. because now he knew just how badly you wanted him.

and he wasn’t going to just let it go.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

so, he was back outside your room the following night.

your door was closed all the way this time. he swallowed hard, his pulse hammering as he curled his fingers around the doorknob, testing it. it turned just a fraction before stopping. it was locked. he expected this. he had the feeling you suspected he’d seen you or at least heard you last night because you were unusually fidgety around him earlier today.

he exhaled slowly, lowering himself down until his face was level with the keyhole, his breath shallow as he listened. the obscene sounds of your fingers working between your thighs were unmistakable, each wet stroke sending another pulse of heat straight to his cock. he knew you were thinking about him again. your boyfriend wasn’t here, who the fuck else would you be touching yourself to?

he let his hand trail down, palming himself over his sweats, but this time, it wasn’t enough. he needed more.

his fingers drifted down to his pocket, curling around the small, thin tool he’d stolen from mark’s junk drawer earlier. jeno wasn’t an idiot, he knew to be prepared this time. hearing wouldn’t do it for him, he needed to see you again.

he slid the tool into the keyhole, his other hand steadying the knob as he worked it. it wasn’t his first time picking a lock. he’d done it plenty of times as a teen, sneaking into forbidden rooms at school, usually to make out with random girls. but this was different. he was breaking into his stepsister’s room so he could watch her touch herself. his hands itched, his whole body thrumming with a dangerous kind of thrill.

the lock gave a quiet click and he held his breath trying to listen for any indication that you noticed. after he thought it was safe, he twisted the handle and pushed the door just enough to crack it open.

and fuck, what a sight it was.

you were sprawled on your bed, your legs were in a butterfly position this time, your skin glistening with sweat. your shirt was hiked up all the way giving him the perfect sight of your tits. your panties were pushed down completely and he could see the way your fingers disappeared inside you. his name started slipping from your lips again, breathy, ruined. he clenched his jaw, his cock started to throb painfully at the sight.

you were so fucking beautiful like this. needy, desperate, chasing a high that only he could truly give you.

he licked his lips, watching the way your back arched, your fingers curling inside you as you edged yourself closer. his own hand slipped into his sweats, wrapping around his length, stroking slow, lazy, savoring the moment. he should leave. should close the door and pretend this never happened. but instead, he kept watching, his lips parting in a silent exhale as he imagined once again what it would be like to replace your fingers with his own.

or better yet, his cock.

you had no idea he was here. no idea you were putting on a show just for him.

there was no way in hell he was going to stop now.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you’d been locking your door more often now. you weren’t sure why. it didn’t make sense, but the feeling just wouldn’t go away. the feeling that you were being watched.

maybe it was the fact that you thought you heard a moan outside your door the other night. or maybe the fact that your panties had mysteriously gone missing from the laundry basket. and there was only one other person living with you at the moment. you tried to tell yourself it was paranoia. after all, why would jeno do something like that? he didn’t have fantasies like you, right?

still, something felt different when he was around. especially when you bumped into him in the kitchen or living room. the tension was so thick as if the space between you was charged, waiting for something, or someone, to cross the line.

you tried to distract yourself, flicking through jersey shore reruns with half your mind still on him. but as soon as you heard footsteps approaching, your pulse spiked. your body clearly not knowing the difference between riding a roller coaster, and your stepbrother entering the room.

you glanced up, trying to force a bored expression. the moment your eyes landed on him, however, everything in you froze. his damp hair stuck to his forehead, a towel draped loosely around his neck. his sweatpants hung low on his hips, his boxers peeking, and the way his white shirt clung to his chest made it feel like the room was closing in around you.

you swallowed hard.

he caught your gaze, and for a split second, it felt like he saw right through you. like he knew what you were thinking, what you were feeling. but he didn’t say anything. he just walked over, sitting close enough that his leg brushed against yours. the space between you was so small, but it felt like a chasm, a void that you couldn’t bridge. you couldn’t move. not when your body was so painfully aware of him.

“you like this trash?” his voice was casual, but his eyes were anything but. they were on you, studying you.

you blinked, the question throwing you off guard. you hadn’t even realized he was talking about the show until he nodded toward it. “uh... yeah. it’s... entertaining,” you stammered, your voice sounding foreign in your own ears. you wanted to say more, to defend it, but the words wouldn’t come. your mind was fixated on him.

you tried to focus on the screen, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. his towel slipping from his shoulders, water droplets sliding down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. you could feel that familiar flutter in your lower stomach.

your fingers twitched, desperate to do something, anything, to alleviate the tightness.

jeno tilted his head slightly, his lips pulling into that almost imperceptible smirk, the one that made you want to either scream or crawl into him.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft, but there was something dangerous underneath. “you look tense.”

you didn’t answer immediately. instead, you shifted uncomfortably, your pulse hammering in your ears. he didn’t push, but the way he was looking at you made you feel exposed, like he had you cornered.

suddenly, the doorbell rang, and you shot up from the couch like you’d been electrocuted. your pulse was still racing, your thoughts tangled in knots you didn’t want to acknowledge. this was good. maybe whoever was at the door would shake you out of this haze.

but the second you opened it, you almost wished you hadn’t.

your boyfriend…or ex? you didn’t even know anymore, stood there holding a single rose in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other.

“happy valentine’s day,” he greeted, flashing that charming smile he knew melted you.

your eyes widened. you’d been so distracted you totally forgot the date. damn you, lee jeno.

“i’m sorry i didn’t call in advance,” he pushed the rose into your hand and leaned to kiss you “and i know we agreed to take a break… still, i couldn't just not come today…”

he lifted the bag on his other hand. “movie?”

you forced a smile, your stomach twisting guiltily for a second. even though your relationship was a bit unstable as of late, valentine’s wasn’t something you ever wanted to half-ass so it was a good thing you’d planned ahead.

you bought his gift the previous week, carefully wrapping the box yourself because you wanted it to feel special. a pair of shoes he’d been eyeing for months, a new band for his apple watch since his favorite one had broken recently, and a handwritten letter tucked inside, detailing how much you appreciated him, how much you loved him. You even spent extra time decorating the envelope, adding little doodles and stickers just to make him smile.

you should've felt some kind of relief, his presence should distract you from the wild thoughts swirling in your head. but as you stepped aside to let him in, that sense of relief never came.

because the moment you turned back, you remembered jeno was still there on the couch. you silently willed him with your mind to go to his room, maybe leave altogether.

but of course he didn’t.

“oh. hey, dude” your boyfriend said as he finally noticed him. “didn’t know your brother was here.”

you winced. that word. brother. your tongue itched to correct him, but what was the point? he knew you weren’t really siblings. he just chose to say it anyway.

jeno let the word hang in the air before he finally stood up, stretching his arms over his head before settling into a straighter posture. he never stood that straight, but he was making sure to show that he was at least two inches taller than your boyfriend. It was a subtle move, but you saw it for what it was. a challenge.

you almost scoffed at the sheer pettiness of it.

“ah, hello…” jeno drawled. “sorry, remind me of your name again?”

your boyfriend told him, his tone polite but slightly stiff.

“right,” jeno said, half-smiling. “didn’t know we’d be having visitors today…”

your boyfriend cleared his throat. “ah, that’s my bad. i didn’t tell her I was coming since I wanted to surprise her for Valentine’s”

“hm,” Jeno hummed. “well... as long as you two keep it in the living room, should be fine. gotta look out for my little sister while the parents are out, you know?”

you squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, inhaling slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. he never called you that. also, who did he think he was playing house police all of a sudden?

“sit down, babe,” you said, your tone so sweet it sounded forced.

jeno scoffed under his breath, soft enough that only you heard it.

you ignored it, settling onto the couch as he disappeared into the kitchen. your boyfriend sat beside you, oblivious, scrolling through movies, while you shoved a chip into your mouth just to distract your mind.

suddenly, you heard clattering from the kitchen followed by a curse.

“uh, y/n… can you come help me real quick?”

you squeezed your eyes shut.

“what did you break now?” you called, already exasperated.

"your mom’s china," he called back. "think i broke like two plates. maybe three. hard to say. pretty sure she’ll notice, though."

shit. you were on your feet before you could think, muttering a quick, “sorry, i’ll be right back,” as you hurried toward the kitchen.

the moment you stepped inside, irritation flared hotter in your chest.

“are you kidding me? what were you even doing near those? my mom explicitly said—” you voiced trailed off when you saw there was no broken china. no mess. nothing.

just jeno, standing there with his arms crossed, watching you with a smirk so infuriating you wanted to slap it off his face.

your hands curled into fists. “what are you doing?”

“really?” he ignored your glare, tilting his head mockingly. “he brought snacks and a single rose?” he let out a dry chuckle. “it’s valentine’s day for god’s sake, he could’ve at least tried.”

“i like simple things,” you shot back. “i don’t need a big fucking production”

jeno took a step closer making your breath get stuck in your throat. he wasn’t touching you, wasn’t even crowding you, but fuck he might as well have been, with the way your body tensed.

his voice dropped lower. “are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

he clearly wanted to get a reaction out of you and you refused to give it to him.

his gaze flicked down to your lips, pursed at him, and yet so pretty. he could still remember them parting and gasping his name last night.

"bet it gets tiring to pretend so much” he leaned in slightly.

you took a sharp step back.

“just… get out of my business,” you snapped, breath uneven.

jeno’s lips curled. “sure thing.” his eyes glinted with dark amusement. “hope you have fun with mr. buzzkill.”

your jaw clenched as you spun on your heel, storming back to the living room. who the hell did he think he was? since when did he have an opinion on your love life? he’d never cared before, never questioned, never even acknowledged it. so why now?

he kept pushing, prodding, playing with you.

and the worst part was that you were letting him. you knew you should ignore him. his opinion didn’t matter anyways.

so why couldn’t you stop paying attention to him?

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you decided to push jeno out of your mind, and what better way than by surrounding yourself with people you actually liked?

a pool party seemed like the perfect distraction. it was nothing too crazy, just a few close friends from college. the weather had been unusually nice all week, the kind of warmth that made everything feel a little hazy, the sun kissing your skin as you lay stretched out on a lounge chair, still damp from your swim. it was the perfect excuse to bask in the sun, let the tension ease from your body, and pretend jeno didn’t exist.

jenny, lying beside you on her stomach, propped herself up on her elbows and let out an exaggerated sigh. “by the way, where’s your hot brother?”

you sighed, not even bothering to open your eyes. “stop calling him that. people might actually think i'm related to that jerk.”

“honestly, though,” natty chimed in, rubbing tanning oil on her arms. “how have you not jumped his bones yet? he’s so fine.”

you scoffed, finally cracking an eye open to glare at her. “he’s really not all that. if you guys lived with him, you wouldn’t think like this.”

jenny turned onto her side, her smirk downright sinful. “girl, if i lived with him i'd let him do unspeakable things to me every night.”

you fingers tightened around your drink as something hot and unwanted curled low in your stomach. if only they knew the things you did thinking about him late at night.

belle made a face from where she sat at the edge of the pool. “you guys are gross.”

jenny just shrugged, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “why? they’re not even related.”

belle wrinkled her nose. “yes, but they live together. it’s still weird.”

jenny hummed, resting her chin on her shoulder as she eyed you knowingly. “whatever, i meant what i said.”

“does he have a girlfriend?” natty asked, stretching her legs out as she adjusted her sunglasses.

you shrugged, taking another sip of your piña colada. “i don’t know. i mean, he barely leaves the house. i doubt he has much of a social life… probably the most socially inept guy i’ve ever met.” the words left your mouth lazily, but the moment they did, a shadow loomed over you, blocking out the sun.

you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

you tilted your head back after a few seconds of silently cursing your big mouth. your heart did a million backflips as you locked eyes with jeno, who was now standing directly behind your chair. his head was tilted just slightly, a slow smirk playing at his lips.

you gulped slowly, and wished the chair would just swallow you whole. did he hear what you just said?

his gaze flickered over you, amused, but there was something heavier in the way his eyes traced over your bikini-clad figure. and then you realized he wasn’t in his usual hoodie and sweatpants. instead, he wore a fitted jean jacket over a graphic tee from a band you didn’t recognize, paired with tight black jeans. even his hair was styled, it looked like he got a fresh undercut, even added some designs on the side. he felt like an entirely different person. he looked good. too good.

“hello, ladies,” he greeted smoothly, his voice deep.

your friends giggled, but you barely registered them because jeno’s attention was back on you in a second.

“does dad know you’re having a party?” he asked, his voice had a teasing lilt to it, but there was something slightly patronizing underneath.

you rolled your eyes. “it’s just a few people.” get off my ass, you almost added but bit your tongue.

his smirk didn’t falter. “mhm… hope so, ‘cause he can see everything through those.” he pointed toward the security cameras, and something about the way he said it made irritation prickle at your skin.

he had the audacity to call your boyfriend a buzzkill, yet here he was, trying to kill any potential fun you could have.

“anyway,” he continued, “this socially inept guy is heading out.”

you breath caught in your throat. so he did hear you.

his eyes flickered over your body once more, and before you could respond, his hand brushed over your shoulder in a touch so fleeting, so meaningless, it shouldn’t have made your entire body lock up the way it did.

“call me if there’s an emergency,” he said. “be good, yeah?”

the second he was out of earshot, the giggles started back up, hushed and scandalized. your skin still burned where his touch had ghosted over you, and you hated that you wanted to turn your head, watch him leave, memorize the way he looked just now.

you swallowed hard, pressing your cold glass against your lips and forcing yourself to pretend that none of it affected you.

after several minutes of listening to your friends gush about jeno, how good he looked, how he smelled like expensive cologne, blah blah blah, you decided you’d had enough. you pushed yourself up from the lounge chair and made your way inside with the excuse of refilling your drink.

as you passed through the living room, a flicker of movement outside caught your eye. jeno was still there, standing near the edge of the sidewalk. his fingers dipped into his pocket, retrieving something small, and curiosity got the better of you. you squinted, trying to make out what he was holding.

despite knowing better, you grabbed a lightweight cover-up dress from the hook by the door and slipped it over your shoulders before stepping outside. the afternoon air carried the scent of chlorine and the faintest trace of citrus from the trees lining the house.

“since when do you smoke?” you asked, approaching him cautiously.

jeno turned his head slightly. the corner of his lips curled in that maddening way of his. without breaking eye contact, he placed the cigarette between his lips, the unlit end resting against the soft curve of his mouth.

“i don’t,” he said dismissively but then, he struck a match against his finger and the tiny flame came to life. the sight of it held your attention for just a second too long. probably because you’d never seen anyone light a match like that, or the fact that he was gaslighting you so casually.

“i thought you said you were going to hang out with friends,” you pressed, crossing your arms as you watched the flame kiss the tip of the cigarette.

“i said i was going to hang out,” he corrected, taking a slow drag before exhaling it in your direction, the smoke curling between you. “i didn't say with friends.”

you barely resisted the urge to cough, your throat tightening at the thick scent of tobacco. before you could call him out on this, the low rumble of an engine broke through the silence.

a black jeep screeched to a stop at the foot of your driveway, tires skidding slightly against the pavement. you instinctively took a step back as the vehicle came to a jarring halt. the tinted window rolled down, revealing a girl with jet-black hair that framed her face in glossy waves. he lips, painted a deep cherry red, curved into a smile that was just a little too perfect.

“sorry, i’m late!” she said, her voice airy, with a sing-song quality that immediately set your teeth on edge “there was so much traffic.”

“sure you didn’t just get pulled over for reckless driving?” jeno chuckled before taking another slow drag from his cigarette.

“mo, silly!” she giggled, her voice turning annoyingly flirtatious as she leaned a little closer over the window. “did you doll up just for me?”

“sure,” jeno replied casually. you didn’t catch the way his eyes flicked to you for just a split second because you were busy trying to mask the seething annoyance that was threatening to show in your expression. you didn’t even know this girl, and yet, the way she was acting was irritating you deeply.

“let me drive,” jeno said, pulling the door open for her to step out. you noticed the way she purposely wobbled slightly to fall directly into his arms.

“careful,” he said, his voice deep and resonant as he steadied her, the sound of it sending a heavy vibration through your chest.

“if your wet blanket of a boyfriend shows up later,” he continued once inside the car, his words laced with a hint of condescension, “just try not to fuck around in the pool, okay? remember, someone’s always watching.” the way he said that left a strange, uneasy knot in your stomach, the implication of his words lingering far too long.

before you could even muster a response, he slammed the jeep into gear and drove off.

it was around 9 pm when you decided to call it a night. your boyfriend hadn’t even shown up. he claimed he had to help his dad with “stuff” but you hadn’t really paid attention to the details. you weren’t interested in hearing excuses anyway.

your friends pouted, complaining that you should let them stay and have a sleepover, but you weren’t in the mood. they only left after you promised to do it another time.

you wandered upstairs, feeling the fatigue from the evening settle in your bones. the water from the shower was almost too hot, but you welcomed the burn as it stripped the chlorine from your skin. you lingered under the steam, savoring the quiet of the house.

once you were done, you meticulously moisturized your skin with extra attention to the dryness that clung to your arms after the pool and the heat of the shower. you threw on your usual pjs, a loose tank top and shorts. you thought of the way jeno’s dark eyes followed you whenever you wore them.

you made your way to the living room and sank onto the couch to watch tv, hyper aware of the ticking sound of the clock. the hands crept closer to 11 p.m. and you found your thoughts drifting despite your best attempts to focus. jeno’s face floated into your mind, his dark eyes flickering with amusement whenever he saw you. you tried to push it away but your mind kept returning to him and that girl with jet-black hair.

the sting of your nails digging into the palsn of your hands is what snapped you out of it. the thought of him with her… doing what? it didn’t even matter. why should it matter?

you decided to go to bed after realizing it was stupid to wait for him to come back.

it was around 2 am when you were jerked awake by the sound of shuffling outside your door. you heard a giggle followed by a hushed voice right before your door creaked open, and you quickly squeezed your eyes shut again.

"shit, wrong room," you heard jeno whisper, and your breath caught in your throat. you opened one eye just enough to see him standing in the doorway, the girl with jet-black hair practically draped around his neck.

she pulled him down into a kiss, and you watched, frozen, as they made out right there in front of your door. her soft moans echoed through the space along with the sounds of their hands fondling each other’s bodies.

they continued, oblivious to the fact that you were very much awake, until jeno finally pulled the door closed behind him, muffling the noises just enough for you to breathe again.

the anger hit you immediately, and the indignation that followed was almost comical in its intensity. with what face had he told you not to "mess around" at home because your parents were always watching, only to go and do this? right in front of your room, no less?

you heard the shuffle of movement in his room next door, and a chilling realization sank in.

they were about to have sex, and you’d hear every damn second of it.

it wasn’t like you’d never snuck your boyfriend in late at night before. But all you ever did was suck him off or let him finger you. you never actually had proper sex. not for lack of trying, but rather the issues you’d been having getting… aroused with him.

the moans started, soft at first, then louder. each sound felt like a needle, digging deeper into the pit of your stomach. you squeezed your eyes shut again, wishing, begging to be anywhere but within earshot of the noise that now felt like it was tearing your insides apart.

you could hear everything. the soft thuds of their clothes hitting the floor, the creak of the mattress as they fell onto it. jeno’s rough groans, the breathless whimpers he tried and failed to suppress. the wet, obscene sounds of him moving inside her. the desperate gasps, the frantic whisper of his name from her lips. their mouths meeting over and over again, the muffled, needy sounds of them colliding filling the space.

every movement, every noise, was painfully clear, as if you were right there in the room with them.

you wanted to disappear. crawl under your bed. evaporate into the walls. oh, the walls. the godforsaken, paper-thin walls that some sadistic architect clearly designed just to ruin your life.

you pressed a pillow over your head, begging for the sounds to stop, but it was useless. they only grew louder.

“jeno… i’m close,” she whimpered, voice high and shaking.

“cum for me…” he responded, breathless.

and suddenly, amidst the debauchery of sounds, you heard it.

your name.

spoken in a broken moan.

your breath stilled. for a second, you thought you must have imagined it, that your mind was playing a cruel trick on you. but then—

you heard it again. louder. needier.

jeno was calling your name as he came.

a paralyzing shock shot through you, pinning you to the mattress. your pulse hammering so hard you thought your heart might bruise your chest cavity. you stared at the ceiling, unblinking, as his moans settled over you like a suffocating weight.

silence followed, broken only by their uneven breaths. then you heard the rustle of sheets as they untangled from each other.

“can i stay the night?” the girl asked, her voice still heavy with satisfaction.

“no,” jeno said, voice oddly cold and detached. “my parents are gonna be here in the morning.”

that was a lie. your parents weren’t coming back until the following weekend.

you were still too shocked to move, too shaken to process what had just happened. but as you listened to her gather her things, to the sound of jeno walking her to the door without so much as an ounce of warmth in his tone, one thing became terrifyingly clear...

he hadn’t just used her. he’d been thinking about you while doing so.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you didn’t sleep. not for a single minute.

the shadows in your room shifted as the hours crawled by. it felt impossible to close your eyes without hearing it all over again. your name on his lips.

when your phone screen finally read 6:00 a.m, you gave up on sleep entirely, throwing off the sheets and slipping out of bed like a ghost.

you tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen, fingers numb as you grabbed a glass and filled it to the brim. the cold water slid down your throat in greedy gulps, but it did nothing to cool yourself.

then, a breathless laugh tore from your lips, unhinged and bitter. the sheer absurdity of it all crashed into you at once, like a sick joke the universe decided to play on you. jeno had been inside another girl, and yet, it was your name that spilled out of his lips.

the laughter bubbled up harder. it must have been loud enough to wake him, because a few moments later, footsteps padded into the kitchen.

jeno stood in the doorway, eyes heavy with sleep, brows pinched together as he took in the sight of you, your back was turned to him, shoulders trembling with laughter that didn’t seem to belong to you.

“the hell is wrong with you?” his voice was groggy.

you stopped, forcing the manic grin off your face before turning slightly away, shielding yourself from his scrutiny. god, if he saw the way you were smiling right now, he really would think you lost your mind.

“are you high?” he asked, a little more forcefully this time.

you let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. i wish. maybe if you were high, this wouldn’t feel so real. maybe you wouldn’t still hear his voice in your head from the night before, broken and desperate, calling for you.

a shiver ran down your spine when you felt jeno move closer behind you. you could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest, the faint smell of sleep and last night’s scent clinging to him. his hand clamped down on your shoulder, turning you around with an impatient tug.

“no, seriously.” his voice was lower now, forcing you to meet his gaze. “did you do drugs last night?”

your breath hitched when his chest brushed against yours, and that’s when you remembered you weren’t wearing a bra. the thin fabric of your tank top did nothing to hide the way your nipples hardened at the contact.

you saw the flicker in his expression, the brief second of realization when his gaze dropped.

“what do you care?” you shot back instead, tilting your chin up defiantly.

you liked the way his jaw ticked when you pushed him.

his grip on your chin was sudden, firm, tilting your face until your eyes locked with his. his fingers were rough and the touch sent something dark and electric crackling under your skin.

you ripped yourself from his grasp, grimacing. “don’t touch me. i know where that hand has been.”

jeno laughed, a rich sound that made your throat close.

“oh, so you heard.”

you scoffed. “of course i heard. it was impossible not to when you were being so loud.”

his smirk deepened. “then you know my struggle.”

he stepped forward, pressed you further against the counter until there was barely any air between your bodies. this was the closest you had ever been to him.

your heart slammed against your ribs, but you refused to shrink away. if anything, it only made you glare harder, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

“i hear everything you do in your room too.”

he paused, letting his finger curl around a stray hair falling over your face.

“every night.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out except a sharp inhale.

his eyes fluttered across your features, lingering on your lips, still wet from the water you just drank.

“wh-what…”

“yeah.” his grin grew sharper, his perfect teeth peeking out to tug at his lower lip. “every time you sneak your dumbass boyfriend in.”

his fingers brushed against the counter beside you, caging you in completely.

“every time you touch yourself…”

you swallowed, looking between his neck and shoulder, unable to meet his dark eyes.

“and you do that a lot lately.”

you gulped to soothe your dry throat, wishing he couldn’t somehow smell how aroused you were getting. you hated the way your body reacted to him, how your thighs pressed together on instinct. he noticed. the bastard always noticed everything.

he was still pressed so close you could feel the steady rise and fall of his hard chest against yours, the heat of his skin bleeding into yours like fire licking at gasoline.

“i—” you started, but your voice cracked.

jeno tilted his head, “what?” his voice was a murmur meant for just the two of you. his lips curved, but the smile wasn’t kind, it was wicked. “got nothing to say now?”

you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as your stomach twisted into knots. “fuck you.”

his smile widened. “i mean, that’s what you always think about, isn’t it?” he murmured.

your breath caught in your throat. he leaned in, his lips so close to your ear that you felt the ghost of them graze your skin.

“you touch yourself thinking about me.”

a wave of heat crawled up your neck. you shouldn’t be reacting this way. shouldn’t be giving yourself away this easily.

you inhaled sharply, gathering every ounce of strength left in your body before shoving at his chest, pushing him away. he let you, barely stumbling back.

“go to hell, jeno.”

you turned on your heel, ready to storm out, to get as far away from him as possible—

but you barely made it two steps before his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. he yanked you back against him, spinning you around so fast that you barely had time to register the shift before your back was against the counter again, his body crowding yours.

his grip tightened, but not enough to hurt just enough to hold you there.

"what are you doing?" you demanded, pressing a hand to his chest. "i have a boyfriend."

he laughed bitterly "oh, please. we both know he doesn’t even make you wet."

“how do you—?” you swallowed, barely able to get the words out.

the realization suddenly settled like lead in your gut. he read it. your blog. the one you used to vent frustrations you couldn’t say out loud, the one that held every unspoken insecurity, every late-night confession you never meant for anyone to see. every filthy thought about him.

and jeno of all people had gotten his hands on it. that’s why he’d been acting so strange lately.

your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, not pulling him closer, but gripping like you needed something to hold onto before you lost your mind.

his smirk deepened as he saw the expression of horror in your face.

“you should really clear your browser history,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “or, better yet…maybe don’t keep the tabs open on a laptop you asked me to fix.”

the bastard wasn’t even sorry for invading your privacy.

your pulse roared in your ears as you tried to school your expression, trying to make it seem like you weren't two seconds away from spiraling.

“i don’t—” you started, but the words wouldn’t come.

he leaned in, voice dipping lower. “oh don’t quit on me now. you had plenty to say in that little blog of yours.”

his fingers traced your jaw softly.

“especially about me.”

he grinned, teeth grazing his bottom lip as he watched your reaction unfold in real time. “what was it you said?” he pretended to think. “oh, right. he pisses me off more than anyone else, but i bet he fucks like a god.’”

you shoved him again but he barely stumbled, just let out a low chuckle like he was thrilled by your anger.

“what’s wrong?” he taunted. “embarrassed?”

“shut up.”

“aww, c’mon, don’t be shy now. i read the whole thing, you’ve definitely thought about this exact moment before.”

you wanted to die. right there on the kitchen floor. just disintegrate and never have to endure the smug, self-satisfied look on his face ever again.

but worse than the embarrassment? worse than the rage twisting inside you like a coil ready to snap?

was the terrifying, undeniable truth.

he knew you wanted him.

jeno moved closer, and you instinctively backed into the counter, your hands gripping the cool edge.

his smirk was insufferable. giddy, almost.

“god, you should see your face right now,” he murmured, tilting his head. “all pink and flustered. just like i imagined.”

your eyes darted across his face in shock.

“oh yeah,” he continued, watching the realization flicker in your eyes. “you’re not the only one who’s fantasized about this, baby”

“i don’t fantasize,” you said quickly, hoping to salvage some dignity.

jeno just laughed. “save it.”

he reached up, tucking another stray strand of hair behind your ear, the way someone might handle something delicate, except the glint in his eye was anything but soft.

“i said i read everything,” he reminded you, voice dripping with satisfaction. “i even memorized that one post, the one where you talk about my fingers—”

“don’t,” you interrupted, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could finish that sentence.

bad move. because now his lips were pressed against your palm, his breath hot against your skin. and he didn’t pull away.

instead, his dark eyes locked onto yours making your pulse stutter. he reached up, prying your hand away from his mouth, but instead of letting it go, he brought it lower flat against his bare chest, over the steady thump of his heartbeat.

“i like knowing your secrets,” he murmured. “i like knowing what gets in that pretty little head of yours late at night.”

your stomach flipped.

“and you know what i like the most?” he dipped his head, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “i like knowing that no matter how much you fight me on this,” he whispered, “you’ve already given yourself to me.”

his lips brushed from your ear down to the corner of your mouth, until finally, they met yours. you barely registered how easily your lips parted for him until his tongue slid in, claiming you. a groan slipped out before you could stop it.

you knew you should push him away. you should. but the thought barely even formed before it was gone, lost in the heat of his mouth.

"aren’t you gonna stop me?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to make you chase his lips.

you didn’t move, didn’t shove him away, didn’t say a damn thing.

his lips curled. "didn’t think so.”

then he kissed you harder, rougher. his fingers cradling your face while his other hand slid lower, gripping a handful of your ass. you gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pulling you flush against him.

his knee pressed between your legs, shifting just right, and you moaned. his lips curved against yours. "there’s my good girl."

heat flared up your spine, equal parts humiliation and arousal. some semblance of reason came over you and you pushed at his chest, but he caught your wrist, pinning it against the counter.

"you wrote about how bad you wanted me to take you right here in this kitchen," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. "want me to remind you?"

"shut up," you groaned, twisting your wrist free and shoving at him properly this time.

he didn’t budge. he only laughed, nipping at your lower lip before angling your face up, kissing you deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world. his hand slid from your ass to your thigh, hiking it higher around his hip.

the new angle made you feel him, every inch of his hard length pressing right against your core, and you gasped. he thrust against you and the groan he let out sent a pulse of heat straight to your stomach.

"fuck," he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours, his hips rolling again. "you feel that?"

your fingers curled into his shirt, whimpers spilling out of you as he kept humping you.

jeno’s grip tightened on your thigh, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked against you, his breath hot against your lips. “look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement and something darker. “clinging to me like this when you were just pretending to hate me a few minutes ago.”

you opened your mouth to argue, to deny, but all that came out was a sharp gasp as his hands slid under your tank top, fingers tracing lazy patterns up your ribs until they found your perked nipple. his knee pressed more insistently between your legs.

“jen—”

“shh.” he breathed against your lips. “you don’t have to say anything. your body’s already telling me everything i need to know.”

the way his lips ghosted over your jaw, then down your throat, made your breath hitch. you felt like you were drowning in the way he touched you, just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to give you what you really wanted.

“you’ve thought about this,” he mused, voice laced with satisfaction as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear. “haven’t you? late at night, when you’re all alone…”

your nails dug into his shoulders as he ground against you again, harder this time. he was right. and that infuriated you.

“jeno,” you hissed, half warning, half plea.

“say it,” he murmured against your skin, hands slipping lower. “say you want me.”

you couldn’t do that. you still wanted to cling to some semblance of dignity. but then his fingers slipped inside your shorts, and the illusion that you ever stood a chance shattered.

your gasp turned into a strangled moan as his fingers dipped between your soaked folds, tracing slow circles, teasing you with featherlight strokes that had you melting against him. his breath was hot against your temple.

“if you don’t want this,” he murmured, “then maybe we should stop.”

and just like that, he started to retreat, his touch vanishing like a cruel tease.

“no,” you choked out, your hand gripping his wrist before he could pull away completely. “don’t stop… please.”

he tilted his head, savoring every ounce of your desperation. “you sure?” he mused, feigning innocence even as his lips, swollen and slick, curled into something devilish. “because if you think this is wrong, we really should stop.”

the bastard was toying with you, and worst of all, you found it maddeningly hot.

your nails dug into his arm, your body thrumming with frustration and need. “jeno,” you warned, voice dangerously low. “if you don’t touch me right now, i’ll go upstairs and do it myself.”

you saw the moment his pupils dilated, a dark, almost feral hunger flashing in his eyes.

“oh, princess,” he crooned, his hand slipping back into your shorts in an instant, fingers resuming their torment with renewed urgency. “you really shouldn’t have said that.”

but instead of touching you like you needed, he yanked your shorts down, your panties dragging along with them in one swift motion. before you could form a single word, he hoisted you onto the counter with ease, the hard surface pressing into the backs of your thighs. your legs instinctively tried to close, but his grip tightened, keeping you open for him.

and then he dropped to his knees.

your stomach plummeted, anticipation coiling so tightly inside you that you felt dizzy. he looked up at you from beneath his thick lashes, eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with hunger. his hands dragged slowly up the inside of your thighs, spreading them further. his tongue darted out, wetting his lips like he was about to devour the best meal ever.

your walls clenched around nothing.

“jeno—” his name came out in a broken gasp.

“you’re shaking,” his breath ghosted over your core, making you jolt, making you ache. "what’s wrong, baby? nervous?"

the way his voice curled around the word baby, sent a fresh wave of heat straight between your legs. but you didn’t get the chance to answer.

because then he dove between your thighs.

the first stroke of his tongue had you gasping, hands flying to his hair as your head snapped back against the cabinets. the heat of his mouth had your body jerking before you could stop yourself, pleasure so intense it almost hurt.

his hands flexed against your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you still as he licked deep into you. and when he groaned you nearly lost it. the vibration shot straight through you, your stomach clenching, your thighs twitching against his grip.

“jeno—” his name was barely a breath, a desperate sound that made him hum against you, pleased. he pulled back just enough for his lips to brush over your skin.

“god, you taste even better than i imagined” he rasped.

and then he was back on you, tongue working faster, fingers digging into your thighs like he needed this, like he was getting off on the way you gasped, the way your body trembled under his mouth.

he wasn’t just eating you out. he was devouring you.

his tongue moved in slow strokes, drawing out every whimper that spilled from your lips. you tugged at his hair, grinding down harder, but he just chuckled against you. cocky bastard.

“needy, huh?” he murmured between licks. “thought you could handle it.”

you barely registered his words, too caught up in the way he worked you open. but then he pulled away, making you gasp at the loss.

“jeno—” you started to protest, but he was already grabbing you by the waist.

“quit whining,” he smirked, hoisting you up easily. you yelped, legs locking around his hips as he strode toward the stairs. “you wanted this, didn’t you?”

your back hit the mattress a second later. you barely caught your breath before he tugged his pants down, the outline of his dick straining against his boxers.

jeno climbed onto the bed, gaze flicking over you with heat. you expected him to take you right then but he leaned back instead, hands behind his head.

“ride my face,” he said.

you froze, thinking he was joking for a second, but then you saw his his eyes and realized he was being completely serious. panic came over you, you’d never done this before, your boyfriend had never even eaten your out before, only fingered you. this was way more than that though.

“jeno—”

he raised a brow. “what, shy now?” his hands shot out, dragging you toward him. “c’mon, don’t start getting all sweet on me now.”

he positioned you right above his face. you swallowed, “jeno… i-i don’t know—“

“don’t worry baby, trust me”

and then he was spreading your legs further apart so you sank on his face slowly. his nose nuzzled between your folds first, the sharp line of it pushing against your core and making a guttural moan escape you.

his tongue followed, licking up and down, and prodding your entrance with insistence.

“oh, fuck—me” you whimpered, his hands on your hips guided you to press even harder against his face and even in your pleasure you worried he would drown in your cunt.

but when you looked down, there was nothing but pure bliss on his face, his eyes rolling back and his brows furrowed as he lapped relentlessly. it looked like he was enjoying this as much as you.

as your orgasm approached again, you couldn’t help but roll your hips against his face. the movement made his nose press further as his tongue continued licking long greedy strips against your clit.

��jeno—i...i’m—“ you moaned,

and your orgasm crashed over you with such a violent force it made you lean forward barely catching yourself with your arms before you could actually suffocate the boy under you.

you crawled down his body, your breath hitching as you took in the sight of his face glistening with your juices. his tongue swept out as he licked up every trace, dark eyes fixed on you.

his hands remained anchored on your hips, fingers flexing just enough to press you down against his body. you could feel him hard and burning through the thin fabric of his sweats. the instinctive grind of your hips had him exhaling a low chuckle. you wanted this, he wanted this, but something held you back. if you crossed this line… would you really be able to turn back?

you didn’t have time to find out because the sound of the doorbell ringing snapped you both out of your daze.

jeno blinked, looking toward the bedroom door. “seriously...?”

“shit—” you scrambled off him, tripping over your own limbs in the process.

“i’ll get it,” he offered, starting to sit up.

“no!” you shoved at his chest, pushing him back down. “your face, jeno— it’s covered in my—just—go wash it off!”

he grinned lazily. “didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago.”

“not the time!” you hissed, picking up your discarded clothes and putting them on.

jeno started, “i read somewhere that cum is really good for your skin—”

you didn’t dignify that with a response, slamming the door shut on your way out. your reflection in the living room mirror was a disaster: hair tousled, lips kiss-swollen, fresh marks blooming along your neck. you tugged your collar up and plastered on what you hoped passed for a normal expression before opening the door.

and promptly felt the ground vanish under you when you saw who was standing outside.

“hey, beautiful” your boyfriend said.

your mouth went dry. “oh. wow. hi—”

he held up a bouquet. “i realized we didn’t really do anything special for valentine’s, and you were so thoughtful with your gifts…” his other hand revealed a small box.

your heart twisted at the sight.

“figured you deserved something nice after everything you’ve done for me.” he opened the box to reveal a delicate necklace, your initial glinting in tiny diamonds. “also, i wanna take you out today”

you swallowed. “it’s... beautiful, thanks.”

“here.” he stepped forward, gently brushing your hair aside to fasten it around your neck. his fingers grazed your skin then stopped.

“you’ve got a mark,” he said, frowning. his thumb skimmed over the hickey, sending your pulse into overdrive.

“mosquito bite,” you blurted.

he raised an eyebrow. “looks... aggressive.”

“it was a big mosquito,” you managed with a nervous laugh.

“massive, actually” came jeno’s voice.

you turned just as he was descending the stairs, towel-drying his face and now dressed in…god help you, only sweatpants. fresh hickeys also peppered his collarbone and chest.

your boyfriend’s smile tightened. “hi, man. hope i didn’t wake you.”

jeno shrugged. “nah, i was just eating a delicious meal.” his gaze flicked to you with something too close to amusement.

you fought the urge to kick him in the balls. “so! you said something about... going out?” you blurted, trying to shift the topic.

“uh... yeah. a new amusement park opened up nearby. thought we could check it out.”

“sounds amazing! i’m in!” anything to get out of this situation.

“i’ll just… shower real quick,” you said, stepping back.

“i’ll put the flowers in water,” your boyfriend offered, heading toward the kitchen.

as soon as he disappeared, you turned to jeno and hissed, “are you insane?”

he chuckled. “i didn’t even do anything.”

“you’re standing there shirtless covered in hickeys i don’t even remember giving you!” you whisper-yelled.

“yeah you went a little crazy, who knew you wanted me this bad?”

you shot him a glare. “this isn’t funny.”

“it’s a little funny.”

you let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing your face. “god, you’re impossible.”

jeno leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of him. “wouldn’t be nearly as fun if i wasn’t.”

you shook your head and darted upstairs, pulse still racing. what the hell was your life right now?

you gave yourself only twenty minutes to get ready, worried about leaving your boyfriend alone with jeno for too long. god only knew what kind of things jeno might say if left unchecked. you quickly threw on a pair of high-waisted jeans and a knitted sweater, keeping it simple with just a swipe of lip gloss and a touch of mascara.

when you came downstairs, you found them sitting at opposite ends of the couch. jeno was scrolling through his phone, legs spread out, a bored look on his face. your boyfriend was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, glancing around as if searching for a conversation topic that didn’t involve glaring across the room.

“i’m ready,” you announced, trying to break the awkward tension hanging in the air. both boys looked up.

you noticed Jeno had changed into fitted jeans and a black t-shirt.

“i hope you don’t mind,” your boyfriend said, his smile too stiff to be genuine, “but i invited jeno to come with us.”

“what?” your head snapped to jeno, who didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

“yeah,” jeno said, casually running a hand through his hair. “a few of my friends are heading there too, so i figured we could all hang out.”

“oh… how nice,” you muttered through clenched teeth. jeno just smirked, waiting for you to snap in front of your boyfriend but you held back, drawing in a calming breath and turning toward the door instead.

outside, your boyfriend wiped a tiny smudge off the driver’s side door of his car with meticulous care. jeno scoffed audibly.

your boyfriend paused, glancing over his shoulder. “jeno, do you have a car... or do you wanna ride with us?”

“my car’s in the shop,” Jeno replied without missing a beat.

“oh yeah? what do you drive?”

“a ’69 mustang fastback,” jeno said smoothly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

your boyfriend’s lips parted slightly. you knew he was impressed—he loved cars—and even if he tried to play it cool, the way his eyes widened gave him away. “that’s a classic. was it your dad’s?”

“nope.” jeno grinned. “saved up since high school and bought it myself at the barrett-jackson auction last year.”

your boyfriend’s eyebrows shot up. “that’s... actually really impressive.”

yeah, jeno thought, satisfaction bubbling in his chest. he lived for moments like this, when people looked at him like he was something special. he just couldn’t let it slip that his dad had footed most of the bill for the car’s custom work. it wasn’t like he asked for that help, but there was no way he was turning it down either. and he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit that in front of your boyfriend. not when the guy was looking at him with something close to respect. honestly, jeno kind of liked having that edge over him.

you could practically see the mental competition unfolding in front of you. jeno stood there like he’d just scored a point, while your boyfriend’s jaw tightened, clearly thinking of how to reclaim the upper hand.

“are you guys done with the dick-measuring contest, or should i grab a ruler?” you asked, arms crossed.

jeno laughed under his breath. your boyfriend glanced away, muttering, “yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

the ride was somehow worse than you expected. normally, when you’d ride with your boyfriend, the car was filled with pleasant conversation. he’d ask about your day and tell you about his… but now, with jeno in the backseat, the air felt suffocating. not even the faint music playing on the radio could ease your discomfort.

“were you sleeping before i came?” your boyfriend asked, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on the road.

you tensed. sleeping? far from it. you’d most definitely come before he arrived, and now your face burned with the memory. you shot a quick look over your shoulder at jeno, hoping to gauge if he was going to say something incriminating. he was scrolling through his phone, but the corner of his mouth curled up in that stupid smirk of his.

“uh… no,” you said, clearing your throat. “i couldn’t sleep very well last night, so i just had an early breakfast.”

“ah,” your boyfriend hummed. “and your parents are back sunday, right?”

“yeah,” you replied, grateful for the change in subject.

the silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. your boyfriend tapped the steering wheel rhythmically, occasionally glancing at you like he was expecting conversation but you were too busy trying not to spontaneously combust from how tense everything felt.

he reached over and turned on the car’s bluetooth. “let’s put on some music,” he muttered, scrolling through his playlist. he settled on a song, and you relaxed until you recognized the beat a split second before the lyrics started.

"thoughts of you keep me up at night..."

heat immediately started creeping up your neck. of all the songs... and of all the lyrics to play right now.

"i think about all of the ways you turn me on... and my bed gets lonely whenever you’re gone..."

you stiffened, eyes wide as you stared out the window. you could feel jeno’s gaze burning into the side of your face, and when you dared to glance back, you saw his eyes fixed on you, an eyebrow raised like this was the funniest thing to ever happen. your boyfriend, oblivious to the lyrical implications, simply tapped along to the beat.

you reached for the phone. “let’s put something else—”

“what? you don’t like this song?” your boyfriend asked, glancing at you with a smile.

“it’s… just—” you floundered. jeno chuckled under his breath.

“leave it,” Jeno said. “I think it’s pretty relatable.”

your boyfriend shot him a look through the rearview mirror probably wondering what he meant.

you squeezed your eyes shut, praying for the ground to swallow you whole. why did the drive feel like it was taking forever?

when you arrived at the amusement park, you were pleasantly surprised to see jenny and natty waiting near the entrance, drinks already in hand.

“we’re the masterminds behind this whole thing, by the way” jenny grinned, looping her arm through yours when you reached her.

“yeah,” Natty added, slipping in on your other side. “we told him he was an idiot for not doing something nice for you on saturday, so this is his redemption, and we’re here as the judges.”

the revelation should’ve surprised you—maybe even disappointed you—but it didn’t. things with your boyfriend had been...off lately. neither of you was really trying, and you couldn’t blame him for that when you weren’t putting in much effort yourself.

still, you plastered on a smile. this is supposed to be fun, you reminded yourself. and it was, you went on nearly every ride. your boyfriend, though, wasn’t a big fan of fast rides due to his motion sickness, and you didn’t miss the way jeno scoffed every time he turned down your suggestions to ride together.

you were heading toward the food stalls when something caught your eye. “ooh! let’s do that one!” you pointed to a shabby building draped in fake cobwebs and flickering lights. a crooked sign above the entrance read bloody encounter in dripping red letters.

jenny made a face. “why would you willingly do that to yourself?”

“come on,” you urged, tugging her arm. “it’ll be fun! i saw a video of it on instagram! it looks insane.”

“that’s exactly why i don’t want to go,” jenny shot back, glancing warily at the entrance.

natty, wide-eyed, whispered, “have you seen that movie where a group of friends goes into a haunted house, and there’s an actual killer inside?”

“that’s literally a movie,” you said, but your attempt at sounding confident fell flat when natty added, “it was based on real-life events.”

you rolled your eyes but glanced over your shoulder at your boyfriend trailing behind. he looked at the ride and grimaced.

“eh... i don’t know, babe,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “you know i hate this kind of stuff.”

you visibly deflated and before you could respond, another voice cut in. “i’ll go with you,” jeno said, stepping forward, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“I—” you started to object, nerves twisting in your stomach. jeno? alone? no way. that felt like walking into a trap. “weren’t you going to meet up with your friends?” you tried, hoping to backpedal.

“they texted that they got a flat on the way here, so it’ll be a while before they arrive” he shrugged.

“you two have fun,” jenny said, already pulling natty away. “we’ll grab food in the meantime.” natty threw you a look that screamed good luck before disappearing into the crowd.

your boyfriend lingered. “you sure you’re gonna be okay?” he asked, eyes darting to jeno, whose expression remained unreadable except for the subtle roll of his eyes.

“yeah,” you lied, forcing a reassuring smile. “i’ll be fine. see you in a bit.”

stepping through the entrance, you were swallowed by darkness. the air was thick with the artificial scent of fog machines and that weird plasticky smell of cheap props. distorted laughter and screams echoed through the narrow halls, looping over speakers that crackled with static.

beside you, jeno looked about as thrilled as someone waiting in line at the dmv. he glanced around, gaze skimming lazily over the walls. "spooky," he deadpanned.

"wow, you're really committing to the whole fun-hater thing," you shot back, glancing over your shoulder. you knew something was about to jump out, it was just a matter of when. "if you hate this so much, why'd you come?"

“figured your dumbass boyfriend wouldn’t,” he shrugged, mouth quirking into something between a smirk and a sneer. "someone had to make sure you didn’t cry."

“excuse me—”

BANG!

a hidden panel to your left slammed open and a clown with cracked white paint on its face and red bulging eyes lunged out, blaring a horn right in your face. your soul practically left your body as you screamed and instinctively grabbed onto the nearest thing which, unfortunately, was jeno.

he didn’t even flinch, his arm simply went around your shoulders, comforting you even as your heart tried to beat out of your chest. you looked up, breath catching when you met his gaze. his eyes flicked down to where you were clutching his hoodie before lifting back to yours.

you pushed away, but his hand didn’t fall away immediately. it trailed from your shoulder down to the small of your back, you felt his warmth seep through the fabric of your sweater.

"so," he drawled, "should i hold your hand for the rest of this?"

“i swear to god…”

“—because i don’t mind”

“keep talking and i’ll feed you to the next clown,” you shot back.

he snorted. "like you’d make it through this without me."

you flipped him off without looking back, which earned a low chuckle in response. you stalked ahead, determined to focus on not tripping over the uneven floor, but his footsteps stayed close behind. annoyingly close.

the mirror maze was where things went downhill. everywhere you turned, warped reflections of you and jeno stretched and twisted in the glass. dark shapes flickered just out of sight, and the speakers just made everything worse by echoing whispers that felt like they were breathing down your neck.

your reflection twisted, making your head look three times too big. jeno snorted. “look, they got your good side.”

“bite me” you said, peering around a corner. your reflection multiplied into a dozen versions of you, all looking equally pissed.

“tempting,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

jeno’s fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you in the opposite direction.

“it’s this way,” he said.

“how would you know?”

“we’ve been stuck in here for like ten minutes,” he cut in. “you’re clearly not the best guide.”

you bit your tongue, resisting the urge to snap back.

jeno pointed at a door partially concealed by a tangle of fake cobwebs. “that’s gotta be the exit.”

“that looks deliberately hidden,” you said, eyeing it warily. something about it seemed off.

“well,” he shrugged, “either we try that or we keep wandering in circles. your call.”

fine. you followed him, trusting—against better judgment—that his instincts were better than yours.

they weren’t.

the door creaked open to reveal a forgotten section of the attraction with dust-covered boxes, broken props tossed in corners, and walls lined with peeling fake blood. the air smelled like damp cardboard and stale fog machine fluid.

“...okay,” he said, unfazed. “so not the exit.”

“wow. color me shocked.”

he shot you a look. “didn’t hear you coming up with better options.”

you rolled your eyes and turned back to the door. “whatever, let’s just—”

it didn’t budge. frowning, you tried again, putting more weight into it. nothing.

your pulse quickened. “uh... jeno?”

“what?”

“the door’s stuck.”

“just turn the handle—”

“i am!” frustration and panic crept into your voice. “i know how to open a damn door!”

“move.” he gently nudged you aside, grabbing the handle. he twisted while shoving his shoulder into it but the door held firm “...shit.”

your stomach dropped. this wasn’t funny anymore. “no, no, no… this can’t be happening.” you raked a hand through your hair.

jeno stepped back, scanning the room like there might be another way out. “it’s gotta be part of the attraction… like some escape room or…”

“yeah? you really think they’d make a whole escape room and hide it behind a side door that was clearly not supposed to be opened?” your voice cracked, breath coming quicker now.

he glanced at you, expression shifting. “hey.” his tone dropped, calmer. “don’t freak out.”

easy for him to say. your brain was already spiraling. you were locked in some creepy back room of a haunted house... with him.

you leaned back against the door, shutting your eyes as you tried to calm your racing heart.

“do you have your phone?” you asked, voice tight as you pushed away from the door and walked toward him.

he patted his back pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it up before showing the dead screen. “no battery.”

you let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. “of course.”

“the staff will probably notice we never came out,” he said, glancing around the dimly lit room. “they’ll be looking for us soon.”

“i didn’t even see anyone else besides that clown,” you muttered. “this is what i get for coming in here with you.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” his voice dropped a note lower, and when you looked up, he’d stepped closer. your back nearly hit the door again, tension sparking between you like static electricity.

“you’ve clearly upset some kind of energy around me, and that’s why all these things keep happening,” you snapped, trying to push away the sudden awareness of how little space there was between your bodies.

“are you being for real right now?” he chucked bitterly, dark eyes flicking to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. “you’ve been writing dirty fantasies about me for months but i’m the one somehow upsetting your energy?”

heat surged to your face, both from anger and embarrassment. “and that’s all they were! fantasies!” you shot back, voice rising. “i never wanted you to read those.” your breath came quicker. his proximity was messing with your ability to think straight.

“yeah?” he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. the playful glint in his eyes burned away, leaving something far more dangerous. “you say that like you didn’t mean every goddamn word.”

your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "is now really the time for this?"

“how come my presence didn't bother you when my mouth was between your legs?” he growled.

your hand shot up, ready to shove him away but he caught your wrist, pinning it above your head. your heart kicked into overdrive.

“not here,” you breathed, but it was weak, barely convincing.

“nobody’s around,” he rasped, chest flush against yours. “and you don’t really want me to stop.”

his lips dragged along your neck greedily, teeth scraping your skin before his tongue soothed the sting. your knees nearly gave out.

“jeno—fuck—we can’t,” you gasped, even as your hips arched toward him, desperate for friction.

“i’m sure i can make you cum before anyone shows up,” he promised, voice like rough velvet.

then he grabbed your thigh, hauling your leg around his waist and shoving his hips against you. the contact had you gasping, heat blooming everywhere at once. his grip was bruising, grounding you and shattering you all at once.

“you have no idea—” his breath was ragged, words spoken between gritted teeth, “—how fucking hard it was to sit back and watch you with him. i wanted to drag you away and remind you exactly whose tongue had you shaking mere hours ago.”

that snapped something inside you. your fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him in as his mouth crashed against yours. his hips rolled, grinding against you in rough motions that stole every coherent thought from your brain.

you should stop. you should care about where you were or the fact that your boyfriend was waiting for you outside, but the way he was touching you, kissing you, claiming you.

he pressed you hard against the wall, hands pulling at your sweater with urgency. the second it was off, his mouth was on you, sucking against the lace of your bra. his groan was barely controlled.

“fuck, so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words shaky. his gaze was hungry as he tore your bra off, his lips tracing the curve of your chest.

his mouth found your nipple, sucking hard. your back arched and a gasp slipped from you.

“god, perfect tits,” he growled. his hands were shaking now, and there was no control in his voice, just raw need.

without warning, he pulled your pants off, almost knocking you off balance. you barely steadied yourself before he turned you around, shoving you forward. Your hands gripped the wall for support, and you felt him push his erection against your ass.

“fuck, gonna make you feel so good. better than your fingers ever could. let me fill you up” he groaned, his voice desperate. you could feel how hard he was even through his jeans.

you bit your lip, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of knowing just how much you wanted him. before you could look back, his hand was on your jaw, turning your head to face forward.

“be good and i’ll let you look,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear.

he pulled your panties aside, the fabric stretching tight against you. it felt like it might snap any second, but before the thought could even settle, his finger was buried in your folds. the cool touch of his rings against your heat made you gasp, your body shuddering in response.

“oh god,” you mewled.

if your mind was clear enough to process anything, you’d laugh at how absurd this was. your fantasies, the ones you’d written about in your blog, were unfolding before your eyes, all within a day.

“barely even touched you, and you’re already dripping like this?” his voice was laced with amusement, though there was a growl beneath it.

“jeno, please don’t… tease me.” the words barely left your mouth, a plea you couldn’t hold back.

he smirked, his thumb brushing over your sensitive spot as he circled your clit. “i thought you were the one who didn’t want to do this here,” he taunted.

“please,” you whispered, barely able to form a coherent thought.

he chuckled, drawing another slow circle, teasing you, making you ache. every motion of his finger made your body respond, pushing your hips back instinctively. “so eager,” he muttered, his mouth hot against your shoulder.

his finger plunged inside you, and before you could adjust, another joined. he pulled them out slowly, spreading the slickness of your folds across your skin, making you squirm in desperation. you felt the pressure of his cock growing against your ass, and you clenched around his fingers, your walls yearning for more.

“ready for me, baby?” his voice was low, dark, almost a growl, and you nodded, mind too fogged to say anything.

he spread your legs wider, forcing you open for him, giving him better access. you felt the tip of his cock swipe against your folds, teasing the entrance, and you couldn’t help but steal a glance down. his pre-cum smeared against you, mixing with your slickness.

“when i’m done with you, you won’t even remember who came before me…” his words were gruff, hot against your hair.

and then, just like that, he thrust inside. you heard him inhale sharply as your gummy walls welcomed him, stretching around him, pulling him deeper. he felt thick, too thick, and you weren’t sure if he was all the way in, but the fullness was overwhelming. his body pushed against yours, your legs trembling under the weight of him, but he wasn’t stopping.

one hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as jeno continued to push deeper. your moans grew louder, and with each thrust your inhibition was slipping away. it felt too good to care about being caught, to think about anything else but the feeling of being so full.

but then, just as you were losing yourself completely, the sound of footsteps and distant voices jerked you back to reality.

“guys, they probably already came out,” you recognized jenny’s voice, and you froze.

“y/n isn’t picking up her phone,” your boyfriend’s voice followed, too close, so close you could practically feel him in the room.

you pushed weakly against jeno, trying to make him pull out, but he wasn’t paying attention. instead, he thrust into you again, harder, his cock pressing into you so deeply that you bit your tongue to hold back the moan threatening to slip out.

“that’s cause i have it,” natty’s voice rang out, innocently. “she gave it to me when she went on the roller coaster earlier.”

jeno’s hand moved to cover your mouth, muffling the sounds you couldn’t stop from escaping. he continued to pound into you, relentless, while pulling you flush against his chest, his pace steady but punishing. panic clawed at your throat as your breath quickened.

“when were you gonna tell us that...?” jenny’s voice sounded sharp, you could even picture the scowl that came with it.

“did you try jeno?” your boyfriend asked, the concern in his tone making the situation even more unbearable.

“we don’t have his phone number,” natty replied casually.

“i do,” Jenny said, her voice almost sheepish.

jeno’s hips stuttered for a brief moment, the pace slowing as he briefly pulled away from you. you thought he was stopping but before you could even react, he spun you around, forcing you to face him. his forehead glistened with sweat, his lips swollen from how hard he’d bitten them, his breath labored.

“what? since when?” natty asked, her voice sounding confused but amused.

“i stole it from y/n’s phone,” jenny muttered quickly. “don’t tell her, though.”

before you could even process her words, jeno thrust back into you, pressing you into the wall with each brutal stroke. the wall rattled violently with every movement and you could barely form the words to warn him.

“j-jeno, stop… they… they’re gonna hear us,” you gasped. your whole body felt like it was being torn apart in the best way, but the fear of being caught made it impossible to enjoy it fully.

“let them,” he growled against your ear, his grip tightening on your waist. “let your boyfriend know i’m the only one who can make you cum.”

you couldn’t help the loud whimper that came out when he said that.

“did you guys hear that?” your boyfriend’s voice rang out, sharp with suspicion.

your eyes widened in sheer panic, your body stiffening around jeno. but instead of stopping, he only smirked, still buried deep inside you. the bastard was enjoying this.

his hand trailed down, fingers finding your clit, and the second he started rubbing tight circles, your head lolled back involuntarily. another strangled whimper escaped before you could stop it. the feeling of his fingers working you over while he continued driving into you relentlessly had you seeing white.

“what?” natty asked, her voice tinged with unease.

jeno didn’t stop, his movements staying controlled except for the way his breath hitched when your walls fluttered around him. his lips parted slightly, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he fought to keep from moaning out loud.

“it sounded like… a person?” your boyfriend said, his voice closer now.

your head snapped up in terror, eyes locking onto jeno’s, silently pleading with him to stop. but he wasn’t even looking at you. his teeth were digging into his lower lip, dark eyes fixed on where your bodies were joined, watching the way he disappeared inside you over and over again.

“it’s probably just the scary audio replaying on the speakers,” Jenny suggested.

“and that rattling sound?”

jeno’s eyes flicked up at that, finally registering your panic. without pulling out, he wrapped an arm around your waist and lifted you off the wall effortlessly, carrying you a few paces away before pressing you down onto an old, dusty table.

before you could even think to protest, he shoved your knees up and entered you again, deeper this time, making you arch off the surface with a muffled cry. your teeth sank into the flesh of your hand to keep the noises in.

the table creaked with each sharp thrust, dust kicking up into the air around you. tears pricked your eyes, whether from pleasure, mortification, or both, you weren’t sure.

“maybe rats or something,” jenny suggested, her voice fading as she moved further away. “who cares? let’s just go. they’re not here anymore.”

the moment the voices started retreating, jeno leaned over you.

“we almost got caught,” he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe “...and you’re still fucking dripping around me.”

you didn't even get to feel embarrassed by his words because soon he was already moving again harder, deeper, like he needed to make up for the interruption. the table kept creaking under the force of his thrusts, and your fingers scrambled for something to hold onto.

when you looked down, your breath hitched at the sight of his cock drilling into you over and over, slick coating both of you in a wet mess. you were mesmerized by the sharpness of his hip bones, the way his veins bulged with every flex of his muscles.

you wanted to touch. you needed to.

your fingers twitched with the urge. why is he still so covered? you’d seen him shirtless before, had spent far too long secretly admiring the cut of his abs, but seeing and feeling were entirely different. you wanted to feel them ripple under your hands, to feel the heat of his skin against your palms.

driven by that need, you pushed up on your elbows, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he didn’t stop you, just watched with dark eyes and parted lips as you dragged the fabric up, exposing smooth skin and the taut muscles beneath. your fingers splayed over his stomach, feeling how hard he was clenching, how his body responded to you.

jeno tensed the moment your hands made contact with his skin, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth. his hips faltered for a second before slamming back into you with even more force. your breath stuttered, and when you looked up, his eyes were already locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with something wild.

suddenly, he leaned forward and his lips crashed into yours, all-consuming. a deep grunt rumbled from his chest as he licked into your mouth, greedy and desperate, sucking at your tongue like he couldn’t get enough of your taste. you gasped, clutching at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the sweaty skin under his shirt.

he groaned against your lips, voice ragged. “you—” another thrust, deeper this time, knocking the air from your lungs. “—are driving me fucking crazy.”

you felt your orgasm building fast, your breath catching as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach. words tumbled out of your mouth, barely coherent, dissolving into soft gasps as your body clenched around him. jeno moaned against your lips, his hand sliding back to your chest, fingers toying with your nipple. his hips didn’t slow, driving into you with almost manic thrusts that had your head spinning.

“fuck, i’m close,” he breathed out, voice rough in your ear. “where do you want it?”

you blinked through the pleasure, brain too sluggish to register the question. when it did, warmth flooded your cheeks. you were on the pill and the thought of him stuffing you up with his cum, just like you’d written about, made your walls flutter instinctively. “inside,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

jeno’s jaw flexed, his gaze darkening. “yeah?” his pace quickened, rougher now, his lips brushing against your neck. “couldn’t wait for me to fill you up, hm?” his words melted into a groan when you clenched around him.

“jeno—i—” the rest of the sentence dissolved into a cry as your orgasm crashed over you violently. your body arched into him, trembling.

he wasn’t far behind. you felt his rhythm stutter before warmth flooded you, his hips pressing deep as he let out a low, drawn-out moan. his lips found yours again, kissing you slowly, even as both of you tried to catch your breath.

when he finally pulled back, his gaze held yours for a while. you wanted to ask what he was thinking, but the words stuck in your throat.

you felt him slip out of you along with the slow drip of hia cum trailing down your thighs. he reached for your discarded underwear, swiping it between your legs with surprising gentleness before, without hesitation, tucking it into his back pocket.

“hey—” you started to protest, but the look he shot you shut you up fast. apparently, those were his now.

a few quiet minutes passed, both of you fixing your clothes, when the door groaned open. you flinched as an older staff member peeked in, eyes widening upon spotting you two.

“what on earth are you two doing in here?”

you quickly stepped forward, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “so sorry, sir! we got lost trying to find the exit, and then the door jammed. thank you for helping us”

“yeah. where’s the way out?” jeno added, right behind you.

“just head left twice. you’ll see the exit sign.” the man shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he waved you off.

“thanks again!” you called, already pulling jeno with you. once outside, the cool night air hit your flushed skin, and you wrapped your arms around yourself with a shiver.

“if we’d followed my directions,” you said, glancing sideways at him, “we would’ve been out a while ago.”

jeno’s jacket appeared over your shoulders before you could argue further. “yeah,” he smirked, eyes glinting under the neon lights. “but then we wouldn’t’ve had all that fun, would we?”

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

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friskalicousbiscuits · 19 days ago

Text

Neglected The Mask!reader x platonic Yan!Batfam

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Epi

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Two

Waking up the next day, you felt like garbage. Garbagé if you will. You were face down in bed, faced pressed against your pillow. You closed your mouth to stop any drool from leaking and shifted around until you were on your back.

How did you get back to your room?

Your body felt achy, like you’d run a marathon you were soulfully unprepared for. Not only that but your eyes felt achy from staring at a large, torn piece of paper plastered to your ceiling. How in the world did that get there? It was of your dad. Someone took a sharpie and scribbled some rather crude drawings over him, forcing Bruce Wayne to looked like a big-chested pirate.

Who left that here?

You should probably take it down. If Bruce of Alfred ever came into your room that’d be awkward to explain.

Getting up was a task in itself. You were so tired, your eye bags probably had eye bags. You kicked off your sheets and trudged to the bathroom. When you looked in the mirror, you did indeed look like you pulled three all-nighters in a row. You did the usual brushing teeth, doing hair, just all around making yourself look presentable. As for clothes though…

You walked to the closet and opened it. You blinked and a bunch of money sprung out of it and piled all over the floor and over your legs. It had probably been hastily shoved in judging by how much burst when the closet door was opened.

You stood in silence for a few seconds before carefully grabbing the first shirt and pants you laid your eyes on and hurling them onto your bed before stepping out of the pile. Your shoe rack was covered in money and you didn’t want to make the venture to find it. You probably had a pair lying around though.

You proceeded to spend about five minutes shoving all the money back in.

All of the bills were Benjamin’s too!

Getting dressed, you looked at your rather… distasteful outfit (distasteful for a school like Gotham Prep anyways) and sighed. Blue pajama pants patterned with rubber ducks and a wife beater. Before you could work up the courage to open the closet again to find better clothes and have to shove the money back in, you grabbed the jacket draped over the back of your chair, pulled on some socks (you went and grabbed the duck-patterned ones too, even if they weren’t rubber ducks. Might as well be consistent) and slipped on the only shoes available that weren’t in the closet. Pink, fuzzy slippers.

While debating your life choices as you head to your door, you heard some scratching and whines from the other side of your door.

Ace!

You opened the door and swiftly picked up the German Shepard. It was a little comical that a dog that size was wagging its tail and hopping around slightly for “uppies” but whatever. Ace is your dog. Your baby. Heck, you literally built up muscle so you could keep carrying the dog. He’s your pride and joy.

You walked with him to the kitchen as he licked your cheek. He was barking every now and then and you nodded along. So far, you were pretty sure he was telling you about a squirrel he chased around the barn. “That’s great buddy.” You said as you put him down conveniently as Alfred was filling his, Titus’, and Alfred the Cat’s bowls. Titus, while being Damian’s dog, is also your dog (in spirit). You gave the Great Dane some pats too as you headed to the coffee machine. You made the pot, and after some careful consideration, took the entire thing with you, because like you said earlier, you’re tired.

You said bye to Ace, Alfred and Titus as you headed to the door. You picked your backpack out of the pile everyone threw their bags in near the door, slung it over your shoulder and were off.

School was a long walk and two buses. Sometimes, you considered taking the limo with the rest of the family, but then you’re reminded of how out of place you feel in their presence.

Like you don’t belong.

Like how you’re not supposed to be there despite having been there since a little after Dick first came.

But anyways, here you were at school! If you were ignored at home, it was a little better here! You had friends, were the student council’s treasurer, and all the other titles you held and so on.

You were in the walking period to second block that Tim suddenly jumped out of nowhere, wagging his finger in your face.

“[Name]!”

“Uh— yes?” You were extremely confused. You couldn’t think of a single time in the multiple years that you and Tim had gone to school together that he’d ever approached you, let alone looked your way, while at school. (You figured it was because he didn’t want to be seen with his older sibling at school. He was a Junior, you’re a Senior.)

“Where’s the coffee.” He paused for a moment. “Also, what are you wearing?” He looked you up and down. You supposed that was fair. Gotham Prep had a dress code, and you clearly weren’t adhering to it. You’d already taken the warning from Mrs Sharpay, the front desk lady. You were lucky it was only a warning too and that the lost and found had been recently emptied lest you wear someone’s dirty clothes. (She gave you a wink at that and slid you a Hershey Kiss as you went on your way.) You’d probably be showing the little pink slip she gave you to all the teachers, hall monitors, and janitors in the building so they wouldn’t write you up again.

“It’s trendy right now.” Was the only thing you could pull out of your behind.

“Do you actually believe tha— never mind. Coffee.” He made grabby hands for the pot in your hand. It was about a quarter full. You’d really overestimated how much coffee you could drink in one morning.

You hesitantly handed it to him, scared he might bite your arm off with the way his eyes looked downright feral. “It’s cold bu—” You were cut off by Tim, throwing his head back and chugging the entire thing. “Oh okay.”

You both stood in silence for a bit as Tim wiped his mouth and handed the pot back to you. He made grabby hands again. “Fifty bucks.”

“What?”

“Fifty bucks. I forgot my wallet at home because I was super tired and I want to get several cups, purely filled with espresso shots.” He said, stone-cold serious.

“Isn’t that extremely unhealthy for yo—” You were cut off again by your little brother.

“Fifty. Bucks.” He emphasized each word, keeping that serious expression.

You stared for about a minute before you sighed and walked to a trashcan, not to the throw the pot away but to simply put it down on top of it for a moment. You got out your wallet and fished out two twenties and a ten, leaving you with a sad little five, and handed it to him. “At least get a croissant with those cups of expresso shots. Maybe it’ll soak up all the expresso-ness and not give you a hard attack.” You spoke shoving your wallet back into your jacket pocket, feeling the folded note from Mrs Sharpay as your hand brushed against it. You picked the coffee pot back up.

“You seriously underestimate the capability of my heart.” Tim said, eyes not leaving the bills he counted before walking off. You watched him go, sending a silent prayer to whatever deity can hear you so they can make it so that Tim doesn’t end up as a news story.

You continued walking to second block.

Wow, that was like the sixth conversation you’ve had with Tim in the nearly five years of you both knowing each other.

It was during third block that you heard about that new rogue. It was science class and the teacher was playing a movie— Jurassic Park actually. A classic, honestly. You and your lab partner, Samantha, or Sammy as she let you and her other friends call her, were sharing a piece of paper riddled with tic-tac-toe columns. She’d used the same strategy three times in a row and you’d also lost to her three times in a row. As for the reasons of your embarrassing losses? The girls behind you were whispering a little too loud about said new rogue so you were distracted.

They talked of a green-faced freak with cartoon powers, dressed in a polka-dotted suit. Now if that doesn’t just sound ridiculous, you don’t know what is.

…then again, you were pretty sure you had a dream of being that rogue…

Eh. It was probably just a coincidence.

Then, they started talking about how the rogue set the Joker of all people on fire.

Huh. That was similar to your dream too.

Then about how they robbed a bank immediately after.

…okay, you remembered dreaming about that too. Was that where the money in your closet came from?

Nah, there’s no way. Duke or Steph or maybe even Damian probably just withdrew way too much money and thought your room was a storage room, and the closet, a storage closet. Thats it! Probably. Hopefully. Maybe. It’s not like that hadn’t happened before. One time, (this was after he’d nearly beaten you to death) Jason stumbled in super bloody and put a bunch on guns in your closet before leaving. That encounter had you hiding under your blankets like it was boogieman instead of him. You don’t even think he noticed you. (He’d later came by when you weren’t home and took all of them back except a pistol wedged at the back of your shoe rack weeks later. You still have that thing. It’s at the bottom of your bedside drawer, buried under miscellaneous items such as chapsticks and pens. It’s for just in case the man loses his mind again and tries to kill you once more. You won’t have a repeat of that night. No siree.)

He probably had a concussion. Either that or maybe he was delirious from blood loss.

But the point is! Whoever put the money there thought it was probably storage. Hopefully.

Though, as their conversation went on, and Sammy scored more wins, you heard about how the rogue ripped off a piece of a billboard with your father’s face on it. How they would spin around like Taz from Looney Tunes. How they gave several police officers wedgies. Overall, how they were an all around a chaotic, kinda horrifying individual.

And you remembered doing all of that.

The billboard thing was also likely the picture of Bruce stuck to your ceiling.

As soon as you got home you needed to burn that. No way José were you having a connection to the newest rogue in Gotham.

That is, if these girls weren’t (somehow) messing with you. (There’s like no way you accidentally sleepwalked to one of their houses and they FaceTimed it to one of their friends and now they’re just messing with you, right?) You quickly tossed Sammy the packet of peanut m&ms she won form all the rounds of tic-tac-toe and pulled out your phone to look up what they were talking about. It didn’t turn on. In fact…

You pulled off your phone case and screen protector. Some water droplets dribbled down onto the desk. It was still wet from last night.

You stared at it.

Oh right, you fell— or were pulled into the water because of a wave. You don’t ever remember charging it during the… dream, let’s just call it that for now, either. So, it was either dead from battery loss or fried from the radioactive Gotham water.

Darn it.

You shoved it back into your pocket and looked to Sam who’d just finished her m&ms. “Sammy, can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?” She asked suspiciously. Oh right, that thing was her baby.

“Cause I need to look something up and I think the school computers have the Gotham Gazette blocked.”

She squinted at you before putting her hand out. You slapped another little bag of peanut m&ms into her hand before she handed you her phone. You typed into the search bar, clicked the first link, waiting for the crappy signal to do its thing and load the page, and started reading.

That science class drilled into your head that last night was in fact not a dream at all.

The sun was starting to set as you made your usual speedy trek home. The earliest you got out of school was five. This is because of all the clubs you’d joined so you wouldn’t have to go home so early like said previously. The latest you could get out is six. The reason you couldn’t go any further was because the bus lines shut off at seven. You didn’t want to walk all the way home. You’d rather bus a chunk of the way and run the rest.

That’s how by 6:37. You get out of school by three by the way. So you’d shaved off three hours of time in family vicinity.

Now to trudge to your room to avoid the rest of them.

As you entered, you watched Ace pad over. You picked him up again, your head pressed into his chest fur as he licked your hair. You walked to your room, still carrying him.

“Hey, Dick.” Someone said as you passed by them.

Both you and Ace let out a confused noise but kept walking. You deposited Ace on your bed and threw your bag near your bed. You sat down, feeling the mattress give under your weight before you did a double-take at something you say on your nightstand.

It was a mask. Wooden, said wood was greenish in color. Where did this thing come from? Your hardest to remember when you’d gotten it, but nothing.

Unless…

That night in the water… the blob. That had been a mask. It’d stuck to your face and turned you into that rogue.

This can’t be that mask, right?

Right?

You’d picked it up and slowly brought it to your face. You sat there for a few moments until Ace let out a confused whine. You eventually let it rest in your lap again.

“Maybe it only works at night.” You murmured staring at the mask. It didn’t have that glowing you remembered from the night before. Neither purple nor green.

Nah. There’s no way. It was probably just a one time fluke and all the magic in the mask is drained now. Yup. Totally. You open the window near your bed and threw it out like a frisbee, making sure to grab Ace’s collar before he would lunge at it. With that settled, you turned around to open your book bag so you can finish your homewor—

Thunk

Something hit you in the back of the head. “Ow!” You exclaimed as you turned around. It was the mask again. It was laying innocently on your bed, its little wooden smile mocking you.

You repeated your throwing it out of the window three separate times, only for to smack you in the head three more times until you gave up and just placed it back on your bedside table.

You swear its grin got more mocking with each smack to the head. Ace just looked at you with as much confusion as a dog could muster.

You were later laying in bed when you decided to put the mask on for a second time. You’d been staring at the ceiling, at the place the picture of your father used to be. You were desperately trying to ignore the—

Put it on.

—being whispered into your ear. The ear that was closest to the mask. You wouldn’t. Why? Well because everyone thinks you’re a rogue, of course! And sure, while everything was so freeing and colorful and fun— you didn’t think you’d felt so much of that in one night— You also lit the Joker on fire, and while that itself isn’t bad, you really don’t wanna do that to someone else. What if you did that to a mother, a husband, a child?

“But— but it was just so… so freeing,” the voice whispered. “Can you even remember the last time you felt like that, [Nickname]?” It hissed as your eyes slid to it, drawn to it. “Come on. It’ll be just us! You and Masky, having endless fun and mischief.”

Your hand moved. You couldn’t stop it. You knew this was a bad idea. A horrible one even. But just the thought of feeling like that again…

Put it on.

Put it on!

The voice sounded like it was chanting at this point. You picked it up and held it above your face, you could already feel your skin, pulling itself forward to the mask. It was shimmering once more. It was almost hypnotizing.

When it stuck to your face again, you clawed and struggled just like you did last night and soon you were spinning and spinning and spinning.

Bruce Wayne - The Batman POV

Bruce landed on the next rooftop, taking cover behind a ventilation unit to look down below in the streets. This was the street. This was the street that the Riddler had planted bombs in. Yet, instead of Bruce being the first to engage with the man, it was instead the green-faced rogue from the night before.

The one he and his family had spent the entire night chasing after.

He’d gotten Oracle to stream the conversation to him using a camera they were close to.

“Well, this is new.” Nygma mused, rubbing his chin. “Are you the one who decided to test tempt fate, because I hate to say it, you don’t look like an intellectual.” He started leaning on his cane as he spoken his usual condescending tone.

Bruce took his time to examine the new rogue. They were wearing something different this time. A royal blue three piece with orange wavy lines for the pattern. The tie was orange. They were wearing a fedora this time too. It had a peacock feather attached.

The new rogue gasped at this. “I’ll have you know I am quite these esteemed scholar with over 800 years of experience, bub!” The green-faced flicked their wrist, and a cane slid out of their sleeve. Black with their head at the top of it their cane. They leaned on it in a similar way to the Riddler. Bruce blinked and they had glasses which they pushed up dramatically. “Try me!”

The Riddler rattled off a riddle—

Try saying that five times—

Which had the new rogue freeze. Their cane then suddenly broke, and they face planted before shooting back up. “Okay, I’ll admit, you lost me. Now where are those bombs?” They asked looking around, pulling large binoculars out to look around the buildings. Bruce was sure he was hidden enough.

“I suppose you’ll just have to find out.” The Riddler said smugly as he press the button on one of his watches. Soon after that, a timer, started to run on one of his other watches. Oracle reported that it was counting down from five minutes. The Riddler’s words seemed to make the new rogue sigh and toss their comically large binoculars to the side. They almost landed on Nygma, and would’ve if he hadn’t stepped out of the way.

“Indeed! Looks like this is a job that needs to be done manually!” The new rogue exclaimed as they started spinning and spinning until they were straight out of a cartoon spinning around bursting through building doors, and from what Oracle reports, spinning through each and every single individual room.

And if a room had a bomb in it? It grabbed it.

In every room it entered, windows shattered, furniture was thrown about and floors were ripped through. In fact, when it first started spinning in the street, it tore through the concrete with the road. It went through every single building in that street until it came back with five bombs, all deposited in front of the Riddler.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking. They can’t possibly eat it, right?” The green-faced rogue said with a grin as they tied a bib around their neck and pulled some utensils from somewhere. Contrary to its words, Bruce, the Riddler, Oracle, and everyone who watched this recording later for review, watched as it scarfed down each of the bombs, unhinging it’s a jaw to shove each of them in. When it finished with the last one, Edward’s timer ran out and they all seemed to explode. Its stomach inflated for a moment before deflating as the rogue let out a large burp.

“Smokey.” It drew the word out as it then started laughing and spun off to somewhere else.

Just as it left, both Robin and Red Robin arrived. Bruce directed Tim to arresting the Riddler while Damian was ordered to come along with him so they could chase after the creature. Imp maybe? Its powers sort of aligned with an imp. Less theorizing more catching up to it.

When Bruce got to the scene…

…Of course it was forcing an entire street of people to tap dance with it… Because why not?

And when he tried to apprehend it? Well, he got his cape wrapped around him and tied into a little bow before being pushed over to fall on ground. Robin got the same treatment, but instead of a light push, he got more of a shove.

And of course Jason was the one who found them like that.

The next morning, you were crabby to say the least. You were also watching cartoons too before you had to leave for school. It was around five in the morning right now, and as for why you were up and dressed (in your actual uniform this time. Were those five minutes shoving the money back into the closet really worth it?) so early? Well, after you came back from being a rogue, you collapsed in bed at around two in the morning. From there, you got about an hour of sleep. Then, at like 3:30, you woke up and stared at your ceiling for another hour and a half before finally getting ready.

Ace was across your lap, getting dog fur on your clothes, but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were petting him until someone slid onto the couch next to you.

Are you joking right now? Damian? Are you fu— freaking serious?

The kid went all but a couple seconds before making his demand. “Put on Animal Planet.” He spoke in his usual stoic tone. This really should not have been so irritating (you were honestly surprised you even got irritated at him in the first place) but… then again it is five in the morning.

“Damian, I don’t want to.” You tried your best to sound polite. Can’t have your younger brother pull another katana out of his behind and try to slice your throat open again, now can you?

“I said put on animal planet.” He was glaring now.

“Damian.” Your tone almost sounded saccharine as you tried to stay cordial. “For fuck’s sake, I said no.” It was really hard to say that while still forcing a polite smile.

Also, wait. Shit. You just cursed at him.

You silently prayed he wouldn’t come at you with a katana fresh out of the shower later today. Surprisingly though, he actually went quiet.

Eventually, the silence got to you. To keep yourself from squirming like an idiot, you instead turned to him and spoke, “I’m sorry, Damian. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. I’m just tired, okay? How about we watch animal planet after this episode?”

He continued staying quiet for the rest of your time at the couch. Even after you switched it to Animal Planet.

Damian Wayne - Robin POV

A thought blared through the boy’s mind, “[Name] actually grew a backbone!”

Bonus Lore About the Story:

1.) Mrs Sharpay/the desk lady gave you that Hershey Kiss because she thinks you’re a cutie. Whether you’re a boy or girl or neither, she thinks you’re a cutie. 2.) The conversation between Duke, Steph, and Tim after he demanded the buckeroones, resulted in Steph calling him a lecherous little monster. 3.) Jason is pretty sure that either you or Alfred has the gun he forgot. He came back to your room for a third time to see if he could find it and it was still missing. He hopes that it’s you who has it because he himself doesn’t ever want a repeat of that night either. 4.) The person who thought you were Dick was an extremely tired Bruce. He has multiple memories of Dick carrying Ace like that when the dog was smaller so he thought it was Dick. You also take a bit to recognize his voice due to the fact you’ve held maybe two steady conversations with him.

Taglist: @yourtypicalhuman09 @cupid73 @yhin-gg @galaxypurplerose @xxgrimripp3rxx @hai-there-how-are-you @suckmyballzfr @yarn-mony @patatasolitaria

#yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #neglected reader #x reader

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cyofii · 3 months ago

Text

⩩﹕IN WHICH Phainon, always the playful troublemaker, decides to help his friend Mydei get closer to you. With the new library opening next to your favorite café, Mydei, the kind and mysterious owner, has been secretly watching you but has never had the courage to talk to you. Now, with a little help from Phainon, the chance is finally here. As you share shy glances and small talk, the two of you slowly begin to understand each other. Meanwhile, Phainon watches happily, believing his plan will work… eventually.

wc: 3.6k 𐔌 ᯓ modern/college au, slow burn, friends to lovers, mydei being secretly smitten, mutual pinning if you squint, might be ooc!

“I heard there’s a new library that just opened right beside the café we always go to,” Castorice said, glancing up from her book with a hint of excitement in her voice. It looked like she had been jotting down ideas for a new chapter again—her pen still hovering above the page. You looked up from your phone, eyebrows raised in confusion as you tried to recall if you’d seen any signs of construction the last time you were there.

“Really? Are you thinking of going there to look for inspiration?” you asked, slowly lowering your phone on the table as curiosity began to spark in your voice. Castorice nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face, the kind that made her eyes light up. “I thought it might be nice,” she said, “A change of scenery could help me get through this chapter.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked with a warm smile, your voice gentle as you leaned slightly forward, genuinely interested. “We could check out the library first, and then head to the café to hang out like we usually do.”

Castorice looked at you, her smile growing a little wider, touched by the offer. “I’d really like that,” she replied softly, her fingers pausing on the edge of her notebook. “It’s easier for me to write when you’re around… I feel less stuck.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, as if silently thanking you for always being there.

“No problem!” you said with a cheerful grin, flashing a smile in her direction. As you and Castorice continued chatting, the soft hum of the cafeteria around you blending into the background, a familiar figure with white hair approached, looking mildly frazzled and out of breath.

“There you guys are!” Phainon exclaimed, sliding into the seat beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Professor Anaxa just won’t let me go until I finish that one-thousand-word essay about Dromas,” he groaned, slumping forward onto the table as if the weight of academic suffering had finally crushed him. “I swear he has it out for me.”

“Well, you did turn in a blank essay before,” you said with a teasing smile, unable to hold back a laugh. “So honestly? This one’s totally on you.”

Castorice let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, clearly amused by the memory. Meanwhile, Phainon only sighed louder, dramatically resting his forehead on the table.

“I was having a creative block, okay?” he mumbled, voice muffled against the surface. “Totally different situation.”

“Whatever you say…” you said with a playful smile, shaking your head slightly. Then a thought struck you. “Oh, by the way—are you free after class? Cas and I were planning to check out the new library next to the café we always go to.”

Phainon lifted his head, blinking a few times before meeting your gaze. “Library and café?” he echoed, then gave a quick nod. “Sure! Sounds better than sulking in the dorms over that essay, anyway.”

The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden patches of light across your desk. Professor Anaxa was deep into his lecture about ancient civilizations, his voice steady as he paced across the front of the room. You were half-listening, somewhere between jotting down notes and sneaking glances at your two friends.

Castorice sat a few seats ahead, scribbling diligently in her notebook, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. It was clear she was trying her best to stay focused, though the way her gaze occasionally drifted to the window hinted that her thoughts were already wandering toward the library plans.

Beside you, Phainon looked like a tired golden retriever stuck in a history class. His head rested on his hand, eyelids drooping every few minutes, and every now and then, he’d scribble something that probably wasn’t related to the lecture, just enough to make it look like he was keeping up.

You nudged him with your elbow. He flinched upright slightly, blinking at you with a betrayed, sleepy expression.

“I was listening,” he whispered, clearly bluffing.

“Sure you were,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh.

Up front, Professor Anaxa paused mid-sentence and turned around. “Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the class?” he asked, arching a brow.

You and Phainon straightened in sync, both shaking your heads quickly like well-behaved students. Castorice glanced over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile, barely hiding her amusement.

As soon as the professor turned back to the board, Phainon leaned toward you again and muttered, “Okay, maybe I do deserve that one-thousand-word essay…”

The moment Professor Anaxa dismissed the class with a sharp tap of his pen against the desk, the three of you practically leapt out of your seats. Phainon let out a dramatic groan as he stretched, slinging his bag over his shoulder like he’d just escaped a life sentence.

“Freedom never tasted so good,” he sighed, trailing after you and Castorice as you all made your way down the hallway.

Castorice chuckled softly, hugging her notebook close to her chest. “You act like you just finished a twelve-hour shift at a coal mine.”

“I might as well have,” Phainon replied, feigning exhaustion. “My brain has withered. My soul aged ten years.”

You smiled. “Good thing we’re going somewhere peaceful. Who knows, maybe the library will help restore your ‘withered’ brain.”

The three of you stepped out into the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was quiet, lined with swaying trees and the occasional rustle of passing students. Just a short walk from the campus gates, the familiar café came into view—its windows glowing softly, the scent of brewed coffee drifting through the air. But today, your eyes were drawn to the sleek building next to it: tall glass windows, elegant wood paneling, and a freshly painted sign that read Kremnoan Public Library.

“There it is,” Castorice said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to it. “It looks so calm.”

“And bookish,” Phainon added. “Like a place where the air itself smells like old pages and productivity.”

You laughed. “Let’s check it out.”

The doors opened with a soft chime, and the scent of new books and polished wood wrapped around you like a gentle hug. Shelves stretched high and far, with sunlight pouring in from the skylights above. It was quiet, but not cold—welcoming, like it had been waiting for people just like you.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” Castorice murmured, already drifting toward a corner desk near the window.

Phainon blinked up at the ceiling. “I might actually feel inspired to write that essay…”

You raised a brow. “That’s a big maybe.”

He grinned. “I said might.”

Ignoring Phainon's words, the three of you quietly went your separate ways inside the library.

The space was bigger than it looked from the outside, with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. You wandered through the aisles, your eyes drifting over titles that sparked your curiosity, history books, fantasy epics, and scientific journals. Despite all the options, you somehow ended up in the light novel section, the one place you often found comfort after a long day.

You slowly scanned the shelves, your fingers brushing across worn covers and fresh ones alike. A few familiar titles stood out, but one in particular caught your attention. It was a book Castorice had recommended to you before. The cover looked exactly like how she described it, and just the sight of it brought a small smile to your face.

You reached out for it without hesitation, eager to finally give it a try. Just as your fingers touched the book, another hand reached out at the same time.

Your hands brushed against each other.

Startled, you looked up just as the other person did too.

A man stood across from you, tall and composed, with an unfamiliar but calm presence. His eyes met yours for a moment, sharp, golden, and strangely warm. He didn’t speak right away, and neither did you.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but still enough to make you realize your hand was still lightly touching his.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and smooth, almost too gentle for someone his size. He glanced at the book between your hands. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

You quickly pulled your hand back, heart skipping a beat. “Ah—sorry! Did you want it?”

He shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile. “No, you go ahead. I’ve already read it. It’s a good one.”

He reached up to return another book to the shelf beside you. The cuff of his black dress shirt shifted slightly as he moved, his gestures neat and practiced. Before you could think of anything else to say, he gave you a short nod and stepped away, heading toward another section with quiet, steady footsteps.

You stood frozen, gripping the book.

“He’s… handsome,” you muttered, a bit too loudly.

A soft snort came from behind.

You turned to see Castorice standing there, eyebrows raised and clearly holding back a grin. “That obvious?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

She laughed quietly, linking her arm with yours. “Come on, lovebird. Let’s find a seat.”

The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual midday chaos—clattering trays, low chatter, and the hum of students trying to relax between classes. You and Castorice sat across from each other, your half-eaten lunch long forgotten as the conversation circled back to the one thing that had been stuck in your mind since yesterday.

“I still can’t believe you said that out loud,” Castorice teased, sipping her iced tea with a knowing smile. “You should’ve seen your face.”

You groaned softly, hiding behind your hands. “I was caught off guard, okay? He was just… he had this calm aura. And his voice. And the way he just—ugh. Why are mysterious guys always so cool?”

“He was polite too,” Castorice nodded thoughtfully. “Didn’t even look annoyed when your hand touched his.”

You glanced to the side, then back at her. “I wonder who he is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around before.”

Just then, Phainon plopped down beside you, placing a few snack packs on the table. “You two are talking about Mydei, huh?”

You blinked. “Wait. You know his name?”

Phainon raised an eyebrow like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. We’re in the same Ethics class.”

Castorice nearly dropped her drink. “You know him?!”

“Sure do,” he said with a casual shrug, already tearing open a bag of chips. “Smart guy. Doesn’t talk much. Kinda intense. Has this weirdly perfect handwriting.”

You stared at him. “And you just… didn’t say anything yesterday?”

Phainon stuffed a chip into his mouth. “No one asked.”

You and Castorice exchanged a look of disbelief.

“He’s a student?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Phainon nodded. “Same year, too. He just keeps to himself most of the time. Spends a lot of time in the library ever since it opened. Pretty sure he works there too or something. Might even live nearby.”

You blinked slowly, the realization settling in. “That explains a lot.”

Phainon smirked. “What, you gonna go back to the library and confess now?”

Your hand immediately went to your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Castorice chuckled. “Be honest, if we run into him again, you’re totally going to freeze, aren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know,” you said, trying to sound dignified, “that I am perfectly capable of functioning like a normal person around handsome, mysterious guys.”

Both of them stared at you.

“…Sometimes,” you added.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself back at the Kremnoan Library, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You hadn’t borrowed anything yesterday. There was no real reason to come back. But here you were, wandering past the front desk with Castorice beside you, trying to look casual while your eyes flicked over every aisle.

Castorice leaned in slightly. “So… are we pretending this is just another visit, or are we being honest about it?”

You gave her a pointed look. “It’s a library. I’m allowed to show up and browse.”

She grinned. “Sure. Totally not hoping to accidentally run into someone.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to turn into the same section as before—the shelves filled with light novels and some fantasy titles. You pretended to scan the books, fingers lightly brushing along the covers, heart quietly thudding in your chest for no reason you could admit aloud.

Then you heard it.

“You’re back.”

You turned, and there he was again.

Mydei stood a few feet away, holding a couple of books in one hand, a calm expression on his face. His gaze met yours easily, as if you were someone he fully expected to see again.

“Looking for something specific?” he asked, voice as smooth as yesterday, but a touch more curious.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Just browsing again.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the shelf you were near. “There’s a new arrival two rows over. Same author as the one you were interested in yesterday.”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It was a good choice.”

You barely registered Castorice pretending not to hover behind you.

“Well, thank you,” you said, trying not to smile too hard. “I might check it out.”

He gave you a soft look, not quite a smile, but something that lingered in his eyes, before turning and walking past. His footsteps were quiet on the wooden floor.

Castorice waited two full seconds before whispering, “Okay. He remembered what book you were looking at, and you still think it was just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you said, trying to steady your breath.

From the next aisle, Phainon suddenly popped his head around the corner, holding a random book and grinning like he knew everything.

“Are we still pretending this is a casual visit, or are we admitting it now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How long have you been there?”

Phainon shrugged. “Long enough.”

He tossed the book into the crook of his arm and added, “Oh, by the way, Mydei and I have a class later. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “You are unbelievable.”

“But you didn’t say not to,” Phainon said innocently, strolling off like this was all a normal day.

Castorice was already laughing beside you. “We should’ve known he’d show up.”

“Mydeimos!” Phainon called out, walking toward Mydei, who was just about to exit the classroom.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with indifference.

Phainon dramatically placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by the cold reception. “When you’re talking to them, you get all soft and gentle, but when it comes to me, it’s all cold and distant!” He pretended to sniff, his eyes wide with playful sadness. “Why do you hate me, Mydeimos?”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t get all nice and soft for you like I do for others,” he said, his tone playful.

Phainon let out a playful sigh, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I see how it is. I’ll remember this betrayal.”

“You’re impossible,” Mydei muttered, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Still, though, you pulled it off!” Phainon beamed, clearly proud of himself. He hadn’t expected his little plan to actually work.

A few days before you and Mydei spoke for the first time, Mydei had already been admiring you from afar. Ever since Phainon befriended you on the very first day, he’d noticed the way Mydei’s gaze lingered a bit too long whenever you were around. It was a shame, really. Mydei didn’t even share a single class with you.

But Phainon had noticed. Whether it was in the corner of the cafeteria, walking down the hallway, or lingering near the courtyard, Mydei always seemed to be nearby whenever you and Castorice were hanging out. That’s when Phainon decided to do something about it.

He cornered Mydei one day after their ethics class.

“You like them, don’t you?” Phainon had said with a raised eyebrow.

As expected, Mydei did not give him a clear answer. He either dodged the question completely or brushed it off like it meant nothing. But Phainon did not give up. He remembered Mydei mentioning that he was the owner of the new library being built beside the café that the three of you often visited.

That’s when the plan formed.

The moment the Kremnoan Library opened, Phainon made it his mission to drag you there. He figured that if Mydei wouldn’t make a move, he’d give him the perfect opportunity: a quiet space, the two of you alone, no interruptions. Just enough to spark something... or at least get Mydei to finally speak to you.

And now, seeing how things were playing out, Phainon couldn’t help but feel smug.

“You know… I heard something new was added to the menu at the café next to your library,” Phainon said, wiggling his eyebrows at Mydei.

Mydei didn’t even hesitate, he lightly punched Phainon on the arm.

“What are you planning now exactly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Phainon grinned. “You ask them to go on a date with you! I’ll make sure Castorice and I are conveniently busy so we don’t interrupt.”

He leaned back against the wall with a smug expression, clearly enjoying himself as he imagined how everything might play out. "C'mon, you've got the perfect setting. Just say the word, and I'll handle the rest."

It was a quiet Saturday morning when you found yourself once again wandering into the Kremnoan Library. With no classes and the weather calm and cool, it felt like the perfect day to catch up on some reading.

You were flipping through a book near the back shelves when you heard someone approach. The footsteps were light but familiar, and when you turned your head, you found Mydei standing there.

He looked a bit more casual than usual, wearing the same black dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and for a brief moment, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Do you have any plans today?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not really. Just came here to read.”

“Perfect,” he said, a little too quickly, before clearing his throat. “I was thinking... maybe we could go to the café next door. Together.”

You blinked in surprise. “You mean... right now?”

He nodded. “If you’re free. I thought... maybe I could buy you something.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that formed. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mydei?”

He didn’t answer right away, but a small, almost shy smirk appeared on his lips. “Only if you say yes.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a warmth rise in your chest. “Then yes.”

Mydei’s smirk grew just a little, and without another word, he motioned for you to walk with him. You both exited the library together, stepping into the gentle morning breeze. The café was just a short walk away, and for a while, the two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward at all.

You leaned back a little in your chair, sipping your juice as you watched Mydei quietly fiddle with the handle of his coffee cup. It was rare to see him look unsure of himself. Usually, he carried a calm, unreadable air, but right now, he looked like he was searching for words.

"Mydei?" you asked gently, setting your drink down. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. "No. It’s just..." He paused, frowning at his coffee as if it would help him gather his thoughts.

You waited patiently, a small smile playing on your lips.

"I’m not good with... saying things," he finally muttered. "But... I think you’re... nice. And... I like being around you."

His voice was quiet, but honest, almost vulnerable.

You blinked, your heart fluttering at his words. A warm feeling bubbled up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh.

"That's the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day," you said warmly.

Mydei coughed awkwardly, his hand running through his messy hair as he looked away, his ears slightly tinted red. "I just thought you should know," he added, his voice almost a grumble.

You smiled brightly and leaned forward just a little. "Well, I like being around you, too."

He glanced back at you, and for a moment, the faintest smile touched his lips, gentle and unguarded.

The sun outside glowed a little brighter through the window, but somehow, nothing felt warmer than the look Mydei was giving you right now.

Unbeknownst to you and Mydei, two very familiar figures had quietly slipped into the café. Hiding behind a menu near the entrance, Phainon and Castorice peered over the top, barely containing their giggles.

"Would you look at that," Phainon whispered, a mischievous grin on his face. "Our dear Mydei actually pulled it off."

Castorice nodded, smiling fondly. "They look good together," she said softly.

"Should we say hi?" Phainon asked, already halfway standing up.

Castorice grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down. "No way. Let them have their moment."

Phainon pouted, but stayed put, sneaking another peek at you and Mydei. The two of you were leaning closer now, smiling and talking like no one else in the world existed. It was honestly too sweet to interrupt.

With a defeated sigh, Phainon slumped in his seat. "Fine, fine. But I’m teasing both of them later."

Castorice chuckled. "Only if you want Mydei to strangle you."

Phainon snickered. "Worth it."

With that, the two of them exited the café, sneaking off down the sidewalk like mischievous partners-in-crime, already planning how they would tease you both the next time you met.

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