#because she clearly wasn’t raised that way
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♡ not only is rafe cameron your mortal enemy, but he’s also, unknowingly, your nsfw tumblr mutual??
warnings: mean!rafe, enemies to ???, sexting, dirty talk, sending and receiving of nudes, mentions of death, very light angst, mentions of social status, insults used as flirting loll, small time skip
a/n: this is sorta canon, only in the sense that ward is dead and rose is off somewhere with wheezie. i might just make this a mini series, let me know what you think <3
wc: 1.8k
rafe hated you.
maybe not all of you, because in his eyes, along with everyone else’s.. you were hot as shit. there was no denying that. your bitchy attitude not only amused rafe more than half the time, but it turned him on too. he’d watch you from a distance as you cleared the couch for you and your friends to sit on with a single glance, everyone making way for you like you were some kind of princess. which you clearly were, he just couldn’t understand why.
why did you turn him on so much? his best bet was because while everyone bent to his will, he knew that you’d never even spare him the time of day, and if you did it was because he had to work for every single ounce of your attention. no one else on this island would ever make him do that, no one on this island wouldn’t dare challenge him, but you? he’d take your bossiness and catty remarks any day.
the real question is; why did he hate you at the same time?
for starters; you had your family. your picture perfect mommy and daddy were plastered on every single newspaper in both the island and the mainland, the two of them getting praised for their line of successful businesses and work ambition. you were the only child, which was something rafe fantasized about being when his dad was still here. it irritated him that you had all of the attention and recognition that he never had. he felt even worse about it because unlike him, you didn’t even have to do anything in order to get praise and appreciation from your parents. you just got it for simply existing.
rafe on the other hand was nothing but a disappointment to ward when he went above and beyond just to get nothing, not even a single ‘i’m proud of you, son.’ before his dad up and died. rafe was already fueled by rage, but now? now that he had an entire island looking at down on him everywhere he went with false pity? he was out for blood. getting in meaningless fights, purposely doing stupid things that he knew he’d get hurt doing just to feel something.
he grew reckless and raised hell in every establishment and party he attended, figuring there was no use in keeping the family name squeaky clean with a good reputation when he technically didn’t have any family anymore. rose took wheezie and dipped as soon as rafe got tanneyhill and his hefty inheritance, and sarah decided to leave the island altogether and live her own life in god knows where.
everyone left him.
rafe was simply just a bystander now, an observer, and you had it all. the popularity, the socialite status, the family, the friends, the list could go on. it wasn’t long before he had to find some kind of outlet; something where he could express things and share thoughts to an audience that didn’t know him.. little did he know, you had also seeked out the same thing.
your distaste for rafe came about once you heard he was going around the island calling you a ‘spoiled little brat’ and a ‘prissy bitch’ whenever your name came up in conversations. obviously, what he said was true, but who was he to speak about you? he didn’t even know you. “call me a bitch to my face next time, ‘cameron. i hate pussies.” you had went up to him in the midst of him having a conversation with topper, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the way your hips swayed when you walked away, your mini dress paired with those heels of yours had him tonguing the inside of his cheek.
“did she just bitch you out, bro?” topper looked genuinely shocked as rafe laughed. “nah, she’s flirting.” from then on, you two would shamelessly stare at each other from across the room, keeping your eyes locked on one another even while you had people at your side who were more than interested in taking you home. rafe would pass by, muttering an insult just loud enough for you to hear and you’d laugh, dismissing him as if he was nothing but a fly on the wall.
you’d be lying if you said the so called ‘princess’ treatment didn’t get old after a while. rafe was the only person who seemingly didn’t care about your feelings. and you liked it. naturally, you craved something different, something that no one out here in the real world had the guts to do— degrade you and make you feel small. like you were nothing. turning to the only thing you could in order to keep your anonymity, you made a tumblr blog, easily racking up followers by posting your deepest and darkest desires and fantasies.
not even your best friends knew this side of you. you could be as depraved as you wanted to be on the app, and even if the whole point in you making your blog was to be anonymous, you still posted your own photos on there. of course your face wouldn’t be showing in any of them, but reading the comments as they flooded in filled the void you didn’t realize was there to begin with. a particular user, however, always left comments on your posts that had your thighs rubbing together.
it wasn’t long before you decided to check out his account, deciding to follow him back once you read through some of his posts. truthfully, you were the only girl he followed on the platform, he couldn’t help but feel like a lot of other accounts were ran by robots. you actually interacted with people on your blog, you had a personality. when he got the notification that you followed him back, he wasted no time in sending you a message.
[10:01 PM] countryclub: wsp
[10:15 PM] brattydiaries: ew.
[10:16 PM] countryclub: ???
[10:16 PM] countryclub: i just want to talk to you.
[10:25 PM] brattydiaries: yeah i can see that lol
[10:26 PM] brattydiaries: ‘wsp’ is so icky though. it kinda gives me high schooler vibes
‘high schooler vibes’ rafe snorted when he read your reply, internally cringing as he read back his previous message. you had a point.
[10:28 PM] countryclub: can i start over?
[10:30 PM] brattydiaries: can you?
[10:31 PM] countryclub: may i?
you smiled when he corrected himself.
[10:33 PM] brattydiaries: ugh i guess..
[10:38 PM] countryclub: 1 attachment
[10:38 PM] countryclub: hey i cum to your pictures all the time. here’s a picture of my cock and the mess you made me make.
usually you’d immediately block when an unsolicited dick pic found its way to your dm’s, but this one was unlike any others you’ve received.
your jaw was on the floor.
this wasn’t the ordinary ‘no-effort’ kind of picture. he wasn’t obnoxiously holding his length as if he was presenting it to you, instead he had his fist wrapped around the base, his aching tip standing on its own as his cum adorned his abs. his skin was also glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your chest blooming with pride as you realized just how much your blog riled him up. he was very well groomed, the underside of his cock slick with the aftermath of your most recent photos.
this was just different. you felt your bitchy resolve crumbling down with every second you stared at the details, the sight of the veins in his arms and hands had you pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, your brain going blank as you tried to come up with a response.
[10:50 PM] countryclub: you done being a bitch and acting like i’m not good enough to talk to you? or do i have to send you more pictures of what you do to me?
yeah. you were totally fucked.
from that point forward, you two sexted day and night, your phone basically living in your hands as you went about your everyday life. soon, all of your posts became about him, both you and rafe seemingly dancing circles around each other. while you two lived for pissing each other off and did everything to be a nuisance to one another in real life, you were actually, literally getting each other off behind the screen.
you were surprising him with photos throughout the day, his dirty talk making you fall asleep with a sticky mess between your thighs. it was only a matter of time before he started wanting to hear your voice, even going as far as asking for your number so you could call and actually talk to one another. of course, you were hesitant, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish to hear those filthy things he says in your messages in your ears instead.
so you agreed. you gave him your number and waited for him to call.. and nothing. for the first time in your life, you waited for a phone call from a man, and he never delivered. your ego was in shambles. even after you came up with excuses as to why he didn’t call, none of them made sense. the next day you woke up to no new messages, your heart clenching in your chest when you went to his profile and saw that he deleted all of his posts.
what the fuck?
deciding to stay off of the app for the time being, you hated how a few months of sexting made you think about him every chance you got.
you didn’t even know his name for crying out loud!
if your friends noticed something off about your attitude, they didn’t point it out. even rafe was more irritable, both of you getting in full on arguments if you two spent too much time together in a social setting. your comebacks would have him on the verge of dragging you out of the room by your hair, wishing so bad that he could just put you in your place. it wasn’t until you got home from another one of topper’s parties that your phone lit up with a message.
from him.
[1:00 AM] countryclub: hey
you scoffed. ‘hey’ that was all that he could say? after all of the time that passed, he could only spare you one fucking word? you were about to block him before you got another notification.
[1:07 AM] countryclub: i’m really sorry for ghosting you, alright? i just freaked out.
[1:09 AM] brattydiaries: you sent me a picture of your dick when we first messaged each other and you’re barely freaking out now? don’t you think we’re far past that point already?
[1:12 AM] countryclub: we definitely are, it’s just when you sent me your number, my heart dropped to my ass.
[1:12 AM] brattydiaries: you asked for it and i gave it to you. i’m confused rn.
[1:14 AM] countryclub: no it isn’t that
[1:15 AM] brattydiaries: then what the fuck is it?
[1:19 AM] countryclub: we have the same area code.
#❤︎₊ ⊹ works#₊˚⊹♡ rafe#₊˚⊹♡ mean!rafe#₊˚⊹♡ bitchy!kook!reader#outer banks#outer banks smut#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks imagine#rafe outer banks#obx#rafe obx#obx smut#obx imagine#obx fanfiction#obx x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron imagine#rafe fluff#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#drew starkey
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chapter summary: You own a small bakery in Westchester. One day, Logan comes in for an order for the X-Mansion. After that he becomes a regular—something he persistently denies.
word count: 9.5k+
pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
notes: i'm a sucker for baker!reader and logan. though this version of reader is a little bit more extroverted and less 'innocent' than the other baker!reader's i've seen. anyways, this is my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt and @lubdubology's valentine's writing challenge!
i'm not a valentine's girly, maybe because i just find it to be a commercial holiday with no meaning (or maybe because i'm 20 and my only valentine has been my dogs) but i hate chocolate and the holiday so...
warnings/tags: baker!reader, fluff, wrote this with x2 logan in mind, but you can imagine any logan, not proofread
Anytime the X-Mansion had a special occasion, they got baked goods from your bakery—a small shop in Westchester.
The first time Logan met you was by accident, or rather an order given to him by Jean. “It’s Rogue’s birthday. You don’t want her to miss out on havin’ a cake, do ya?”
Logan grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He wasn’t in the mood for errands, but Jean had a way of making things sound like a guilt trip, and he wasn’t about to deal with that all day. So, here he was, pushing open the door to some small bakery he’d never been to before. The smell of sugar and vanilla hit him immediately, warm and inviting, but he didn’t care about that—he just wanted to get the cake and get out.
The place wasn’t busy, just a couple of customers sitting at tables, sipping coffee. He stepped up to the counter, glancing at the display case full of pastries, then tapped the little bell once. A moment later, you stepped out from the back, wiping your hands on your apron.
“Hey, sorry about that—oh.” Your eyes flicked up, and you did a quick once-over, taking in the broad-shouldered, grumpy-looking man standing at your counter. “You’re definitely not Jean.”
“Yeah, no kiddin’.” Logan exhaled, already regretting this. “She sent me to pick up a cake for Rogue.”
“Right. The X-Mansion order.” You nodded, disappearing into the back. “Give me a sec.”
Logan drummed his fingers against the counter, glancing around. The place was small but homey, shelves lined with small bags of cookies, muffins, and whatever else people liked to buy on impulse. It smelled good—annoyingly good.
You came back out a few moments later, balancing a cake box in your hands. “Here it is. Vanilla with chocolate frosting, right?”
“Beats me. Jean just said ‘get the damn cake.’”
You huffed a short laugh, setting it down and ringing it up. “Well, let’s hope she ordered what Rogue actually likes.” You gave him a once-over again, tilting your head slightly. “You new around here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
Logan pulled out his wallet, shaking his head. “Been stayin’ at the mansion a while now. Just don’t do bakery runs.”
“Shame. You seem like the type to appreciate a good cinnamon roll.”
He gave you a flat look. “Dunno what that means.”
“It means you’re a grumpy bastard, and grumpy bastards usually like cinnamon rolls.” You smirked, sliding the cake box toward him. “I have a self-proclaimed ability to guess what people like. You’re either cinnamon roll or an apple pie.”
Logan huffed, eyeing you like he couldn’t decide if you were messing with him or just plain strange. “That so?”
“Mm-hmm.” You leaned on the counter, clearly entertained by his skepticism. “And my guesses are usually spot-on.”
Logan crossed his arms. “What if I don’t like either?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re just lying to yourself.”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This what you do? Size people up based on pastries?”
“Works better than you’d think.” You tapped the counter lightly. “So, which one is it? Cinnamon roll or apple pie?”
Logan gave you a flat look, then sighed. “Pie.”
You grinned like you’d just won a bet. “Knew it.”
“Tch. Lucky guess.” He grabbed the cake box and turned toward the door, already done with this conversation.
“Uh-huh, sure.” You leaned on the counter, watching him. “Come back when you’re not on a mission, and I’ll prove it.”
He paused, just for a second, then shook his head and walked out. The bell over the door chimed behind him.
“See you later, sugar,” you called after him.
He didn’t look back, but you swore you saw the faintest twitch of amusement before the door swung shut.
---
It had been a few months since the last time Logan had been over to your bakery. Then Scott and Ororo cornered him, telling him that “it was the least he could do for Jubilee.”
“I’m not goin’ to the damn bakery again.” Logan said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Scott sighed, unimpressed. “Logan, come on. It’s just a cake.”
“You say that like it’s a quick in-and-out job,” Logan grumbled. “Last time I went, I got roped into some damn conversation about cinnamon rolls.”
Ororo raised an eyebrow. “And that was… a problem?”
“Yes.”
Scott and Ororo exchanged a look.
“Look, Jean’s busy, and we’re in the middle of planning the party,” Scott said, folding his arms. “All you have to do is pick up the order. That’s it. No small talk, no distractions.”
Logan exhaled sharply. “Fine.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Scott smirked.
Logan ignored him, grabbed his jacket, and headed out.
---
The bakery smelled just as annoyingly good as last time. Logan stepped inside, tapping the bell on the counter once, hoping you wouldn’t be as chatty this time.
You appeared from the back, wiping your hands on your apron before looking up. The second you saw him, a slow grin spread across your face.
“Well, well. Thought I scared you off for good.”
Logan sighed. “M’just here for the cake.”
“Uh-huh.” You grabbed the order slip from the counter. “Jubilee’s birthday, right?”
He gave a short nod.
You disappeared into the back, and Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. The place wasn’t too busy, just a few customers sitting at the tables, chatting over coffee. It was cozy, warm, the kind of place people probably lingered in for hours. Not his thing.
You came back a moment later with a cake box, setting it down in front of him. “Vanilla with strawberry filling. I think she mentioned something about pink being mandatory.”
Logan pulled out his wallet. “You keep track of all your customers’ favorite cakes?”
You shrugged, ringing him up. “Just the regulars.”
He scoffed. “I ain’t a regular.”
“Not yet.” You smirked, handing him his change. “Though, I gotta admit, I’m a little disappointed.”
Logan frowned. “What now?”
“You never came back for me to prove I was right about the pie.”
He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t see a reason to.”
“Oh, there was a reason.” You leaned on the counter, tilting your head slightly. “You just didn’t wanna admit I was right. Which is why you can’t get the cake until you try a slice of pie.”
Logan narrowed his eyes. “You serious?”
“As a heart attack.” You crossed your arms, matching his stare with a smirk. “One bite. That’s all I’m asking.”
Logan exhaled sharply, glancing at the cake box like it might disappear if he didn’t grab it fast enough. “I don’t got time for this.”
“Oh, but you do.” You were already turning, heading for the back. “Sit tight.”
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, but he stayed put.
A minute later, you came back with a small plate, a fork, and a slice of apple pie. You set it down in front of him like you were presenting something sacred. “Here. Try it.”
Logan glanced around, already regretting this. A couple of customers had noticed, though no one was paying too much attention. Still, he felt like he was being set up. “This ain’t poisoned, is it?”
You snorted. “Please. If I wanted to take you out, I’d do it the old-fashioned way.”
“Comfortin’.” He picked up the fork, giving you one last look before taking a bite.
Warm, just the right amount of cinnamon, flaky crust—damn it. He hated when people were right.
You leaned on the counter, waiting expectantly. “Well?”
Logan chewed, swallowed, and grunted. “S’fine.”
Your grin widened. “Fine?”
“Yeah.” He took another bite, mostly out of spite. “Nothin’ special.”
“Oh, now you’re just lying.” You tapped the counter. “Admit it. I was right.”
Logan shoved another piece into his mouth, refusing to say anything.
You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He pushed the plate back slightly and reached for the cake. “That enough of a taste test for ya?”
“For now.” You slid the cake toward him, clearly enjoying this way too much. “But next time? You’re trying the cinnamon roll.”
Logan grabbed the box and turned for the door. “Ain’t gonna be a next time.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
The bell chimed as he stepped outside, but he caught your voice just before the door swung shut.
“See ya, sugar.”
---
The bell over the bakery door chimed as Logan stepped inside, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. No one sent him this time—no guilt trips from Jean, no nagging from Scott. Just… a damn craving, apparently.
You looked up from behind the counter, eyebrows lifting in surprise before a slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Well, well. Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”
Logan grunted, eyes flicking to the display case. “M’just here to pick somethin’ up.”
“Oh, sure. Totally believe that.” You leaned on the counter, chin resting in your palm. “Let me guess—apple pie?”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re way too smug about this.”
“Because I was right.” You straightened up and grabbed a slice of pie from the case, sliding it onto a small plate. “But, you know, since you’re here, might as well test another theory.”
Logan eyed you warily. “What theory?”
Without answering, you turned and grabbed something else, placing it next to the pie—a cinnamon roll, warm and fresh from the oven.
You tapped the counter. “Go on.”
Logan huffed. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“Consider it a challenge.” You smirked. “If you don’t like it, I’ll let you walk out of here without any ‘I told you so’s.’”
He eyed you, then the cinnamon roll, then back at you. “…And if I do?”
“Then I get to gloat forever.”
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath, but grabbed the plate anyway. Pulling out a few bills, he slid them across the counter.
You rang him up, watching as he hesitated before finally tearing off a piece of the cinnamon roll and popping it into his mouth.
His chewing slowed. You caught the slightest flicker of something—not quite annoyance, not quite satisfaction—before he swallowed.
“Well?” You leaned forward, grinning.
Logan picked up his plate. “M’leavin’.”
You laughed. “That good, huh? You know, you could just say ‘thank you’ like a normal person.”
Logan scoffed, tearing off another piece of the cinnamon roll. “Ain’t my style.”
You smirked, resting your elbows on the counter. “Yeah, no kidding. You’re more of the grumble and disappear type.”
He didn’t argue, just kept eating like acknowledging you would give you more reason to gloat. The place wasn’t too busy, which meant you had all the time in the world to mess with him—not exactly the outcome he was hoping for when he walked in.
“So, what’s the verdict?” You tapped your fingers against the counter. “Cinnamon roll or apple pie?”
Logan chewed, swallowed, and exhaled through his nose. “Pie.”
You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Just like that? No hesitation?”
“Nope.” He took another bite.
You shook your head, grinning. “That’s crazy. ’Cause it sure looks like you’re enjoying that cinnamon roll.”
Logan grunted, not meeting your eyes. “S’fine.”
“You said that about the pie, and look where we are now.” You rested your chin in your hand, watching him. “Face it, Logan. You’ve got a sweet tooth.”
“Tch.” He picked up the plate and turned toward the door, clearly done with this conversation.
“Don’t be a stranger, sugar,” you called after him.
He didn’t look back, but you caught the way his shoulders tensed—like he was fighting the urge to respond. The bell chimed as he stepped outside.
You smirked, already looking forward to the next time he walked through that door.
---
Usually, you did just fine lugging the large bag of flour from the crate to the kitchen, but after spending all day on your feet testing new recipes you weren’t exactly at your best.
You faintly heard the bell ring above the front door, and you called out “we’re closed!” before tugging the bag of flour again.
“You’re closed, huh?” A familiar gruff voice cut through the quiet.
You groaned, still struggling with the damn bag of flour. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Heavy footsteps approached, and before you could protest, the bag was lifted right out of your grip. You turned to see Logan holding it effortlessly like it weighed nothing.
You huffed. “You know, some people ask before just stepping in and taking over.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were losin’ that fight.”
“I had it handled.”
“Sure you did.” He carried the bag through the doorway leading to the kitchen.
You followed, arms crossed. “What are you even doing here? You already got your sugar fix for the week.”
Logan set the bag down near the counter and dusted his hands off. “Needed somethin’ to do.”
You blinked. “So, out of all the places, you came here?”
He grunted, looking vaguely annoyed with himself. “Yeah, guess I did.”
You smirked, leaning against the counter. “Startin’ to think you like it here.”
Logan exhaled sharply. “Don’t push it.”
You tapped the counter lightly, still amused. “Well, since you’re here, you want something? Or are you just here to rescue me from my tragic battle with flour?”
Logan glanced around like he was debating whether he’d regret staying longer. Then his eyes landed on a tray of freshly baked cookies on the cooling rack.
You caught his look. “Ah. Now, let me use my special talent here—” You tapped your chin in mock thought. “You seem like a peanut butter guy.”
Logan scoffed. “Now you’re just makin’ stuff up.”
“Oh, am I?” You picked up a peanut butter cookie and held it out. “Go on. Prove me wrong.”
He stared at you, then at the cookie, then back at you. “This a new thing? You testin’ psychic powers on baked goods?”
“Just take the damn cookie, Logan.”
He rolled his eyes but took it, biting off a piece. His chewing slowed just slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t want to admit something was good.
You grinned. “Called it.”
Logan muttered something under his breath but didn’t stop eating.
You leaned on the counter, watching him. “So, what’s the excuse gonna be next time?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”
“Mhm. You keep coming back, whether it’s for cake, pie, or playing the hero with fifty-pound bags of flour.”
Logan finished the cookie and dusted off his hands. “You assumin’ a lot.”
“Oh, I don’t assume.” You smirked. “I just have a talent for predicting things.”
He shook his head and turned toward the door. “Don’t wait up.”
You grinned. “Bye bye, sugar bear.”
---
The next time Logan showed up, he didn’t say anything at first. Just walked in, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and stood at the counter like he was already regretting the decision.
You looked up from the register, eyebrows raising. “Back again already?”
“Don’t start.”
You smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”
Logan gave you a look that said he didn’t believe that for a second. His eyes flicked to the display case, scanning over the usual selection. You leaned on the counter, waiting.
“So, what’ll it be?” You tapped your fingers against the counter. “Pie? Cinnamon roll? Maybe a cookie? I know a guy who’s a big fan of peanut butter.”
Logan exhaled, shaking his head. “Just coffee.”
You blinked. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”
You tilted your head slightly. “I just figured if you were gonna show up unprompted, you’d at least pretend you weren’t here just for the free samples.”
He gave you a flat look. “M’not here for free samples.”
“Uh-huh.” You turned, grabbing a mug. “Black?”
“Yeah.”
You poured the coffee and slid it across the counter. Logan took it without a word, lifting it to his lips.
You watched him take a sip, arms crossed. “So, what’s the excuse this time?”
He lowered the mug slightly. “What?”
“You always have an excuse for coming in. First it was Jean, then Scott, then some tragic flour-related emergency.” You smirked. “What is it today? Did someone put you on coffee duty?”
Logan didn’t answer right away, just took another sip. “No excuse.”
Your smirk faltered slightly. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” You shrugged, resting your elbows on the counter. “Just didn’t take you for the type to stop by for no reason.”
He grunted. “Maybe I just wanted coffee.”
“Maybe.” You studied him for a moment. “Or maybe you just wanted to see me.”
Logan huffed. “You’re pushin’ it.”
You grinned. “That wasn’t a no.”
He shook his head, setting the coffee down. “This place always this damn chatty?”
“Only when you’re here.”
Logan exhaled through his nose, but he didn’t argue. You took that as a win.
“Oh, I know somethin’ you can do for me.” You quickly ran into the backroom and grabbed a cooling scone—raspberry lime.
Logan eyed it with mild suspicion as you set it down in front of him. “What’s this?”
“A scone.”
He gave you a flat look. “I can see that.”
You smirked. “Then why’d you ask?”
Logan exhaled sharply, picking it up like it might bite him. “And I’m supposed to do what, exactly?”
“You’re supposed to eat it,” you said, leaning on the counter. “It’s a new recipe. Gotta make sure it’s good before I start selling them.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “And you don’t got anyone else to taste-test this?”
“Not anyone who’ll give me an honest answer.” You tapped the counter lightly. “Customers are too polite, and the old ladies who come in every Sunday think everything I make is ‘just delightful.’ I need actual feedback.”
Logan looked at the scone like it was some kind of trap. “…It got any weird crap in it?”
“Weird crap?” You blinked. “It’s raspberry and lime. How is that weird?”
He grunted, still skeptical, but took a bite. His chewing slowed slightly, which you’d come to recognize as the telltale sign that he actually liked something but wasn’t about to admit it outright.
You grinned. “Well?”
Logan swallowed, then shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“Wow. High praise.”
He took another bite, shaking his head. “You want feedback or not?”
“Go on, then. Let’s hear it.”
He chewed thoughtfully, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he was actually considering his words. “Not too sweet. Tart enough to keep it from bein’ boring. Texture’s good.” He paused, taking another bite. “Could use a little more lime.”
You tilted your head. “More lime?”
“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely with the scone. “You got the raspberry down, but the lime’s kinda fightin’ to be noticed.”
You pursed your lips, considering it. “Huh. Okay, I can work with that.”
Logan took another bite, looking vaguely annoyed with himself. “Didn’t expect you to actually listen.”
“I asked for feedback. What kind of baker would I be if I ignored it?” You smirked. “Besides, I already knew it was good—I just wanted to see if you’d admit it.”
He scoffed, setting the half-eaten scone down. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“And yet, here you are. Again.”
Logan grunted, picking up his coffee. “Don’t make a big deal outta it.”
You grinned, tapping the counter. “No promises, sugar.”
---
The bell above the bakery door chimed, and you barely glanced up from where you were wiping down the counter. “We’re closed,” you called automatically.
“You keep sayin’ that, and yet, here I am,” came a familiar gruff voice.
You looked up, smirking as Logan stood at the counter, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he was already regretting coming in. “Back again already? Thought you were done giving me a hard time.”
He grunted, eyes flicking toward the display case. “Just get me a coffee.”
You arched an eyebrow but didn’t question it, grabbing a mug and pouring it fresh. As you slid it across the counter, you tapped your fingers against the wood. “You know, most people would just admit they like a place instead of making up excuses to show up.”
Logan wrapped his hands around the mug, not looking at you. “Ain’t an excuse. Just needed coffee.”
“Sure.” You leaned on the counter, watching him. “So, what was it this time? Jean send you? Scott? Or did another bag of flour need rescuing?”
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “No reason.”
That gave you pause. You tilted your head slightly. “Huh.”
Logan frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.” You smirked, clearly amused. “Just didn’t take you for the type to stop by for no reason.”
He gave you a flat look. “You got somethin’ against repeat customers?”
“Oh, no. I love my regulars.” You grinned. “Especially the grumpy ones.”
Logan shook his head, lifting the mug to his lips. He didn’t argue, which only made you more smug.
---
The next time Logan came in, it wasn’t for coffee.
The place was quiet—late enough in the evening that most customers were long gone. You were behind the counter, finishing up some inventory, when the bell chimed.
You looked up, brows lifting. “You know, I could just give you a key at this point.”
Logan ignored that, stepping up to the counter. “What’s good today?”
You gave him an exaggerated gasp. “You’re finally asking for a recommendation? I’m honored.”
He sighed. “Just tell me what’s good.”
You smirked, grabbing a plate and sliding a freshly baked hand pie onto it. “Figured I’d experiment today—blackberry and bourbon.”
Logan picked up the hand pie, giving it a brief once-over before taking a bite. He chewed, swallowed, then gave a short nod. “Not bad.”
You put a hand over your heart. “Wow. Practically a glowing review.”
Logan rolled his eyes, but something about the interaction had softened. He stayed leaning against the counter, glancing at the cooling trays behind you. “So, you always wanted to do this?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely. “The whole bakery thing.”
You shrugged. “Pretty much. Always liked baking, figured I might as well get paid for it.”
Logan hummed in acknowledgment, taking another bite. He didn’t say anything for a while, but he didn’t leave either.
After a few beats of silence, you decided to return the question. “What about you?”
He glanced up. “What about me?”
You leaned on the counter. “You always wanted to be a broody loner who shows up at small businesses unannounced?”
Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
You grinned. “Yeah, but I grow on people.”
“We’ll see about that.”
But he didn’t leave.
---
You had a habit of observing people. It came with the job—regulars had patterns, little quirks that gave away more than they realized.
Logan was no different.
The third or fourth time he came in, you started noticing them. The way his eyes scanned the room the second he stepped inside, like he was cataloging everything. How he never sat with his back to the door. How his shoulders only slightly relaxed after a few minutes, like he was still debating if he should be here at all.
“You’re always on guard.”
Logan, who had just taken a sip of coffee, lowered the mug slightly. “What?”
“You’re always watching everything,” you said, casually wiping down the counter. “Like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.”
Logan’s expression flickered—just for a second. “Force of habit.”
You nodded. “Figured.”
That was it. No prodding, no pushing. Just an acknowledgment.
Logan’s fingers tapped against the side of his mug. “That a problem?”
“Nope.” You smirked. “Just an observation.”
Logan held your gaze for a second longer, then shook his head. “You notice too much.”
“Perks of the job.” You leaned forward slightly. “You know what else I noticed?”
He sighed. “What now?”
“You linger.”
Logan frowned. “The hell does that mean?”
“You stick around longer each time.” You grinned. “Almost like you enjoy being here.”
Logan grunted, grabbing his coffee. “You’re annoyin’.”
“And yet, here you are.”
He didn’t argue.
---
The bell above the bakery door chimed, right on schedule. You smirked to yourself as you wiped your hands on your apron. Logan had been showing up like clockwork now—never admitting it, of course, but his routine spoke for itself.
When you turned around, you were already holding out a plate.
Logan narrowed his eyes. “What’s this?”
You set it on the counter with a flourish. “Leftover peanut butter cookies. Tragic, really. If only someone around here liked them.”
Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You plannin’ on feedin’ me every time I come in?”
“Would you complain if I was?” You leaned on the counter, raising an eyebrow.
He grumbled something under his breath but grabbed a cookie anyway, biting into it like he was proving a point.
You smirked. “Thought so.”
Logan chewed, swallowed, then gestured toward the plate. “These actually extra?”
You tilted your head. “Does it matter?”
His jaw flexed slightly, like he didn’t know how to respond. Instead of answering, he just grabbed another cookie.
You grinned.
---
It had been a long day. A really long day.
One of the ovens had decided to throw a tantrum, a supplier had screwed up an order, and to top it off, you still had to prep for a catering job in the morning.
You didn’t even look up when the bell chimed. “We’re closed,” you called tiredly, shoving a crate of flour toward the back.
“Yeah, yeah.”
You blinked, glancing up to see Logan standing near the counter, arms crossed.
You huffed. “Starting to think you don’t understand what closed means.”
Logan ignored that, glancing around at the half-prepped trays, the mess of ingredients still covering the counter. “You runnin’ this place by yourself?”
“Yep.” You exhaled, pushing hair out of your face. “Well, mostly. Sometimes I hire help for big orders.”
Logan grunted, then—without a word—walked past the counter, grabbed the flour bag you had been struggling with, and lifted it like it weighed nothing.
You blinked. “Uh—what are you—”
“Where’s it goin’?”
You stared at him. “You do realize you don’t work here, right?”
Logan gave you a flat look. “You askin’ me to leave?”
You hesitated, then sighed. “Corner shelf, second row.”
He carried it over like it was nothing, then turned back expectantly.
You crossed your arms. “What, you lookin’ for a job now?”
Logan snorted. “You couldn’t afford me.”
“Oh, please.” You smirked. “I’d pay you in coffee and pie. You’d be set for life.”
He shook his head but didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced around the kitchen again. “What else?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Are you helping?”
“Tch.” He grabbed another crate before you could protest. “You’re losin’ this fight, just let it happen.”
You watched him work for a moment, a little stunned. You weren’t used to people sticking around just to help. It wasn’t a grand gesture, wasn’t something he was making a big deal out of—it was just Logan, stepping in like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You turned back to your work, shaking your head with a small smile.
“Fine,” you muttered. “But you’re not getting paid.”
Logan grunted. “Figures.”
---
It was late—too late. You should’ve locked up an hour ago, but you were dragging your feet, finishing up inventory while Logan sat at one of the tables with his usual coffee.
You glanced over at him. He had been coming around more, sticking around longer. He never said why, and you never asked. It was just… the way things had settled.
“You always this restless?” you asked, breaking the quiet.
Logan glanced up. “What?”
“You always show up late.” You leaned against the counter. “Ever sleep?”
He scoffed. “Not much.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Because you can’t, or because you don’t want to?”
Something flickered in his expression. He looked down at his coffee, fingers tapping against the side of the mug. “Both.”
You studied him for a moment. “Bad dreams?”
Logan didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly—so quiet you almost missed it—he muttered, “Somethin’ like that.”
You didn’t push. You could’ve asked more, pried for details, but that wasn’t how this worked. Instead, you just nodded.
“I get it,” you said simply.
Logan looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah?”
You shrugged. “Yeah.”
The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… understanding.
Logan took another sip of his coffee, then exhaled. “You should lock up.”
You smirked. “You gonna tell me what to do now?”
He stood, grabbing his jacket. “Don’t need to. You’re already dead on your feet.”
You huffed. “You know, for a guy who claims he doesn’t care, you sure do act like you do.”
Logan pulled his jacket on, not looking at you. “Get some sleep, Y/N.”
You watched as he headed for the door, shaking your head with a small smile.
“Night, sugar bear,” you called after him.
He didn’t look back, but you saw the way his shoulders tensed—like he was fighting the urge to respond.
The bell chimed as the door swung shut.
---
By now, Logan had stopped making excuses for why he kept coming back. He still didn’t admit anything, but you noticed the pattern—how he always came in around closing time, how he lingered longer each visit.
Tonight was no different.
The bell chimed, and you barely looked up from wiping down the espresso machine. “Y’know, if you’re gonna keep doing this, I really should just give you a key.”
Logan grunted, stepping inside. “Don’t need one.”
You smirked. “Because you’d just break in?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
You rolled your eyes, finishing up before leaning on the counter. “So, what’ll it be? Coffee? Something sweet? Or are you just here to loiter?”
Logan didn’t answer right away. He walked over to his usual seat—the one near the window, back to the wall—and sat down with a sigh.
“No coffee,” he muttered.
That was new.
You eyed him. “Rough night?”
He exhaled sharply but didn’t answer. That was answer enough.
Without another word, you grabbed a mug, poured something fresh, and set it on the table in front of him.
“I thought I said no coffee.”
You sat across from him, propping your chin on your hand. “It’s tea.”
Logan frowned at it. “The hell do I look like, some kinda tea-drinkin’—”
“—Just drink it, Logan.”
He huffed but didn’t argue. Took a sip. Grunted.
You smirked. “Good, right?”
“...It’s fine.”
You leaned back, watching him. “You don’t have to talk, you know.”
Logan raised an eyebrow.
You shrugged. “Just saying. If you wanna sit here in broody silence for an hour, I won’t stop you.”
He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his expression. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea.
Neither of you said anything else for a while.
But he stayed.
---
You had dealt with rude customers before. It came with the job—some people were just assholes. But most of the time, they were harmless.
Most of the time.
Tonight, some guy had been giving you a hard time—complaining about his order, getting a little too close, sneering in that way that immediately put you on edge.
“You got a problem with your ears, sweetheart? I said extra caramel—”
“I heard you,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm. “But that’s not what you ordered.”
The guy scoffed, leaning over the counter. “So now you’re callin’ me a liar?”
Before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a knife.
“She ain’t callin’ you anythin’.”
Logan was right there—sudden and solid, standing just slightly in front of you.
The guy turned, sizing Logan up. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”
Logan didn’t answer. Just held his gaze, silent, still.
You had seen Logan fight before—you knew what he was capable of—but sometimes, it didn’t take claws or violence. Sometimes, it was just him, standing there, making someone realize they’d made a mistake.
The guy swallowed.
“Forget it,” he muttered, grabbing his coffee and leaving without another word.
The door shut behind him, and for a moment, the bakery was silent.
You exhaled. “Well. That was fun.”
Logan turned, looking you over like he was checking for something. “You alright?”
You smirked. “Aww, you care.”
Logan grunted. “Don’t start.”
You crossed your arms. “What, no dramatic one-liner? No ‘stay away from her’ speech?”
“Didn’t need one.”
You shook your head, still smirking. “You’re ridiculous.”
Logan didn’t answer. Just grumbled under his breath and went back to his seat, like nothing had happened.
But you noticed the way he didn’t touch his drink for a while—like he was still too on edge to relax.
---
“You’re actually serious about this.”
Logan stood at the entrance of the farmers’ market, arms crossed, looking very unamused by the whole thing.
You grinned. “Yep.”
“You dragged me here.”
“Oh, please. No one drags you anywhere. You came willingly.”
He grunted but didn’t argue.
You had invited him on a whim, half-expecting him to say no. But to your surprise, he had shown up—grumbling the whole way, sure, but still.
The market was lively—small tents, fresh produce, the smell of roasted coffee and warm pastries in the air. It was a nice change from the usual bakery setting.
Logan, however, looked wildly out of place.
“You look miserable,” you teased, nudging him.
“’Cause I am miserable.”
“You sure? ’Cause I saw you eyeing those smoked meats at the last booth.”
Logan huffed. “That don’t mean I wanna be here.”
You smirked. “Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”
Still, he stuck close to you as you weaved through the booths. He didn’t complain when you stopped to look at pastries, didn’t roll his eyes too hard when you bought something ridiculous just because it “looked cute.”
At one point, you handed him a fresh apple cider donut.
Logan frowned. “What’s this for?”
“Because you look like you wanna kill someone, and I need you to chill.”
He gave you a look but took a bite anyway.
You grinned. “See? Was that so hard?”
Logan just grumbled around his donut.
You took that as a win.
---
Logan, for the first time in a while, came to your bakery for an order. It was for the Valentine’s Day party at the mansion and Jean and Ororo put him on pickup duty.
It was close to 3 pm when he arrived and the sign on the door was already turned to CLOSED.
He opened the door and walked in, the bell ringing above.
You were behind the counter, carefully arranging a tray of macarons into a pastry box. You glanced up at the sound, then smirked when you saw who it was.
“Ah, my favorite grump. Here for the party order?”
Logan grunted, stepping closer. “Jean and Ro made me do it.”
“Of course they did.” You shut the box and slid it across the counter. “Bunch of heart-shaped macarons, just as requested—raspberry, chocolate, vanilla bean, and peanut butter.”
Logan eyed the box, then flicked his gaze back to you. You looked… different. Dressed up. Not overly fancy, but enough to make him pause. His brows pulled together slightly.
“You got plans or somethin’?”
You tilted your head. “What?”
He gestured vaguely. “You’re dressed up.”
You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Why, you jealous?”
Logan scoffed. “Ain’t jealous. Just askin’.”
You hummed, clearly entertained. “No date, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Logan crossed his arms. “Didn’t say nothin’ about a date.”
You grinned. “Mhm. Well, in case you were wondering, Jean invited me to the party.”
His expression flickered—something unreadable for half a second—before he exhaled sharply. “That right?”
“Yep.” You grabbed another small box from behind the counter and handed it to him. “These are yours, by the way.”
Logan frowned slightly, opening the box. Inside were four macarons, but unlike the ones in the party order, these were regular round ones.
“Didn’t think you’d want heart-shaped ones,” you said, watching his reaction.
He stared at them for a moment. “These the same flavors?”
“Yep. One of each.” You leaned on the counter, smirking. “Figured you’d appreciate the peanut butter one the most.”
Logan huffed. “You really don’t let up, huh?”
“Nope.”
He shook his head but didn’t argue. Just shut the box and grabbed the party order. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride.”
You blinked. “What?”
Logan gestured toward the door. “Party’s at the mansion, ain’t it? You’re goin’, I’m goin’. Might as well save you the trip.”
You smirked, grabbing your coat. “And how exactly are these macarons supposed to survive on a motorcycle?”
Logan gave you a flat look. “I got it handled.”
You chuckled, stepping around the counter. “Alright, sugar bear. Let’s see what you got.”
He grumbled something under his breath but held the door open for you anyway.
You stepped outside, pulling your coat tighter as the cool air hit. Logan followed, already heading toward his bike.
You stopped short, staring at it. “Okay, I gotta ask—where exactly are these macarons supposed to go? You got some hidden pastry compartment I don’t know about?”
Logan shot you a look. “I said I got it handled.”
You crossed your arms. “That’s not an answer.”
He exhaled sharply, then crouched slightly, reaching for the saddlebag attached to the side of his bike. With practiced ease, he unlatched it, revealing a snug, padded compartment inside.
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s… oddly convenient.”
Logan shrugged. “Picked it up a while back. Good for keepin’ shit from gettin’ smashed.”
You smirked. “So, what you’re saying is, this is a dessert-safe motorcycle?”
He grunted, carefully placing the boxes inside. “Sure.”
You shook your head, amused. “You are full of surprises, sugar bear.”
Logan ignored that, straightening up before turning to you. “You ever been on a bike before?”
You hesitated. “…Define ‘been on a bike.’”
His expression flattened. “That a no?”
“Not a no. More like a… not exactly.”
Logan exhaled through his nose. “Great.” He swung a leg over and sat, steadying the bike before nodding toward you. “C’mon.”
You gave him a look. “You’re just assuming I’m gonna get on?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You got another ride?”
You huffed, stepping forward. “Fine, but if we crash, I’m haunting you.”
Logan scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Foot on the peg, swing your leg over, and don’t make a damn production out of it.”
You did as he said, slightly awkward but managing without embarrassing yourself. Once seated, you hesitated, hands hovering near his back.
“…Where am I supposed to hold?”
Logan didn’t answer right away. Then, without looking back, he reached for your wrists and pulled your arms around his waist. “Here.”
You blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t argue. His body was solid under your hands, radiating warmth even through his jacket.
“This gonna be a problem?” he asked, clearly amused.
You huffed. “Not unless you do something stupid.”
Logan smirked, kicking the bike to life. “Hang on, doll.”
You rolled your eyes but tightened your grip around his waist. The engine rumbled beneath you, the vibration humming through your chest as Logan eased the bike forward. The cool night air bit at your skin, but the warmth of him under your hands made up for it.
As he pulled onto the road, you couldn’t help but squeeze your arms a little tighter. Not out of fear—just instinct. Logan didn’t say anything about it, but you could feel the shift in his posture, the slightest adjustment like he was making sure you were steady.
The ride was smooth, surprisingly so. Logan handled the bike with an ease that made you wonder just how many times he’d done this before. The streets of Westchester blurred past, streetlights casting a golden glow over the pavement.
After a few minutes, you leaned forward slightly. “So, be honest. How often do you use the whole ‘wanna ride?’ line to impress women?”
Logan snorted. “You think I need a line?”
You scoffed. “Wow. That cocky, huh?”
He smirked, though you couldn’t see it. “Ain’t about bein’ cocky, darlin’. Just statin’ facts.”
You shook your head, amused. “Uh-huh. Well, just so you know, I’m only impressed if we get there in one piece.”
Logan huffed. “You doubtin’ my drivin’?”
“I mean, I don’t want to, but I’ve also seen how you drive a car, and—”
“That was one time,” he grumbled.
“And yet, Scott still won’t let you near the X-Jet.”
“One crash, and suddenly nobody trusts ya.”
You laughed, resting your chin lightly against his back. “You’re ridiculous.”
Logan didn’t respond, but you felt his chest rise and fall with a short, quiet chuckle.
The rest of the ride was mostly silent, save for the occasional gust of wind and the steady roar of the engine. It wasn’t bad, you realized. The night air, the open road, the way Logan rode like he belonged there—it was… nice.
After a while, the looming gates of the Xavier Institute came into view. Logan slowed the bike, coasting up the long driveway before finally coming to a stop near the entrance.
As the engine cut off, you let out a breath and loosened your grip. Logan tilted his head slightly. “Not bad for your first time?”
You huffed. “I mean, I survived, so I’d call it a win.”
He smirked. “Told ya I had it handled.”
You slid off the bike, stretching your legs. “Alright, sugar bear. Let’s get these macarons inside before Jean hunts us down.”
Logan grunted but grabbed the boxes from the saddlebag, handing you yours before leading the way inside. The moment you stepped through the doors, the distant sound of music and chatter spilled into the hallway.
You smirked. “Sounds like the party’s in full swing.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Great.”
You nudged him playfully. “Oh, come on. It won’t kill you to be social for one night.”
He gave you a look. “Wanna bet?”
Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut in.
“There you guys are!”
Jean appeared from around the corner, arms crossed but a knowing smirk on her lips. “Was starting to think you got lost.”
Logan grunted, holding up the pastry box. “Got your damn macarons, didn’t we?”
Jean took them, amused. “And you made it in one piece. I’ll call that a success.” She glanced at you, smirk widening. “Enjoy the ride?”
You crossed your arms, smirking right back. “I mean, I was mildly impressed. Didn’t even have to cling to him for dear life.”
Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I hate both of ya.”
Jean just laughed. “Come on, you two. Let’s get to the party.”
You followed her down the hall, Logan trailing behind you like he was already regretting every life decision that led him to this moment. The music grew louder as you got closer, and when Jean pushed open the doors to the common room, the full chaos of the Valentine’s party hit you.
Streamers, heart-shaped balloons, and way too much red and pink covered every inch of the space. A long table near the wall was packed with snacks, desserts—including your macarons—and an absolutely massive punch bowl that looked suspiciously spiked.
“Oh, this is festive,” you mused, glancing around.
“Festive’s one word for it,” Logan muttered.
Jean handed off the box of macarons to Ororo, who grinned when she saw you. “Glad you made it!”
“Of course,” you said, smirking. “Wouldn’t miss an excuse to see Logan suffer through social interaction.”
Ororo chuckled. “Well, you’re in luck, because he can’t sneak out this time. Scott already said if he disappears before midnight, he’s getting put on dish duty for the next month.”
You turned to Logan. “I like this rule.”
Logan just grunted. “’S bullshit.”
Jean smirked. “Then you better stick around.”
Ororo pulled you away toward the dessert table before Logan could complain more. “Come on, you have to try some of the punch before Bobby finishes it off.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s just straight-up vodka at this point,” you said, eyeing the bowl.
“Exactly.”
You laughed but let her pour you a cup. The party was already in full swing—students dancing, music blasting, people laughing over whatever nonsense was happening near the pool table. It was easy, fun, not a bad way to spend a night.
Logan, however, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He had posted up near the bar, arms crossed, sipping a beer while occasionally glaring at anyone who got too close.
You made your way over, drink in hand. “Having fun?”
He gave you a flat look.
You grinned. “That bad, huh?”
He sighed. “Too loud.”
“Aw, poor thing,” you teased, nudging him. “Bet you’d rather be back at the bakery eating peanut butter cookies in broody silence.”
Logan took a sip of his beer. “Damn right.”
You smirked, leaning against the bar. “Well, if you survive the night, maybe I’ll consider rewarding you with some.”
His eyes flicked toward you, something unreadable in his expression. “That so?”
“Maybe.” You took a sip of your drink. “Depends on how grumpy you get.”
Logan scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he watched you over the rim of his bottle, like he was figuring something out.
Before either of you could say anything else, Rogue appeared, grinning. “Oh, good, you’re both here.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s never a good sign.”
“I need you two for somethin’.”
Logan immediately shook his head. “No.”
Rogue rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“Don’t need to.”
She ignored him and turned to you. “We’re playin’ Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
You nearly choked on your drink. “You’re what?”
Rogue smirked. “C’mon, it’s tradition. Just pick a name outta the hat.”
Logan was already turning to leave. “Hell no.”
You grabbed his arm before he could make an escape. “Oh, come on, sugar. Don’t be a coward.”
He shot you a look. “I ain’t playin’ some dumbass game.”
Rogue crossed her arms. “Then you gotta do dish duty for a month.”
Logan clenched his jaw.
You grinned. “I like this rule.”
Logan exhaled sharply, then snatched a name from the hat. He glanced at it, scowled, then crumpled the paper in his fist. “This is stupid.”
Rogue smirked, looking at you. “Your turn.”
You sighed, reaching into the hat. When you unfolded the paper, your eyes widened slightly.
Logan.
You looked up, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the slight twitch of his jaw.
Rogue clapped her hands together. “Welp, you know the rules. Closet’s that way.”
You turned to Logan, smirking. “Guess we’re doin’ this.”
He huffed. “Guess so.”
Rogue practically shoved you both toward the closet, grinning. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
The door shut behind you with a click.
You turned to Logan, arms crossed. “So. This is happening.”
He exhaled sharply. “Tch.”
The space wasn’t exactly roomy. You were standing close, close enough to catch the scent of cigar smoke and something warm, familiar.
You smirked. “You look like you’d rather fight Sabretooth again than be in here right now.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Ain’t far off.”
You chuckled, then leaned back slightly. “Relax, sugar. It’s just a game.”
He studied you for a moment, then shook his head. “You really don’t let up, do ya?”
“Nope.”
Silence stretched between you. There was something… different about being this close, no bar or counter between you, nothing but the dim glow of light filtering under the door.
Your gaze flicked to his lips, just for a second, before you looked back up at his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but there was something else there—something you couldn’t quite place.
You raised an eyebrow. “What’re you thinking?”
Logan exhaled slowly, then smirked. “You really wanna know?”
You tilted your head. “Yeah.”
He leaned in slightly, just enough to make your breath catch.
“…Thinkin’ this is a real stupid game,” he muttered.
You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Terrible answer.”
Logan grunted, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well. Ain’t much of a game to begin with.”
You smirked, leaning back against the closet wall. “You know, for someone who acts like he doesn’t give a damn about party games, you sure are committed to standing here in silence.”
Logan shot you a look. “Ain’t like I got a choice.”
“You always got a choice, sugar,” you mused, tilting your head. “Could’ve taken dish duty.”
“Rather be in here than deal with Scott’s bitchin’.”
You chuckled. “That’s fair.”
Silence stretched between you again. The closet wasn’t big, barely enough space for both of you without standing close. Logan stayed where he was, arms crossed, shoulders tense.
You tapped your fingers against the wall, glancing at him. “You ever actually played this before?”
He exhaled sharply. “What, you think I spent my younger years crammed in closets with gigglin’ teenagers?”
You grinned. “I dunno, Logan. You’ve been around a while. Gotta imagine at least one girl managed to talk you into it.”
He huffed. “Ain’t my thing.”
“Yeah, I figured.” You shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “You don’t really seem like the party type. More of a ‘drink alone in a dive bar and pretend you don’t wanna talk to anyone’ kinda guy.”
Logan shot you a dry look. “You got me all figured out, huh?”
You tapped your temple. “I’m observant.”
He didn’t answer, but you caught the slight twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
You let the silence linger for a beat before speaking again. “You know, seven minutes is a long time. You might as well entertain me.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “Entertain you?”
“Yeah. Tell me something.”
He scoffed. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” you mused. “You just don’t like talking.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “You do enough of that for both of us.”
You pressed a hand to your chest. “You wound me, sugar bear.”
He exhaled sharply. “Don’t call me that.”
“You never complain when I say it outside of a closet.”
“’Cause outside of a closet, I can walk away.”
You smirked. “You sure about that? ’Cause last time I checked, you keep coming back.”
Logan grunted, looking away. “This is the longest seven minutes of my goddamn life.”
“Oh, come on. You’re having fun.”
“The hell I am.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. If you’re not gonna talk, I’ll just have to fill the silence myself.”
Logan sighed. “Fantastic.”
You ignored his sarcasm and leaned your head back against the wall. “Alright, let’s see… Did I ever tell you about the time a guy tried to rob me with a butter knife?”
That actually got Logan’s attention. His brows pulled together slightly. “The hell?”
You grinned. “Yeah. Came in one night, all twitchy, pulls a damn butter knife from his sleeve like it was supposed to be intimidating. Told me to empty the register.”
Logan tilted his head. “What’d you do?”
You smirked. “Took the knife out of his hand and gave him a scone.”
Logan stared at you, then shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I prefer resourceful,” you said, grinning. “Besides, guy was clearly desperate. Didn’t have the heart to kick his ass.”
Logan grunted. “Lucky for him.”
“Lucky for me, too. He actually came back a week later with a real apology. Bought a dozen muffins.”
Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Only you.”
You shrugged, clearly pleased with yourself. “Hey, you’re the one who said I talk too much. This is what you get. I could also talk about the time my cousin carpooled with—”
Logan cut you off mid-sentence. Not with a glare, not with a grumble—no, this time, he shut you up the only way that was guaranteed to work.
By kissing you.
It was sudden, barely enough time to react before he stepped forward, backing you up until your shoulders hit the wall. His hand came up, palm pressing flat beside your head, caging you in without a single word.
Your breath caught, brain short-circuiting for half a second before instinct kicked in. You kissed him back, fingers curling slightly at your sides like you were debating grabbing onto him.
Logan didn’t rush it—didn’t press too hard, didn’t let it turn into something it wasn’t meant to be. But it was firm, deliberate, enough to make your knees feel just a little weak.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulled back.
The closet felt even smaller than before.
For a few long, charged moments, neither of you said anything. You were still pressed against the wall, Logan still close, his hand still braced by your head. His eyes flicked over your face, scanning for something, though you weren’t sure what.
Your heart was pounding, but you weren’t about to be the one to break first.
So, instead, you smirked, tilting your head slightly. “So… does this mean you’re my valentine now?”
Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You never let up, do ya?”
“Nope.” Your grin widened. “Not even after being dramatically kissed in a broom closet.”
Logan huffed, but he didn’t move away. He stayed right there, close enough that you could still feel his warmth, still smell the faint trace of whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his jacket.
You tapped a finger against his chest. “I mean, you did just make a pretty big statement. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually like me.”
Logan grunted. “Don’t push it.”
You grinned. “That wasn’t a no.” You reached up, tapping his bottom lip with your finger, “c’mon sugar bear. Would I really be that bad of a valentine?”
Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes flicking between yours. "You’re real pushy, you know that?"
You smirked. "And yet, here you are. In a closet. With me." Your finger was still resting against his lip, and you tapped it lightly, just to mess with him. "So, sugar bear, what’s the verdict?"
Logan caught your wrist before you could do it again, his grip firm but not rough. "That name’s gonna be the death of me."
"You’ll survive." You grinned. "So? Valentine or not?"
Logan didn’t answer right away. He still hadn’t let go of your wrist, his thumb brushing absently against your skin like he hadn’t noticed he was doing it. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up, his jaw tightening slightly like he was debating something.
Then, without a word, he let go, stepping back just enough to put space between you.
You arched an eyebrow. "That’s it?"
Logan crossed his arms. "What else you want, a damn serenade?"
"Well, now that you mention it—"
"Not happenin’."
You chuckled, tilting your head. "Alright, fine. No singing. But I’ll take that kiss as a yes."
Logan scoffed. "You assume too much."
"Mm. Do I?" You tapped your chin in mock thought. "You kissed me. Didn’t push me away. Didn’t tell me to shut up. And now you’re looking at me like you’re still considerin’ round two."
Logan’s jaw ticked. "You’re real smug."
"You like it," you shot back easily.
He didn’t confirm or deny it. Just exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.
"Alright," you said, watching him. "Since you clearly can’t admit it, I’ll do it for you. Logan Howlett, the grumpiest man in Westchester, is officially my Valentine."
Logan rolled his eyes. "You’re impossible."
"And yet, here you are," you teased, throwing his own words back at him.
Logan shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely, but you caught it. "You done yet?"
"Not even close." You smirked, reaching for the doorknob. "But I’ll give you a break… for now."
Before you could turn it, Logan caught your wrist again, stopping you.
You raised an eyebrow. "Changed your mind?"
He didn’t answer right away. Just held your gaze for a second longer than necessary before he muttered, low and gruff, "you talk too much."
Then he kissed you again.
This time, there was no hesitation. No half-measures. Just Logan pressing you back against the closet wall, one hand curling around your waist, the other braced beside your head. The kiss was slower this time, deliberate, like he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t talk your way out of it.
Not that you were planning to.
You grinned against his lips, fisting the front of his jacket and pulling him closer. "See?" you murmured. "Told you you liked me."
Logan grunted but didn’t stop kissing you. Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t even argue.
i hope this was valentine-y enough! <3
#klloveuary2025#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#james howlett x reader#james howlett x you#logan howlett#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett fic
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no men era | chapter four, DAYLIGHT
free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!
MASTERLIST
⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.5k
⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | after realizing you were in no shape for a relationship, you decide that you were going to focus on yourself -- that is, until joe burrow makes an appearance again, and this time it wasn't so... smooth.
⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | nothing too crazy, just more daylight shenanigans. joe being a cocky bastard and some cliches type of stuff, andrei mention for my andrei girlies out there!
The sun was barely up when you decided.
Lying in your hotel bed, wrapped in the pristine white sheets, you stared at the ceiling and made the choice that this—this—was going to be your new era. A clean slate. No more Jayson, no more men, no more attaching your identity to someone else. You weren’t just Travis and Jason Kelce’s little sister. You weren’t just Jayson Tatum’s ex.
You were you.
And maybe you didn’t fully know what that meant yet, but you were damn sure going to figure it out.
You threw off the covers and padded toward the bathroom, the early morning chill nipping at your skin. The hotel suite was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. As you flicked on the bathroom light, the mirror reflected a face that, for the first time in a long time, felt like a stranger’s.
You weren’t sad. You weren’t heartbroken. You weren’t even angry anymore.
You were just... there.
You were in the middle of blowing on your coffee, eyes trailing over the busy street outside, wrapped up in your own thoughts, when the bell above the door jingled.
And just like that, the universe yanked you out of your peaceful little morning like it was some kind of sick joke.
Because he walked in.
Joe Burrow.
Looking unfairly good for someone who very clearly had a rough night. His hair was a little messy, his jawline still faintly shadowed with the remnants of yesterday’s stubble, and—yeah—he looked a little hungover, blinking against the morning light filtering through the café windows.
For a second, it was like time hiccupped, both of you just standing there, staring at each other in mild shock. You, because why was he here, in the same coffee shop as you, at the same time, again? Him, because—well, shit.
Joe had spent the past few days trying (and failing) to push you out of his mind, convincing himself that his weird little crush was just that—a passing thing. He wasn’t the kind of guy to get stuck on someone, especially not someone he had talked to for, what? Two minutes?
And yet, here you were. Again.
Looking like that.
And suddenly, Sam’s voice from last night rang in his head. The whole Jayson thing. The whole Dalton thing.
Joe had spent half the night processing all of that, trying to figure out why it made his stomach twist the way it did. Because—sure, whatever, she was dating Dalton Kincaid. But did she actually like him? Because Joe had eyes, and last night at the event, she looked bored out of her mind.
And, okay, yeah, maybe he had gotten a little too loose, a little too confident last night after a few drinks, because he definitely told Sam that Dalton wasn’t her type. That he was more her type. Which was crazy, because—what the hell did he even mean by that?
But now, standing here in this tiny café, watching as you blinked at him like you were just as confused as he was, he felt that same weird little spark in his chest.
It had to be the universe.
That was the only explanation, right?
Joe didn’t overthink it. He never did.
So he smirked, cocky and confident, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie as he strolled up beside you.
“Damn,” he said, his voice still a little rough from the night before. “You following me, or what?”
You blinked.
Then, slowly, your expression shifted—brows raising just slightly, lips pressing into a flat, unimpressed line.
Oh.
Oh, he was one of those guys.
You exhaled through your nose, turning back to your coffee. “Yeah, totally. Been tracking your every move.”
Joe chuckled under his breath, tilting his head. “That so?”
“Mmhm.” You lifted the cup to your lips. “Didn’t think you’d still be in New York, though. Thought you’d be back in Cincinnati, you know… working.”
He could hear the edge in your voice, the subtle dig, and it made his smirk widen.
“Hey, even I get a break every now and then,” he said, shrugging. “Gotta enjoy the off-season while I can.”
You hummed, barely interested. “Right.”
He should’ve let it go. Should’ve just ordered his coffee, sat at some table, and left you alone.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned in a little, just enough to make it feel deliberate, enough to make you glance up at him from the rim of your cup.
“Surprised I didn’t see you with your boyfriend last night,” he mused, voice dropping slightly.
Your eyes narrowed.
Oh, he was really being insufferable.
You weren’t sure if it was the hangover, or if this was just how he always was, but God—he was already irritating.
“I was,” you said simply. “We left early.”
Joe just nodded, like that was interesting, like he was analyzing it. And then he smirked again. “Didn’t look like you were having much fun.”
You rolled your eyes. “And you would know?”
“I pay attention.”
That made you snort, shaking your head. “You think you pay attention.”
“I know I do.”
He was pushing it. Really pushing it.
You turned fully toward him then, and Joe swore the café suddenly got a little smaller, a little warmer.
“You know, if you’re trying to flirt with me, this is the worst attempt I’ve ever witnessed,” you said, voice dry.
Joe grinned, but before he could say anything, you added, “And just to make it clear—I am dating Dalton.”
That made his stomach twist. Not because he hadn’t already known that. But because of the way you said it, the way you made it so damn clear.
Joe just scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay.”
And then, without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out. Joe stood there for a second, still half in disbelief.
What the fuck was that?
He just fumbled. Bad.
And worse—he had no idea why.
For the first time in his life, Joe Burrow was actually speechless.
He ran a hand down his face, letting out a low breath. What the hell was wrong with him?
“You good, man?”
Joe turned his head, finding Ja’Marr standing in line, staring at him like he’d just witnessed a tragedy.
“No,” Joe muttered. “I think I just lost a game I didn’t even know I was playing.”
Ja’Marr barked out a laugh. “Damn. That bad?”
Joe sighed, glancing toward the door where you disappeared.
Yeah. That bad.
--
Back at the hotel, you were sprawled across the bed in Kylie’s suite, arms flung dramatically over your face as you recounted the absolute disaster that was your encounter with Joe Burrow.
Kylie, meanwhile, was cackling. Not just laughing—full-body shaking, tears in her eyes kind of laughing.
“Oh my God—” she gasped between wheezes, clutching her stomach. “You walked out on him?”
“Yes,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Like, just straight up turned and left.”
Kylie threw her head back. “Oh, that’s so good.”
“It’s not good, Kylie,” you muttered, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s embarrassing.”
“No, he’s embarrassing,” she corrected, wiping her eyes. “Dude really thought he was him, huh?”
You let out a long sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what his deal was. He came in all cocky, acting like—” You waved a hand vaguely. “—like he was God’s gift to football, and I was supposed to just melt or something.”
Kylie snorted. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Well, I’m done with all that,” you declared, pushing yourself up. “No more Jayson, no more Joe, no more men. I’m entering a new era—focusing on me, rebuilding who I am outside of all this—” you gestured dramatically, “—outside of being a Kelce, or Jayson’s ex, or—”
Kylie raised a brow. “Or Dalton’s girlfriend?”
You blinked.
And blinked again.
Because, oh.
Oh, shit.
You had completely forgotten about Dalton Kincaid.
Kylie must’ve seen the realization hit because she promptly burst into laughter again, collapsing back against the pillows.
“Oh my God,” she wheezed. “You forgot about your own boyfriend.”
You groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking it over your face. “Stop.”
“No, no, this is the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Like, imagine if he knew.”
You groaned even louder. “Stop.”
“I mean, you do realize that’s not a great sign, right?”
You sighed, letting the pillow slide down your face. “I know.”
Kylie propped herself up on her elbows, giving you a knowing look. “So… what’s the plan there?”
You let your head thunk back against the bed. “I don’t know.”
Kylie smirked. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that if you forgot you were dating him, he’s probably not the one.”
You exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah.”
There was a long beat of silence before Kylie added, teasingly, “So… you gonna tell him?”
You turned your head, giving her a flat look. “You love this, don’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely.” She grinned. “This is premium entertainment.”
You rolled your eyes, but even you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips.
Because, yeah.
This was a mess.
And you had no idea what you were going to do about it.
Just as you were about to fire back at Kylie for finding way too much joy in your existential crisis, the hotel room door swung open. The chaos that followed was immediate.
“Daddy, I wanna hold it!”
“No, me!”
“She had it last time!”
Jason walked in, looking exhausted, carrying a coffee tray and wrangling two very energetic kids who were currently in the middle of a heated debate over what you assumed was a muffin or a juice box—whatever prize had been promised to them as a post-breakfast treat.
“Oh, good, you’re still here,” Jason said, barely acknowledging the war waging between his daughters as he handed Kylie a coffee and plopped down onto the couch. “Sid, make a call. We’re putting these ones up for trade.”
Kylie shot him a look as she helped untangle the muffin dispute. “Jason.”
“What?” Jason took a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking to you, then back to Kylie, clearly catching on to the laughter that had not been there when he left. “What’s so funny?”
You groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “I forgot I had a boyfriend.”
Jason, to his credit, did not even blink.
Instead, he nodded and said, “Yeah, that tracks.”
Kylie choked on her coffee. “Jason!”
“What?” He shrugged, setting his cup down. “I met the guy. He’s nice and all, but if you already forgot about him, that’s kind of a sign, don’t you think?”
You groaned again, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not helpful.”
Jason ignored that. “So what’s the plan? Are you gonna break up with him or just keep going until he proposes and then really freak out?”
Kylie wheezed.
“Jason,” you muttered. “Please. Stop talking.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, it’s a slippery slope. One day, you’re having dinner with him and it’s fine, and then boom—you’re at the altar wondering why you’re about to take his last name when you don’t even remember his middle name.”
You groaned louder.
Jason looked at Kylie. “What’s the problem exactly? She doesn’t like the guy?”
Kylie smirked. “No, the problem is she likes the guys who are bad for her and doesn’t like the guys who are good for her.”
Jason frowned. “That’s stupid.”
You shot up. “I know!”
Jason blinked. “Then… stop doing it?”
You gaped at him. “Oh my God, why didn’t I think of that? Thank you, Jason! Problem solved!”
Kylie laughed so hard she almost spilled her coffee.
Jason just shrugged. “I don’t get why this is hard. You don’t like Dalton. End it. Done.”
You sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because!” You waved your hands vaguely. “He’s… good. He’s nice. He’s polite. He’s great with your kids.”
At that, Jason narrowed his eyes. “Okay, hold on—are you saying that’s the issue?”
You groaned. “No, I just—I don’t feel it, okay?”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I should feel it!”
Jason made a face. “I think you just answered your own question.”
You collapsed back onto the bed again, defeated.
Kylie smirked and turned to Jason. “She’s also in her no men era.”
Jason scoffed. “Yeah, okay.”
You lifted your head to glare at him. “Excuse me?”
He raised a brow. “Sid, come on. I love you, but you’re a Kelce. You’re genetically incapable of avoiding chaos for longer than a week.”
Kylie grinned. “He’s not wrong.”
Jason leaned back, arms crossed. “I mean, let’s be real—you’re gonna get bored in, like, three days, and then suddenly there’s gonna be some new guy, and boom—we’re back here.”
You scoffed. “That’s not true.”
Jason didn’t even argue. He just sipped his coffee like he was already picturing the next man-related disaster you were going to drag them into.
Kylie turned to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, if you really want to commit to this no-men era, I guess that means no more talking to Joe Burrow.”
Jason snorted.
You glared at her. “Kylie.”
Jason choked. “Wait—Burrow? Joe Burrow?” He burst out laughing. “Oh my God. That is so funny.”
“It’s not funny.”
“No, no, it is.” Jason shook his head, grinning. “That dude is the definition of locked-in. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him even look at a woman, let alone actively pursue one.”
“Well, apparently, he tried,” Kylie said, biting back a smile. “And Sid walked out on him.”
Jason cackled. “You walked out on Joe Burrow?”
You groaned. “Can we please move on?”
Jason wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh, man. I like this. I really like this.”
Kylie grinned. “Right? I feel like this is the best entertainment we’ve had in years.”
You groaned louder.
Jason leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Okay, hold on. So if Burrow actually wanted to pursue you, what would you do?”
You shot him a look. “I’d tell him I’m in my no men era.”
Jason smirked. “Mmm-hmm. Sure.”
You flopped back onto the bed dramatically. “I hate you both.”
Kylie patted your leg. “Aw, we love you, though.”
Jason just grinned. “This is gonna be so fun to watch.”
--
Joe was still trying to process what the hell had happened back in that coffee shop.
He had walked in, feeling like maybe—just maybe—the universe was on his side. He had opened his mouth, said one thing, and then? Immediate failure. Immediate regret. Immediate cringe.
And now, here he was, back in his hotel room, sitting around with Ja’Marr, Tee, Andrei, and Sam, while they all tried—and failed—to keep their laughter contained.
It was not contained.
Ja’Marr was straight-up wheezing, clutching his stomach like he had just witnessed the single funniest thing to ever happen in his life. Tee was crying actual tears, face buried in his arm on the hotel couch. Sam just shook his head, chuckling under his breath, while Andrei was at least trying to be helpful but was failing miserably.
“Okay, wait, wait—” Ja’Marr gasped between laughs. “She rolled her eyes at you?”
Joe glared at him. “Yes.”
Ja’Marr lost it again, doubling over with laughter. “Oh, my God.”
“I didn’t even say anything that bad,” Joe muttered, still trying to defend himself.
Tee lifted his head, eyes wet from how hard he had been laughing. “Bro. You walked up to her and immediately acted like she should be grateful you were talking to her.”
Joe groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I did not.”
“You did,” Sam confirmed, smirking.
“She thought you were a fan, Joe,” Andrei said, shaking his head. “That’s tough.”
Joe just glared at them, all of them, as they continued to laugh at his expense. “Okay, fine. Maybe I came off a little cocky—”
“A little?” Ja’Marr howled.
“—but I swear, I wasn’t trying to be an asshole,” Joe finished, ignoring them. “It just… happened.”
Tee wiped a tear from his face. “Damn. This is worse than I thought.”
Andrei snorted. “I don’t know, man. I think this might actually be good for him.”
“How is this good for me?” Joe snapped.
“Because,” Andrei grinned, “for the first time in your life, you fumbled.”
That set them off again.
Joe just sat there, arms crossed, as his so-called friends lost their minds over his suffering.
When they finally calmed down—two whole minutes of pure humiliation later—Andrei leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, so what’s the plan? You gonna try again?”
Joe hesitated. “…I don’t know.”
Ja’Marr gawked at him. “Are you serious? Since when do you back down from anything?”
Joe rolled his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”
Tee smirked. “What? You scared?”
“No,” Joe said immediately, but the thought of messing up again made his stomach twist.
Sam leaned back, arms crossed. “Look, man. If you really want her number, you should just try again before we leave for Ohio.”
Joe exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I can just find her.”
Andrei smirked. “I can.”
Joe’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I can find her number,” Andrei repeated. “I know a guy.”
Joe narrowed his eyes. “What kind of guy?”
Andrei just grinned. “Don’t worry about it.”
Joe did worry about it. “That sounds shady as hell.”
Ja’Marr nodded. “Yeah, man, that’s some stalker shit.”
Andrei laughed. “Relax, I’m not being weird. I just have a friend who does PR for the league, and he might have it. It’s not that deep.”
Joe hesitated. On one hand, yeah, that was technically an option. But on the other? That felt like cheating.
“…No,” Joe finally said. “I want to get it myself.”
Andrei shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then, a slow smirk curled his lips. “Wanna bet on it?”
Joe narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Ja’Marr perked up. “Ohhh, now we’re talkin’.”
Andrei leaned forward. “I bet I can get her number before you do.”
Joe’s jaw clenched. “You just said you were gonna cheat.”
Andrei shrugged. “Didn’t say I’d play fair.”
Sam chuckled. “Damn, Joe, you better not lose to Andrei.”
Tee grinned. “You know his ego can’t handle that.”
Joe’s competitive streak flared at the challenge. “Fine.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and slapped a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the coffee table. “I’m putting money on it.”
Ja’Marr whistled. “Ooooh, he’s serious.”
Joe smirked. “If I win, you all shut the hell up about this forever.”
Tee grinned. “And if you lose?”
Andrei’s eyes gleamed. “Then we get to make fun of you for life.”
Joe huffed. “Whatever. I’m not losing.”
Ja’Marr cackled. “Alright, bet’s on, then.”
Joe leaned back, determined. This wasn’t just about the bet. It wasn’t about proving something to his friends.
It was about her.
And he wasn’t going to lose her.
--
The club was packed, the bass thrumming deep in your chest, the neon lights casting everything in a hazy glow. You were perched in the booth with Travis, Taylor, and Dalton, trying—really trying—to seem engaged in whatever your supposed boyfriend was talking about.
But you couldn’t.
Because Joe Burrow was here.
And you hated that you noticed him the second he walked in.
You refused to look at him, refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was even a blip on your radar. And you were already so over this night.
It wasn’t even that clubs weren’t your scene—you could handle the overpriced drinks, the bass rattling in your chest, the way every conversation required a near-shouting volume just to be heard. But tonight? You had no patience for it.
Especially not with Joe Burrow in the same damn room.
You weren’t looking at him. You weren’t. Not even a glance. You kept your focus locked on Dalton, nodding along to whatever he was saying about off-season workouts, even though you weren’t really listening.
Taylor, bless her heart, shot you a knowing look. You ignored it.
Travis, meanwhile, was sulking into his whiskey. “This place sucks.”
Dalton chuckled. “Not really your vibe?”
Travis made a face. “Not really anyone over the age of twenty-two’s vibe.”
Taylor laughed. “And yet, here you are.”
Travis sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just make it quick.”
You were barely paying attention. Because Joe was here.
You needed a drink.
You excused yourself, weaving through the crowd, making a beeline for the bar. You were halfway through ordering when a presence sidled up beside you, way too close, and you just knew.
You glanced up.
Andrei.
Oh, God.
You knew exactly what this was.
The too-casual lean against the bar, the barely-contained smirk, the way he had way too much interest in you, despite the fact that you had never spoken before?
Yeah. He was trying to get your number. And that meant one thing—Joe told them about the café.
You sighed, already annoyed. “Can I help you?”
Andrei grinned. “I don’t know, can you?”
You rolled your eyes. “So this is a thing now?”
He feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”
You gave him a look. “Don’t play dumb. Joe put you up to this, didn’t he?”
Andrei let out an exaggerated gasp. “Joe? Why would he care?”
You just stared at him.
He smirked. “What, a guy can’t come up and chat with a pretty girl?”
You snorted. “Not when there’s money involved.”
Andrei chuckled, not denying it, which told you everything.
You sighed, shaking your head, already amused despite yourself. “Wow. He really put you guys up to this?”
“Not exactly,” Andrei said. “It was more of a… friendly wager.”
You raised a brow. “What, a bet to see if you could get my number?”
Andrei grinned. “First to get it wins.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You guys are ridiculous.”
Andrei shrugged. “Maybe. But you can’t tell me you’re not at least a little flattered.”
“Oh, so flattered,” you deadpanned.
Andrei chuckled. “Come on, what’s the harm? Just a little number—”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
And then, before Andrei could say another word, he appeared.
Joe.
And damn, did he look annoyed.
“Really, dude?” he said, looking right at Andrei.
Andrei smirked. “What?”
Joe gave him a look.
Andrei grinned, leaning against the bar. “Hey, man. I’m just talking.”
Joe scoffed. “You’re full of shit.”
You bit back a laugh, glancing between them. “This is so stupid.”
Joe ignored you. His eyes stayed locked on Andrei, like he was seconds away from throwing a punch, which was hilarious, because Joe didn’t seem like the type of guy to get worked up over something this dumb.
And Andrei? He loved it.
He smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Why? You jealous?”
Joe scoffed. “Of you? Not a chance.”
Andrei raised a brow. “Then why are you here?”
Joe’s jaw ticked. “Because I don’t need you embarrassing yourself.”
Andrei laughed. “Sounds like an excuse.”
Joe huffed, turning to you. “You really entertaining this?”
You smirked. “I don’t know. Maybe I like having two NFL players fight over me.”
Joe rolled his eyes. “We’re not fighting over you.”
Andrei grinned. “Sounds like something the loser would say.”
Joe glared.
You? You were having the time of your life.
Joe sat down on the barstool beside you like he belonged there, like the whole stupid bet hadn’t just happened, like Andrei wasn’t still smirking at him from a few feet away, clearly enjoying every second of getting under his skin.
You didn’t even have to look at Joe to feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves. It was almost too funny. You had known plenty of guys like him before—the cocky, confident, too-talented-for-their-own-good athletes who acted like they had the whole world figured out. Joe, so far, had done a great job of proving he was exactly that type.
And yet…
You took a sip of your drink, side-eyeing him. He was looking straight ahead, like he was actively willing himself to ignore Andrei, who was still loitering nearby, sipping his beer with all the smugness in the world.
“I think he likes you,” you said, just to mess with him.
Joe exhaled sharply through his nose, a half-laugh, half-scoff. “Yeah, okay.”
“I mean, he was laying it on pretty thick,” you teased.
Joe finally turned to you, giving you a dry look. “You think that was flirting?”
You smirked. “I think he was winning.”
Joe rolled his eyes. “He wasn’t winning.”
“Oh, really? Because it kinda seemed like it.”
Joe shook his head, running a hand through his hair before muttering, “This is so dumb.”
You just smiled. “So dumb.”
Andrei finally decided he had enough fun, pushing off the bar and giving Joe one last little clap on the shoulder before walking off into the crowd, still laughing to himself.
That left just you and Joe.
Alone.
You weren’t sure how you felt about that.
Joe sighed, finally facing you head-on. He looked exasperated, like he couldn’t believe this was his life right now. You, on the other hand, were thoroughly entertained.
“Okay,” he said finally, tilting his head slightly, as if he were considering something. “How about we just… start over?”
You blinked.
Joe must’ve taken your silence as hesitation because he immediately rushed to add, “Not like that. I just mean—this whole thing got off on the wrong foot, and I’m not really trying to make a thing out of it.”
You crossed your arms, amused. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Joe sighed, shaking his head. “I’m serious. We started off on the wrong foot.”
“You were an asshole.”
He exhaled, nodding. “Yeah, I was.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, skeptical. “Why do you even care?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, his blue eyes studying you like he was trying to figure you out.
Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem…” He trailed off, shaking his head like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to finish that thought.
But something about the way he said it, the way his voice was a little softer, a little less cocky than before, made your stomach flip.
And that was dangerous. Because this was a bad idea.
Kylie’s voice rang in your head from the hotel, her laughter when you had practically forgotten about Dalton, her words about how you always chose wrong. And then Jason, the way he had bluntly pointed out your pattern, how you went for the guys who would make your life messy, complicated, and chaotic.
And Joe? He reeked of trouble.
But… maybe that was fun.
Maybe you didn’t want simple. Maybe you didn’t want safe. Maybe you wanted someone who could keep up.
So you looked at him, at this cocky, confident, aggravatingly attractive man who was now—surprisingly—trying to not be any of those things. And instead of saying what you should say, instead of walking away like you should, you smirked.
“Alright, Burrow,” you said, leaning your elbow on the bar, resting your chin in your hand. “Let’s start over.”
Joe’s lips quirked, like he had just won something.
You ignored the way your stomach flipped again.
#joe burrow#joe burrow bengals#joey b#joe shiesty#jb9#jamarr chase#joe burrow fan fic#joe burrow imagine#joe burrow x reader#joe burrow smut#joe burrow x y/n#joe burrow x you#joe burrow x oc
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Secret Admirer
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8961021d8e192ee9905d095beea55579/46b4f442f42c4f3f-c5/s540x810/4f5abaf530b1ec4599949871e9166e58e4a21e44.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/160d833f9c401b4b298d1a53ad72a717/46b4f442f42c4f3f-20/s540x810/340aec7af24d1ef4b19d828b100c61d7b447956b.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/21f4b9c33f1685b8259d715540526335/46b4f442f42c4f3f-4a/s540x810/62284f6ec014accacfb66c4bf16211d18fa595c4.jpg)
Daniela x Fem!reader
Synopsis: Valentine’s Day wasn’t your favorite day, but will it change when you get a note in your locker from a certain someone?
fluff, high school AU, mutual pining, friends to lovers, soft romance
Warnings: -
The hallways of your school were decorated in pink and red, heart-shaped balloons tied to lockers, and handmade Valentine’s cards pinned to bulletin boards. Students rushed past you, exchanging chocolates and gifts, giggling as they confessed to their crushes.
Valentine’s Day was always a big deal at your school. But for you? It was just another day. You weren’t expecting anything special—especially not from the one person you secretly liked: Daniela.
Daniela was effortlessly cool, with her leather jacket slung over her shoulders and that signature smirk playing on her lips. She was one of the most popular girls at school, but she never let it get to her head. Despite her sharp, confident aura, there was something about her that felt… warm. Maybe it was the way she always ruffled Yoonchae’s hair or how she teased Manon but always made sure to compliment her right after. Or maybe it was the way she smiled at you when she caught you staring a little too long in class.
You sighed, adjusting your books as you made your way to your locker. The halls were buzzing with excitement, but you ignored it. Valentine’s Day wasn’t for you—
Until you saw it.
A small, heart-shaped box of chocolates sitting inside your locker. Attached to it was a simple note:
“Meet me behind the gym after class. Don’t make me wait. –Your Secret Admirer”
Your heart skipped a beat. A secret admirer? You turned the note over, but there was nothing else. Who could have left this?
“Someone looks flustered,” a voice teased.
You spun around to see Sophia, Megan, and Manon standing nearby, smirking knowingly. Lara and Yoonchae joined them a second later, both carrying their own Valentine’s gifts.
“I—It’s nothing,” you stammered, stuffing the note into your pocket.
“Oh, come on,” Manon nudged you. “Someone clearly has a crush on you. Spill!”
Before you could protest, Lara leaned over to glance at the chocolates. “That’s a fancy brand,” she mused. “Whoever got these for you has taste.”
Yoonchae grinned. “Ooooh, maybe it’s someone we know?”
Megan crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “You should go. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Sophia smirked. “Or are you scared?”
You glared at her, then exhaled. Fine. If your friends were this curious, there was no way you were backing out.
The final bell rang, and you found yourself walking toward the gym, heart pounding. The late afternoon sun cast golden light across the empty school grounds, and as you turned the corner, you saw someone leaning against the wall, hands in their pockets.
Daniela.
Your breath caught. She looked effortlessly cool as always, but when she saw you, something in her expression softened.
“You actually came,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips.
You blinked. “You…?”
She shrugged, stepping closer. “Yeah. Took me a while to work up the courage, but…” She pulled a single red rose from behind her back, twirling it between her fingers. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
You stared at her, heat rising to your cheeks. Daniela? Your secret admirer?
“I—why didn’t you just tell me?” you asked, taking the rose hesitantly.
She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Because I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.” She exhaled, finally meeting your gaze. “But I like you. A lot. And I was kinda hoping you’d like me too.”
Your heart raced. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Daniela—cool, confident Daniela—was confessing to you.
A small smile played on your lips as you held the rose close. “Well… I do.”
For the first time, Daniela looked relieved. “Good,” she said, grinning. “Because I was really hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself.”
You laughed softly. “I think you did okay.”
She smirked. “Only okay?”
Before you could answer, you heard giggling from behind a nearby pillar.
“See? I told you it was her!” Manon whispered excitedly.
“Shhh, they’ll hear us,” Yoonchae hushed.
Daniela rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her expression. “You guys are the worst.”
Lara peeked out. “We just wanted to see if you’d actually do it.”
Megan gave you a thumbs-up. “Nice choice.”
Sophia simply smirked. “About time.”
You groaned, but Daniela just laughed, shaking her head. “Come on,” she said, taking your hand in hers. “Let’s get out of here before they start making bets on our first date.”
Your heart skipped a beat as your fingers intertwined with hers. Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all.
#katseye#daniela avanzini#katseye daniela#sophia laforteza#lara raj#megan skiendiel#manon bannerman#jeong yoonchae#katseye imagines#katseye manon#katseye yoonchae#katseye x reader#katseye megan#katseye lara#katseye sophia#daniela x reader#daniela katseye
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ⓘ 01. MY KIND OF WOMAN !
⤷ FLUFF ﹫ kirishima eijiro x fem!reader ﹫ oneshot
⚠︎ pure fluff, friends to lovers, clumsy kirishima .ᐟ.ᐟ
kirishima paced back and forth in bakugo’s dorm room, running a hand through his already messy red hair. his mind was racing, his heart pounding like he had just finished an intense sparring session, but for once, it wasn’t because of training. it was because of you.
and now, here he was, seeking advice from bakugo, of all people—who currently sat slouched in his desk chair, arms crossed, an unimpressed scowl on his face.
“oi, quit pacing, shitty hair, you’re giving me a headache.” bakugo grumbled, kicking at kirishima’s leg as he passed by for the fifth time.
kirishima stopped in his tracks, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. “ah, sorry, man. i just—this is kinda important, y’know?”
bakugo raised a brow, clearly not convinced. “tch. if it’s so important, why the hell are you asking me?”
kirishima took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of bakugo’s bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “because, dude, you’re… brutally honest. and i need that right now.”
bakugo scoffed. “damn right.”
kirishima exhaled heavily. “okay, so, it’s about her—”
bakugo groaned loudly. “of course it is.”
“—and i think i’m in love with her, man.”
that caught bakugo’s attention, if only slightly. his red eyes flicked to kirishima’s face, scanning for any sign of hesitation. there was none.
“yeah? no shit. took you long enough to figure that out.”
kirishima blinked. “wait, you knew?”
bakugo rolled his eyes. “dumbass. it’s obvious. you follow her around like a lost puppy, always hypin’ her up, always lookin’ at her like she’s the damn sun or somethin’. it’s pathetic.”
kirishima let out a defeated groan, flopping backward onto bakugo’s bed. “ugh, i knew it. i knew i was bein’ obvious. no wonder she doesn’t see me that way.”
bakugo made a face. “or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”
kirishima sat up again, eyes wide with hope. “wait—you think she might like me back?”
bakugo shrugged. “dunno. don’t care. that’s your problem.”
kirishima sighed, rubbing his temples. “alright, well… that’s not even the main thing. the real problem is—how the hell do i tell her? how do i tell her that she’s the most badass, kind, and incredible person i’ve ever met without soundin’ like a total idiot?”
bakugo narrowed his eyes. “…that’s what you’re stuck on?”
kirishima blinked. “huh?”
“you’re actin’ like confessin’ is some kinda battle strategy. just spit it out.”
kirishima exhaled sharply. “i can’t! she’s my kind of woman, y’know? she’s strong, she’s passionate, she never backs down from a fight. she’s got this fire in her that makes me wanna be better. and she’s gorgeous, dude, like—way outta my league. and somehow, she still treats me like i’m someone worth standing next to.”
bakugo stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “god, you’re such a sap.”
kirishima groaned. “i know! that’s the problem!”
bakugo pinched the bridge of his nose. “then stop overthinkin’ it. you already know what to do.”
kirishima furrowed his brows. “i do?”
“tch. you don’t gotta be some smooth-talking dumbass. just be you. tell her what you just told me—minus the whining.”
kirishima hesitated, then slowly grinned. “…y’know what? you’re right. i do know what to do.”
bakugo rolled his eyes. “obviously. now get the hell out of my room.”
kirishima laughed as he stood up. “alright, alright. thanks, man. you’re a way better listener than you let on.”
“shut up before i kill you.”
kirishima grinned as he left, heart racing—but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. it was from excitement. because now?
now he was really gonna tell you.
kirishima had faced a lot of scary things in his life. villains. grueling training sessions. bakugo in a bad mood. but somehow, none of those compared to the sheer terror he felt as he made his way through the dorms, heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to break free.
he was really gonna do it. he was gonna confess.
at least, that was the plan.
unfortunately, nervous energy had turned him into a full-blown disaster.
his first mistake was misjudging the distance between the common room couch and the coffee table. he tried to casually step over it, but his foot caught on the edge, and he nearly face-planted.
“shit—”
“dude, you good?” kaminari blinked from his spot on the couch, holding a controller mid-game.
“yeah! yeah, totally good!” kirishima laughed awkwardly, straightening up as if that hadn’t just happened. his cheeks burned as he quickly power-walked toward the exit before he embarrassed himself even more.
his second mistake? the door.
it was a push door. he pulled.
it didn’t budge. he frowned, yanked again. nothing.
“uh…”
sero, who had just entered the common room, raised an eyebrow. “you good, man?”
“i—yeah, i—” kirishima realized his mistake mid-sentence, quickly pushing it open instead. “see? totally fine.”
sero didn’t look convinced. “riiight…”
kirishima groaned under his breath as he finally made it outside, inhaling the crisp evening air. okay. deep breaths. he could do this.
then he saw you.
sitting on a bench near the garden, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, you were completely absorbed in your book. the wind played with your hair, making it dance around your face, but you hardly noticed, eyes scanning the pages with quiet focus. your fingers gently turned the page, movements delicate and unhurried, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.
and just like that, kirishima’s brain short-circuited.
how the hell am i supposed to just walk up to her and drop a confession like that?!
his palms were sweating. his heart was racing. his legs? not cooperating at all.
but he had already come this far—backing out now would make him a coward.
so he forced himself to move, trying to act normal.
which, apparently, was not in the cards for him today.
the first thing he did was stub his toe on the edge of the pavement. he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before eating dirt.
then, as he tried to casually walk it off, he overcompensated, swinging his arms too much, like some weird overenthusiastic jogger.
you looked up just in time to see him approaching. his usually confident stride was replaced with something stiff and unnatural, like he was trying way too hard to look casual. you blinked at him, confused for a moment—then, a small, amused smile tugged at your lips.
“eijirou?” you called softly, tilting your head.
kirishima froze.
oh god, even just hearing you say his name in that soft, gentle tone made his heart do an entire gymnastics routine.
“uh—hey! hi! h-hey there!” he winced immediately. hey there?! who even says that?!
you chuckled, closing your book. “you okay?”
“me? totally fine! just… out here! enjoying the fresh air! like you! haha… yeah.”
he was dying.
you smiled again, patient as ever. “it’s nice, isn’t it?”
“yeah! nice! super nice. like… really, really nice.”
kirishima, for the love of god, shut up.
you hummed softly, shifting on the bench to make room beside you. “do you want to sit?”
oh. oh, that was dangerous.
but there was no way he could refuse, so he quickly nodded, plopping down next to you—too quickly. the force of it made the bench shake slightly, and he almost lost his balance again.
you let out another soft giggle. “you seem kinda jumpy today.”
“i—I do?”
you nodded, eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. “mhm.”
kirishima swallowed hard, gripping his knees to stop his hands from shaking. this is it. just say it. just tell her.
he looked at you, really looked at you—the way your eyes softened when you smiled, the way you always seemed so patient with him, the way your presence alone made him feel like he was home.
his throat tightened.
“i, uh—”
your gaze remained gentle, waiting.
kirishima’s heart was pounding. he could feel the words right there on the tip of his tongue—i like you. no, i love you. you’re my kind of woman. you always have been.
but suddenly, his fear kicked in full force.
what if you didn’t feel the same? what if he ruined this? what if this easy, natural friendship between you shattered because he couldn’t keep his damn feelings to himself?
so instead of saying what he wanted to say, he panicked.
“—i, uh, i was just wondering what book you’re reading!”
a pause.
you blinked.
then, you smiled. “oh, it’s just a romance novel.”
kirishima laughed, but it was a little too loud, a little too forced. “aha—yeah, romance, that’s cool! that’s, uh, really cool.”
you gave him a knowing look, but you didn’t push. instead, you simply opened the book and started talking about the story, your voice calm and soothing.
kirishima barely heard a word. his own thoughts were too loud.
damn it. i chickened out.
but as you kept talking, smiling so softly, so effortlessly, kirishima felt some of his tension ease. maybe he hadn’t confessed tonight.
but at least he was here, with you.
and maybe, just maybe, he’d find the courage next time.
kirishima barely processed a word you were saying.
he was nodding along, making the occasional hum of agreement, but in reality? his brain was still spiraling from the fact that he had completely chickened out. again.
you had given him the perfect chance, sitting beside him, smiling at him, soft and patient as ever. and what had he done? asked about your book. like an idiot.
but even now, as the two of you fell into easy conversation about other things—the day’s training session, how kaminari had nearly set off the fire alarm again, how aizawa looked two seconds away from quitting—kirishima still felt like his chest was too tight.
because you were right there.
the sun had nearly set, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange, and the soft glow of the dorm lights made your features even gentler. your voice, your laughter, the way you turned to look at him with that natural warmth—it was killing him.
and the longer he sat there, the worse it got.
his heart felt too full, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. the words were bubbling up again, just like before, but he was determined not to let them slip out.
so, of course, they did.
“man, i love you.”
the words left his lips so naturally, so effortlessly, that for a split second, he didn’t even realize what he had said.
then, he did.
and his whole world stopped.
you stopped talking mid-sentence. your eyes went wide, lips slightly parted in surprise.
kirishima’s heart nearly gave out.
“—wait, no—” he shot up from the bench so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet. his arms flailed, his hands waving in a panicked frenzy. “i-i mean—not like that! i mean—I do! but not—I mean, yes, but—oh god, i wasn’t supposed to say that!”
you just stared at him, stunned.
kirishima’s face was on fire.
his words kept tumbling out in a messy, frantic rush. “i—I didn’t mean to say it like that! i was gonna say it eventually—no, wait, i mean—I wasn’t not gonna say it, but not right now! i had a plan! a good one! and now i ruined it—”
you blinked. then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, amused smile.
kirishima’s heart stuttered.
“i’m an idiot,” he groaned, running both hands down his face. “i—I swear, i was gonna do this properly, not just—blurt it out like that—”
you let out a quiet laugh.
kirishima froze.
he peeked at you through his fingers, confused. “w-what?”
you didn’t answer right away. instead, you stood up, stepping closer, until you were right in front of him. the sudden lack of space made his breath hitch, but before he could freak out further—
you leaned up on your toes, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.
kirishima went completely still.
every thought in his brain short-circuited.
then, just as he felt his soul leave his body, you pulled back, still smiling that gentle, beautiful smile of yours.
“i love you too, eijirou.”
kirishima forgot how to function.
“you—you what—” his voice cracked mid-sentence.
you laughed, reaching out to take one of his hands in yours. your fingers were warm, soft, delicate against his own calloused ones, and it made his entire body light up.
“i love you,” you repeated, softer this time, looking up at him with eyes full of warmth. “i have for a while.”
kirishima genuinely thought he might pass out.
his mouth opened. then closed. then opened again. his brain was running at a thousand miles an hour, desperately trying to process what was happening.
you… loved him?
him?
his face was burning, his heart was pounding, his entire body felt like it was buzzing. he was so sure that he’d ruined everything. that you’d look at him with pity or let him down gently.
but instead, you had kissed his cheek. held his hand. told him you loved him.
and suddenly, every single ounce of nervousness and panic melted away.
because this was you.
the girl who always cheered for him. the girl who always listened to him ramble. the girl who had been by his side through everything.
the girl he had loved for so damn long.
a slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face.
“holy shit,” he breathed. “you—you love me?”
you giggled. “yes, eiji.”
a breathless laugh escaped him, and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with himself. he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, his heart soaring. “oh my god—I—wow—I cannot believe i just accidentally confessed—”
“would you have ever done it on purpose?” you teased lightly.
kirishima let out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “…probably not.”
you squeezed his hand. “then i’m glad you did.”
his stomach flipped.
for a moment, he just looked at you, the realization settling in fully.
you loved him back.
you had always been his kind of woman. and now? now you were his.
he exhaled deeply, then, without thinking, squeezed your hand and tugged you just a little closer.
“so, uh… does this mean i get to kiss you now?” he asked, grinning despite the heat still burning his cheeks.
you laughed, rolling your eyes fondly. “yes, you dork.”
and with that, kirishima finally—finally—closed the distance.
the end.
#⋆⋰☄︎ kie’s writes#mha x reader#mha#mha fanfiction#mha kirishima#mha eijirou#mha eijiro kirishima#kirishima eijirou#kirishima eijirou x reader#kirishima x reader#bnha eijiro kirishima#bnha x reader#bnha fanart#bnha#kirishima eijiro x reader#bnha eijirou#eijirou x reader#kirishima eijiro x y/n#bnha kirishima#kirishima fluff#Kirishima oneshot#mha fluff#bnha fluff#mha oneshot#bnha fanfiction#bnha spoilers#bnha oneshot#kirishima x you#kirishima eijiro fluff#kirishima eijiro x you
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seeing
paige bueckers x azzi fudd
hi ladies! happy valentines day <3 i have the flu 😩 the last time i had the flu my ex-gf broke no contact to tell me to take care of myself.. just thought i’d share that.. i meant to post this wednesday but i lost the original draft i had of it and only just now finished rewriting it
WC: 765. supa short, longer fics coming i pinkie promise
summary: paige should look away. she knows she should. but azzi is beautiful and, more importantly, hasn’t noticed paige staring. (or maybe she has, and is letting her look anyways.)
the cabin drums with the white noise of plane engines, accompanied by a stillness unique to the sky — suspended moments paige has only found 35,000 feet in the air.
somewhere behind them, there’s a flight attendant passing by with a drink cart. it clatters against someone's seat, the wheels making an unpleasant scraping sound. aaliyah is craning her neck to see if they have fritos, and KK is arguing vehemently with whoever is behind her. paige barely registers any of it.
because azzi is sitting next to her, leaned into the window seat they’d fought over, bathing in the dim light of the overhead lamp — and paige cannot stop looking at her.
she’s reading. or at least, she was reading, because the page hasn't turned in a hot minute. it’s a new book (a paperback paige had caught her eyeing in the airport and bought the second she looked away), but the spine is already cracking from use.
her head is tilted just so, cheek pressed against the cool glass, and the way she’s leaning has the setting sun softening over the curve of her jaw. paige swallows thickly, shifting in her seat.
she should look away.
she knows she should.
because azzi is her best friend, her teammate, the peanut butter to her jelly. and so she should turn away to scroll through her phone, or even watch the moving where-are-we map displayed on the flight screen in front of her. she should do anything but sit there, yearning in the cabin of an avelo airline, and stare.
but azzi hasn’t looked back yet. and so long as it stays that way, paige figures she can get away with it. there’s something stupidly intimate about watching azzi when she’s so clearly focused on something else, eyes decorated with golden flecks where the sun is catching them. there's something soft in the way azzi hasn’t noticed yet, or kind in the way she probably has but is choosing not to acknowledge it. maybe that is what creates the weightless feeling that only seems to exist in the quiet in-between of being with azzi. the way she’s letting paige look, deliberately allowing her to have this moment.
paige knows the second azzi turns her head, she’ll have to school her expression – pretend she wasn’t memorizing the way azzi tugs her lip in between her top teeth, or the way her eyebrows are knitted together like she’s trying to figure something out.
for how hard paige is staring, you would think she’d notice the way azzi’s eyes have stopped following the paper in front of her.
she doesn’t, though. azzi shifts, paige tracking the way her fingertips slide up the spine of the book, and lets her gaze follow upwards – to the slope of her shoulders, the outline of collarbone where her sweatshirt is falling.
then, azzi inhales softly, speaking without raising her gaze. “you’re staring.”
paige freezes, eyes landing on the digital airplane in front of her. “no i’m not.”
azzi smiles. “you are.”
paige shuffles further back into her seat, rolling her eyes. “you think you got your degree, and you know every fuckin’ thing, huh?” she deflects, grin widening at the reference as she nudges azzi’s knee with her own.
azzi hums. she has that look she gets when she knows something paige doesn’t – like she’s waiting for her to figure it out. “i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me.”
paiges grin stutters, her stomach flipping like it does when there’s turbulence. it’s the first time azzi has ever really acknowledged that paige looks at her. if she’s honest, she feels a little caught, walls she thought were well-built around her crumbling at the mere notion of azzi noticing the way paige watches her (of azzi recognizing the way paige looks at her, seeing it in the pages of whatever romance she’s reading).
paige risks a peek over, but azzi is still staring at those same words. paige’s shoulders slump in relief. azzi’s giving her this – this safe distance, the opportunity to ignore what's sitting thickly between them.
i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me. of course she does. it’s all paige can do sometimes: stare.
then paige laughs, light and easy like her world didn’t just briefly stop spinning. “crazy thing to say,” she mutters, faking an unbothered yawn. she prays azzi doesn’t catch the way her voice wavers.
azzi finally turns her head, but paige's gaze is trained stubbornly on her phone. not because she’s embarrassed, but because she’s not sure what would happen if she looked at azzi right now – not while azzi is looking at her.
but from the corner of her vision, paige catches it – azzi smiling, soft and knowing.
and yeah. she probably knows.
#paige bueckers fic#pazzi#paige bueckers x azzi fudd#paige bueckers x azzi fudd fic#pazzi fic#i just love writing pb yearning
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No grave can hold my body down; I'll crawl home to her
Chapter 14
read it on ao3
Chapter 16
When morning finally calls you back to consciousness, you wake with Sevika’s arm wrapped around you, holding you tenderly to her chest. You can feel her lips pressed to the back of your neck, a soft, relaxed smile stuck to your skin. Sinking into the moment, you are at ease for the first time in nine years, protected on all four walls guarding the most dangerous woman in Zaun. You rest your hand overtop of hers, slowly lacing your fingers with hers, taking what you can like a starving dog.
Sevika must feel the shift in states, as a moment later she’s yawning against the scruff of your neck. Your hand tenses, worried she’ll pull back, heart thundering in your chest. Yet, her arm remains firmly wrapped around you, thumb now stroking back and forth across your stomach.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Sevika hums, her voice full of gravel from slumber.
“Did you sleep okay?” you ask, resting your eyes in the safety of her watch.
“’Course I did, I –“
A loud crash sounds from downstairs, and both of you bolt up in bed. It’s a mad scramble for pants and socks, feet thundering down the stairs as your hand tenses over your holster. Both of you fearing the same thing: infected.
Sevika’s around the corner first, freezing when a kid loudly shouts her name, giggling happily. You run right into her back due to the sudden stop, nose colliding with hard muscle. Pulling back, you rub your nose with a cranky groan. Sitting in the kitchen are Jinx and Isha, with Isha covered in pancake batter (flour mostly, if you’re being honest) and Jinx holding a flipper, a mess of pancakes already in the pan.
“What are you two doing?” Sevika sighs heavily, like she’s on the verge of scolding a misbehaving child.
“Making you breakfast, duh! Isha wanted pancakes, and then she wanted to share them with you two, so we came here,” Jinx says innocently, as if she hadn’t just broken into someone’s house.
“Why couldn’t you just have invited us over?” Sevika grumbles, straightening out her shirt as Isha launches herself at her. She catches Isha effortlessly, holding the kid on her hip. “You know, instead of teaching the kid to break into people’s houses.”
“Because this way, you can’t say no,” Jinx states matter-of-factly, flipping the pancakes. One of them smears against the pan, making a bigger mess. “Oh, maybe that one wasn’t ready.”
“She has a point, Sev’,” you butt in, walking around Sevika to help Jinx so she doesn’t make a worse mess of your kitchen.
“Don’t agree with her! You’re supposed to be on my side!” Sevika sputters, standing in the living room, flabbergasted.
You shrug: “I want pancakes.”
Sevika groans half-heartedly, trying to put on a show more than anything. You can see it plainly written on her face; you’ve already won her over. Just as she opens her mouth to argue further, Isha taps her on the shoulder, getting her attention.
Isha signs, her eyebrows raised upwards, an anticipatory smile on her face: “Can we draw together? Please?”
Unable to sign back as her only hand is holding Isha, Sevika nods her head and says “okay” as clearly as she can.
Isha grins, clapping her hands and squirming until Sevika puts her down. Then she runs off to grab some paper from the coffee table, stuffing a purple crayon in Sevika’s hand. Sevika chuckles, sitting cross-legged at the coffee table and accepting the paper Isha gives her. Isha rapid signs at Sevika, who does her best to keep up with the kid, asking her to repeat what she doesn’t catch the first time. Isha, happy someone’s playing with her, continues until Sevika understands completely.
“Hey, love-sick, you going to help or not?” Jinx demands after failing to flip another pancake.
Snapped out of your lovesick stupor you turn around, face flushed and take the spatula from her. “Let me do this; you can layout the spreads and syrups.”
“If you want to fail at pancakes, be my guest,” Jinx surrenders immediately, turning around to root through the cabinets.
“I’m going to be the one cleaning up the mess afterwards anyway,” you point out, managing to flip a pancake without ruining it.
“Hey, we’ll help clean up, I won’t leave you with this mess. Not after Isha dropped the flour – not a lot of it, but if you wonder why there’s white handprints everywhere, she’s to blame.”
“Oh? Pinning your butterfingers on a kid now, Jinx?” you tease her.
“Dodging the fact you’re head over heels for my aunt now?” Jinx counters, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
“Hey!” you hiss, shooting a glare at her.
“Oh, shit you’re not even denying it,” Jinx whispers, staring at you with an open mouth. “You’re fucked, bottle-rocket. Good thing I like you already, otherwise, I would make you go through a grueling trial before I kept your secret for you. But fear not! I shall keep your secret safe and sound.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, ducking your head to focus on the pancakes.
“Don’t mention it!” Jinx giggles, grabbing a wet cloth to clean up the floury mess she’s made all across the kitchen.
By the time you’ve finished cooking the pancakes, Jinx has cleaned up the whole kitchen, making it shine (as best as it can in the apocalypse, at least). Sevika manages to drag Isha away from the coffee table long enough to get a plate in front of her. Isha stops whining the moment she’s presented with sweet, fluffy pancakes, scarfing down at least six (you’re not sure where she puts them all in her tiny body, but you’re not about to stop her; there are a lot of pancakes). Somehow, Jinx manages to wrangle Isha into helping with dishes, the kitchen cleaner than you’d left it by the time the four of you part ways. Jinx is off taking Isha to school, and Sevika’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy as you head to the printing shop. You vow to do laundry that night (hopefully), but today you need clean clothes.
As you walk in the store, you nearly run smack into Grayson. Thankfully, she moves at the last moment and the two of you share an awkward laugh.
“You are now the proud owner of a printing press. Make something good,” she teases you, winking as she slips out the shop. “I’ve got orders to fill, so if there’s any problems come find me!”
“Thank you!” you call after her as she walks off into the slowly thickening crowd of commuters.
“Need help?” Sevika asks, lingering in the doorway as if she’s still not sure whether she’s allowed inside.
“As if I’d say no,” you giggle, pulling her inside. “Come on, I’ll need someone to help me figure out what to print first.”
“Make it something useful – basic first aid or survival skills. Something we can print a lot of to get a hang of the press,” Sevika suggests, following you into the back.
“You’re so smart; what would I do without you?” you ask, beaming up at her as you hold the door to the press room open.
“You’d have come up with it yourself,” Sevika shrugs, stepping past you.
“Maybe, maybe not – who knows? Who cares? You’re here with me now, and that’s much better than doing all this myself. I wouldn’t even have gotten to this part by myself, I’d probably be dead to that horde back when you found me,” you say, taking in the (slightly underwhelming) sight of the printing press.
It’s gorgeously crafted, with carvings in the legs and as accurate to the design as possible. Yet, after weeks of waiting, it felt more like a mute point. You’re anticipating the process far more than the press itself, so you set to work figuring out how to get started rather than staring in awe at the truly gorgeous creation Grayson has delivered to your workshop. Besides, everything pales in comparison next to Sevika.
Together, the two of you spend the next eight hours printing pamphlets, getting covered in ink, and giggling – genuinely, actually giggling. You stop short the first time you hear it escape Sevika’s lips, floored at the beauty of her smile. Your heart swells in your chest, craving to kiss her tender lips – to take her right there and then on the workbench. Yet, you carry on, tucking away your beating heart in the name of art. There’s a time and place to swoon over her, even if that swooning won’t get you farther than a few wayward looks. You’ve come to terms with that. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.
When the sun’s finally setting, Sevika drags you out of the shop and to the grocery store. You pick up something easy to make, taking it home and stumbling through the door, already stoned from the walk over. Sevika had acquired new joints from God knows where, grinning as you tried to drag her sources out of her. No such luck.
“Alright, strip,” she demands the moment you step inside.
“What?” you squeak, face flushing scarlet.
“We need to wash your clothes; it’s disgusting at this point. You get dinner ready and I’ll wash ‘em for you,” Sevika explains, holding out her hand impatiently.
“Oh, right,” you giggle nervously, glancing upstairs at your bedroom. “Here, take this –“ you had her dinner – “I’ll be right back.”
“Be quick,” she grunts, disappointment flickering behind her eyes. You brush it off and race upstairs.
Ten minutes later, you’re standing in her shirt, preparing tacos as she fusses with an old washing machine. In solidarity, she’s stripped down and tossed her clothes in as well, wearing nothing but a white tank top and a pair of plaid pyjama pants now. You admire her back tattoo, wanting to ghost your fingers over it, yet you’re covered in salsa, so you let the feeling pass you by. For now, you lean into the quiet domestic life with her, wrapped up in the gentle current of the universe
Clean clothes have never felt better. You’d nearly forgotten what they felt like all together, but nothing beat the next morning when you slipped into a freshly washed pair of jeans and a bra that wasn’t stiff with grime. Well, almost nothing – it couldn’t beat waking up with Sevika’s arm thrown across your chest, a small puddle of drool soaking into the shirt she’d lent you. As if the universe has finally fallen into place around you, and all you have to do is linger within it.
Unfortunately, Sevika doesn’t join you in the print shop that day. Vander arrives at the house in the early hours of the morning to request Sevika’s help with the windmill. You had almost forgotten about the project! Frankly, you were taken aback that it wasn’t done yet; after all, it has been a little more than four weeks now. Though you supposed building a brand new structure, and all of the pieces that go within it takes far longer when you have to do everything by hand (and can’t import pieces from other sites).
Craving fresh bread made from properly ground flour, you don’t even put up a fight for Sevika’s help. You can work alone if it means the next bun you eat isn’t a little gritty.
Your sacrifice leads to the loss of Sevika’s help for the remainder of the week. It isn’t all bad – Jinx and Isha do stop by occasionally to “help out,” but neither were really all that much help. Mostly, Isha sat on the floor colouring, and Jinx rambled about all the fun things you were missing out on cooped up inside. At least it gave you a distraction while you printed the same thing over and over again – you’d moved past survival pamphlets and onto your first attempt at a book, deciding to reprint the novel you were reading the night Sevika had come to you. Hopefully, Grayson will be satisfied with your selection… but printing a novel meant you had to print several copies of the same page over and over again, fussing over spacing and trying to ensure you had the words spelled correctly. All while Jinx tried to steal pages to read them for herself. In the end, you had to keep two bookmarks in the book, one for your work and one for her reading, as she got far too invested while you were making endless copies of the pages.
Slowly, the quiet rhythm of life began to crawl back into your heart, and you melted into the normalcy that used to pervade your life before the apocalypse. It felt good to finally have the rhythm back – it had tried to return while Sevika was injured but never quite stuck after everything that happened afterwards. Finally, it felt like it’s here to stay; a realization you came to in the middle of printing the heartfelt love confession, swooning over the words as Jinx read them aloud in her giggling mockery that gave away how into the plot she actually was.
Before you headed home for the night, you stopped by the grocery store to pick up something special: steak, baked beans, potatoes and carrots. A dish reminiscent of the first night you cooked for her. You’re giggling to yourself as you pick out a new steak rub, indulging your creativity as you grab a stick of butter. By the time you’ve got everything you need, the basket is nearly overflowing (you might have grabbed an expensive bottle of whiskey and some candles too).
Rocking back and forth on your feet in the grocery line, a voice pipes up behind you: “What’s got you so excited?”
You spin around to see Salo behind you, staring at you with a knowing smile, Mel holding his shopping for him.
“Salo! It’s been too long; how have you been? You haven’t given yourself food poisoning again, have you?”
Salo scoffs and rolls his eyes, his smile refusing to budge an inch. “Occupational hazard. I should be asking you how you’ve been; no one’s seen you all week, except for Jinx claiming she visits you every day in this new… print shop?”
“Oh,” you chuckle nervously and rub the back of your neck. “I guess I’ve been so hard at work I haven’t taken the time for myself. Jinx isn’t wrong; I do have a print shop, though we’re not open yet. I’ve got to get two more books printed before I open my doors, so I have something for all ages.”
“Please let me know when you are ready; I would love to make a larger announcement to the community on your behalf,” Mel interjects, drawing your attention to her. She holds out her hand: “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Mel. Jayce has told me quiet a bit about you.”
You firmly shake her hand, introducing yourself. “I’ve heard about you too – probably not as much as you’ve heard of me. I’d love the help, a little foot traffic would do the shop wonders when I’m ready to open the doors.”
“Excellent. Have you considered collaborating with any local authors to print their works?”
“I have –“ you begin to place your groceries on the counter for the clerk – “I’m not quite sure how to find them, but when I open, I hope to take applications. Printing is a long process; I want to make sure everyone gets a fair chance to have their work printed.”
“A very good idea. I can work with you to connect with local authors; perhaps you could print one of their books as your remaining two.”
“That – that might actually help me decide. If you find anyone willing to work with me, send them down the street, please.”
“Of course.”
You leave the grocery store with a beaming smile on your face as you rush through the evening crowd to get home. Thankfully, Sevika hasn’t made it back yet, so you still have time to roll up your sleeves and get to work. The old cast-iron pan is put to use to sear the steaks as you toss the potatoes in the oven with the pot of beans. The carrots steam in a pot in the far corner of the stove. Everything is given a hefty helping of honey (and other seasonings) to bring out your desired flavours. As things cook, you set the kitchen up around you, lighting candles, setting the whiskey bottle near two glasses, and making sure there wasn’t any dirt on the floor. You’ve even dragged Sevika’s boombox downstairs, plugging it in and tuning it to a local radio station – you’d overheard a group of friends talking about it in the grocery store and wanted to tune in for its first broadcast. So far the music is energizing, painting the kitchen in bright colours that compliment the heavenly scent of your cooking.
You’re so focused on the task at hand and the music that you don’t hear the backdoor swing open, or the footsteps behind you. Until a hand wraps around your waist, her chest against your back, head pressed into her breasts. You squeak loudly, jerking your head up to see Sevika’s sly smile staring back at you.
“Smells heavenly, sugar,” she hums, making you swallow thickly.
“You’ve gotta be louder, I didn’t even hear you come in,” you stammer, trying to make sure you don’t burn the steaks.
Sevika snorts: “That’s not my fault. I even said your name when I came in, you were just too invested in all this to notice.”
“Oh…” you’re thankful she towers over you so she can’t see the way your face flushes in embarrassment. God. This kind of obliviousness would get you killed these days.
“What ya cookin’ anyway? Smells heavenly,” Sevika continues, oblivious to your sudden embarrassment.
“Steak and baked potatoes,” you admit sheepishly.
“Just like the first night, hm? You trying to tell me something?”
“What would I be trying to tell you?”
“I don’t know, but you should write these recipes down; makes the whole house smell divine. Could turn it into a cookbook for your print shop.”
Your head still spins from what she could have possibly meant earlier, so all you manage is a sheepish head nod. You don’t have the faintest idea of what she’s insinuating – it’s not as if you wanted to do anything more than celebrate the good week you’ve had. It’s not as if anything really happened, beyond Grayson flirting with you, that first day. You’d only made steak so that Sevika would talk to you again! Did she think you were mad at her? Oh, God, have you pathologized her with cooking to make her think steak means she’s done something wrong?
“Hey, you even paying attention?” Sevika asks, pulling you out of your mental doom spiral.
“Huh? What?”
“Don’t space out on me now; you’ll burn the steak,” Sevika chuckles. “I said they’re holding a barn dance in a few days to celebrate the new windmill.”
“We should go,” you say immediately, reaching for a plate for the steaks. Sevika grabs one and passes it to you.
“If you want. I usually don’t go to these things, can’t really dance,” Sevika shrugs, giving you space to plate the food.
“All the more reason we should go – you’ve worked hard to help them put on the finishing touches. You deserve a chance to appreciate your own work,” you insist, carrying the dishes out to the table on the back porch.
“You’re just saying that because you want to go,” Sevika points out, taking a seat at the table. The clatter of silverware sings through the backyard as she sets them in the middle.
“Is that such a bad thing?” you ask, sitting down across from her.
Sevika merely grunts, shrugging her shoulders as she takes a steak from the serving platter.
The conversation dies away as the two of you pile your plates high and devour the delicious meal. You listen to Sevika’s day at work – all the dangerous chances she almost died yet unfortunately survived (in her opinion). She listens to your day at work and how Jinx giggled maniacally through the last few chapters of the novel. An air of domestic joy wraps around the two of you, even as you hurry to do the dishes and grab the whiskey off the counter. Sevika puts her feet up on the table – something you scold her half-heartedly for – swirling her whiskey before taking a sip. A contented sigh escapes her as she melts further into the porch swing. You tentatively lean against her shoulder until she pulls you closer, whiskey sloshing in the bottom of her glass so that you’re pressed up against her side.
“This is the life,” she hums, staring up at the stars.
“Certainly better than where I was this time ten years ago,” you scoff, taking a sip of your whiskey.
“Anything’s better than ten years ago. I could get eaten by infected tomorrow and it would still be better than that shit show.”
“Indeed,” you murmur, staring up at her as her face relaxes from a scowl back into the contented smile. Desperation bubbles up in your stomach, craving her lips. You barely manage to temper it down, sating yourself by tracing the line of her lips. Your eyes catch over the piercing at the bottom, tongue escaping to wet your lips as you stew in your own pleasant puddle of arousal.
Sevika, oblivious to your staring, takes a sip of whiskey and continues to watch the night sky. Finishing her glass, she sets it down and wraps her hand around your shoulder, thumb stroking your shoulder. No matter how desperately you crave her, you’re not ruining this friendship over an unrequited crush. You’ll spend eternity in this pleasant misery if you must.
Even if you wanted her thumb stroking somewhere far lower. At least you have the barn dance – maybe you can sway her toward seeing you in candlelight rather than the daylight.
#fanfic: no grave...#sevika#sevika x reader#sevika x you#sevika x y/n#sevika x oc#mel medarda#arcane#arcane fanfic#domestic fluff
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PERFECT EXCUSE .ᐟ
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✸ playful!chenle x fem!reader | genre. fluff | w.c 2.2k | ♡
↳synopsis. you never cared much for valentine’s day. it’s not that you needed to, because school was more important. however, when you get roped into a (stupid) day at the valentine’s day fair, with the annoyingly charming zhong chenle, maybe your perspective will change.
↳playlist. good days - sza. the perfect pair - beabadoobee. bad - wavetoearth. rainbow - nct dream. sunflower - swae lee. love countdown - nayeon.
valentine’s day at college was a disaster waiting to happen. at least, that’s how you’d always viewed it. all the heart-shaped decorations, the excessive amounts of candy, the couples holding hands like they were somehow more in love because of the date on the calendar. it was just a lot of noise—unnecessary noise at that. your life was perfectly organized, your time always scheduled, and you certainly didn’t need some manufactured holiday reminding you that romance existed.
but, of course, your best friend mia had other plans.
“please, just come with me,” mia begged, standing in your dorm doorway, her eyes wide and pleading. “you know i can’t go alone, and honestly, i need you to go so i can be with felix. i’ll owe you, i swear. just this once. for me?”
you rolled your eyes. felix was mia’s crush—one of your other friends who had a thing for always being the center of attention. you couldn’t really say no, knowing how much it meant to her, especially since she’d been talking about him nonstop for weeks. if she wasn’t your best friend, you would’ve said no.
“fine,” you muttered, sighing, setting your textbooks down. “but i’m only coming because you’re clearly desperate, and i’m not staying long.”
mia’s face lit up as if you’d just given her the world. “you’re the best! i’ll make it worth your while, i promise.” she ran to you, attacking you in a hug.
—
so here you were, standing outside the valentine’s day fair on campus, which, unsurprisingly, looked like cupid threw up. balloons floated lazily above booths, and the scent of cotton candy and fried food was everywhere. people roamed around in pairs, couples wrapped in the gooey sweetness of the holiday, while you tried your best to keep the grimace off your face.
“i’m going to go find felix,” mia said, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. “you’re fine here. i’ll text you in a bit.” she dashed off before you could even say anything in protest. your words dying on your tongue as you sighed deeply.
great, you thought. now you were stuck in the middle of this chaos, alone and—if you were being honest—irritated. you wandered toward the game booths, wondering how long you could fake having fun, a familiar voice called out from behind you.
“hey, you’re not trying to sneak off and study, are you?”
you turned to find zhong chenle leaning against one of the booths, casually sipping from a drink, his bright smile practically glowing in the chaos around you. chenle was the kind of guy who could brighten up a room with barely any effort. always cheerful, always a little too playful, he had a way of dragging you into whatever ridiculous situation he was in—whether you liked it or not.
“chenle,” you said with a sigh, trying not to let your annoyance show. “what are you doing here?”
“i could ask you the same thing.” he grinned. “are you here for the lovey dovey atmosphere, or for the free candy?”
you crossed your arms. “neither. i’m here because mia begged me to come. and now i’m completely regretting it.”
he laughed at that, his voice like music, light and easy. “you know, it’s not so bad once you give in. the fair’s actually kinda fun, once you stop being all… ‘up tight’ about everything.”
you shot him a glare. “i’m not ‘up tight.’ i just have better things to do than waste my time at some cheesy fair.”
chenle raised an eyebrow and stepped closer. “you say that now. you’re already stuck here so…might as well make it worth your while.”
you didn’t know why, but his playful tone made you feel slightly… off balance. you’d never been good at letting go of your well-structured plans, but something about his easy confidence made you want to step outside your comfort zone. you shook the thought away.
“yeah, well, mia’s gone, and i’m stuck walking around by myself, in a place where i don’t really wanna be. not really my idea of fun.”
“stuck?” chenle tilted his head, as if considering your words. “you don’t have to be stuck.” his grin widened. “here, how about this? us. you. me. valentine’s day fair.”
you blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “what?”
“no, seriously,” he said, his voice dropping to a playful, almost firm tone. “i’m asking you out. right here, right now. us, enjoying the fair.” his grin was wide, but there was an edge of sincerity to his words that caught you off guard.
you almost laughed, half in disbelief. “you’re asking me out—here? now?”
chenle shrugged, unfazed. “why not? where better to then here? what else is valentine’s day about if not taking chances?”
you stared at him for a long moment, your mind racing. it wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed chenle’s charm or the way he made everything seem easier than it was. but asking you out here? it was so out there, so unlike the controlled life you were used to.
“i don’t know…” you said slowly, shaking your head. “i have a lot of work to do, and—”
“hey, hey.” chenle cut you off, his voice almost pleading, but still playful. “come on. just one day, no homework, no plans. just us and some fun what do you say?”
you felt yourself still hesitating. for all your plans and your need to be in control, something about the way he said it made you think that maybe, just maybe, you could let go for once.
“i see it, you’re giving in,” he smirks pointing at you.
“fine,” you said, a little too quickly, surprising yourself. “one hour. and i’m nothing cheesy,”
chenle’s grin was so wide, you swore he was glowing. “deal.”
and just like that, you found yourself swept up into whatever mess chenle had in mind for the day.
—
“you won’t regret this,” chenle says, grinning as he tugs you forward, weaving through the crowd. his grip on your wrist is light, like he knows you could change your mind at any second. and honestly, you might.
it was way too loud for your liking. screams and yells ring through the air, couples walking past hand in hand, some holding oversized stuffed animals, others sharing pink cotton candy like something straight out of a cliché rom-com. exactly the kind of thing you didn’t sign up for.
“i already regret it,” you mutter, adjusting your bag strap.
chenle hums like he doesn’t hear you—or, more likely, like he’s choosing not to.
then he stops, turning to face you with a dramatic flourish. “so, where should we start our date?”
you groan, smacking his arm. “this is not a date.”
chenle only laughs. “alright, alright. how about something simple? games?” he gestures toward the ones with flashing lights and prizes hanging from the ceilings—rows of giant plushies, novelty heart pillows, and even a ridiculously large teddy bear.
you eye the setup warily. “you mean the games that are totally rigged?”
“that’s loser talk.” he slings an arm over your shoulders before you can protest, steering you toward the booths. his warmth is distracting, and you hate how easy it is for him to act like this—like this whole thing is normal.
he stops in front of a classic ring toss booth, plopping down a few bills. “three tries,” the vendor says, handing over the rings.
chenle smirks, holding up a ring between two fingers. “watch and learn.”
you cross your arms. “you’re gonna lose.”
“you doubt me? me?” he presses a hand over his chest in mock offense. “that hurts. deeply.”
you roll your eyes, but you don’t miss the way his lips twitch, barely holding back a grin. and maybe you’re just a little curious to see if he can actually win.
the first ring bounces off the bottle. the second does the same.
you glance at him, smug. “loser talk, huh?”
chenle exhales, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to take the final shot of an nba game. then, he tosses the last ring.
it lands perfectly.
the booth lights flash, and the vendor claps once. “winner!”
chenle throws his arms up like he just won an olympic gold medal, then turns to you, triumphant. “see? skill.”
you shake your head, unimpressed. “that was luck.”
“skill,” he repeats, accepting the prize. a heart-shaped plushie. he turns to you, eyes twinkling, and before you can react, he presses it into your arms.
you blink down at it. “what—”
“you did say no cheesy stuff, but, y’know.” he shrugs. “couldn’t help myself.”
your fingers tighten around the plushie despite yourself. you tell yourself it means nothing. that he’s just being his usual, annoying self.
but when you look up, he’s already watching you, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.
and for the first time tonight, you don’t have a quick comeback.
—
you don’t know when it happens—when the reluctant acceptance of being here turns into something else, something dangerously close to enjoying yourself. it had been at least an hour by now, you didn’t notice, not keeping track anymore.
maybe it’s when chenle insists on buying you a strawberry milkshake, claiming it matches the “valentine’s aesthetic” before promptly stealing half of it with a smug grin. or maybe it’s when he drags you to the dart booth, loses spectacularly, and then pouts at you until you give up your last attempt—only for you to actually win, leaving him in stunned silence before he bursts into laughter.
“i can’t believe this,” he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “this is the worst day of my life.”
you snort, sipping the remnants of your milkshake. “you’re just mad i’m better than you.”
chenle lowers his arm, watching you with that ever-present amusement in his eyes. “nah, i’m just mad i have to give you all my future winnings now. gotta keep my girl’s record clean.”
you freeze.
he doesn’t, not even for a second, like he didn’t just say something that sent your brain into overdrive. instead, he steps closer, leaning in slightly. “huh. no comeback?”
your fingers tighten around the stuffed bear he won for you earlier, and you tear your gaze away, heart pounding in your chest. “shut up.”
he laughs, the sound rich and full, and for once, you don’t mind being the reason for it.
the realization hits you then—soft but certain. you like being here. you like chenle. you had for a while; behind all the sourness you felt towards him, hearing his laugh, bubbly personality, and seeing his stupid smile. and the worst part? you don’t even want to fight it anymore.
—
the sun has nearly set, casting the fairgrounds in a golden haze, and you swear the air feels different—softer, warmer, like the world itself is urging you to stay in this moment a little longer.
“okay,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. “this wasn’t terrible.”
chenle turns to you, grinning like he’s just won the biggest prize of the night. “that’s it? that’s all i get?”
you roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “okay, fine. i had fun, okay?”
he hums, clearly satisfied, and nudges your shoulder with his. “good. now let’s end on a high note.”
you don’t even have time to question it before he’s steering you toward the ferris wheel. the line is short, and before you can put up a fight—not that you’re sure you even want to—he’s already handing over tickets, tugging you into one of the cars.
the ride begins, slow and steady, lifting you above the fair, above the laughter and music, until all that’s left is the quiet hum of the night and the soft glow of carnival lights below.
chenle leans back, stretching out like he owns the place, but then he turns his head, watching you carefully. “so?”
you glance at him. “so what?”
he tilts his head, eyes warm, knowing. “so, am i growing on you?”
you’ve always thought of chenle as loud, unpredictable, a little too confident for his own good. but here, in the quiet, you see something else—the way his eyes search yours like he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking, the way his fingers tap idly against his knee, like he’s waiting for something.
you let out a breath of laughter, but your heart betrays you, beating faster than it should. you should have a snarky response, something quick and teasing, but all you can do is hold his gaze, the space between you charged with something unspoken.
he shifts closer, not enough to cross a line, but enough to make it clear—if you wanted to close the gap, he wouldn’t stop you.
your fingers tighten around the stuffed bear in your lap.
“maybe,” you whisper.
chenle’s smile softens, and then he gently reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering just a second too long.
the ferris wheel slows, grounding you, but as you look at him, at the way he’s watching you like he’s memorizing every detail, you realize something—
maybe you don’t mind falling, after all.
—
taggies(open) ↳ @kittydollzz @huffnpufffck @completelyjae @lovesuhng @nae-vm @ayibdorrt @chocoriki @yomaman @yukisroom97
⁀➷⊹ ࣪ ˖~ THE LA LA LOVE SERIES .ᐟ
#nct dream#nct fluff#nct#nct imagines#kiszjuli#chenle#zhong chenle#nct x reader#nct scenarios#chenle nct#chenle x reader#chenle x you#nct dream chenle#nct fanfic#kpop ff#chenle imagines#valentines day#nct valentine#kpop writers#kpop fanfic#chenle fanfic#chenle fluff#nct dream series#nct college au
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I’ve been seeing some fics/ideas both on AO3 and on here where Chloe is in an abusive/toxic relationship and Red saves her from it. No hate to those bloggers/writers (I’ve read one on AO3 and bookmarked it immediately cuz it was so good) but it seems extremely out of character for Chloe to ever be with someone who would mistreat her.
From what we’ve seen in the movie, Chloe doesn’t hesitate to fight against someone she believes has done her wrong, and she’s clearly strong enough to fight back so there’s no way she’d let someone overpower her. Plus, her parents literally have the most perfect love story ever, she knows what pure romantic love is supposed to look like, and she would back away as soon as she realizes that it wasn’t the perfect picture her parents are.
So, I suggest, instead of making Chloe the helpless maiden, let Red be.
Red has been sheltered since the day she was born, and she has absolutely no idea what love is or how it’s given or received. Any idea of love she has is from her mother, who, evidently, manipulated her and emotionally abused her. She’s seen to want love, so it makes sense that if it came in the form of pain, she wouldn’t know how to react to that because she’s finally loved, even if it’s not ideal.
Chloe, being the charming knight she is, would swoop in and save Red from whatever misery she put herself in to just be happy for once.
And then they live happily ever after.
The end.
#just a lil rant#I find it really interesting when people write Chloe as helpless or in need of saving#because she clearly wasn’t raised that way#no hate to anyone of course#i thoroughly enjoyed the fics that are written like that#it just seems a lil strange because did we watch the same movie?😭#glassheart#Chloe charming#red of hearts#redcharming#charminghearts#descendants#descendants rise of red#rise of red#descendants 4#glassrose#descendants red#red x Chloe#chloe x red#chloe charming x red#wlw#lesbians#tw abuse
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❀ DEFINITELY NOT MY CROWD.
pairing. frat!jungwon x shy!fem!reader
genre. romcom, american college au, strangers to enemies to lovers (bye??), angst, fluff, mature
synopsis. when your friend drags you out to a frat party a week before the holidays, you didn’t expect to fall into the graces of yang jungwon, one of the fraternity boys at your university. One accidental kiss with Yang Jungwon and a viral post later, you wake up to a text from your sister: “Bring your new boyfriend to Christmas dinner!” Now, you’ve got one week to turn this chaos into a holiday miracle—or a romcom disaster.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/111a29e1ec621f72a1fa7793e9eb5624/7989864afe2e7fbf-2d/s540x810/49a5709c14ede71c121ea404f6d3c07743c3bb64.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e513706630c844ffedb5a03153e38e13/7989864afe2e7fbf-06/s540x810/39deafaa5a338cbabbf6e948595a557658b32f6d.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/95745d05210cab460f4b3d670b0a79c5/7989864afe2e7fbf-29/s540x810/050177ea298c127d4ea7488d9f16de928835afe7.jpg)
“Hey, wake up.”
Madeleine taps on your shoulder, and when you only respond with a mhmm, she takes both shoulders and shakes you violently.
“What the hell Mads!” You say, getting up in a hurry. “What can you possibly need now?”
“Oh shut up, you’re making it sound like you despise me.” She throws an arm around your shoulder. “Will you come with me to Luca’s party?”
“You know I don’t do frat parties.” You say, already brushing off her suggestion. “They’re just loud and people make out in every corner.”
“But you never go out!” Madeleine slumps her body against yours, practically trapping you on your own bed. “Please.”
“Mads I love you, but no.”
Except here you were, in front of Alpha Delta something—was it Alpha Delta Pi? You didn’t know.
All you knew was that the music was way too loud for it not to have a noise complaint from the neighboring houses, and that there were too many drunk college students stumbling everywhere on the grass out front.
“I’m soooo glad we decided to do this!” Madeleine swings her arms around your shoulder, leading you inside the gigantic frat house.
“Madeleine!” A guy comes up to the two of you, his cheeky smile never leaving his face. “And who’s this?”
“Y/N, my roommate I told you about!” Madeleine smiles at you, “you remember Will right? From Econ?”
Will. Will. You’re trying so hard to remember him, until you realize he’s the blonde in front of you, his hockey gear always taking up half of the space.
“This is my girlfriend, Kallie!” Will puts his arm around the girl next to him. “Well it’s nice seeing you Madeleine and Y/N, have a good night!”
Even though he was notoriously loud in class, he was a bit of a sweetheart, and it made you feel a bit better about being here.
“See, that wasn’t so bad right?”
You nod, letting her guide you throughout the house to the kitchen.
“Do you want Pink Whitney or Tequila?”
You decided on Pink Whitney.
“Oh shit—I’m so sorry.” The guy who bumps into you turns around, his pupils dilated and red. He’s clearly very drunk.
“It’s fine.”
“I’m Jungwon!” He smiles at you brightly, dimples showing ever so proudly.
It seemed like everybody at this party was all about smiling tonight.
“Oh Won! You’re here!” Madeleine slides you your shot, and you down it in one go, silently cursing yourself for not taking a chaser beforehand.
“Yep, kinda have to because this is my frat.”
Now that he’s not stumbling over his own foot, you come to realize he’s actually pretty cute. His brown hair is messy and he’s wearing some plain navy blue hoodie that makes him look more attractive than he actually should be.
“This is Y/N, my roommate!”
Jungwon slips his hand into yours, shaking it in a hurry. “Nice to meet you Y/N, wish it was under better circumstances.”
His joke earns a playful shove from Madeleine, who raises her eyebrows at you, already hinting that you should talk to the boy.
“Well I gotta go talk to Luca, catch you two later!”
You don’t have time to pull Madeleine back because she’s already gone, leaving you alone with Jungwon.
“Hey.” He says, now suddenly closer to you. “Wanna kiss?”
It’s a straightforward almost humorous ask, one that a stranger who’s just known you for five minutes shouldn’t ask. But because the alcohol already entered your system and you have nothing better to do; you nod.
Jungwon leaves no time for you to take a breath before sweeping in, closing the gap between yours and his mouth. You can hear hoots from his frat brothers as the kiss grows more intense.
You’re sure you’ve become the very same people that you used to make fun of—the ones who would make out at the corner of parties and act like they had no decency or self respect.
But who cares, right? This was the one time you were out, and finals had been stressing you like a pounding headache, why would a kiss from some random frat guy affect you after the party?
You were clearly very wrong.
-
The next day, you’re awaken to your annoying alarm clock, groaning as you tap aggressively on the snooze button.
“Oh shit,” you say, feeling lightheaded when you try to get up. “What time is it?”
From the corner of your eye, you can see Madeleine’s blonde hair spread out on every part of her bed, her limbs tangled in her blankets.
You try to rub your eyes as you reach for your phone, and when your vision clears, the first thing you do is let out a shrilling scream.
“WHAT THE FUCK?”
“What? What’s wrong?” Madeleine’s head pops up, her hair messy and all over her face.
Madeleine stares at you groggily as you toss your phone at her. She fumbles to catch it, squinting at the screen before her eyes widen.
She slaps a hand over her mouth, though the giggles that escape are anything but subtle.
"Why is there a video of me kissing Jungwon everywhere?!" You groan, flopping back on your bed as the stress headache from finals makes a sudden comeback.
"It's not just a video," Madeleine says, scrolling furiously. "You and Jungwon are, like, the new talk of the frat. You know how frat boys are like. The sorority girls might even be jealous."
"I'm going to die," you mutter into your pillow.
"You are not going to die, Y/N."
You groan, yanking the pillow off your face just as your phone vibrates again. Madeleine hands it back to you, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
You don't even have to check the screen to know who's texted you. You sigh and unlock it.
[annoying older sis]: Bring your new boyfriend to Christmas dinner. I’m serious. Mom’s already setting the table for him.
You sit up so fast you almost get whiplash.
"No. Nope. No way. This cannot be happening." You turn to Madeleine, holding your phone out like it’s cursed. "My family thinks Jungwon’s my boyfriend. What am I supposed to do now?!"
"Bring him!" Madeleine chirps, far too enthusiastic for this godforsaken situation.
"Are you insane? I barely know him! He’s probably already forgotten who I am."
As if the universe is mocking you, your phone buzzes again.
[Unknown Number]: Hey, it’s Jungwon. Can we talk?
You stare at the screen, heat rushing to your face.
"Is that him?" Madeleine practically screeches, leaning over to read the text. "Oh my god, Y/N, he’s texting you first. This is fate!"
"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing her away as you type back:
Sure. Where?
The response is almost instant.
[Jungwon]: Can you meet me at the campus café in an hour?
Madeleine screeches in excitement yet again.
-
An hour later, you’re already regretting your life choices as you walk into the café, spotting Jungwon sitting at a table near the window. His hoodie from last night is gone, replaced with a clean black sweater that somehow makes him look even more attractive.
When he sees you, he grins, those stupid dimples making your stomach flip for reasons you refuse to acknowledge.
"Hey," he says as you sit down across from him, awkwardly tucking your hair behind your ear.
"Hey," you reply, wondering if it’s possible to combust from secondhand embarrassment.
"So, uh…" Jungwon rubs the back of his neck, looking almost as nervous as you feel. "About last night…"
You brace yourself for him to tell you he doesn’t want anything to do with you, that the kiss was a mistake, and you should forget it ever happened.
But then he says: "I wanted to apologize. I don’t usually, like, kiss random strangers at parties. I was kinda drunk, and I just… yeah, sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
You blink, caught off guard by how genuine he sounds. "Oh, um, it’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t terrible or anything."
Jungwon raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. "Wow. 'Not terrible.' High praise."
You groan, covering your face with your hands. "Sorry. I’m awkward and shy and bad at this."
"I noticed," he says with a chuckle.
When you peek through your fingers, you find him smiling softly at you, his eyes warm and kind.
"Anyway," you say quickly, dropping your hands. "I’m sure you’ve seen the video by now."
"Yeah," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck again. "That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. People are, uh, kinda freaking out about it. And my fraternity brothers keep calling you my girlfriend."
"Funny you should mention that," you say with a dry laugh. "My family thinks you’re my boyfriend too. My sister wants me to bring you to Christmas dinner."
His eyes widen. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yeah. And I don’t know how to tell them the truth without ruining Christmas, so I was thinking…"
"You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?" he finishes, tilting his head.
"Just for a week!" you say quickly, holding up your hands. "We get through Christmas, and then we go our separate ways. No one has to know it wasn’t real."
Jungwon looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Finally, he says, "Okay. I’ll do it."
You blink. "Wait, really?"
"Sure," he says with a shrug. "It sounds kinda fun. And honestly…" He leans forward, his voice dropping to a soft, almost teasing tone. "I need to get out of my frat house. They have yet to let me live down this moment."
Your face flushes, and you look away, muttering, "Frat guys are ridiculous."
"Maybe," he says, grinning.
This was going to be a disaster. You could already feel it.
-
The rest of the week feels like a blur of planning. Between texting Jungwon to coordinate your "backstory" and surviving Madeleine’s endless teasing, you barely have time to process what’s happening.
"How do we even explain how we met?" you ask Jungwon during one of your brainstorming sessions at the campus library.
"We could just tell the truth," he says, leaning back in his chair. "That we kissed at a party."
You give him a look. "Do you want my family to hate you?"
"Fair point," he laughs. "Okay, how about we say we met through Madeleine and just… hit it off?"
"Sounds fake but okay."
You decide to meet again the next day after class to properly establish some backstory for your "relationship." Jungwon shows up late, looking like he just rolled out of bed.
"Nice of you to show up," you say sarcastically, already in a foul mood from a pop quiz from your professor.
"Sorry, I was busy," he says, completely unbothered.
"Doing what? Beer pong practice?"
"Actually, yes," he says, grinning. "Gotta keep the skills sharp."
You groan. "Unbelievable. How am I supposed to convince my family you’re my boyfriend when you’re this… this frat boy?"
"Hey, being a frat boy isn’t a personality flaw," he says, feigning offense. "Besides, you’re the one who dragged me into this. If you wanted someone polished, you should’ve asked that guy from your bio class—what’s his name? Eric?"
"First of all, Eric has a girlfriend," you retort. "Second, I didn’t drag you into this. Madeleine did."
"Same difference," he says with a shrug.
You glare at him, but he just smiles, annoyingly relaxed.
This was going to be a long week.
-
You figure a visit to the Christmas market downtown might help you get some convincing couple photos. But of course, Jungwon treats the whole thing like a joke.
"Hold still," you say, holding up your phone.
Jungwon drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer than necessary. "Come on, you gotta sell it, Y/N. Look like you’re in love with me."
You shove his arm off. "I can’t do that when you’re being this insufferable."
"Insufferable?" he repeats, feigning offense. "You wound me."
"You’ll live," you mutter, snapping a photo.
He peers over your shoulder at the screen. "That’s terrible. Here, let me."
Before you can protest, he takes your phone, tilts his head toward yours, and snaps a selfie. To your annoyance, it actually looks good.
"There," he says, handing the phone back to you. "You’re welcome."
You stare at the photo, trying not to notice how natural the two of you look together. "You’re so annoying."
"And yet, here we are," he says with a grin.
“Whatever.”
-
"Why do we need so much food?" Jungwon complains, trailing behind you as you push a cart through the grocery store.
"Because my family eats a lot," you say, scanning the shelves for the specific brand of cranberry sauce your mom insists on.
He picks up a box of gingerbread cookies and examines it. "Why don’t we just bring these? No one’s gonna care."
"Are you serious?" you ask, snatching the box out of his hands. "We’re not showing up with store-bought cookies. My mom would have a heart attack."
"Wow," he says, leaning against the cart. "You’re really committed to this whole 'perfect daughter' thing, huh?"
You glare at him. "Unlike you, I actually care what my family thinks."
"Touché," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. "But for the record, I think your mom would survive."
You ignore him and toss the cookies back on the shelf.
Later that night, after spending hours wrapping presents, you find Jungwon lounging on the couch in your apartment, scrolling through his phone.
"Do you ever do anything productive?" you ask, flopping down next to him.
"Define 'productive,'" he says without looking up.
"I don’t know. Something that doesn’t involve your phone or beer pong."
He smirks. "You’re obsessed with beer pong. Did someone beat you at it once or something?"
"No," you say defensively. "I just think it’s a ridiculous way to spend your time."
"Noted," he says, finally putting his phone down. "So what do you do for fun, Miss Holier-Than-Thou?"
"I read. I bake. I actually contribute to society," you say with a smug smile.
"Wow. Thrilling," he says, but there’s a teasing glint in his eye.
You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, he leans his head back against the couch and lets out a deep sigh.
"Okay, seriously, though," he says. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"
"A little," you admit. "My family can be… a lot."
"I’ll survive," he says, turning to look at you. "But what about you? Are you gonna be okay?"
The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. For once, he’s not teasing or joking. He’s just… Jungwon.
"Yeah," you say softly. "I think so."
"Good," he says, smiling at you. "Because no matter how terrible this dinner is, I’ve got your back."
And just like that, the walls you’ve been trying so hard to keep up start to crack.
-
By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, you’re a ball of nerves. Jungwon picks you up in his car, looking annoyingly calm and way too good in a dark green sweater and tailored coat.
"You ready?" he asks as you slide into the passenger seat.
"Absolutely not," you reply, clutching the tin of cookies you baked as a distraction the night before.
"You’ll be fine," he says, flashing you that same dimpled smile that’s starting to become your undoing.
The moment you walk through your parents’ front door, you’re greeted by your sister, Addison.
"There she is!" Addison exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug that feels more like a performance for whoever might be watching. "And this must be Jungwon!"
Jungwon smiles politely, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."
Addison looks him up and down, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her champagne glass. "Wow. Y/N really outdid herself this time."
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your older sister has always had a way of making everything about her, even when it’s not supposed to be.
"Where’s Mom?" you ask, desperate to change the subject.
"In the kitchen,"s she says, waving a dismissive hand. "But don’t worry about that. We need to get a picture of the happy couple for Instagram."
Before you can protest, Addison drags you and Jungwon to the living room, posing you in front of the tree like a pair of dolls.
"Smile!" she says, her phone already snapping away.
Jungwon leans in closer, his arm sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You stiffen for a moment before forcing a smile, trying not to think about how warm he feels.
"Perfect," Addison says, scrolling through the photos with a self-satisfied smirk.
Dinner is somehow both better and worse than you expected.
Your mom keeps asking Jungwon about his family, his major, and his plans after graduation, while your dad mostly nods approvingly between bites of turkey.
Your sister, however, spends the entire meal subtly (and not-so-subtly) comparing everything you’ve ever done to her own achievements.
"Oh, you’re studying business, Jungwon? That’s cute. My fiancé, Ryan, just got promoted to VP at his firm," she says with a laugh that grates on your nerves.
"That’s impressive," Jungwon says politely, but you can tell he’s unimpressed.
"And Y/N," Addison continues, turning her attention to you. "It’s so nice to see you with someone. I was starting to think you’d be single forever."
The table goes silent. Your mom tries to awkwardly steer the conversation elsewhere, but the damage is done. You feel your cheeks burn, and you suddenly lose your appetite.
After dinner, you excuse yourself, slipping out onto the back porch to get some air. The cold bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You just need a moment to breathe.
You’re staring at the snow-covered yard when the door creaks open behind you.
"Hey," Jungwon says softly, stepping outside. He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest.
"Thanks," you mumble, pulling the coat tighter around you.
"You okay?" he asks, leaning against the railing beside you.
"I’m fine," you lie, though your voice cracks on the last word.
Jungwon gives you a look, the kind that makes you feel like he can see right through you.
"She always does this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Addison. The perfect sister who has to be better at everything."
"You’re not supposed to do that, you know," he says lightly, gesturing towards your cigarette.
You roll your eyes and lean against the railing, lighting it with a practiced flick of your lighter. "I don’t. I barely smoke. But, you know, desperate times…"
Jungwon chuckles, his breath fogging in the cold air. "I get it."
You exhale, the smoke curls around you, rising into the frosty night. "She just knows how to get under my skin. It’s like she’s made a career out of it."
Jungwon leans next to you, resting his elbows on the railing. "I don’t know. Sounds like she’s just jealous."
You laugh humorlessly. "Of what?"
"Of you," he says simply.
You blink at him, caught off guard. "Are you serious?"
"Completely." He reaches over and plucks the cigarette from your fingers, taking an awkward, experimental puff before immediately coughing.
You burst out laughing as he doubles over, waving a hand in front of his face. "What—what are you doing?"
"Trying to figure out what the big deal is," he says between coughs, his cheeks turning pink—though whether it’s from the cold or his failed attempt at smoking, you’re not sure.
"You don’t have to join me, you know," you tease, taking it back from him.
He straightens up, giving you a sheepish grin. "I just wanted to see what you like about it."
"It’s not about liking it," you admit, tapping the ash against the railing. "It’s more—I don’t know. It gives me something to do when I feel like falling apart."
Jungwon is quiet for a moment, watching the snow-covered yard below. Then he says, "You don’t need this."
You glance at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.
"You could just… talk to me instead,” he says, his eyes meeting yours.
Your heart does that annoying flip thing again, and you quickly look away. "Talking doesn’t solve everything, you know."
"No, but it helps." He pauses, then adds with a teasing smile, "And it’s probably better for your lungs."
You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. "Fine. Next time, I’ll talk to you."
"Good."
The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels rare and precious. The cigarette burns down to a stub, and you flick it into the snow, watching the ember fade out.
His presence is warm and steady, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel so overwhelmed.
"Thanks." You say softly. "For agreeing to this. I don't even know what I was thinking suggesting it. Addison just texted me and I freaked. I guess there was always a part of me that wanted to impress her."
Jungwon hesitates for a moment, then says, "You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit."
You glance at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"I mean—you let people like Addison make you feel small, but you’re not. You’re kind, and funny, and you care about people. That’s more than most people can say."
You stare at him, your throat tightening. "Why are you saying this?"
"Because it’s true," he says, his voice soft but certain.
You shake your head, looking down at your hands. "You don’t even know me that well."
"I know enough," he says.
There’s a long pause, and then, almost too quietly to hear, he adds, "I love you."
Your head snaps up, your heart pounding in your chest. "What?"
"I love you," he repeats, looking right at you.
"You’re insane." You say, voice barely above a whisper. "You’ve known me for a week. I'm awkward and I wouldn't make a good girlfriend. You'd be ashamed of me, you know."
"I love you, Y/N."
You're not too sure what to say, not expecting him to stand his ground so firmly.
"I didn’t expect this to happen. I thought this would just be some silly, fake thing. I don’t care if you think you’re awkward or shy or anything else. I love you exactly the way you are."
You take a shaky breath, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name.
"I don’t know what to say," you admit.
"You don’t have to say anything," he says gently.
You nod, your heart still racing as he steps back inside, leaving you alone with the snow and the stars and the weight of his words.
For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, his cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes full of warmth and sincerity.
And then, before you can overthink it, you rise on your tiptoes and kiss him.
This time, it’s not for show. It’s not for anyone else.
It’s just for you.
#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen x female reader#enhypen fake texts#enhypen fic#enhypen ff#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen fluff#enhypen angst#enhypen au#enhypen scenarios#enhypen smau#enhypen smut#jungwon imagines#jungwon x y/n#jungwon x you#jungwon x reader#jungwon x female reader#jungwon fluff#jungwon fanfic#jungwon fake texts#jungwon au#enhypen jungwon#Jungwon#enhypen x y/n#enhypen x you
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WRITTEN IN THE SAND | CS55
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/330c744bc9b417e1e308b6e35c7774b9/fd64f0e8f0d0d1bf-86/s540x810/d783fb3cb60409de4dedb0d193f883c09be3193d.jpg)
summary : He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasn’t already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.
wc : 8.5k
an : im a slow writer chat mb 😞 also nearly a month on this site!! tysm
“What’s the game plan for the summer?” Kika didn’t even glance up from her phone, one hand lazily stirring her drink with that tiny straw she always insisted on.
You were sprawled on a cushioned lounge chair in a swanky Monaco terrace bar, the Mediterranean sun heating your skin, but the breeze kept things just shy of unbearable.
You took a sip of your drink and smirked. “Seduce Carlos Sainz.”
Kika’s straw froze mid-stir. She blinked twice at her screen before slowly looking up, sunglasses sliding down her nose. “Sorry, could you run that by me again? Because I swear you just said you’re going to seduce Carlos Sainz, which is clearly a champagne-induced delusion.”
“Nope, you heard me loud and clear.” You leaned back, full of confidence. “Carlos Sainz. Mine. By the end of summer break.”
Kika blinked at you, deadpan. “Sweetheart, no offense, but you’ve been thirsting after this man since you were, what, 16? That’s six years of unrequited daydreaming.”
You squirmed slightly but held your ground. “Doesn’t matter."
"If he hasn’t noticed you by now, what’s your plan? Set yourself on fire in front of him?”
“Only as a last resort,” you said, deadpan.
She threw her head back, laughing so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Oh my God, you’re serious. This isn’t a joke.”
“Dead serious.” You popped the cherry from your cocktail into your mouth like it was the period at the end of your sentence. “I’m done playing it safe. This summer is about action.”
Kika raised an eyebrow. “Action? You tripped over your own feet last week trying to order coffee. What are you going to do, hit him with your car and hope he falls for you during physical therapy?”
“Of course not.” You stood abruptly, tossing your straw onto the table with a dramatic flourish. “That’s plan B. Now come on.”
“Come where?” She squinted up at you, clearly unimpressed.
“To get the tools I need.” You grabbed her hand, yanking her out of her seat.
Ten minutes later, you dragged her into a boutique that was a Monet painting of excess. Silk curtains, chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the scent of overpriced jasmine perfume floating through the air.
A sales assistant appeared out of nowhere, all smiles and perfectly coiffed hair. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she greeted, eyeing your Chanel tote approvingly.
“Bonjour,” you said, breezing past her.
“Why are we here?” Kika asked, dodging a rack of bikinis that looked like they’d been designed with dental floss.
“Seducing my brother's teammate? Keep up, Kika,” you groaned, holding up a red bikini that looked like it belonged in a Bond movie. “Men are simple creatures. You can’t argue with science.”
“That’s not science, that’s objectification with a catchy slogan,” she deadpanned, plucking a neon green bikini off a nearby rack. “But sure, blind him with this and see how that works.”
You recoiled, snatching it from her and tossing it back like it burned. “Please. Focus. I need chic, sexy, and unforgettable. I need to haunt his dreams.”
“What you need,” she muttered, ducking under a display. “is a therapist.”
“And yet, here you are, enabling me.” You held up another bikini, black and sleek, with delicate gold accents. “This says, ‘I’m hot and I don’t care if you notice,’ right?”
Kika folded her arms, leaning against the counter. “It says, ‘I’m hot and definitely care if you notice but will pretend I don’t.’”
“Exactly!” you said, thrusting the bikini at her. “This is step one material.”
Kika frowned. “Step one material?”
“Yes. Step one: look absolutely irresistible,” you replied. “Carlos has seen me as Charles’s little sister for years. This summer, he’s going to see me as a woman. A very hot woman.”
“And you think this is going to do the trick? He’s a man, not a magpie.”
“Every detail matters. If I look stunning, he’ll notice me. If he notices me, he’ll talk to me. If he talks to me…”
“You’ll forget how to form a sentence?” Kika offered, smirking.
“...I’ll be charming and mysterious,” you continued, ignoring her. “Carlos loves a challenge. And I? I’ll be the challenge of the summer.”
She snorted. “You’re the challenge of my summer, that’s for sure.”
You flashed her a grin, unfazed. “Collateral damage.”
Kika raised an eyebrow, surveying your choices with a mixture of disbelief and mild concern. “You do know Charles is going to kill you, right? Or worse, he’ll tell your mother.”
“Charles doesn’t need to know,” you said confidently, grabbing a cover-up that was so sheer it might as well have been a polite suggestion of fabric and tossing it onto the pile.
“He’s going to know the second you start giggling like a schoolgirl,” Kika shot back.
You paused, giving her your most serious look. “I do not giggle. I smolder.”
Kika raised an eyebrow. “You giggle. You giggle like someone told you tacos are calorie-free.”
Before you could respond, the sales assistant, who had been lurking in the background with a grin wide enough to rival the Mona Lisa’s, swooped in. “Vous avez fait un excellent choix, mademoiselle,” she said, beaming. “Très… sexy.” You made an excellent choice, miss
You flashed a smile back. “Merci, ma chère,” you said, tossing her an air kiss. “I do try.”
Kika groaned audibly. “What is that? French for, ‘Please don’t let my stupidity kill me’?”
“Not quite,” you replied breezily, adding a sheer cover-up to the pile. “But close enough.”
The assistant’s smile widened to terrifying proportions. “Peut-être vous voulez essayer ces sandales aussi?” She gestured to a pair of sky-high gold heels that looked more weapon than footwear. Maybe you want to try these sandals too?
You tilted your head, admiring the craftsmanship. “Oh, I absolutely do.”
Kika slapped a hand over her face. “I can feel my soul leaving my body.”
“Catch it,” you said, handing over your credit card. “We have work to do.”
The assistant handed you your shopping bags with reverence, her eyes glittering with admiration. “Vous êtes une inspiration, mademoiselle. Vraiment.” You are an inspiration, miss. Really.
“Merci beaucoup,” you said, winking at her. You turned to Kika, your heels clicking on the marble floor as you strutted toward the exit. “
Kika followed you out into the sun-drenched street, muttering under her breath. “Mark my words, Carlos Sainz is going to look at you and-”
“-see the one thing he can’t have,” you finished for her, sliding on your sunglasses.
“The one thing he can’t have is peace.”
You scoffed. “You’ll swallow your words when you’re sitting front row at my wedding.”
“To Carlos or Charles’s ghost?”
“Whoever makes it there first.”
—-
The next step was getting Charles to invite Carlos over the summer, which, thankfully, proved embarrassingly easy.
"Sœurette," Charles sang as he sauntered into the living room, lifting your feet off the couch with all the grace of a forklift before plopping down dramatically. Your legs ended up sprawled across his lap. "Comfortable, are we?"
“Move,” you said, giving his stomach a solid nudge with your heel.
“Ow- merde!” He rubbed his abs like you had mortally wounded him, throwing in some exaggerated groans for good measure. “You’re cruel. No respect for your poor frère.”
“What do you want?” you mumbled, not looking up from your phone.
“Wanna go to Ibiza with me?”
You finally glanced at him, raising a skeptical brow. Sure, you wanted to, but seducing Carlos was still an active operation, and time was of the essence. “Pass.”
“Wait, wait,” Charles interrupted, holding up a finger like he was about to offer you the cure for boredom. “I’m inviting some of the guys. Pierre, Carlos-”
He hadn’t even finished the sentence before you were already mentally booking your plane ticket.
“-and Lando,” he continued, oblivious to the fact you had stopped listening at “Carlos.”
You forced yourself to stay cool. No big deal. Act normal. Charles couldn’t know
“Hmm. Okay.”
His brows knitted. “That’s it? Okay? No arguing? No ‘what’s the catch’? You’re just saying yes?”
“Don’t make it weird, Charles.” You shrugged, scrolling on your phone like you were barely paying attention. “Now get off me, you oversized cat.”
“Excusez-moi, I’m the one providing the luxury vacation, and you’re kicking me?”
“I’ll kick harder if you don’t move.”
—-
Carlos almost didn’t recognize the woman chatting with Lando by the poolside when he arrived at the villa Charles had rented for their summer getaway.
He lingered by the sliding glass door, his suitcase forgotten at his side. The sun cast shimmering patterns on the pool’s surface, reflecting onto your skin in flashes that made him question whether he was still half-asleep from the flight.
You were gorgeous. Too gorgeous. Scandalously gorgeous. And suddenly, Carlos felt a flicker of betrayal. How could Charles not have warned him about your presence here?
A wave of jet lagged self-awareness hit him—rumpled T-shirt, unkempt hair, and dark circles under his eyes.
Definitely not the first impression he wanted to make, especially not in front of you.
You wore a deep red one-piece swimsuit with an open back, the kind of effortlessly elegant choice that made him wonder if you knew exactly how much attention you commanded.
Sunglasses perched delicately on your nose, you stood at ease, laughing lightly at something Lando said.
“Carlos!” His friend called out, waving lazily when he spotted him. “You made it!”
Your voice was bright and warm, carrying over the quiet splashes of water.
Lando, predictably, was soaking up your attention with his signature grin, and Carlos already felt the prickling need to intervene.
You turned at the sound, shifting your weight onto one leg. Though the sunglasses obscured your eyes, the faintly mischievous smile tugging at your lips was enough to throw Carlos off balance.
Dios mío.
Carlos straightened, brushing a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to look less like he’d been dragged off a plane.
He inhaled deeply, summoning whatever charm the flight hadn’t stripped away, and stepped forward, dragging his carry-on behind him.
Your smile widened, but you said nothing, tilting your head as if appraising him.
“Hey,” he greeted, nodding at Lando first before letting his gaze linger on you.
“I don’t think we’ve met.” His voice dipped slightly, sliding into that smooth, natural lilt he knew could win people over when needed.
“Right,” Lando cut in, either oblivious or deliberately sabotaging him. “This is-”
“Let him figure it out,” you interrupted, holding up a finger with a playful air.
Carlos blinked, momentarily thrown off, but a sly grin found its way onto his face as he leaned on the handle of his suitcase. “Is that how it is?”
“That’s how it is,” you replied smoothly, folding your arms.
Lando chuckled, glancing between the two of you as if he’d stumbled upon the first act of a drama he couldn’t wait to watch unfold. “Good luck, mate,” he said, clapping Carlos on the shoulder before wandering back toward the pool.
Carlos watched him go, then returned his attention to you. “Okay, give me a hint. Something to work with, no?”
You shrugged, adjusting your sunglasses. “You’ve got a whole week to figure it out. Make it count.”
Before he could counter, a loud, familiar voice broke through.
“Carlos!”
Carlos turned, spotting Charles striding toward him with an easy grin. His friend pulled him into a quick hug, slapping his back affectionately.
Then Charles’ gaze shifted to you. He gestured casually. “You remember my sister, right? She hasn’t been at the paddock much, but you’ve met her before.”
He turned back to you, eyes scanning for something familiar, something to anchor the dissonance in his mind. There it was: the teasing smirk, the air of quiet confidence. You were now barely suppressing laughter.
Carlos froze mid-handshake, his thoughts scrambling to process the bombshell.
Sister?
Oh, no.
Oh, god.
He just flirted with Charles’ sister.
“You’re-” he stammered, pointing at you like the gesture might piece things together faster.
“Oh,” you said lightly, dragging out the word with unmistakable glee. “I think he remembers now.”
Charles glanced between you two, clueless. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” you replied too quickly, your smirk sharpening. “Carlos was just… introducing himself.”
Carlos rubbed the back of his neck, heat crawling up his face. “Right,” he muttered. “Nice to see you again.”
Your sunglasses slid down your nose just enough to reveal your eyes. Bright, amused, and entirely too focused on him. “I don’t know,” you said, voice like silk. “I feel like I’m meeting you for the first time, don’t you think?”
Lando’s loud laugh from the poolside made Carlos glance his way in exasperation.
But his real problem was standing directly in front of him.
Because now that he knew who you were, he also knew your age.
Twenty-one. And him? God, he was thirty. Nine years. Practically a decade.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
This wasn’t just an awkward misunderstanding; it was a moral minefield. He shouldn’t even be looking at you this way, not with the easy pull of your smirk still tattooed on his thoughts.
Carlos latched onto the excuse like a lifeline. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Be right back.”
Charles, blissfully unaware, gave Carlos an out.
“Anyway,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “Go put your bags inside. Lando already claimed the biggest room, so you’re stuck with whatever’s left.”
Dragging his suitcase toward the villa, he could feel your gaze following him. Against his better judgment, he glanced back.
Carlos shook his head, muttering under his breath as he disappeared inside. He needed a cold drink, a cold shower. Anything to reset his brain.
You were still there, reclining on a lounge chair, the picture of confidence. A cocktail glass dangled from your fingers, the cherry swirling lazily in the liquid.
When your eyes caught his again, your smirk deepened, as if you knew exactly what chaos you’d caused.
This week was supposed to be about relaxing.
Instead, it was shaping up to be a survival test around you.
—-
Carlos had made his decision.
For the sake of his own sanity, and for the sake of his friendship with Charles, he was going to ignore you.
It was the only logical choice.
Because if he didn’t? If he let himself get caught up in whatever quiet game you seemed to be playing, he knew it wouldn’t end well.
You were too young, too vibrant, too untouchable. Like sunshine in a bottle.
He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasn’t already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house.
He shouldn’t have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.
He’d lock it all down.
So that was it. He’d be polite, civil even.
But anything more than that? Off the table. No lingering glances. No indulging in the spark of mischief behind your eyes. No letting his thoughts drift to places they shouldn’t when you smiled his way.
It was a good plan.
Unfortunately, plans didn’t account for things like the spontaneous game of cards that had started on the patio that night. Or the dangerous way the stakes had escalated as the hours passed.
“What about strip poker?” Pierre had suggested with a mischievous grin, his words slurred just enough to suggest he’d had one drink too many.
Everyone had laughed, the idea absurd enough to feel harmless.
But somehow, after a lot of ribbing from Lando and an alarming lack of objections from anyone else, the game had actually started.
But tonight? Tonight, his carefully honed poker face was utterly useless.
Carlos had always considered himself good at poker.
Calm, calculating, unreadable. Qualities that served him well on the track and at the card table.
You were to blame.
Sitting across from him at the patio table, with your head tilted and a soft, amused smile tugging at your lips, you were impossible to ignore.
The warm glow of the overhead lights softened your features, and the lazy way you shuffled your dwindling pile of chips made it clear you weren’t taking the game half as seriously as he was.
You didn’t have anything.
Across from him, you hesitated, your lips pressing together as you studied your hand.
The chips in front of you were dangerously low, and Carlos could see the flicker of indecision in your eyes.
You sighed, reaching for your chips, but Carlos cut you off. “Raise,” he said, pushing more into the pot.
Your gaze snapped to his, your brows furrowing. “You’re raising now?”
“Got to keep it interesting,” he said lightly, masking the tightness in his chest.
You tilted your head, clearly suspicious, but you matched his bet anyway, your hand trembling slightly as you tossed the last of your chips in.
The others at the table were too busy bickering to notice the undercurrent between the two of you.
Lando, already down to his boxers, was arguing with Charles over the merits of bluffing, while Pierre leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself for someone whose pants were in the discard pile.
Carlos barely noticed them.
When the cards were revealed, his pair of eights was enough to beat your pitiful hand. A mismatched collection of low cards that hadn’t even come close to forming a straight.
“Guess that’s it for me,” you said, your tone light but resigned. You reached for the hem of your sweater, clearly ready to pull it off and join the ranks of the semi-dressed.
Carlos acted before he could think.
“Wait,” he said sharply, drawing everyone’s attention. “I fold.”
Pierre frowned. “You can’t fold. The round’s over.”
“Then I forfeit,” Carlos said, tugging his shirt over his head in one swift motion. The cool night air prickled against his skin, but he ignored it, tossing the shirt onto the growing pile in the center of the table.
You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.
Carlos shrugged, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I’m just keeping things fair.”
Charles raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and the game moved on.
It kept happening.
Every time you were on the verge of losing, Carlos found a way to sacrifice himself instead. He’d bluff too hard, bet too high, or simply fold when he was holding a decent hand. It was reckless and obvious, at least to you, but no one else seemed to notice.
By the time Carlos was down to just his jeans, he realized he was playing a very dangerous game.
“Bold move, mate,” Lando said, grinning as Carlos slid his last few chips into the pot.
“Desperate,” Pierre corrected, his tone smug.
Carlos ignored them, his gaze flicking to you. Your stack of chips had grown considerably, thanks to his strategic losses, but you weren’t gloating. If anything, you looked concerned, your brow furrowing slightly as you studied him.
“Carlos,” you said softly, barely above a whisper.
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
You hesitated, then glanced down at your cards. The silence stretched as you debated your next move, and Carlos could see the exact moment you decided to fold.
Not this time.
“I raise,” he said, pushing his remaining chips into the pot.
Your eyes widened. “Carlos-”
“Call it,” he said firmly, his voice low.
The others were too busy watching the pile in the center of the table to notice the exchange between you two.
You sighed, finally revealing your hand. It was better than his, but not by much. He grinned as he tossed his own cards down, leaning back in his chair with a shrug.
“Guess that’s it for me.”
Charles groaned, muttering something under his breath about bad decisions, but Carlos didn’t hear him. His focus was on you, on the way your lips parted slightly in surprise, on the way your gaze lingered as he stood and pulled his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.
“Next round?” Pierre asked, shuffling the deck.
Carlos shook his head, grabbing his shirt and tossing it at Pierre’s face. “I’m out.”
He glanced at you one last time before walking inside, his pulse racing.
—
When Carlos woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains, warm and golden against the soft white of the sheets. The second thing he noticed was the blissful lack of a hangover, despite the absurd amount of wine Pierre had insisted on pouring last night. Small mercies, he supposed.
The faint sound of clinking dishes drew his attention. Throwing on a shirt, Carlos padded out of his room and into the kitchen, where he found Charles leaning against the counter, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, the other scrolling through his phone.
His hair was a mess of sleep-tousled curls, and his voice still carried the rough edges of morning as he glanced up.
“Morning,” Charles said, holding up his mug in greeting. After a beat, he added, “Thanks, by the way… for last night.”
Carlos froze mid-step, frowning as he tried to piece together what Charles meant. “Thanks for what?”
Charles finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his coffee mug. “For saving my sister a few dozen times.”
Carlos’ stomach dropped. “What?”
“You know,” Charles repeated, tilting his head slightly as if it were obvious. “During poker.”
“Oh.” Carlos shifted awkwardly, his fingers tightening on the toothbrush he was holding. He forced a casual shrug. “It’s fine. I’m just bad at poker.”
Charles snorted, setting his mug down on the counter. “Don’t give me that. I’ve seen you win against professionals before. People who actually know what they’re doing.”
Carlos busied himself with turning on the tap, wetting his toothbrush like it was the most fascinating task in the world. “I guess it just wasn’t my night,” he said lightly, though the way his pulse quickened betrayed him.
“Hmm,” Charles hummed, leaning back against the counter as he studied him. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his gaze made Carlos’ neck prickle.
“You’re imagining things,” Carlos said, his voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re not very subtle, you know. Every time she was about to lose, you suddenly went all in on terrible hands. It was painful to watch.”
Carlos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he muttered, though even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing.
“Sure it wasn’t,” Charles said, his tone dry. He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly over the rim of the mug. “You know, you’re lucky I trust you.”
Carlos froze again, the words hanging heavy in the air.
“Trust me?” he echoed carefully.
“Yes,” Charles said simply, setting his mug down and crossing his arms. “Because if it were anyone else, I’d be having a very different conversation right now.”
Carlos blinked, unsure how to respond. He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and for a moment, he considered denying it outright. But Charles wasn’t stupid. And Carlos wasn’t a good enough liar to get away with it.
So instead, he sighed, setting his toothbrush down and leaning against the counter opposite Charles.
“Look,” he began, keeping his voice low. “I’m not trying to... I mean, it’s not like that.”
Charles raised an eyebrow.
Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe it’s a little like that,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I wasn’t. Nothing’s happening, alright? I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Charles studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Carlos’ surprise, his lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.
“I know,” he said simply.
Carlos blinked. “You... know?”
“Yes,” Charles said, his tone light but firm. “That’s why I’m not threatening to kill you right now.”
Carlos let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks for that,” he said dryly.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Charles warned, his smile fading. “I trust you, Carlos, but I also trust her. And if you do anything to make her upset, I will kill you.”
Carlos nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “Understood.”
Charles nodded once, apparently satisfied, before grabbing his mug and heading for the door.
—
“Hey, sœur- what the fuck is that?” Charles called out from where he lounged on the sofa, still half asleep. His eyes were fixed on your bikini. “Is that... dental floss?”
You rolled your eyes dramatically, adjusting one of the straps. “Non, idiot. It’s a bikini. Fashion. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
He scoffed, leaning back, crossing his arms. “Fashion? Ça? Ça, c’est un crime. Who sold you that? A two-for-one deal with a pack of gum?”
“Ha ha. Très drôle,” you said dryly, walking past him toward the beach. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, monsieur modesty police.”
Charles held up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, okay. But when the waves steal that little string you call swimwear, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Bonne chance.”
“Pfft,” you muttered, waving him off. “I’ll be fine.”
But, as you made your way down the steps to the sand, something felt odd. Charles hadn’t fought you on it.
No complaints about ‘covering up’ or embarrassing remarks about ‘respectability.’ No last-minute insistence on changing into something more “appropriate.” It was... new.
And oddly suspicious.
Wading further in, you let out a satisfied sigh, the gentle waves lapping at your legs. You dove under the water, resurfacing with a triumphant gasp.
You pushed the thought aside as you let the warm sand squish beneath your toes. The salty breeze tossed your hair, and the ocean called to you.
You dipped a toe into the water, pleased to find it perfectly cool.
For a while, you floated peacefully, content. Until one particularly aggressive swell caught you off guard.
You felt it immediately.
The tug of the water.
The loosening of straps.
Panic shot through you as you scrambled to grab the top of your bikini, but the slippery fabric slipped through your fingers and was swiftly carried away by the current.
You had two options: wade out and grab it, hoping no one was around to witness your embarrassing half-naked sprint… or stay hidden and pray it washed back on its own.
“Oh, merde! Non, non, non!” you hissed under your breath, frantically cupping your breasts as you scanned the empty beach for help.
It was still early. Too early for anyone else to be up and running and save you from this mortifying situation.
Your cheeks burned as you stood there, half-submerged in the water, desperately trying to figure out a plan.
Option one was looking more appealing until you heard the soft crunch of footsteps on sand.
Carlos.
Of course, it was Carlos.
Because fate had a sense of humor, and apparently, you were its favorite punchline.
He ambled out of the villa, a towel slung lazily over his shoulder, his dark curls sticking up like he’d just rolled out of bed. His face was adorably grumpy, the pout of someone who hadn’t had coffee yet. And then his gaze landed on you.
He froze.
You froze.
You tried to act casual. Well, as casual as one could while half-submerged, hugging their chest like they were reenacting a dramatic shipwreck scene.
Carlos’s frown deepened, concern flickering across his face as he took a hesitant step closer. “Are you… drowning?”
“Not drowning,” you chirped, your tone overly bright. “But thanks for checking!”
“Oh.” His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. “Right. Uh… do you- want me to…?”
His brow furrowed. “Then why are you…?” His words trailed off as his eyes drifted to the water, where your bikini top bobbed lazily with the current.
Realization dawned like a slap, his cheeks instantly turning a satisfying shade of pink.
“Be my hero, Carlos,” you said with exaggerated sweetness, gesturing dramatically toward the water. “Save my dignity before the ocean claims it forever.”
He stared at you for a moment, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath before tossing his towel onto the sand and wading into the water.
You tried not to watch him, but… well. You were stuck here, and it’s not like there was much else to look at. The way his muscles flexed, the water slicking over his skin.
It was distracting. Infuriatingly distracting.
He resurfaced a moment later, holding up your bikini top like a trophy.
“Got it,” he called.
“Oh, congratulations, Captain of the Swim Team.” You clapped. “Now bring it here before someone else decides to take a morning stroll.”
Carlos swam back, wading into shallower water as he handed it to you. His smirked when you snatched it from his hand.
“Need help putting it back on, princess?”
You raised a brow. “Funny. Actually, yes.”
That wiped the smirk off his face.
“…What?”
You turned your back to him, holding out the tangled strings over your shoulder. “It’s all knotted. Be a gentleman, Carlos.”
He made a strangled sound. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. Chop-chop.” You wiggled the strings for emphasis.
Carlos muttered something in Spanish, but he stomped through the water toward you anyway. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him as his hands carefully took the strings.
His fingers skimmed over your bare skin, and your breath caught in your throat. Sharp and shallow.
“Stop fidgeting,” Carlos muttered, his voice rough with concentration.
“You’re taking forever.”
“It’s not exactly easy tying this thing without looking.”
“Look, then.”
Carlos froze.
The silence stretched.
You could feel his breath behind you, hot against the curve of your neck.
Slowly, deliberately, his hands tightened around the strings. Not painfully, just firm enough to make you gasp and spin around.
“Carlos!”
He didn’t flinch.
His dark eyes locked on yours, sharp and unreadable. Then, with a darkness you recognized, his gaze flicked to your lips and lingered.
Too long.
Your pulse stuttered.
“Carlos,” you warned, softer this time.
He didn’t move. Neither did you.
And then it happened.
His mouth crashed into yours, hot and demanding.
You barely had time to gasp before his arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against him.
For a moment, the world dissolved. The waves, the sun, the beach. All of it disappeared beneath the heat of his kiss.
And then he pulled back, breaking the moment with a frustrated groan.
“We can’t do this,” Carlos said, his hands still gripping your waist.
“Sure we can.” You grinned, breathless, leaning closer. “We’re already doing it.”
His grip tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself. “I’m too old for this. For you.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re thirty, not eighty.”
“That’s not the point,” he snapped, his voice rough. “You… You deserve someone younger. Someone who-”
“Someone who what?” you interrupted, your eyes narrowing. “Someone who’s scared of me? Who wouldn’t be able to handle me?”
“Someone who doesn’t know better,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your lips again.
You softened, leaning closer. “Maybe I don’t want someone who doesn’t know better.”
Carlos let out a strangled laugh, shaking his head. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”
“Good,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.
For a moment, he gave in, his mouth claiming yours again, desperate and unrelenting.
But then he tore himself away, his chest heaving as he stepped back, the water lapping at his thighs.
“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice rough.
“Carlos,” you said softly, stepping toward him.
His hands came up, stopping you. “You don’t get it. I can’t just-” He gestured between the two of you, struggling to find the words. “If this goes wrong…”
“It won’t,” you said firmly. “You’re overthinking it.”
For a long moment, he just stared at you, torn between caution and temptation.
“God help me,” he muttered before pulling you back into his arms, kissing you like he’d never stop.
“Oh, please. You like it.”
That did it.
Carlos groaned, a raw, frustrated sound, and suddenly his hand was in yours, gripping tight.
“Come on.”
“Where are we-?”
“Somewhere with fewer witnesses.”
You laughed, breathless and exhilarated, stumbling after him as he dragged you toward the rocky outcropping at the edge of the beach.
“Oh, now you’re worried about witnesses?”
Carlos shot you a look over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m not tying your bikini back on twice.”
You snorted. “Coward.”
“Keep talking, and I’ll leave you naked out here.”
“Oh, threats!” You giggled, letting him pull you behind the rocks, the world disappearing behind towering stone and crashing waves.
And then he was on you again.
No hesitation, no teasing.
Pinned against the rough stone, your body trembling in Carlos’s firm grip, his mouth crushed against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.
His hands slid over your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body searing into yours.
He kissed like he had all the time in the world. Like he was determined to take every last bit of air from your lungs.
You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he backed you harder into the rock, the scrape of it barely registering against the dizzying sensations he drew from you.
His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, to the tender spot just below your ear, and you shivered as his teeth scraped lightly over your skin.
“God, Carlos-” you whispered, but the words broke off into a gasp when his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you higher against him.
“Mm.” His lips curved against your throat, and he hummed low, a sound filled with lazy amusement. His mouth worked along your neck, deliberate and unhurried, leaving your skin flushed and tingling.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes roamed over you.
Your swollen lips, your heaving chest, your thighs trembling where they rested against his hips. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving up, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.
“Has anyone ever made you come with their mouth before?” he asked though he looked as though he already knew the answer.
The heat in your face intensified, your breath catching as his hands wandered down your thighs, teasing the edge of your bikini bottoms.
You tried to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, and all you managed was a small shake of your head.
His smirk deepened, a low chuckle escaping him as he brushed his thumb over your flushed cheek. “Didn’t think so,” he murmured. “You’re so damn pretty when you’re flustered. Cute.”
Your hips instinctively arched toward him, but he didn’t rush. He held you steady, hands firm but gentle, guiding you with a patience that only heightened the ache between your legs.
His lips found your collarbone, kissing and nipping lightly, as though savoring every inch of you.
When he finally moved between your legs, the sight of him looking up at you from between your thighs sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.
His hands spreaded you open with a careful precision that made your heart race. Carlos nudged you higher against the rock, shifting you into position, gaze sweeping over you like he was memorizing every detail.
“You’re shaking already,” he said softly, his voice edged with amusement as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”
You whimpered, fingers tangling in his dark hair as his lips moved closer, teasing, never quite giving you what you wanted.
His stubble scraped lightly against your sensitive skin, making you shiver, and when his breath fanned over your core, you nearly bucked against him.
“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, desperate.
Carlos’s low hum vibrated against your skin, and he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, his smirk audible in his tone. “So needy,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Then, without warning, his mouth was on you.
The first long, deliberate swipe of his tongue over your clit drew a sharp cry from your lips, your back arching off the rock.
He didn’t falter. His tongue worked you with slow, measured precision, every flick and circle designed to draw you closer to the edge.
You tried to move, to grind against him, but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place.
He was relentless, alternating between soft, teasing licks and harder, more focused strokes that made your vision blur.
“Oh, f-fuck-” you gasped, your voice breaking, your fingers tugging harder at his hair.
He didn’t respond, didn’t lift his head, just let out a soft, pleased sound that sent vibrations through you, his mouth working you even harder. His fingers joined in, slipping inside you with ease, curling just right, hitting a spot that made you cry out.
The tension coiled tight in your belly, your entire body trembling as he brought you closer and closer. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. Just steady, unshakable control, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did.
It was overwhelming.
The pressure, the heat, the way his tongue and fingers worked together. It all built into something you couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back even if you tried.
Your body tensed, and with a broken moan, the wave crashed over you, leaving you shuddering, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it.
Carlos didn’t stop until you were nothing but a trembling, breathless mess, every last tremor wrung from you.
Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his chin wet with you.
He lifted his head, hands brushing gently over your thighs as if to ground you.
He leaned in, his mouth finding yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that left you dizzy all over again. The taste of yourself on his lips only heightened the intimacy, the rawness of it.
“First time for everything, huh?” he murmured against your mouth, his tone low and teasing, though his eyes were warm, almost soft.
Your breath came in shallow gasps, your body still trembling, and as you looked at him, at the way he gazed at you with that infuriating, knowing smirk, you knew you were ruined.
You barely recognized your own voice when you whispered, “Fuck me.”
His eyes found yours, dark and hungry, his control fraying at the edges. For a brief moment, he stayed still, as though restraining himself, the tendons in his neck taut, his jaw clenched.
Carlos had you against the rock again in seconds, his hands firm on your thighs, his body pressing into yours with a force that left no room for hesitation. He moved without teasing this time, his lips crashing into yours.
Your fingers gripped his shoulders, your nails biting into the hard muscle beneath his skin as he angled you higher against the rock.
The rough scrape of it bit into your back, but the discomfort was drowned out by the searing warmth of him, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck.
You tried to gasp his name but he didn’t give you time to finish.
He lifted you higher, spreading your thighs wider around his hips. The strength in his hands was almost dizzying, his grip unyielding as he shifted your body to his liking. When his lips trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks, your head fell back, exposing more of your skin to him.
His swim trunks were gone in a moment, and when you glanced down, your breath hitched at the sight of him.
Thick, hard, and impossibly big, he stood there like he was made to ruin you. The sheer size of him sent a shiver through your body, heat pooling low in your belly as your thighs clenched involuntarily.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his tone low but soft, the edge of a smile playing at his lips as he reached for you again. “Relax, baby. I’ll make it fit.”
Your breath stuttered, your fingers clutching his shoulders as he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. The first push was slow, almost gentle, but the stretch was immediate, sharp, and overwhelming.
“Carlos,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your body struggled to take him.
“You can take it.” His jaw clenched as he pushed in another inch. “Just breathe, baby. Let me in.”
You did, your breaths coming in shallow pants as he fed you inch by inch. The stretch was nearly unbearable, your body clenching around him as if trying to resist.
He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, hands steady on your hips as he worked himself deeper.
“You’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained as though the effort of holding back was physically painful. “So perfect.”
The fullness was overwhelming, the sheer size of him stretching you beyond anything you thought possible. He didn’t rush, didn’t force it, but every inch was a challenge, your body trembling as it adjusted to him.
Finally, he was fully seated inside you, the press of his hips against yours sending a jolt of pleasure and relief through your body. For a moment, he stayed still, his chest heaving against yours, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew you’d feel the bruises later.
“Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re so perfect. Made for me.”
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.
Your body stretched and full in a way that left you dizzy.
The ache was sharp but fading quickly, replaced by the thrum of pleasure that sparked with every small movement.
Then he began to move.
His hips pulled back slowly, the thick length of him dragging against your walls before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep.
The sensation was electrifying, your body tightening around him as he set a steady, deliberate rhythm.
Each thrust was measured, controlled, as though he was determined to make you feel every inch of him.
The pressure was unrelenting, his cock hitting spots inside you that sent waves of pleasure rippling through your body.
You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as his pace quickened, the strength of his thrusts leaving you gasping.
The rock behind you scraped against your skin with every movement, but the sting was nothing compared to the pleasure building inside you.
Carlos shifted, lifting you higher against him, angling his hips to drive deeper. The new position made you cry out, your head falling back as the sensations intensified, every nerve ending in your body alight.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough, his hands tightening on your hips as he moved faster, harder.
The fullness, the stretch, the relentless rhythm. It was too much and not enough all at once. Your body trembled, your thighs shaking around his waist as the tension inside you coiled tighter, threatening to snap.
“Carlos,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hands fisted in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto.
“Come for me,” he growled, his hips slamming into yours with unrelenting force. “Come on, be a good girl and come for me.”
His words sent you spiraling. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, your entire body trembling as you shattered around him.
Your cries filled the air, your walls clenching tight around him as the release ripped through you.
Carlos groaned, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, and with a final, shuddering moan, he buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in a rush of heat.
For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the crash of the waves a distant echo.
His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle now as they smoothed over your thighs, grounding you.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
You nodded faintly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “I’m perfect,” you whispered.
He chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice tinged with both amusement and awe.
“Then you’ll die happy,” you teased, your fingers brushing lightly over his jaw.
He smiled, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, tender, and unhurried.
—-
Carlos insisted on carrying you back to the villa, effortlessly lifting you into his arms and wrapping a towel around you to shield you from the cool evening air.
You tried to protest, laughing half-heartedly while squirming a little in his hold, but his arms only tightened around you, pulling you closer.
The warmth of his body against yours was a welcome contrast to the crisp early morning air, and despite your teasing resistance, you felt a pull of affection.
“Carlos, no, seriously. I’m fine,” you said, attempting to push lightly against his chest. “You don’t have to carry me like this.”
“Shh,” he murmured, adjusting his grip to make sure you were even more comfortable, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not fine. I just fucked you, and so I’m taking care of you. Aftercare, baby. So stop fussing.”
You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. “Carlos, seriously. Charles is going to murder you if he sees-”
Carlos’ grin only widened, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him as he held you effortlessly, his voice dropping lower, laced with amusement. “Charles already knows.”
Your brows shot up, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding through you. “Wait, what? He knows?”
Carlos’ grin softened slightly, the playful edge in his tone giving way to a hint of sheepishness. "Yeah… Poker night.”
You blinked, the realization dawning slowly but surely. “Poker night?” You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “Oh my god, you told him?”
“Well, he kind of guessed. And then, the next morning, he gave me the talk.”
You stared at him for a moment, blinking as the full weight of the situation sank in. “The talk? That talk?”
“The one and only.”
You snorted. “I can't believe you let him talk to you like that.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Trust me, I wasn’t about to argue with him.”
You nestled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, and smiled up at him. “You’re lucky I don’t have a talk with you myself.”
He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh? You’d have the talk with me too?”
You leaned in closer. “Maybe later,” you said softly, the affection in your voice undeniable.
Carlos’ grin softened as he held you just a little tighter. “I’ll be waiting for it, cariño.”
—-
Hours later, Lando and Pierre stumbled into the living room, bleary-eyed and still caught in the haze of sleep.
They froze in the doorway, blinking in surprise at the sight before them.
You and Carlos were both fast asleep, tangled together on the couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest. His arms were draped around you, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other tangled in your hair as you slept soundly.
Pierre raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a grin as he cast a glance at Charles, who was sprawled across the couch like he had nowhere else to be.
Charles didn’t even look up, clearly at ease with everything happening. Pierre nudged him lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re okay with this?” he asked, voice low but tinged with disbelief. “I mean, just like that? No big deal?”
Charles didn’t stir, stretching out lazily as if the whole situation was perfectly normal.
He met Pierre’s gaze with a smirk, the kind that only came with complete indifference to drama. “Are you seriously asking me that?” he drawled, as if the question were almost laughable. “Better than any of you, I’ll tell you that much.”
Lando, however, was having none of it.
He threw his hands up in mock exasperation, his dramatic flair coming to the surface even as he tried to stifle a yawn. “Hold up, hold up!” He pointed an accusing finger at Carlos, his voice raising slightly, though still laden with sleepiness. “I can’t even flirt with her without getting death threats, but Mr. Smooth Operator here gets to just waltz in and- what? -sweep her off her feet? No questions asked?”
Carlos stirred slightly at the noise, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he shifted to get more comfortable. His voice was low, heavy with sleep, but there was an undeniable warmth to it as he spoke, still gazing down at you with affection. “That’s pretty much it,” he muttered, the hint of a lazy chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tightened his hold on you just a little more.
Pierre shook his head slowly, blinking as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “So… this? This is serious?” he asked, voice almost whispering as though not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.
Carlos let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible as he pressed his cheek gently against your head, completely content in the quiet. His eyes fluttered open, and he met Pierre’s gaze with a slow, sleepy smile.
“Trust me,” he started, barely awake. “There’s more to figure out, but this?” He paused, glancing down at you, his eyes soft with affection. “This is happening.”
—-
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do you think Falin's chimerism would affect her lifespan and behaviors? or just her body? maybe she can make more animalistic noises or has vague dragon-like instincts?
that’s a really good question! I think we could probably figure this out by taking a look at what we know about Falin, what we know about red dragons, whether these things would apply to Falin, and go from there.
The obvious external changes Falin has are: her eyes, her teeth, and her feathers.
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It’s hard to pin down what Falin is like! Throughout the duration of the manga, she wasn’t really a character so much as a plot device. We have almost nothing told from her point of view, and the majority of her unbiased (as in, we’re seeing her through a neutral lens and not another character’s perception of her) characterization is from the post-canon omake.
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Even Falin believes that her wanderlust might come from her dragon side, but she's not sure. Personally, I think it’d make a lot of sense if it kind of does, in the sense that she has 20/20 vision now, haha! For most of her life, she could probably only see clearly within a relatively small sphere surrounding her, and now she can see everything. She can look up and around freely in a way she couldn’t before. Fuck man, if I had magic lasik I’d probably go out more too.
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Some other quirks that are really unclear whether it’s typical for Falin or chimera-influenced:
she enters rooms through windows, sometimes. And given the leaves in her hair, I think it’s reasonable to assume this is not the first floor 💀 But who knows! Maybe that’s not new for Falin.
She points out that Laios’s scent could deter monsters. Maybe she has enhanced smell. But again, it isn’t unreasonable to think this is something she would have said before. (I think even Chilchuck and Izutsumi, whose senses of smell are enhanced, can’t identify scents well. Kuro, however, can.)
VIOLENCE! But again, we’ve seen her beat shit with her staff before, and she also used to wield a flail. It IS a trait for red dragons to fight any large threat, so if anything, she’s got even better monster fighting instincts than before. I don't think this would carry over to people. Falin has always been better with people, and I'm personally not a fan of seeing her depicted as territorial or possessive. Marcille is already the possessive one, and didn't need dragon blood to be like that.
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Ultimately, I don't think her dragon traits extend much farther beyond this. Especially when you consider How Little the dragon is represented as in her conscience.
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it's not like it's a 50/50 split. She's like a person with a dragon ratatouille. I don't think she'd be able to make dragon noises. I don't think her body is built for that. I know there's like, a set list of tropey characteristics that are given to almost every non-human character in fiction. and sure that's FINE but they tend not to be especially personalized to the character, and tend to just be an excuse to write them OOC. Like, sure, dragons may have instincts regarding sleep habits, hunting, courting, raising young, etc etc, but so do humans! And we don't compulsively act on every instinctual whim we have. I don't see why it'd be any harder for her new dragon instincts.
If anything, I think she'd feel more affected by the fact that she has part of the demon in her.
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I don't think Falin's in any sort of trouble. All the demon was was a way to communicate with people. Here, it's representing Falin's tether to the infinite realm, to mana itself. The winged lion no longer has the desire to consume anymore because, yknow, Laios has that now. This is very likely why she no longer needs to chant to cast magic.
But what else does this mean for her? She already had unusually high reserves of mana + an innate connection with spirits, but is her mana essentially limitless now? How would that affect her lifespan? I'm leaning towards, it wouldn't really?? But is she immune to mana sickness now? Is it more like her magic is just sort of amplified like it would be in a dungeon?
We can infer that having more mana doesn't increase your lifespan, because-- while elves and gnomes have both naturally high levels of mana and longer lifespans-- dwarves live longer but have lowest levels of mana of all.
So to answer your question! Maybe a little bit?? But I don't think she'd change a whole lot.
#dungeon meshi#dungeon meshi spoilers#long post#falin touden#laios touden#chilchuck tims#marcille donato#my art#comic
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The girl next door
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Gojo x insecure fem reader
ᯓ★
Synopsis : in which you are a college student, and the roommate of Shoko. You meet Gojo Satoru, her friend, for the first time in a quite embarrassing way, and you directly can’t stand him. Loud, charming, handsome, flirty, teasing, everything to put you on your nerves. He kept joking around, hitting on you. But you were sure he was just playing. Because why would someone like him be interested in someone like you ?
Warnings : tooth rooting fluff, swearing, Gojo is a menace, some angst, insecurity, romantic comedy, slow burn, enemies (one sided) to friends, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, pet names, smut, praise kink, p in v, foreplay, loving sex, some Shoko x Utahime
Words count : 21k (that’s… a lot)
જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ Autor’s note : it’s my first fic that is over 20k words. I really enjoyed writing it so I hope you guys will love it too ! Not completly proof read tho, xoxo
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The first time you met Satoru was rather embarrassing.
It’s not been long since you knew your new roommate, Shoko. She was a very chill and nice girl, proposing to smoke with you, helping you with cores, cooking, and being very easygoing. She wasn’t often at the shared apartment. Either studying on campus, being a medicine major was quite hard (even though she told you she cheated a lot), or either hanging out with her friends.
You didn’t really know her friends personally. You only saw them on pics, pics that she posted on her personal social media. You remember thinking that they looked hot. A guy with white hair, that intrigued you. Another one with long black hair, that looked like a model. They both looked like models, actually. And others, girls and guys included. They all were insanely attractive, to the point that you thought you were like the black sheep of her pretty friends. That was mean to yourself, but you couldn’t help these small sentences of insecurity traversing your mind whenever you saw her new posts with them, or even when you kinda, you admit, went to stalk their accounts.
It didn’t take much for you to meet some of her friends, in the end. And maybe, maybe you wished it was in another situation. Because why the fuck you were sitting in your pajamas, next to the prettiest guy you ever seen, on your damn couch, on a wednesday night.
Let’s get back in time. Earlier that day, your roommate told you that she would bring two of her friends. You expected girls, since the last time it was one named Utahime that was hanging out in the warmth of the living room. So, once you came from your classes, the first thing you did when finally being back inside your apartment was to take a shower to wash off all the dirt that got accumulated through the day. After finishing to clean yourself with your favorite scented body wash, and all the routine that comes after your shower, you tightly wrap a towel around your body and open the door. You sigh, but then stop dead on your track.
“Shoko, where is the bathroom ? Oh- nevermind, I found it,” exclaims a voice, before you are facing a tall white haired man looming over you, raising his eyebrows and then grinning when seeing you. You gasp, realizing you were only wearing a towel in front of a total stranger.
“Oh my fucking god !”, you almost scream as you step back, and the stranger chuckles, raising up his hands to show he is clearly innocent. For a second, his blue orbs eye you down.
“Oops, sorry sweetie,” he says, turning around to give you some privacy as you felt the words die on your tongue at the surprise you had. You didn’t even react to the horrible nickname he called you, and quickly stepped to the side.
“You can use the bathroom, it’s free,” you say without waiting for an answer and dash towards the room, slamming the door behind you.
You breathe heavily, wanting to bury yourself six feet underground. Alright, calm down. He barely had the time to see you. And the towel covered you enough. It wasn’t that bad… right ? You sigh, and then change in your pajamas. Even if you knew that Shoko brought friends that you clearly didn’t know, you didn’t want to bother to dress up for strangers. Comfortability was top priority, even more because of how tired you felt. Without further ado, you put on your clean pajamas.
Satoru swore, from what he saw, even if it was only for a second, that he met an angel. His heart was beating abnormally quick as he washes his hands in the sink, and glances at himself in the mirror. The bathroom was filled with the scent of body wash, and some steam was glued to the atmosphere and the walls. Lord, he wanted to see more closely the face of Shoko’s roommate. He was curious, even more that he barely had the time to really look at her. Curiosity, yeah, curiosity, that’s all.
As you come back in the living room, you see Shoko smoking at the window, and at her side a tall guy with long black hair lazily half tied in a bun. He looks at you arriving, and as you turn your eyes, you see the guy from earlier. Sitting on manspread on the couch, oversized sweatshirt hood over his head, making him look even more comfy in his attire. His eyes lock with yours, and the corner of his lips stretches. Finally he could see what you really looked like. He stares at you.
“Here she is ! Sorry for earlier, uh…” he starts to say, tilting his head to the side.
“Y/n,” you answer, gazing back at him before not sparing him another one, going towards the table to take your phone in your bag. He nods to himself, repeating your name in his mind.
“You really are a dick, Satoru,” groans Shoko, rolling her eyes. You smile at her, and she gives you back the grin.
“Violating the intimacy of a lady like that, that’s really not gentleman of you,” adds the black haired guy, and you can't help but let out a small laugh at his exaggeration.
“Suguru, come on, it was an accident,” whines the so-called Satoru, pouting slightly. You couldn’t help but think he looked like a petulant child.
“I’m fine, I don’t care,” you clear out the situation, your hands in front of you to show that they could take it easy.
“That’s good to hear,” smiles Satoru, and you look back at him for a second. You raise an eyebrow.
“Well, I’ll let you guys hangout together,” you annonce, ready to leave back to your own room. Not to add that right now, you were in your not so pretty pajamas, and you felt slightly embarrassed to be seen like that. At first you didn’t care, you just wanted to go fetch your phone discreetly in your bag, not wanting to dress up just for that. But you didn’t plan on starting a conversation with these strangers !
“No, stay y/n, so I can present them to you,” insists Shoko, as she blows the smoke of her cigarette at the window, and the black haired one inhales on his own, piercing purple eyes on you.
“Uh…” you start, unsure.
“We don't bite,” adds the so-called Suguru from what you heard the white haired guy call him earlier.
“Or maybe you’re too shy ?” taunts Satoru, and you frown. You let out a huff and sit next to him on the couch.
“I’m not,” you retort, and Satoru shifts on his spot to face you, leaning against the head of the couch and keeping his arms crossed, looking at you through his long lashes. Wow, up close he was prettier than you thought. Way too pretty, that was almost angering. On the other hand, Satoru was analyzing your face too, being able to look at it up close. You quickly turn your eyes away, thinking he maybe was looking at the imperfections on your skin. God, did the new pimple you had this morning was that big ? No way…
“These two annoying dickheads have been my friends since highschool. And this is my roommate !” explains Shoko as she points at the two guys, looking at you, then pointing now towards your direction when saying you were her roommate. All attention is on you, and you let out a nervous chuckle.
“Dickheads ?” asks Suguru, raising a disapproving eyebrow.
“The name is Gojo Satoru,” starts the white haired man without caring one bit for the nickname your roommate gave him. He smiles brightly, looking at your reaction and the way something glints in your eyes when you acknowledge what you heard by nodding.
“Geto Suguru,” continues his friend.
“L/n Y/n,” you finish.
Shoko continued the small presentation, and they all started to talk again. Either about highschool, back in time, their major, parties, or you. Gojo seemed eager to know more, asking questions, sometimes having no boundaries whatsoever with what he asked, but you quickly realized that he was just like that. You still were a bit on your guard around him. The way he so smoothly talked, being charming and overly flirty, made you think he was just a goddamn player. And that he never was really serious when talking to you. On the contrary, Geto was much calmer, to the point you wished that Satoru took some example of his friend. You didn’t know why, but the way they all engaged in conversation, you just were looking at them, barely participating. That pissed you off. Why were you acting like that tonight ? You felt somewhat intimidated, in front of Shoko’s friends. And that was the problem.
“You single ?” Gojo askes out of the blue, leaning his chin on his palm as he slides his arm on the couch, eyes on you. Shoko and Geto were still at the window, talking together, even if they both ended their cigarettes minutes ago.
“Why ?” you retort, frowning.
“Can’t a guy ask ?” he muses, looking at you up and down. Wow, alright. Was he playing around ? To kill time with you ? You decide to indulge him a bit.
“No, I don’t have time for dating,” you answer, shaking your head after a sigh and bringing your left knee towards your chest.
“Wow, look at that, perfect match. I don’t do relationships either,” he says, lips stretching more and letting his white teeth to your seeing.
“I never would have thought,” you say ironically, teasing.
“Hey, are you saying I’m a player ?” he chuckles, clearly not hurt at all by the way you saw him.
“Kinda,” you admit, looking back at him, tilting your head to the side.
“Ehhhh, what can I say ? I have the charms that get the ladies,” he hums, narrowing his eyes.
“What a huge ego,” you raise your brows, hand on your chest to fake your chock.
“What ? You’re not interested ?” he asks, leaning closer and suddenly looking like he really wanted your answer on that question. One second pass as you both stare into the eyes of each other, one second where thousands of thoughts swirl in your head : ‘he really acts like a player’, ‘he asks that but he is not interested himself’, ‘it’s just for the joke and to boost his confidence if I say yes’, ‘but he kinda is hot, though’, etc.
“I barely know you, and you are the friend of my roommate,” you end up somewhat refusing.
“Ah, what a bummer… Here I thought I had my chance,” Satoru pouts, leaning backwards and the hood of his sweatshirt falls a bit more on his snowy hair.
“Poor you,” you roll your eyes and stand up from the couch, dusting your pants. You do a sign to Shoko that she sees from the corner of her eyes.
“Whatever, I need to study in my room, see you all,” you wave, Suguru says good luck and Satoru doesn’t say anything as he bites his thumb looking at you while you walk away, leaving an empty spot on the couch next to him.
Satoru was wondering. Why was he so… intrigued ?
જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ
You were sitting in the library of the university, busy studying for your upcoming exams. It was rather quiet, even more quiet when you were the last one left before the closing hour of the campus. Students went back home, busy with their daily life. Well, you didn’t want to study at your apartment. After what happened last time, you were quite nervous at the idea that Shoko could have brought her friends.
It’s not that you didn’t like them, just… you felt overly quieted down. And you hated it. You weren’t as comfortable as usual when being with your usual group of friends, or with Shoko being only the two of you. You were quieter, less sociable, and everything that came with your personality. But God, Gojo was so… eccentric, his personality was louder than yours at first glance, and it directly outshined you the moment you met him. It kinda made you hold a grudge. Maybe you weren’t honest with yourself ? Maybe you just were nervous in his presence ? And for fuck’s sake, you despised feeling nervous because of a man. Geto, on the other hand, wasn’t as loud as his white haired friend, gentler and giving more of his attention, but he made you somewhat nervous too because of his aura and intense stare. What a deadly duo they were.
Ugh. You try to concentrate back on work, tapping your pen on your paper, looking at the empty table you were sitting at. But then, the quietness of the moment gets interrupted not because of your thoughts, but because of familiar voices. The one of Shoko, and her two other best friends, with other persons that you didn’t recognize.
“Y/n, you’re here ?” says your roommate, surprised, approaching you as in the back you are met with the piercing blue eyes of Gojo. He looks at you up and down before snapping back his attention to someone making a joke and laughing heartily at it.
“Yup, studying. Didn’t expect you to see you here right now with all your friends,” you answer, stretching your back as you look at the brunette, and she smiles, sitting next to you when taking a chair.
“They wanted to come to the library too, to study, but I don’t trust Gojo to do his homeworks for one second,” she explains, rolling her eyes and winking at you. At the same time the white haired male turns around and wraps his arm around the shoulder of Shoko, standing behind the two of you. You could smell his cologne by how close he was, and he munches on a minty chewing gum, the fresh scent filling your nose.
“What ? Hey, I can be very serious when needed ! You hurt me here, Shoko…” he whines, and then glances at you, giving you a grin as the corner of his lips stretches even more when noticing the way you frown. You look back at him, but forget to answer his smile because of how mesmerized you are- no, wait. Mesmerized ? No, no. You were just distracted for a second here… You look back at the other part of the people gathering around the table, Geto sitting in front of you and throwing a pencil to the head of his best friend.
“Quite it. And come sit to study, instead of joking around,” he sighs saying that. Gojo grabs the pencil, groaning and huffing, standing back up and sitting next to the black haired male.
“Yes wifey,” he rolls his eyes, answering.
You keep your gaze on your paper, and try to not listen too much to their small talk about their exams, keeping your mind focused on your own work. Other girls sit around, with a few guys. The at first lonely table was now full, to the point that they had to bring new chairs. You were slightly squeezed in between Shoko and another guy. You sigh deeply, and can’t help but look at the corner of your eyes the way Gojo so easily engages conversation with the others on the table. Cracking flirty jokes, making some of the girls fawn over him before Geto reprimands him. Everything looked so easy for him. As if his tongue was velvet, words rolling down off his mouth.
Satoru kept having his eyes looking at your attempt of concentration, the way you were biting on your lower lip, or sometimes glaring at him when he was being too loud. He saw it all, and he couldn’t help but want to see more of this facial expression, slowly getting addicted to the deathly and annoyed glare you threw at him when he was laughing a bit too much and stopped you from studying silently.
On the other side, you noticed nothing of that. You even felt smaller than ever, like an intruder in this group of people that knew each other and joked and flirted along so easily. Outshining you. Aside from Shoko, you didn’t understand why they were even sitting here with you. I mean, there were plenty of other free tables. Every other table, actually, since the library was empty aside from you when they arrived.
You look at how Gojo is lazily leaning against his chair, legs sprayed and crossing his arms over his chest as he grins at what one of the girls of the group is saying. Suguru participates in the conversation, apparently being about a group project for one of their courses. Shoko throws anecdotes to what happened last time they did a group project back in highschool. Right, you totally remember that too… That was ironic, you had no fucking idea what they were talking about, and you felt even more left out and pissed off. Why bother sitting here if you don't even get included ? Aside from Shoko asking you earlier if you wanted her to cook dinner for the two of you, that you happily accepted.
But fuck, this damn ass smirk at the corner of the lips of Gojo is pissing you off so so much. You tap your pencil against your paper more frequently, again and again as he cracks another joke that makes some of the other persons giggle. You sigh, and he looks at your facial expression. Damn, you looked cute.
As Gojo laughs loudly at what Suguru said, balancing himself on his chair, you finally snap and bang your pencil on the table and look at him sternly.
“Can you stop being so loud ? I can’t concentrate since earlier, and it’s pissing me off. Either you shut up and work, or you go be loud as you want but outside the library,” you exclaim, which makes everyone look at you quite surprised. Satoru has his eyes open wider, and he swore that he just felt like you stole his heart at your tone of voice being sooo mad at him. Fuck, was it bad that he wanted to make you angrier ?
“I told you, Satoru,” sighs Geto as he shrugs and nudges his best friend, at least agreeing with you. Shoko chuckles slightly, looking at the scene, amused.
“Wow, easy sweetheart. Didn’t mean to be that annoying. Sorry ?” he raises an eyebrow, looking at you as he tilts his head to the side, staring right back at your face. You didn’t know why, but the way he apologized angered you even damn more. And the way he kept looking at you, holding eye contact with no shame made you slightly nervous, which served to worsen your annoyance.
But then you hear some of the rest of the group mock him, or defend him, and that makes you roll your eyes. His damn fangirls and fanboys were a pain in the ass right now, and you just wanted to bang your head on the table at this exact moment.
“Excuse Satoru, he likes to have all the attention on him,” whispers Shoko to you, and you sigh at her words. It’s not like it was her fault.
Finally, it calms down, and instead of talking, or even studying like he said, Satoru was just staring at you, not looking away but instead analyzing the way the muscles of your face move each time you think or read something. The air shifts and you look back up, your eyes meet his, and you quickly look back at your notebook as if nothing happened. Did you have something on your face ? Why would he even be staring in the first place ?
After some minutes, it was too much for you. You felt like suffocating, and the air of the atmosphere was getting thick with tension. You were agonizing, and then without waiting any more seconds you pack your things in silence and stand back up. Shoko looks up at you, surprised.
“Already going ?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
“Yep, I’ll study in my room. See you for dinner,” you explain under the burning gaze of Satoru. You put on your bag over your shoulder and glance at the table before stepping back.
“See you, y/n,” smiles at you Suguru, and you are quite surprised that he remembered your name. So you smile back and give him a small wave before walking away.
“Goodbye, Geto” and you leave. Satoru huffs, wondering why did his best friend had the chance to receive your smile, but not him. Once you are out of sight, you finally breathe again and open the door of the library before stepping outside.
But then as you walk in the corridor, alone, you hear quick footsteps behind you. Curious, you turn around, only to be met by the Gojo Satoru jogging towards your direction on the empty hallway. You turn around, ready to leave, deciding it wasn’t your business to know why he walked out of the library.
“Y/n,” he says your name. And you frown. He came to talk to you ? But why ? As you spin your head, he is right by your side, stopping in front of your confused face, almost looming over you because of how tall he is.
“Uh, yes ?” you ask, unsure.
“You’ mad at me ?” questions directly Satoru, hands in his pockets as he gazes at your eyes. Him and his damn blue eyes that made you so nervous. Shit, annoying as hell.
“I mean, you did piss me off, but you ended up shutting up so… not as much as earlier, I guess,” you admit, looking away, and then slowly back up at him.
“Sorry for earlier,” he adds, analyzing your reaction, and somewhat looking more apologetic compared to 20 minutes ago.
“No need to apologize twice, you already did earlier,” you retort, and you see him slightly pouting at the way you rejected his words.
“But I really wouldn’t want a cutie like you to be mad at me, so I’m just making sure, ya’ know ?” Satoru taunts, cheeky grin eating his face, and that makes you scoff at his flirtatious comment. Cutie ? He had to be kidding, seriously… He looked like a womanizer, after all, so you didn’t take his words to heart at all.
“Obviously…” you end up answering sarcastically with nonetheless an amused smile on your face. Gojo just felt like he won the moment your lips stretched to bless his eyes with your beautiful small smile of amusement. And that makes his grow larger. He steps back, leaving you space.
“Alright, see you soon, y/n,” he winks at you before turning around.
“Goodbye, Gojo,” you finish as you walk away too, on the opposite side.
Double win ! Satoru managed to hear his name roll down your tongue, and even if it wasn’t his first name, he didn’t care. He waits for you to be out of view to have a small leap of success. He was glad you didn’t see him do that, you would have cringed and thought he was crazy… And it’s with a happy facial expression that Gojo enters back the library, facking a nonchalant walk, but inside, his heart was hammering like a wild horse.
જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ
After having a stressful week, you just wanted to relax, and put your mind somewhere else by chilling at home. As you sit on the ground in front of the TV, you decide to dust off the Wii controllers and console. Why not play some Mario Kart ? It’s been so long since you did, and it could make you feel like a kid again, without all the stress of university and student life on your shoulders. That could indeed be nice.
Sitting back down on the couch, you start to play alone, since your roommate was out with friends. You get concentrated, barely noticing when Shoko comes back home, in the middle of a party and if you did look away, that would probably make you fail and be at the bottom of the list. You squint your eyes, focused, and then throw bananas, laughing as it makes one of the characters slip on it.
“That was sly of you here !” suddenly exclaims a voice behind you, and you look up surprised, only to see blue eyes half lidded as Gojo smiles cockily at you.
“Gojo-” you say surprised, as he jumps and plops next to you on the couch. Behind, Geto and Shoko are waving at you as a hello. You raise even more your brows, before looking back at the screen and realize your kart got stuck on the grass, making you the 7 in the classment, when you were the first some seconds ago. You groan, annoyed.
“Fuck !” you exclaim, trying to get back on track.
“You don’t play that well,” states Satoru, leaning on the couch spreading his arms on each side, looking at your game play.
“Excuse me ? That is your fault if I'm suddenly low in the ranking ! You caught me off guard !” you justify yourself as you speed up, frowning and leaning towards the screen to be even more concentrated.
“Don’t be a sore loser, y/n,” he teases, clearly getting on your nerves. And Lord, he just wanted to see that angry face again. The one you made back at the library was just so cute, he had to make you have it a second time. You couldn’t blame him, could you ?
“I’m not a sore loser- just shut up, I’m concentrated,” you hiss, glaring at him on the side, and you feel your anger rising at his antics. He continues to pester you, which made you arrive 4th on the podium at the end of the race. You lean back on the couch, defeated.
“Awwww… boo. Lemme show you how a winner plays, yeah ?” Satoru nudges you and grabs your Wii controller. You try to take it back but he lifts his arm up, out of reach for your smaller frame.
“Seriously ?” you sigh, already pissed to the bone, as he just smirks at you, eyes looking down at your face that gets closer each time you try to take the controller back.
“Gojo, stop flirting like a 13 years old kid,” chuckles mockingly Shoko, sitting on a chair drinking some can beer with Suguru at her right, looking at the scene clearly amused.
“Hey, at least that works !” he exclaims as he gives her a wink, and you stand up to snatch the controller away but he quickly grabs your arm and makes you fall under him. You gasp of surprise, hair a mess now, and soon realize what just happened and in what position you were. His large hand that was wrapped around your wrist feels strangely electrifying, and you feel your stomach turn at how dangerously close he was.
“That doesn’t work !” you exclaim firmly. Gojo pouts and lets you go, letting you breath as he backs down to give you some space.
“Be nice, Satoru,” lectures Suguru, his voice dripping like honey which makes the white haired male calm down. He sits back down on the couch, crossing his arms as if he just got scolded, still holding the controller. You sigh and stand back up, walking towards the drawer of the tv to grab one of the spare controllers you had from your childhood. You sit back next to your new found nemesis.
“Let’s compete, and we’ll see who is the sore loser now,” you announce, more like ordering him, turning on your controller as player 2. Of course you exchange with Satoru, wanting to be the one to control the Wii.
“A challenge, sweetheart ?” he smiles, choosing a character and its kart. He surprisingly picks princess peach, which makes you chuckle, but actually didn’t really surprise you that much.
“I’ll crush you,” you say as a matter of fact, getting suddenly serious when picking a road to compete now.
“Nah, I’d win,” he says confidently, spreading more his legs and glancing at your concentrated face. He had to say, he was on cloud nine right now. Meanwhile, Shoko and Geto are interested in the race, looking at the screen as it starts.
“If I win, you owe me a wish,” he taunts.
“Deal, but if I win, you’ll be the one owing me a wish,” you answer, picking a box gift and getting turtle shells. Satoru was in front of you, so you threw some at him. The first two he avoids them easily. You frown, surprised that he managed to do so.
“‘kay cutie,” he answers lazily, and as you throw the last one, it doesn’t reach him, but instead one of his teammates. You groan, but at least it’s not a total fail.
“You can’t beat me. I played this game thousands of times !” he adds confidently, speeding up and you struggle to catch him up on the rainbow road.
“You’re a nerd,” you spat.
“So what ? I’ll beat you in any video game, actually,” he scoffs, both of your karts next to each other, at the verge of making one fall from the rainbow.
“Boohoo, you stink,” you mock him on purpose, leaning closer to the tv, struggling, as Satoru stays laid back on the couch.
“Hey, I shower ! Even if I play League of Legend !” he defends himself, which makes Geto and Shoko laugh at this whole bickering you two had.
“Bahahahaha !” you can’t stop but laugh, before calming yourself to try to get back on track.
The race gets risky, and it’s the last part of it. No matter what magical box you use, you never manage being top 1. And that makes you wonder how Satoru could be that good at this game, being almost unfair as if trying to beat the god of Mario Kart. Your kart is back side to side to Gojo’s, and then, he has the nerves to tease you, before suddenly doing a skid and pushing your kart off the road. You scream of terror, when the race ends and Satoru ends up being top 1.
“You son of a bitch !” you scream, eyes wide open, being put back on the road and ending up the 9th. You see red, glaring at him, and you only are met with his stupid wolfish grin, eyebrows raised and leaning lazily on the couch as if he did nothing wrong.
“Told you, I’d win,” he simply says, winking at you.
You just wanted to rip off his stupid smirk out of his face, beyond pissed that you lost. You stand up from the couch, walking towards the kitchen to drink water and to try to calm yourself down.
“You did me dirty at the last second ! I could have won !” you defend yourself, slamming back the glass of water on the kitchen counter. Satoru follows suit, stepping slowly towards you with his hands nonchalantly in his pockets.
“That’s part of the game, y/n,” he shrugs, before cornering you, his trumphic smile reaching his eyes. He clearly was very pleased with himself, and this situation. Lord, how infuriating he was.
“Stop being cocky,” you glare at his pretty blue eyes, and Satoru bites the inside of his cheek at how excited he gets when seeing your sweet angry face. He loved it. Since last time at the library, it suddenly became like an addiction of his, to see your facial reactions. They were so enticing, after all. How could you blame him ? He was just curious to see more. So much more.
“You still owe me a wish,” he muses, and you sigh, drinking silently your water.
“I know….” you say. Satoru hums to himself, thinking about it. He was looming over you, halfway hiding the light behind him. You were cornered, forced to listen to his wish and bragging about winning.
“Bake me cookies. Shoko brought some of yours last time, and I tried one. Since then, I’ve been dying to eat more of it,” he suddenly orders and explains, biting his lower lip at the imagination and the recall of the sweet taste of your baking.
Without realizing, you felt flattered that he enjoyed your baking that much. You made these cookies before meeting him, actually. And it was true that Shoko told you she would bring some, if you accepted, to her friends. Who would have thought that Gojo Satoru would have tested them and dreamt about them before even knowing you in person ? You start to wonder if Shoko talked about you too, and if yes, what did she say ?
“Well, I can do that… But not now, I’m tired, so another day. And Shoko will bring them to you,” you end up accepting, not like Satoru would let you have the choice.
“No, you bring them to me. It would only be fair, right ?” he corrects, posing one of his hands on the counter, right next to your waist. You look up at him.
“Fine… Alright, alright, diva,” you roll your eyes, making Satoru’s smile grow wider.
“Aaaand, since you can’t fulfill my wish today, how about you give me a kiss on the cheek as a compensation ?” he proposes, tilting his head to the side, his finger tapping right next to you. You fluster, giving him a glare that he drinks up like honey.
“Gojo, what ?”
“Come ooon ! Just a peck on the cheek !” he insists, pouting and doing his puppy eyes.
“I swear to God…” you sigh, before going on your tiptoes to reach his face. He beams, and leans down to give you more access. The moment your soft lips touched his cheek, he ascended to heaven, teeth showing because of how much he was smiling. His eyes were half lidded with mischief, and if you noticed enough you could see the tip of his ears slowly turning red.
“Atta girl. See when you want ?”
“Leave me alone,” you shake your head, slightly smirking at his antics as you walk back towards the living room.
“No, let’s play again !” he suddenly says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder by surprise. You look up at him only to be flashed by his boyish grin that he harbors happily.
“Nuh-uh !” you try to escape, but he forces you to sit down next to him, grabbing back the controllers that were on the couch.
“Yuh-uh !” he insists, starting another party.
You did end up having multiple other Mario Parties with him, to the point that Satoru himself, who at first came with Suguru to spend time with Shoko, ended up spending all evening with you. Not that Shoko cared, she did enjoy seeing him looking like a kid when having fun with you. Maybe that her and Geto were secretly rooting for him to shoot his shot. Who knows ? You couldn’t know, but you still were having way more fun than you expected. In fact, you and Gojo were getting pretty well along, bickering quite often. You barely knew him, but the way he acted, directly made you feel like you did know him for years. Gojo Satoru was just like that. His charms, his annoying behavior, his easy going nature, his jokes, his teasing, his lack of boundaries, all these little things made him look approachable, even if in reality, he wasn’t at all.
જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ
As planned, some days later, you found time to bake the cookies Gojo wanted you to make. At first, you completely forgot, but then, an unknown number suddenly contacted you, asking for the cookies to be made. It obviously was Gojo Satoru. Thanks to Shoko, after pestering her for quite some time, he managed to get your number. In all honesty, him asking you by text for the cookies was just an excuse to talk to you and annoy you occasionally. But you didn’t know that, only thinking he was interested in getting his reward for winning against you last time.
So here you were, with the freshly baked cookies in your hands. Satoru told you to come see him on campus to give him the chocolate chip cookies. You then receive a call, your phone vibrating in your pocket. With your free fingers, you grab it and see it simply was Gojo. You brace yourself and answer after some seconds, not wanting to look desperate by answering at the first ringtone.
“Y/n ! Where are you ?” suddenly exclaims the cheerful voice of Satoru.
“The question is where are you ? I got the cookies,” you reply, turning around to see if you could notice his tall frame in this crowd of students all around you.
“I’m close to the cafeteria, next to the red bench,” he explains, and you hum before starting to walk again towards your destination.
“Alright, I’m on my way, so don’t move,” you answer, squeezing the tupperware of cookies against your chest.
“Yes ma’am, I’m staying right here,” he teases, and then you stop the call. Barely two minutes later, you see his snowy white haired head some meters away. You smile, and walk faster. But when you approach, you notice a bunch of girls surrounding him. Your smile falters slightly, and you quickly try to keep a neutral face. What was that feeling ? Jealousy ? No, why would you ? You shake your head, and then Gojo spots you. He flashes you a joyful grin, waving at you.
“Y/n !”
You can’t help but soften at his cheerfulness. What was amusing with Satoru, is that if he kept a straight face, everyone would think he was cold and unapproachable. But the way he always smiled and was loud enough for people in another city to hear him, completely broke this idea of coldness. The girls surrounding him look at you, curious of who you were.
“Hey,” you say, not only to Satoru but to the fellow girls as well. “Here, your cookies, you better enjoy it because I had to use all my remaining favorite chocolate to make the chips,” you warn, giving him the box. He beams, and his fingers brush against yours when taking the tupperware. That single stupid innocent touch made you linger your gaze on him.
“Ah, what an angel,” he drawls, winking at you. That brings some stare towards you at his flirty behavior, and you feel slightly nervous, brushing it off as if it was nothing.
“Give me back the tupperware when you’re done,” you order, and he whispers saying “bossy”. One of the girls wraps her arm around his bicep and leans towards him, looking at the cookies.
“Oahhhhhh, Gojo, could you feed me some ?” she bats her eyelashes saying that, looking at him. You can’t help but think how pretty she looked, and quite sure of herself to blatantly be that touchy and flirty with him, which were some guts you didn’t have. The remaining girls add themselves in the conversation, swooning over him like moths towards a bonfire. You felt suddenly left out. Not necessarily because of the way you suddenly weren’t part of the discussion anymore, standing awkwardly, but because you felt like they were from another world. One far away from you.
Satoru himself and these women looked like super models. They clearly had this type of face that would make any person at their feet, and it just made you realize how Gojo was out of your league, being a beauty and surrounded by beauties too. You weren’t very confident in your own beauty, having strong moments of insecurity. And damn, you hated feeling like shit right now. Satoru did nothing wrong, these girls too, but here you were, moping around and your heart sinking to your heels for something so stupid.
Gojo laughs at what they say, a cheeky grin and eyes twinkling with a light of mischief. This ugly and nasty emotion was boiling inside of you. With what happened this past few times, you thought that he maybe could be interested in you. But seriously, why would he when these supermodels-like were always surrounding him ? Being one himself ? You qualified your beauty as average, boring, even, nothing standing out of the ordinary. Yeah, this growing crush you had against your will was better shoved down the ground. You didn’t belong next to him.
You sigh, take a deep breath, acting like everything was alright, and then turn around. Satoru directly notices this change of mood and the way your back was now facing him. He frowns, slightly feeling guilty. Did he on purpose try to act all flirty just to make you jealous and see if it works ? Wanting to see this angry face he enjoyed so much last times, the way your mouth and brows twitched and this beautiful glare he longed for ? Yes. Did he feel like a dick right now after blatantly ignoring you ? Yeah.
He suddenly grabs your arm, and you spin your face towards him, surprised by his move. Did he forget anything ?
“Actually… wait,” he says, but then his words die down on his throat. He actually had no single idea of what to say, no single one. The way you looked at him made his mind blank, and it was infuriating because usually his head was full of sentences to shout all the time. Why now he had nothing to say ? Seriously ?!
“Uh… don’t tell me you want more cookies, I won’t bake you more, unless you pay me,” you say, trying to act casual and like your usual self. That cracked a smile on his face.
“First of all, I would for sure ask you to bake me cookies again. And second… I… I don’t want to eat these cookies alone, so come with me,” he ends up trying to regain his eternal confidence, straightening his posture.
“Well, we wanted to eat these with you, so-” starts one of the girls, and Satoru wraps his arm around your shoulders as he gives you a squeeze.
“Nope, sorry girls, I’m greedy for sweets, I don’t share. Only with the baker right here,” he explains, giving you a wink at the end of his sentence. You give him a confused look, wondering why he suddenly proposed that.
“Ehhhhh ? You’re so mean !” pouts one of them, and Satoru shakes his head.
“Nahhhh, can’t do, so see ya,” he finishes, before turning on the other side and dragging you with him without waiting for any answer, and all that so shamelessly. You look at him, and he just smiles at you. Fuck, that makes your heart flutter for a second. You didn’t need that right now.
“Why did you do that ?”
“What ? Can’t I eat cookies with you now ? You’re the one that baked them, it’s only fair if I let you at least eat one of them. I’m nice, right ? Normally I never share sweets,” he justifies himself, and you raise an eyebrow before nodding to yourself. Right, Satoru was just being nice, nothing else. Surely anyone else would have done the same, it’s called being polite, no ? You brush it off by letting out a laugh as you both walk towards a more secluded place of the campus, his arm still around you.
“I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth,” you comment, analyzing him up and down.
“Excuse-me ? Me ? A sweet tooth ? No way, I don’t… I just enjoy some sweet treats here and there, like everyone,” he answers sheepishly.
“The way you justify yourself makes me feel like you do have a sweet tooth, Gojo,” you tease, inhaling the fresh air of outside as you spot a bench some meters away. He spots it too, and you both walk towards it.
“Well, I do have a sweet tooth for indeed some sweet things. For example, a cutie like you,” he flirts, tilting his head to the side to look at you up and down better. You roll your eyes at his antics.
“Are you always like that ?” you scoff playfully, not buying one second of what he says.
“Like what ?” he asks as he makes you sit down next to him, and he opens the tupperware, his arm leaving your shoulder and making you shiver at his warmth disappearing.
“Flirty.”
“Well, we can say that. But you are an exception,” he corrects, leaning against the bench and inhaling the scent of the freshly baked sweets. He licks his pink lips. They looked plump, kissable even.
“Yeah, right….” you snap back of your unholy thoughts, and say that ironically.
“I’m being for real here,” he whines, facing you and leaning his head towards yours, blue eyes boring into yours.
“Ok, Gojo. Instead of talking, try a cookie,” you roll your eyes and grab one of your bakings.
“Boss me around more, I like it,” he flirts, and maybe he wasn’t really joking when he said that. Who knows ?
You shove a cookie in his mouth the moment he gets too close, making him have a startled face, but then he munches on the sweet and his cheeks turn pink. He swallows thickly, eyes opening wider as he takes the cookie in between his fingers.
“I think I just tasted heaven,” he whispers, before literally gulping down in flashing light speed the remaining. You quickly grab one for yourself in the box, scared he would eat everything before you could even have the chance to taste your own baking.
“Don’t exaggerate too much, but welcome, I guess ?” you answer slightly flustered by his praising, but that only makes him smile even more.
“Believe me when I say that ! I’m ready to pay you everyday to have those again !” he exclaims when grabbing you by the shoulders while you bite on your food.
“Wow- really ?”
“Or instead I should marry you, and then, I’ll be able to enjoy all for myself your baking…” he continues, thoughtful as he leans closer, eyes darting towards your lips that had some leftover crumbs. You almost choke on your bite, but quickly remind yourself that this is Gojo saying that, and he obviously wasn’t being serious here, only joking around like usual.
“You’re greedy like that ?”
“I am greedy if it’s you, yeah,” he corrects, fingers slightly squeezing your shoulders, making you look at him.
“Maybe you should marry a cake, that would be easier,” you joke, brushing off his flirting.
“And eat my cake as soon as I reach the wedding night ? I would be too sad once I’m done and seeing that nothing is left… No, I prefer to eat you out and then you can bake me sweets every day-” he starts to say, cocky smirk plastered on his face, and your blood rushes towards your face and heat possesses all your body at the mention of being eating out by Gojo Satoru himself.
“Whaaaa, shut up !” you directly stop him by slamming your hand against his mouth to not let him continue his quite perverted comment. He really had no single boundaries when talking. That was crazy, and still very new to you. Your heart was hammering against your chest, trying to ignore the images of having sex with him on an imaginary wedding night popping in your mind.
Satoru easily brings back your hand down by holding your wrist, not after licking your skin teasingly. You do a disgusted face, screaming a “ewwww” loudly, and whipping his saliva on his own shirt. He can’t help but laugh strongly at your distorted facial features and how bothered you looked, in all its meanings.
“What ? I’m just saying.” He shrugs nonchalantly, and that makes you roll your eyes again, which can’t help but make him grin even more.
“Eat your cookies or I’m taking them back,” you threaten him, trying to grab the box but he quickly withdraws it away from your reach, protecting it like a sacred treasure. He then stares at you, sliding down at your lips, before using his thumb to wipe some crumbs of chocolate at the corner of your mouth. He brings it to his own lips, sucking on it, giving you a cheeky smirk in return of your shocked face.
“You told me to eat your cookies, there were some leftovers on your face. I couldn’t let it go to waste like that,” he justifies himself, grabbing another cookie and biting on it as if he did nothing wrong.
“You’re gross.”
“And you’re cute,” he retorts smoothly, winking at you.
“Stop being a flirt for a second !”
“No can do.”
You stayed firm on your ground that Gojo Satoru was out of your league. But, because there is always a but… Maybe it didn’t feel so wrong to sometimes let yourself hope for even something tiny with him ? It couldn’t hurt that much, right ?
જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ
In the quietness of your apartment, you just finished gathering your things in your bag for the next day. As you enter the bathroom, starting your skincare routine, it’s when someone rings on the doorbell. Curious, you didn’t expect anyone. Maybe it was for Shoko ? You quickly put on some shorts, and walk towards the entrance. The moment you open the door, you are met with Satoru standing in front of you. He was totally drenched in water. Hair sticking to his forehead, clothes glued to his frame, scandalously showing the lines of his body. You realize that outside it was raining, quite a lot, meaning he probably didn’t have any umbrella right now, and it’s for that he was in this both pathetic and sexy state.
“Gojo ? What the- you’re soaked !” you exclaim and step to the side to let him enter the warmth and the dry air of your home. He smiles and leans down a bit to enter, being slightly too tall or else he would bump his head. You only noticed that now, staring at his figure.
“Forgot my umbrella. I was outside with friends, and it started to rain like a bitch. Shoko’s place was close to where I was, so I came to shelter here until it would calm down,” he explained, hand whipping his wet hair backwards, leaving his pretty face bare. Some pearls of rain roll down his cheeks, and you look at one falling on his pale skin. He catches you staring, so you directly turn around to walk towards the living room.
“Shoko is not here, she went to drink with her classmates at a bar. She’ll be back later,” you say.
“She wouldn’t mind if I stayed. Do you mind ?” he asks, taking off his shoes and walking towards where you are.
“I pity you. So you can stay until the rain stops,” you accept, smirking at your own teasing and he scoffs, grinning wider.
“How thoughtful of you, I'll always remember this beautiful act of kindness !”
“Instead of joking around, come in the bathroom, I'll give you a towel so you can dry yourself,” you sigh, answering him, letting out a small laugh to his over exaggerated reaction. He raises his eyebrows and follows you not without saying a “yes ma’am”.
As you enter back the bathroom, the music that was playing on your phone on the sink earlier is still on. You hum, and grab a towel before giving it to Satoru. He thanks you, and while he starts to wipe his drenched hair, you resume back your skincare routine. The quietness of the room is filled by the songs of your playlist in the background.
“Skincare ? Wait, lemme guess, is this…a mositruze ?” he asks, breaking the silence as he leans towards you.
“A moisturizer, Gojo. I don’t even know what you pronounced,” you chuckle, correcting him, and then apply the cream while gazing at him in the mirror. You see how he stares at the white texture that dissolves into your face. And oh, it was so unfair how his skin was flawless and just perfect, wishing you could have the same.
“It’s the same. The name is too complicated,” he grunts, pouting slightly as now he finishes drying his hair, starting to take off his shirt. You don’t answer at first, eyes glued to his sticky torso getting revealed, and the way he looked like he got sculpted by Apollo himself. Shit, the man was hot as hell. How could he be smart, funny, and handsome all at the same time ?! He really was out of your league, that’s what you were saying to yourself. Not like you thought you had any chance, anyways. Satoru catches you staring, obviously, malice in his eyes. It’s not like he didn’t do it on purpose, getting half nude, just for you to look at.
“You’re just dumb,” you finally end up answering, snapping back to your skincare instead of his gorgeous muscles that move while he pats the towel on his fair skin. You decide to apply lip balm to finish your routine. Satoru stares, so much, at your pretty glossed lips, rubbing them together to smudge evenly the product. He licks his own unconsciously.
“And now, it’s lip balm. I know that, I use it too. See ? I’m not dumb,” he suddenly says, getting closer to your face. He looks like he wants your approbation, like a puppy to his owner. That made you smile a little.
“Wow, bravo, you indeed are smarter than you made me think,” you joke, because you knew how Satoru was so so so smart, no matter how goofy he acted.
“Can I apply some ?” he asks innocently now after smirking at your teasing, and you raise an eyebrow before you give him the chapstick. He shakes his head, and he points at his lips.
“Nuh-uh”, he refuses, and you frown.
“I’m not applying it for you like a baby,” you complain, feeling like dealing with a child, or a spoiled princess. He sighs, disappointed.
“Then smooch your lips with mine,” he proposes as if it was the smartest thing ever. It wasn’t for you, but for Satoru it was, because he would have the perfect reason to kiss you. Even if for a second, hidden behind the lip balm. He just wanted a taste, a little, a very tiny one. Nothing too mean, really. You can’t help but fluster slightly at his proposition, and how bold it was, and smooth, very smooth. Satoru really knew how to make women dance in the palm of his hands, and how to charm them.
“Gojo, seriously ?” you deadpan, a bit on your guard. Even though you wanted it, no matter how innocent it was, to kiss him to share your lip balm, you felt like you didn’t deserve a kiss from someone like him. Or that he was just playing around, making your heart throb of insecurity for a second. In your mind, he didn’t really want to kiss you. Why would he, anyways ? It was just to joke, to tease you, nothing he really wanted aside for his ego.
“Yep, very serious. Why ? It’s just a smooch ! And since you don’t want to apply the lip balm for me…” he continues, saying ‘smooch’ instead of ‘kiss’, to make you comply more easily. He was doing his stupid puppy eyes, batting his long white lashes at you. You falter. Fuck, alright, why not doing it ? It’s maybe the only chance for you to kiss a Greek God like him, a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even if he probably was just joking, and didn’t really care about you. All that for chapstick… damn.
“Alright,” you sigh, acting like you didn’t care. Probably to protect yourself from disappointment.
Satoru smiles as if he just won the lottery, and his warm hand wraps around your waist, bringing you closer. That makes you shiver head to toe, and his naked torso presses against yours. You try to not look at it, ogling his chest. His other hand slides on your cheek, and suddenly it looks like it’s not just a smooch, but a serious kiss happening. Your heart hammers loudly, his face getting closer, and you get lost in the pool of his eyes.
You don’t have time to think that his soft lips press against yours oh so sweetly. Your eyelids flutter, leaning into the kiss, mouth rubbing together to smudge the balm. Fuck, it tasted sweet, thinks Satoru. His ears turn red, feeling like he ascended heaven just by kissing your lips, even if it lasted shortly. The seconds linger, maybe lingering too long for what it was supposed to be, and he finally steps back. He presses his lips together, and hums. You try to act normal, as if this simple touch wasn’t making your stomach turn around.
“Hmm, cherry flavored,” he says, looking back at you.
“Want to taste ?... Sorry, that was a line from the Shreck movie, you know, Prince Charming,” you first suddenly reply to change the subject, before cringing at yourself and laughing nervously at the joke you made. But Satoru explodes with laughter, and your mouth twitches in a smile, realizing you didn’t make the atmosphere awkward as you originally thought.
“I love Shreck, what do you mean ?! Of course I know this line of Prince Charming !” he exclaims, a glint in his eye.
“Here I thought I would be embarrassing myself if you didn’t get the reference,” you chuckle, shaking your head, but then realize that his hand is still on your waist while he gets back closer.
“Nah. Wanna be my muffin cake ?” he teases, reciting the nickname Prince charming says to Fiona, and God, that makes you laugh too.
“Maybe. You know, you really remind me of him. Kinda acting like a diva, saying weird ass nicknames, always charming…” you start to tease, pushing his hand away when he gets even closer asking that question, and he pouts. But then his ears almost perk up, and he leans against the sink, crossing his arm over his still naked chest and tilts his head on the side.
“Sooo you think I’m charming ?” he more like states instead of asks. Him and his stupid grin. And Satoru really wanted an answer, because you felt like a mystery to him, one that he enjoyed discovering a little more every time you two met.
“Don’t fool me, you already know that you are, Gojo,” you roll your eyes saying that, facing him, and then look at yourself in the mirror. He nudges you.
“So you agree ?”
“Ugh, yes, I mean it’s not the biggest news of the year !” you explain yourself, rolling your eyes at his obnoxious insistence to hear you say it. But can you blame him ? His heart fluttered when you said yes, as if he got complimented in the best way possible. But to be honest, it was just because it was you.
“I prefer that,” he grins, looking at your face, and you ignore him as you hum the music of your playlist, being one of your favorite songs to dance on. He stares at you intrigued.
“Do you know how to dance to this song ?” he asks.
“Uh, I-” you start to answer surprised, but then he suddenly grabs your hand and makes you sway towards him, fingers sliding back on your waist. He raises an eyebrow.
“Let’s dance !” he smiles, and you can’t help but want to, after all, soon the beat was about to drop. And with the kiss, you warmed up to him, feeling bolder. So you laugh, and he can’t help but soften, before making you move against him, and then makes you twirl.
“Alright alright-” you get cut off by your own giggle, and he drinks up your voice.
He is listening to you singing the lyrics, and you start to lead the improvised dance, not really caring if you were dancing good or bad, because Satoru just managed to make you have fun. He keeps you close, and sometimes acts on purpose dramatically, twirling you again and again, and then making you almost fall before catching you back in his arms, making you gasp and laugh harder with excitement and adrenaline. Satoru really made you dance in the palm of his hand. He had this way of making you falter and indulge his antics, wanting to follow everything he proposes and just have fun with him. You even forgot your own insecurities.
He matches your steps, and the swing of your hips, gluing his to yours when needed, and each time he did, it made you feel incredibly hotter. A tension was building up. You never had thought one day that you would be dancing in your bathroom with Gojo Satoru, but here you were. And God, how amusing it felt, as if the two of you were kids having fun dancing together. Surprisingly, he knows some of the lyrics, and sings them with you, wiggling his eyebrows when you give him a look.
The moment the music stops, he makes you lean backwards, almost touching the ground, but keeps you firmly in his arms. You catch back your breath, incredibly close, exhales mingling together. You can’t help but laugh with him. His face was lightened up with so much joy, and yours too, not realizing how this simple moment just made him fall for you even more.
Satoru couldn’t help but want to scream on top of a rooftop, and yap to Suguru everything that happened right now. How he managed to kiss you (even if it was for a lip balm), and then dance with you and make you laugh so much. It’s as if he won a battle. Being successful in his quest of conquering your heart.
The rest of the evening, Satoru stayed, his clothes already long dry, and the rain forgotten, but that wasn’t an excuse anymore. He only went back home when Shoko came back, leaving a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before.
It almost scared you how he slowly started to creep inside your heart.
જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ
Friday night. You just were on your way back home after hanging out with your friends at a bar. It was around 2 am, the night long up your head. You walk faster and enter the elevator, pressing the button of your floor. As you wait, you can’t help but have your thoughts drifting back to a certain white haired man.
You felt like you kept bumping into him this past weeks, and how he slowly started to hang out more and more at Shoko’s (your) place, even without Suguru to tail behind. You fluster at what happened last time, with the kiss and the whole dance in the bathroom. It was sweet, and you couldn’t lie about how much you had fun with him that night. He even stayed longer than you both expected, making you wonder if you could consider him as your friend now, or still only as Shoko’s friend.
You sigh, and take your keys to open the door of your shared apartment. Tired, you kick off your shoes, and then put down your jacket and bag. As you walk towards the living room, you gasp and jump slightly of surprise when you see the cause of all your heart problems laying on the couch.
“Gojo ?” you ask, and he lifts his head lazily while he is scrolling down on his phone. He smiles when his eyes meet yours.
“Y/n, you’re back ?”
“Where is Shoko ?” you question as you go wash your hands in the kitchen, and feel his gaze on you as he stretches like a cat.
“Sleeping in her room, so instead I stay on the couch,” he explains as you dry your hands, glancing at him, before entering the living room. He was wearing grey sweatpants that were quite low on his hips, dangerously low, even. Satoru had a plain white shirt, but tight enough to show his delicious muscles. Wow, ok, you should stop drooling for a second.
“You stay for the night ?” you continue asking, trying to distract yourself from your unholy thoughts. He passes his hand in his disheveled hair, looking quite tired.
“Yup.”
“Sleeping on this couch is hell, you will have a horrible night. And you are too tall for it too,” you comment, nose scrunching as you make a face of discomfort at the idea of him sleeping there. His legs were indeed dangling off the couch, way too big for laying on this.
“Well, where else am I supposed to sleep ? Shoko doesn’t let me even approach her bedroom, as if i’ll mess up everything or I don’t know what she thinks will happen,” he scoffed, pouting at Shoko’s behavior towards him, treating Satoru like a disaster. He then turned his head towards you as you sat on the remaining space next to his hips.
“You can sleep on my bed, I’ll take the couch,” you propose, wanting to be nice and mostly feeling bad for him.
“Seriously ? And you on the couch ? No way,” he huffs, and shakes his head adamant on thinking it was ridiculous. You frown, surprised.
“I’m being nice here. Take my bed,” you retort.
“Not without you in it,” he corrects, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, thinking he was flirting around again. But you were too tired for this.
“In your dreams.”
“What ? No. I didn’t mean it in that way. I’m serious here, y/n. You said the couch is uncomfortable. If I’m cozy in your bed and you are not, it just feels wrong. So either we sleep together in your room, or I sleep on the couch. Period,” he says more firmly, and it’s the first time you see him actually showing a rather serious expression. You swallow your saliva, and then think about it.
Sleeping with Gojo Satoru ? In the same bed ? What if people learnt about it and would start rumors ? No. It would be just sleeping. But you couldn’t help your beating heart of apprehension. What if he tried something ? What would you do ? Would he treat you like a one night stand, just someone to fool around with ? You didn’t want that, at all. You couldn’t even know if he would. There were so many rumors going on about him, that he was a womanizer, sleeping with no strings attached, and all this stuff. And it was true that he was charming, and from what you saw, he knew how to flirt. But you saw too how he just was a nerd and loser in disguise, and you don’t think it in the bad way, more like how cute and surprising it was.
So would he really try something ? But wait. Why would he even try something with you ? No, there would be no single chances. The kiss from last time was just a bold move, nothing more. Gojo Satoru was way out of your league, there was no reason why he would see you differently than just Shoko’s roommate. Maybe a friend, but nothing above.
“So ?” he asks again, snapping you back from your train of thoughts. You bat your lashes a second, and then remind yourself that he was just right next to you, waiting for an answer. He was up on his elbows now, the muscles of his arms flexing while he was doing so. He really was fit… You stare at it then back at his pretty face.
“Alright, let’s do that. Let’s hope my bed is big enough for two,” you end up answering after taking a deep breath.
“We’ll make it fit, don’t worry cutie,” he grins at your acceptance, and stands back up on his whole height, looming over you.
Some minutes later, you go out of the bathroom after having finished putting yourself in your pajamas and washing up from the hangout you had earlier. Satoru was already laying in your bed, waiting for you. He puts down his phone when he sees you, and damn, it felt so weird seeing him in your bedroom, even more laying on your bed. You follow suit and slip under the covers on the other side, brushing against him as there wasn’t enough space to have some personal intimacy. Great…
“We’re pretty squeezed,” you comment, chuckling as you try to lighten the mood by doing your best to get comfortable, ignoring how his hot body is right next to you.
“Eh, I don’t mind. You’re warm, I was cold, perfect match I would say, don’t you think ?” He smiles, laying on his side to look at you, blue orbs shining in the dim light of the moon behind you.
“You keep saying we are the perfect match,” you comment, raising an eyebrow.
“Because we are,” he retorts, looking right back at you.
“Ah, really now ?” You grin.
“What ? It’s true ! We both don’t do relationships, we danced together, we do a great team on mario kart, we love Shreck, you bake cookies, I eat them, you tell me to shut up, I do, and you’re warm, I was feeling cold. Perfect, I’m saying. Perfect !” he insists, enumerating some stupid reasons, and you can’t help but laugh at his silliness.
“It doesn’t take you much for you to feel like it’s a perfect match,” you tease.
“You’re just the one, sweetie. What can I say ?” he answers, giving you his flirty smirk, the one that you just knew so well.
“Alright Mr Prince Charming, good night,” you roll your eyes at his joke, smiling slightly, and turn around, back facing him.
“Good night, y/n,” he ends up whispering after some seconds of silence. It’s back quiet, and you couldn’t help but feel his torso brushing against you. You both were so close, it was flustering you. Satoru was still awake, eyes looking at the back of your head. His heart was hammering in his chest, not believing that he was sleeping with you. It was a bold move he did earlier, and God, he didn’t expect you to accept at all. But here he was.
Satoru stays silent, listening to your soft breathing. His body is aching to get closer, and it wouldn’t take much, because of how already close you both were. His limbs, without thinking, move on their own. His strong arm wraps around your stomach, dragging you against his chiseled torso. You gasp, and turn your head to look at him surprised.
“Told you, I’m cold, you’re warm. And I didn’t know where to put my arm…” he justifies himself. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed this position, the way his body molded against yours was oddly satisfying and comforting. And it was from long ago that you had the chance to have such closeness with someone. Anyways, you were too tired to think more into it. Satoru was just being Satoru, right now… Thats’ what you were saying to yourself.
“If you say so,” you end up answering, voice more quiet than you intended. You turn back, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax in his arms. Satoru couldn’t help but think how right it felt, this position with you, as if your bodies were made for complimenting each other. His hand presses your stomach, and his nose bumps against your nape, soft breath caressing your skin.
All the maelstrom of constant thoughts in Satoru’s mind just shutted off, and how good it felt to be calm. His mind was always racing, all the time, never stopping. But right now he just found peace in the comfort of your body against his, in having you in his arms.
Not falling for you was impossible now. Satoru realised that he was long lost, his at first silly curiosity and crush evolved into something much bigger. Something he would have never thought of, because Gojo Satoru doesn’t do relationships, or romantic feelings. But here he was, and it was scary. But maybe it was worth it, to go against his fear, if it was with you.
He shifts, his hips pressing against your lower back, legs crouching behind yours. For once, Satoru fell asleep quickly. Normally an impossible task. He could get used to this.
In the morning, before Shoko left early for classes, she saw Satoru wasn’t in the living room. But when she went to check on you, what a surprise to see you both glued to each other. She couldn’t help but take a picture and send it to Suguru, and then on both Satoru’s and your phone. It was a surprise too, when you opened your phone later this morning.
And for Satoru, he had the best sleep of his life, bed hair and groggy voice when waking up next to you. The only embarrassment was his morning boner that was poking against your ass, and he never turned red as quickly as before. He went rushing to the shower to deal with his little problem and to obviously wash himself, leaving you half asleep in the bed, not really understanding what just happened. Let’s say that morning he was happy to wake up next to you.
When he came back freshly washed, he acted like nothing happened, and you quickly forgot about it, getting ready too for your day.
જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ
Some weeks passed, and receiving texts from Gojo, or either bumping into him and ending up being dragged by him to do whatever activity or conversation, became your routine. You grew to see him as a friend, and against your will, your crush kept getting bigger and bigger each passing moment. Yet, you always kept boundaries and some wall in between the two of you, wanting to protect your heart and knowing Satoru would never be interested in you. Each time he flirted with you, you saw it only as him joking, and whenever he was intimately close, you brushed it off as normal behavior from his clingy self.
You were getting ready for a party, doing your makeup in front of the mirror’s sink in the bathroom next to Shoko. She literally forced you to come, wanting you to hang out with her and her group of friends. So here you were, doing the final touches on your face and hair. You rub your lips together before giving one last glance at the mirror, and at your roommate too.
“Ohhhh, looking sexy here ! They will all be head over heels, I’m telling you,” she exclaims, winking at you as she part her mouth to apply a deep red lipstick.
“Come on, they will not. But thank you, girl,” you chuckle not without rolling your eyes, looking at her up and down. She really was pretty, her outfit complimenting her curves.
“Gojo will faint when seeing you dressed like that,” she comments, giving you a knowing look that makes you scoff.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you shake your head, adjusting your clothes and then putting on your favorite perfume for the occasion.
“He’s always flirting with you, to the point it’s kinda pathetic how much he wants you,” she continues, turning around to face you.
“Shut up. He’s just being himself. He always acts flirty, you know that,” you insist, and she sighs. But you were sure of yourself. Shoko was just seeing too much into it. Satoru wasn’t the type to settle down for a relationship, he told you that the first time you both met. Plus, he had a lot of better choices around him.
“Ahhh, if you say so…” You were a lost case, that’s what she was thinking.
Some minutes later, you both were walking outside your shared apartment. It was a bit cold outside, even more so with your outfit. But you fought against the wind, deciding your style would be over comfortability for tonight. The party was at a nightclub, one that Shoko used to go with her classmates and friends. After walking down the streets of Tokyo, you both arrive at your destination. The loud music bangs from the walls, and you see standing in front of the nightclub a group of persons that you recognize as people Shoko personally knows. Among them, there were familiar faces, as well as Satoru’s and Suguru’s. When you arrive, you can’t help but feel the burning gaze of Gojo right on you, his eyes siding you up and down. It was the first time he saw you wearing quite sexier clothes, and you suddenly felt overly aware of yourself.
Not knowing why, feeling embarrassed, you greet Suguru first. He grins at you, purple eyes staring down at you.
“You look lovely tonight, y/n,” he compliments you, and you fluster slightly at his smooth voice.
“Thank’s, you do too. Did you guys wait long for us to arrive ?” you ask, smiling at him as he lazily leans against the wall, hands in pocket and smiling at you.
“No, Satoru was late too, so we barely arrived before you,” he explains. You nod, and Suguru shows with his chin the entrance.
“You look like you’ll be cold, maybe you should enter first,” he states more softly, stepping closer by your side, leaving the wall.
“True, but Shoko said she would smoke one before entering, so…” you answer vaguely, looking at her talking with Gojo and Utahime. You feel his gaze on you the moment you glance in their direction, and your eyes meet for a second before you quickly look back to Geto.
“Let me guess… You don’t want to enter it alone ?” the black haired male laughs.
“Not really, ahah,” you wonder how he realized. I mean, it was quite obvious at the way you shifted slightly, a glint of uncomfortability in your eyes.
“I can come with you then,” he proposes.
“Really ?” you ask surprised, eyes opening wider.
“Of course. So come on, let’s go,” he muses as he slides his hand on the small of your back. But then barely some seconds later, another arm swings around your waist and makes you hit the side of someone.
“I don’t think so… Suguru, Shoko asked you to come and give her your lighter. So don’t worry, I’ll go in first with y/n,” suddenly interferes Satoru, giving a knowing look to Suguru as if they could communicate by telepathy, making you wonder what was happening. Suguru takes off his hand and backs down.
“Hmmm, really ? Alright,” he says slily, smirking before leaving the two of you alone. You don’t know why, but you felt a tension growing inside of you. You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. Satoru makes you follow him.
“I’m hurt, you didn’t even greet me,” he pouts, giving you puppy eyes. You end up laughing, easing the atmosphere, and nudging him.
“Hello Gojo. You didn’t need to do this, you know ?”
“I had my reasons,” he answers vaguely, and then after some seconds, the man that was keeping the entry lets you both enter after eying you down. The sound of the bass of the night club vibrates in your body, the atmosphere englobing the two of you. You look around, and Satoru brings you closer, saying it was for you to not get lost in this sea of people dancing and ordering drinks. It was hot inside, and God, it almost felt sticky. You already felt drunk from all this whole mood shifting all around you.
“Wanna go grab a drink ?” you suddenly feel the lips of Satoru on your ears, so you could hear him better. But fuck, the way his hand was still around your waist and his head lowered to allow you to listen to him made him look incredibly sexy right now. You look up slowly at his eyes, your faces quite closer than the usual.
“Yeah, I hope it’s not too expensive though,” you answer loudly as well, and he raises his eyebrow, before spotting the bar thanks to his tall height and then brings you towards it.
“As if I would let you pay. Nah, I’m paying sweetheart.” You didn’t know if you heard him well, but you didn’t answer as you both arrived in front of the counter. He keeps you at arm length, and you both take your order. He doesn’t take alcohol, and you look at him surprised as you expected him to do the contrary.
“What ? I hate the taste of alcohol, that shit is sour,” he exclaims, and you laugh as you lean towards the counter while the barman prepares the drink.
“I’m not judging you, but… Just say you don’t hold your liquor,” you tease. He scoffs as if you just said the stupidest thing ever.
“Excuse me ? I’m not a lightweight !”
“That’s not what Shoko told me…” you whisper, and even if the music was loud, Satoru heard it very well. He whispers ‘traitor’. He pinches your side, and you are now facing his smug face. At the same time you both get the drinks. As you were ready to take your credit card, Satoru stops you by grabbing your wrist and shows off his… black card ?! You open wider your eyes as he pays, shocked to see him having this kind of card. And damn, it kinda makes sense as you realize all the designer clothes he owned.
“Gojo, I could have paid for myself !” you express, but he just rolls his eyes.
“Never. Just say thank you, y/n,” he answers, bringing his glass higher. You fluster, and toast your glass with his own before gulping down your own drink.
“Thank you,” you say after swallowing. Satoru stares at you while humming, the dim light of the club caressing your skin so beautifully and complimenting your eyes. He gets entranced for a second, and the way he was looking at you made you wonder why he was doing so. At the same time, a tall and attractive woman approached the two of you. You glance at her, but then she puts her hand on the arm of Satoru.
“Hey handsome, you’re sweet. With my friends we wondered if you wanted to come have fun with us, we ordered some champagne at our table,” she muses, pointing at the table meters away surrounded by a bunch of cute girls. You swallow your saliva as she does some fuck me eyes to Satoru, and it even charmed you as well.
Wow, she really looked pretty, and hot as hell, that you knew if she asked you, you would have followed her. But then you look back at the white haired male, and you can’t help but feel your stomach twisting painfully at the idea of him going with them. But it would only be natural, right ? Who in their right mind would refuse such a proposition from a beauty like her ? So, you step back unconsciously to give him some free room to answer, bracing yourself to be left alone.
“Awwww, sorry, I don’t like alcohol,” he answers, flashing her a charming apologetic smile, before glancing at you at the corner of his eye and noticing how you stepped away and were looking around acting unbothered.
“Oh, well, we still can make it work-” she doesn’t back down, and you had to give her that. But Satoru steps towards you and then brings you towards him, putting your back against his chest and then you feel his lips suddenly on your neck which makes you shiver head to toe. He kisses it sensually, before lifting his head slightly.
“I’m busy with my girl,” he ends the discussion, and you don’t have the time to react or even answer that he drags you towards where people are dancing. You gasp, but he makes you swirl easily in the middle of the crowd, manhandling you like a doll.
“Gojo, what was that-”
“What was what ?” he feins innocence, and you give him a glare that he gladly drinks up before suddenly making you spin and fall in his arms, leaving you breathless.
“Don’t act dumb with me,” you struggle to answer at the way he makes you move on the dance floor, unable to hold back a laugh at how he twirls you around.
“I came here to have fun with you and the others, not some strangers,” he explains, shrugging, and then makes you go back straight on your feet. You can’t help but feel relieved, smiling at him.
“Then let’s have fun,” you smirk, and another song starts by the DJ. You swing your hips left and right at the tempo, feeling the music and looking at Satoru in the eyes. He bites his lower lip, bringing your ass against his crotch, and accompanying your moves.
You chuckle, singing the lyrics as you both move. It made you remember how you both danced in your bathroom weeks ago. The kiss comes back into mind, and you close your eyes a second as the chorus of the song resonates all around you. His hands hold firmly your waist, digging in your waist and the breath of his mouth caressing your neck. You didn’t know why, but you felt way more confident than usual. Maybe because being in a nightclub, meaning it was normal to dance closely to other people, including your friends, you didn’t mind getting way more bolder and intimate with Satoru. Surely he wouldn’t take it as you trying to charm him. I mean, it was the case, but that was a secret. You couldn’t let him know about your little crush, not wanting to go through an obvious rejection and humiliation from him.
“Reminds me of the dance we had in your bathroom,” he whispers in the crook of your ear, and you nod, smiling at him as you turn around and face him. You giggle, his hands still on your waist and keeping you close as you both continue to dance together. You swing your hands around his neck, and Satoru sings along with you, making you laugh at how much fun you had.
The lights flash all around you, sometimes making the white hair of Gojo glow in the darkness of the place. The beats of the songs vibrate on your skin, and you almost scream with him and the rest of the night club a famous chorus of a song. You can’t help but be unable to stop laughing and giggling, forgetting you came in the first place with Shoko and her friends, being in your own bubble with Satoru.
His hands slide dangerously down, bringing you even closer, if that was possible. You bat your lashes, and his head leans towards you as he licks his lips. His eyes never leave yours, and the way your mouth moves each time you sing the lyrics, he can’t stop looking at your lips and tongue. He grins, both singing at the same time, hips rolling against each other. One of his hands grabs your ass, and at first startled, you don’t complain one bit, tilting your head to the side and continuing to dance. You started to be hot, giving a glance to the side where you could see Shoko and Utahime dancing together meters away. You open your eyes wide when you suddenly see them kiss without a care in the world.
You nudge Gojo, making him look.
“What ? You didn’t know ? They are dating,” he laughs, saying that is if it was basic facts. Basic facts that you didn’t have. Your mouth is hanging low, and you chuckle as you look back at his mischievous eyes.
“She never told me ! What ?”
“She told me she thought you knew when Utahime came to sleep once at your shared apartment,” he said in your ear so you could hear him well. You try to recall, and remember her indeed coming, and yes they were touchy, but you didn’t stay long with them as you had to study for exams in your room. But now, it actually made sense to you. They indeed looked very close, and she often told you she was going outside with her.
“I didn’t notice !” you exclaim, going on your tiptoes to say that in his ear as well. He shrugs, making you turn around so you could be back against chest, hands gripping your stomach.
“You’ll ask here later,” he whispers, wanting to keep your mind tracked on him instead.
You roll your eyes, and continue to dance against him. Your body grew hotter each time his hips rolled against your butt, lips brushing on your neck, hands sliding your body and lingering on your skin. To the point you wondered how far it would go, and if this dance in between two friends wasn’t that innocent anymore.
“Let’s get some fresh air,” he says in your ear, looking at you through half lidded eyes. Satoru felt like he would snap at any moment and surely act on his needs and wants. He tried to keep a cool head, but the way your body danced so tantalizingly against him for the past 20 minutes made him grow needy and impatient for more. Fuck, a bit more and he would have a massive boner that would be impossible to hide.
You accept, and he brings you with him outside. The cool air wakes up your senses, leaving the dim lights and heavy atmosphere. He leans against the wall, passing his hand in his hair and eyes never stopping to look at you. You were just so clueless of his craving for you that it was infuriating. Why were you so adamant on not seeing all the hints he kept dropping here and there ? Did he have to be more direct ? He never met someone as blind as you before, it was incredible but annoying at the same time.
“You okay ?” you ask concerned, stepping closer.
“Hmm, just got overwhelmed for a second here,” he answers vaguely. He couldn’t say he was getting way too drunk of you. Or wait, maybe he should.
“You should have told me, Gojo, we could have-”
“Satoru,” he interrupts you suddenly.
“What ?” you ask confused.
“Satoru. Stop calling me Gojo, y/n. Call me by my name,” he corrects, taking your hand and making you step closer to him.
“Alright, S… hum, Satoru,” it felt weird pronouncing his name that just rolled down your tongue like honey. And damn, Satoru just got blessed by the Gods the moment he heard it finally be pronounced by your pretty voice and lips. He waited for you to call him like that by yourself, but you always kept that invisible barrier, never saying it. He got tired of it. Wanting for you to just say it finally.
“You know, Y/n, I’m tired of waiting,” he starts to say, thumb caressing your hand up and down. You look at it, heart beating faster and wondering why he was doing that and what he was meaning exactly.
“Waiting for what, Satoru ?”
“You’re so dense sometimes, y/n. And that makes me mad,” he sighs, blue eyes boring into yours so intensely that it makes your knees falter.
“Mad ? I did nothing wrong,” you defend yourself, frowning.
“Oh yes, you did,” he whispers, bringing you even closer, his free hand sliding on your cheek and tilting your face to the side.
“Satoru-” you start to say, surprised by his proximity.
“Y/n…” he cuts you, almost chanting your name like a goddamn prayer before smashing his lips against yours. You open your eyes wide the moment his lips move and he kisses you like a starved man. His hand cradles your face, bringing you intimately closer, his other fingers intertwined with yours. God, he dreamt about kissing you again since the moment he tasted heavens weeks ago.
Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a moan of surprise. He swallows it, parting your lips to have access to your mouth, tongue caressing yours. Fuck him, you tasted so sweet it was addicting. His hips press against yours, rubbing slightly and making you lose your mind. You answer the kiss, fingers wrapping in his hair and tugging on it to deepen whatever was happening.
You couldn’t believe your eyes. Heart bursting out of your chest. But Gojo Satoru was kissing you. And it wasn’t like the lip balm scene in the bathroom. This, right here, was a real kiss. One of pure pent up passion and craving, a need beyond the Gods. Satoru just wanted to devour you, and you were melting against him. The moment you parted to catch back your breath, he couldn’t stop and let you even be away for too long, that he kissed you again, again, and all over again until you lost track of time.
The kiss became messy, burning hot, wanting more. His hand that was on yours, lets it slide under your cloth. You shivered, his fingers cold on your skin. He trails on your thigh, centimeter by centimeter, before he gropes your ass. You moan, and he chuckles as he sucks on your lower lip before starting to kiss down your neck. God, were you dreaming right now ? What was happening was real ?
“You drove me crazy, y/n, so crazy. Did you realize that ?” he utters against your throat, mouth biting on your skin and you can’t help but let out a hiss of both pain and pleasure.
“Not at all-”
“Damn, you’re so clueless. But it’s cute,” he snarls before chuckling slightly, tongue darting to taste your skin, inhaling your bewitching scent at the same time. You didn’t know what to answer, still shocked by what was happening. He goes back to kissing you, seeing you won’t say anything else.
But then, some people are heard coming outside. Yet, Satoru doesn’t stop. You try to, but he was way too lost in the feeling of finally having you to himself, even if it was for a moment.
“Satoru- wait. People are coming out,” you try to say in between sloppy needy kisses.
“Let them see, then” he mutters against your lips.
You feel heat rushing in your lower abdomen, but you come back to your senses and hit the top of his head. He lifts his face, pouting as he massages it.
“Ouch, what was that for ?” he whines, trying to kiss you again. But you put your hand against his mouth to stop him.
“People are going to see us, I don’t want to make it a show,” you warn, trying to calm down your beating heart. Satoru raises his eyebrows, but then he kisses the inside of your hand, grabbing your wrist and looking at you through half lidded eyes.
“Let’s get back inside then,” he muses, giving one last tantalizing kiss on your pulsating point, and drags you behind him.
You follow him, still mind blocked by what happened just now. You pass by people, and Suguru joins Satoru. He still drags you with them, as the black haired male said that he, Shoko, Utahime and their other friends took a table to be able to drink all together. You came, sitting in between Satoru and Suguru, both giving each other a knowing look. Suguru grinned at you, in a way that made you think he knew what happened in between you and Satoru.
The following time spent, Satoru kept his arm around your waist, thumb caressing your skin while talking and joking around. You couldn’t help but be lost in thoughts, playing back in your mind the whole kiss, and whatever Satoru said to you. You started to overthink, wondering if it meant anything for him, or if it was just in the heat of the moment. You barely kept up with the conversation, and Gojo noticed it all.
He decided then, without warning, to scoop you in his arms in front of everyone and walk towards the dance floor, avoiding the people around that were moving.
“Satoru, what the hell ?” you exclaim, squirming, before he puts you back down on your feet.
“I wanted to dance with ya’. Don’t you recognize it ? It’s the song we danced to in your bathroom,” he says, and you blink, once, twice, before realizing. You were so lost in thoughts that you indeed didn’t recognize it at all. He really messed up your mind here.
“Oh- yeah, you’re right,” you say slightly nervously.
“Ah, don’t look at me like that, let’s dance !” he grins to ease the atmosphere and calm down your nerves, before twirling you around and not letting you have time to think in anything else rather than following his moves. Against your will, like last time weeks ago, you ended up bewitched, laughing back loudly with him, swinging in his arms.
The lingering touches were still here, and the rest of the night in his company made you wonder if whatever happened outside the bar was just your imagination, or not. Not long after, you barely remember what happened, only that you had fun, then got home, and fell on your bed half asleep like a dead body. Everything after this dance was blurry, aside from the pretty eyes of a certain someone.
જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ
The next morning, when you woke up, you had a pounding headache. Water, you needed water. You groan, opening your eyes as you stand up from your bed and go to fetch a glass of water in the kitchen. As you walk slowly, still very tired from last night and barely remembering what happened after, you bump into Utahime that greets you.
“Hey y/n ! Slept well ?” she asks, taking her bag as Shoko arrives from behind and slides her arm around her waist, kissing her cheek. Right, you remember that Gojo told you they were dating.
“I feel like I slept for days… Are you guys going outside ?” you ask in a groggy and sleepy voice, entering the kitchen now and drinking water to calm down your thirst.
“Yeah, we go on a date. I’ll sleep at her house so don’t wait for me !” exclaims Shoko as she grabs the keys from the table at the entry, putting then her shoes. You wave at them, smiling softly as they kiss before closing the door behind them. You were so caught up in your studies session before, that you only realized now how obvious it was that they were dating.
You decide to go take a shower, feeling sweaty and gross. As you let the warm water roll down your muscles, your mind drifts back to the party, and the whole… makeout session with Satoru. You had so much fun, you couldn’t deny it. But you couldn’t help but feel nervous, wondering what would happen next with Gojo. Was it just like that, with no strings attached, for him ? Did he regret kissing you ? What was he thinking now ? You were sure to not give yourself some high hopes, because why in the first place Gojo Satoru would be interested in more with you, when he made it clear that he didn’t do relationships ? And you still didn’t feel confident enough at the idea of him being genuinely interested. Yeah, it was maybe better like that. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
When you step out of the shower, your phone rings on the counter of the sink. You almost gasp when you realize it’s Gojo calling you. Your heart is hammering in your chest, nervous, and shaking hands grabbing the device. Maybe you should answer…
“Hello ?” you start, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Y/n, I thought you were dead,” the voice of Satoru is cheerful as always, and you feel like nothing of what happened yesterday was real.
“Almost,” you sigh, walking towards your room after having finished drying yourself.
“How are you feeling ?” he asks, some teasing in his voice.
“I just took a shower, so better. But yeah… tired,” you explain while searching for clean pajamas to wear today. You didn’t plan to go out, anyways.
“Too tired to see me ?” he muses, like a tentation. You blink, wondering if he wanted to meet you. If it was the case, you didn’t know if you had the courage to face him again.
“Well, not really ?” you chuckle slightly awkwardly.
“Perfect, I’m in front of your door. Open,” he suddenly says.
“What ?” you answer, not believing what he just said.
“I’m here, so open the door,” he repeats.
“Oh wait up- I’m putting some clothes !” you exclaim panicked, starting to rush towards your clean underwear to put it on.
“Hey, I wouldn’t mind if you greeted me naked,” Satoru jokes. You roll your eyes.
“Shut up,” you finish the call and once fully dressed, you walk towards the door.
Fuck, that wasn’t good. What will you say ? Will you be able to look at him in the eyes ? That would be too embarrassing ! You try to brace yourself, and after a deep breath, you open the door only to face a Satoru in grey sweatpants and wearing a tight black t-shirt. Holy shit. Why did he have to look hot as hell ?! Now, you tried to not look at his body instead of only his eyes.
“Hi,” you say, looking away as you turn around to let him enter.
“Why aren’t you looking at me ?” he directly asks as he closes the door behind him, having no tact. You gulp, and then look briefly at his eyes before continuing to walk.
“What are you talking about ? I looked at you,” you shrug nonchalantly.
Satoru grabs your arm and spins you around so you could face him.You felt his burning gaze on your face, and it made you twice nervous.
“Don’t ignore me,” he orders you, a slight pout in his voice
“I’m not ignoring you,” you retort, frowning.
“Then look at me,” he brings you closer, demanding. You groan, annoyed, and finally lift your eyes to meet his blue orbs. His pretty face directly reminded you of the hot kisses and very dangerously close dances you both shared. You start to fluster, feeling warm now.
“Here you go. Hey, what’s going on with you ? You didn’t answer my texts either,” he whines, meanwhile his thumb slowly caresses your arm as if it was natural to do so.
“Texts ? I didn’t- I was too tired to answer,” you explain, remembering seeing them when you woke up.
“Hmmm… right,” he whispers, narrowing his eyes as he lets your wrist go. You walk back towards your room, expecting him to follow you, without glancing back.
“Why are you here ?” you question, trying to sound as casual as possible. You sit on your bed, and Satoru just leans on your doorframe, crossing his arms against his chest and eying you up and down.
“I wanted to come see you, can’t I ?” he answers scoffing, as if what you asked was ridiculous. You felt a tension growing in between the two of you, and it made your stomach twist.
“Of course you can,” you reply more softly, slightly lifting your face to look at him.
“Y/n, did I do something wrong ?” he asks without waiting, squinting his eyes.
“What ? No-” you disagree and open wide your eyes, shaking your head at what he just said.
“Do you regret what happened yesterday ?” he cuts you in mid sentence, stepping towards you slowly.
“Uh ? I… No. I don’t. Why are you asking that ?” you chuckle nervously, looking around at your room as if it suddenly was more interesting. Why were you acting like that ? You take a deep breath, looking back at Satoru that is facing you now.
“You seem tense. Are you lying to me ?” he questions, both of his hands caging you on the bed on each side of your waist, face right in front of yours.
“I’m not,” you try to seem confident.
“Are you sure ?” he purrs, leaning towards you, minty breath mingling with yours.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
“So if I kiss you right now, you wouldn’t mind ?” His lips are brushing against yours.
“... no,” you swallow hard, unable to move, flustered and suddenly just wanting him to kiss you senseless.
“Good,” he grins at your words before stepping back, leaving you breathless and beyond confused.
“Why didn’t you ? What ?” you frown, looking at him as his smile stretches. You suddenly felt like an idiot.
“So you want to kiss me again ? Didn’t take you for a greedy girl,” he taunts, one hand on his hip and eyeing down smugly. You bite your lower lip, pissed now and feeling ashamed.
“Satoru, don’t play with me,” you glare at him, and he chuckles. Ah, he longed for that stare again. Here it was, displayed just for him.
“Just answer me, sweetheart,” he continues, tapping his finger against his hip and you can’t help but look at his muscular arm, and then at his sweatpants hanging low, before stopping to his pretty pink lips. He angered you, making you be so confused, and pushing you in doing things or saying things you wouldn't usually.
“... Fine. So what. Yes, I want to kiss you ! What’s wrong about that ?” you snap, gesturing with your hands.
“Everything,” he drawls, boring his eyes into yours.
“What ?! Nothing is wrong ! You are the one that kissed me yesterday ! Why can’t I now ?” you retort, pissed, standing up from the bed to face him better.
“I never said that you couldn’t,” he shrugged, smiling wider when seeing you getting so worked up.
“But you make it sound like-” you trail, slightly feeling like you were trapped in this conversation, forced to admit things you never wanted to admit to him because of how embarrassing it would be.
“Y/n, the wrong thing here is that you want to kiss me, yet you don’t. What ? Are you a pussy ?” he mocks, leaning down to be at your height, making it so it could feel humiliating to you.
“I’m not a pussy,” you answer, clearly angry at him and yet knowing he did it on purpose, but God, it worked.
“Then prove it,” he whispers.
“I fucking hate you,” these are your last words before grabbing him by the collar and smashing your lips against his. He smiles through the kiss, immediately embracing you and wrapping his arms around you while tilting his face to the side to deepen the kiss. You move your lips together, all this pent up frustration getting poured in this intimate moment.
“You see when you want ?” he murmurs and he pushes you down on the mattress, climbing on top of you before kissing you back, tongues caressing each other. One of his hands supports him, and he slides his other fingers against your stomach, under your shirt. You shiver head to toes, both because of pleasure but panic too.
You wanted this, knowing it would lead to something more. But you were scared too. Scared that once you will surely sleep with him, he would leave you and it would stop here, being treated like a one night stand and nothing like you wished. Satoru directly senses the tension in your muscles and posture, slowly smoothing you as he kisses your neck.
“Relax…”
“Satoru,” you pronounce his name, your voice holding more emotions than you wanted. He looks up at you in the eyes, and tenderly, his hand caresses your cheek.
“You don’t want this, y/n ?” he asks more softly, slightly frowning.
“I do, it’s just…”
“I won’t force you into anything you don’t want,” he directly says firmly, to make sure you would understand the depths of his words. You bite the inside of your cheek.
“Satoru, I’m sorry but, I don’t want to be just a one night stand, or sleeping like that without feelings. It’s not what I want with you, so let’s stop before it’s too late,” you finally admit, looking away ashamed. You were bracing yourself for whatever answer he would give you, hoping it wouldn’t hurt too much.
“Y/n, who talked about no feelings ? I have feelings for you, and I don’t want it to be a one time thing. I thought I made it clear already, I’m not… using you or anything,” he whispers, his face betraying how hurt he is by your words, and his hand on your cheek tightens slightly.
“But- you said you don’t do relationships,” you whisper, somewhat feeling guilty.
“You said that too.”
“But I’m talking about you right now, Satoru. You said relationships weren’t for you, and with all these rumors going around… I really thought you wanted no strings attached and just did all this for fun and nothing more,” you retort, shaking your head.
“The rumors ? Look, y/n, I don’t know what rumors you heard about me, but I don’t care. I know what I said, and I was wrong. I completely, and utterly fell in love with you. Fuck, that’s scary to admit. But God, I love you, I truly do. Everything about you made me fall for you a little bit more each day. So no, me kissing you, me wanting this… is not just for ‘fun’, it’s because it’s you,” he finally admits, cheeks turning red as he looks into your eyes in hope of pouring all his feelings into your soul, to make you see how sincere and vulnerable he was right now.
“What ? You love me ? Me ??” you exclaim in disbelief.
“Yes, you. How can I say this without sounding creepy… Ugh. I’m not very good with all this, but I’m trying. Alright. Since Shoko talked about her new ‘roomate’, I was directly intrigued. She showed me pictures, and my first thought was how pretty you looked. And then she brought the cookies you made… You know I have a sweet tooth. When Shoko proposed to Suguru and me to come hang out at her house, I was excited to finally see you in real life. And since the day we officially met, I kept falling for you. I thought it was obvious, I was always flirting and hitting on you, but you kept brushing it off. I was serious all along, really. I know you see me as someone immature that never stops joking around, and yes, I am. But I swear, my feelings are no joke…” he explains, before chuckling awkwardly and passing his hand in his hair, “Wow, I talked a lot, sorry, ahah,” he finishes, looking at you embarrassed. And you are flabbergasted, mouth half open from shock. You swallow your saliva before gathering your thoughts.
“No, no, don’t apologize. It’s... I am the one being sorry. I truly thought that someone like you would never be really interested in someone like me. I know it’s just my insecurities talking. But, it’s hard to believe it sometimes, you know ?”
“Someone like you ? You mean an angel ? A Goddess ? The love of my life ? My future wife ? My muffin cake ?” he says half jokingly half seriously, trying to make you smile. And here you were, chuckling slightly at his attempt of lightening the heavy mood.
“Satoru… don’t be dumb,” you whisper, while his thumb caresses your cheek tenderly, before softly pecking your lips without warning. You fluster at his gesture. It looked so natural.
“Uh-uh. I’m for real ! Come on baby, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and I’m being serious. You’re perfect the way you are, and yours truly is here to show you the truth about yourself,” he ends his sentence by kissing your lips more passionately this time.
You couldn’t believe it. Gojo Satoru was in love with you. And you both were kissing, intimately, on your bed, after his confession that you never in a billion years expected to receive aside from in your dreams. His fingers slide back on your stomach, and his tongue plays with yours as he puts his knee in between your soft thighs right against your core.
You let out a moan of surprise, and his thumb comes to gently touch the bottom of your breast, before grabbing it in his hand and kneeling the fat with care.
“So soft, you’re so perfect,” he compliments you, and that makes you feel gradually more at ease. His lips stay on yours, playing with your nipple that hardens in between his fingers. Your breaths are becoming ragged, and he takes off your shirt inch by inch. The moment you are half naked, you feel the coldness of the room in dark contrast from the warmth of your bodies. You shiver under his burning gaze, and Satoru licks his lips.
“You’re too pretty, I can’t believe my eyes,” he utters, and his lips trail down your neck in wet kisses before sucking on your breast. You let out a noise of satisfaction at his hot tongue licking your nipples, his knee still grinding softly against your clothed cunt. His fingers slowly approach your shorts and caress your inner thighs before teasing at the edge of the tissue.
“Can I ?” he asks, and you nod, eager to feel his touch. His digits go under your shorts, and touch the wet patch of your panties. He grins, clearly smugly, biting softly on your right nipple. His middle finger then presses on your clit, making you jolt, going on a circular motion.
“You’re so wet and I didn’t even go down all the way. How cute,” he teases, and you tug on his hair to make him shut up. He lets out a laugh, and surprises you by finally slipping his hand inside your panties, sliding down your dripping folds. His thumb goes to relieve your poor clit, while another finger caresses your entrance and carefully goes in. Your toes curl and you breathe faster, moaning.
“So so cute,” he whispers to himself, shamelessly staring at your facial expressions, loving the way your mouth parts when his digit curls inside you and hits your G-spot. He sucks on your neck, marking you up and inhaling your scent before letting his fingers move faster. He notices how your thighs start to shake every time he teases your sweet spot, and once he feels it’s enough, he slides another finger, thumb still caressing your clit.
He kisses you back, drinking your whimpers and ragged exhales, already drunk of your body when he barely tasted you. Talking about tasting, he was dying to see and lick your juices. With one hand, he gets rid of your shorts and panties, while the other is still bullying your insides. He moans when he sees your glistering cunt, all wet from pleasure, and he was just imagining himself sinking in between your thighs. He goes faster, until he brings you to the edge and makes you cum all over his hand. His lips are on yours all the way, while you are shaking and trying to gain back a normal level of consciousness. Once you ride down your high, Satoru brings to his face his dripping fingers.
“Ah… that would be a waste, don’t you think ?” he coos, and you look so embarrassed, eyes wide open.
“Satoru, it’s not-”
“Shee, easy. You know I have a sweet tooth,” he stops before sucking on his own digits, eyes almost rolling down at how tasty you are.
“Fuck, so sweet,” he moans, and you look at him through half lidded eyes. He made you feel so good, and you just wanted to make him feel good as well. You take all the courage you need, before kissing him back and tasting yourself. You slide your hands down his torso, caressing his abs through his slutty shirt, excited already. Slight hesitantly, your hand goes down his v-line before caressing his hard dick through his grey sweatpants. Satoru lets out a pleasured hiss, biting your lower lip.
“Y/n, pretty, if you go down here I don’t know if I will be able to keep it slow with you,” he says in between ragged breaths while you continue to caress his throbbing dick.
“I want to please you too,” you answer, looking at him in the eyes, sliding your hand in his boxer and taking in your hand his warm cock. Shit, you did it. You can’t believe it. But you don’t waste any time, and slowly your hand goes up and down, staring at the way he bobs his head backwards and how his adam apple moves.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans, hair falling over his lashes as his eyes are glossy from pleasure. You continue, faster. You notice all the precum on his tip, and you didn’t know from where all this confidence came, but you went down on your knees. Satoru opens his eyes wide.
“Hey, sweetheart, no need to-” he cuts himself in a short breath as your sweet mouth kisses and gives a kitten lick on his tip. He swore if he didn’t have some self restraint, he would have cum all over your face.
“Holy shit,” he hisses, and you slowly use both of your hands and your mouth as you start to suck. His fingers go on your head, helping you in the movement, and his legs get more on a manspread. The scene was to die for : you, on your knees, in between his thighs, sucking his dick while Satoru looked like he was on cloud nine, flushed cheeks, lips parted and moaning. He takes off his shirt in one go and throws it on the side, his hands caressing you.
“Doing so good for me- yeah, just like that, fuck,” he babbles, and you continue up and down, following his lead. When he feels he is about to cum, he suddenly stops you and you look up at him surprised. He lifts you up and pins you on the bed, making you gasp.
“Sorry sweetie,” he whispers, kissing you, and then he slowly starts to open your thighs. You become self conscious, and try to close them. But the hands of Satoru are strong enough, and he gently pry them open back.
“Don’t be embarrassed, y/n, I already saw it all earlier,” he teases tenderly, before lifting your leg and kissing the inside with passion.
“I swear I’m trying to stay sane, but I’m going crazy at how hot you are, y/n. If it was only for me, I would have brought you to pound town starting the second we kissed yesterday,” he admits, biting your thigh before getting settled against your cunt. You can’t help but laugh slightly at him saying ‘pound town’, yet you can’t help but feel yourself grow hotter and hotter at his words.
“We were on public, so-”
“You think I cared about that ?” he stops you, eyes more serious than usual.
“Knowing how shameless you are, no,” you tease, and he grins back.
“Hmmm, you know me so well. I should reward you for that, what do you think ?” he taps his dick against your wet clit, and you shiver, back arching in response.
“Yeah… Do you have a condom ?” you ask, going on your elbows to look at it better.
“In the pocket of my sweatpants,” he answers nonchalantly as he takes the object out of his pocket like he said. He gives you the smile of a winner.
“Don’t tell me you brought it here knowing we would fuck ?!” you exclaim, and he makes you calm down as he rubs his dick against your cunt, you moan slightly.
“Uh… well, yeah ? Hey ! Don’t look at me like that ! And I wouldn’t call it ‘fuck’, but ‘make love’, okay ? And it was just in case, look, I did well,” he defends himself, opening it before slowly rolling down the condom around his cock. It was, to say the least, big. Would it even enter ? He would stretch you out so much !
“What ? Should I call you a good boy for thinking about it ?” you snarl, using your nervousness as a way to be sassy.
“I’m the one doing the praising here, baby,” he corrects, kissing your lips to ease your mind and grabbing your hips to bring you towards him. He slowly smudges your juice over his dick, before softly, and very very gently, entering you.
Your breath gets ragged, and he whispers words of praise in your ear as he pampers you of kisses. Fuck, Satoru thought that he could die in your pussy. And he hated that the condom was stopping him from feeling it well and good, wanting it to be skin to skin, but safety first. His thoughts started to drift that if he managed to make you his wife and future mother of his children, he could have all the excuses of hitting it raw. But that was a question for another time.
“So tight,” he mutters, kissing your forehead before finally hitting his hips all the way. You both take a deep breath, and you arch your back. You let out a ‘fuck’, and Satoru starts to move his hips. One of his hands comes to grab both of your wrists and pin them over your head, fingers tightening around it while slamming his dick inside your cunt. He lifts himself slightly to rub against your G spot, and you keep moaning more and more of pleasure.
Satoru kisses you passionately, his free hand cradling your head to bring you impossibly closer. The pleasure was so good it made your head spin, forgetting everything around you, time, reality, aside from Satoru. His smell, his skin against yours, his kisses, his tongue, his hands, his words of praise and love, everything, everything but only him.
He switches on the side when he realizes he might cum again. He makes you straddle him on top, and he puts his hands on your waist to stabilize you. You sink back on his cock.
“Come on pretty girl, move for me, ‘know you can do it, yeah ?” he asks, grinning at you while licking his lips. He makes you grind softly, and then you start to move up and down, each time falling back on his hips and feeling his dick all the way your insides. Your breast bounces at each thrust, and you try to go faster while he keeps you straight.
“Doing so well, yeah, you can do it,” he praises you to continue, kissing you tits before licking them. His hands grab your ass and his fingers dig into the soft flesh, partying them while jerking slightly his hips to dig his dick deeper inside you.
“Hey, don’t get tired on me, baby,” he coos when he notices your fucked out face, slowying down without realizing.
“Want me to do it for you ?” he asks, and you nod, moaning as you let your head fall backwards. He takes the opportunity to kiss the hollow of your throat.
“Ahh, poor y/n is too exhausted, how sweet… What would you do without me, uh ?” he chuckles, which vibrates against your skin. You glare at him, but he doesn’t let you answer as he smashes his lips against yours.
“Raise a bit your hips… yeah, just like that y/n,” he commands, and when you do so, he suddenly brings you strongly down, and you choke on a strangled moan of pleasure.
He slams his hips, hammering inside your dripping cunt. The pleasure gets suddenly more intense, and you feel like it wouldn’t take you long before cumming. Satoru feels the same, like a possession controlling him, wanting more and more.
“I love you, y/n, fuck- so… damn much… and, and I don’t say that words easily, so, ahhh… you better believe me-” he struggles to pronounce as he gets pussy drunk, cursing in between groans of utter pleasure at the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock.
“I love you too,” you whimper in a desperate way, at the brink of orgasm. When Satoru hears you saying these words, the ones he dreamt of receiving from you, he bursts inside the condom, feeling like he ascended Heavens.
You cum right after, and fall back on him. Satoru wraps his arms around your back to cradle you against his chest, kissing your sweaty forehead. He catches back his breath, face and tip of the ears red.
“You did amazing,” he whispers, kissing your cheek and then your lips.
You answer the kiss lazily, feeling so tired. He gently lifts your hips, taking off his cock and then the condom. He makes you sit back down on his thighs, and he throws the used rubber inside the bean of your room. He smiles when it lands successfully. He looks back at you, stars in his eyes.
“You can’t deny that we are the perfect match now, hmm ?” he whispers in the intimacy of the moment, smiling at you. You chuckle slightly, shaking your head before dropping it back down in the crook of his neck.
“You’re right, Satoru. I have to admit defeat,” you answer.
“Atta girl,” he muses, and then he suddenly scoops you in his arms, making you gasp. He kisses your forehead again, and gives you a cheeky grin before walking towards the bathroom.
“Now let’s get you cleaned, yeah ?” he proposes, and you caress the nape of his neck.
“I can do it myself,” you say in a soft voice.
“Never, I’ll do it. Don’t you know what aftercare is ?” he scoffs offended, pouting.
“Yes I know, thank you very much,” you roll your eyes as he opens the door of the bathroom with his feet.
“Really ? Here I thought you were a bit dumb here,” he jokes, looking away to tease you. You pinch the skin of his nape.
“You are the one that is dumb,” you tease back.
“I’m not the one that got fucked dumb,” Satoru adds, putting you down softly on the edge of the bath.
“Oh, shut up,” you get embarrassed and nudge him, which only results in making him laugh.
“But you love me for my sass,” he coos, patting your head.
“Yes, I do,” you answer in a softer tone, and smile at him. He smiles in return.
“So, can I call you muffin cake like in Shrek ?” Satoru asks batting his lashes.
“No.”
The first time you met Satoru was rather embarrassing. But who cares, anyway. Maybe you were made for him. And yes, Satoru wasn’t out of your league. Because here he was, so in love with someone like you. Yes, you, someone amazing, and he promised that he would keep repeating it. From now, to his last breath.
THE END
#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo fluff#gojo satoru#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x you#x reader#jjk#gojo angst#shokohime#shoko ieiri#geto suguru#jjk fluff#long fic#jjk smut#jjk au
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/20e674a994138da27b4417ddbc7b6d2f/a8a78fb80984d7e4-0e/s540x810/a295b3d049ccb857f3c486334cf2e137ae75fb10.jpg)
—when you can't resist it and you spank vi—
cw: fem reader, funny and silly situation, drabble, mention of spank, vi ashamed.
ekko's hiding place was relatively quiet, except for the sound of metal tools clinking and the occasional scattered conversation. you’d been wandering around, trying to find something useful to do, but your attention kept drifting toward vi.
she was bent over a table, working on her gauntlets as usual. her movements were meticulous and focused, and the furrow in her brow made it clear she was completely absorbed in her task. her jacket rested on a nearby chair, leaving her fitted tank top on display, highlighting the defined lines of her shoulders and muscles.
but it wasn’t her tank top that caught your attention—it was her pants. vi always wore those long, dark pants, snug and fitted, as if they were made specifically for her. the way they clung to her body, outlining every curve, was almost mesmerizing.
and now, with her leaning over the table, all her weight resting on her arms, the fabric stretched in a way that made everything stand out even more. you couldn’t help but notice how the curve of her backside was perfectly outlined, firm and athletic.
for a moment, a mischievous spark ignited in your mind, growing quickly into a reckless idea.
"why not?" you thought to yourself, a sly grin spreading across your face.
you crept up behind her, careful not to make a sound on the metal floor. vi didn’t even notice your presence, too focused on adjusting some mechanism on her gauntlet.
the opportunity was perfect. without giving it too much thought, you raised your hand and delivered a slap to her backside so loud it echoed across the hideout, causing a few nearby heads to turn in surprise.
the impact made vi’s backside jiggle slightly, the material of her pants rippling briefly from the force before snapping back into place.
“WHAT THE FUCKKK?!” vi shouted, straightening up so fast she nearly knocked over the table. her hand immediately flew to her backside as she whipped around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and rage.
her cheeks, normally pale, were now tinged with a deep red, the flush crawling up her neck. you couldn’t help it—you burst into laughter, bending over as you tried to catch your breath.
“sorry, sorry!” you managed to say between giggles, though your tone was anything but apologetic. “i couldn’t resist!”
vi stared at you, her blue eyes wide with disbelief. she looked as though she was trying to process what had just happened, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn’t quite find the words. finally, she pointed a shaky finger at you.
“what the hell makes you think that was a good idea?!” she demanded.
“well…” you began, shrugging with a playful grin. “with those pants and that pose, you were practically begging for it.”
vi’s jaw dropped. her hands fell to her hips as she stared at you, clearly caught between laughing and yelling. she opted for yelling.
“begging for it? are you kidding me?! it hurt, you idiot!”
“Ah, come on, vi,” you said, trying to soften the moment. “it was a little token of affection.”
“that wasn't affection! that was a fucking attack,” she retorted, twitching slightly as if the sting was still present.
"i honestly didn't think it would move that much. it was the highlight of my day.” you replied, unable to keep a smile off your face.
“SHUT UP!” vi snapped, her voice cracking slightly as her blush deepened. her hands moved to cover her backside defensively, as if to shield it from another ambush.
“is it still stinging?” you asked, feigning innocence. “or was it just a really good hit?”
vi’s hands slowly dropped to her sides as she narrowed her eyes at you, her face now an unmistakable shade of red. for a moment, you thought she might lunge at you, but instead, she took a deep breath, her shoulders visibly tensing.
“get ready to run,” she growled, her voice dangerously low. “because when i catch you, you’re not walking away from this.”
“is that a challenge?” you teased, taking a step back.
“no,” vi said, her tone chilling. “it’s a damn promise.”
before you could say another word, vi started moving toward you. you did the only sensible thing: you bolted.
your laughter echoed through the hideout as vi chased after you, her growls of frustration barely audible over your hysterical giggling. you knew you were in trouble, but you couldn’t stop thinking about her flustered, embarrassed expression.
totally worth it.
#arcane#vi x reader#arcane vi#arcane x reader#vi x you#vi x y/n#sfw#violet arcane#arcane x you#vi arcane#<33#drabble
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OVERRATED // matsukawa issei x f!reader
You’re convinced that getting fingered is overrated. Your roommate shows you otherwise, since you’ve clearly never been with someone who knows what they’re doing.
2.6k — 18+, roommates to lovers, fingering, mattsun and those goddamn hands
A woman sits in a dark booth in the back corner of a restaurant, lower lip tucked between her teeth, fingers digging into the edges of her seat as she tries not to make it obvious that the man beside her has his hand up her skirt.
“There’s no way it feels that good for her,” you scoff, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as you stare judgmentally at the television screen.
Matsukawa looks from you, to the movie, and back again. “Getting fingered?”
Your eyes flit over to where your roommate’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one brow raised as he lifts a can of soda to his lips.
The woman on the television screen moans.
(This isn’t porn, for the record.)
“Yeah? I mean this is like, false advertising.”
Matsukawa blinks. “I literally do not think I’ve ever met a girl who doesn’t enjoy being fingered.”
A sudden surge of heat licks at the back of your neck at his words, and you force your attention back to the screen. “And just how many girls have you—actually, you know what. Nevermind. Don’t answer that.”
He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and the two of you are silent for another five minutes or so before he speaks up again.
“So you’ve never had an orgasm just from being fingered then.”
Matsukawa says it bluntly, plainly, like he’s completely unbothered by the prospect of casually discussing sex with you on your couch on a Friday night.
“Nope,” you shake your head, popping the ‘P’ for emphasis.
He’s not looking at you when he replies, “That’s a shame.”
—
Your phone lights up with a notification for a text message from Matsukawa on Sunday morning while you’re still in bed. You’re pretty sure he left the apartment early to get breakfast with Hanamaki, and he’s yet to return.
Mattsun: can you text makki and tell him you think getting fingered is overrated Mattsun: he doesn’t believe me >>: …. >>: so like >>: sometimes makki can just maybe not know things Mattsun: you spent twenty minutes last week telling both of us about your last date who couldn’t get it up Mattsun: in detail Mattsun: with a donut and >>: OKAY YEAH YEAH Mattsun: :)
Collapsing back against your pillows, you groan before opening your text thread with Hanamaki.
>>: getting fingered is overrated, makki Hanamaki: wow he wasn’t kidding Hanamaki: wild >>: now can you make sure he brings me home a coffee Hanamaki: k Hanamaki: u act like he would ever forget something u asked for >>: what’s that supposed to mean Hanamaki: also though Hanamaki: when are u guys going to fuck
You drop your phone on the mattress, looking around the room as if Hanamaki himself is sitting in the corner snickering at you.
>>: i’m sorry what >>: who >>: how did we get here Hanamaki: at least ask HIM to finger u Hanamaki: because this shit is DEpressing >>: i’m blocking your number Hanamaki: u’ve seen his hands right >>: bye Hanamaki: cool i’ll email u xo
Groaning, you bury your face under the covers.
—
“I had an idea. A really dumb idea, actually. It’s kind of Makki’s fault, but—“
Matsukawa looks up from where he’s pouring a glass of water, brows furrowing.
“—and honestly just feel free to say no and forget this ever happened—“
He blinks, putting down the cup and leaning against the counter, crossing his arms as he waits for you to fumble through this never ending lead up to a question that’s been eating at the back of your mind all week.
“Can you uh…could you maybe…”
Matsukawa moves a little closer to you, leaning in, as if his proximity is going to help encourage you to drag the rest of the words from where they’re clinging to the backs of your teeth.
“CouldyoufingermeinaplatonicwaysoIcanfigureoutifI’mjustbrokenorsomething.”
You say it all in a single breath.
Matsukawa chokes.
“You think you’re the problem?” he asks, taken aback.
“I mean, yeah? If it’s supposed to feel good, and it doesn’t for me, then maybe I—“
“Go put on something that makes you feel sexy,” he interrupts you calmly.
Your heart lurches in your chest. “What? Right now!?” you squeak.
Matsukawa walks over to the kitchen sink, glancing back at you over his shoulder as he slowly presses down the pump on the foaming soap and thoroughly washes his hands.
You’re not sure how or why that sight alone already leaves your throat dry.
He nods. “Put on whatever makes you feel good. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. We’re not going anywhere. And then go in my bedroom, lay down in my bed, and text me when you’re ready.”
Fifteen minutes later, you find yourself on your stomach in Matsukawa’s bed, legs idly kicking in the air to expel the nervous energy simmering in your gut.
And while it was borderline mortifying trying to pick out something “sexy” to wear before tiptoeing into his bedroom, you realize why he said it now as you hit send on a message that simply reads “Ready.”
Because now that you’re lying here in a short, pleated skirt that’s lived in the back of your closet for years, thigh high socks, a delicate, lacy bralette that you’ve yet to find a reason to wear, and a thong with a little pink bow nestled just above your ass—
Now that you’re wrapped up in the familiar scent of Matsukawa’s body wash in a way that’s far more intimate than stealing his clothes or falling asleep on his shoulder on the couch—
Now that you know he’s seconds away from seeing you like this in his bed, from slipping his fingers beneath your skirt—
Well, you can already feel it—the slick, sticky arousal soaking its way into your panties.
“Wow,” Matsukawa murmurs as he walks in, striding over to the foot of the bed. “Nice socks.”
You go to roll over, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, and he shakes his head. “No, stay like that.”
Turning back onto your stomach, you push your phone aside, hugging one of his pillows to your face—though you almost regret it when you subsequently end up burying your nose in the warm and admittedly dizzying scent of him once more. Meanwhile, you feel the mattress dip as he climbs atop it.
“If at any point you want me to stop, let me know, okay?”
You nod, and he slowly starts to run his hands up the backs of your thighs, stopping just shy of the hem of your skirt.
“Didn’t you wear this to that costume party at Oikawa’s a few years ago?”
The first and only time you wore it, given how its meager length leaves almost nothing to the imagination.
“Yeah,” you laugh, though it’s a little weak, given the way he’s now rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs against the inside of your thighs.
Unintentionally, you spread your legs somewhat for him at the sensation, toes curling. He chuckles quietly.
Matsukawa’s fingers finally slide up your skirt, his large hands resting on either of your ass cheeks. You try to fight the sudden urge to arch your spine into his touch.
“Is this still okay?”
You nod, and he squeezes.
A moan slips out past your lips before you can stop it.
“Oh,” you breathe out, fingers grasping his silky dark green sheets for purchase as he begins to massage the globes of your ass.
“Does that feel good?” he asks.
He squeezes a little harder, and there’s a euphoric release of tension that seeps through your muscles.
“So good,” you mumble, face pressed sideways against his pillow. Which you may or may not have drooled on.
Cool air licks and settles against your backside as Matsukawa grasps your skirt and pushes it out of the way. Your thong tightens against your skin with tension for a moment, snapping back lightly once he lets it go.
Sliding his palm down the center of your ass, he brings his hand back to your thighs and stretches his fingers outward, effectively spreading your legs further. You inhale, toes pressing down into the mattress at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, do you want me to take these off?” he pauses, idly toying with the string of your thong.
And while it would certainly be easier, there’s something about the evidence of your arousal soaking into the material, something about the way the lace tugs against your skin—
You shake your head.
“Good, the bow is cute.”
He runs a finger over the delicate piece of ribbon, and you’re thankful he can’t see the embarrassing way you swallow in response.
“Is flattery a part of the process?” you ask.
You can almost hear the grin on his face as he slowly feathers a finger against the wet spot on your panties and replies, “Is it not working?”
“You’re terrible,” you laugh, despite the shiver that runs through you.
“Save your breath.”
You turn slightly to look back at him, brows furrowed. “For wha—“
Your words are cut off by the moan that crawls up your throat without warning as the pad of Matsukawa’s middle finger suddenly slides down the length of your creamy slit.
It catches you off guard, how good that little bit of contact feels. How sensitive you are for him. How—
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re wet,” he murmurs, one digit now circling around the rim of your puffy, fluttering entrance while another long finger draws through your folds once more.
He’s hardly doing anything, and it already sounds obscene.
Your chest burns, and your heart thunders in your chest as you find yourself arching your ass up off of the bed. The skirt flops back down over your backside in the process, and Matsukawa’s quick to push it back out of the way, his large hand pressing into the small of your back.
The pillow case grows more damp against your cheek as you quietly pant against it.
“Matsukawa,” you whine, hips pressing backward again as he ghosts a finger over your swollen clit before dragging two digits back through your folds. Your cunt aches.
“You have to tell me if you don’t like how it feels, okay?”
He runs his thumb across your dripping hole.
“Matsukawa,” you gasp again, one hand tightly grasping the top edge of the mattress.
“Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he promises, slipping the tip of a finger into your entrance. Barely past the fingernail.
“Issei, please,” you nearly sob, spreading your legs even further for him. “Don’t—don’t stop.”
He lets out a noisy, rough exhale. One that’s a stark contrast to his easy, syrupy tone.
But you can hardly hear it as he slides his finger into your cunt, not stopping until he’s at the last knuckle.
You can hardly hear it over the desperate, needy moan that he drags out of you on one finger alone.
Matsukawa takes his time exploring your tight inner walls, alternating between pumping his finger in and out while you keen for him and keeping it lodged inside as he curls and strokes your wet channel.
It’s never felt like this.
Not with anyone.
Not even with your own fingers.
But this—
It feels like you’re burning from the inside out, like your nerves are on the verge of going up in flames.
It’s just one long, deft finger sliding in and out of the eager, needy grip of your pussy. Your tight, soaking wet pussy that’s nowhere near full enough yet still pulsing and dripping with pleasure all the same.
It’s just a single finger, and yet your voice is going hoarse from the moans tumbling from your lips, the repeated whimpers of Matsukawa’s name as your sticky arousal slides down the palm of his hand.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, voice a little rougher than it was before.
“I’m probably making a mess all over your bed,” you mutter against the pillow.
“Good,” you swear you hear him breathe out before he asks, “Still overrated?” His free hand slides beneath the waistband of your thong, wrapping around your hip bone.
“It’s never, I’ve never—“ you gasp.
“Because you sleep with guys who do it for themselves, who see it as a necessity to getting their dick inside of you,” Matsukawa replies in a calm tone that’s a stark contrast to the way you’re unravelling beneath him. “I just want you to feel good. This isn’t about me.”
And you’ve also never been fingered like this—face down, prone. With your pebbled nipples rubbing against your lace bralette and a too-short skirt rucked up around your waist. In a sopping wet thong that keeps rubbing against your clit every time Matsukawa nudges it out of the way, with thigh high socks that continue to slip down lower and lower as you writhe in pleasure against the mattress.
You’ve never been fingered by Matsukawa Issei. Your roommate and your best friend who’s a little too handsome for his own good. Who you’ve had more wet dreams about than you can count.
Matsukawa Issei and his stupidly long, dexterous fingers. Two of which are now stuffed in your tight hole, massaging your inner walls while you drool on his pillow like it’s his cock that’s stuffed inside of you instead.
Matsukawa Issei, who’s somehow on the verge of making you forget every dick you’ve ever had inside of you by fucking you with his fingers and his fingers alone.
“Don’t flatter me that much yet, not till I make you come,” he murmurs, stroking your throbbing clit.
And oh—you fucking said that last bit out loud.
Not that you can bring yourself to care when the coil of heat in your gut is wrapped so tight you can hardly breathe. Every muscle in your body tenses under the liquid pleasure that sears its way down your spine with a bite that has you trembling, sheets slipping beneath the feeble grasp of your shaking hands.
You end up pushing yourself onto your knees as Matsukawa purposely slows his pace, like he’s not ready for you to come yet. Like he wants to edge you until the whole goddamn mattress is soaked.
“Issei,” you whimper in a small, breathless voice that you can hardly believe is your own.
And suddenly you find yourself being tugged backwards into his lap, your legs spread, your back to his chest. You barely have time to marvel over the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your ass through his pants, not when his lips ghost against the shell of your ear before he rests his chin against your shoulder.
Matsukawa slides his fingers back inside of you, and you moan at the angle, at the way his mouth ends up tucked into the crook of your neck when you roll your hips into his touch. His lips are hot against your skin as he traces the column of your neck, cunt squelching wetly while your pussy greedily takes in the stretch of his digits over and over.
And then he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, biting and sucking at the sensitive spot while your cunt throbs, as you shake with a full-body shiver, as the damn of pleasure inside of you snaps and overflows with an orgasm that leaves tears in your eyes as you sob his name.
Matsukawa tilts your chin and finds your mouth with his, claiming your lips in a messy, spit-soaked kiss as you ride out your climax.
It’s only once you stop shuddering in pleasure that you remember how hard he felt beneath you, and you go to slip a hand between your bodies—
“It’s okay,” he exhales, sounding just as out of breath as you feel.
“You don’t want me to—“ You try not to sound as disappointed as you feel over his sudden rejection.
His eyes go a little wide. “No, no. No, it’s that. I just…uh…I already…”
You blink at him. “I didn’t think that was actually a thing that happens.”
Did he really just come in his—
Matsukawa rubs the back of his neck, biting his bottom lip. “It’s never happened to me before, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh?”
For some reason, you feel more than a little smug at these words.
“First time for everything I guess,” he grins.
“Overrated?” you ask coyly, warmth swelling in your chest.
Matsukawa shakes his head, lips brushing against yours when he leans in and murmurs against your mouth, “Definitely not.”
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♪ — 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . Oscar Piastri can't help but gush about his girlfriend in every interview, effortlessly weaving you into his conversations with pride and admiration
( main naster list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )
Oscar Piastri had a habit—one that everyone in the paddock noticed almost immediately. He couldn’t stop talking about his girlfriend. And not just in the offhand, casual way people might expect, like a passing mention here or there. No, when Oscar talked about you, it was like flipping a switch. His entire demeanor softened, his eyes lit up, and his words came tumbling out with an earnestness that left no room for doubt: he was absolutely, irrevocably smitten, and he made sure the world knew it.
It started innocently enough during an interview early in his rookie season. The journalist had asked about his study habits for learning new tracks, expecting a typical response about simulator hours or reviewing footage. But Oscar, with that easy grin of his, took a completely different direction. “I mean, I’ve seen how my girlfriend studies for her exams, so this should be pretty easy,” he said with a playful shrug. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he added, “She’s top of her class, by the way.” The pride in his voice was palpable, his expression glowing with admiration. The journalist couldn’t help but chuckle, already mentally jotting down notes to find out more about this mysterious academic powerhouse who clearly had Oscar wrapped around her finger.
And that was just the beginning.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
During a fan stage Q&A, he managed to take things up a notch. A young fan asked how he stays calm under pressure, and Oscar didn’t even need a moment to think. He leaned into the mic, his face lighting up in that boyish, unfiltered way of his. “Oh, that’s easy. The other night, my girlfriend—she’s a top athlete, by the way—was prepping for this big event she had. Watching her manage everything so smoothly kind of puts my little race stress into perspective.”
The crowd’s reaction was immediate: a mix of cheers, laughter, and a collective ‘aww’ that made Oscar’s cheeks flush faintly. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, like he hadn’t just melted half the audience’s hearts with a single sentence. The sincerity in his tone was undeniable, and the moment was all the more charming because it was clear Oscar didn’t think he was doing anything out of the ordinary. He was just telling the truth, proud and in awe of you as always.
But even then, he wasn’t done. “Honestly,” he added with a laugh, “if I handled pressure half as well as she does, I’d be unstoppable.” It was a line delivered with such casual reverence that it didn’t just make the fans smile—it left them convinced that Oscar Piastri wasn’t just a rising star in Formula 1; he was also a contender for the title of world’s best boyfriend.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Then there was the time he was caught on McLaren’s YouTube channel, unabashedly gushing about how much he loved going shopping with you. It started as a casual behind-the-scenes segment—just Oscar and Lando killing time between commitments. But when the topic of hobbies came up, Oscar’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.
“No, seriously,” he began, animatedly waving his hands as Lando looked at him like he’d lost the plot. “She’s got this incredible eye for things. Like, we’ll walk into a store, and she’ll just pick something up and instantly know it’s perfect. I don’t even know how she does it.”
Lando, ever the mischief-maker, raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your contribution to this magical shopping experience?”
Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “I…carry the bags,” he said with a proud grin. “It’s a good system.”
Lando snorted, muttering, “Golden retriever boyfriend,” under his breath, fully expecting Oscar to deny it. But Oscar, in his usual laid-back way, just shrugged and smiled wider. “I mean, if the shoe fits.” The clip went viral almost instantly, with fans agreeing that if there were ever a category for Boyfriend of the Year, Oscar was already a shoo-in.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Then, there was the time during a press junket when a reporter asked him about his organization skills. The question was meant to highlight how drivers juggle their packed schedules, but Oscar’s response was anything but rehearsed.
He laughed, a warm, self-deprecating sound that filled the room. “Honestly, I would’ve been doomed yesterday if my girlfriend hadn’t reminded me about something I forgot. She’s the organized one in the relationship. I just…drive cars fast and hope for the best.”
The room burst into laughter, a few reporters exchanging amused glances at his candidness. But Oscar just grinned, his expression softening with the unmistakable fondness that always seemed to creep into his voice when he talked about you.
“It’s true,” he added with a shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to openly admit just how much he relied on you. And that was the magic of Oscar Piastri—his genuine, unabashed love for you turned even the simplest of conversations into something that felt warm and unforgettable.
Even in the most casual conversations with fans, you always managed to find your way into the spotlight through Oscar’s words. Like the time a fan brought him a book about racing during an autograph session. He accepted it with a warm smile, flipping through the pages for a moment before looking up. “Oh, my girlfriend loves reading,” he said, almost absentmindedly but with so much fondness it felt deliberate. “She’ll probably finish this before I do and then give me all the highlights. Saves me time.”
The fan giggled, clearly charmed, while the rest of the queue exchanged knowing smiles. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, like mentioning you was the most natural thing in the world. And for Oscar, it was.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Then there was the post-race interview after one of his toughest performances. He’d started the race in a dismal qualifying position, clawing his way through the pack to secure points in a way that left commentators breathless. By the time he reached the interview pen, his suit was damp with sweat, and exhaustion painted his features. But even then, the familiar warmth of his smile made an appearance as he approached the mic.
“You know,” he began, his voice still catching its breath but steady, “I think a big part of getting through today was remembering something my girlfriend told me.” His words were met with curious expressions from the reporters, who leaned in just a little closer. “She’s amazing at staying positive no matter what, and she’s always reminding me to focus on what I can control.”
He paused for a second, his gaze drifting toward the camera as if he was speaking directly to you. “So, yeah, this one’s for her.”
The sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt. This wasn’t just an offhand mention or a fleeting thought. You weren’t just his girlfriend in name or title—you were his anchor. The way he spoke of you wasn’t just endearing; it was grounding, a reflection of how much you truly meant to him.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
One of the sweetest displays of Oscar’s affection unfolded during a behind-the-scenes McLaren vlog. The team had been filming some candid moments during a break, and the camera panned to Oscar sitting in a corner, scrolling through his phone. His expression was soft, his lips curved into a barely-there smile. Then, as if remembering something, he nudged Lando, who was lounging next to him.
“Oh, look, my girlfriend,” Oscar said, holding up his phone. His voice was tinged with a quiet kind of excitement, like he’d discovered a hidden treasure he couldn’t wait to share. The camera zoomed in just enough to catch the sparkle in his eyes as he looked at the photo. “She sent me this earlier. Isn’t she gorgeous?”
Lando let out an exaggerated groan, flopping dramatically against the couch. “Mate, you’re insufferable,” he muttered, though the amused grin on his face betrayed him. “Do you ever stop?”
“Not when it comes to her,” Oscar replied without missing a beat, his smile growing wider as he looked at the picture one more time before carefully locking his phone.
The clip went viral within hours of the vlog’s release. Fans couldn’t get over how sweet—and utterly smitten—Oscar was. Comments flooded in, praising his open adoration and dubbing him the “ultimate golden retriever boyfriend.”
But for those who knew him, this was just Oscar being himself. No matter where he was or what he was doing, you were always on his mind. And he made sure everyone around him knew just how proud he was to call you his. Whether it was your achievements, your quirks, or simply the way you lit up his life, Oscar never stopped finding ways to weave you into the conversation.
It wasn’t just about the words he said, though. It was the way he said them—with genuine admiration, unwavering pride, and a love so pure it could light up the entire paddock. His tone softened when he spoke about you, his expression grew warmer, and his smile turned just a little brighter.
If Oscar Piastri was the golden retriever boyfriend the world had come to adore, then you were undoubtedly his favorite human, his everything, the one who made all his happiest stories worth telling.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The atmosphere was electric at the Yas Marina Circuit, the tension so palpable it could’ve powered the floodlights. It was the last Grand Prix of the season, and everything was on the line for McLaren—the Constructors' Championship title hung in the balance. Among the sea of orange and black, you stood out—not just because you were there to support Oscar Piastri, but because you radiated an energy that seemed to magnetize the young driver to your side.
From the moment you both arrived on Thursday for media day, fans couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in your personalities. Oscar, always reserved and thoughtful, seemed content to let you take the lead, his quiet confidence complimented by your vibrant presence. When a fan asked how you two had met, you lit up with a mischievous smile.
“I adopted him when we were in school,” you said, glancing fondly at Oscar, who was shyly smiling at the ground. “I guess he just stuck to my side.”
Oscar, standing beside you, squeezed your hand in his as he chuckled. “Well, it’s hard not to stick to you. You kind of pull people in.”
Throughout the weekend, Oscar was a picture of quiet affection. Whether it was holding your hand, wrapping an arm around you, or resting his chin on your head during quieter moments, his touch was constant. Fans caught glimpses of him whispering things to you that made you laugh, your bubbly personality clearly rubbing off on him in the best ways.
When race day arrived, the stakes were high, and Oscar’s nerves were evident. But even after a dramatic first-lap collision with Max Verstappen that caused him to spin out and drop down the grid, you were still cheering for him like he’d just secured pole position.
By the time the checkered flag waved, McLaren had done it—they’d secured the Constructors' Championship. Despite Oscar’s rocky race, you were beaming with pride as he pulled into the pit lane. Seeing your smile waiting for him made every frustration of the day vanish from his mind.
After the podium celebrations for the team, a surprising transformation unfolded. Your extroverted energy seemed to seep into Oscar as if he’d caught your enthusiasm like a contagious laugh. Gone was the usual quiet and composed Oscar. In his place was a driver buzzing with excitement, grinning from ear to ear as he darted around the paddock.
He didn’t just take pictures with the team; he orchestrated them like a director at a photo shoot. “Lando, get over here! And grab that trophy!” he called, dragging his teammate into a chaotic group photo. When Lando least expected it, Oscar grabbed a bottle of leftover champagne and sprayed him without mercy, laughing so hard he had to lean on you for balance.
“You’re ridiculous!” you teased, wiping the champagne splatter off your face.
Oscar grinned wickedly. “Oh, am I now?” Before you could react, he turned the champagne on you, spraying it in a gleeful arc. You squealed, half-laughing, half-shouting as the fizzy liquid soaked your hair and clothes.
“Oscar!”
He set the bottle down and pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek as if that would make up for it. “You look even better drenched in champagne,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. His giggles, boyish and utterly unguarded, filled the space between you.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as you ruffled his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
The two of you stood there in the middle of the celebration, drenched in champagne and surrounded by the joyous chaos of the team. Oscar looked at you, his face softening. “I couldn’t have done this without you, you know. Even when it’s rough, you make it all worth it.”
You smiled up at him, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what.”
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