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milfsloverblog · 3 days ago

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Is It Casual Now ?

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: To whoever requested this from me, your request was anonymous so I can’t tag you and for some reason Tumblr wouldn’t let me answer directly to your ask 🥲 I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request, I’ve had Casual stuck in my head for days now hahaha!

You never meant to stay this long.

It was supposed to be one night. Maybe two. A private indulgence. A whispered secret between silk sheets and stolen time. Larissa made it easy to pretend—her words velvet-soft, her hands knowing, her body impossibly warm in the quiet dark.

You told yourself you wouldn’t linger. And yet, here you are again, weeks later, lying in her bed while dawn tries to crawl its way through the blackout curtains.

She’s still asleep. Or pretending to be.

Your head rests against her shoulder, eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of her chest. You breathe her in—something expensive and floral with a trace of vanilla—and wonder if it clings to all her lovers, or just you.

She shifts beneath you, her arm instinctively pulling you closer. The movement is gentle, practiced. Comforting. And yet, you can’t tell if it means anything.

You want it to.

“I should go,” you whisper, though you don’t move. You say it every morning. It's become part of the ritual, like the quiet sex and her occasional smirk when you stumble over your words, trying not to sound too eager.

Larissa hums, eyes still closed. “Mmm. Why rush?”

There’s that voice. Satin and command in equal measure. You’d do anything to hear it say something real—something just for you.

“I’ve got class in an hour,” you murmur, letting yourself linger just a little longer. You never mean to, but she makes it so easy to stay. You tuck your face into the crook of her neck. “I think the other teachers are starting to notice I’m always tired on Tuesdays.”

A faint smile curves her lips. “Let them wonder.”

You laugh, a small sound, but there’s something fragile beneath it. You don’t want to wonder. You want to know. You want to ask questions you don’t have the right to ask.

Do you sleep like this with everyone? Do you think of me when I’m not here? Is this more than nothing, or am I just pretending it is?

But you don’t ask. You never do.

Instead, you press a soft kiss to her throat and let her hold you like you matter. Like you’re more than warm skin and temporary comfort. Like maybe—just maybe—she wants you here too.

You let the silence stretch. You pretend it means something.

The warmth of Larissa’s bed still clings to your skin when you step into the halls of Nevermore, but reality is already cooling it.

You tell yourself not to expect anything. That it’s fine—normal, even—that she hasn’t texted. That she didn’t kiss you goodbye when you left her office this morning. That she only ever kisses you in private.

Still, when you catch sight of her at the end of the corridor, a quiet, nervous kind of anticipation stirs in your chest. Will she look at me? Will she smile?

You don’t expect her to rush to your side or whisper something meant only for you. But maybe—maybe—she’ll acknowledge you with something softer than professionalism.

But Larissa Weems is all business now. Immaculate in her pressed suit, clipboard in hand, speaking in hushed tones to a board member.

She doesn’t even glance your way.

You try to ignore the sting of it. The way it makes you feel like last night was something you imagined, like the weight of her hands on your skin, the sigh of your name in the dark, meant nothing at all.

You swallow it down.

You’re an adult. You knew what you were getting into.

Still, something bitter settles under your tongue when she turns slightly, offering the board member that smile—the poised, charming one, full of effortless grace. The kind that makes people feel special.

It shouldn’t bother you.

Except it does.

The board member laughs, and Larissa places a hand on his arm in that effortless, casual way she has, a gesture so smooth it might as well be instinct. You wonder if she even realizes she does it. If she touches everyone like that.

If she’s ever touched you like that outside of her bedroom.

Your stomach twists.

She’s not doing anything wrong. Not really. You remind yourself that whatever this is between you—whatever it isn’t—has no rules. No promises. You’re the one who stayed, the one who crawled into her bed again and again, the one who let hope creep into your ribs like a sickness.

Still, when Larissa finally walks past you, eyes skimming over you without even a flicker of recognition, it feels like a slap to the face.

And the worst part?

You don’t even think she notices.

You don’t bring it up right away.

You tell yourself it was nothing—just a moment. A busy morning. She probably didn’t see you. She probably wouldn’t want to seem unprofessional in front of a board member. It’s not personal.

You repeat that to yourself all day.

But it keeps echoing.

She looked right through me.

Later, back in her office, the air is different. Quieter. Dimmer. The curtains are drawn and the fire crackles softly. She’s taken off her heels. Her hair is down.

Here, you’re not a stranger.

Here, she looks at you like she knows you.

She pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, brushing her fingers along yours in that way she always does. She’s graceful about it, as if affection is something she gives you in curated, elegant doses.

You watch her sink into the couch, legs crossed, wineglass balanced delicately in her hand. Her eyes flick to yours. “You’re frowning.”

You hadn’t realized you were.

“I saw you today,” you say, quiet.

Larissa raises a brow. “Yes?”

“In the hall. You walked right past me.”

A beat.

She tilts her head, feigning thought. “I must have been preoccupied.”

You nod slowly. Sip your wine. Pretend it doesn’t sting. “You were talking to the board.”

“Yes.” She says it like a full stop. No elaboration. No apology.

You set your glass down, fingers tightening on your knee. “Do you ever think it’s strange? That we act like we don’t know each other at all during the day?”

Her gaze flickers, just briefly. “I assumed you preferred it that way.”

You blink. “Why would you assume that?”

She shrugs, ever so slightly. “I thought you valued discretion.”

“I do,” you say, a little too fast. “But discretion’s not the same as pretending we’re strangers.”

Larissa leans back against the cushions, studying you now—calm, unreadable. “What is it you want from me, exactly?”

You freeze.

It’s not the question itself—it’s the way she asks it. Like you’re the one who’s overstepping. Like this is a negotiation and you’ve just asked for too much.

“I don’t know,” you admit, softer now. “Something that doesn’t make me feel... invisible.”

She sighs—tired, not annoyed, but not gentle either. “You knew what this was.”

You nod. You did.

But that doesn’t make it hurt less.

You don’t go to her that night.

Or the next.

It isn’t some grand, dramatic decision—you don’t throw your phone into the sea or draft a final message you’ll never send. You just stop reaching out. You sit with the ache. Let it settle in your ribs like something dull and heavy.

And she does nothing.

No text. No knock at your door.

Maybe you were wrong to think she’d notice. Maybe this was always how it was meant to be—you, orbiting her, mistaking gravity for something reciprocal.

But on the third day, there’s a knock at your door.

Your heart stutters.

You consider pretending you’re not home. You consider waiting, letting her leave, letting yourself believe she was never really here at all.

But you open the door.

She’s standing there, one hand resting on the frame, looking as put-together as ever. But there’s something softer in her expression, something almost hesitant.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days.” Her voice is smooth as ever, but there’s a question in it.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy.”

She hums, tilting her head slightly. “Too busy for me?”

Your throat tightens. “I thought you might appreciate the space.”

“Space,” she repeats, like it’s a foreign concept.

Like she never once considered that you’d pull away first.

She steps inside without waiting for an invitation, her perfume enveloping you, and suddenly it feels like every ounce of distance you put between you has collapsed in a breath.

Her fingers trail along your wrist—not grabbing, not holding, just there. A tether.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmurs. “Give me space.”

Your stomach twists.

Because she says it so softly, like she means it. Like it’s you who created this distance, like she would have reached for you if only you had let her.

Like this is still something real.

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “Larissa—”

She lifts your hand, pressing it to her lips. The kiss is barely there, the kind that makes you want to chase it.

“Stay,” she says simply. A single, quiet request.

You can’t stay quiet anymore.

You don’t even mean to say it—it just comes out. The words tumble from your mouth like they’ve been waiting behind your teeth for far too long, desperate to escape.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say, your voice tight. “I can’t keep pretending this is fine.”

Larissa’s eyes narrow slightly.

“You’re making something out of nothing,” she says, like this is just another one of your moods, another one of your moments that will pass when she’s done with it.

But you can’t let it go. Not this time.

“You know what you’re doing.” The words hit the air between you like glass shattering. “You’ve been playing with me—using me—and I don’t even know why I let it go on this long.”

Her expression remains unreadable, but the flicker of something dangerous moves through her eyes. You’ve seen that look before—when she’s about to shut you down.

But you’re not backing down this time.

“You’ve made it clear that I’m just… convenient for you,” you spit out, your breath catching in your chest. “And I’ve been stupid enough to believe that I meant more to you than that.”

Larissa doesn’t flinch. Her gaze is cool, calculating, almost too calm. “You’re overreacting.”

“No,” you snap. “You don’t get to tell me that. You don’t get to pretend like this means nothing when I can feel it. I can feel the way you pull me in, and then push me away. Every damn time.”

Her jaw tightens. She moves slowly, deliberately, her movements sharp and controlled. “I never made any promises to you.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound harsh in your ears. “And I never asked for any. But I was stupid enough to think that this—” you gesture between the two of you, “—was something real. That you cared. That I meant something.”

Larissa’s gaze hardens. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, I know,” you retort, feeling the sharp edge of her words cut through you like a blade. “I know. I thought this was casual—no strings attached, right? But I was wrong. I’m not some passing moment for you, am I? You wanted me to be casual—just another distraction—while I fell for you.”

Larissa’s face tightens at the implication. She steps toward you, her presence overwhelming. But you’re not backing down.

“I was the one who didn’t know any better, right?” you continue, your words growing more heated with every beat. “You’re the one who’s never been clear about what you wanted. Casual, right? That’s what you told me over and over. But I should have known that was just the line you fed me to make it easier to walk away when you were done.”

The words feel like acid in your throat, but they burn with truth.

“You were never casual, Larissa,” you say, a sudden intensity rising in your chest. “I thought I was—thought I was just another face you’d forget. But I’m not. Not now. Not when I’ve let you twist everything I thought we were.”

Larissa doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, it’s like she’s frozen in place. There’s a shift in the air, something almost imperceptible, as though she’s finally seeing you for the first time in this whole mess. But it’s too little, too late.

You take a step forward, the anger building in your chest, but it’s mixed with the sting of realization. “You never cared about me the way I cared about you. You were always so damn careful to not care. I was never more than a moment, wasn’t I? You were never going to be mine, Larissa. And you let me believe I could have you.”

Her lips press together tightly, but she still doesn’t say anything.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you dare her. “Tell me this was just casual for you. That it was just some game you were playing with me.”

Her eyes flick to the side briefly—then back to you, her gaze sharp and cold. “It was never a game. But you made it more than it was.”

“I didn’t make anything,” you bite out. “You used me, and I let you. You told me to keep it casual, but I wasn’t the one who needed it. You were. And now, it’s me who’s left holding all these pieces, trying to make sense of what the hell happened.”

She takes a step back, crossing her arms over her chest, and her voice is icy. “It’s your fault for reading into something that was never there.”

“Is that it?” you ask, laughter bubbling up bitterly. “Is that all I was? Just someone you could use when it was convenient? You really don’t care, do you?”

Larissa opens her mouth to respond, but you can’t hear it anymore. The words you’ve been too afraid to admit are crashing through your thoughts, unrelenting. You’ve been fighting so hard to convince yourself that this wasn’t a mistake, that maybe she cared about you even just a little. But now—now you see the truth, clear as day.

“I see it now,” you say quietly, stepping away from her, the words breaking your heart as you speak them. “I was just a distraction. And you don’t even have the decency to tell me I’m wrong. You let me fall for you, and when I finally do care, when I finally say enough, you’ll just turn away like you always do.”

Her face is unreadable now, but you know her well enough to see the tiniest flicker of something—guilt, maybe? But it’s gone in an instant.

“You don’t get to make me the villain here,” she says, the edge of her voice cutting through your chest like a jagged knife.

“Maybe I don’t,” you reply, “but you sure as hell made me feel like one. You made me feel like I was too much, too needy, like I was asking for too much. And I was—I was asking for something real. But you were just… playing with me, weren’t you?”

Her eyes flicker, and for a second, just a second, you think she might say something. Apologize, maybe, or at least try to explain herself.

But then she looks away. “I’m not sorry.”

And that’s it.

The final cut.

She turns on her heel, walking out without another word. The silence that follows is deafening, suffocating, and you can feel your chest tighten with every step she takes away from you.

The letter you write that night isn’t long.

You don’t see the point in making it poetic. You’ve said everything already—screamed it, cried it, bled it out on the floor of your quarters. This isn’t about drama now. It’s about survival. About reclaiming the parts of yourself that she tried to keep casual.

No, that’s not fair.

You were the one who believed her when she said it.

Still, you leave the resignation letter on her desk the next morning. Just a single sheet of paper folded neatly in half. Your name signed at the bottom with a shaking hand.

You pause for a moment in her office, the silence thick with everything unsaid. Her perfume lingers faintly in the room, floral and cold, like a memory that won’t wash off.

You don’t look around. You don’t need to. You know this place too well—its perfection, its elegance. The way she kept everything beautiful and just out of reach.

Kind of like her.

You take the long way out of Nevermore. Past the classrooms, past the rows of windows that once glowed warm when she waited for you. Past the hallway where she used to pull you aside with a smirk and a whisper, asking if you could stay a little later.

You remember the butterflies. The heat. The way she’d kiss you like you were the only thing that mattered—until the morning after, when you were nothing again. Just someone she kept in the dark, hidden beneath carefully measured glances and vague promises.

You walk past it all, and for once, you don’t stop.

Not even when you see her.

She’s standing at the top of the stairs, spine straight, arms crossed in that perfectly controlled way she always carries herself. Her eyes find yours, sharp as ever, unreadable. And for a split second, time stalls.

She knows.

Of course she knows. She’s already read it. Or maybe she hasn’t yet, but she always knew this was coming. She just didn’t care enough to stop it.

You hold her gaze for a heartbeat longer than you should, hoping—desperately, foolishly—that she’ll say something.

Anything.

But she doesn’t.

She just watches you. Stoic. Cold. Silent.

Like you were never more than a passing moment. Like none of it mattered.

And maybe that’s the truth you needed.

You turn without a word.

No dramatic exit. No tears. Just the quiet click of your shoes on the stone floor as you leave it all behind—her, Nevermore, the hollow ache of wanting something that was never yours to begin with.

Outside, the sky is heavy with clouds, the kind that feel like they’re holding something back. You don’t bring an umbrella. Let it rain. Let it soak through your coat and into your bones. Let it feel like something.

Anything is better than the numbness.

You don’t look back. You’ve already done that too many times.

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taglist: @weemssapphic , @im-a-carnivorous-plant , @dingdongthetail , @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld , @niceminipotato , @witchesmortuary , @notmeellaannyy , @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @fictionalized-lesbian , @ness029 , @geekyarmorel l , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr r , @winterfireblond @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @spacetoaim22 @vendocrap8008 8 @jkregal l @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @mirandaswife @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems x y/n #no beta we die like larissa

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dailyoverview · 1 month ago

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Some 8 million Chilean households were without power on Tuesday as a massive blackout cut electricity to most of the country. The blackout spanned 1,700 miles (2,736 km) and caused major disruptions, closing schools, knocking out traffic lights and halting subway networks. Power has now been restored for 90 percent of residents, many of whom live in cities such as Santiago, Antofagasta and Valparaiso (seen here).

Source imagery: Maxar

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carnalcrows · 11 days ago

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WHISKEY

pairing: gihun x male reader x sangwoo

synopsis: The two of them struggle with the concept of sharing till this day.

content warnings: 18+, straddling, dry humping + grinding, making out, implied sex at the end, gihun and sangwoo decide to 'take' reader at the same time, drunk sex

word count: 2.4k

A/N: requested by @belovedengie (🌹anon)

The bar smelled like cheap beer and smoke, and it was exactly the kind of place where old friends met after too many years apart. It had been ages since the three of you sat down like this—just drinking, laughing, pushing at old wounds with playful jabs.

And, of course, Gi-hun was already drunk.

"You know," he slurred, dramatically slumping against the bar, "I think I missed you two the most."

"You think?" you scoffed, swirling your drink.

Sang-woo, the only one who still had a working liver, sighed. "You’re both so embarrassing."

Gi-hun squinted at him, wagging a wobbly finger. "And you, my friend, are too uptight. You never let loose."

"And getting blackout drunk on a Tuesday is your definition of ‘letting loose’?" Sang-woo shot back, unimpressed.

"Yes," you and Gi-hun said at the same time.

Sang-woo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples like he was reconsidering all his life choices, but you caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched, just a little. It was easy to fall back into this rhythm—the three of you like puzzle pieces that still fit, even if time had worn down the edges.

But something felt… different.

Maybe it was the alcohol, the way it made you bolder. Maybe it was the way Gi-hun’s hand kept brushing against yours, lingering longer than it needed to. Maybe it was the way Sang-woo kept watching the two of you—not annoyed, not really, but something else. Something unreadable.

Either way, you felt warm. And it wasn’t just the whiskey.

By the time Sang-woo dragged the two of you into a cheap motel, Gi-hun had completely lost control of his limbs. He stumbled against you, laughing, his breath hot against your neck.

"Shit," you mumbled, swaying slightly. "I think I drank too much."

"You think?" Sang-woo huffed, kicking the door shut. "You two are impossible."

Gi-hun flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. "C’mon, Sang-woo, you love taking care of us."

Sang-woo shot him a flat look. "I really don’t."

You smirked, stepping forward. "Then why’d you bring us here, huh?"

Sang-woo hesitated—just for a fraction of a second. His eyes flickered between you and Gi-hun, lingering on the way you were leaning against the bed, the way Gi-hun was looking up at you, something slow and hazy in his gaze.

A muscle in Sang-woo’s jaw twitched.

"You need to sober up," he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Gi-hun stretched, fingers brushing against your wrist. "Nah, I think I like this," he murmured, his voice just a little too low, just a little too warm.

You barely had time to process it before his lips were on yours.

It was messy. He was drunk, and you were drunk, and his hands were all over you, gripping your shirt, tugging you closer. It was all heat and warmth and breathless laughter, his lips clumsy against yours but still so good.

"God," Sang-woo muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You two are unbelievable."

You pulled back just enough to grin at him, breath still shaky. "Jealous?"

Something dark flickered in Sang-woo’s eyes. He took a step closer. Then another.

The air shifted.

Gi-hun’s breath was unsteady against your neck, and you were suddenly very aware of how small the room was. Of how big Sang-woo looked standing over you. Of how his fingers curled at his sides, like he was holding something back.

"You two," he murmured, voice dropping to something deep and dangerous, "need to be put in your place."

Your breath caught. Gi-hun shuddered.

Sang-woo smirked.

"Good," he murmured, rolling up his sleeves. "Then let me handle you both properly."

And from the way your pulse jumped, you already knew—

You were in so much trouble.

Gi-hun, still breathless beside you, let out a drunken laugh, rubbing at his flushed face. "Ohhh, he’s mad."

Mad wasn’t the right word. Focused, maybe. Intent. Like a cat watching two mice who’d made the mistake of thinking they were in control.

Your heartbeat kicked up when he reached for you, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up. His touch was careful—almost gentle—but his eyes? His eyes were anything but.

"You think this is funny?" His voice was quiet, but it sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer.

Sang-woo exhaled, slow and measured, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. Then, without warning, he kissed you.

It was nothing like Gi-hun. Gi-hun had been warm and reckless, all sloppy, drunken eagerness. But Sang-woo?

Sang-woo was calculated.

He kissed you like he already knew how you’d react—like he’d thought about it before. His lips moved against yours, slow at first, dragging out the moment just to watch you tremble under him.

And when you gasped—when your hands instinctively gripped his shirt—he smirked against your mouth and took control.

The next kiss wasn’t slow at all. It was deep, consuming, his hand threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, swallowing the sound you made when he nipped at your bottom lip.

Your knees almost gave out, and that seemed to amuse him.

"Already?" he murmured, barely pulling away. His breath was warm against your lips. "I thought you had more fight in you."

Your pride flared up, but before you could snap back, he kissed you again—harder, rougher, like he was proving a point.

And damn it, he was.

A hand pressed firmly against your back, holding you up as he deepened the kiss, tilting your head just the way he wanted. Every little movement was controlled, deliberate. He was handling you, testing your limits, seeing how much he could pull from you.

Gi-hun whistled from the bed. "Damn."

You barely registered it. You were too busy melting under Sang-woo’s touch, too busy clinging to him because your head was spinning, and you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or him.

Probably both.

Sang-woo finally pulled back, just enough to look at you. His gaze flickered over your face—your parted lips, your uneven breaths, the slight dazed look in your eyes.

And he grinned.

"Better?" he asked, voice maddeningly smug.

You swallowed hard. "Fuck you."

He laughed. "Oh, we’ll get to that."

Your pulse was still racing when Sang-woo’s grip tightened, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, steadying you, like he knew your knees were about to give out.

Bastard was smug about it, too.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was tilting your chin up again, forcing you to look at him. His eyes flickered over your face—your swollen lips, your hazy expression—and he smirked like he had already won.

"That’s more like it," he murmured.

You didn’t get the chance to answer.

His mouth was on yours again—hotter, firmer, all slow-burning control. He wasn’t rushing anything, wasn’t desperate like Gi-hun had been. No, Sang-woo was patient, dragging it out like he was enjoying every second of watching you fall apart under his hands.

And God, were you falling apart.

Your breath hitched when he pulled you even closer, chest to chest, his grip on your waist so strong it sent heat curling down your spine. His hands weren’t just holding you; they were grounding you, controlling every little shift, every tiny movement.

When you tried to push back—tried to meet him halfway—he just laughed. A low, quiet chuckle against your lips, like he found it cute that you thought you had any say in this.

"You don’t get to decide," he murmured.

That—combined with the way he pressed in just that much closer—sent a full-body shiver through you.

Gi-hun let out an exaggerated groan from the bed. "God, get a room—wait. This is a room. I hate both of you."

Sang-woo ignored him entirely.

His lips trailed down, brushing against your jaw, slow, teasing, until his mouth hovered just below your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, making it even harder to think.

"You can stop me if you want," he murmured, voice so damn calm. So damn confident. "Do you want me to stop?"

You swallowed hard. Shook your head.

Sang-woo smirked.

"Good."

His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your waist like he was staking his claim, like he was letting you know exactly who was in control here.

Gi-hun groaned again, flopping dramatically onto the bed. "You guys," he complained, voice slurred from the alcohol, "I’m right here."

Sang-woo didn’t even acknowledge him.

He was still focused on you, fingers pressing firm against your waist, keeping you in place like he dared you to move. His lips were hovering over yours again, not quite touching, just teasing—waiting, watching, dragging out the moment until you were barely breathing.

It was infuriating.

And, apparently, Gi-hun agreed.

"Okay, okay, this is actually painful to watch," he whined. Then, before you could react, he grabbed the front of your shirt and yanked you into him.

Your mind barely had time to catch up before Gi-hun’s mouth was on yours again.

Unlike Sang-woo, Gi-hun wasn’t patient.

He kissed you sloppy, messy, like he had been waiting for an excuse. His fingers dug into your collar, pulling you so close that you felt the lazy grin against your lips—because of course he was smiling, like he just got away with something.

And maybe he did.

Sang-woo exhaled sharply, a quiet tch of amusement. "You really have no self-control, do you?"

Gi-hun hummed against your mouth. "Nope."

Then, as if to prove his point, his hand slid up to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, tilting your head to get exactly what he wanted. His lips moved against yours with all the urgency Sang-woo refused to have—hot, desperate, leaving you just as breathless as before.

And, just when your knees almost gave out—

Sang-woo pulled you back.

The sudden shift made you gasp, but Sang-woo only smirked, steadying you like you were something fragile.

"Now, now," he murmured, thumb brushing over your lips. "Let’s not forget who’s in charge here."

You swallowed hard.

Gi-hun scoffed, falling back against the pillows. "Ugh, you always have to be in control."

Sang-woo smirked, but he didn’t argue. He knew he was right.

His fingers didn’t just hold you in place—they commanded you, gripping your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His gaze flickered over your lips, your breathless expression, and you swore you saw something dangerous flash behind them.

"You're not thinking of getting ahead of yourself, are you?" His voice was maddeningly calm, but his grip said otherwise—like he dared you to push back.

You didn’t.

Not when he leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was barely there, teasing, withholding, just to see you squirm.

You almost whined—almost. But the moment the sound threatened to escape, he kissed you properly, swallowing it before you even had the chance.

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

The way he handled you—slow, precise, like he knew exactly what he was doing—had your head spinning, and when his hand slid down, resting just above your waist, heat curled deep in your stomach.

And then there was Gi-hun.

Still sprawled across the bed, watching the two of you with the laziest grin, looking far too entertained. "Damn," he murmured, stretching his arms behind his head. "Didn’t think you had it in you."

Sang-woo ignored him.

You, however, glared. "You have no right to talk."

Gi-hun chuckled, reaching out to lazily tug at your wrist, pulling you toward him. "Relax, sweetheart. No need to be so tense."

Sweetheart.

Your stomach flipped, and Sang-woo clicked his tongue.

"Don’t get greedy," he warned. But even as he said it, he didn’t stop you when you let Gi-hun pull you back into another messy, open-mouthed kiss.

Gi-hun kissed recklessly, all teeth and warmth, a stark contrast to Sang-woo’s maddening control. And you might’ve gotten lost in it—

If not for the sharp tug at your waist, pulling you right back into Sang-woo’s hold.

Gi-hun pouted. "Hey—"

"You had your turn," Sang-woo said, voice edged with patience, but the grip on your waist was anything but.

Gi-hun snorted. "Yeah? And who made you the boss?"

Sang-woo turned his head, fixing him with a flat stare. "Me."

Gi-hun scoffed, sitting up on his elbows. "Oh, right, I forgot—Sang-woo always has to be in control. You never let loose, do you?"

"Because someone has to," Sang-woo deadpanned.

You barely had the strength to roll your eyes. "Are you two seriously arguing right now?"

They ignored you.

"Come on, man, it’s not that deep," Gi-hun groaned, stretching his arms out. "You act like it’d kill you to let someone else take the lead for once."

"Someone else?" Sang-woo echoed, eyebrows raised like he’d just been insulted. "You?"

Gi-hun shot him a lazy grin. "Yeah, me."

Sang-woo exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was actually considering throwing hands. "You can barely walk in a straight line right now."

"And yet, I still managed to make him weak in the knees first," Gi-hun shot back, nodding in your direction.

Your stomach flipped.

Sang-woo went still.

Then he turned, ever so slowly, to look at you.

You gulped. "Uh—"

"Is that true?" His voice was too calm, his expression too unreadable.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then sighed, accepting the fact that no matter what you said, you were done for.

Gi-hun grinned like he already won. "See? That’s why I should go first."

"Like hell you will." Sang-woo was already pulling you back against him, fingers pressing into your waist in a way that sent heat curling up your spine. "You had your turn. It’s my turn now."

"Ugh, you’re so possessive," Gi-hun groaned. "Sharing is a thing, you know."

"And yet, you always want to take more than your fair share," Sang-woo countered.

"It’s called living a little—you should try it sometime."

"You would say that."

"Okay, okay, Jesus Christ," you cut in, exasperated. "If you’re gonna fight over me, can you at least do it faster?"

Sang-woo narrowed his eyes. Gi-hun raised a brow.

Then, in unison—

"Fine."

Before you could even process what was happening, you were tugged forward—one second into Sang-woo’s grip, the next into Gi-hun’s arms—until you were completely surrounded.

And that’s when it hit you.

They weren’t arguing over who got you.

They were arguing over who got you first.

Oh.

Oh, you were screwed.

Gi-hun hummed, tilting his head. "Guess there’s only one way to settle this."

Sang-woo exhaled, like he was deeply inconvenienced. "At the same time, then."

You blinked.

Then sighed.

"I accept my demise."

358 notes · View notes

cleolinda · 2 years ago

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The #RedditBlackout hashtag started trending on Twitter after the blackout began, with more than 4,238 tweets associated with the term as of Monday. Reddit was trending with more than 112,000 searches on the social media platform. Twitter users as early as 9 a.m. noticed that Reddit was experiencing technical issues. [...] Although the website resumed functioning almost two hours after the early reports of an outage, a coalition of Reddit moderators and users continue to engage in a standoff with the company Monday and Tuesday. More than 7,808 unique subreddits planned to participate in the blackout starting Monday, with the largest being r/funny, a community with more than 40 million users, according to an index by r/ModCoor. Around 7,260 subreddits are private as of Monday afternoon, according to a real-time stream of the protest on Twitch.

#reddit #this is why we can't have nice things #the happenings

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sixeyesonathiel · 8 days ago

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a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

CH06 – scientific breakthrough : gojo satoru actually cares. terrifying.

pairing - nerd!gojo x baddie!reader

summary : gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. you invited him to play during recess? he chose studying instead. you tried to give him chocolates? he rejected them for the sake of your dental health. you called him boring and never looked back.

years later, you’re a party girl with daddy issues, and he's the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university. when you're paired up for a project worth 60% of your final grade, you think you can slack off—except gojo keeps finding you at every exclusive club, dragging you back to work like the menace he is.

you flirt to distract him, he humors you. you push, he pulls. you seduce, he tucks your hair behind your ear and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

oh no.

tags -> modern au, university au, tooth rooting fluff with a side of light angst, unresolved romantic tension, suggestive themes, gojo satoru is a green flag menace, reader has issues, power struggles but gojo is unaware he's in one, forced proximity via group project, reader tries to ditch gojo satoru and fails spectacularly, pining disguised as irritation, rich kids and their rich kid problems, the art of denial, humor (i hope), eventual happy ending

previous | series masterlist | playlist | next

chapter summary : step six in ditching the world's most persistent nerd: do not let him see you unravel. do not let him wrap his jacket around your shoulders. and absolutely do not, under any circumstances, ask him why he cares.

a/n : if you've ever thought 'being seen and understood is my worst nightmare,' congratulations, this chapter was made for you. warning: daddy issues, trust issues, emotional repression, and an overwhelming amount of unhealthy coping mechanism. please prepare for a descent into emotional instability, an aggressive refusal to acknowledge feelings, and the psychological horror of realizing that someone actually cares and perceives you. if you cry, just know i cried first. enjoy the suffering.

tuesday morning arrives with a weight that refuses to leave, pressing against your skin like a phantom touch. the air in your bedroom is thick, unmoving, the blackout curtains shielding you from the sharpness of daylight, but the world outside doesn’t wait for you to wake up. your phone vibrates relentlessly on the silk sheets beside you, each buzz stacking over the last—shoko and the others, no doubt demanding the details of your spectacularly underwhelming night.

you don’t need to read their messages to know what’s waiting for you—the sharp demands, the thinly veiled disbelief, the inevitable outrage the moment they find out. after everything, after all the effort, after every calculated move designed to have gojo satoru unraveling in your hands, he had remained untouchable. he hadn’t faltered, hadn’t stumbled, hadn’t even tried to resist—because there was nothing to resist. it hadn’t been a struggle for him.

your fingers hover over the keyboard before you scoff, throwing the device aside, silk rustling beneath it as you stare at the ceiling. what the hell is there to even say? no matter how you replay the night, the outcome remains the same: he had been amused, entertained, not once slipping from the effortless control that made your blood boil. there had been no hesitation in his gaze, no faltering in his movements, just that insufferable confidence, that detached curiosity, as if you were an interesting puzzle rather than a woman he should be losing himself to. it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, sharp and lingering, an unfamiliar frustration curling up your throat. you’ve never had to work for this before.

the thought alone is enough to send another wave of irritation through you, hot and unrelenting. it claws at your skin, prickles at the edges of your composure, demanding release, but before you can bury yourself beneath the covers and pretend the morning doesn’t exist, your phone rings. the sound is unmistakable—soft, elegant, demanding attention in a way that sends a slow dread curling through your stomach. your father. you stare at the name flashing on the screen, willing yourself to ignore it, but the moment stretches too long, the hesitation already an answer in itself. so you school your voice into something light, something detached, and press accept.

“morning.”

“good morning, angel.” his voice is smooth, warm, rich with indulgence, every syllable dipped in something sweet enough to rot. the way he says sweetheart makes your skin prickle, saccharine and too much, like a candy coating over something rancid. he is never this affectionate without reason. “did you sleep well?”

your grip on the phone tightens, knuckles paling beneath the pressure. why is he being like this? your mind flickers through possibilities, but none of them settle right. instead, you exhale, tilting your head back against the pillows, eyes tracing the crystal lines of the chandelier above you. “i guess.”

there’s a pause—long enough for you to hear the faint scratch of his pen against paper, the quiet clink of a glass being set down. then, almost absently, he says, “yesterday, you spent fifty million yen in one store.”

you don’t blink. “and?”

his laughter is easy, effortless, like you’re a child caught sneaking sweets before dinner. “fifty million yen—in a luxury mall.” he exhales, bemused. “my dear, you could have spent billions somewhere more exclusive. i didn't gift you a private jet for nothing.”

of course.

the implication settles like lead in your stomach. he doesn’t care that you spent. he cares where.

you almost laugh. almost. but it isn’t funny—it never is. because of course, it isn’t about the number, not about excess, not about waste. you were raised to believe that money was meant to be spent, that the act of spending was as natural as breathing. but there was a right way to do it, a way that upheld status, that reinforced power. the idea that you’d throw only fifty million yen at some glorified shopping center rather than invest in something truly worthy of your name is what bothers him. not the price tag, but the principle.

your fingers curl into the sheets, twisting them between tense knuckles. “it was an impulse buy.” you say, forcing lightness into your tone, feigning nonchalance.

“hmm.” another pause, long and measured, and you can already hear the faint smile curling at the edges of his words. “impulse is good. instinct is good. but you deserve the best, angel. never forget that.”

never forget that.

your jaw tightens, something sharp coiling beneath your ribs. you want to say something defiant, something that cuts, but there’s no point. he won’t listen, won’t argue—he never argues. he only corrects, like you’re a child who needs gentle redirection, a daughter whose worst flaw is an occasional lapse in judgment, a little girl playing pretend in a world run by men like him.

and then, just as you’re about to change the subject, he does it for you.

“by the way.” his tone is casual, smooth as a well-aged whiskey, but you know better. “i heard you’ve been spending time with gojo satoru.”

your breath catches before you can stop it, fingers twitching against the silk sheets.

you knew this was coming. you knew the second you stepped into satoru’s car last night that there would be eyes, that there would be whispers, that nothing you did would ever escape your father’s notice. it doesn’t matter how careful you are, how many shadows you slip through—his reach is longer, his influence deeper. he has always seen everything, and worse, he has always been waiting. waiting for you to slip, waiting for an opportunity, waiting for something he can use.

you school your expression, steady your voice, make sure nothing betrays the way your pulse thrums just a little too fast. “and?”

there’s a pause, deliberate, weighted just enough to remind you who controls the conversation. then, smoothly, indulgently, he says, “if you need help with anything—if there’s something you want—just let your daddy take care of it, hmm?”

your stomach twists so hard it nearly makes you sick.

you hate this part the most. the way he drapes affection over his words like a velvet sheath, disguising the edge beneath. the way he dotes on you, voice honeyed and rich, a father adoring his perfect daughter—his only daughter, his greatest investment. the way he makes you feel small, makes you feel precious, makes you feel like something to be protected rather than a woman who could destroy men if she wanted to. and the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that there is still a tiny, pathetic part of you that wants it.

that still craves it.

that remembers being seven years old, running to him in the halls of some grand, foreign estate, giggling, calling him daddy with all the love in the world before you were old enough to understand what he really was.

but you are old enough now. and you know exactly what he’s offering.

it has nothing to do with you. it never has. it’s not about protecting you, not about caring for you, not about making sure you’re safe, or happy, or even content. it’s about control. about power. about winning. he doesn’t just want you to have satoru—he wants you to own him.

because the gojo name is the only one that could ever stand next to yours without being eclipsed.

your grip on the phone is white-knuckled, nails digging into your palm. “i can handle it.” you say, and you hate how defensive it sounds, how it betrays you.

his chuckle is low, indulgent, a sound that makes something cold crawl down your spine. like you’re adorable. like you’re a child. like you don’t already know the game he’s playing. “of course you can.”

he won’t push. he never does. he’ll let the thought linger, let it fester, let you think it was your idea when you eventually cave. he has built empires on the backs of men who thought they were free. and maybe, if he were anyone else, you would admire it.

but he’s not. and you don’t.

he doesn’t scold you for partying. doesn’t call to ask if you’re safe, if you’re okay, if you’ve eaten, if you’ve slept, if you miss him. he doesn’t care that you spend your nights in the arms of men you don’t love, drinking yourself into a numb haze just to get through the week. the only thing that ever warrants a call is money. or business. or power.

you swallow the bitterness rising in your throat. “is that all?”

“that’s all, angel.” his voice is warm, pleased, dripping with effortless affection. like he loves you. like he’s proud. like he didn’t just remind you exactly what you are to him. “have a good day.”

the line clicks dead before you can answer.

for a long time, you just stare at your phone. the screen has long gone dark, but the weight of his words lingers, curling around your ribs like a vice, pressing down until your breath feels thin, shallow, insufficient. your pulse thrums in your ears, steady but too loud, drowning out everything else, leaving you with nothing but the sharp, bitter taste of control disguised as affection.

you already know how this plays out. shoko will take one look at you and see everything, utahime will start running her mouth before you even sit down, mei mei will hum like she’s already placing bets on your next move. you won’t let them see it. won’t let them see the way your chest feels tight, the way your thoughts are tangled, ugly, impossible to smooth out.

so you do what you always do. you overcompensate.

you drag yourself out of bed, tossing your phone aside, silk sheets shifting as you push to your feet. the room is dim, the air heavy with the scent of perfume lingering from the night before, a reminder of everything that should have gone differently. your bare feet press against the cold marble as you move, slow, deliberate, toward the walk-in closet that holds everything—every identity you’ve ever crafted, every version of yourself the world has demanded. rows of couture line the space, silk and lace and luxury draped on gold hangers, waiting. your fingers trail over the delicate fabrics, smooth and cool beneath your touch, before they stop on exactly what you’re looking for. before you even pull it from the hanger, you know how it will feel against your skin.

delicate lace, dangerously sheer, thin straps that barely cling to your shoulders. the kind of dress that invites attention, that commands it, that turns eyes whether you want them to or not. it’s impractical, inappropriate, something designed for dimly lit lounges and whispered promises, not for morning. but you don’t think about that. don’t think about the way the fabric shifts when you move, how it will ride up too easily, how it was made to be touched. you don’t consider the risks, don’t let the thought settle long enough to matter. you just want to feel different. anything but what you felt on that phone call.

your father’s voice is still there, thick with honeyed condescension, wrapping around your thoughts like a silk ribbon, too tight, too smooth. his words echo, threading beneath your skin, settling in places you can’t reach. never forget that. the indulgence in his tone, the amusement, the way he speaks to you like you’re a little girl playing dress-up in a world too big for you to ever truly hold. your fingers tighten around the fabric, the lace crumpling between your knuckles as you yank it from the hanger, careless. the dress is fragile, expensive, a masterpiece of design, but right now, it’s nothing more than a response. an instinct.

not a conscious rebellion—just something to drown out the sound of him in your head.

you slip it over your frame, the fabric whispering against bare skin, cool and weightless. thin lace straps sit precariously on your shoulders, barely there, teasing the line between elegance and something sharper, something that asks for trouble. the bodice dips lower than it should, the hemline threatens to ride up with every movement, but you don’t adjust it. don’t fidget, don’t fix, don’t care. you just let it be.

your fingers brush over the lace as you step in front of the mirror, taking in the reflection that meets you. bare skin, intricate patterns, sharp lines where softness should be. you don’t smile, don’t smirk, don’t pose. just look. at the way the fabric clings, at the way the dress was made to frame a body that is untouchable, untamed. at the girl who looks back at you, poised, effortless, unreadable.

not a child. certainly not an angel either.

you run a hand through your hair, exhaling slowly, releasing the tension in your jaw, in your shoulders, in the places his voice tried to settle.

you won’t see satoru today. won’t deal with any of it today.

you just need to get through the morning.

the moment your heels touch the pristine pavement outside the campus, the air shifts. conversations slow, falter, rearrange themselves around your presence like a ripple in still water. admiration thickens in the atmosphere, inevitable, predictable, a force of nature as certain as the pull of gravity. heads turn, necks crane, eyes drag over you in ways both deliberate and stolen, some lingering too long, some snapping away the second you meet their gaze. it’s an attention you know, an attention you’ve earned, an attention that normally fills something hollow inside you. but today, it barely registers. today, it’s just another weight pressing down on a mind already heavy with the residue of the morning.

they look. they always look. it’s the curse of beauty, the burden of being something designed to be admired, something that demands to be consumed whether you want it or not.

you can feel their eyes. the hushed murmurs, the split-second hesitations, the too-loud silence of those who don’t know whether they should stare or look away.

too short. too sheer. too much.

someone nearly walks into a pillar. another audibly gulps. one poor soul stares too long and gets smacked upside the head by his friend.

it’s nothing new. it should amuse you—the way people react like they’ve never seen a woman before, the way admiration tilts so easily into something flustered, something desperate, something stupid. you should bask in it, revel in the power that comes with turning heads without trying. but today, it barely scrapes against your consciousness. today, your mind is still tangled in the remnants of your father’s voice, in the slow-dripping venom of his words, in the way he made your entire existence feel like a carefully managed portfolio.

you don’t want to think today.

which is unfortunate, because the second you step past the gates, you are immediately ambushed.

“are you dead? kidnapped? in a coma? because those are the only acceptable reasons for why you didn’t text back—”

utahime’s voice slices through the air, sharp and unrelenting, demanding an answer before you’ve even fully stepped past the gates. her heels click against the pavement in rapid succession, a clear warning that she isn’t letting this go, not until you give her something. shoko is right behind her, exhaling a slow drag from her cigarette, eyes already half-lidded with unimpressed resignation, as if she’s counting down the seconds before this turns into a full-blown interrogation. mei mei lingers just a step to the side, not rushing to join but watching, a sleek predator in a silk blouse, gaze flashing with quiet amusement. she isn’t here to demand answers—she’s here to enjoy them. the longer you hesitate, the more valuable the entertainment becomes.

you barely get a breath in before utahime grabs your arm, manicured nails digging in, eyes widening as she takes you in like she’s seeing you for the first time. her gasp is so dramatic it practically echoes, drawing glances from the students loitering nearby. “oh my god.”

shoko exhales, letting the smoke curl lazily past her lips before finally giving you a once-over, her judgment slow, deliberate. “...you’re actually insane.”

mei mei hums, tilting her head slightly as she appraises your dress with something dangerously close to approval. “hmm. it’s a good look. though i think you’re about five seconds away from an old professor spontaneously combusting.”

utahime, still reeling, vibrates with barely-contained energy, her grip tightening around your wrist. “did you get laid?”

you jerk back, nearly stumbling in your heels. “excuse me?”

“that’s the only explanation,” she insists, gesturing wildly at your attire, nearly smacking shoko in the process. “i mean, this? this? this is an ‘i had amazing sex’ dress.”

shoko coughs out a laugh, nearly losing her cigarette, while mei mei arches a brow, intrigued.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly through clenched teeth. “utahime—”

“so did you?”

shoko, ever the voice of reason, lifts a single brow, leveling you with a look that’s far too knowing for your liking. “this is about gojo, isn’t it?”

the air tightens, sharpens, a barely-there pause before—

utahime gasps. loudly.

“you didn’t reply because you were with him?!”

you groan, dragging a hand down your face, barely restraining the urge to physically shove her away. “no. i ignored you because i was sleeping.”

utahime narrows her eyes, leaning in slightly, searching your face for cracks. “suspicious.”

normally, you’d play along, feed into their assumptions, twist the conversation until it worked in your favor, thrive off the attention even as it disgusted you. but today, you just can’t. today, your patience is as thin as the lace on your dress, unraveling thread by thread, fraying at the seams. today, you just want the world to shut up.

“so,” shoko drawls, voice smooth, deliberate, entirely too knowing, “how’d the date go?”

silence.

a long silence.

mei mei smirks, slow and sharp, like she’s already decided this is the most entertaining part of her morning. utahime’s eyes widen, flicking between you and the others like she’s bracing for impact. shoko just stares, waiting, cigarette hanging between two fingers, the ember glowing faintly as if it, too, is holding its breath.

and then—utahime screeches.

“don’t tell me it didn’t work?!?”

you shove past them, making a beeline for the main building, your heels clicking against the pavement with enough force to warn them off. “i’m not talking about this here.”

“so it didn’t work!!”

you ignore her. absolutely not. you are not about to have this conversation in broad daylight, not when half the school is already staring at you like you’ve descended from a different plane of existence. their gazes cling like fabric caught on thorns, admiration and curiosity weaving together into something you should enjoy, something you usually enjoy. but today, it’s just another weight pressing down, another reminder of the eyes you’ll never escape.

unfortunately, your three best friends have never been known for their subtlety.

shoko matches your pace with infuriating ease, hands shoved into her pockets, exhaling smoke as she casually side-eyes you. “he didn’t react at all, did he?”

“not even a little bit?” utahime presses, still vibrating with residual disbelief.

you don’t grind your teeth. don’t scoff, don’t roll your eyes. you just… sigh. a slow, measured thing, precise in its weight, deliberate in its effortlessness.

“no,” you say simply, voice light, untouched, like last night wasn’t a complete failure. like it doesn’t bother you at all. “he wasn’t flustered. wasn’t thrown off. just amused.”

silence. a beat too long.

shoko’s cigarette pauses midair, a thin wisp of smoke curling toward the sky. mei mei’s fingers still mid-adjustment of her bracelet, the silver catching the light. utahime—predictably—is the first to react.

“okay, that’s not normal,” she says flatly, scanning your face like she expects to see a crack forming in your composure.

“definitely not normal,” shoko agrees, brow twitching upward, cigarette lowering just slightly.

mei mei hums, a thoughtful sound, gaze sharp beneath the weight of amusement. her nails tap idly against the gold clasp of her bag, rhythmic, unhurried, like she’s already dissecting you piece by piece. “and you’re… fine with that?” she doesn’t say interesting, but it lingers between the words, stretching the silence thin. she’s studying you, the way a predator studies a wounded animal—not out of pity, but curiosity, waiting to see if you’ll limp.

you shrug, careless, effortless, the picture of someone with nothing to prove. “why wouldn’t i be?”

the air shifts, subtle but undeniable, a quiet current of unease threading between you. your nonchalance is wrong, off, just enough to make them hesitate. they expected frustration, irritation, something dramatic—a sharp scoff, an exasperated eye roll, a low, venomous rant about how no one ignores you, least of all gojo satoru. but instead, you are calm. unbothered. untouchable.

except, they know you too well. they know the difference between control and detachment.

shoko exhales, flicking ash onto the pavement, watching you through the thin veil of smoke curling between you. “you’re taking this too well.” her voice is even, measured, but there’s something else beneath it—something wary, something bordering on concern.

“i am?” you tilt your head slightly, amusement threading through your tone, light and dismissive.

utahime folds her arms, gaze narrowing, the skeptical weight of her stare pressing down on you. “yes. you are. which is why i don’t believe you.”

your smile is easy, smooth, the kind that gleams like polished glass—pristine, impenetrable, impossible to crack. “then don’t.”

you turn without waiting for a response, stepping through the entrance, letting the doors swing shut behind you. the warmth of the building presses against your skin, heavy and familiar, but it doesn’t chase away the cold curling in your chest. their voices follow, softer now, hushed under the weight of what isn’t being said.

you’re fine.

really.

you step into the classroom, the cool air of the lecture hall settling against your skin like an unwelcome touch, sharp and grounding. the fluorescent lights cast a clinical glow over the rows of seats, the faint hum of the projector filling the silence as students murmur, shuffle, settle. you move through it with ease, slipping into your usual seat with the practiced grace of someone who has done this a thousand times before. nothing is out of place, nothing is unfamiliar, nothing is wrong. you are here, in your seat, in your body, in control.

you are not thinking about him.

but he is impossible to ignore.

he’s seated one row above you, posture as effortless as ever, one arm draped over the back of his chair like he owns the space around him. today, his glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, wire-rimmed and deceptively delicate, a sharp contrast to the well-fitted knit jacket layered over his crisp button-up. the fabric is expensive, subtly rich, draping over him in a way that suggests wealth without ever having to announce it. everything about him is composed, curated, intentional—right down to the way he doesn’t even look in your direction.

you don’t look at him either. not directly.

the lecture begins, numbers and strategies flickering across the screen, the professor’s voice a steady drone that fills the space without quite reaching you. you keep your eyes on your notes, let the pen move in smooth, precise strokes, let the rhythm of ink against paper give you something to anchor yourself to. satoru doesn’t move. doesn’t turn. doesn’t acknowledge you in any way.

the class drones on. you take notes. you listen. you exist.

you are fine.

and then, the lecture ends.

you push out of your seat immediately, movements smooth, efficient, calculated to leave. you don’t need to linger. don’t need to hesitate. the room is still filled with students filtering out, conversations overlapping, laughter cutting through the air in bursts of sound. you navigate through them with ease, heels clicking against the polished floor, your focus singular—get out, move forward, keep going.

and then—a grip on your wrist. the touch is firm, insistent, enough to halt you before you even see who it is. your stomach twists. you already know.

when you turn, it’s exactly who you expected—son of a major media company, charming in a way that feels practiced, manufactured, honed like a well-worn script. his smile is easy, his confidence effortless, the kind of man who has never been told no in a way that mattered. he’s been circling you for weeks, persistent in ways that should be flattering but aren’t, his interest another thing that clings like cigarette smoke—lingering, unpleasant, impossible to scrub off.

any other day you would've entertain his bullshit but not today—your patience is nonexistent.

you tug your wrist back, sharp and immediate, fingers curling into a fist to stop yourself from doing more. “not in the mood.”

he laughs, casual, dismissive, the sound curling around your spine like something rotting. “come on, don’t be like that.”

your eyes narrow, voice cold, cutting. “don’t touch me.”

he ignores you, reaching out again—too fast, too careless. his fingers brush against your arm, the movement not forceful, not aggressive, but clumsy, entitled, as if he is allowed. as if he is owed. you move to pull away, sharp and immediate, but it’s already too late. his hand catches, just barely, on the delicate lace of your dress—

and suddenly, the air shifts.

the sound is soft, almost insignificant, a quiet snap of thread, a whisper of fabric giving way. but the effect is immediate, mortifying. the thin strap of your dress slips off your shoulder, dragging the delicate fabric dangerously low—not enough to bare everything, but enough to make heads turn, enough to freeze the air around you, enough to make your breath catch in horror. gasps ripple through the lecture hall, sharp inhales, the rustling of movement as heads turn, attention crashing down on you in waves, heavy and suffocating. whispers start, too fast to track, words you don’t hear but know, voices curling through the air like the inevitable hum of scandal.

your breath catches, muscles locking—before anything else can happen, before you can even react, there is a presence.

him.

a shadow at your side, movement swift, seamless, a barrier forming between you and the world before you can so much as blink. fabric sweeps over your shoulders in one fluid motion, warm from body heat, enveloping you completely, drowning you in the scent of clean linen, something faintly sweet, something him. the shift in the atmosphere is instant, electric, the weight of his presence settling into the space like a hand closing around the throat of the moment.

gojo satoru.

he doesn’t just step in—he claims the space, effortlessly shifting the power dynamic, erasing everything else.

and for the first time in a long time since your group project with him started, satoru doesn’t look amused.

his voice, when it comes, is sharp, smoothed to a perfect edge, all the usual lightness carved away into something colder. “you should know better.”

it isn’t a suggestion.

it isn’t a threat.

it’s a simple, cutting truth, his tone even, satoru's words deceptively light, but carrying something weightier, something that lands with a finality that is felt. he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t acknowledge the way your body has gone rigid beneath the weight of his jacket, doesn’t give you even a second of respite before the next blow lands. “especially considering how much your father’s company relies on mine.”

the words sink deep, as intended.

the shift in the room is palpable, the media heir’s confidence cracking, realization dawning too late. satoru doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to—his name alone is enough, the weight of his position, his power, the gojo name rendering any resistance futile before it even forms.

your heartbeat is uneven, erratic, skin prickling under the lingering warmth of his jacket, the weight of it heavy against your shoulders, suffocating in ways it shouldn’t be. the scent of him clings to the fabric, clean linen and something faintly sweet, something distinctly his, something you refuse to acknowledge. it’s too much—too close, too consuming, too much like protection, like care, like something you never asked for. the last thing you want is to owe him for this, to let him think for even a second that you needed him. the humiliation coils in your gut, sharp and sickly, burning through your veins until you can’t stand it anymore.

you shove the fabric off immediately, movements sharp, rejecting it as fast as it was given, letting it fall from your shoulders like it burns. “i don’t need your help.” the words snap through the space between you, forceful, deliberate, a clear line drawn. you refuse to be saved. refuse to be something fragile, something handled, something pitiful. you don’t owe him for stepping in, and you won’t let him think you do.

satoru doesn’t blink, doesn’t budge, doesn’t react. “you really should stop punishing yourself.” satoru's voice is quiet, almost conversational, but it lands like a stone in your chest, rippling outward, impossible to ignore.

you glare, something clawing up your throat, something raw, something humiliating. “why do you even care?” the question lands like a challenge, sharp and biting, daring him to dismiss it, to laugh, to reduce it to nothing more than circumstance. because that would be easier, wouldn’t it? easier if this was just him being annoying, just another one of his games, another instance of gojo satoru moving because he can, not because he wants to.

because you don’t want him to want to. you don’t want him to care. but he doesn’t answer. and that’s the worst part.

because you need one. you need to know why. why does he keep stealing your food just to make you eat something healthier? why did he actually look close to mad? why does he care?

or—much better yet—for your own peace of mind, a denial.

for him to deadpan, to roll his eyes, to shrug it off. for him to tell you it’s just another one of his efficiency bullshit excuses, that you shouldn’t mistake it for anything else. that he just doesn’t want you to become a liability in your group project.

but he doesn’t say that, either.

his jaw simply tenses.

but he doesn’t say that.

his jaw tenses.

a flicker of something passes behind his glasses, quick and unreadable, buried beneath layers of detachment before you can grasp onto it. his expression remains impassive, unreadable, but something lingers, something you can’t quite place. he has an answer—this know–it–all should have an answer—but he doesn’t say it. doesn’t give you anything.

he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand why he stepped in so quickly, why his chest still feels tight, why the sight of you so exposed, so vulnerable, made his blood run hot. he doesn’t understand the flicker of heat that had surged through his veins, the sharp, immediate need to erase the moment before it could settle. he doesn’t know why he acted on instinct, why his body moved before his mind even registered it, why he still hasn’t looked away.

and it infuriates you.

you scoff, stepping back, your voice curling at the edges, something bitter and sharp cutting through. “forget it.” the words leave your lips like an exhale, dismissive, as if the conversation is over, as if it never mattered. but your hands are still curled into fists, nails biting into your palms, and his glasses still catch the light when he tilts his head, watching you too closely.

but the moment you turn to leave, his hand catches yours—not rough, not forceful, but firm. the warmth of his palm seeps into your skin, steady and unyielding, sending a sharp pulse of something worse than humiliation curling down your spine. you expect him to play it off, to let that insufferable smirk creep onto his face, to ruin the moment with some lazy, self-assured remark.

but when you meet his gaze—his glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose, low enough that you can see over the frames, straight into his eyes.

blue. too blue. too much.

they're not clouded with amusement, not softened with that insufferable glint of teasing. no, they're sharp, bright in a way that makes something inside you bristle—like he's looking through you instead of at you, like he's searching for something beneath your skin, something you're not sure even exists. his expression is unreadable, but the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch ever so slightly against yours, betrays something else. something that shouldn't be there.

before you can rip yourself from his grasp, he moves.

it’s effortless, infuriatingly so, the way he lifts the fabric, the way his hands find yours, guiding them through the sleeves, pulling the jacket over your shoulders in one smooth, practiced motion. the dim light catches on his lenses as he tilts his head, just slightly, shadows flickering across the sharp line of his cheekbone. his eyes remain steady, locked onto you even as he adjusts the fabric, even as he lingers for just a second too long before letting go.

his gaze doesn’t waver. doesn’t flicker with amusement. only scrutiny. doesn’t give you the easy out you need.

it should feel like an afterthought, like he’s barely paying attention, like this isn’t something significant, but it is. the sheer difference in size between you makes it impossible not to notice—the way the hem falls well past your dress, the way the sleeves engulf your hands, the way his warmth still lingers, wrapping around you like something inescapable.

his touch is fleeting, brief, barely there—but it lingers. and worse, so do his eyes. everything about him lingers.

you should pull his stupid jacket off. should throw it in his face.

you should pull it off. should throw it in his face.

but you can’t.

because the ugly, clawing feeling inside you is worse than anything you were prepared for. the overwhelming wrongness of being seen, the raw humiliation of standing in the center of a moment you never wanted to happen, the sickening weight of why does he care? pressing down on your chest like a vice. the warmth of the jacket should be comforting, should be protective, but it only makes your skin burn, only reminds you of how exposed you were, how easily he stepped in, how quickly he moved to fix it. the feeling is unbearable, twisting through you like a blade, and the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that this warmth, this action, his hands steadying the fabric around you, makes you feel safe.

and you hate that. you hate him for making you feel that.

the words rip from your throat before you can stop them, sharp and bitter and cruel, cutting through the tension like glass shattering against marble. “you’re so fucking annoying, gojo.”

his hands still for a fraction of a second.

the silence is deafening.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. if you do, you might see something in his expression that you don’t have the strength to acknowledge. so you rip yourself away, storming off, the oversized jacket swallowing you whole as you put as much distance between you as possible. it’s suffocating, drowning you in the scent of him, in the reminder of what just happened, in the unbearable reality that no matter how far you walk, he’s still there.

his fingers linger in the empty air for a second longer before he lets them curl into his palm.

the further you walk, the heavier it feels.

the weight of it—of him—lingers on your shoulders, an unwelcome presence wrapped around you like a second skin. his warmth still clings to the fabric, seeping into your own body heat, settling into you, like something permanent, something that refuses to be shaken off. every step away from the classroom should be enough to erase it, to strip yourself of whatever the hell just happened, to distance yourself from the moment that left you raw and exposed. but it isn’t. it follows you, clings to your skin, presses against your ribs like a hand refusing to let go.

your fingers twitch, clenching into the material, curling into the oversized sleeves that drown your hands. the scent of his cologne—clean linen, something faintly sweet, something him—curls around you like smoke, invisible and inescapable, creeping into your senses no matter how much you try to ignore it. the fabric is soft, expensive, carrying the residual heat of his body, and the knowledge that it smells like him, feels like him, makes something unpleasant coil at the base of your spine. you should take it off. should rip it from your shoulders, should throw it into the nearest trash can, should leave it behind.

but you don’t.

not because you want to keep it. not because you’re grateful. but because you can’t stop thinking about how this is what it feels like to be cared for.

even if it was just for a second.

even if it was just him.

the thought makes your stomach twist, nausea creeping into your ribs, pressing against your lungs, making your breath come too fast, too shallow. your hands grip the fabric tighter, nails biting into the sleeves, the pressure grounding and unbearable all at once. this morning—this entire day—has been a mess of feelings you refuse to name, thoughts tangling together into something suffocating. first, your father. his voice, smooth and honeyed, telling you that you deserve the best while making you feel like nothing more than a business investment.

then him.

stepping in without hesitation, without amusement, without the usual, insufferable smirk that makes your blood boil. there was no teasing, no lazy drawl of your name, no game for him to win—just action, swift and certain, as if he had never considered doing anything else. he moved without thought, without calculation, without the weight of expectation that comes with every single person in your life. like it wasn’t about proving anything. like it wasn’t about power. like it was just—natural.

it makes you want to scream.

because that isn’t how this works. people don’t do things without expecting something in return. every kindness has a cost. every touch carries intent. every moment of protection, of care, of concern is a currency, exchanged for something greater down the line. that is how it has always been—how you were raised to understand it, how you have lived through it.

not your father. never your father. his affection is measured, conditional, something draped over you like silk until the moment it tightens into a leash. not the men who orbit you, their admiration always tainted with hunger, drawn to status, to influence, to power they will never be worthy of but still reach for. not the socialites who call themselves your friends when it suits them, when your presence elevates theirs, when being seen with you is enough to tip the scales in their favor.

so why the hell did gojo satoru—of all people—look at you like that?

why did he help?

why did he care?

your throat tightens, a sharp breath cutting through the mess of emotions clogging your chest. you can’t be here. can’t sit in this damn school, in this damn jacket, with the weight of everything pressing down on you like a vice. the walls feel too tight, the air too heavy, the fabric against your skin an unbearable reminder of something you refuse to name. you need out.

you don’t think about it.

don’t text anyone. don’t call for a car. don’t plan where you’re going, don’t consider what it means to slip away like this, don’t stop to care. you just move, heels clicking against the floor as you weave through the hallways, ignoring the eyes that follow, ignoring the way your hands are still curled into the fabric of his jacket. you keep walking—out the doors, out the gates, out.

the streets of tokyo are busy as always, a blur of high-end cars and polished shoes, businessmen murmuring over calls as they slip past, their conversations blending into the distant hum of the city. the world moves around you, fast and endless, people existing in their own self-contained universes, unaware of the hurricane twisting inside your ribs. you barely register any of it.

when you reach the curb, you don’t hesitate. you lift a hand.

a taxi slows in front of you almost immediately, the driver’s eyes flicking to you in the mirror as you slide into the backseat, as the scent of cigarette smoke and worn leather curls into your senses.

“where to?”

you exhale, a sharp breath, tilting your head against the cool glass of the window, watching the city blur past—too fast and too slow all at once. your lips barely part as you murmur, “fujimori lounge.”

the driver raises a brow—because who the hell goes drinking at 9:30 a.m.? precisely a student in tokyo’s most prestigious academy, drowning in an oversized jacket that doesn’t belong to her. but you don’t acknowledge it. just tap your nails against your thigh, eyes distant, thoughts even further.

when the car pulls to a stop, you don’t wait. don’t even look at the meter. just toss a thick stack of bills into the front seat, stepping out like the transaction doesn’t register, like money means nothing—because it doesn’t.

the bar is empty. of course it is.

the air is cool, still untouched by the scent of spilled drinks and bodies pressed too close together, the dim lights casting long shadows over polished marble and expensive leather. no music plays at this hour. no laughter, no hum of conversation. just silence.

perfect.

you make your way to your usual seat, slipping into the plush barstool with the kind of ease that only comes from habit. you’ve done this before. you’ve done this a thousand times before.

the bartender—one of the few staff working this early—gives you a once-over, sharp eyes flicking from your bare legs to the jacket swallowing your frame, but he doesn’t say a word. just reaches for the top-shelf bottles, already knowing better than to ask what you want.

the first glass is poured. you down it without hesitation.

the warmth spreads through your veins, dulling the edges of everything you don’t want to think about, smoothing out the sharp edges of your father’s voice, of the way gojo looked at you, of the unbearable weight of something you don’t understand pressing against your ribs.

the second glass follows.

then the third.

by the fourth, you don’t feel anything at all.

satoru notices immediately.

your seat is empty in every class you should be in, the space where you should be a glaring absence that gnaws at the edges of his thoughts. he finds himself glancing toward the door every time it opens, expecting you to waltz in late with an excuse dripping in charm, a haughty smirk tugging at the corner of your lips like you’re doing the world a favor just by existing. but you don’t. the day stretches on, lecture after lecture, and you remain a no-show. with every hour that passes, something twitches beneath his skin, something that refuses to settle.

his messages go unanswered. his calls ring into oblivion. you haven’t responded to anything about your supposed meeting after school for your project—not even a half-hearted promise to maybe show up, only to flake at the last second. nothing. not a single snide remark, not a single excuse. just silence.

and satoru doesn’t care. he doesn’t.

he tells himself that. repeats it like a mantra, like a fact carved into stone, like if he says it enough, it will become the truth. but his jaw tics when another message goes unread, when another call goes straight to voicemail, when the space where you should be remains empty.

it’s only when he’s making his way through the parking lot, hand already tugging open the door of his car, that he hears it.

“she messaged me earlier.”

shoko’s voice—calm, level, just loud enough to carry in the open air. he wouldn’t have paid it any mind, wouldn’t have listened, if not for what follows.

“she’s at fujimori. don't wanna be bothered she said.”

a pause. then utahime, her voice sharper, laced with disbelief. “alone?”

his stomach twists.

it’s ridiculous, really. this is your scene, your world, the life you slip into without hesitation. he’s dragged you out of luxury bars before, half-exasperated, half-annoyed, when you’ve flaked on your project meetings to waste the evening draped over some rich heir’s arm, drink in hand, laughter spilling from your lips like it means nothing. you are never alone. you surround yourself with people who adore you, worship you, want you, because that is how you keep control.

but something about this—about you being there alone, in the middle of the day—it doesn’t sit right.

because you never drink alone.

he gets in the car and drives.

the city blurs past, neon lights bleeding into one another, an endless stretch of color and motion that barely registers. his hands grip the wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles white against smooth leather, jaw locked as his thoughts loop over themselves, tangled and restless. the expression on your face when you asked him why do you even care?—it won’t leave him. it lingers, sharp and insistent, digging into his ribs like something that demands an answer. and the worst part? he doesn’t know.

the air inside fujimori is warm, perfumed with aged liquor and polished wood, thick with the scent of exclusivity. low, ambient lighting casts shadows against plush velvet booths, a setting designed for discretion, for indulgence, for things meant to be forgotten by morning. voices murmur over the clink of expensive glassware, laughter lilting through the air in practiced, polite intervals. it’s a place for people with power, for men who make decisions that shape the world over drinks that cost more than most salaries.

he finds you easily.

you’re still wearing his jacket. and somehow, somehow, that feels like a relief.

legs crossed, posture languid, head tilted in that way that makes people lean in, drawn by the promise of something fleeting, something they’ll never get to keep. but you’re too relaxed, too detached, laughing at nothing, the haze of alcohol making your gaze unfocused, your movements a little too loose. satoru has seen you like this before—watched you toy with admirers, with suitors, with men who think they are clever enough to hold your attention. but this—this feels wrong.

and then he sees them.

older. sharp smiles. expensive watches gleaming under dim lighting. their laughter is just a little too indulgent, their attention just a little too fixed. and satoru knows them—not personally, but enough. they’ve shaken his father’s hand. sat in the same rooms, exchanged pleasantries at corporate events, discussed numbers and deals over glasses of whiskey worth more than some people’s entire lives. their wives always at their sides, poised, perfect.

they do not look married now.

his jaw locks.

he steps forward, weaving through the lounge with effortless ease, the shift in his presence enough to make bystanders instinctively move. his stride is unhurried, controlled, but there’s something unmistakable in the way he moves—an inevitability, a force that cannot be ignored. the ambient hum of conversation continues, but there’s a subtle ripple in the air, a quiet awareness settling over those who sense that something is about to happen. his eyes are on you, the way your head tilts back, the curve of your mouth as you laugh at something meaningless, the way the men around you lean in, hungry for whatever attention you decide to bestow. he doesn’t hesitate when he reaches you, fingers already reaching for your wrist, already ready to pull you out of there—a hand blocks him.

one of the men steps into his path, movements slow, measured, deliberately casual. posture relaxed, but gaze sharp, the kind of gaze that belongs to men who are used to owning every room they walk into. “this is a private booth,” he says, tone mild, the words carrying the weight of entitlement, of money, of power that has never been questioned.

they don’t recognize him.

they see the glasses, the slightly loosened tie, the academic air about him, and they make their assumptions. he is young. dressed well, but not ostentatious. someone from a good family, maybe, someone privileged, but ultimately unimportant. someone who doesn’t belong in their world.

but he recognizes them.

and when they finally put the pieces together, it’s going to be hilarious.

satoru exhales through his nose, slow, measured, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips—lazy, effortless, mocking. “yeah?” he hums, voice light, almost amused. “you sure you wanna play that game?”

the men hesitate.

because there’s something in the way he says it, something in the ease of his stance, in the weight of his presence, in the way he doesn’t look at them so much as he waits for them to understand. and then—one of them finally really looks at him.

their face drains of color.

because suddenly, the glasses, the academic demeanor—none of it matters anymore. suddenly, they’re not looking at a student—they’re looking at gojo satoru. heir to the same conglomerate these men answer to. the son of the man who can make or break their careers with a single conversation, a single change in investment, a single disapproving glance.

the atmosphere shifts.

“we— we didn’t realize—”

“you didn’t,” satoru cuts in smoothly, voice slipping into something sharper, something that lands just beneath the skin. “but you do now.”

none of them stop him this time.

his fingers wrap around your wrist—firm, steady, but not rough—as he pulls you up, out of that suffocating booth, out of that moment before it can cement itself into something worse. you stumble, caught off guard, the weight of your body pressing into his side for just a fraction of a second—and then you laugh.

soft, breathy, almost delighted.

your laughter spills into the space between you, curling at the edges like smoke, laced with something light, something dangerous. your head tilts up, gaze locking onto his with a look that is far too unguarded, far too open, like the alcohol has burned away whatever walls you usually keep so carefully in place. “ohhh,” you purr, voice syrupy sweet, the kind of sweetness that rots, the kind meant to draw people in just before they realize they’ve fallen too deep. “you came all this way for me?”

your voice is a slow drag of something intoxicating, the promise of something just out of reach, but your gaze—your gaze is challenging. you aren’t grateful, aren’t flustered, aren’t even the slightest bit embarrassed that he found you like this. you aren’t the kind of girl who needs saving, who lets herself be rescued, and you want him to prove it. you want him to falter, to hesitate, to take a single misstep in whatever this is.

like you’re daring him to say it.

he doesn’t.

his fingers tighten around your wrist—not enough to hurt, not enough to demand, but enough to make it clear that he isn’t entertaining whatever game you’re trying to play. instead, he just starts walking, dragging you toward the exit, not sparing a glance back, not indulging the way you sway into him with every step. he ignores the way your heels scuff against the floor, the way your body tips unsteadily, forcing you closer to him than you should be. he ignores the heat of you pressed against his side, the weight of your breath so close to his skin, the way his pulse betrays him, thrumming just a little too fast, just a little too loud.

but you don’t fight him.

not until you step outside.

the cold air outside bites against your skin, sharp and unforgiving, but the warmth of his jacket still clings to you, drowning you in a scent you hate. it’s clean, crisp—him. something expensive, something effortless, something that lingers no matter how much distance you put between you. the streetlights cast a soft glow over you both, stretching your shadows long against the pavement, turning the night into something slow, something tense. his grip is still firm around your wrist, his expression unreadable, his presence unwavering.

then—you move. not to fight him. not to shove him away. but to prove a point.

you step closer, pressing into him, the movement slow, deliberate, calculated. your fingers trail over his chest with an ease that feels almost lazy, like you belong there, like this is just another game you’ve played a thousand times before. beneath your touch, you can feel the faint pull of muscle, the subtle warmth of him even through layers of expensive fabric, the steady rhythm of his breath as he watches you. because he is watching.

he always does.

"you dragged me out here," you breathe, voice low, teasing, inviting. your fingers curl into the crisp collar of his shirt, tugging just enough to make the space between you even smaller. his breath is warm against the cold, the scent of him thick in your lungs, the weight of his attention pressing against your skin like something tangible. your lips part, just barely, a soft exhale slipping between them before you murmur, “so tell me, satoru—”

your lashes flutter, head tilting, nails scraping lightly against the fabric beneath your hands, a slow, teasing drag that makes the space between you feel smaller. your voice is low, velvet-soft, curling through the cold night air like something dangerous, something meant to ruin.

"isn’t this what you wanted?"

he freezes. not because he’s flustered. not because he’s caught off guard. but because of you.

because of the way you’re looking at him—your gaze laced with something honeyed, something sharp, something that dares him to take. because of the way your lips part, the faintest inhale dragging against them, the way your fingers curl just a little tighter into his collar, like you know exactly what you’re doing, like you know exactly what you are.

he stares at you through the thin lenses of his reading glasses, a slow, deliberate sweep of his gaze, drinking you in like he has all the time in the world. your face is flushed from the alcohol, skin warmed beneath the dim glow of the streetlights, and he lets himself look—really look.

your lips, soft and glossed, teasing the line between smug and inviting. your throat, delicate, the slow rise and fall of your breath betraying how hard you’re trying to keep yourself still.

your fingers, still curled in his collar, tension coiling in the space between your knuckles like you don’t realize you’re gripping him so tightly.

and your eyes.

your eyes are still the same.

he had thought they were pretty once. years ago.

when you had stood before him with that small, decorated box of chocolates, your hands had been just the slightest bit unsteady, fingers gripping the edges like you were afraid he might not take it. your cheeks had been warm, lips parting with the kind of anticipation that only a child can carry—pure, unguarded, hopeful. there had been no ulterior motives, no calculations, no layers of intent buried beneath honeyed words. just you, standing in front of him, offering something small but meaningful, something that was supposed to matter.

he had crushed that softness with logic. you shouldn’t eat too much chocolate. it’s bad for your teeth. the words had left his mouth so easily, dismissive, practical—because he had been young, because he hadn’t understood. because he hadn’t known that sometimes, words mattered less than meaning, that rejection wasn’t always about what was being refused but about who was offering it.

but he understands now.

except right now, what you are offering him isn’t something soft. this isn’t something innocent. you aren’t offering him chocolates anymore.

you’re no longer offering him something sweet.

even so your eyes are still as pretty as he remembers.

he doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring into them, how deeply he’s drinking you in, until he sees it. beneath the teasing, beneath the deliberate tilt of your head and the press of your fingers against his collar—there it is. the flicker of quiet desperation curled behind the seduction, the way your body is pressed against him not to invite but to test, the way your lips part not to tempt but to prove a point.

the way you want to make him just another man.

the way you need him to be nothing more than that.

highschool memories come rushing in, your name was always whispered through the halls. not just for the things you did, but for the things you got away with. you were the girl who walked through the world untouchable, draped in the kind of indulgence that made others jealous, that made them watch. dress code violations that should have warranted a suspension. skipped classes that should have landed you on academic probation. detentions that stacked like a house of cards, waiting for the inevitable collapse. but the school never sent notes home. never called. because there was no point.

because no one would answer.

he had watched you sit in detention, week after week. always by the window, chin resting on your palm, eyes fixed on something far away, somewhere else. the tip of your finger would trace shapes into the condensation, movements idle, aimless, as if you were reaching for something just beyond your grasp. the teachers muttered about your wasted potential, voices dipped low like they thought you wouldn’t hear, like they thought you cared. but you never flinched. never reacted. just sat there, quiet and unbothered, like the world outside that window was the only thing worth your time.

he never said anything.

not when your skirts got shorter, your nights got longer, your reputation turned into something sharp-edged and impossible to hold. not when the boys whispered about you with voices dipped in reverence and speculation, when the girls watched you with a mix of admiration and disdain. not when you stopped trying—not in class, not in conversation, not in caring about the things that once might have mattered. you had been a hurricane once, bright and full of want, but slowly, you had quieted. or maybe you had just hardened.

and he had watched. stood on the sidelines. did nothing.

perhaps it’s bystander guilt—that sick, gnawing feeling that he should have said something, done something, been something other than a silent observer while you carved yourself into something unrecognizable. maybe it’s guilt for all the moments he let pass, for the times he saw you staring out the window in detention, your breath fogging up the glass as you traced invisible shapes into the condensation. maybe it’s guilt for hearing the whispers about you and never correcting them, for watching as your name became synonymous with something untouchable, something ruined, something easy to want but impossible to hold.

but something completely illogical tells him it’s more than that.

it’s care.

not the logical kind, the kind dictated by necessity or responsibility. not the required kind, the kind that comes from duty or expectation. not the kind that is owed.

it is simply care.

and that terrifies him.

because if it’s care, then it means this—you, standing in front of him, pressing into his space, testing him, daring him to be just like everyone else—matters. it means you aren’t just another girl he’s known in passing, another classmate, another name in the endless list of people orbiting around his world. it means this isn’t just some passing moment, something insignificant, something he can brush aside and forget by morning. because he’s never done this before. never stood at the center of something so fragile, something so deliberately constructed, something that feels like a trap but is really just a test.

and that terrifies him.

because satoru knows you.

not just the version of you that leans in too close, that lets people get drunk off the warmth of your skin, the tilt of your head, the way you offer yourself without ever giving anything at all. he knows the version of you that sat by the window in detention, tracing patterns into the glass, eyes distant, already somewhere else. the version of you that used to try, that used to push and pull and want things in a way that wasn’t so calculated. the version of you that once held out a box of chocolates with both hands, cheeks warm, voice quiet, waiting for something that never came.

so when your fingers curl into his collar, when your breath ghosts against his skin, when your lips part in something that is neither an invitation nor a plea, he sees it.

anyone else—any other man—would take this moment for what it appears to be.

but satoru sees you.

sees the game, the performance, the careful layers of seduction that don’t ask for something but demand it. sees the way you are begging him—without words, without even realizing—to be just like everyone else.

so you can understand him. so you can predict him. so you can tuck him neatly into the same category as all the men who only ever wanted one thing from you. so you don’t have to question why he is different.

his hands settle on your wrists—gentle, but firm. his touch is steady, grounding, the heat of his palms seeping into your skin like something meant to anchor rather than restrain. for a moment, he just holds you there, letting the weight of the moment settle between you, letting the tension coil and tighten like a drawn bow. then, with an exhale, he pulls you away.

“no.”

your eyes flicker, just for a second. something wavers. your breath hitches, barely audible, but he hears it. and then, just as quickly, the mask falls back into place. you scoff, rolling your eyes, stepping back like none of this mattered, like his rejection is nothing more than an inconvenience.

“coward.” you taunt, sharp and biting.

but your hands are shaking.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t give you anything to grab onto. just watches you, lets the silence stretch between you, thick and suffocating, filled with all the things neither of you are willing to acknowledge. the streetlights flicker overhead, the cold wind curling between you both, but neither of you move. finally, he exhales, slow and measured.

“let’s go.”

you grumble, reluctant but compliant, moving toward the car with the kind of begrudging acceptance that comes when there is no other choice. he opens the door for you, guiding you inside without a word, the warmth of his hand barely brushing against you before he pulls away. you slump into the seat, arms crossed, head tilted toward the window, refusing to look at him.

he gets in the driver’s seat, shifts into gear, and pulls onto the road.

the city hums around you both, neon lights casting fractured reflections against the windshield, the steady rhythm of tires against pavement filling the silence. you don’t speak. don’t glance at him, don’t move, don’t acknowledge his presence. just lean your head against the glass, watching the world blur past, streetlights streaking across your features like ghosts of something unspoken.

he doesn’t speak either.

he grips the wheel a little too tightly as he drives, the tension settling into his knuckles, into the curve of his jaw, into the spaces between his thoughts where your voice still lingers. why do you even care?

the question had landed sharp between you, a challenge thrown like a blade, demanding something from him that neither of you had the words for. he should have laughed. should have dismissed it as easily as he does everything else, let the moment roll off his shoulders with that same lazy ease he wears like armor. that would have been easier, wouldn’t it? if this was just him being annoying, just another game, another instance of gojo satoru moving because he can, not because he wants to.

the city lights streak across the windshield, casting fractured reflections against the glass, flashing against your skin where you rest, half-conscious, against the window. you’re quiet now, so different from the sharp-tongued, fire-eyed girl who had glared at him hours ago, demanding an answer he hadn’t been able to give. but he’s had time to think. time to feel the weight of the silence, to sift through the mess of thoughts that refuse to settle.

“i have an answer now.”

your breath stirs, shallow, delayed, like his words are pulling you from somewhere far away. your body barely shifts, movements sluggish with exhaustion, with alcohol, with something that leaves you unguarded in a way you never allow. "what are you talking about?" your voice is quiet, blurred at the edges, stripped of its usual sharpness.

his fingers tighten around the wheel.

he cares because he does.

not because of logic, or obligation, or the neat, efficient reasoning he applies to everything else. not because it’s convenient. not because he’s supposed to. there is no clean-cut explanation, no calculated rationale, no easy justification. just care. the kind that isn’t required, isn’t expected, isn’t supposed to exist.

he has the answer now.

but you’re too drunk to even remember the question you threw at him this morning, eyes burning, voice laced with something sharp and aching. too lost in the haze of exhaustion, the weight of alcohol pressing against your bones, your usual armor stripped away piece by piece. the version of you sitting beside him now—quiet, unguarded, fragile in a way you’d hate—wouldn’t even care to hear it. so what’s the point? what’s the point of saying something you won’t remember, something you’d only deny in the morning, something that shouldn’t matter but somehow does?

he exhales, a slow, measured breath, fingers drumming idly against the leather steering wheel before finally leaning back, gaze shifting toward the dim glow of the dashboard. his glasses slide just slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he absently pushes them up, jaw tight, expression unreadable in the faint flicker of streetlights outside. for a moment, he just looks at you—the way your head tilts against the glass, the way your lashes flutter faintly, the way your lips are slightly parted as if you might say something but never do. his chest feels tight. too tight. like the weight of this realization, of you, is settling into a space he never made room for.

“nevermind.”

his voice is quiet, barely audible over the hum of the engine, but it carries. settles into the silence between you, lingers in the air as if waiting for a response.

and then, barely above a whisper—“idiot.”

it’s grumbled, half-asleep, but he still hears it, still watches the way your lips barely move as you bury yourself deeper into the seat, breath evening out.

he gasps, the sound exaggerated, scandalized, an instinctive reaction that’s far more him than the heavy, suffocating thoughts he’d been drowning in moments ago. “my iq is higher than yours!”

you don’t respond.

just shift slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at your lips, before sleep finally pulls you under. he scoffs, shaking his head, but there’s something softer in the way he settles into his seat, something almost fond in the way his grip eases around the wheel.

because despite everything—despite the frustration, despite the push and pull, despite the fact that he knows you’ll wake up tomorrow and pretend none of this ever happened—he still cares.

and he still doesn’t know what to do with that.

tag list : @s4ikooo1 @gojoswaterbottle @blubearxy @akeisryna @theclassbookworm @diorzs @nscuit @lolightrealm @rintarawr

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#cross posted on ao3 #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo x female reader #reader insert #gojo fluff #nerd gojo #nerdjo #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x you #jjk fluff #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo x reader

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pixiefelixie · 3 months ago

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𓆝..°°𓈒 ⋆ (필릭스) : REMEMBER THIS SUMMER "TUESDAY"

𓆉 °°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ synopsis felix is living the summer every teenager dreams of, with a perfect beach house on the east coast of australia and an even more perfect girlfriend. by taking the best of both worlds, felix invites her to experience the world he grew up in to make this the best summer ever. amidst bonfires, romantic sunsets, and seagulls, felix has one goal this summer: to finally tell her he loves her. with just one week to do so, felix is met with a challenge to make his feelings known before time runs out.

pairing: nonidol!felix x fem!reader, series warnings: felix + reader are intended to be 17-18, established relationship, fluff, underaged drinking at a party (again), very very suggestive (marking, tons of making out) under 16 dni, indirect mention of sex but nothing happens, sorry this chapter is so long 😭 important notes: The content of this work is purely fictional and is not intended to endorse or encourage any behavior, especially among minors, that may be deemed inappropriate or unsafe. This story is created solely for entertainment purposes and should be understood as fiction. Reader discretion is advised.

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chapter under the cut! ~13k words

day 3 - 10:30

from what you could remember from last night, surely felix couldn't have been that drunk. you had to have been blackout drunk to forget last night's events. however, felix did remember most of it. he remembered the way griff feinted a hit to scare you, his hands stopping just short of your face. and he even remembered the kiss you two had under the fireworks, which he described as "super hot". but somehow, he completely forgot about the most important thing—the thing that had left you staring at him, waiting for a response with a knot in your stomach.

"wait—so you don't have any memory of the promise?" you asked him, your voice strained with disbelief. you stared at him, expecting him to laugh or at least offer some kind of apologetic look. but instead, felix nonchalantly shook his head, as if the whole night was just another ordinary evening to him. he took a casual bite out of his blueberry bagel, letting crumbs tumble onto the plate below it.

"i mean, if you could give me some context, i might have a clue," he said, shrugging casually, completely unfazed.

you groaned, burying your face in your hands in frustration. of all the things you had hoped for today, this was the last thing you wanted to deal with. explaining last night to felix felt like stepping into a trap you had no idea how to escape. how could you even bring it up? what were you supposed to say? well, felix, you told me you loved me and kinda threw a marriage proposal at me! the thought made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

"well, you said some things last night," you began slowly, your voice quieter now, as you gathered the courage to push through. "and we agreed to talk about it today." you stared at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression remained completely neutral, unbothered by the conversation you were trying to have.

"i really wish i knew what you were talking about so i could engage in this conversation with you, but unfortunately, i have zero idea!" felix exclaimed, throwing his hands up in defense as if he didn’t realize the gravity of the situation.

"so you wanna know what you said to me?" you queried.

felix shrugged and took another bite out of his bagel. "i mean now that i think about it. do i really wanna know?" he said, his voice muffled by food, making you want to scream.

you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. this was ridiculous. how could he be so careless about something so important? "you're unbelievable," you muttered under your breath, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough that it almost felt like you were talking to yourself.

but as you stared at him, something felt off. you weren’t stupid. there was something fishy about his reaction. his complete lack of curiosity about what he'd said or what had happened—maybe it wasn’t that he couldn’t remember. it was that he didn’t seem to care enough to find out.

was he purposefully avoiding the topic? maybe he was too scared to confront what he’d said, or maybe it just didn’t matter enough to him.

you’d kept quiet, too, trying to protect yourself from the awkwardness that might follow. you hadn’t even mentioned what he’d said to you. you hadn’t shared how you felt when those words had left his lips, how they had shaken something deep inside you. so, maybe you weren’t exactly innocent in all this. you hadn’t opened up either.

your thoughts swirled, caught between feeling confused by felix’s reaction and frustrated by your own silence. neither of you had taken that first step toward addressing the elephant in the room. and in the stillness of the morning, you realized that maybe neither of you was ready to face it yet.

felix watched you carefully, his lips parting like he wanted to say something else, but he hesitated. then, as if deciding to let it slide, he quickly changed the subject. “by the way…” his tone shifted, lighter now, almost hesitant.

you glanced over your shoulder at him, your eyebrow arched. “yeah?”

a small smile tugged at his lips, his freckles catching the sunlight in a way that made him look softer. “thank you,” he said simply.

you blinked, confused. “for what?”

“for standing up for me last night. when griff was being… you know.” felix’s voice faltered slightly, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. he scratched the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “i don’t think i would’ve ever said anything myself,” he admitted with a small laugh. “it was lowkey badass.”

you chuckled softly, setting your mug down on the counter. “well, someone had to do it.”

“sorry, i wasn’t much help, though. i was so out of it,” he said, his tone apologetic.

you waved him off with a smile. “it’s fine. honestly, it was kind of fun.”

felix raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with a teasing smirk. “you like arguing with people, don’t you?”

you laughed, shaking your head. “well, no. not really. i don’t go looking for a fight or anything. ”

“oh, sure,” felix said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “you were just so reluctant to call griff out in front of everyone.”

you narrowed your eyes playfully, crossing your arms over your chest. “i had to. there’s a difference between picking a fight and needing to speak up. but i guess you’re right. it’s fun knowing that you get to put someone in their place, you know?”

felix nodded in agreement before his voice turned soft again. “i really am sorry, though,” he said quietly. “for being useless. you had to deal with griff and me at the same time… i should’ve been better.”

you tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “really sorry?”

“as sorry as i can get,” he confessed, his voice steady but quieter now like he meant every word.

“i think there’s a way to prove you’re not completely useless.”

felix blinked. “oh? and what’s that?”

you stepped closer, closing the gap between you with a sly smile. “i think a kiss would help show your worth, sunshine,” you said, your voice sweet.

felix’s eyes lit up, his mouth curving into a cute smile. “is that so?” he murmured, already leaning in.

“just to be thorough,” you added.

“with pleasure,” he whispered.

he didn’t need to be told twice. felix leaned in, his hand brushing your wrist before deciding to clasp your fingers in his, holding them lightly between you. his lips met yours in a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened, the kind of kiss that made your heart race and sent warmth spreading through your entire body.

his free hand found its way to the back of your neck, his touch featherlight as though he was afraid of overstepping. the world around you seemed to melt away. the soft scent of his cologne, the warmth of his lips, the way his thumb gently grazed your knuckles—it all made your stomach twist in the best way.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath coming in short, warm puffs against your skin. his dark eyes flickered to yours, and a grin tugged at his pink lips.

“thorough enough?” he asked his voice low.

you let out a soft laugh, still catching your breath. “yeah, very,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

his dark eyes searched yours, his smile softening as he took in your expression. then, without another word, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips, leaving you dizzy and breathless all over again.

when he pulled back, his gaze flicked to your cheeks, now flushed a deep pink. his smile turned into a full-on grin, and a playful laugh escaped him. “you’re blushing,” he teased, his voice light and affectionate.

you felt your cheeks heat even more, and before you could come up with your usual retorts, felix cooed softly, his teasing tone making your embarrassment worse.

“aww, don’t hide it,” he said with a laugh, wrapping his arms around you in a warm, easy hug. you froze for a second before melting into him, your face buried against his shoulder as his scent wrapped around you.

“felix, shut up,” you muttered against his shirt, though there was no real bite in your words.

he chuckled again, resting his chin lightly on the top of your head. “what? it’s cute,” he said, his voice smug.

you sighed, your lips curving into a smile despite yourself. “you’re so annoying,” you mumbled, though you didn’t move to pull away.

“what happened to the tough girl from yesterday, mm?” he teased, his voice low. “the one who told off griff without even blinking? where’d she go?”

you pushed him away, narrowing your eyes, “she’s gonna kill you,” you said, looking up at him.

felix’s grin only grew as he looked down at you, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “you’re so scary,” he teased.

you rolled your eyes but didn’t miss a beat.

felix let out a sharp, dramatic hiss as your fingers pinched his arm hard enough to make him flinch. he gasped, biting his lip. “ah—okay, okay! i’m sorry.”

day 3 - 19:00

by the time 7 pm rolled around, the sun was beginning its slow descent, casting warm hues over the water and sand. the day had been nothing short of productive. you first went paddle boarding at noon, the crystal-clear water below while you snapped countless photos with your camera. you could see schools of tiny fish darting under your board, their silvery scales flashing in the sunlight.

fishing came next, and felix took it far more seriously than expected—at least until he caught one. his yell echoed across the water as he held up a ridiculously small fish, his grin so wide it was impossible not to laugh. that is until he leaned in and kissed the fish’s slimy mouth, making you gag.

afterward, tanning became the perfect way to wind down. you both stretched out on towels, as you took turns rubbing sunscreen on each other’s backs. the two of you chatted about everything and nothing, your voices mingling with the sound of seagulls squawking as if they wanted to join in on your conversation. at one point it turned into a gossip session, both of you spilling drama about high school back in sydney. felix whispering in your ear as if there were people around you and dropping the bomb of a certain teacher spending too much time with one of the students.

the tide crept closer by each hour, signaling that the day wasn’t quite over yet. there was still more to come. at around 21:30, the two of you had plans to attend a birthday party on a yacht—one of felix’s old friends was celebrating in typical over-the-top fashion, and you were both invited because their parents were connected to felix’s.

felix came from money. you’d always known that; it was evident in the way he carried himself, in the lovely beach house where you were staying, with its polished wood interiors and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the ocean like a painting. but it wasn’t something you questioned. to you, felix was just felix—playful, sweet, and a little bit reckless, no matter how gilded the edges of his world seemed.

now, as the sun dipped lower, the promise of sunset hung in the air. it had become your quiet tradition, something neither of you ever put into words. sunset was your favorite time of day, and somehow, you both just knew that about each other.

felix had promised to take you to the cove to watch it, a little secluded spot just down the beach. the party would come later, with its loud music, glittering lights, and crowded yacht decks, but this? this was your moment, one that belonged only to the two of you.

the walk to the cove was anything but smooth. the path wound between jagged rocks, some of which jutted up like teeth, forcing you to climb over them while also struggling to stay upright. algae clung to the stones in slippery patches, squishing under your sandals.

“this is a bit more intense than i expected,” you muttered, glancing at felix, who was a few steps ahead.

“the best spots take a little work to get to. you’ll see.”

then, just as you stepped onto a flat stretch of rock, something slender shifted near your feet. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes darted down.

a snake. a long, thick snake slithered across the rock, its scales catching the last glimmers of sunlight.

“what the heck!” you yelped, stumbling back a step as your heart raced.

without thinking, you bolted toward him, grabbing his bicep with both hands and leaning into him as if he were a shield against the creature.

he immediately turned, concern flashing across his face. “what? did you hurt yourself?”

“just a snake,” you managed to get out, your voice shaky but with relief now that you were away from it.

felix blinked, his lips parting in surprise. “was it big?”

“massive,” you said, still holding onto him. “i’ve been bit before as a kid, so forgive me if i don’t want to relive that.”

“wait—you’ve actually been bitten by a snake?”

you nodded, your voice steady but a little distant as the memory resurfaced. “yeah. my family was on vacation in hawaii and i accidentally stepped on one when i was a kid. it bit my leg, and it was venomous. just a bit though.”

his brows shot up. “what happened?”

“our tour guide had anti-venom and they rushed me to the hospital,” you said, glancing at him. “i remember the panic more than the actual pain. everyone around me was freaking out, but i was just sitting there, i couldn’t even bring myself to cry.”

felix tilted his head, studying you with a mix of disbelief and concern. “you didn’t feel it?”

“i mean i just remember sweating a ton and feeling really sick,” you admitted. “probably because i was in such shock. but once i was in the er and the doctors were talking about how lucky we were to get there so fast, it all started to sink in.”

his expression softened, a trace of a smile on his lips. “and here you are, like a champ.” felix laughed, a warm, comforting sound that echoed off the surrounding rocks. “but seriously, that sounds terrifying. glad you made it out okay.”

you shrugged lightly, letting go of his arm and giving him a small smile. “it’s not exactly a fond memory, but it’s a good story to tell. just… let’s avoid making it a sequel, alright?”

felix chuckled softly, “as long as neither of us steps on one, i think we’re good.” his hand slid from your grip and he pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

up ahead, tall shrubs swayed lightly in the breeze, and through the gaps in their leaves, you caught the faint shimmer of water.

“is it… here?” you asked, tilting your head toward him.

felix’s lips curled into a soft smile. “you got it,”

he clasped your hand and guided you forward, pushing the plants gently aside with his free hand. the greenery gave way to an opening, and as you stepped through, the sight in front of you took your breath away.

the cove was stunning. turquoise water lapped gently at the sandy shore, its surface glinting under the fading sunlight. smooth rocks framed the secluded spot, their edges catching the golden hues of the approaching sunset. above you, an arc of smooth rock curved, like the natural ceiling of a cave. the whole scene felt untouched, utterly serene as if no one else in the world knew it existed.

felix let go of your hand briefly to take a step ahead, turning to watch your reaction. “what do you think?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost shy.

you looked at him, your mouth slightly open as you tried to find the right words. “it’s… beautiful,” you finally said, your gaze shifting back to the water. “it’s like it’s out of a dream. how does something like this even exist?” you said, reaching out for his hand again, squeezing his fingers gently.

felix followed your gaze and grinned, giving your hand a gentle tug. “this way,”

he led you toward a quiet spot on the sand, where the gentle waves crept up slowly, leaving faint trails of foam before retreating. the ground was warm beneath you as you both settled down, the sound of the ocean filling the silence between you.

in front of you, an opening in the rock framed the horizon perfectly, like a natural window to the sunset. the fiery oranges and soft pinks melted into purples, casting shimmering reflections on the turquoise water.

felix lowered himself onto the sand, stretching his legs out in front of him and patting the spot between them. “come here,” he said softly.

you didn’t hesitate, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you stepped closer. his hand pulled yours, his touch steady as he guided you down in front of him.

“how did you even find this place?” you asked, your voice quiet as your eyes wandered over the cove. you shifted to get comfortable before finally resting your head on his lap.

felix leaned forward slightly, his arm curling around you to pull you closer. his free hand drifted to your hair, his fingers threading through it in slow, soothing strokes. “chris and i were out looking for good spots to surf,” he said quietly while reminiscing.

“surfing? here?” you turned your neck to glance up at him.

“yeah, i know. doesn’t seem like the best place, right? too calm.” he chuckled, the sound low and warm. “we never did end up surfing here. but i got curious when i saw this little path through the trees, and… well, i found this.”

you looked back at the cove, the secluded beauty of it almost overwhelming. “and you kept it to yourself?”

he shrugged, his hand never leaving your hair. “yeah, i never told chris at all. later that day i came again alone.” felix lowered his head closer to yours, his voice softer now. “i never brought anyone here before. i wanted it to be a spot i could go to whenever.”

as you nestled against him, you let out a soft breath. “okay,” you said. “so, why bring me here?”

he knew why. he’d known for weeks, maybe longer. because i love you, he thought. the words hovered on the tip of his tongue, so close he could almost hear himself saying them.

the cove, the sunset, the two of you sitting this close—it would’ve been perfect to tell you now.

but his chest tightened, and the words wouldn’t come.

“am i that special?” you asked suddenly, saving him from his spiraling thoughts.

a soft laugh escaped him, and he tilted his head, looking at you with pure affection. his hand slipped down to your cheek, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “you have no idea,” he whispered.

your smile softened at his words and suddenly, the teasing felix you knew was gone. he looked at you in a way you hadn’t seen before, something that made your heart flutter. was it love?

“you’re so pretty,” he said, his voice low, like the words slipped out without him even meaning to.

the air seemed to shift between you. he had never said anything like that before—not in that way, not with that much weight behind it. for a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think of what to say.

you sat up slowly, turning toward him, and leaned in just a little. you glanced at his lips, then back to his eyes, searching for something you couldn’t quite name. and then you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a long, still kiss.

it was so soft. his lips were warm and gentle against yours, and for a moment, the world felt like it had stopped spinning entirely. when you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, and his gaze hadn’t wavered from you.

“can we…” you began, the flush of color still tinting your cheeks. “can we do what we did yesterday?”

felix blinked, pretending as though he didn’t understand. “what do you mean?” he asked, his tone almost innocent, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“you know,” you said, swatting his arm lightly, your grin growing.

he chuckled, low and warm, and before you could say more, he leaned in and kissed you again.

his lips moved against yours as if he were savoring the kiss, letting himself sink into it. his grip on your hand tightened, grounding both of you and his other hand slid up to the side of your neck, his fingers grazing your skin as he tilted his head slightly.

you couldn’t resist any longer. with a soft, breathless sigh, you parted your lips, meeting his tongue with your own, guiding the kiss deeper. the heat between you both intensified and as your tongues danced together, you slowly moved the hand he was holding, shifting it from your grasp to your waist.

felix hesitated for a moment, but then he let go of your hand and placed it firmly on your body. you wrapped both of your hands around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing your body against his as you kissed him deeper.

but after a few moments, you pulled away slightly, breathless, a smile tugging at your lips. “so much for being responsible,” you teased, your voice light as you brushed your hand down his chest.

felix immediately frowned, his eyes darkening, “stop talking.” without hesitation, he chased after your lips, catching them in another desperate kiss. you smiled into it, the heat between you both intensifying. his lips moved urgently against yours, and as you tried to pull away again, he followed you, not giving you a chance to break this. his hands were now on your waist, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t bear the distance between you.

your hands instinctively moved up to his hair, grabbing a fistful of it. his tongue slid into your mouth, exploring, and tasting, and you responded equally. this cove was magical. it made you feel like it was just the two of you in this world.

finally, after a long moment, you both pulled away, lips swollen and red. you caught your breath, smiling softly. “we’re gonna miss the sunset,” you said, your voice teasing. “that’s what we’re here for, right?”

felix pouted, his hands still on you, it was clear he wasn’t thinking about the sunset. “sure, sure,” he replied distractedly, his eyes still on your lips. “can we stay like this?” he asked, his voice almost shy, his arms wrapping around you tighter.

you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly, your heart racing as you nuzzled into him, settling between his legs. his warmth surrounded you, and for a moment, everything felt right. but felix, despite this, seemed far away in his own thoughts. you could feel him shift slightly beneath you, his breath a little more uneven, as if something was weighing on him.

inside, felix’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. his heart raced in a mix of emotions, but the one who showed its face the most was a deep, nagging guilt. he couldn’t ignore the feeling that he hadn’t said those three words.

he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be moving this fast, feeling this much, especially without telling you how deeply he felt. part of him wanted to just let go, and embrace the closeness and intimacy without worrying about the timing.

another part of him felt guilty, like he was rushing things before he was ready to say what truly mattered.

then, your voice broke through. it was so soft, so gentle, the kind of voice that made him feel like everything in the world could pause for a moment—like he could breathe for the first time in forever. “are you okay, lixie?”

his throat tightened as he met your gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. he wasn’t sure how to respond to the sudden rush of emotions, but your simple care for him, your concern, made him feel like he didn’t deserve it. he wasn’t sure if he could ever truly put into words what he was feeling, but you were making him want to try.

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” felix finally said, his voice unsteady. then, in an almost whispered tone, he said, “quick, look at the sun, it’s setting.”

you turned your head, following his gaze. the sky stretched out in front of you, the colors shifting as the sun dipped lower, casting a breathtaking, fiery orange glow across the horizon. the waves shimmered beneath the light, reflecting the warm hues, as if the whole world had paused to take in the beauty of this moment.

you sat there for a moment, completely in awe of the breathtaking sunset before you. it was impossible not to be captivated by it, and in that instant, you reached for your camera, wanting to capture its beauty. you snapped a picture, the vibrant colors of the sunset perfectly framed in the shot.

the picture was beautiful—perfectly still, a moment in time frozen forever. as your gaze shifted to him, you caught his soft smile, his eyes reflecting the glow of the fading sun. it made your heart skip, and for a second, everything else seemed so distant.

felix took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours gently, and kissed your hand softly, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver up your arm. you brought your camera up again, capturing the moment and when you looked at the photo, you couldn’t help but smile. your boyfriend was so incredibly handsome. the orange light cast across felix’s face, making his features even more striking, his eyes looking up at your camera as his lips lingered on your hand. his gaze was both loving and full of warmth.

you leaned back against felix’s abdomen, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you. his arm moved, wrapping gently around you as he grabbed your hand, his thumb beginning to trace soft, slow circles on the back of it. the gesture was calming, soothing even, as the warmth of his touch seeped into your skin. the two of you sat in silence, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore blending with the serene hues of the sunset.

as your gaze remained fixed on the horizon, your thoughts drifted. being back in sydney, you hadn’t expected a trip like this to bring you and felix so close in such a short time. three days now. that was all it had taken for him to feel like home—like someone you could lean on, quite literally.

you smiled softly to yourself, thinking about how much he had changed in your eyes. not that felix hadn’t always been attractive—he was, undeniably—but there was something different now. the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, even the way he touched you—it all felt deepened in ways you couldn’t explain.

your old self, the one who had just started dating him, would never have guessed this moment would come so soon. if she could see you now, sitting between his legs, leaning back against him with his hand in yours, watching the sunset in the most breathtaking place, she would have been surprised. you weren’t sure what would shock her more—that you’d let yourself be this vulnerable with him, or that you’d never felt more at home than you did right now.

a question pressed itself into your mind. do you love him?

it was such a big word—love. it carried weight and meaning you weren’t sure you fully understood yet. you were young, after all. could you really know what it meant? but as you sat there, feeling felix’s steady warmth against your back, his fingers brushing slow circles over your hand, you couldn’t help but think that this was what love must feel like.

felix’s thumb paused for a moment on the back of your hand, and then he shifted, wrapping his arm more firmly around you. it was such a small thing, but it made your breath hitch. if this wasn’t love, it was close enough to leave you wondering if it could ever be anything else.

the sun slowly dipped lower and lower until the last sliver of light disappeared beneath the horizon. the sky deepened into a rich navy, streaked with the faintest traces of orange and pink clinging to the edges.

felix let out a soft breath and shifted behind you, his voice breaking the stillness. “well, that’s that,” he said quietly.

you tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. “can we come back someday?” you asked with a hopeful voice.

for a moment, felix just looked at you, his gaze lingering on your face. something in his expression softened, his lips curving into that smile that always made your heart flutter. he leaned down and kissed you, the warmth of his lips against yours, answering the question. when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “of course.”

day 3 - 21:45

the moment you stepped into the interior of the yacht, it felt like a whole new world. the bass from the heavy music reverberated through the walls, the beat syncing with the pulse of strobing neon lights that bathed the space. the air was filled with laughter, shouts over the music, and the clink of glasses.

felix’s hand stayed firmly on your lower back as you both weaved through the crowd. the room was packed, bodies moving to the beat in a rhythmic blur. you caught flashes of shiny dresses and sharp suits as the lights danced across the room, amplifying the wildness of it all.

“felix!”

the booming voice cut through the music just as the host appeared, his figure swaying slightly.

he was Korean, his dark hair tousled as though he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times that night. the stark contrast between his hair and felix’s blonde locks was striking. teenage boys rarely dyed their black hair, but felix’s golden strands were such a fixture of his personality by now that they felt like a part of him—he was practically a natural blonde.

the host flashed a wide smile that revealed perfect teeth and lit up his handsome face. his shirt, unbuttoned far enough to reveal a gold chain. a glass of amber liquid sloshed precariously in his hand, droplets threatening to escape with every exaggerated gesture he made.

“you made it!” the host said, pulling felix into a lopsided hug. his cologne was strong, an earthy mix of spice and wood that lingered in the close quarters.

felix grinned, stepping forward to meet him. “jake!” he called back, raising his voice to be heard over the relentless bass thumping through the yacht. “happy birthday!”

jake beamed, his drink sloshing dangerously close to spilling as he clapped Felix on the back with more enthusiasm than coordination. “thank you!” he exclaimed, pulling back. “welcome aboard!”

“this is my girlfriend,” felix gestured toward you, his smile growing wider. “she’s visiting the beach from sydney.”

jake’s glassy eyes lit up with excitement as he turned his attention fully to you. “girlfriend? well, aren’t you just full of surprises, felix,” he teased before leaning toward you with his arms wide open. “nice to meet you! i'm jake. jake sim. sim jake. whatever works.”

caught off guard, you laughed but leaned in anyway. jake enveloped you in a hug, swaying just enough to make you wonder if his balance was going to hold out. “nice to meet you too,” you managed, pulling back with a polite smile.

jake gave you a once-over, waving his drink in felix’s direction with a playful smirk. “she’s stunning, felix,” he declared, then turned to you with a wink. “good on you for putting up with him.”

you grinned, deciding to play along. “oh, you have no idea,” you replied, shooting felix a look. “he’s a full-time job, honestly. i deserve an award.”

felix gasped, his hand flying to his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “wow,” he said, shaking his head. “i see how it is.”

jake threw his head back in laughter, nearly spilling his drink again. “i like her!” he declared, pointing at you with his free hand. “she’s got spirit. you’d better hold on to this one, felix.”

felix squinted at you, trying to look stern, but the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “oh, i’m well aware,” he said.

jake clapped felix on the shoulder again, already turning toward the crowd. “alright, lovebirds,” jake said, already turning toward the crowd. “come grab a drink with me and the others.”

felix slid his hand down to yours, guiding you as the three of you wove through the pulsing crowd toward the bar area. the energy of the room only intensified, the music pounding in sync with the flashing lights.

as felix guided you both through the crowd, a sudden bump jolted you out of your focus. you turned to see a girl with sleek, jet-black hair and a dazzling blue dress staring back at you, her expression apologetic.

“oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she said, her voice soft but clear as she lightly touched your arm.

you smiled, shaking your head. “no, you’re fine, really.”

then her eyes widened slightly as she glanced past you. “lee felix?” she asked, her voice brightening with surprise.

felix’s head tilted, and his lips parted in realization. “jenny?” he asked, his voice rising.

jenny broke into a broad grin and threw her arms around him in a hug that suggested they were old friends. when she pulled back, her gaze shifted to you, and her smile turned curious. “is this your girlfriend?”

felix gave a proud nod, smiling. “yeah, she is.”

jenny’s expression softened into something warm and welcoming. “oh my goodness, it’s so nice to meet you!” she exclaimed, extending her hand. “i’m jenny—jake’s twin.”

your eyebrows shot up. “oh! happy birthday!” you said, shaking her hand.

jenny laughed, clearly delighted. “thanks for coming! it’s not every day felix shows up to one of these.”

felix rolled his eyes. “don’t act like i'm some hermit that doesn't leave his cave.”

jenny gave him a teasing grin. “well, you don’t, at least not without chris.” you swear you saw felix’s mouth twitch at that comment. she turned back to you, leaning in slightly. “you look amazing, by the way.”

your cheeks warmed under her compliment. “thank you. you look incredible too.”

“why don’t you come join me and the girls for a bit?” she turned to felix with a grin. “i hope you don’t mind if i steal her for a while.”

felix raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “i don’t know, jenny…”

jenny rolled her eyes, swatting his arm lightly. “ugh, shut up. you’ll be fine without her for a moment.”

you glanced at felix, giving him a gentle squeeze on his arm. “i’ll be back,” you said.

he sighed dramatically, though the smile on his face was impossible to miss. "fine. but I’ll be timing you.” he joked.

jenny reached for your hand, tugging you gently. “come on!” she urged, her excitement contagious.

without a second glance at felix, you let her lead you through the thrumming crowd. “this place is amazing,” you said as you followed jenny through the packed yacht, the thrum of the music vibrating through the walls.

jenny glanced back at you with a bright smile. “thank you! my parents bought it, like, fifteen years ago. i basically grew up around it. every birthday since i turned sixteen has been on this boat.” she laughed, stepping lightly to avoid a tipsy couple dancing too enthusiastically. “it’s kind of like home.”

“that’s incredible,” you said, genuinely impressed.

jenny led you into a quieter room off to the side. the lights were dimmer here, but the ambiance was still lively. a sleek bar ran along one wall, staffed by a bartender expertly shaking up cocktails, while plush couches lined the room. a group of girls was sprawled on one of the larger couches, their laughter spilling over as they chatted loudly, drinks in hand.

one of them noticed jenny first and called out with an exaggerated wave. “jenny! finally! where have you been?”

jenny grinned, tugging you closer. “i’m here now! everyone, this is felix’s girlfriend,” she announced with a casual flourish, glancing at you.

the girls turned their attention to you, their eyes alight with curiosity. “oh my god, you’re gorgeous,” one of them slurred, leaning forward with a dazed but kind expression.

“stop, you’re going to scare her.” jenny teased, rolling her eyes and turned to you. “they've started drinking too much already. come, sit.”

jenny motioned to the couch beside her, and you took a seat next to her while she grabbed her old drink off of the table. one of the girls, a brunette with a wide smile, leaned forward. “what’s your name?” she asked, her voice warm and curious. you introduced yourself, saying your name and her smile widened. “that’s so pretty,” she said, leaning back in her seat.

another girl, her lipstick slightly smudged and her drink held precariously in one hand, leaned forward, squinting at you through the dim light. “i’ve never seen you before,” she said, her words slightly slurred but still curious. “are you visiting for the summer?”

you smiled, adjusting the hem of your sundress. “yeah, i’m here with my boyfriend. i’m staying at his beach house for a bit.”

a couple of the girls perked up, their interest piqued. “who’s your boyfriend?” another one asked, her voice sharp with intrigue.

before you could answer, jenny leaned back with a smirk, swirling her drink dramatically. “lee felix,” she said, her tone casual but clearly enjoying the reaction she was about to provoke.

the room went still for a moment as the name sank in. then, almost in unison, the girls reacted.

“no way,” one of them exclaimed, her jaw practically dropping. another sat forward, her drink forgotten. “felix? you’re joking.” you blinked, caught off guard by their sudden intensity.

one of the girls sighed dramatically, leaning back on the couch as she gestured toward you. “ugh, you’re so lucky,” she said, her tone teetering between admiration and envy. “felix is like, the unattainable guy everyone secretly—or not so secretly—has a crush on.”

the girl who had choked earlier nodded fervently. “but honestly, looking at you, i’m not even surprised. you’re stunning. you probably swept him right off his feet.”

you felt your cheeks heat up at her words. “thank you,” you said softly, smiling at them. “that’s really sweet of you.”

one of the other girls leaned in, curiosity lighting up her face. “he’s from sydney, right? are you from sydney too?”

you nodded. “yeah, we go to school together,” you explained.

“that’s so cute! i’m not even surprised he has a girlfriend now. it was about time he stopped walking around looking gorgeous and actually did something about it.”

another girl chimed in, sipping her drink before adding, “i swear, he gets hotter every year. especially that one summer when he came back blonde.”

jenny leaned back with a knowing smirk, pointing her glass toward the girl. “that’s because you’re crazy about blondes, emma.”

emma whipped her head around, glaring at jenny. “shut up.”

jenny raised her eyebrows. “then why’d you hook up with griff sanders and his brother?”

emma’s eyes widened in outrage, clutching her glass as if to throw it. “jenny!”

jenny let out a high-pitched squeal, ducking behind one of the other girls for cover. “i’m just saying!” she shouted, laughing uncontrollably.

emma burst out laughing too, shaking her head as she put her glass back down. “you’re the worst,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.

you couldn’t help but chuckle along with them, though the mention of griff made you feel a bit uneasy after last night. you tried to push the thought away, not wanting to let it show, but it lingered in the back of your mind.

just as the conversation shifted, another girl, who had been quiet up until now, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “i don’t know guys,” she said, twirling her drink in her hand. “i’ve always been a chris girl.”

the group gasped in unison, then erupted into teasing laughter. “you creep,” jenny said, nudging her playfully. “he’s in college!”

the girl shrugged nonchalantly, her smile never faltering. “and?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “doesn’t mean i can’t appreciate the view.”

jenny snorted, and the others continued to laugh, but then one of the girls leaned toward you, eyes lighting up with curiosity. “you’re probably really close with him, right? i mean, you’re with felix, so you must know him.”

you paused, feeling a little out of place. “actually,” you began, shaking your head with a small smile, “i’ve never met him. but felix goes on about him all the time.” you chuckled lightly.

the girl suddenly leaned forward, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “he’s just so big it feels like he could just—”

before she could finish, one of the other girls slapped her arm, cutting her off. “stop talking!” she laughed, her voice full of exasperation.

the whole group burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. the ridiculousness of it all, combined with the fact that you barely knew most of these people.

just then, a man appeared beside you, catching your attention. he was holding a small tray with a cocktail glass on it. you turned to face him, and he smiled politely. “a cocktail, my dear?” he asked smoothly.

you shook your head, smiling. “no, thank you.”

before you could even say more, jenny was reaching for the drink, practically snatching it. “thank you, mr. arthur!” she said cheerfully, her tone more playful than sincere.

the man nodded with a smile and walked off, leaving jenny to pass the cocktail to you. you hesitated for a moment, holding up your hand to politely refuse. “i really don’t drink, jenny,” you said, giving her a gentle smile.

jenny raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “oh, come on, just one drink. it’s not like you’re going to get hammered, we’re just having fun,” she teased, her voice laced with persistence.

you shook your head, still trying to resist. “i’m good, seriously.”

but she wasn’t giving up. she leaned in closer, her voice dropping into a more convincing tone. “look, you’re not going to regret it. just for tonight, please?”

you glanced around at the laughing group of girls, all of them looking at you with wide, eager eyes, and felt a slight pressure to join in. “just for tonight,” you muttered, taking the drink from her hand.

day 3 - 22:30

an hour ago, you'd promised yourself it would just be one drink. just one. you weren’t going to get hammered, not here, not now, not ever.

but clearly, you hadn’t listened.

the room wasn’t spinning anymore; it was tilting, lurching like the yacht had been caught in a storm even though it was only floating along a miniscule coast of australia. your head throbbed in time with the bass-heavy music pounding through the speakers, and your throat burned faintly from whatever concoction you’d downed last. it had started innocently enough. jenny had shoved a fruity, neon-colored drink into your hands, her smile too bright and her insistence too sharp to refuse. one sip had turned into three gulps, and before you could process it, the glass was empty, replaced with another as if by magic.

or rather, by mr. arthur—the server who seemed to materialize at the best possible moments, tray balanced with another round of deceptively sweet cocktails. and each time, despite your better judgment, you’d reach for another.

the room spun, like a carousel at twice its speed, and the flashing lights only added to the haze enveloping you. everything felt a little too loud—the music pounding like a second heartbeat, the girls’ voices blending together in a swirl of laughter and words you couldn’t quite piece together.

you’d lost track of felix somewhere in the haze. the last memory you had of him was faint—him grinning, his hand brushing yours before disappearing into the crowd with jake. that could’ve been ten minutes ago or an hour. time had dissolved into a mess of strobe lights, slurred voices, and the sharp tang of too many drinks.

“why are you just staring at nothing?” jenny slurred, her elbow jabbing into your side. you clutched your drink tighter, spilling a few drops onto your fingers as you turned to her. her mascara was smudged, her hair sticking out at odd angles, but she didn’t seem to care—or notice. “are you okay? or, like… dead?”

you giggled, though it sounded more like a hiccup, shaking your head a little too forcefully. the motion made the room tilt again, and you pressed a hand to your forehead. “not dead,” you mumbled, words dragging like wet paint. “just… thinking about felix. where is he?”

jenny squinted at you, then at the room around her, her gaze as unfocused as your own. “he probably, like… fell off the boat or something,” she said with a snort, her laugh dissolving. she waved her hand vaguely toward the crowd. “or he’s with jake. they definitely fell off together.”

you groaned, slumping deeper into the couch, which felt like it was swallowing you whole. “i should find him,” you said, though the words came out more like a mumble. “i should… i don’t know… make sure he’s okay.”

jenny laughed, leaning so far back she nearly slid off the arm of the couch. “you can’t even stand, babe. what are you gonna do, crawl around yelling his name?”

her teasing earned a weak glare from you, but the grin tugging at your lips ruined the effect. “i’m fine,” you argued, though you didn’t believe it. your legs felt like jelly, your head like a balloon barely tethered to your body.

jenny opened her mouth to retort, but her attention suddenly flickered over your shoulder, her expression shifting. she nudged one of the other girls, and soon all of them were staring behind you, their giggles quieting as they stared at something—or someone—behind you.

“what?” you asked, your voice thick and slow. you turned to look, blinking through the dizziness, you finally spotted them: felix and jake, stumbling toward the couch like a pair of toddlers who’d had too much sugar.

felix’s cheeks were flushed a deep shade of crimson, his shirt almost halfway unbuttoned, exposing his collarbone. his blond hair stuck up in wild tufts and jake was equally disheveled, his arm slung around felix’s neck as he laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. whatever joke he was telling clearly wasn’t meant for anyone else—it was lost in the garbled mess of words and wheezing breaths.

“felix?” you murmured, your voice breaking as you pushed yourself upright—or at least tried to. the room pitched sideways, and your body refused to cooperate, leaving you half-sprawled against the cushions. felix’s gaze met yours, his lopsided grin widening as he stumbled closer, jake still clinging to him for balance.

before you could get an answer, the boys collapsed onto the couch like puppets with cut strings, their combined weight squishing you deep into the cushions. felix practically melted onto you, his entire body slack as his head lolled against your shoulder. jake sprawled sideways, his legs slumping on jenny’s as he flopped into her lap like an oversized golden retriever.

jenny shrieked, her voice cutting through the music like a foghorn. “ew! get off me!” she shoved at her brother with all the force her petite figure could muster, her hands smacking into his chest. “you’re disgusting!”

jake only laughed in response, his head tipping back as he made himself even heavier, fully collapsing into her lap. “oh, come on, jen,” he slurred, his grin stretching wide. “i’m your favorite brother, you love me!”

“like hell i do!” jenny screeched, red-faced and furious. she shoved again, this time with both hands. with a yelp that sounded more like a laugh, jake toppled off the couch entirely, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

meanwhile, felix was burrowed deeper into you, his giggles vibrating against your shoulder. his breath, warm and tinged with whiskey, tickled your neck as he whispered, “hi,” his voice soft and slurred, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

you turned your head slightly, trying to suppress the grin spreading across your face. “hi, felix,” you replied, your voice teetering on the edge of laughter.

and then, without warning, felix’s expression shifted like he’d just witnessed a ghost. his lopsided grin disappeared, replaced by a look of wide-eyed, exaggerated shock. he jerked back slightly, squinting at you as if you’d suddenly grown a second head. “do my eyes deceive me?” he asked, his tone dripping with dramatic flair.

you frowned, confused. “huh?”

“you’re drunk!” he declared, pointing at you with the wobbliness of someone who had clearly lost a fight with gravity. he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours. “i can’t believe it!”

you frowned, furrowing your eyebrows as if the very suggestion was an insult. “i’m not that drunk,” you insisted, your voice defensive and a little too loud, though the way you swayed slightly in your seat betrayed you. you raised your thumb and forefinger, holding them close together with exaggerated precision. “maybe a little.”

felix gasped as you’d just admitted to committing a heinous crime. his hands found your face, cupping your cheeks with gentleness despite his shaky coordination. his thumbs brushed over your skin as he stared at you with narrowed eyes, his nose nearly touching yours. “what… have they done to you?” he whispered.

you squinted at him, the corners of your mouth twitching despite your best efforts to stay indignant. “says you,” you shot back. you poked his chest, or at least aimed for it, your finger landing somewhere near his jaw. “you’re the one who’s, like… like…” you waved your hand vaguely, searching for the right word. “practically swimming in drunk.”

felix’s jaw dropped in offense, and he clutched his chest like you’d struck him. “me?” he slurred, his voice pitching up like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “how dare you? i am as sober as a… as a… um…” he paused, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

you rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh. “a nun?” you offered, smirking.

“yes!” he exclaimed, pointing a shaky finger in triumph. “i am as sober as a nun on… on a sunday!” he blinked, his grin faltering for a moment. “wait. do nuns drink on sundays? like… wine and stuff? he persisted. “i don't think nuns even drink real wine. what if it’s… holy fuck, what was the question again?” felix raised his hand to pinch his nose bridge, in deep thought. “like, they pretend it’s wine, but it’s actually like…like”

you sighed loudly, dragging your hands down your face. “felix, shut up.”

just then, as if saved by the bell, mr. arthur appeared, looking as polished and composed as ever, his crisp white shirt spotless despite wading through a sea of people. in sharp contrast to the fluorescent cocktails he’d been serving earlier, this time his tray was lined with plastic bottles of water, gleaming under the strobe lights like they were filled with liquid salvation.

“water?” he asked, his voice calm and knowing, as if he’d seen this exact scenario play out a thousand times before.

you reached for a bottle, the cool plastic smooth against your fingers. “thanks, mr. arthur. you’re such a gem,” you said, throwing in a cheeky wink for good measure.

mr. arthur gave you a polite, professional smile—the kind of smile that servers master when they’ve decided you’re absolutely wasted—then turned on his heel and disappeared back into the crowd.

as soon as he was gone, felix was staring at you, slack-jawed, like you’d just declared your intent to marry the guy. “what the hell was that?” he demanded, voice thick with incredulity.

you blinked at him innocently. “what was what?”

“that!” he waved a hand in the general direction of where mr. arthur had been standing moments ago. “the whole flirty wink thing. seriously? who does that?”

rolling your eyes, you cracked open the water bottle. “he’s just looking out for me. what’s wrong with being polite?”

felix leaned closer, pointing at the bottle like it was exhibit a. “polite? that wasn’t polite. that was—you know what? i can’t even find the right word for it. extra. yeah, that’s what it was. extra.” he pointed accusingly at the water bottle like it held undeniable proof of your crimes. “what next? gonna slip him your number in morse code using bottle caps?”

before he could launch into another drunken rant, you had enough. without a word, you tilted the bottle and shoved it toward his face, pressing it against his lips until he had no choice but to take a gulp. water spilled over his chin as he glared at you.

when you pulled the bottle back, he coughed lightly, the back of his hand dragging across his chin as he stared at you. but something about his eyes made your stomach turn.

“that’ll shut you up,” you said, trying to sound smug, but your voice came out a little too quick, a little too breathless.

felix didn’t move. he just kept staring at you, the smirk on his face lazy and infuriatingly attractive, like he knew exactly what he was doing. he tilted his head slightly, eyes trailing over you in a way that made heat crawl up your neck.

“careful,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “you keep bossing me around like that, and i might actually start listening to you.”

you pointed at him, narrowing your eyes to hide the way your pulse had kicked into overdrive. “don’t start.”

“what?” he grinned wider, all dimples and trouble. “i’m just saying, you’re kinda scary when you’re mad. but, like, in a cute way.”

“just drink the water and stop being weird.” you snapped, more flustered than you wanted to admit.

felix leaned back, finally breaking eye contact as he unscrewed the cap from his bottle, but not before giving you one last smirk. “fine. but for the record, i’m not worried. you’re not into guys with mustaches. but i still don’t get the wink.”

“oh my god,” you groaned. “it wasn’t a wink, it was gratitude,” you grumbled.

“sure, sure. gratitude with a side of ‘call me.’”

“felix.”

“okay, okay! hydrating now. see? i’m such a good boy.” he took a slow sip of water, deliberately dragging it out, and right before tilting the bottle back for another gulp, he winked at you—cheeky and entirely infuriating.

“please never say ‘good boy’ again,” you deadpanned.

the smirk lingered on felix’s lips as he tilted his head back, downing more water like he was trying to prove a point. but then he paused, lowering the bottle slowly. his eyes darted around the room, a flicker of focus cutting through his usual chaotic energy. the others were too distracted—jenny was still half-heartedly shoving jake off her lap while the other girls were either whispering in small groups or half-asleep, heads drooping like wilting flowers.

felix’s gaze returned to you, softer now, more intent. the teasing grin faded, replaced by something quieter, something that sent a ripple of heat through your already alcohol-fueled haze. he shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, and the movement was deliberate enough that you noticed.

your heart thudded against your ribs as he leaned in, his eyes fixed on yours, and for a moment, the pounding music and chatter around you seemed to fade into nothing. his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for what felt like an eternity.

“felix…” you murmured, unsure if it was meant to be a question, a warning, or something else entirely.

he didn’t answer. instead, he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours with a gentleness that caught you off guard. the kiss deepened slowly, unhurried but purposeful, his mouth warm and tasting faintly of whiskey and something sweet. the world spun, but this time, it wasn’t the alcohol—it was him.

your breath hitched as his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. his kiss was intoxicating, the kind of slow, deliberate connection that pulled you under, drowning you in the heat of it. every move was deliberate yet tender like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way you tasted.

the way his lips lingered just a moment longer than necessary before pulling back sent a thrill coursing through you, leaving your heart pounding harder than the bass reverberating through the yacht. when he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you.

“let’s get out of here,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something teasingly intimate, sending a ripple of heat down your spine.

you shot him a playful look, fighting the urge to grin as you turned toward the room. “guys, i’m feeling a bit seasick, i’m gonna get some air,” you called out, your voice carrying over the chatter and the music. a few heads turned, some murmured half-concerned responses, but most were too engrossed in their own revelry to notice.

felix didn’t miss a beat. “i’ll come with you,” he said casually, pushing himself up from the couch. he straightened his jacket, brushing off dust with a flick of his hands. the corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk, and for a split second, his gaze flicked to the others in the room, almost daring anyone to object. no one did.

without hesitation, he reached for your hand, his fingers sliding effortlessly between yours. his touch was firm but unhurried as if he had all the time in the world to pull you along. you let him guide you toward the exit, your heart racing in time with the pounding music.

the music grew louder as you climbed the stairs, a deep bassline thrumming in your chest like a second heartbeat. the soft glow of neon lights filtered through the narrow stairwell, going dimmer until you reached the deck. outside, the air was crisp and carried the faint saltiness of the sea.

the deck was just like downstairs—bodies dancing in rhythm, laughter ringing out above the pulsing music, and bursts of celebration as corks popped from champagne bottles. felix’s hand brushed against yours, and when you glanced at him, he raised an eyebrow. away from the clamor, tucked into a shadowed corner where the neon lights softened to a subtle glow, felix found a small, secluded alcove near the railing. it felt like a world apart, a quiet pocket of peace with nothing but the open ocean stretching beyond.

you drifted toward the railing, your steps slow and deliberate as if drawn by the water’s quiet pull. leaning forward, you rested your arms on the smooth metal and gazed down at the foam churning against the yacht’s hull. the faint, rhythmic lapping of the waves was a soothing counterpoint to the muffled music behind you.

the weight of felix’s gaze was unmistakable, and you felt it like a physical thing pressing against your back. when you glanced over your shoulder, his eyes were locked on you, dark and unreadable, but with a heat that made your breath catch. the way he looked at you like he was memorizing every detail, sent a shiver skimming down your spine.

without thinking, you turned fully to face him. the faint curve of his smirk faltered, replaced by something softer as you took a step closer. his name lingered on the tip of your tongue, unspoken, as your hand reached for his, threading your fingers through his in a single, decisive motion. then, with a steady but gentle pull, you guided him backward until his shoulders met the smooth wall of the yacht.

"not wasting any time, are you?" he murmured, his voice deep and teasing.

instead of answering, you stepped into him, your body aligning with his, and brought your hands up to rest lightly on his chest. his breath hitched as you tilted your head, your lips brushing his in a kiss that started soft before deepening. your mouth parted upon reaching his lips, before closing fully around them. the moment your mouth fully captured his, he groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you.

his hands found your waist, his grip firm yet deliberate, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you closer or let you take the lead. you didn’t give him the chance to decide. your fingers slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him down to you as your body pressed flush against his.

his lips parted under yours, the faint taste of whiskey and something sweet lingering on his tongue as the kiss grew deeper, messier. you couldn’t help the quiet, breathless sound that escaped you, and the way his grip on your waist tightened told you he’d noticed. one of his hands slid up your back, fingers brushing along your spine in a way that made you shiver. the other stayed on your hip, steadying you as your knees threatened to give out.

you broke apart just long enough to gasp for air, your lips brushing against his as you whispered his name, your voice low and shaky. his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. “you’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rough with something between a laugh and a groan.

your only response was to kiss him again, this time slower but no less heated. his hands roamed your sides, slipping under the hem of your top just enough for his fingers to graze the warm skin beneath. the feeling sent a jolt through you, and you pulled back slightly, your lips swollen and your breath ragged as you met his gaze.

his eyes were heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide, and the way he was looking at you made you feel like the only person in the world. “you’re so beautiful,” he said softly, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

the corner of your mouth lifted into a lazy smile as you reached up, your fingers feather-light as they traced the edge of his collarbone where it peeked out from the neckline of his shirt. felix’s eyes dropped immediately, watching the movement like he was mesmerized. his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet.

you tilted your head, studying him through half-lidded eyes. “what?” you teased, your voice low, a little slurred. “something wrong?”

his gaze snapped back to yours, and the way he looked at you was almost disbelieving. “you can’t—” he stopped, his voice catching slightly. he exhaled sharply, his hands tightening on your waist. “you can’t look at me like that.”

a laugh escaped you, soft and teasing, before you leaned down and pressed your lips to the curve of his collarbone. his reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his head tipping back slightly as his hands twitched against your sides. encouraged, you kissed the spot again, this time letting your lips linger a fraction longer.

“is that okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost shy.

his response came fast. “yes. god, yes.”

you smiled against his skin, your drunken mind letting go of any hesitation. you kissed the same spot again, slow and deliberate, before moving down the line of his collarbone, your lips parting slightly to trail open-mouthed kisses along his skin. his chest rose and fell under your touch, each kiss drawing a sharp inhale or a quiet sound from him that only spurred you on.

when you reached the base of his neck, his breath hitched audibly. without thinking, you pressed your lips there, rougher this time, and his hand gripped your hip like it was the only thing keeping him steady. you nipped at the skin lightly, testing, before sucking harder, your teeth pinching it just enough to make him jolt.

“shit,” he hissed, his voice strained but desperate. “don’t stop.”

you paused just long enough to laugh, the sound vibrating against his neck. “seemed like it hurt though” you teased, kissing the spot softly as if in apology.

“yeah, but…” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “don’t stop, baby.”

“what?” you muttered, your lips brushing his skin as you pulled back slightly. you tilted your head, looking up at him through your lashes, your fingers toying with his shirt.

a flicker of nervousness flashed through his eyes. “it just… spilled out, i don’t know, i’ve drunk a lot,” he said, his voice quieter now, like he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

you smiled, slow and warm, and your fingertips grazed his jaw. “i like it,” you murmured, your voice soft but certain. you leaned back in, pressing a kiss to the spot just above his collarbone, your lips lingering. “baby.”

felix let out a shaky exhale, his hands twitching on your hips. “god,” he murmured, his voice low and strained. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you hummed in response, your lips curling into a sly smile against his skin. you kissed him again, harder this time, your teeth grazing the spot. he melted into you, his head tipping back against the wall, exposing more of his neck to you like an offering.

his chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths as you continued, planting kiss after kiss along his collarbone, pausing only to flick your tongue against the skin before pulling back to suck just hard enough to leave your mark. you didn’t hesitate, letting your drunken instincts guide you as you pressed your lips to his pulse point. it was warm and steady beneath your mouth, and the sound he made spurred you on. you sucked harder this time, your teeth grazing his skin just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.

your lips were still pressed to felix’s neck when, suddenly, he stiffened under your touch. his hands, which had been steady and reverent on your waist, tightened abruptly. before you could react, he pulled back, his eyes dark and wild, his chest heaving like he was struggling to catch his breath.

“felix?” you whispered, your voice unsteady as you tried to read the storm in his expression.

he didn’t answer—not with words. instead, in one fluid motion, he grabbed your wrists, his grip firm but not painful, and spun you around. your back met the cool surface of the wall with a soft thud, and you let out a surprised gasp, your eyes wide as you stared up at him.

his body was so close, his heat pressing into you, his hands now planted on either side of your head as though to cage you in. he lowered his head, his face dipping into the crook of your neck, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

the sound of him inhaling deeply, his nose grazing your skin, sent a shiver skimming down your spine. “you smell so good,” he muttered, his voice rough and barely above a growl. the raw intensity of it made your stomach flip, your heart hammering in your chest.

“it’s okay,” you murmured, your voice soft, and soothing, though your own breathing was uneven. you brought your hands up, your fingers brushing over his arms lightly. “felix, it’s okay.”

he nodded against your neck, his movements almost frantic, and then his lips were on you—hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed to the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. his hands gripped your hips, rougher now, his fingers digging into your flesh like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

his lips trailed fire down your neck, each kiss igniting a blaze that spread through your body. his mouth was rough and hungry, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your knees weak. you clutched at his biceps now, your fingers curling into the taut muscle beneath his shirt as if that was the only thing tethering you to reality.

the roughness of his grip on your hips contrasted with the tenderness that usually radiated from him. felix was different now—less patient, less careful, his every touch desperate, insistent. it was like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of you, and you felt yourself sinking deeper into the haze of him.

your back pressed harder against the wall as he leaned his weight into you, his body completely crowding yours. all you could feel was him—his warmth, his need, the way his lips desperately painted you, dragging you impossibly closer.

the sharp edge of his jaw brushed against your cheek as he kissed his way back up, lips meeting yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. his movements were messy and unrestrained, and you matched him with equal fervor, too lost in the moment to care about anything else.

the wind whipped around you, the faint scent of salt and sea lingering in the air, but even that was overpowered by the heady scent of felix. the muffled sound of waves lapping against the yacht seemed so far away now, as did the thought that anyone could stumble across you like this. you should care—you would care—but his hands slid up your sides, rough and commanding, and every coherent thought you had dissolved into nothing.

your world narrowed down to him. his touch, his lips, the way his voice came out rough and broken when he muttered your name like a prayer against your skin. you forgot where you were, forgot everything but the way he made you feel—like the storm he carried inside him had seeped into you, leaving you breathless and burning.

“god, i just—” his voice was muffled against your skin, broken and desperate. “i can’t— i don’t want to hold back anymore.” he bit lightly at your neck, making you gasp, and he froze, pulling back just slightly. “was that too much, baby? tell me if it’s too much.”

you shook your head quickly, your own body trembling with need. “no, it’s not. i like it. i want you, felix.”

that seemed to snap the last thread of his restraint. with a low groan, he tilted his head, capturing your lips in a kiss so hungry, so full of need, it left you dizzy. his hands slid up your sides, pushing under your shirt to rest against the bare skin of your waist, the heat of his touch making you arch into him.

“you drive me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick and heavy. “you don’t even realize, do you? how much i like you?”

“i do,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. “i do.” you repeated.

his eyes darkened, and he leaned in again, his kisses rougher now, more insistent. his hands moved with the same urgency, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck while the other trailed down to your thigh, gripping it firmly and hitching your leg up to his hip.

“you’re so…,” he muttered, his voice low and almost reverent as he looked down at you, his gaze raking over your form. “so perfect. like you were made to fit right here, with me.”

your cheeks burned at his words, but before you could respond, he pressed his body closer, pinning you against the wall with a desperation that sent your pulse racing. his lips were everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your collarbone—leaving a trail of heat in their wake. every kiss, every touch, was filled with an intensity that left you breathless.

“god, i can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, his voice raw. “i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

you smiled softly, reaching up to cup his face and grounding him with your touch. “then lose it,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tremble in your body. “i’m right here.”

felix’s breath was ragged as he pulled back slightly, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes squeezed shut like he was fighting an internal war. his hands were still on your hips, trembling slightly as though he were using every ounce of willpower to keep himself grounded.

“baby, i can’t,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and filled with regret. he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze, and the conflict there made your chest tighten. “not here. not tonight. you deserve better than a drunken night on my friend’s yacht.”

you blinked at him, your lips parted as his words sank in. “then we stop where you want to. wherever feels right for both of us,” you whispered, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palms.

felix’s chest rose and fell under your touch as your words hung in the air between you. slowly, his hands on your waist tightened slightly, grounding himself. “i’m fine with what we’re doing right now,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but laced with a quiet intensity. his lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile, and you felt your heart skip at the way he looked at you—open and unguarded.

“me too,” you whispered, your fingertips brushing lightly against his chest before trailing up to his collarbone. your gaze dropped, catching sight of the faint marks you’d left on his skin. the sight sent a jolt through you. “they look good on you, by the way,” you said, your voice soft as your fingers hovered over one of the marks, resisting the urge to touch it again. the blush that crept up his neck only made him more endearing, but there was no mistaking the way his pupils dilated at your words. his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching.

“yeah?” he rasped, his voice lower now, rough around the edges. his gaze flickered over your face before it dropped lower, catching on the curve of your neck.

you tilted your head, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as you raised an eyebrow at him. “you’re gonna walk back out there like this?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the blooming marks trailing along his neck.

felix’s brows furrowed for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “why shouldn’t i?” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something darker—something that made your pulse quicken.

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at him, though the sound was cut short when he shifted closer, the wall behind you pressing firmly against your back. “oh, i don’t know,” you mused, looking up at him through your lashes, “maybe because your parents trusted their angel son to be responsible with his girlfriend for the week.”

felix’s jaw tightened at your words, but there was a flicker of a smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. he leaned back slightly, giving you just enough space to meet his gaze fully. “so what if they see?” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “i mean, if anything, this just shows how you’re not the angel they thought you were.”

your eyes widened, and a mix of surprise and indignation flashed across your face. “are you framing me right now?” you asked, pouting as you jabbed a finger into his chest. “you’re the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, lee felix.”

he let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest as his hands settled on your waist again, his thumbs stroking over the fabric of your dress. “i’m just looking out for myself,” he teased.

you scoffed, narrowing your eyes at him as a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “fine, then how about this,” you said, tilting your head as you slid your hands up to his shoulders. “why don’t you just return the favor? that way, we’ll split the blame fifty-fifty when your parents come back.”

felix’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous and teasing all at once. “now that’s fair,” he murmured, his voice dropping as he leaned in closer. before you could respond, he ducked his head, diving into the curve of your neck with no hesitation. his lips pressed hot against your skin, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp as he worked with full intent to leave hickeys.

god, you really wished you didn’t have to regret this tomorrow.

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