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ybklix · 4 months ago

Text

the project

★ pairing: softdom!bangchan x inexperiencedfem!reader

✦summary: Just when you were a little upset about being assigned to a partner on an important project because you felt he was not very competent, you gradually discovered how much he can help you, more than you could have imagined.

♡ genre - warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, college au, cunnilingus, dry humping, fingering, clitplay, marking, pet names, slight praise and corruption kink, multiple orgasms, slow burn maybe

word count: 7.7k

request ⭑.ᐟ (sorry if it took so long babesss ly)

masterlist - taglist ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

miniplaylist: earn it by the weeknd / motive by ariana grande / fetish by selena gomez

notes: reader wears glasses

“Alright, before you go, I posted in the announcements who you will be doing the project with, please check well who you were assigned with” sentenced the teacher, taking his stuff.

You sighed, you had completely forgotten to check your notification tray for any notice from the app assigned by your professors for your subjects. You quickly grabbed your cell phone, unlocking it to look for your name next to another of your classmates to work together, you wanted to check it now so you wouldn't let go of whoever you were assigned to on a project of high importance to you.

And there it was. Bang Chan. You didn’t have any expression, you didn’t know him very well, but his face sure was quite familiar to everyone. You looked up in search of your partner, reflexively adjusting your glasses, and looked around the room until you found the guy, who was also sitting there checking his cell phone, and looked up to look for you, exchanging glances.

Chan was quite popular, charming, he was attractive and athletic but he also had a taste for complicated subjects, after all he was in a career where merely numbers and physics were required. And your project was something you were not going to take lightly, besides you had a short time period, it was just Thursday and the professor wanted the most perfect project on Monday and, you knew he was secretly hoping for something extraordinary as you were the best in his class.

You saw Chan approach you, and you couldn’t help but judge him at first sight, he was popular, he was part of a fraternity, and he had a reputation among women; deep inside you felt that he was not the perfect candidate to pair in an academic project but you tried to relax and not stress too much, it would only be a quantum model of which you already had your objective and ideas of what to do, the problem was a bit of paperwork where you had to explain in detail perfectly every part of the model, followed by a few long equations that made your head hurt just thinking about them.

You couldn’t help it, school and your major were never something you joked about, you were there to study and excel if at all possible, you loved to retain information and be complimented on your hard work, and you were always an overachiever from day one.

Finally, after years of sharing the same major, for the first time you observed Bang Chan up close and in detail. You looked up as he was standing and you were sitting. He really was handsome and you recognized him instantly, he had a face in perfect harmony with the rest of his muscular body, he was wearing all black, black combat boots, black jeans slightly tight on his thick athletic thighs and a plain black cloth shirt, highlighting more his tanned ivory skin. You suddenly felt nervous, after all you weren’t a robot and you were still a young woman, stressed out and a college student spending more time on campus than anywhere else; so your brain instantly processed that he was one of the most handsome and popular men on campus, near you, paying attention to you.

“Y/n, you’re my partner, for the project,” he said, with a tender smile revealing unusual dimples beside his smile.

You nodded being a little surprised that he knew who you were instantly, also thinking that you had never heard his voice before, the class wasn’t that interactive anyway, in fact almost none of them were, so you rarely heard him speak in the four classes you shared. You didn’t know what exactly you felt inside you… but you liked it, you were starting to recognize Chan’s hype, from what commonly many other girls thought, yes he was attractive and he took advanced physics classes with that face? It seemed unreal.

You suddenly thought that to take advanced physics classes was for a reason, it seemed criminal to have that face, body and reputation but in the mornings to take hard subjects.

“Mmhum” you hummed coming out of your trance, concentrating on the main thing, the project, “I have an idea of what to do, I can divide what materials we would occupy, to work together and do it, if you want to discuss what it is, we can go outside and talk…”

“Okay, let’s go but I’m sure I’ll agree with you” he suddenly interrupted you, leaving you with the words unfinished in your mouth and this one slightly open.

You nodded again and stood up abruptly, finally walking out of the room.

Chan saw you with tenderness, the truth was that for a long time you had caught his attention and he had his eye on you. Since last semester, in one of your final projects before leaving for summer vacation, since then Chan has not stopped thinking about you, since you spoke so clearly and confidently, like a little know-it-all, you were like a challenge for him, something so unreachable and difficult to achieve; since then he did not associate with more women and lived his day to day with the satisfaction of seeing you far away from the classroom. It seemed like he wasn’t, but he really got shy when it came to you, as he had you on a pedestal where you were a beautiful girl, intelligent, worried about her grades and made proper use of the university campus, genuinely studying. Chan had this innocent crush on you —at the beginning—, you had a nerdy, innocent and docile appearance and your voice was so unique, from one day to the next you drove him crazy and, when he found out that by fate you would work on a project and that there was a perfect excuse to get close to you, his heart wanted to burst out of his chest and he almost went running to give head to his professor for choosing such a perfect match, finally, after months of just seeing you.

Chan sighed, following you and listening attentively to you speak, completely fascinated in you and finding it difficult to retain the information you were telling him about something extremely important and which you spoke passionately about, all his mind could see was you, moving your lips, while the wind moved your hair gracefully, for him you were just saying blah blah, Chan; he only retained information when you pronounced his name. Chan licked his lips, absorbed in your eyes and then your lips, leaning towards you, causing you a little nervousness. Chan frowned softly, his hands clasped behind his back, nodding, pretending to be listening to you. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, the excitement and innocence of liking and being interested in someone; before you, he lived from one-night stands and on the edge, trying every girl, until he was satisfied, but you, there really was genuine interest.

“Ammh, can you text me everything anyway to my number?” he said, absolutely lost on the topic as he focused on your sudden closeness.

You nodded with a smile that made him melt, he liked you way too much and immediately handed you his cell phone so you could take down your number.

“Mm, how about if we start working on this from tomorrow? I think it will take some time and if we do it sooner is better” you commented, to which Chan nodded frantically at your slightest request.

Then he thought, he had to tutor students in grades below him, go to the gym and then he had a birthday party for one of his dorm mates; but he couldn’t say no to you, he could cancel everything if possible to spend the whole day with you, plus of course, the project was important.

You bit the inside of your cheek somewhat nervously, feeling kind of silly that the only times you invite a cute guy to meet and see each other is only for college work.

“How about tomorrow at 5?” you said again.

Chan felt so fulfilled, it wasn’t a date but he would finally see you outside the classroom, close up.

“Sure! There’s a coffee shop around here two blocks from campus, let’s go tomorrow to work on the project and if you want to eat I’m buying, it doesn’t matter” he smiled at you.

Now you were the one who was somehow captivated by his smile.

“Yes…”

“I’ll send you the address to meet us there.”

Chan was more than excited to at least spend more time with you.

[…]

You were particularly nervous for some reason, since yesterday you kept thinking that genuinely Chan looked like a nice guy, he was kind, attentively answered your messages and easily understood every single thing you told him about the topic for the assignment. Plus he was quite attractive. And your friends started to bother you a little bit too, making you rethink the whole situation…

In your time in college you only concentrated on your classes, you did have the occasional crush on the occasional guy, but no one worth your valuable time. So you got over it right away and went on with your quiet —and stressful— college life, however… that had led you to be completely inexperienced. The issue never bothered you, until you were about to meet another attractive man whom you had a concept that he was absolutely the opposite of you, partying, sociable and charismatic.

But once you arrived and found him there, you realized the similarities you shared, after all you were both studying the same major. You got to know him a little, relaxing the atmosphere, you learned that he had studied to please his father but that somehow he was great at mathematics which softened his studies. That he tutored and that he played a lot of sports. He really seemed nice and his eyes sparkled when he talked to you, an inexplicable fact for you, a reality that he was talking to his crush, for Chan.

And then it was time to meet you. You didn’t quite know what to say, more that your major choice was a matter of enjoyment and you were happy studying what you had been chosen to study. You felt slightly silly since there wasn’t much to say, or at least you thought so at the time.

Then between the pleasant conversation and a cup of coffee for you, and three for Chan, you continued working on the written work, both concentrated and absorbed that the time passed so fast for you, giving you 10 o'clock at night, just the closing time of the coffee shop.

You both picked up your things in sorrow, you had made enough progress, but there was still quite a bit left to do and that made you uneasy somehow, you couldn’t help it, you were going to be quiet until it was finished or almost done, so you suddenly blurted out:

“You live in a frat, right?”

“Mmhu, yes” Chan replied somewhat embarrassed.

He suddenly felt pathetic to be part of such an outdated tradition system.

You sighed, you both carried all the stuff to make the model and had to assemble it as soon as possible. Once again the cool autumn wind hit your bodies.

“We can go to my apartment to… continue” you added, looking him in the eyes and avoiding using the word finish so Chan wouldn’t be forced and feel it tedious.

Chan nodded softly when in reality he was more than excited to meet your place. The two of you took an app ride to your building just a few minutes away from campus.

You weren’t a big fan of college dorms and you weren't interested in joining a sorority either, so a quiet apartment in a neighborhood in the middle of the busy city was more than enough for you.

Chan didn’t think he was able to contain his excitement, watching you fondly in the night light as you made your way to your apartment; until finally arriving where he naturally asked you:

“And do you have roomates?”

He found it a bit impressive that you live a bit far from campus in a decent building on your own.

“Umhm, at the moment I don’t have any but I’m looking and I have candidates.”

Chan nodded in understanding and inwardly thinking that it would be more than a treat to be able to see your apartment. You really were looking for a roommate, living alone and being a college student paying for everything could be stressful.

“You can leave things on the table” you said, also leaving your laptop there.

He listened to you and slyly looked around the place. It was a nice place, with just enough room for you and someone else, with a big window reflecting the lights from the building across the street. You a little, not uncomfortable, but strange to have a man in your apartment looked so out of the ordinary, if you were even sharing time with another man was something abnormal, let alone a handsome and popular guy like Chan was.

“Well…” you spoke, somewhat nervously, lifting your glasses to rest the bridge of your nose for a second, rubbing it gently, suddenly you looked into the kitchen and were embarrassed to realize you hadn’t eaten and he would probably be hungry, “God, I never asked, do you want some dinner? I tend to forget about food when I’m under some pressure.”

Chan looked at you tenderly at first as you spoke, then his expression changed to one of concern.

“Are you skipping meals? Are you stressed now?”

His sudden answers surprised you.

“Oh, no, it’s just that… I usually work and do homework continuously that it’s very common that from time to time, I don’t eat, but if you want to do it we can order something, it’s kind of late” you answered somewhat nervously, the tiredness and Chan’s attractive image in your apartment were starting to be a certain kind of effect.

“Alright. Let’s order something” he smiled, Chan wasn’t that hungry but hearing that you used to skip meals he wanted you to be fed well instantly, besides if you were going to finish the project, he wanted to have all the energy he needed.

You smiled nervously and soon after you started your activity, you typed fast in your essay, Chan was in charge of assembling the model without difficulty. Then dinner arrived, both of you were already tired, your only time to stop was in the small talk in the coffee shop and when you headed to your place.

“Can you pick up dinner? I’ll go change” you blurted out suddenly, in a deep tone of voice as you were tired, a little more relaxed with Chan.

He saw you, he was surprised, since you had not spoken to each other for minutes since you were both concentrated in what you were doing —unlike him who also paid attention to you from once in a while—, your tone of voice seemed to him suddenly and somehow, something so captivating and seductive that he kept watching you, who you, without taking any notice of Chan standing in front of you on the other side of the table, took off the oversized cardigan you were wearing, somewhat exhausted in search of something more comfortable to be in your own apartment, leaving you only with the thin white tank top you were wearing underneath that garment.

Chan couldn’t believe it, he was transfixed and completely hypnotized by your action, absorbed seeing every detail, slightly exposing your chest through the circular neckline of the blouse, your shoulders, your arms and your figure tightly wrapped in the fabric. Chan swallowed nervously clenching his fist, he felt so pathetic going crazy just because you showed so little of your skin. His eyes traveled quickly all over your body, not wanting to miss any detail.

You noticed it, you felt his gaze on you and saw him confused, you felt so watched and analyzed, you could only say:

“I’ll go to… put on something more comfortable.”

Chan reacted instantly, letting out a nervous chuckle and nodding, turning to pick up the food left at your door. You didn’t know exactly how to feel, his gaze was so new to you, you had never felt such expressive eyes glued to you from another boy…. or probably they used to look at you like that, but you never paid attention to them, but with Chan, it was inevitable not to pay attention to him, he was with you, alone, in such a nice night; your mind was spinning, thinking about the infinity of things that usually means when two young people are alone and attracted to each other but, did you really like Chan or were you already losing your mind because of tiredness and stress, you didn’t know well, you were ridiculously inexperienced that your concept of attraction was maybe based on movies or experiences told by your friends.

Still you decided to ignore the thoughts and wanted to get comfortable at home, you had been wearing jeans for hours and you were dying to take them off, you would take off your bra if you could but you didn’t feel confident enough, so you left that tank top on and put on the comfortable shorts, your body was starting to heat up and you knew exactly why, but you didn’t want to accept it. You returned, finding Chan preparing food on the small nightstand between your living room, greeting you with a smile and gently asking you if it was okay to eat there to which you nodded.

Once again, Chan ran his gaze over your body, he had never seen you like this before, the sudden exposure of your body drove him crazy and made him feel sick, nor did he want to feel this way as it seemed unhinged and depraved, but he couldn’t help it, there was no turning back. At first it was a cute crush on you, then it involved a couple of desires and dirty thoughts that wouldn’t leave his mind. Chan, like any interested guy, casually asked among his friends if they knew you to which none of them knew how to answer, only a guy a year older than him, who was also in the same faculty, saying that you were very pretty but that there was no record of you dating on or off campus, that you were so reserved and that he wouldn’t be surprised that you were probably just studying, in the end he revealed that he had confessed to you and you had rejected him without giving him any reason. Chan’s silly and immature friends joked that you might still retain your innocence and that girls with a certain nerdy appearance used to be somewhat transcendental in sex, that they were shy and innocent at first but once you give them your trust to give them pleasure they were…

Chan refused those thoughts outright, dismissed them as misogynistic and was upset for days. He did get to see your innocence but it wasn’t something he fantasized about sexually, in fact, he never fantasized sexually about you, until that comment fucked with his head.

Because it was true, your private life was so private, you were not known to have had or dated anyone on campus and he found you so fucking interesting suddenly overnight, two intentions merged, Chan could desire you so purely by holding your hand and filling you with kisses, at the same time he could desire from you to fill you with his cum and fuck you to exhaustion. At the moment he was balancing the situation so well, he was doing so well that he had learned to stay away so long, as he didn’t know how to handle it, until now when the opportunity to be with you presented itself.

Chan was thinking about the fact that he hadn’t fucked a virgin woman since high school, when he lost his virginity to his first girlfriend too… but you had him all messed up and he could promise to be just as sweet to you if you give him the chance.

He cleared his throat and tried to come out of his trance, but when you approached him it was his dream and doom, looking to him so beautifully carefree in your shorts and tank top; still Chan did his best to behave himself and not want to ruin what he felt was just beginning.

You both started to eat sitting on the floor, close to each other, at first a little awkward, but quickly Chan knew how to soften the atmosphere, saying the right words and bringing up conversation topic after conversation topic, just to take your thoughts away a little, otherwise an incredible tension would have formed, as you were already starting to look at him closely and by the end of the night, you finally recognized how much you could get to like him, he was funny, handsome and you shared the same interests academically, you thought he could even be almost perfect. When you finished and cleaned up a bit, Chan watched you, so determined towards the project, going quickly towards it, ready to finish it, the truth was that you didn’t know exactly how to react, what would be the next move and you just got distracted escaping towards the project. He, somewhat frustrated, continued with you, just to keep breathing your sweet scent and to see your body in your comfortable home clothes.

Half an hour later, the meal instead of lifting Chan’s spirits did quite the opposite, relaxing him and making him tired and sleepy, plus the continuous hard work was beginning to stress him, but being with you rewarded him for everything except the tiredness in him, unfortunately. Chan watched you carefully, working non-stop, talking to him about the project with your deep and slightly tired tone of voice that seemed to Chan so seductive, he was beginning to lose himself, he was between drowsiness and desire, looking boldly at you, without thinking straight, he was about to hush you, take you and put you on his lap so you could both rest and, if possible, he would take you to bed, telling you how hard you work and that you should rest, that college matters, but not as much as yourself.

You once again noticed his heavy gaze on you, you saw how it was so likely that this time he was not paying attention to what you were saying, how he licked his lips and you became more nervous, more than the previous times, there was something so heavy in his presence that you had never felt before, you did not complain but you felt that at any moment it could get out of control… you thought if this was the sexual tension that you had only heard about.

Chan carved his eyes tiredly, he didn’t know how to stop you or tell you no, but your voice was stimulating him more and more, in a way to put him to bed and not exactly to sleep. Chan could only think of how suddenly he wanted to almost kiss you to shut you up and make you feel good.

You had already noticed his behavior, at times he looked tired, at times he looked at you in a way that made your hair stand on end.

Finally, he called your name, so serious, with a tone of voice that surprised you, made you stop talking about equations for a moment and look him straight in the eye. His gaze was dark and penetrating, you had never been seen like that before. You were both sitting next to each other, working close, so Chan leaned towards you, so ready to say what he felt from the start, he didn’t know exactly what he would say but he’d make sure he had you tonight; he was in agony, he couldn’t take it anymore with the sudden tension that escalated quickly and with your particular voice that was starting to excite him to stratospheric levels, and having him there in misery, unable to do anything, that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for.

He licked his lips and every part of you saw it coming, you knew it so deep down, you weren’t that dumb, his look and little actions spoke for themselves, you knew Chan was lusting after you and you panicked slightly not knowing what to do.

“You can take a nap if you want” you suggested kindly with a smile, hiding your nervousness at having him around, “You look tired, it’s okay.”

Chan was about to protest, he saw you confused and got caught in your captivating but hard to read gaze, your glasses reflected his tired body and unsweet intentions, so he decided to take a step back and agree, somehow he felt embarrassed and decided it was still better to keep his distance, even though that wasn’t specifically what he wanted.

He nodded, with a smile and somewhat embarrassed, “Really? You’re okay with that? I don’t want to leave you..”

He did get tired, but now he didn’t know if it was from the continuous work or from not being able to do anything with you.

You didn’t know why you did it, but you grabbed his shoulders and nodded, eyes shining, feeling so good to touch his strong body. You hadn’t touched him, maybe you just wanted to play a little and decided to kill your curiosity, how a man like Chan felt.

Chan subtly saw your hands on his shoulders and lost his mind again, but he sighed, calming down and getting up from his chair to rest his body on the couch. You no longer said anything, again the tension returned, with a silence. As much as Chan didn’t want to think about it, he thought of your smile, the way you spoke to him and of your gaze suddenly meaning so much to him, your bright eyes, almost asking to be touched by him, he could feel it, but he felt paranoid for a second, to which he only let his body fall on your couch, with his forearm on his forehead, the other hand on his abdomen and his head leaning back on a cushion, slowly closing his eyes, shutting off every one of his thoughts for a moment.

But it was true, you didn’t know how to say it, but being touched by Bang Chan just now didn’t sound so crazy to you. You were so ready but so not ready at the same time, you wanted to do it, you didn’t know how to tell him, it scared you since you didn’t know how to do it and you were in a continuous internal battle. You were slightly insecure, he was handsome and popular, with much more experience than you and, maybe it was something typical that you like Chan, since everybody likes him, but you were dying to try him even once…

Fifteen minutes later, of which you found incredibly stressful, as you continued to work on the project, chasing away every thought and more than okay with Chan staying quiet and napping on your couch, as you liked him incredibly well, you checked the time and became a little alert when you saw that it was almost one in the morning and you had no notion of time, you understood that Chan’s tiredness was justifiable and almost necessary and you were already starting to feel more stressed, as well as embarrassed by the fact that you had kept Chan working on the project so late. You reproached yourself, debating whether to wake him up and tell him that you could continue tomorrow, that it was almost done and you were missing something so minimal… or if you should let him stay over just for tonight since it was late.

You didn’t think so much about it though, as you suddenly felt large hands on your shoulders, massaging you and scaring you slightly. Chan giggled, he had woken up, more energetic and with the great intensity and willpower to try with you, something in him told him so and it was something he couldn’t ignore, so, without you noticing, he came up behind you, finding you still in the same position, working.

“God, Y/N, you need to relax, okay? It’s late you should rest, you’re really working hard on this.”

Your body tensed incredibly more, you really didn’t expect it, much less that he was touching you, with a slightly thicker voice than usual. You raised your gaze, his long fingers were still resting on your shoulders, magically he looked better than a moment ago, more energetic and with a flirtatious expression on his face.

“You’re awake already…” you replied nervously, not wanting to scare him away, like a few minutes ago.

“Just like you, it’s late. Has anyone ever told you how hard you work? Are you usually this demanding of yourself?”

You didn’t understand what was going on, it was as if he had suddenly changed but at the same time he was still the same and there was something that pleased you so much, like the sudden touch towards you.

You nodded, somewhat submissive with your head spinning not knowing how to react properly. Chan took the chair with agility, sitting down in front of you, stopping touching you and leaving you perplexed, blinking slowly letting you think that you were so tired that maybe you fell asleep deeply and that all this was just a dream. But it was so real and suddenly you were so awake.

“Leave all that for a moment…” he whispered slowly, gently removing the pencil from your hand and placing it on the table, “Let me take care of you.”

“What?”

Chan didn’t touch you again, he just stared at you, long and determined seconds that made you feel the lack of him in you. He leaned back in the chair, enjoying your tender expression of confusion. He had enough, he would try, he would do it for the incredible, heavy tension between you, and if you didn’t want to, he was going to understand but he already knew that was so unlikely. So he was direct, he always was, there was just something about you that kept him shy, but not anymore, he wanted you, he needed you, it was almost as if the night was asking for it too, something in the air drew you to each other irrevocably.

“You deserve to relax. I want you. Just tell me what you want, whether you want it or not, I won’t be weird about it afterwards, I promise, I just… can’t get you off my head, I need you.”

“How?” you mumbled, still in disbelief.

Chan smiled sideways, chuckling softly. “You know how. Want me to show you, sweetie?”

You nodded softly, wanting to put all shyness aside but you couldn’t control it, you were turned on and it was your first time in a situation like this, with intense tension that you even heard every breath and loud heartbeat in your ears.

You had done it before, kissing boys but the experiences were so insignificant that you hardly remember it or count it as experience, since you had learned nothing.

Chan moved dangerously close to you, resting his big hands on your bare thighs, stretching slightly and attractively his neck detonating little veins, his big straight nose so close to your face, with a smug smile, he said again:

“Can I kiss you?”

And it took only a small push of your yielding body to touch his lips, feeling at first the softness and plumpness of his full lips at the impact. Your body temperature rose madly, new sensations were taking over your body, it wasn’t the same ones that you had done before, his kisses were deeper, steady and passionate that it was hard to keep up with him and you were in between enjoying and thinking you wanted to do it right.

You let yourself go but you were still tense and Chan noticed it in the instant, with your body slightly trembling, he just wanted to make you feel good so he gently pulled away from you, leaving you missing the feel of his lips.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, squeezing your thighs, feeling your muscle tense.

But your face reflected something else, your eyes were shining seeing every detail of Chan’s face up close, you were so ready but you had the tingle of wanting to get it right. He could see your nervous body, your countenance begging, still he didn’t want to continue if you were going to be nervous and almost resisting, he couldn’t read you clearly, he was really turned on, the slightest interaction with you made his body very blissful.

You denied, you knew you were so stiff and situations like these needed two relaxed bodies giving themselves, you were nervous but decided to confess it:

“It’s just… I want to do it right.”

Chan’s smile widened, your kiss was so tender and shy that thoughts of your innocence came back to his mind, he wanted to try so many things with you and make you explore, but he didn’t want you to feel insecure so he would patiently teach you step by step if necessary.

“It’s okay, baby, let me handle it” he whispered, with an endearing and understanding tone, still close to you, everything about him made you pleasantly uneasy, “I can teach you, just for your pleasure, okay?”

You nodded, lost in him, you noticed he looked genuinely interested and patient. Chan moved away again, leaning back in the chair, rubbing and patting his thigh with his veiny hand that was having an effect on you.

“Come here, to teach you how to do it better, although I was already loving the way you were doing it, princess.”

Chan ran his tongue over the bottom of his front teeth, waiting for you, and for you, every sentence of his almost made you sigh, you were so turned on, you knew exactly the feeling, you needed Chan now. You were a hot mess, you wanted and needed him so quickly and without much thought, you sat on his lap, trying to put your embarrassment aside, you sat down facing him, with your legs in the air on either side of the chair, Chan was surprised and felt so delightful your weight on his erection, he didn’t think you were going to position yourself like that but you left him absolutely charmed.

“I’m going to kiss you, try to keep up with me and move your sweet lips over mine, relax and let yourself go, beautiful, okay?”

He again took hold of your face with one hand and the other held your waist, you felt his sweet kiss at the same time you were dealing with the bulge between his pants pressing against your pussy. He was so hard, you could feel it if only through the slightly thick, rough denim of his black jeans. Chan was dressed so attractively, in a plain white shirt and leather jacket that he left on the rack in your entryway, with long silver chains decorating his collar and thick bracelets on his right wrist. You could feel how big he was, despite having clothes on, the thought of seeing a cock for the first time made your skin bristle with excitement, just imagining Chan, as something in yourself told you he should look so fucking good naked.

“Open your mouth wider” he whispered, panting and over your lips after a loud crash of your lips, as you parted almost non-existent inches apart.

You obeyed him and agilely he took you again, this time introducing his tongue and making the act slower and more sensual, so captivating that he even managed to relax you, you only lived from the sensation of letting yourself be carried away by him and with your face leaning on his hand. They had never made you feel this way that you slowly resented your throbbing pussy in desperation, suddenly so wet begging for attention.

“Mmm, I love your kisses, fuck” he mumbled senselessly as he pulled inches away from you.

You kept kissing, his face colliding with your glasses, but you didn’t want to take them off as you didn’t want to miss any tiny detail every time you parted for seconds. Chan, sesually and panting moved his kisses down your neck, filling your body more with euphoric and new sensations, his lips brushed your neck, giving soft and small sounding kisses until he subtly licked it, to suck your sensitive skin, using his teeth, causing you a pleasurable and short sting that reached every corner of your body, making you moan and leaving a mark on you.

His hands went down to your torso, to lift your blouse and finally feel the brush of his hands across your soft skin, he squeezed of your body, slowly lowering his lips, resisting the urge to fuck you hard, enduring the pain of his throbbing stiff cock trapped in his pants and being pressed against your body and you continued to feel his lips and the brush of his nose and heavy breathing across your skin going lower and lower, as well as constant little nibbles, leaving fresh new hickeys on you, Chan couldn’t help it, he was going crazy with the idea of you just being his, leaving reddish marks on you and biting your sensitive skin and it just turned you on so much. Reaching your chest, you twitched your body a little, moving it sharply and surprising Chan by the pleasurable friction of you on his cock. He grunted and pulled his lips away from your skin for a second and, almost as if an imaginary light bulb lit up above your head, you understood that being on his erection also made him feel good, as much as it made you feel good, since his erection was rubbing against your pussy, covered only by your wet panties and thin shorts; so you moved, stirring on his cock and intentionally grinding it harder.

Chan moaned, letting out soft, sonorous “A-aah, mmm” and then he raised his gaze, staring into your eyes, causing you to shiver at his lustful stare.

“Fuck, you want to move for me? Go ahead, baby, go fucking enjoy my cock with your clothes on, fuck, are you a little horny? Unable to wait and fucking me with your clothes on. Go ahead, enjoy and cum for me like this” he licked his lips, leveling his face with yours, talking to you in such a sultry tone that it made your cheeks burn.

You were so uselessly horny that you were enjoying to the fullest bouncing on Chan’s cock under the hard denim, pressing all over your pussy, your labia, moving them nimbly that it made you blur your vision.

“Yes-Keep moving, baby, you’re doing so good, beautiful.”

His voice aroused you more and more bringing you so close to your orgasm, you were so concentrated in the sensation of your movements on his cock, you couldn’t stop, you moved your hips and Chan helped you with his hands squeezing your waist; you felt so hot and trapped, so desperate to get your clothes off but you didn’t want to stop, you weren’t going to stop until you were tired, it was as if you had no choice but to climax right now, just like this. Chan watched with desire and tenderness your very focused and excited expression, sighing and straining to make you feel good at the same time you were making him feel that effect on him, squeezing his cock so hard, expelling precum and not so far from his ejaculation.

He admired the marks on your skin, witness and proof of what was happening, the top girl in the class, all aroused rubbing herself on her classmate’s cock, seeking pleasure and her climax. Chan bit his lower lip and caught your lips again, touching your restless and desperate body, he was about to cum. You were starting to get tired but it was a tiredness inexplicably so hot, your chest was burning from the constant strong heartbeat, you were at your limit and you were doing almost nothing, but both of you were a mess of heaving breaths, Chan didn’t want to change anything about you either at that moment, he just squeezed you tightly enjoying every movement until he cum inside his underwear, in a gasp, throwing his head back, feeling one pressure release pleasantly but another coming so abruptly and quickly not wanting to finish yet with you. You held onto his shoulders tightly, pressed your legs into his body, Chan knew you were close so he encouraged you, with a kiss on your mouth half open and words that warmed even your ears:

“Go on, cum, princess, let yourself go… Cum for me.”

You gasped in despair and a little high-pitched moan, you cum all over your panties, leaving you flushed, breathless and with your pussy sticky. Seconds later you wanted to catch your breath, you still felt immobile before his big hands squeezing your body, you were at levels of agitation you didn’t think you’d reach in the near future with another guy.

Chan also had his breath hitching, yet the thought of still not even remotely finishing with you came back to him, reflecting a smile on his face.

“Let me take care of you, okay?”

You looked at him with big pitying eyes which drove him crazy. Chan thought about the idea of your pussy a little battered from being in constant motion with the hard friction of his clothes, he wanted to treat and tend to your sensitive center, now, he needed it.

“Yes, Chan.”

“That’s my good girl” he said proudly, shuddering every inch of you, you felt so good he said little things to you, “Where are you most comfortable, baby? Huh.”

You looked at him for only short seconds, you were so excited and filled with the accelerated feeling not knowing what his next moves would be on you, you were more than willing for anything, for him to take you and fuck you, you just wanted to be filled with that sensation again and more with someone like Chan, who looked so sure of what he was doing and looked so fucking good doing it and in a mode of excitement and pleasure, every part of him was transpiring sex and you were losing your mind little by little.

“In my room, in the hallway of…”

You weren’t even finished, when Chan stood up, carrying you, grabbing your ass and carrying you to your room where he left you sitting on one of the edges of the bed, your feet touching the floor, he positioned himself on his knees in front of you.

“Do you want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?” he said again, once more so excited, about nothing short of taking your clothes off.

“Yes, Chan, p-please.”

You were so needy again, you wanted to be filled with the extreme sensation that seemed to have no end. He smiled.

“I’m going to take off your tiny shorts and panties, yes sweetie?”

You nodded, excited and nervous that he is about to see your private part, but it was throbbing intensely, it was again getting more lubricated and wanted to be treated with attention. Chan tugged at your shorts and panties at the same time, impatient to taste you and merely seeking your pleasure.

He slid the garments down your legs until they were off and admired your wet, glistening pussy, somehow it looked slightly swollen, begging to be attended to and touched.

“You try hard and work hard, you deserve to get your stress off, let me do it…”

Chan said it, in such a thick voice so lost in the image of your pussy. You were so nervous, almost wanting to shiver but you moaned as you felt his lips on the skin of your mons pubis, giving you kisses and leaving little hickeys, nibbling the area, until his mouth took your clit, making you squeal; you were beginning to relax and let yourself be carried away by the tingling of the tip of his index finger caressing your soft, moist vulva, playing with your wetness, until two of his fingers teased your entrance until he inserted his fingers, while his mouth never let go of your sensitive spot, licking and sucking it gently, causing you pleasure and the beginning of trembling in your legs.

Chan fucked you gently and deeply for a few moments, teasing you and reaching sweet places inside your tight pussy, but he withdrew his fingers from you, positioned both his hands on your thighs, squeezing them gently and began to move his mouth all the way down your vulva, licking the right places, sucking delightfully on your labia and filling himself with you, from his chin to his nose, so focused working on you. You felt so hot, somehow he looked so good eating you out while you were a panting mess, arching your back and being pleasured.

He stroked your clit again and sucked gently but with moderate intensity, humming mmm, that caused a sweet vibration in you, you were feeling so good you could feel your second orgasm again. Chan parted your folds so he could rub his mouth better inside them, you were so satisfied you thought of the myth that college boys didn’t know how to eat pussy, but no one like Chan, doing it so expertly he had you soaking wet, whimpering and shivering just with his lips, tongue, and mouth. He moved inches away from your pussy, to spread your entrance with his hand and insert his tongue deep. At the same time, his finger again caressed your clit, bringing you to orgasm, contracting your legs, being careful with him between them, arching your back, and in a loud moan calling out his name, the great sexual tension built up was released with his mouth on your pussy.

Chan didn’t stop working on you until he stopped feeling your last intense trembling and stopped watching your body collapse until it became softer tremors and he smiled. He didn’t think he could leave you alone for now, let alone finish the project now that you were just starting, but right now, his satisfaction was to fulfill his goal, by making you feel good and de-stress a little because you were worth it and deserved it. He was there to give you a good time.

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tokkiwrites · 2 months ago

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𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗.

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part two • part three

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants.

tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, p in v unprotected, breeding kink.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ me writing angst?? wow could never imagine it. i hope you guys like this i dunno what came over me. almost 7k (oops) words of hurt confusion and a filthy finish to dry your tears. not proofread!!

The house smelled like home, like it always had. Fresh cut grass from the lawn, the faint scent of laundry detergent, and the crisp autumn air breezing in through the windows. But the warmth that had once filled it felt absent now, replaced by the coolness of change. A change you hadn’t been able to brace for. Your mother had finally met someone after years of being alone, and that someone was Joel Miller.

You sat at the kitchen table, your fingers trailing the edge of your mug, staring at the steam rising from your coffee. The engagement ring on her finger glinted as she poured a second cup of coffee, smiling to herself. You couldn’t take your eyes off it—the gold band, the small, delicate stone. Joel had chosen it.

"Can you believe it?" she said, laughing lightly. "I didn’t think I’d find someone after your father. But Joel... he’s good to me."

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, Mom. I can tell."

You knew he was good to her. You saw it every time they were together. The way he would brush his hand over her back when he passed her, the way he’d laugh at her jokes. The way she looked at him, like he was everything she had wanted but had never thought to ask for.

But that wasn’t what twisted the knife in your chest.

Joel had always been more than just a neighbor. You’d been only nineteen when you started noticing him, the way a girl starts to notice a man—how his shoulders would flex when he lifted something heavy, the rasp in his voice when he spoke to you, low and careful. He was rough around the edges, with that Southern drawl and hands scarred from years of work. A part of you had always wondered what those hands would feel like on you, against your skin, but you never let the thoughts go far. He was older, after all, and back then, it had been nothing more than an innocent crush. But now he was here, in your life in a way you hadn’t imagined, not as some distant neighbor or a fleeting thought, but your mother’s fiancé. The reality of it made your stomach churn, and you hated yourself for the way your heart still skipped a beat whenever he came around.

"I’m glad you like him," your mom continued, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. She took a seat across from you, her eyes soft with affection. "I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about this, but... it means a lot to me that you’re okay with it." You forced a smile, the tightness in your chest growing. "Of course. I just want you to be happy." She reached out and touched your hand. "I am."

You wished you could say the same.

The days stretched into weeks, each one bringing you closer to the wedding. The house buzzed with preparations, your mother caught up in a whirlwind of joy and excitement. You tried to blend into the background, to stay out of the way, but it was impossible. Every time you turned around, Joel was there, a steady, looming presence.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the yard, helping your mom plant some new flowers along the fence. The sun was high in the sky, the heat beating down on your skin. You wiped the sweat from your forehead, focusing on digging the next hole. "Need some help?" Joel’s voice came from behind you, making you jump. You turned, finding him standing there with a shovel in hand, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. He was wearing a faded flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sinewy muscles of his forearms. His hair was streaked with gray at the temples, his face lined with years of hard work and sun exposure, but he was still undeniably handsome. Too handsome.

"No, we’re good here," you replied, keeping your voice steady as you turned back to the soil. Your mom looked up from her spot, grinning. "Actually, Joel, I think we could use a little extra muscle." He chuckled and came over, kneeling beside you, close enough that you could smell the scent of earth and sweat on him. His presence was overpowering, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your mind from drifting.

"So," he said casually, his voice low as he worked beside you, "you’ve been quiet lately. Everything alright?" You felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t look up. "Yeah, 'm just busy."

"Busy, huh?" He tossed a clump of dirt aside, his tone teasing but not unkind. "You don’t strike me as the busy type." You shrugged. "Things change." Joel paused, his fingers still in the dirt. "That they do." There was a weight to his words, the way he said it, something that settled deep in your bones, like he knew what was deep beneath your facade. You risked a glance at him, and when your eyes met, the air around you seemed to thicken. His gaze was too intense, too knowing, and it made your heart pound in your chest. "Joel, could you help me with these pots in the back?" your mother called, oblivious to the tension that had been steadily growing between you and him.

Joel blinked, breaking the moment. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Yeah, sure thing." As he walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You couldn’t keep going like this.

Temptation lurks.

The engagement party was held at your house, the backyard filled with neighbors, friends, and family. You had helped set everything up, stringing lights across the trees, setting up tables with white linen. Your mother had been glowing all day, her happiness contagious to everyone but you.

You were standing near the bar, sipping on a drink when you saw him. Joel was talking to your uncle by the grill, his hand resting casually on the back of your mother’s chair. You watched as he laughed at something your uncle said, the sound of it rumbling low in his chest. He looked so at ease, so comfortable in this life he had built with your mom. But there was a crack in the facade, something that only you could see. The way his eyes flickered to you, even when he was mid-conversation. The way his smile faltered just for a moment when your gaze met his.

he feels it.

"You look lost in thought." You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. Joel was beside you now, his presence like a shadow that followed you everywhere. You forced a smile. "Just thinking." He leaned in a little closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Care to share?" You shook your head, setting your glass down on the bar. "It’s nothing."

Joel’s hand brushed yours as he reached for his own drink, the touch so brief and fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. He must have felt it too because he hesitated for a moment, his fingers lingering a second too long before he pulled away. "You seem different, sweetheart." he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure you out. sweetheart. it sounded so natural, meant just for you. "Not like yourself." He continues. You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe I’ve changed. Or maybe you don't know me that well."

"Maybe," he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. "But I think I know you better than that." Before you could respond, your mother appeared, smiling brightly as she slipped her arm around Joel’s waist. "There you are!" she said, looking between the two of you. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."

Joel’s eyes never left yours. "Just catching up."

You excused yourself quickly, retreating inside the house, your chest tight with frustration and confusion. You needed air, space, anything to clear your head. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t escape the way Joel made you feel. The way you wanted to feel, despite everything.

everything beneath the surface.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a blur. You kept your distance from Joel as much as you could, but it was impossible to avoid him completely. Every time you saw him, the tension between you grew stronger, pulling you in even when you wanted to push it all away. One evening, after a particularly long day of wedding planning, you found yourself alone on the back porch. The sky was dark, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. You sipped your drink slowly, trying to let the cool night air calm your nerves.

"You okay?"

You turned to find Joel standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. You hadn’t even heard him come out. You straightened up, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m fine. Just needed some air." Joel stepped onto the porch, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his hands in his pockets as he looked out into the yard. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. "You’ve been avoidin’ me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough in the quiet night. Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t deny it. "It’s not like that."

"Then what’s it like?" You sighed, setting your drink down and standing up, needing to put some space between you. "Joel, this... it’s complicated. I can’t—"

"Complicated," he repeated, his tone tinged with frustration. He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "It wasn’t complicated before, was it?"

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they were true. It hadn’t always been complicated. Before your mother, before the engagement, there had been something between you and Joel that had lingered, unspoken, for years. Maybe it had been innocent at first, just a crush you’d had on the older man next door. But it had evolved into something else—something dangerous.

"Joel," you whispered, shaking your head, trying to regain control of the conversation, but he was already too close. His presence overwhelmed you, drowning out the rational part of your brain that screamed for you to walk away.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" His voice was almost a whisper now, and the way his eyes bore into yours made it impossible to look away. "I’ve seen the way you look at me, baby." You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "This isn’t fair," you managed, your voice breaking. "You’re marrying my mom, Joel." He winced, as if the words had physically hurt him, but he didn’t back away. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Goddamn it, I tried not to. But I can’t help it, baby, Iㅡ" You took a step back, trying to create some distance, but Joel followed, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached out, brushing your arm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t—"

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his hand dropping, but his eyes were still fixed on you. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. Should've been ya."

"Then why did it happen?" you asked, your voice breaking with the weight of the question. "Why are you doing this, Joel? Why are you marrying her?" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not what you think."

"Then tell me," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. "Tell me why you’re with her when—"

"When I want you," Joel finished for you, the rawness in his voice making your heart ache. The admission hung between you, heavy and undeniable. You wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard it, that it didn’t mean anything, but it did. It meant everything.

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, the world tilting on its axis. You felt the pull between you, that magnetic force that had always been there, but now it was more dangerous than ever. It wasn’t just some unspoken tension anymore. It was real, out in the open, threatening to tear everything apart. "Joel, this isn’t right," you said, your voice trembling, even though your heart screamed at you to move closer to him. "It can’t happen. Not like this."

"I know," he said, stepping closer, his voice barely a rasp. His hand reached for yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "But that doesn’t change how I feel." You pulled your hand away, the loss of contact almost painful. "You have to stop," you whispered, your throat tight. "You have to marry her. You can’t do this to her." The agony in his eyes was unbearable. "You think I don’t know that?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your pulse racing. "Then why are you doing this?"

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, like he couldn’t bear to face the truth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost broken. "I thought I could love her the way she deserves. I thought... if I just tried hard enough, I could make it work." Your heart ached for him, for your mother, for yourself. "But you don’t, do you?"

His silence was answer enough.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay strong. "You need to go through with the wedding, Joel. My mom... she loves you. She’s happy."

"I know," he murmured, the weight of his guilt evident in his voice. "But what about you? What do you want?" The question hung in the air, suffocating you. What did you want? You wanted him, but not like this. Not in a way that would destroy everything around you. Not in a way that would hurt your mother, who had already been through enough pain. "I want my mom to be happy," you said finally, even though the words felt like they were tearing you apart. "That’s all." even if it was a lie.

Joel stared at you, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Me too." He stepped back then, creating the distance you desperately needed. "I’ll do the right thing," he said, his voice low and resolute. "For her." he wouldn't believe himself either.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice to say anything else. The weight of the moment settled over you both, heavy and oppressive. Without another word, Joel turned and walked back into the house, leaving you standing alone on the porch, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was all ready to collapse.

The wedding day approached faster than you had anticipated, each moment feeling like a countdown to an inevitable disaster. You tried to bury your feelings, to focus on helping your mom with the final touches, but the weight of what had been left unspoken between you and Joel hung over everything. You hadn’t spoken to him since that night on the porch, and the tension gnawed at you.

The morning of the wedding was bright and warm, the sun filtering through the lace curtains in your bedroom. You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the soft fabric of your bridesmaid’s dress, trying to shake the growing sense of dread that settled in your chest.

You wanted to be happy for your mom—she looked radiant, glowing in her wedding dress, and she deserved this moment. She deserved love, peace, after the years of struggle she’d endured. But underneath your forced smiles and quiet congratulations, you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. About his eyes when he looked at you, about the unspoken words still hanging between you.

Downstairs, the house sung with excitement, guests gathering for the ceremony. You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and music, the clinking of glasses as the day unfolded. But it all felt so distant, like you were watching it from the outside, detached from the joy that filled the air.

Just as you were about to head downstairs, there was a soft knock at your door.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. You already knew who it was before you even opened the door. Joel stood there, looking as conflicted as you felt. He was dressed in a suit, but the usually rugged man looked uncomfortable in the formal attire. His hair was neatly combed, but there was still that familiar edge to him—rough, worn, and undeniably Joel.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, his dark eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. "You look beautiful."

"You shouldn’t be here," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But I had to see you. Before—"

"Before what?" you interrupted, your hands trembling. "Before you marry my mom?" Joel’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "For all of this. For... for everything I’ve put you through." Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You have to go through with it, Joel. You promised her."

"I know," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But I can’t stop thinking about you." The rawness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to stay strong. "You don’t get to do this now," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Not today." Joel’s hand reached for yours, but you pulled away, stepping back. "Don’t," you warned. "Please don’t make this harder than it already is." He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes filled with regret, before he finally nodded. "I’m sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I’ll... I’ll go."

You watched as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall, each one like a nail in the coffin of what could have been.

Unbeneath.

The wedding was beautiful. The flowers were perfect, the music soft and sweet, and your mother’s face glowed with happiness as she walked down the aisle. Joel stood at the altar, looking handsome and calm, the picture of a man ready to commit to a life with her.

But you saw the cracks beneath the surface. You saw the tension in Joel’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as your mother approached him with a radiant smile. You knew he was trying to hold it together, trying to play the part of the perfect groom. But deep down, you could see it—he wasn’t entirely there.

Standing as a bridesmaid near the altar, you forced yourself to smile, to focus on your mother’s joy. But it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. The weight of what Joel had said to you that morning still clung to you, heavy and suffocating. As the officiant began to speak, your heart pounded in your chest. The words felt hollow, echoing in your mind. The vows of eternal love, of commitment, of being faithful—it all felt like a lie. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stay focused, trying to hold on for your mother’s sake.

But then Joel glanced at you.

It was brief—just a flicker of his eyes in your direction, but it was enough to make your breath catch. His gaze was filled with conflict, guilt, and something else you couldn’t name. And in that moment, you knew—he was thinking about you. Even here, even now, when he was supposed to be pledging his life to your mother.

Time seemed to slow as the officiant asked Joel to recite his vows. He hesitated for just a second too long, the pause so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. But you did. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between doing what was right and doing what he wanted.

"I, Joel, take you—" His voice caught, barely noticeable, but you saw it. He cleared his throat, trying again. "I take you, to be my wife."

Each word felt like a stone dropping into a bottomless well.

Your mother smiled at him, tears of joy in her eyes. She was completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. She believed in this moment, believed in the future they were about to share. And you hated that you couldn’t give her that same belief, that you couldn’t share in her happiness.

When the ceremony ended and the guests erupted in applause, you clapped along with them, your hands numb and mechanical. The celebration carried on around you—people laughing, clinking glasses, congratulating the happy couple—but you felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath you.

At the reception, you stayed at the far end of the garden, away from the crowd. The string lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow on the scene, but the beauty of it all felt distant, unreachable. You sipped your champagne, staring blankly at the dance floor where Joel and your mother swayed together. They looked perfect, like a picture from a magazine. But you knew better.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Joel came up beside you, his presence like a storm cloud looming on the horizon. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

"You disappeared on me," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the music and chatter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the dance floor. "Just needed a moment." He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean for things to get this way. Please believe me, I didn’t knowㅡ didn't know she'd fall." You finally turned to face him, the rawness of his words cutting into you. "Well, they are and she did so.."

Joel looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache, the same look he’d had earlier that morning. "I can’t stop thinking about you, baby." he repeated softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Even now. Especially now."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "You need to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You made your choice. You married her. I don't even know what your plan was."

"I know," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I know what I did, but that doesn’t change what I feel. It doesn’t change this." He gestured between the two of you, his eyes pleading. "I never wanted to hurt you, or your mom. But... I can’t pretend anymore. Not with you." Your chest tightened, the pain almost unbearable. "You have to pretend, Joel. You have to. For her." He stared at you, his expression torn between guilt and desire. "And what about you? What about us?"

"There is no us, Joel. Never was." You said the words like poison in your mouth. "There can’t be." Joel’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing your arm, and the familiar spark shot through you, the one you’d tried so hard to ignore. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled away, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"You’re right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There can’t be." But the words felt like a lie the moment they left his lips because despite everything, despite the weight of his new vows, you saw him lean in closer. His breath mingled with yours, and his eyes-filled with guilt, longing, and desperation bore into you. His lips inched toward yours, the world around you fading into a blur of muted colors and distant laughter. People were far enough to not see you, but that didn't make it any easier. Your heart pounded, your breath shaky as you felt the warmth of his body close to yours. You knew this was wrong, that you should push him away, but your body betrayed you. The yearning, the suppressed need that had lingered between you for years, finally pushed through the cracks.

With one last glance into your glassy eyes, as if seeking permission-or maybe forgivenessㅡ Joel closed the distance.

His lips intertwined with yours, soft and rough at the same time, filled with everything that had been left unsaid. You froze for a moment, the shock of it crashing through you like a tidal wave. But then something snapped inside you, and you kissed him back. All of the restraint, the pain, the buried feelings surged to the surface, spilling into that one kiss.

His hands cupped your face gently, his touch tender despite the intensity of the moment. The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and Joel, a stolen moment in a sea of impossibilities. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if both of you knew this would be the only time you'd have. As if the kiss had to say everything words couldn't

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your chest heaving. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Finally, Joel stepped back, his face hardening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I’m sorry," he muttered, though you knew the apology wouldn’t fix anything.

You watched as he walked away, back to the party, back to your mother—the woman he had chosen. The woman he was supposed to love. Your heart broke all over again as you realized that no matter what you felt for him, no matter what he felt for you, it would never be enough to change the reality of the situation.

And so, you stood there, the cold night air brushing against your skin, watching as Joel rejoined the celebration. The sounds of laughter and music filled the garden, but all you could hear was the silence between you and the man you could never have.

Was one night really that important?

You stood there, alone in the shadows, the air growing colder around you. The question gnawed at you, refusing to let go. What harm could it do? One night. One moment where none of thisㅡ none of the guilt, the secrecy, or the heartbreak mattered. No one would know. No one had to.

Would it really hurt?

The thought was reckless, dangerous even, but it lingered, growing more persistent with each passing second. Your mind kept replaying the way Joel had kissed you, the heat and desperation in his touch, the wayyou had kissed him back without hesitation, as if your bodies knew what your hearts refused to admit. You hadn't wanted to stop. And he hadn't either.

Your breath quickened as you thought of him, standing there, so close you could still feel the faint echo of his warmth, his scent, the way he had made you feel as though the world had disappeared, as if nothing else mattered but the f you, in that moment.

No. You couldn't. You couldn't do this to your mother. You couldn't betray her like that, not even for one night, no matter how desperately you wanted him. But the longing was still there, a dark ache deep in your chest, making it harder and harder to ignore. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath and looked back toward the reception toward Joel, who was now standing by the bar, talking with a few guests. The smile he gave them was easy, practiced, but you could still see the shadows under his eyes. You could still see the guilt that gnawed at him from the inside.

What if nobody knew? What if this one mistake, this one selfish moment, stayed just between the two of you? What if you could find a way to make it work-just for one night, just to feel what it was like to truly have him without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders?

You swallowed hard. you could still taste his kiss on your lips. You could still feel the burn of his fingertips against your skin.

But then, you remembered your mother's face. Her warmth. Her trust. She was so happy, so completely in love. The thought of betraying her, even just for a moment, tore you apart. Could you really live with that kind of guilt?

No.

Butㅡ

You closed your eyes and exhaled, trying to quiet the storm inside you, trying to remind yourself of what was right. This wasn't a fleeting desireㅡ it was a devastating disaster waiting to happen

And yet, your body ached with the need to be close to Joel again. The yearning, the intensity of that single kiss and one pathetic touch, it was too much to ignore. You had given in once, but you couldn't go down that path again.

You took a step away from the garden, retreating into the shadows. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe one night wasn't worth it. But then you heard his voice, low and familiar, cutting through the noise. He was closer than you expected.

"Hey."

You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Joel. His voice was all too familiar now. He stepped into the shadows with you, the dim light casting sharp lines across his face, making him appear even more worn, more conflicted. "Iㅡ" He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn't have kissed you earlier. I know I shouldn't have."

You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You didn’t regret it. You wish it never ended.

Joel's gaze softened, and he stepped closer, but you kept your distance. He seemed to notice the space between you, the invisible barrier that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn't help but feel. "I don't know what to do anymore," he said. "I just know I don't want to lose you." His words shattered what little resolve you had left.

And in that moment, everything that had been building between you, the unspoken, the impossibleㅡ became undeniable. It was wrong. It was selfish. But here he was, standing before you, asking you for something you both knew you could never truly have. And for a moment, it didn't matter that it was wrong

You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper. "One night," you murmured. "Just... one night."

Joel froze. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it seemed as if he might say no. But then his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him, his lips catching yours in a kiss that was deeper this time, hungry, urgent. There were no more words between you, just the frantic need to close the distance between your hearts, to feel something real, even if it was only for one night.

As his hands wrapped around you, pulling you closer, there was a fleeting moment of clarity,a brief flash of the consequences. But it was swallowed up by the heat of the kiss, the intoxicating feeling of finally giving in to the desire that had been burning between you for years,

It was wrong. It was a mistake

But as Joel's lips moved against yours again, you forgot about everything else. Joel’s hand slid to your wrist before you could pull away, a firm, steady grip that tugged you gently toward him, toward the quiet behind the chaos. The party’s laughter and chatter were left in the distance, fading as you followed him, the night air thick with tension.

"We should go to a room," he whispered, his voice hoarse and urgent, almost pleading. "The party still has a few more hours before it ends. Don't worry, baby. It'll all be okay. She won’t even notice we're gone." You looked at him, heart racing, mind reeling, torn between the gravity of his words and the electric heat still burning in your chest from the kiss. He was leading you, his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you through the garden, toward the back of the house where the guest rooms lay hidden behind thick foliage and shadows.

You followed, not because you were sure, but because the pull between you was undeniable. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and maybe you didn’t want to. His pace quickened as he sensed your hesitation, his breath hitching, more desperate now, as though he needed you to understand. "We can’t keep doing this," he said, his tone a mix of anger and longing. "We can’t keep pretending like we don’t feel it. This—" he glanced back at you, "this is what we've been needing for so long."

You could barely catch your breath as you stepped into the hallway of the house, away from the party. The muffled noise of music and chatter was barely a memory now. The quiet was heavier, more intimate. And when you finally stopped, your back pressed against the closed door of a guest room, you both stood there in the dim room, hearts pounding like they were about to burst.

His hands were still on you, strong but gentle, but this time, they didn’t move to pull you in. Instead, he lingered, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your arms as though he was afraid of breaking something fragile—something that might never be repaired.

"Joel..." Your voice was soft, porcelain, and it trembled in the stillness of the room. "Please.." you can hear him mumble a soft 'fuck' before his lips crash onto the exposed skin on your neck, his hands roaming your body like he's been waiting to do this for a thousand years. he quickly manages to discard the jacket of his tuxedo and unzip the back of your dress, your hair that was neatly pulled up now down on your shoulders. "You're so beautiful, baby. Always have beenㅡ god, I was so stupid not doin' this earlier." Your mind reeled, cunt pulsimg. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath, trying to steady your pulse. the fire between you crackled and burned hotter, and for tonight, you gave into it.

"Joel, please, justㅡ touch me, please.." he nods his head. "fuck, yeah, okay. You sound so pretty when you're desperate." you shudder at his words, a soft moan slipping from your lips. " 'm gonna fuck you tonight 'n make up for all of the nights i didn't." that was a promise.

you were now almost fully naked, the only thing covering your body was a soft, laced, white set you had on. "Pretty girl." he begins to discard those items from you too, but removes only the bra, leaving the white panties on. you look up at him, his presence swallowing you whole. without words you reach our hands out, promptly placing them on the hem of his pants and starting to unbuckle the belt he had on. you fingers fumble from the tension, but you finally do it. you trail you fingers onto his abdomen, drawing small hearts before you hear him growl. he picks you up swiftly and throws you on the bed settled in the middle of the room. his pants come undone so he pulls them off fully. "Spread your legs, baby." you do, your pussy spilling over the lace that barely covered anything. his rough fingertips trace your clothed folds, making you look away. "Look at me. Look at me, tell me what you want."

"Want you, Joel.." he hums. he pulls the panties to the side, eyes fixed on the way your cunt glistened under the dim light. its not long before he gets on his knees between your legs. "sweet girl. been dyin' to know what's inside that pretty head of yours when you look at me like that." His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. "you know how much i had to hold back? wanted to ravage you, toㅡ" he trails "to destroy you. make you beg for me to stop..." joel leans down, his rough beard tickling your neck, drawing a soft moan from between your lips.

"Sure you want this, darlin?" Nipping at your bottom lip, he waits for your signal. "So sure." This is it, the moment you had only dreamed of. that's when his lips crashed against yours again, his mustache pricking your skin. you kissed back, hungry, so hungry like you've never felt before.

"want that pretty pussy wrapped around my cock." you whimper pathetically at his dirty words. dirty. dirty like his touch that left your skin tainted, dirty like how you know you'll feel after all of this is over.

but you like dirty. you love dirty.

joel pressed himself against you, his briefs now fully off. fuck, he was huge. his leaking tip was pressing against your folds. "so wet, baby. all this for me? c'mon, let me hear you say it."

" 's all for y-ou, Joel ㅡ" you choked back a moan, pushing yourself back onto his bulge. he laughs, tilting his head to the side slightly. be drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down again and again, as if he didn't make you wait long enough for it. after he thinks its sufficient, he starts to push inside, causing you to bite onto your forearm and shut your eyes as tears welled up in them. "atta girlㅡ you can take it. you're a big girl, ain't ya?" he teased. "My little girl, takin' my cock so well."

by the time he was fully inside, you were a mess, tears stained your cheeks, drool at the corners of your mouth covered in smudged lipstick ㅡ you were in a dream for sure. joel moves, at first, slowly as to let you adjust. he's patient. praises trail onto you as he kisses little pecks on the small of your back. "That's it, darlin'. take it all." your body trembles from every breath and touch of his.

his pace picks up, skin hitting yours roughly, fingers tangled in your hair and his other palm flush against your belly. "feel me there, sweet girl?"

"I- yes, yes, please, p-please ㅡ " You were hanging on the mattress for dear life, your brain foggy. nothing made sense but this. Joel buried deep inside of you. he fucked you hard, and deep, your stomach churning at every hit. his calloused hands gripped tightly at you hips, his moves now more ragged.

"shitㅡ whish I married you, baby.." he says through grunts, palms still gripping your hips. "Wish it were you there in that dress. 'm sorryㅡ" you cry a little louder as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. "let me put a baby in you, sweet girl, we can run away andㅡ fuck, run away and be happy. have our own little family." your eyes roll to the back of your head. "Joel, Iㅡ"

"You'd want that? imma make you a mommaㅡ my pretty wife, god."

" 'm s-so close, Joel, please "

"I know, baby, I know. Y-You go ahead." With a few more snaps of his hips, you're both coming, bodies writhing, as his head falls upon your chest. For a long, heavy moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish. All that was left was the two of you, in that silent little room.

Joel pulls out, making you moan. He watches intently as his seed drips out of you, licking his lips as a palm rubs your lower belly. He hopes it'll stick.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #stepdad!joel #joel miller angst

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cleo-fox · 18 days ago

Text

Safehouse

Summary: This mission wasn't supposed to go as badly as it has. There wasn't supposed to be a blizzard, you weren't supposed to get snowed in at a remote cabin, and there certainly was supposed to be more than one bed. And none of this would be a problem were it not for your completely irrational, ill-advised crush on Loki.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, p in v sex, fingering, workplace crushes, There Was Only One Bed.

A/N: I didn't think this was going to be the next fic I posted, but this has been 95% finished for over a year and I just figured out the final 5% in the last 72 hours. Don't ask me how my brain works because I truly don't know sometimes. Also, perhaps after you read this, you will think "hey, I would like to read another fic that involves railing Loki in the middle of a blizzard." Well, my friend, then you should read Some Things Are Easier to Say in the Dark by the great @loki-cees-all because not only is there a blizzard and one bed, it is also beautifully written.

You didn’t expect this mission to go as badly as it has.

It was supposed to be quick, one of those tidy in and out things that almost feels routine—or at least as routine as things ever get in this line of work.

No one counted on a fucking blizzard, though.

It comes upon you suddenly enough to feel suspicious—one moment, it’s slate grey skies and barely a puff of wind and the next thing you know, the wind is howling and whipping at your coat and you can barely see three feet ahead of you.

“What the fuck is this?” you shout at Loki, who looks just as perplexed as you feel. “I thought you said the radar was clear.”

“It was,” he says, frowning. He taps at the screen of the device, an overly complicated piece of tech that you’d delegated to him because Tony’s brief training sessions had made your eyes glaze over. Still, though, you know enough to tell that you’re looking at a weather map and there’s absolutely no sign of the storm that’s howling around you.

An uneasy feeling is bubbling in the pit of your stomach and prickling up the back of your neck. Everything about this feels wrong.

“We need to find shelter,” says Loki. You know him well enough to tell that he’s pretending to be really calm and unbothered because he doesn’t want you to know that something’s wrong. Normally, you’d call him out on that bullshit, but the creepy crawly feeling running up your spine coupled with the storm that doesn’t seem to exist has you itching to get inside as soon as possible.

“There’s a safehouse just west of this hill,” he continues, tapping at the screen.

“Let’s go, then.”

The trek to the safehouse is fairly demanding, even though the distance is short. You’re walking straight into the wind, which seems to grow stronger and more biting by the minute. The snow under your feet grows slick with ice and your pace slows to a crawl, though even that doesn’t stop you from slipping.

The safehouse turns out to be an unassuming cabin that’s a little too shabby to be rustic; in the biting wind and dim light of the storm, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You make it to the door and a few minutes later, you’re inside.

The cabin has been unoccupied long enough to put a light layer of dust on some of the furniture, but not enough to render anything musty or moth-ridden. It is charming in a way that you don’t normally see with S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouses—handcrafted furniture that’s a little rough around the edges, pine board floors, a squat wood burning stove in the center of the room that makes you want to curl up and read a book. It’s…homey and maybe even comfortable, two qualities that S.H.I.E.L.D. is decidedly not known for. It’s a welcome surprise, given how this mission has gone so far.

Loki bolts the door the moment you’re both inside and quickly turns his attention to the windows.

“I’m putting up wards,” he says. There’s a grim set to his jaw that you don’t particularly like, largely because you only see it when something is wrong.

The back of your neck prickles.

The wood burning stove is not merely decorative—it’s the cabin’s only heat source. There are a few places that are intended to blend in no matter what—you suspect this is one of them. You manage to get a fire going and you settle yourself in front of it while Loki works. You know enough to not interrupt him, even though you feel like you’re about to bubble over with questions.

It takes him a while to finish warding all the windows and you notice he shuts the curtains for each one once he’s finished, which sends another chill up your spine. When he finally joins you by the fire, he looks a little tired.

“So, I take it you can’t just magic that storm away or something,” you say, with a casual sort of tone that sounds strained even to you.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he says, which you sort of expected. The set of his jaw is still tight. “And even if it did, this isn’t an ordinary storm. Someone is doing this.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression.” You pause, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. “Any idea who?”

He shakes his head. “Someone very ancient. Angry.”

You exhale. “Great. Do I want to know what the deal is with the curtains?”

“We should not look outside after the sun sets.”

The skin on the back of your neck prickles. “Why?”

There’s a reason that they call Loki “Silvertongue:” he is a compelling, eloquent speaker. And the somewhat irritating part is that he can do this extemporaneously and effortlessly—he doesn’t need to think about it at all.

So the fact that he pauses for a moment to think scares you a lot. His gaze drifts to the fire, quiet and thoughtful, as though he might find his answers written in the embers.

“Imagine every ghost story you heard as a child coming true,” he says finally.

You don’t like how spare he is on the details, but an icy chill works its way up your spine and you get the eerie sense that someone is listening. Suddenly, you don’t feel like asking any more questions.

“Okay,” you say softly.

Being in close quarters with Loki is…something.

There was a time early on, back when you first started working together when you thought something could maybe happen between the two of you. It was hard not to—Loki is attractive, certainly, but he has a particular magnetic quality that can make a stadium full of people think that he’s talking just to them (incidentally, this is also one of the qualities that gets red flags and warnings added to his file at S.H.I.E.L.D.) When you experience that up close, well…it’s intense, to say the least. It becomes easy to believe that his smiles mean something more, that he sees something intriguing in you.

Your feelings for Loki aren’t exactly a crush, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Crushes are silly infatuations that make people do incredibly stupid things and entertain incredibly stupid hopes. You are a professional with a good head on your shoulders: you know better. You’re attracted to him, but it doesn’t matter because nothing is going to happen.

Perhaps more importantly: Loki is a god and you are not. You have a good relationship—your banter comes easily and he seems to enjoy talking to you more than he likes talking to the average person—but it’s strictly professional and that’s all it ever will be. The fact that you’ve been working closely together for three years without a hint of anything romantic only confirms your theory. He’s your colleague, nothing more.

Except…being trapped in a small cabin with him is dredging up a whole swarm of feelings that you would have sworn you had gotten over.

And the storm is showing no signs of stopping.

And there’s only one bed.

It’s a fucking cliché, the kind of thing you’d roll your eyes at if you saw it in a movie or read it in a book, but you’re a professional and you’re also not sleeping on the floor. Besides, you’ve both got sleeping bags and it’s a double bed—it’s not like you’ve got to curl up together or anything.

Not that you’d complain if you had to.

Which, again, is another feeling you thought you were over.

The wood burning stove is doing its best to keep up, but it’s still no match for the storm outside, even though Loki’s done something to the logs to keep them regenerating as they burn. You dig out an extra pair of woolen socks from your pack and pull on your fleece over your sweater and long sleeved thermal. You pile your coat on top of your sleeping bag, along with your share of the scratchy wool blankets you’d pulled out of the cedar chest by the foot of the bed.

Loki watches you with the lightly amused look that always feels like he must be quietly making fun of you.

“What?” you say as you settle yourself under the blankets. “Some of us are delicate mortals who find the cold a little uncomfortable.”

“I said absolutely nothing,” he says, though the glimmer in his eyes undercuts his point.

“You were thinking it.”

“Oh, the things I think of would turn your head, darling.”

You know that there’s no innuendo specific to you in that statement, but your body reacts like there is: your heart and stomach do a complicated series of flips that would put trapeze artists to shame and a heavy, familiar heat stirs hopefully in your hips. Outwardly, you roll your eyes at him and focus on arranging the blankets over your legs.

“I’m well aware that your mind is a kaleidoscope of horrors,” you say.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s horrors so much as—”

You recognize that look in his eye: it is the herald of something wildly inappropriate. And while you’re no prude, the reality is that you’re about to share a bed with him and you will have no outlet for whatever feelings of lust this will inevitably provoke. Time to change the subject to something as far away from sex as possible, which happens to be whatever creepy fuckery is happening outside.

“Speaking of horrors: why are you being so cagey about what’s going on out there?” you say.

You almost feel a little guilty as the teasing expression disappears from his face and settles into something grimmer. “It’s safer this way,” he says as he sets about preparing his own sleeping bag and blankets.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” you say.

“I know.”

It occurs to you that this is a perfect example of the cryptic bullshit that makes his intentions so hard to read. Is he saying this because he cares about you? Is he trying to prevent problems down the road? All of the above or something else entirely? Nobody fucking knows, least of all you.

You scowl at him and he looks completely unbothered, which is typical.

“I hate it when you do this, you know,” you say.

There’s a slight twitch to his lips that could be a hint of a smile and you’re embarrassed by how giddy that makes you feel.

“I know,” he says.

“It makes me feel like you don’t trust me or something.”

He stops what he’s doing and looks at you and his face is so honest and open that it makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Of course I trust you,” he says.

There’s something unsaid in his expression and you’re not quite sure what it is, but it leaves you with a warm glow in your chest.

“Okay,” you say softly.

For the briefest of moments, the difference between god and human doesn’t feel so impossibly vast.

But it’s only a moment.

You fall asleep quickly, even with Loki lying so close by that you could count his breaths if you wanted to.

You wake sometime in the middle of the night. The wind is still howling outside. Your mouth is dry and you fumble on the nightstand for your water bottle. Your fingers close around empty space and it occurs to you that you’d left it over by the fire.

You lie still, staring at the ceiling. The blankets have warmed up with your body heat and you’re not keen to brave the chill of the cabin. You could wake Loki up, maybe ask him to summon your water bottle to you. You nearly snort with laughter at the thought. That would go over well.

After a moment, you muster up all of your strength and willpower and haul yourself out of bed.

It’s not as bad as you thought it would be, in the end. You pad over to the fire and take a long drink from your water bottle, which turns out to be almost empty. You go to the little kitchen to refill it, idly listening to the wind howl outside.

You wonder if it’s still snowing, if the snow is piling up in drifts against the doors and windows, freezing you in. The thought of being stranded here with Loki is admittedly appealing.

Your brain is still a fuzzy from sleep and you’re a little distracted thinking about being snowed in with Loki and for just a moment, you forget what he said about not looking outside. You reach up to the kitchen window and push the fabric of the curtain aside to see how bad the snow is.

You’re not frightened at first because you only see shadows, but after a moment, you realize that the shadows are moving in an unnatural, broken sort of way, like someone had sculpted them into rough facsimiles of people and commanded them to walk, without really explaining what walking was.

Quite suddenly, they all turn and look at you. Or they would be looking at you if they had eyes. There is simply a void where their faces are, though somehow you can tell that their mouths are open, gaping and hungry, showing all of their teeth.

You feel something hook into the thread of your thoughts, tugging and pulling at your mind. The world tilts on its axis and there’s a sharp and white hot burning at the base of your skull that makes you cry out.

In the haze of pain, you think to yourself that it’s like they’re trying to take your soul and the shadows grin at you with too many teeth and a hissing, sibilant chorus of voices says, yes, we are hungry. So very hungry.

You know in that moment that they intend to kill you.

You are leaning closer to the window, your thoughts growing dark and murky as something saws away at the thing that tethers your soul to your body and there is so much pain and all of those horrible spindly hands and grinning mouths are reaching for you—

Someone is grabbing you around the waist and you scream because you think this must be the end, but instead, they’re pulling you away from the window and yanking the curtain closed and you realize it’s Loki.

There is a flash of green light and the connection between you and whatever is outside breaks abruptly and the pain retreats to a dull ache, like your body is carefully starting to repair those shredded, fraying threads that the shadows were tugging on.

Loki’s eyes are wild and he looks at you like he half expects you to disintegrate or melt into the shadows. You are suddenly shaking so badly that your legs start to buckle.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” you say through chattering teeth. The cold you feel is bone deep and unnatural. “F-f-forgot.”

“Foolish girl.” He says it without malice, almost with affection, though his face is drawn tight with something like worry. Your legs are about to fail you, but he’s right there before they can, scooping you up into his arms like it’s nothing.

You snuggle up against his chest almost automatically, your body instinctively seeking out heat. “S-s-s-sorry, c-c-c-cold,” you manage to squeak out.

“I know,” he says and it almost sounds gentle. He is carrying you across the room and climbing back into bed with you in his arms, drawing the pile of blankets and sleeping bags over the two of you.

The wind howls and you shudder, realizing for perhaps the first time that it may not be the wind making those noises. Loki stiffens, his grip on you tightening.

“Did you see their eyes?”

You shake your head.

You feel some of the tension leave him, though not all.

You have so many questions, but that unnatural, bone deep cold is making you sluggish and sleepy and your teeth are chattering so hard you wonder if you’d even be able to speak at all.

“You need to rest,” he says. The cold feels like the sort of thing that could easily claim you while you sleep and he must see that fear reflected in your eyes because his expression softens ever so slightly. “Rest. I’ll keep you safe.”

You don’t like how quickly that line melts you. You tell yourself that it’s only because you’re so cold and tired, but you know that’s not entirely true.

You allow your head to drop to his chest and he readjusts his grip on you, smoothing one hand against your hair, resting his chin on the top of your head. You try to catalog all of the different senses—the way he smells like snow and pine, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you—but sleep is pulling insistently at your eyelids and you find yourself struggling to stay awake.

“Rest,” he says, and this time it sounds like a command.

Your eyes slowly slide shut and sleep finally claims you.

It seems like you sleep for a long time. Your dreams are strange and unsettling and have an odd sort of veneer, like they’re real but not quite.

The first time you wake up, it’s because of a nightmare. You are back at the window and the things outside are threading their fingers underneath the panes, reaching for you with their spindly hands, clacking their too sharp teeth. You don’t know where Loki is and you’re trying to back away as they reach for you, and one of them is wrapping its fingers around your wrist and you can see its eyes and—

You thrash out in your sleep and gentle hands are soothing you. You wake abruptly, shaking, blearily looking up at Loki’s face.

“They—they were coming for me,” you manage to sputter out.

“Shh.” Loki is stroking your back. “You’re safe. I won’t let them harm you.”

Your pounding heartbeat takes a moment to settle, but the gentle pressure of Loki’s hands on your back calms you slightly. There’s a tenderness in his actions that you don’t necessarily expect, but it also feels so right and natural that you wonder how you could have ever been surprised by it.

“What are they?” you ask.

“That’s an answer for daylight, love,” he says. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”

You want to protest and push for answers, but you’re so very tired and he’s smoothing your hair again and you can feel exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, ready to pull you back under.

“I’m holding you to that,” you manage to mumble at him. “I’m not going to forget.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Sleep, darling.”

You fall back under.

Your dreams are still wild and strange this time around. You wake again a few hours later, teeth chattering and tears streaming down your face. Loki wraps you even more tightly in his arms, drawing more blankets over the two of you, conjuring an additional pile of furs. You try to tell him to save his magic for the wards and the fire, but he hushes you and mutters something about how that’s not exactly how it works, even though you’re pretty sure it is.

You sleep again.

You have a half memory of him quieting you and pressing his lips against your forehead, but you’re not quite sure if it’s real or wishful thinking.

When you wake again, it’s still dark and the wind is still howling. The cold has retreated somewhat—it’s not as sharp, not as biting, but you still need the warmth of the blankets and Loki’s arms to keep it at bay.

You’re a bit more clearheaded now, so there’s part of you that feels a little embarrassed about what happened. It was a stupid mistake. Rookie level. You know better.

“Are you awake?” Loki’s voice rumbles pleasantly against your ear.

“Sort of.” You hope he continues holding you. You’re not quite ready to give up his warmth or his arms just yet.

“How is one ‘sort of’ awake? Either you aren’t or you are,” he says.

“I’m very talented,” you say. It’s not particularly funny, but he humors you with a soft laugh, more exhalation than anything else.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Still cold,” you say. While it is true, you’re also secretly hoping that the more you emphasize this, the more likely he is to continue holding you. “It’s better than it was, but it’s still bad.”

As if to prove a point, a shudder works its way through you. Loki shifts, rolling over so his body covers yours, pulling the blankets up so they cover your shoulders. It helps, but there’s now a degree of intimacy there that makes your heart stumble in your chest and your breath catch in your throat. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but with his green eyes bright above you, you can’t help but hope he does.

Leave it to him to ruin the moment.

“That was very foolish of you,” he says, his expression becoming serious and his voice taking on that hard edge that you only hear when he’s trying to pick a fight.

You exhale sharply. “Are you seriously trying to do this right now? I told you it was an accident. I was half asleep.”

“I’m not fond of close calls,” he says tightly.

“Oh bullshit,” you snap. “You fucking love chaos, don’t tell—”

“It’s not chaos, it was foolish and dangerous—”

“For fuck’s sake, do you think I’m not aware of that? I’m not—”

“You could have died.” He’s not yelling, but he’s raising his voice and there’s an unexpectedly strained quality to his tone that you don’t know what to do with. “It’s not chaos, it’s not an accident, it’s—”

For a moment, he seems like he might be at a loss for words, and for some reason, this enrages you.

“It’s what, Loki?” you say with more venom than you intend. “Please enlighten me, since you’re such a fucking expert.”

You’re not quite sure what line you’ve crossed, but you think it must be an important one based on how angry he looks.

“You truly are infuriating,” he says. “You nearly get yourself killed and you have the audacity to speak that way to me after I save your life!?”

And before you can say a word, he brings his mouth down on yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue sweeps past your lips, seeking out yours, demanding and hungry. Your response is reflexive and instinctive, your lips parting, tongue meeting his. You return his kiss, even though you’re still a little mad at him and he’s maybe still a little mad at you. But his mouth loses that hard edge as you kiss him back, his touch turning softer, more tender, but still urgent and wanting.

“Do not scare me like that ever again,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you in between words, each pause punctuated by the soft caress of his lips, the silky warmth of his tongue. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

You are astonished and somewhat perplexed. “I…I didn’t even know that you…that you wanted this—“

“Darling, I have thought of little else.”

His mouth covers yours again and you are drowning in the feeling of him. The cold that has settled in your bones is melting like snow in springtime. You move your hands along his shoulders, tentative at first, then a little braver. You thread your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it is. He deepens the kiss, his fingertips tracing the curve of your cheekbones.

It’s dizzingly good and you want more. You need more. You arch against him in a clear invitation, reveling in how perfectly his body fits against yours. He sighs and presses back against you briefly before pulling away.

“You should rest,” he says, his voice slightly strained. “You experienced some very powerful magic—I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

“I won’t,” you say, tugging him back down to you. He allows this for a moment, his hands cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss with toe curling intensity.

And then he draws back.

“You really do need to rest,” he says.

You shake your head. “I need you, Loki.”

His lips and tongue are just as insistent as yours when you pull him back into a kiss. You can feel him growing hard against your thigh and when you wrap your legs around his waist and rock your hips against him, he groans and nips at your lip before withdrawing again.

“Darling,” he says, his voice a little hoarse, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I can stay on my back,” you say.

“Appealing as that is, you’re rather ignoring my point.”

“And you’re ignoring mine,” you say, rolling your hips again. His eyes close for a moment as he presses back against you, his hand sliding along your thigh. Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down into a kiss that he returns without protest.

You catch his lower lip between your teeth and he sucks in a deep breath as he grinds his hips against you.

“Please,” you breathe. “I need you so bad.”

He groans as he lowers his head to the column of your throat. “I’m trying to keep you safe and you’re tempting me like this.”

“Touch me and tell me I need to rest more than I need you.”

It’s a bold thing to say and your heart pounds with anticipation as you feel him nip at your collarbone. His hand pauses at your hip, so close to where you need him. You wait a moment and then take his hand in yours and guide it underneath your waistband and between your legs. He lifts his head, gaze snapping to yours and the moment that his fingers graze your slickness, you know that you’ve won.

“Oh, you’re dripping,” he says, his voice dropping and his eyes darkening with lust as his fingers swipe across your clit.

You’re tempted to tell him that you told him so, but this still feels so fragile and tenuous that you settle for a more flattering truth: “Loki, I need you.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He shifts on top of you so that you feel the hard press of his cock against your hip.

“Same thing that you’re doing to me,” you say. “Which is why I need you to fuck me.”

He sighs, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “You really ought to rest.”

“I can stay on my back,” you say. “You can take me really slowly and gently. Think about how good that will feel.”

“Darling,” he says. You can see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes and you know that you’ve almost won. You feel your orgasm starting to coil like a snake in your belly and you moan, rocking your hips with his hand.

“Loki.” You lick your lips. “Don’t you want to feel me come on your cock?”

You know the exact moment he gives in—you see it in his eyes. Less than a second later, he’s sliding one long finger inside of you and curling it just right.

“Not before I finish what I started.” His voice is a low growl.

“Yes,” you breathe, letting your head tip back against the pillow. “God, that feels so good.”

“I can feel you trembling,” he says, his voice rough. “Are you going to come for me already? I’ve barely touched you.”

“I told you: I need you,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening in a very attractive way. “You’re not getting pert with me, are you?”

There’s a particular tone to his voice, a sternness that makes you shiver. Something to explore later, perhaps—right now, you need him too badly to play games.

“No, just trying to emphasize that I need you.”

“Are you really that desperate for me? Do you really need me that much? Surely you could touch yourself, surely you don’t need me that badly.”

You know that he’s saying that to amp you up, to tease you. But you are also so desperate to come that the idea of not having him is beyond comprehension.

“I do,” you say, a bit of desperate note making its way into your voice. “I need you, Loki, I need to come for you, need you to fuck me, please don’t make me wait, please, please, please—”

He stops your mouth with a kiss as he eases a second finger inside of you. “I’m going to take care of you, sweet thing,” he says as you gasp at the stretch.

His fingers are curling inside of you, his thumb working your clit in small, tight circles that are pushing you closer and closer to the edge as a fantastic pressure builds inside of you.

“Oh, that’s it.” His eyes are dark, pupils wide and lust-blown. “I can feel how close you are.” He brings his lips to your ear. “Come for me and then I’ll fuck you properly.”

Your breath hitches as you reach your peak. “Oh god—I—fuck, I’m coming, I’m—”

Your voice cuts out as you come, pure pleasure blooming low in your hips, your back arching against the mattress as Loki works you through it, murmuring soft encouragement as he watches you shake in his arms.

“You’re beautiful when you come undone,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Utterly stunning.”

You fumble for the waistband of his pants, your fingers slipping over the fastenings. “I need you,” you say, tugging at the fabric.

His mouth curls into a smile, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you quite certain?”

Leather yields to warm skin and you slide your hand into his pants, wrapping your fingers around his cock. He inhales sharply as you stroke him, his eyes turning dark.

“You’re presenting a very compelling argument,” he says.

“Think about how good you’ll feel inside of me,” you say, gently increasing the pressure on his shaft as you move your hand.

“Norns, woman.” But he’s rolling on top of you as he says this and sliding his pants off his hips. He pauses briefly to divest you of your pants and underwear. A shiver works through you during the brief moment when your bare skin is exposed to the chill of the room…and he notices right away, hesitating slightly as his brow furrows in concern.

“Don't you dare stop,” you say. “I don’t care if I get hypothermia and die, I will straight up implode if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He chuckles, pulling more blankets around the two of you as he settles himself between your thighs. “Are you always so demanding?”

“Look, you’ve been teasing me for the last twenty minutes and you’ve been strutting around in those fucking leather pants for a lot longer, so forgive me if I’m a little impatient.”

He pauses above you, his expression deadly serious. “Let's get one thing quite clear, my love: I do not strut.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes and you smirk back at him. “You totally do.”

He lines up the tip of his cock with your entrance. “I walk with the gravitas and stature appropriate to my station.”

“You strut and I know you strut because it’s extremely distracting.”

His smile is sly. “Tell me more about how I distract you.”

“You make me think about doing this with you.”

The tip of his cock eases into you. “Do I? How often, would you say?”

“All the time.”

He sinks in another inch. “All the time?”

“Mmmhm.”

One more inch. “That does sound terribly distracting.”

“You’re still trying to tease me,” you say and he grins and gives you another inch.

“You wouldn’t want me as much if I didn’t.”

“I’d want you always, no matter what.”

His gaze turns serious and he leans into kiss you, his hands stroking your cheek as he sinks into you fully, all the way to the hilt. You gasp, your walls stretching to accommodate him, your legs wrapping around his waist to hold him even closer. He’s still for a moment, his eyes shut.

He opens them.

“I’ve waited so long to have you,” he murmurs.

“You have me,” you say. “You always have.”

He kisses you deeply as he starts moving, slow as honey, sweetness in every thrust of his hips or touch of his lips. He fills you in a way that you’ve never experienced, his cock bumping up against that tender place inside you, making you gasp and pull him deeper.

It builds slowly and steadily, the muscles of your cunt tightening as he takes you higher. You shudder as your climax builds.

“That’s it, my love,” he breathes. “That’s it.”

You inhale sharply, your orgasm swelling within you, rising, about to pull you under. You ride that wave, your hips rocking with his. You try and hold on for as long as you can because he feels so good and you don’t want it to end, but eventually, it becomes too much.

You keen and he kisses you. “Come for me, darling. Let me feel you come.”

Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and all your muscles tense and release as you come. Loki sucks in a sharp breath, brow furrowing.

“Fuck.” His pace increases slightly. “You’re divine.”

Less than a second later, he’s also unraveling, his expression of ecstasy particularly beautiful in the flickering firelight. Even in the hazy afterglow of your own pleasure, you can’t help but stare at him, utterly spellbound.

As soon as he catches his breath, he kisses you deeply and slows to a halt, his cock still throbbing inside of you.

“I don’t want to say I told you so—” you start.

“That’s a lie.” His reply is prompt and accompanied by another deep kiss.

You smile against his lips. “Okay, maybe I did want to say I told you so.”

“Better.”

You feel pleasantly loose and sleepy, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. He seems to notice your fatigue and raises an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I say I told you so?” he asks as he slowly eases out of you.

“Mmm, but it was so worth it,” you say. “So I’m basically right.”

“That’s not how that works,” he says.

“I’m not listening to you,” you say. “I need to recover my strength.”

“Now you’re just being pert.” He shifts to his side and draws you close so he’s spooned up against your back.

“You like it,” you say, barely stifling a yawn.

“Mmm, I do,” he says, drawing the pile of blankets back over you both. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah, but don’t go anywhere.”

You feel him smile as he presses a kiss against the back of your neck. “I don’t intend to.”

“Good.”

You both fall asleep like this, wrapped around each other, warm and safe from the storm outside.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x yn #loki x yn smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki fanfiction

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revasserium · 3 months ago

Text

roronoa zoro; 21,051 words (not including epilogue), fluff and angst, ENEMIES!!! to lovers, the slowest of slow burns, canon-normal violence, on-page description of injury, excessive use of flashbacks, some banter, healing from trauma, baroque works!reader to strawhat!reader, no "y/n", emotionally constipated!zoro, hurt and comfort, angst with a happy ending; (epilogue tags will be posted separately)

summary: in which neither you nor zoro are the children you remember each other to be.

update: new chapters will be posted on @shouyuus!!!

a/n: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! i honestly cannot believe i actually finished writing this lmfao. but anyway, this post will act as a table of contents/masterlist of sorts, and i will update links to the separate chapters as they go up. chapters will be posted every few days (but they are all done! except for the epilogue LOL). i've tagged everyone who has req-ed to be tagged in this series so far on this prologue post, but if you wish to be tagged for the upcoming chapters and you're not already on this fics specific taglist, please comment below to be added! and without further ado -- here we go!

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: someone, somewhere

chapter one: a shadow of the past

chapter two: tell no tales

chapter three: sleep of the living, dreams of the dead

chapter four: another life

chapter five: true love's kiss

epilogue: la petite mort (nsfw)

prologue: someone, somewhere

He remembers you most as a child, in halcyon images and gold-limned flashes of his own childhood memories, the edges blurring watercolor soft, but the center (always you) carved in knife-sharp relief.

You were one of the few children that lived in Shimotsuki Village who hadn’t come from the doujou — one of the few children he knew that (at least to the best of his knowledge) had a thing called family. A mother to braid your hair, a father to chase the darkness away, a warm bed and a kitchen that always smelled of freshly made rice. And perhaps it was jealousy, or some other more complicated emotion that had been then too big to name with one single word, but he’d never gone out of his way to befriend you like the other kids from the doujou did — fascinated as they were by your soft hands and round cheeks and the bright, glittering array of homemade sweets you’d bring with you once every couple of weeks.

He’d learn later on that it was because Shimotsuki-sensei had saved your father’s life at some point in time; the story now lost to the annals of legend and withering memory, but back then, he’d only assumed it was the natural way of things. Of waking up for kata practice and then settling in for lunch, and then maybe, if it was to be a good day, you, with your basket of sweets and your blue-bell laughter.

And perhaps this is why, years later, when he meets you again in a dark, nameless village tavern, he doesn’t recognize you — not at first. Because you’d looked so different. Gone was the roundness in your cheeks, or the natural star-bright light in your eyes. Gone, too, were the bright braids that your hair had always been set in — he remembers so clearly, watching the other boys from the doujou jab their fingers into the rings of your pinned up braids, pulling down just to hear you squeak. He hadn’t said anything then, stupidly thinking him above it all, watching as you tried to jerk away, but laughing when the boys finally relented with half-hearted apologies.

You always threatened to take their sweets away; you never did, in the end.

But there, then, in that tiny tavern, you’d been thin, your hair dark as an oil spill, loose and inky as it cascades over your shoulders, your eyes lightless as the windows to an abandoned house — the hollowness made all the more visceral by the light he knew once inhabited them. The way loneliness is always more potent when coming back to it, the second time around.

He wanders up to the bar, slates you a glance before rapping his knuckles on the worn wood to catch the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have beer and a refill of whatever the lady’s having.”

You shift slightly, shoulders hunching towards your ears.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say, shifting to shield your face from his gaze.

Zoro cocks his head, tossing a few Berry towards the bartender as they set down a stein of beer and a champagne flute to replace the one in front of you.

“Can’t a guy buy a girl a drink?” Zoro asks, rolling his shoulders as he reaches out for his beer. You eye him warily.

“Not for a guy that’s been tracking me for three weeks straight.”

Zoro hums, thumb poised on the hilt of his swords.

“We just happened to be going in the same direction.”

You reach out to run a forefinger along the rim of the thin champagne flute before swirling it once by the base. You watch the bubbles fizzle before leaning in to take a dainty sip.

“And they say chivalry is dead…” you murmur, almost too softly for him to hear. Zoro scoffs, allowing himself a twinge of a smirk before his mouth falls flat.

“You let me track you for three whole weeks.”

There’s no question in his words, only a harsh, accusatory certainty.

You lick your lips, leaning back in your stool, tugging your glass of champagne with you.

“Maybe I wanted the company.”

“Or maybe… you wanted me to follow you here.”

Every muscle in his body is tense, drawn taut as a tightrope, coiled tight as a spring.

You sigh, twisting a single lock of your hair around a finger, examining the ends as if looking for split hairs.

Then, quick as a flash, you’re at each other’s throats — him with a sword poised at your jugular, you with a knife pressed against his stomach.

“One move —” you warn, digging the knife slightly further into his skin. Distinctly, Zoro feels the pressure slice through his thick linen shirt, the cool kiss of the blade against his abdomen. And he’s killed enough by now to know that you’ve picked a major artery — one that would hurt, and take minutes for him bleed out. Just long enough for him to suffer, but not enough to get help.

The edge of his mouth ticks upward — not bad.

It’s then, in the infinitesimal flicker of your eyes meeting his, that he realizes who you are.

He nearly topples back, jerking away slightly with the revelation. Your eyes go wide, jolted by his sudden movement. But he’s quick enough to evade the sharp jab of your knife and a second later, you’re on either ends of the tavern, drawn blades and bared teeth.

“Y-you!” the word rips from Zoro like an unripe scab, thick and hard and still bloody underneath.

You lick your lips, eyes narrowing to slits beneath your long, lanky hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t.”

“Oi! No fighting in the bar!” the barkeep’s voice is gruff and loud, and for a second, Zoro wonders if you’ll listen. The next, the sharp clang of metal on metal stuns him backwards a few steps as you wrest your knives from between two of his katanas, snarling.

“If you’re so much of a gentleman — let’s take this outside.”

“Ladies first,” Zoro spits out as he whips both swords through the air before sheathing them. He makes a show of holding the tavern door for you as you stalk out in front of him, your hackles raised, your knives jutting out from your belt like so many pairs of sharpened claws.

“What do you want?” you ask, as soon as you’re both out of the bar and standing in the moonlit street outside, the wharf to your left, the strip of small, rundown taverns to your right.

The air twangs with the metallic smell of fish and the thick, oppressive sweetness of rotting wood.

“An explanation,” Zoro says, crossing his arms and planting his feet.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Zoro nods, “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know.”

You lick your lips, glaring at him for a second longer before turning and marching down the rickety boardwalk. A moment later, Zoro levels himself with you as you round a corner onto a small stretch of beach, pillowed against a backdrop of sharp, unrelenting rocks, the tips bleached white by the round, silver moon.

“There was a beach just like this,” you say, stepping onto the tide-soaked sand, leaning down to pick up a fragment of a broken seashell, washed ashore by an errant wave.

It takes Zoro a second to realize you’re talking about Shimotsuki village, and the tiny little beach on the other side of the dense, cedar wood.

“Yeah. A bunch of us used to play there — see who can throw rocks out the furthest.”

“You were always the best at that,” you say, your voice softer than he’d heard all night.

“Yeah, well…” Zoro shrugs, leaning down to pick up a piece of rock, weighing it in his palm a few times before whipping his arm back to snap it into the gentle, shushing waves. You both watch as the rock skids out over the water before plunking into the sea, “Guess I’ve always been kind of a show-off.”

The sound of your laughter sends summertime sparklers racing up his spine.

The quiet pools between you like spilt blood, rank and dripping.

“So. You go by Ms. Double Nines now, I heard,” Zoro says, in a flagging attempt to be casual as he turns to glance at you, both his hands resting on the hilt of his swords.

You stand next to him, your eyes focused on a point far out on the horizon, still as statue.

“What’s it to you?”

Zoro sighs, looking down. In the pale, cool moonlight, his earrings glint like baring teeth.

“What happened?”

You suck in a breath.

"Life happened,” you say, turning back towards him with a steely glint in your eyes. Zoro stiffens, his grip tightening on his swords as he sizes you up. He does the mental calculations — you’re just far enough for him to defend against an attack, but close enough where if things were to go south entirely, he’d have a hard time getting back to safety.

You grin, seemingly noticing his rough internal calculations.

“Do yourself a favor, Roronoa — and don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answers to,” you say, flicking out one of your blades and tossing it up into the air, only to catch it around your finger, swinging it round and round, the sharp edge of the blade nicking the air just shy of your cheekbone.

“Who said I didn’t want to know?” Zoro presses, bracing himself for a fight.

You chuckle, the sound harsh and mirthless.

“If you’d wanted to fight me properly, you wouldn’t have waited till I got you onto this stretch of deserted beach.”

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to kill you.”

“Or maybe…” your voice is so low Zoro almost doesn’t catch the stomach-wrenching longing in your words, “I just wanted a quiet place to die.”

The sharp shink of blades being drawn is heart-rendingly familiar, but the bone-rattling clash of metal on metal still shakes him to the roots of his teeth. Zoro grunts as he parries a blow from either side, before crossing his swords to catch your assault down the center.

You’re fast, he’ll give you that, your body smaller and quicker. You slip through the shadows with the comfort of a person who knows nothing but and he can’t help wondering at the life you’ve led that had pushed you to this point.

To having a mark on your back, a bounty on your head.

You’re a good fighter — this much, he acknowledges. But good isn’t usually good enough to best him. This much, he also knows. Yet somehow, you’re keeping up, somehow, you’re pushing him back, forcing him to retreat one step and then another. It’s not until you duck beneath one of his pin-wheeling blades and force yourself into a knife’s-breath of his space that he realizes — it isn’t that you’re good, it’s that you’re reckless.

Reckless with your own body in a way that makes him stumble back at the realization. Reckless, in the way you charge forward and thrust your body into spaces where he’d easily be able to slip a blade between your ribs — and later, when he’s wiping his swords clean of your oxidizing blood, he’d wonder why he didn’t.

Still, there’s something terrifying in the way you barely flinch when he knicks your arm, drawing a dark line of blood through your clothes, or how you jerk yourself forward when the tip of his sword catches your stomach, almost as if daring him to impale you in one fell swoop.

“You — you used to be… someone else,” he says, panting as he steadies himself against a sharp jut of moonlit rocks. Behind you, the ocean churns, dark and foaming as it throws itself onto the jagged reefs.

You lick your lips, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek. Your chest heaves with the exertion, but there’s a pale, flickering ache behind your eyes that sets Zoro’s whole body on edge.

He shivers as you grin, savage and unrecognizable as the tiny girl with mochi-round cheeks who had once upon a time offered him sweets in a hand-woven basket.

“Yeah? Well — so did you.”

TAGLIST: @brairslair @msheds0519 @yunabelless @lynndt-chocolate @lostonthrillerbark @stunies @tsumu-senpai @phroggii @ssailormoonnn @breathinginyoursmoke @guridoodles @kyllium @naomihatake @itoshiexx @mythicallystupid @mars-mizuko @astroniii @crispynutella @enhastolemyheart @fanficwriter101 @jamesbparker @dira333 @weirdowithaphone @ink-perfect

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Note

I'm thinking about Megumi's sister, who went to magic school with him. who was trained by Gojo. who fell in love with Gojo. who dared to confess her feelings to him. and which Satoru rejected, saying that he was too old for her

it doesn't have to be something obscene… so if you like this idea, then please write something!

belong with me

- gojo satoru x reader

the strongest sorcerer is your savior. you know he is far from your reach... but is it so wrong to love him—after the years you spent by his side?

genre/warnings: angst to fluff, a bit slow burn, age gap, one-sided pining, mentions of injury, comfort, teacher!gojo x student!reader

notes: omg omg i actually really like this idea!! i had wanted to write this since you sent this ask but i was struggling with the setting, so i tweaked minor things so that it’ll fit the canon timeline—reader is megumi’s cousin rather than sister.

and *sigh* it somehow turned out into a 4k+ word🤧

general masterlist

What is Gojo Satoru to you?

If asked that, Megumi would definitely say that he owed both of your lives and his sister’s to him. Following the chaos too complicated for you to understand that left the three of you orphaned at the age of six, Gojo Satoru, who were just barely an adult himself then, was the one who stepped in to take all of you in.

But to you, he was more than just that. He was many things. Your savior, mentor, friend, and... you daresay, first love.

And because of that, you would never thought that there’d come a time when your heart was really broken by him.

At first, Gojo Satoru felt like a big brother to you. Megumi was suspicious of him since the very beginning—his skepticism was funny sometimes—but you and Tsumiki weren’t as much.

He easily became your friend. You would laugh for hours to end after he cracked the stupidest or lamest of jokes. He made the fact that curses exist and that you were somehow able to keep them at bay more bearable.

And when Tsumiki fell into her curse… Gojo was there to bring you comfort.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Your hands were shaking as you frantically poked and nudged your kind cousin from her peaceful slumber at the hospital bed. The smell was suffocating—the sight was unbearable. Tsumiki was supposed to be bouncing up and keeping both you and Megumi at bay, not lifelessly lying here like this.

Facing Gojo, who had a tight-lipped expression beside you, you pleaded, "Gojo-sensei—" your glassy eyes welled up, voice choked with tears, "—make her wake up, please..."

And that was the first time he broke your heart. Even the strongest couldn’t lift this cruel curse posed upon your kind sister.

Your throat tightened, choked with painful whimpers as tears flowed uncontrollably. Sudden grief overwhelmed you, making you sway and shake like a leaf. At first, you didn’t notice how a pair of warm hands enveloped you, drawing you close for comfort.

Gojo allowed you to cry against him while you pounded on his chest. Not a word came out of his lips, a telltale sign that he was taking the situation seriously—something you, above anyone else, understood well.

From then on—ever since the tragedy that befell Tsumiki, it seemed like Gojo became even more protective of you but stricter with Megumi. The two of you eventually pursued the path of jujutsu, driven by one wishful thinking in mind—the possibility to break Tsumiki’s curse.

Encountering Gojo became a daily routine when you lived at the dormitory as a first year at Jujutsu High. He frequently dropped by just to greet you, or give you some things he got from his missions.

"Here," Gojo handed you the package of a popular kikufuku store. With that blindfold on and a shit-eating grin split his face, he actually looked so ridiculous. "I got you all their available flavors! Trust me, you'll like them!"

Against your own will, you felt rosy blush spreading across your cheeks. "Oh, thank you... I'll give some to Megumi as well, he's been working hard lately..."

"Ehh?" he pursed his lips. "No, no, no—they're for you! Don't give them to that emo kid!"

There was absolutely nothing significant about how he worded it. You were well aware of that—only a fool wouldn't be.

So why are you so giddy? Hah, why do you feel like you're... special?

"Don't call him emo," you chided, trying to suppress your smile.

"But he is! He's always grouchy with me without reason!"

Throughout your childhood, and now as you were entering adulthood yourself, Gojo's presence in your life still felt like a comforting, warm blanket—a dependable presence you could rely on, someone you could trust completely.

And apparently, someone you had unwittingly given your heart to.

It was a gradual process. You didn't fall for him at first sight or anything of the sort—it took years of being under his protection. Even as you watched him pursue one girl after another from the sidelines, you couldn't deny it—your heart was already his since then.

He always knew what to say, how to cheer you up.

"What's got you so down, huh?" Gojo asked, tousling your hair gently as you slouched. "Is it because of earlier? Don't be so down, you're doing great."

You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the sting of failure twisting your gut. "I held everyone back, sensei. That's not great at all."

In the last mission, you nearly put Yuji and Nobara's lives in danger. You had taken the initiative to step into the cursed room, and had it not been for Megumi who came to your rescue, any one of you could have sustained significantly more severe injuries.

Gojo offered you a lopsided smile. "You couldn't have known that. Don't beat yourself up so much. The most important thing is that all of you are safe."

"But we might not, all because of my daring ass."

"Look."

He squatted to meet your eye level, and it dawned on you that he wasn't wearing that blindfold. "The fact is that everyone is good. And no, even if Megumi wasn't there, you wouldn't have been doomed. I would have been there, I always have, yeah?"

He was truly a sight, with that sparkling eyes even more so when he smiled unabashedly, voice not as playful as his tone usually was.

"That doesn't make me feel better," you replied, forcing out the words even as you were somewhat awestruck. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm inadequate."

"You're a first year," Gojo pointed out. "Everyone is bound to make mistakes. You just have to learn from them."

"In our line of work, those mistakes can cost us lives." You chewed your lip, looking down. "I—I don't want to be responsible for someone's death."

Your words left Gojo momentarily speechless. His blue eyes blinked several times as though he was taken aback, and you felt even more small—you had just revealed your deepest fear to him.

But suddenly, he laughed right in your face, prompting you to shoot him a glare. Just as you were about to retort, he rested his palm on your head.

"Do you seriously think I will allow that to happen?" Gojo queried with a wide grin and snarky tone. "To you, out of everyone else?"

You gazed at him in a daze, feeling self-conscious with his warm hand on your head. He'd likely done this a hundred times already, but you could never get past the sensation of his gentle touch on your skin. You yearned for more—for him to cradle your face, to caress you, to draw you closer—

“The obvious answer is, I won't,” he declared so surely, exuding unwavering confidence. You blinked, marveling at how his words made your heart soar and your breath catch. “So stop thinking about scary things. I'm here, remember?”

How was there a person who was such a perfect blend of the man of your dreams—smug, but also funny, caring and strong, like Gojo Satoru was?

Was it a sin to harbor these feelings for him? He has always been kind to you, and if you daresay it, fond of you as well. Is there a possibility—

Really, you should have known your boundaries.

"I think..."

And yet your heart screamed, for whatever it's worth—

"...I love you..."

Why couldn't you see that this was doomed right from the start?

"—Gojo-sensei."

You were breathless. Your wildly thumping heart drowned out almost everything else. Your hands were sweaty, and you braved yourself to meet his eyes.

And when you did, you knew heartbreak for the second time—

The way his smile faltered a bit, yet he forced it upwards, perhaps to spare your feelings.

Just as he always has. Ever since he rescued you back then, he would do these silly things so you would feel better.

"I'm flattered, you know?" Gojo gazed at you genially. "But I think—"

"You don't understand." What am I even insisting? "I... like you so much, Gojo-sensei. All this time."

It was supposed to be your final card. Baring everything to him. How grateful you were that he took you in, the kindness he showed you, Megumi and Tsumiki, those sleepless nights after Tsumiki fell into coma that he spent with you, sharing shaved ice on the hottest, cruelest summer...

"You're almost half my age," he stated matter-of-factly, and a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "You're mistaking love for admiration. That's it."

"No! I know how I feel—"

"You should find someone your age," Gojo added while maintaining his smile. "There are good guys out there. Toge is nice—ah, but his cursed technique might be a little troublesome. Yuji is earnest and honest..."

You have never thought that there’d come a time where your heart was really broken by him. But he just did, as he listed all your friends without any regard to your feelings.

Suddenly, a wave of resentment surged within you, prompting you to hiss and cut him off.

"You're always like this," your eyes had started to well up with tears, but you ignored it. His puzzled expression only fueled your frustration.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

You felt ashamed, but in hindsight you should've probably expected this. You didn't have anyone else to blame but yourself. You knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame on Gojo like now—he was merely on the receiving end of the brunt of your heartbreak.

You hated this. You hated yourself. And you couldn't help but to hate him too, despite knowing that you shouldn't.

With that, you dashed away, tucking away your first love to the furthermost part of your heart, swearing that you'd never, ever revisit that chapter of your life again.

Ain't that just the worst thing to hear?

Witnessing your tear-streaked face as you hurried past him left him stunned, rooted in place.

In no way was Gojo Satoru going to romance his own student. You were quite literally his protege and his other protege’s sister. That was simply out of the question. Not that he was the model of propriety, but even he knew that was not right.

And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact whether he did see you as a woman or not, because even if he did, it shouldn’t make a difference.

Right? It won’t change anything.

Because it was how it was supposed to be.

It was probably one of the forms of tantrum—or whatever it was labeled—in the end, it was simply a reaction to not achieving what you wanted.

For years, Gojo had shielded you and Megumi from the Zen’in clan. They were horrible people, and you were eternally grateful that Gojo went to great lengths for you, always swatting them away before they could get close to either of you.

Now that you thought about it, who they really wanted was Megumi. Your cousin held the quintessential Zen'in talent, while your modest Projection Sorcery wasn't particularly rare among the clan. Still, they sought you as well, merely to bolster their prestige with another member.

Normally, you wouldn't think such things. But you weren't in the best state of mind, muddled by your blind heartbreak. It skewed your mindset to one of the extremes.

And then you got this terrifyingly brilliant idea—what if you turned yourself to them? Surely the Zen’in would be sated for a while and stop bugging Megumi.

And you didn’t have to see Gojo as often too.

This went against everything he had done to ensure your safety. But that was the first thing that entered your mind when Zen’in Naoya accosted you by chance.

"We're family," he stated with a smirk, sending a shiver down your spine, an unsettling feeling washing over you. "We wouldn't harm you. Why waste your time being Gojo's little errand girl, huh?"

This was easier, or at least that was the illusion you attempted to persuade yourself with.

Naoya left with you with a meaningful "Think about it."

And the more you thought about it, the more you leaned towards the scenario you had thought to be unimaginable before—leaving Gojo behind.

Two months had passed since then, and it was time for the Kyoto Goodwill Exchange event. Gojo remembered this being one of the most exciting moments during his youth, and he sincerely wished that you would have fun too, even with all that had been going on between you.

He knew he was the one who said Yuji would be good. But he wanted to backtrack when he saw him getting punched by Todo. Nah, Yuji was too stupid, he wouldn’t want that for your match. Must be someone else… who was stronger, better.

And then he was even more beside himself when he saw you with Mechamaru.

Like really? That tin soldier? You could definitely have someone more human. He surely didn’t approve of the sight of you getting friendly with that suspicious scrap of metal!

"Hah," he grumbled to himself. Was it just him or were young boys these days simply too subpar?

Yuji is too risky, after all, he is also Sukuna's vessel. Todo... no way, he can crush you with one hand... Panda is a panda...

As if the roster wasn't bad enough, he was met with the most bewildering sight.

Never would have Gojo thought that someway or another, he would see you with that obnoxious Zen'in spawn who called himself the heir.

Before he could grasp his actions, he stomped right into the midst of where the two of you were—

. . .

You were a step away from agreeing to a whole load of new mess, until wind got knocked out of your lungs as you were harshly yanked from behind—

—and the next thing you knew, a broad back was in front of you.

“What do you want?” a low voice, almost foreign to your ears. But this man before you was Gojo Satoru himself, just way sterner than he usually was.

You were caught off guard by his tight grip on your wrist, his dark gaze fixed on the Naoya.

“Ah, don't be like that, please.” Naoya dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I'm just saying that it's been too long already for you to play the benefactor. She ought to be with the family, where she rightfully belongs."

Gojo seemed to grow more imposing, his sneer deepening. "And by family you mean you?"

The atmosphere grew tense as the exchange between them continued, each word laden with underlying tension.

"Hah, Gojo-sama, you really think you're so high and mighty, don't you? I'll have you know that she, and by extension, the Fushiguro boy, are Zen'ins. No matter how—"

Naoya's words seemed to falter as Gojo's presence intensified. There was this thick electricity in the air, and you almost shuddered when he spat, "Leave."

He couldn't possibly murder another great clan's heir, no matter how much he might have been able to. It would incite a strife that would make his eyes hurt. He just had to scare him off.

And he did. Naoya went with his tail tucked behind him, and that was one problem taken care of. Now Gojo just had one other thing to deal with—

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone sharp and accusing, before he even properly faced you. "Since when did you start meeting up with him?"

You hadn’t talked to him ever since your botched confession, but with the way it seemed, he was acting quite normal. It irked you.

"That's hardly your business," you retorted with a hiss.

Your responses seemed to grate him. "Oh? What do you mean it's not?"

"He is right, isn't he? I'm a Zen'in. There is no need for you to go out of your way to keep me under your wing. I can always go back to them."

"Are you—" His frustration was evident and it was quite possibly the first time you saw him direct this at you. "You can't go to them—"

"Sure," you mocked, wrenching your wrist away from his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not a child, Gojo-sensei. Please stop telling me what should and I should not do."

"That's not what I'm getting at. I've told you how horrible that place is, your place definitely isn't there."

"And? Where should I be?" you huffed challengingly. "Please, don't tell me that it's your cue to say that it's by your side. Because both of us know it's not."

Gojo didn't know what frustrated him more, the fact that you somehow fell into whatever it was that Naoya had whispered to your ear or how bratty you were being right now. Unwittingly, he let his own pettiness slip out, "You know what? You're being quite childish right now."

He convinced himself that, having practically raised you, he was entitled to have a say in major decisions in your life. He wouldn't let the Zen'in take Megumi away, let alone you.

Your face went scarlet with repressed anger. "So be it then."

With that, you stalked away, and just like how you went away from him the first time, Gojo could only stare at you in silence.

How had your relationship with him turned this sour? Was it the wrong thing to not acknowledge your confession before? He sincerely thought you would realize the implications behind your own words and snap out of that ideal version of him you had in mind—because he knew best that he wasn’t made for this.

Girls your age must want a taste of young love. He understood that, but it couldn’t be with him. It had to be someone else.

He resumed his musings earlier before he found you out with Naoya. And he finally came to a conclusion, that Yuta was the best match. Shame he was still away somewhere in Africa.

When Yuta got back, he would introduce him to you. Yuta was strong, kind, and he wouldn’t hurt you. And it would do him good too to have someone who cares about him.

Gojo Satoru never made flawed judgements. He knew this was the best approach, and yet why was there still this stifling feeling in his gut… at the idea of you being with someone—god forbid—who isn't him?

Not long after, a sinking feeling gnawed at him at the chaotic mess surrounding the Kyoto Goodwill event.

At first Gojo thought it was the standard worry. He chalked it up to all of his students were trapped inside this curtain that specifically forbid him to enter. Naturally, he would worry for his students; after all, he was their teacher.

But when he saw you fell on your knees with what seemed like a stem of cursed flower perched on your chest, he knew it was something else.

You were gasping for breath, clutching your chest in pain while Panda supported your weakened form, and seeing you like that apparently was too much for him. For the first time, Gojo regretted his decision. He shouldn't have pursued the enemy first. He should have gone to you first.

His instinct took over as he swiftly tore you away from Panda’s arms, drawing you close to his chest. His mind went blank, but he forced himself to focus on you, on what was causing you pain. "Y/N, calm down—"

"It hurts—!" you whimpered, digging your nails into his arm tightly, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts so much... I-I..."

For Gojo, this was a form of torture he hadn't realized before. For him, seeing you smile should have been the default, not this sobbing, injured, vulnerable state you were in now.

"I'll take you to Shoko. You'll be fine," he murmured decisively into your ear as you slumped against him. His grip around you tightened, and he repeated, "You'll be fine, I promise."

In the midst of your foggy mind, a realization struck—this was the second time you were ever held in his arms. And much like the first time, you felt an overwhelming sense of security.

Ah, but he had rejected you. You should know your place. You really should because pining on someone who didn't want you wasn't a wise thing to do.

But just this once...

Stupid. You were stupid indeed.

Because you chose to bask in this very short fantasy, fervently wishing that the heavens would grant you this sweet dream of him holding you in his arms like just this for a little longer.

As Gojo quietly observed you resting after being tended by Shoko, numerous thoughts swirled through his mind.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

That was not true. He didn't mean to treat you like a child, because you were indeed not. You were a grown woman now, no longer the crying child consoled by Tsumiki and protected by Megumi as you were back then.

Once, you were this young bud he was meant to nurture into strength, but now despite himself, he saw you more as a woman rather than his protege. He wanted to see you bloom into this pretty girl he had always known you were, always innocent and protected—and a selfish part of himself would add: preferably by himself.

You were so serene. You looked so soft too as you laid there. Gojo thought this wasn't quite right and he couldn't quite get the image of you screaming in pain out of his peripheral thoughts.

Had he truly fallen? This strong urge to protect you, ensure your happiness, see you always smiling—it was as if these emotions were suddenly planted, but immediately establishing themselves like deep-rooted feelings that wouldn't fade away easily.

No, actually... who was he kidding? It was what he had kept to himself for a while now. He just refused to acknowledge these feelings out of the misguided sense of propriety.

It was all he could think of from the moment you passed out until you awakened. He pasted a smile on his face when you opened your eyes to his face.

"Ah, Gojo-sensei..." you mumbled, still disoriented. The way you looked at him was as if you were spooked, to say the least, and it bugged him. "Sorry, how long have I passed out?"

"Just a few hours. Are you okay? Do you still feel the pain?"

"Uh... a bit, but I'm okay..."

Normally, he never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you. This was too obvious. You were uncomfortable with him, and he noticed it.

You also seemed acutely aware of this immensely awkward situation. Having spent the majority of your life with him, you used to be open and at ease around him. But now, it wasn't the same. All because of your reckless confession before.

You spent the first few hours with occasional silence. Eventually, Gojo stepped away for a while, leaving behind a lingering sense of discomfort instilled within you.

You remembered the feeling of being in his arms. Once again, he saved you. The least you could do is to express your gratitude.

I don’t like this. It had been two months already. You had to put an end to this unbearable tension. You couldn't force him to return your feelings—you understood that now. And to make it to the way it used to be, you had to make it clear to Gojo too.

And so when he was back to your room, you braved yourself again. For the second and last time.

"Gojo-sensei," you breathed out, willing your shaky hands at bay. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable. Please forget what I said before."

What is this now? Gojo blinked, stopping right in his tracks, somehow hearing how you started with a "sorry" didn't sit well with him.

You continued. "Maybe you are right. I'm grateful for you, I look up to you... for the longest time, I might even have idolized you."

Wait...

"But it isn't love," you said with finality, looking away. "This is me admiring you, for all things you have done for me. And even if it is, I still can't force you to look at me in that way."

Gojo could only gaze at you in silence, a storm raging inside his chest. This was what he had hoped you would realize when you confessed your feelings back then, but now—

"I don't like how... we are now," you gulped. "And it's my fault. So I'm taking it back—"

“No, just—” This wasn’t right. Gojo knows it, but why is he saying this? “Just wait for a minute.”

You started as someone he wanted to protect, along with Megumi and Tsumiki. And then you grew up right in front of his eyes. Someone like you, who had gone through many horrors in life ever since young should have someone dependable and strong who could make you happy.

But then Gojo thought, he didn’t like how others looked at you. Heck, in his eyes, they were inadequate for you, if anything.

“Sensei?” you looked up to him with that doe eyes of yours, and Gojo Satoru felt like this was enough.

To hell with you finding someone your age.

He was strong—the strongest, and if it’s him, he most definitely could protect you far better than anyone.

He could make you laugh—had been for years already, and nothing would stop him now.

He would be damned should you somehow go to the grubby hands of the Zen’in.

“Keep your eyes on me,” his somber voice said then, causing your heart to skip a beat in response.

In short, he was better-suited for you more than anyone else ever could, in every possible aspect.

Apparently he was right. Your place was by his side, after all.

“…because from now, I might start looking at you too.”

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kaisacobra · 3 months ago

Text

I See You - Tara Carpenter

Part 2 of I Dare You

Summary: At one of Amber's infamous parties, Tara's feelings get more and more complicated as she starts getting to know you.

Warnings: Fem!Painter!Reader, slow burn, mentions of sex, alcohol and partying, minor angst, non canon/high school

w.c: 6.9k

So, the glitch in the matrix seemed to be lasting much longer than you anticipated.

You did your best to forget the interaction you'd had with Tara and, honestly, that hadn't been such a difficult task. You still had a life, after all, and the rest of your day was divided into making preparations for the volunteering you'd be doing at the hospital during the weekend, studying and trying to make any progress on your painting.

Unfortunately, the last task proved itself to be annoyingly impossible, no matter how hard you tried. You'd tried everything from throwing random brushstrokes at the canvas to staring at the blank space while upside down in your bed, which filled your brain with blood but not with ideas.

There came a point when you had to admit defeat, at least for a day, and you picked up your phone to try to distract yourself from what seemed to be your greatest artistic failure. Your plans were to doomscroll through all possible social media and try to get the slightest bit of inspiration, but your attention was grabbed by a text notification coming from your Instagram.

From the username, it was clear that the text had been from none other than Tara Carpenter, which made your heart race a little in response. Your profile was a bit hard to find because there were no photos of you, which meant that Tara specifically had to look for you for a while. What's more, your profile was basically an exhibition of your artwork and the idea of someone other than your friends and teacher looking at all your projects made you a little anxious.

The texts themselves contained nothing much, apart from Tara apologizing for taking your pen (which you didn't even remember lending, to be honest) and then trying to strike up a conversation by asking you about Freddy vs Leatherface. Even so, noticing that she'd made an effort to keep on talking to you left you swooning.

You answered, of course. It would be rude to leave someone on read, wouldn't it? And besides, you were already planning to procrastinate anyway, so why not be nice and talk to Tara for a few minutes?

Who cares if minutes became hours, right?

And when school started the next day, you felt lighter, somehow. To your relief, no one seemed to remember your disastrous stumble the day before (probably because few people remembered you in general) and so you didn't have to deal with any giggles or weird looks.

You were in the middle of getting some books out of your locker when a familiar pen levitated into your field of vision. Your gaze followed the tanned arm that was holding it and you were met with long eyelashes and a sly smile.

“I'm a woman of my word! Here's your pen.” Tara raised the object towards you, making a funny reference to the text she had sent you the day before.

You rolled your eyes in amusement, although you couldn't hold the expression for long due to the corners of your lips lifting involuntarily. You took the small item from her hand and quickly put it in your bag. “Thanks, it's good to know you're not a thief. Did you at least bring one pen today?”

She understood the light, false accusatory tone in your voice and raised her hand, showing two fingers raised in a V. “Haha. Just so you know, I brought two today.”

It was amazing how instantaneous and right that conversation felt, almost as if it was the kind of thing you did all the time and not for the first time. Talking to Tara was surprisingly easy and you could see at least a friendship blooming between you in the near future.

If it weren't for the fact that she hangs out with the most insufferable people in the world, of course.

The reminder of Tara's group of friends hit you like a thunderbolt and made your chest ache for some reason. The words of both Ethan and Mindy echoed in your head, warning you to be careful, but a large chunk of your mind also insisted on reminding you of Anika's more positive opinion on the topic.

You turned to your locker again, pretending you were looking for something that didn't even exist. “I could never manage with just one pen.” You added politely, not wanting to leave Tara's joke unanswered just because your thoughts were getting muddled.

“I know. Artist and all, aren't you?” The girl nodded and you could see out of the corner of your eye as she leaned on the locker next to you, crossing her arms while still looking at you with a thoughtful expression. “Hey, don't you feel like going to a party tonight?”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as you processed what she had said, but Tara remained completely unbothered by your side. As far as you knew, the Carpenter girl didn't usually throw parties, but Amber Freeman did, and she'd instituted a very specific rule about them ever since she'd thrown the first one during your freshman year:

Invite only. No losers allowed.

And, as far as you knew, in Amber's opinion you were included in the word “losers”.

“I don't think so.” You shook your head. “Amber's throwing this party, isn't she? I don't have an invitation and I don't even like parties that much.”

Tara laughed out loud at that, causing a few heads to turn in your direction and your cheeks to heat up like coals. “I'm inviting you, ain't I? and seriously! I've never even seen you at the boring school parties, how are you supposed to know if you like parties or not without ever having tried them?”

Okay, you weren't expecting Tara to rebut your arguments or be so insistent about your presence. Was it getting warmer or was it just your impression? “But... I don't even know anyone who's going, I'll probably just stand in the corner the whole night. And also, I have an appointment the next day, I can't, like, go wild...”

Unexpectedly, Tara let out an even louder laugh, this time even wiping away a tear that ran down her cheek. “Go wild? You're hilarious.” She controlled her breathing, still keeping a bright smile on her face. “You don't have to drink if you don't want to, no one's going to force you. And about the being alone part, you can invite those friends of yours. Amber won't mind, she wants more people at her parties anyway and she refuses to call sophomores and below.”

You looked at her with surprise and suspicion. Invite your friends? Did Tara remember that your friends included Mindy Meeks-Martin? Like, basically Amber's number one enemy, Mindy Meeks-Martin?

Tara finally noticed your wary expression and sighed, uncrossing her arms and raising both hands in a peaceful gesture. “Look, Amber said I could invite nice people and I think you're nice. She'll be busy with other things anyway, she probably won't even notice that your friends are there.”

You bit your lower lip, considering your options. On the one hand, parties weren't exactly your natural habitat and you still had your doubts about whether or not you were welcome there. On the other hand, Tara had been so kind to you lately and... for some reason, you wanted to explore it a little further.

“Can I give you an answer later? I'll ask my friends if they're going.” That's what you decided to answer, choosing to leave your conflicting future in the hands of your dear companions.

Tara nodded a yes and complemented the action with a shrug. “Okay. But even if they decide not to go, I think you should give it a chance.”

Suddenly, the bell for the first period echoed in the corridors, waking you both up to the fact that you had to be in your classrooms in a few seconds. As lockers closed and teenagers ran to avoid being late, Tara lazily turned around and started walking away, ending your interaction.

But you didn't want it to end so soon. In a impulsive act, you raised your voice. “What should I wear?”

Tara turned as soon as she heard you and her eyes slowly traveled up and down your body as a smile worthy of the Cheshire cat broke out on her face. “Wear something pretty! But I think you were already going to do that anyway.”

System crash. Your brain shortcutted. Did Tara had just...? No, she couldn't have possibly... checked you out? Were you seeing things?

As Tara's back got further and further down the corridor, you ran back to your classroom, muttering on the way, “God, I'm really not your strongest soldier.”

“I need to ask you something.”

You were extremely nervous. Your fingers kept drumming on the table and your brain was desperately trying to think of a way to convince your friends to A) go to Amber's party with you and B) not think you were out of your mind.

Tara's words (and her actions, by the way) really made you consider that crazy possibility. On any other occasion, you would have denied it as quickly as possible and then run away, but you were finding that Tara Carpenter could be extremely convincing.

Mindy swallowed a piece of the sandwich she was holding, making a dismissive gesture with her hands. “I’ve told you before, we have no interest in a throuple.”

Sitting next to her with her feet propped up on her girlfriend's lap, Anika raised an eyebrow and smiled playfully. “Who says we don't?”

“What?!” Both Mindy and Ethan shouted, although the girl clearly got the joke and was just going along with it, while the boy seemed really bothered by the idea. You and Anika let out a loud chuckle and you smiled at her in appreciation, knowing that she had joked around just to make you less nervous.

With the mood more relaxed, you took a deep breath and said the words in rapid fire, fearing that they would never come out if you lingered too long. “Tara invited me to Amber's party and she said I could invite you guys. Would you go with me? Please?”

“Absolutely not.” Mindy quickly denied your request, putting on an angry expression. “And why would you want to go to a party like that, anyway?”

“That's right, only assholes go to that kind of thing.” Ethan agreed with the girl, looking equally annoyed by your suggestion.

Your eyes turned to Anika in a plea for help and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Opening her famous warm smile that reached her eyes, she grabbed Mindy's arm and pouted. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeease, I've always wanted to go to a party like this. We can just go and laugh at people being dumb.”

“We can laugh at people being dumb at school literally all the time, I don't need to be at Amber Freeman's house for that.” Mindy objects, but it's obvious that she's already starting to give in to her girlfriend's charms by the way her face looks more peaceful.

Anika looked in your direction and you understood that you would have to stay in that ping pong game of arguments until the other two gave in. “Amber won't even notice we were there! Tara said there would be too many people for her to handle.”

“Aaaand,” Anika added, moving even closer to Mindy, almost sitting on her lap on that narrow wooden bench. “Our theme for the A.V club project is literally young and reckless! What's more young and reckless than Amber's parties?! We'll get some great material if we go!”

Mindy considered the proposal for long seconds that left you on the edge of your seat. You knew Ethan would probably go if you all did, so it was really all in the Meeks-Martin girl's hands.

Finally, she sighed and rolled her eyes, slipping an arm around her girlfriend's shoulders. “Okay, I'll go. But I’m warning you, if Amber even looks in my direction, I won't answer for myself.”

Anika squealed, grabbing Mindy's face and pulling her close to kiss her cheek, which clearly got the girl flustered even though she only replied with an “alright, alright”. You smiled at this, feeling a mixture of amusement and relief at knowing that your friends had agreed to embark with you on this madness.

Ethan hadn't necessarily agreed yet, but when you looked in his direction, he sighed dramatically, so that his brown curls moved with the wind. “If you're both going, I think I'll go to keep y/n company. So she won't be a third wheel and won't be bothered by idiots, you know?”

You thanked the boy with a pat on the shoulder and his smile automatically widened. Across the table, Mindy laughed. “Oh, I don't think you have to worry about y/n getting third wheeled, Ethan. Tara invited her, did you forget?”

“Holy shit. I have to tell Tara.” You remembered your conversation with the girl earlier, rushing into her DMs and completely ignoring the jokes and teasing from the girls in front of you.

You just hoped they could also ignore your completely flustered behavior.

We're going!

A simple message had made Tara's day a thousand times better. She'd forgotten how insufferable Amber could be on party days, as well as the fact that Liv had spent the whole day acting like a pick-me-girl because Chad had been spending much more time on his phone than with her lately.

She'd put her best Casanova act into play when she'd spoken to you earlier, but somehow your sense of humor made her break character and just act like herself, which was something she couldn't remember doing so freely in a long time.

Of course she had appealed for a bit of her charm at the end, but she just couldn't hold back when you had opened up such a perfect opening for her to flirt.

“You should really thank me, you know that?” A familiar voice whispered close to her ear and soon pale arms wrapped around her neck in a grip that bordered on uncomfortable. “I basically handed you your challenge on a platter by letting you invite those weirdos.”

Tara was annoyed by the comment and she quickly disentangled herself from the hug, bumping into Amber and her devilish expression. The shorter girl huffed, fixing her clothes and hair as if that was the real reason she had walked away.

At least this time she didn't turn red. That was progress.

“Shut up. If anything happens, it'll be my merit.” Tara slung her bag over her shoulder, walking along with Amber and the other students to the exit after another tiring Friday of classes.

The taller girl didn't even mind Tara's protests, shaking her head as if she didn't believe the freckled girl’s words. “Anyway, at least you'll be busy while I'm doing someone and won't be bothering me the next day.”

They walked out the door and fortunately Tara could already see Sam's car parked not far away. The girl turned her face in the opposite direction of her friend’s, pretending it was due to the sun and hoping Amber hadn't seen the pained expression on her face. “Whatever. See you later, Freeman.”

“See you later, Carpenter!” Amber shouted back, but Tara didn't turn around to wave goodbye and kept her head down until she reached the old sedan her mother used to drive. At least that was until she was no longer sober enough to hold a steering wheel.

Inside the car, Sam raised her head when she heard the door open and close after Tara got into the passenger seat. She started to back out of the parking lot, occasionally glancing at her younger sister who seemed to be upset beside her. “So... how was school?”

“Don't fucking start.” Tara muttered, putting on her headphones in a quick move to isolate herself from the world and from an older sister who suddenly wanted to be there for her after abandoning her alone with an alcoholic for a year.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the window, trying not to think about how Amber really got on her nerves sometimes, or think about the guilt that was starting to rise up inside her after being rude to Sam for nothing. Why couldn't her mind stop working for just one minute?

But as she tried to make her own thoughts go blank, a pleasant memory surfaced. Tara remembered your conversation earlier, the way you could understand each other's moods and how genuinely happy she was that you were going to the party for her.

Maybe, if she just kissed you and hid the real reason behind everything, you could even be friends after all. Maybe she could even convince Amber that you were a nice person, so that you could hang out with them.

Of course, these were only wishful thinking, but Tara wanted peace and, at the moment, the utopian idea of having you around gave her that exact feeling.

“Okay, now give me a spin.”

You turned in your place at Anika's request, being mindful to not to get out of the sight of your phone camera, which was leaning awkwardly on your desk. Your room was a mess of clothes scattered all over the place, highlighting your intense search to decide on the perfect outfit to wear for the party.

“So?” You asked your friend, who had her attention split between the video call and her own elaborate makeup.

Anika seemed to finish her analysis on your look while you were about to start trembling with anxiety. You trusted the girl's fashion sense more than anything and you swore you could have started crying if she said that your outfit wasn't good. Fortunately, her response was a positive nod and a satisfied grin. “Oh, you look so cute!”

You looked down, once again staring at the outfit you had chosen, which was a comfortable one, but neat enough to let people know that you had put some effort into dressing up.

Receiving compliments had never exactly been your strong suit, but as much as you felt awkward about Anika's comment, you couldn't get Tara's recommendation out of your head. “Yeah, but do I look pretty?”

“Of course you do! Cute, pretty, it's all the same!”

You frowned, still feeling annoyed. Fashion had never exactly been your forte and that fact was your Achilles heel at the moment, since you still weren't convinced that “cute” and “pretty” were the same thing. In your opinion, Tara seemed to be the type who liked pretty girls, but not cute girls.

Or maybe it didn't make any sense at all and you were just going crazy at the thought of spending the next few hours in a house full of people you either didn't know or didn't like. Besides, when did you start caring about the kind of girl Tara liked?

“I can hear your thoughts from here, you know?” Anika called out, making your head snap out of that internal cycle of overthinking. “Is this all to impress Tara?”

“Ugh.” You grunted, flopping onto your bed oblivious to the dozens of clothes that were crumpling under your body. “No? Maybe? I don't know.”

You felt ashamed of the situation, even though you knew Anika wasn't the judgmental type. Your feelings were still confusing and you definitely didn't feel ready to admit that you thought about Tara more than you should, but there was also no way to hide something that was so obvious.

“Hey, it's okay, you know? Actually, I'm glad to see you're interested in someone.” Anika replied kindly, which made you work up the courage to sit up, staring at your friend's genuine expression through the screen. “I know you're worried about Mindy and all, but Chad's always nice to me when I go to their house and it was super easy to do some school work with Wes for our calc class.”

She continued, “What I mean is that Tara could still be a nice girl for you, no matter how much there's this Romeo and Juliet thing going on between our groups.”

“It's not that. I mean, it is a bit, but also...” You sighed, trying hard not to run your hands through your hair and make it look messy. “... I don't think she'd be interested in me. I mean, she's been giving me these signals but, I don't know, maybe she does it with everyone?”

Anika tsked, shaking her head and giving you a playful smile. “I've never heard of Tara being a player.”

You groaned again, turning your face away as if the act would somehow stop you from feeling so flustered. Anika laughed in response. “Just enjoy the moment! You already know she's the straight forward type, don't you? If she wants something from you, I'm sure she'll get it.”

“Anika!” You shrieked, appalled by what she was inferring. Your entire face seemed to be engulfed in lava as your friend laughed even louder at the clear shock you expressed.

“What?! The world needs more people like that, you know? That's why I'm going to take the initiative to run away to a corner with Mindy at the first opportunity and-.”

“Ew! No! Stop talking! Please, you're my mother figures!”

The walls of the house seemed to shake under Tara's fingers as she leaned on it, making her way to the bathroom in slow, crooked steps as she cursed quietly at the amount of people crowding into the hallway.

They were screaming with joy, slurring the lyrics of the extremely loud song that was playing on the huge speakers in the living room, echoing throughout the house and possibly the entire block. Thank God, Wes had already taken care of his mother.

Tara groaned the whole way, feeling like pushing away all the sweaty, alcohol-altered people who bumped into her shoulder, unable to see properly through the colored lights that made the place look like a nightclub. She sighed in relief when she finally found the bathroom, opening the door and locking herself inside without caring about the noise it made.

She turned on the lights and leaned on the sink with both hands, leaning over to look at her reflection in the mirror, with tired eyes and her bangs sticking to her forehead from sweat. God, how could she have been so shaken up by a measly hour of partying? She used to be able to take a lot more.

But she also knew exactly what had led up to it and the smell of alcohol on her lips wouldn't let her lie. She thought she was going to have more fun, but her evening became much more difficult after she saw Amber stick her tongue down the throats of at least three people right in front of her, making a point of giving Tara a thumbs-up afterwards, almost as if she was trying to annoy her friend on purpose.

Tara tried everything to make herself less bothered. She'd danced, she'd watched some people play 7 minutes in heaven, she'd even flirted with a few people just for fun, but in the end, what had stopped her blood from pounding furiously in her ears had been the beers stocked in Amber's basement fridge.

She stopped after the third one, after she felt tipsy enough. She didn't want to be her mother's daughter, who didn't know her own limits and fell asleep on the living room carpet because she didn't have the strength to walk to her own room. And the drinks helped for a while, but now that the sweat had evaporated the effect of the alcohol on herself, her headache left her one scream or punch away from going insane.

Tara splashed water on her face, oblivious to the fact that her makeup was getting smudged or her bangs got even wetter. At this point, she no longer cared about much other than surviving the rest of the night.

Once she had pulled herself together, she sighed and left the bathroom, expecting to be dragged into the living room by the crowd of teenagers dancing and jumping around like wild animals, but instead she ended up being bumped in the opposite direction, almost knocking her off balance.

“Oh my God, I'm sorry!” Gentle hands rushed to hold Tara up before she fell and she followed the length of the arms with her eyes until she bumped into a familiar face. It was you, who was now staring at Tara with a frown. The girl couldn't help herself and looked you up and down, mentally appreciating the way you were dressed.

You quickly took your hands off Tara's shoulders, rubbing them anxiously. The girl felt a tug in her chest as she remembered that she had invited you and you most likely should have spent all this time looking for her, while she was drinking and whining about not having the attention of the biggest bitch in Woodsboro. Drunk and abandoning people? Wow, the Carpenter women's genes never fail.

“I didn't realize you'd already arrived.” Tara broke the awkward silence, mentally thanking you for being upstairs and being able to talk without having to shout over the hip hop track playing in the living room.

You looked away, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. It's been a while.”

Tara nodded, feeling a little disappointed in herself as she realized that you had clearly been annoyed by her absence. She tried to strike up a conversation again, wishing she could somehow put a smile on your face. “What brings you upstairs? Not enjoying the energy of the party?”

“I was looking for the bathroom.” You sighed, hugging your elbows. “Actually, I was more looking to escape to the bathroom, because I was planning to hide there until my friends decided to leave.”

“You really don’t like parties, huh?” Tara joked, but the smile on her face hardened when she realized that you hadn't laughed along with her.

Tara felt terrible. Sure, you'd only had a few interactions before, but all of them had proved that you could understand each other easily. Now, Tara didn't know if it was the party, if it was her or something else that had made you look so uncomfortable, but she was determined to make it up to you for being an idiot.

“You know, I think I have a better hiding place than a small bathroom.” She leaned towards you, as if she was sharing a secret. “Are you interested?”

You scrutinized the girl's face and she couldn't help but be disappointed that you didn't even seem to be affected by your proximity as you usually would. Your arms were crossed as you felt suspicious of her offer. “Don't you have to go back to the party?”

Tara made a dismissive gesture with her hand and started walking down the large hallway, looking for a specific room. “Nah, I've been to so many of these that it's lost it’s spark to me.”

Technically, it wasn't a lie. Tara was sick of that party and she'd love to have a distraction from the fact that Amber was now probably at her body count number 100 and Tara wasn't talking about dead people. But then again, she felt strangely committed to making you have at least a little fun and she really liked your company.

Maybe it was just because she felt bad for having invited you in the first place. Yeah, that must be it.

She opened Amber's bedroom door, barging in without hesitation and heading straight for the window, opening it all the way. Behind her, you seemed slightly alarmed by the idea of simply invading the personal space of a girl who could make your life a living hell. “Uh…”

But before you could really protest, Tara put one leg out of the window, glancing in your direction with a playful smile. “Trust me. You’re not scared, are you?”

“I’m not scared, but trusting you? After you invited me to a party you’re trying to escape?” you replied, making Tara's smile widen as she realized you were starting to open up again. “And what are you doing at the window, Rapunzel?”

Tara chuckled, pointing your way. “Wait and see.”

In a swift motion, she raised her hands to the roof platform above her head, pushing off Amber's window with her feet to gain enough momentum to pull herself up with extra effort from her arms. Still holding onto the edge, Tara hung upside down, looking at you through the window with her bangs sticking up. “So, are you coming or not?”

You snorted lightly with the sight, shaking your head as you approached the window. “I’m no Spider-Man. If I fall from here, it’ll be your fault, and I hope they write it down as homicide.”

“Good to know you have so much faith in me.” Tara answered, kneeling on the roof tiles and extending her hand for you to grab. You hesitated for a few seconds, and honestly, Tara couldn’t blame you for it, but she kept looking at you expectantly, trying to communicate with her eyes. Let me make things right with you.

She almost sighed in relief when you finally grabbed her forearm, letting her help you up slowly, pretending not to notice how her hands ended up on your hips. All in the name of making your night a little less boring, of course.

But wow, your body felt... warm.

It didn’t take long for you to pull away from Tara, clearing your throat and sitting on the roof beside her. It would be hard to stand for long due to the slope, but the spot was comfortable enough for you to sit or lie down without the risk of rolling off.

The roof was quite high, not tall enough for you to see the entire city, for example, but high enough that the people below you looked like tiny ants. Ants that were dancing, having fun, and throwing cups of beer at each other.

“Do you come here often?” you broke the silence, but Tara saw the exact moment you winced, realizing way too late the double meaning of your words. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t…”

“It’s all good.” Tara laughed, considering saying something to tease you even more, but she ultimately decided against it , feeling a bit sorry for your embarrassed state. “And no, to answer your question. I used to spend a lot more time up here before, but now…”

She let the sentence trail off, lost in her own thoughts. Maybe the last time she had been on that roof was the day Sam had gone to rehab, two years ago. Which, looking back now, was probably around the same time Amber stopped being a caring friend and started being the friend that thought Tara complained too much.

The two of you remained in a comfortable silence for a few more seconds—or as quiet as it could be with two massive speakers blasting music two floors below. Tara glanced to the side, staring at your face, which seemed more focused on the starry sky, illuminated only by a few beams of moonlight.

Like she had felt in the car earlier, that sight gave her peace. It wasn’t like looking at Amber, which made her feel like her organs were being squeezed and thrown into an erupting volcano. Looking at you made her feel like a sea breeze was brushing against her face, a comforting, peaceful gust of wind.

Tara’s eyes drifted down to your lips, and she had to run her tongue across her own. Amber’s challenge lingered in the back of her mind, and she was tempted to test if your kiss would be a better distraction than the cheap beer she’d grabbed from the basement.

But suddenly, Tara felt self-conscious. Maybe it was the fact that the idea had been Amber’s, and she was still too annoyed with the girl to give her the satisfaction of being right. Maybe it was because she could still taste the alcohol in her mouth and didn’t want you to taste it too.

Or maybe it was something else. Something gentler and softer that even Tara couldn’t quite describe yet.

“Oh, look!” Tara snapped out of her own thoughts when she saw you excitedly pointing at the sky. “You can see Orion so clearly!”

She followed the direction of your hand with her eyes, feeling confused about what exactly she was supposed to be looking at. That particular night was cloudless, which made the vast array of stars shining in the dark sky exceptionally beautiful.

You noticed the lost expression on the girl’s face beside you and chuckled. “Orion? The constellation?”

“Oh, yeah. I… I know.” Tara just nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed for not being sure what you were referring to. She knew what a constellation was, of course, but she had never studied them in much detail, and in her eyes, all she could see in the sky were random stars, beautiful but completely scattered.

You laughed again, not buying Tara’s excuse for a second after seeing how confused her eyes looked. Gently, your hand held hers as you started pointing out the constellation with both of your hands joined together.

“See those three stars close together? That’s what we call Orion’s belt. It’s much easier to spot the rest of the constellation starting from there. Up there, kind of making a triangle, you have Meissa, Betelgeuse, and Bellatrix, and if you look to the side, it kinda looks like he’s holding a bow.”

Tara wanted to pay attention to your explanation, but her brain turned to mush the moment your hands got entangled, and her heart started pounding like the drums in a heavy metal song. You, on the other hand, seemed completely unaware of the action, which made Tara feel even more like an idiot.

Wow, what was in those drinks?

“You really know a lot about this,” she said, trying to sound normal, even though her voice felt like it could crack at any moment. You smiled at the comment, letting go of her hand to play with your fingers in your lap.

“One day, I had this brilliant idea to paint constellations on my bedroom ceiling—or at least most of them—and I had to do a ton of research to make sure it looked right.” You laughed, and Tara realized she wanted to hear that sound more and more.

“It’s cool that you’re a painter. It’s different.” She wanted to keep the conversation going, eager to learn more about any detail you were willing to offer, but she didn’t exactly know what to say. For someone who usually had no trouble expressing herself, Tara seemed to have forgotten her entire vocabulary.

Luckily, you seemed to be in the opposite situation, feeling comfortable enough to keep talking. “I guess so? I’ve never thought much about it before. Painting is a lot more than just a hobby for me—it’s more like a safe haven, you know?”

Tara nodded instead of giving a verbal response, especially because she knew exactly what you were talking about, but she didn’t have the words to express how much she needed a conversation like this—so simple, yet so healing.

She reached into the pocket of her jacket, slowly pulling out her phone. “Can I take a picture of the constellation?” Tara asked, mentally kicking herself when she heard how vulnerable her voice sounded.

Her tone didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you looked at her with a bit of confusion, but soon after, your eyes softened, shining with kindness—almost as bright as the stars above your heads. “You don’t have to ask me to take pictures of the sky, but do you want me to point it out again?”

“Sorry, old habit.” She shook her head to snap out of it, feeling her cheeks heating up as she started opening the camera app and aiming it upward. “But yeah, please.”

Slowly and gently, you took Tara’s hands again, working together with her to make sure the constellation was perfectly centered. You were close enough for Tara to catch the pleasant scent of your perfume, but she forced herself to stay focused on the picture you two were trying to capture.

After a few successful shots of Orion (which Tara planned to edit later to make it more visible and color-corrected), the two of you lay down side by side, admiring the night’s beauty in another moment of shared, comfortable silence.

Now, the silence inside Sam’s car wasn’t as comfortable.

It was the first time Tara had asked Sam to pick her up from a party, especially as late as 2 AM, considering the younger Carpenter always used to sleep over at Amber’s once everything wrapped up.

But after you left, Tara completely lost the desire to stay. The music was dull, she had no interest in drinking or playing any games, and she definitely didn’t want to be around her friends anymore.

She sat in a thoughtful silence, her head resting against the window, watching as the asphalt disappeared behind the car doors. The soft hum of the engine served as background noise since Tara didn’t have her precious headphones, but she’d spent enough time around loud music for the night anyway, so her ears were begging for a break.

“Did you… have fun?” Sam asked cautiously, as if Tara were a wounded animal that might lash out at any moment. The younger girl sighed, feeling guilty for being the reason behind the hostile distance between them.

She already felt guilty about enough things. Maybe it was time to start lifting some of that weight off her shoulders.

“I guess I did.” She nodded, watching Sam’s surprised expression at her genuine response. The look made her seem younger, reminding Tara that Sam wasn’t that much older than her. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember seeing Sam so carefree since she’d returned, but her anger hadn’t exactly allowed her to notice the little details. “I had a good time.”

“Good,” Sam replied, trying to hide a satisfied smile from tugging at the corner of her lips. In the passenger seat, Tara did the same, feeling a tiny bit of happiness from the small progress they’d made. Small steps were important.

The car fell silent again, but it felt less heavy, and Tara figured it was because Sam was tired and still had to focus on the road for at least another 10 minutes. Taking advantage of the pause, the younger Carpenter pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket, going straight to her gallery and searching for the pictures she had taken earlier.

Most of them were of the sky, capturing the fateful (and now familiar to Tara) constellation of Orion, which made her think of the feeling of your hands on hers. Two others, however, were a bit more personal for her.

She zoomed in on the photo, staring at the profile of your face bathed in moonlight as you smiled brighter than the stars. She had taken the picture in secret, an impulsive urge to capture not just the moment, but you. Tomorrow, she could blame it on the alcohol, but tonight, she would give herself the privilege of gazing at your carefree expression for a few long seconds.

You had probably spent hours talking on the roof, and yet it still didn’t feel like enough. Tara wanted more. She needed more. Even though she’d never considered herself to be possessive or clingy, she couldn’t help but want to explore every little piece of your world as if it were the most beautiful piece of art.

A sudden thought crossed her mind, and Tara quickly opened Instagram, this time taking her time to scroll through and really appreciate each of your paintings. As she studied the pieces you had displayed, she mentally kicked herself for not having done it sooner. It was clear that you drew inspiration from the Renaissance, and that people were your greatest muse. There were few self-portraits, but Tara recognized some of your friends in the works.

She was so captivated that she felt a strong urge to knock on your door and ask you to tell her the story behind each one, just for the pleasure of hearing your voice. But, well, it was 2 AM, and she didn’t even know where you lived.

And, of course, she wasn’t that crazy.

Still, she decided to slide into your DMs, sending you five of the photos you had taken of the sky, taking the opportunity to wish you a good night. Would sending a heart emoji be too much? She decided against it. The photos would be enough.

But Tara still wasn’t satisfied with her exploration, so she ventured into your stories, looking for anything that could give her more reasons to talk to you. It turned out to be a great decision, because she struck gold.

You had posted an announcement from Woodsboro Central Hospital earlier, calling for volunteers for a special event dedicated to bringing joy to children hospitalized with cancer. The flyer said that any help was welcome, from telling stories to dressing up as superheroes, and Tara couldn’t stop wondering what you had signed up to do.

Without wasting any time, she navigated to the hospital’s profile, hoping they were still accepting applications even though she was texting them literally seven hours before the event.

Hi, I’m interested in volunteering! Would you need a photographer?

#scream #scream vi #scream 2022 #scream x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #scream imagine #scream x you #scream x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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sillysillygoofygoose · 11 months ago

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Hi hi! Can I request a Toji x fem! Reader who’s really quiet in bed, because of an ex (like, maybe he tells her that the sounds she makes aren’t pleasant and things like that??)

OH MY GOD??!?!? HELLOOO!!! I'M FEELING SO SPOILED TODAY 🤭🤭 yes yes yes yes yes THANK YOU ANON 💗 it's a little angsty AGAIN (don't know what's up with me tbh) but very sweet

Don't Be Shy ★

Everything feels fragile. New feelings, new headspace, new man. Thinking about it made your stomach twist and turn in complicated bows... He's so handsome. So strong. So dreamy. God, what if I fuck it all up?

It was all new... the feeling of his hips grinding up into yours as you grip onto his strong, wide shoulders, biting down into your bottom lip to stop your sounds in their tracks.

"Mm fuck baby, you feeling good?" Toji's grunts and light tap on your hip pulls you from your flurry of worries.

"Uh yeah, yeah, it's really good, Toji." You mumble, feeling your breath hitch in your chest, attempting to hold back you gasps as the pressure of Toji's bulge crashes perfectly with your clit.

"Gotta tell me bubs... I don't know this pretty body yet. Gotta help me learn." He huffs out as your hands travel under his fitted black shirt.

You simply nod, feeling your cheeks warm up as you and Toji exchange the same warm air between quick breaths.

You feel yourself loosen up the wetter you get, biting onto the back of your hand and clenching your stomach, subtly compressing your moans.

Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to at least talk.

"Okay, fuck okay, I want you inside please." Missing the way Toji smirks, you quickly get your sentence out as fast as possible before a moan can slip out, concentrating hard on keeping your voice as steady as possible.

"Alright, princess, c'mere." Toji flips you onto your back, gently tugging down your pants along with your soaked panties.

You cover your mouth as you feel Toji's hot breath on your quivering pussy, looking up at the ceiling.

Toji's good. Really good. You can tell simply by the way he operates that he's skilled. Experienced.

He's been with other girls. Seen other girls. Heard other girls. And all of a sudden, it all comes back to you.

"Uhm, you don't... you don't have to prep me or anything. We can just do it, I'll be okay." Pushing away his head when you realize he's about to taste you, you situate yourself, sitting up on your elbows.

Toji is shocked as he hovers above you, glaring in confusion.

"Are you sure? I really don't think that's a good idea bubba." Softly, he glides his middle and pointer finger along your slit, assessing if you were even close to being wet enough.

"No, no I'm sure. I'll be alright." Sitting up slightly, you paw at the waist band of his gray sweatpants, watching in delight as his cock strains against the fabric. Pulling them down, you distract him by grazing his tip with your delicate finger, making him shudder.

"Fuck~ alright babygirl..." He mumbles, laying you back down as your legs automatically spread, humping his veiny cock against your heat, getting it as wet as possible.

His sharp, commanding eyes focus on your face as he slowly pushes himself in, attempting to gage any type of reaction from you.

It burned. Really bad, it burned as he slowly stretched you out, feeling like you were being split in half at your core. You laid there quietly, softly breathing out as the pain subsided and pleasure picked up.

The physical and emotional intensity inside your chest suffocated you as Toji began thrusting into you, shallow and slow. It felt so good. He felt so good.

But you couldn't make a noise. You couldn't be ugly. You'd embarrass yourself, you'd turn him off. You'd ruin it.

"You always this quiet, doll? Makin' me nervous." Toji quirked his head to the side, less than pleased as he slid in and out of you and you just laid there, only sign of life being your blinking eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so." You mumble, praying he'd drop it. It's so humiliating. What's worse than being an ugly moaner? Your signs of pleasure are grating and unattractive... at least, that's what he said.

The last man you laid yourself out for, being totally vulnerable with, someone you thought was utterly attracted to you, no matter what. The sex was good... so good that you were moaning and whimpering under him.

God, he was so harsh. You never thought you would be so politely degraded after sex, all over the way you sound.

Tears well up in your distant eyes, and before you even feel it, Toji sees it.

"Shit! Shit, fuck are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong bub?" He pulls out of you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his shoulder.

"No, nothing, nothing it's so stupid." You shake your head, wiping your tears as Toji cradles you.

"I should've known sweets, I'm sorry. You've been off. What's on your mind, pretty girl?" You feel the stress building up around you, a warm all-encompassing feeling breaking you down from the inside out.

"Don't want you to think I'm ugly." You whisper into his shoulder.

"Huh? Baby, I'm lookin' at you right now. You're beautiful, you know that." His dark eyebrows furrow as he looks you over.

"No, no. My voice. My sounds. I don't want you to think I sound bad... My ex... he said- he um said that ummm... God this is so embarrassing. Um he said that I sound bad... that I turned him off. So I don't want to um, I don't want you to be less attracted to me, 's all." You sob out, explaining yourself as shame overtakes you, dignity leaving your body through salted tears.

"Oh. What a dumb prick. Don't think about that ass. I want to hear you, you kidding me? Let me hear you... okay?"

Slowly, you nod, detaching yourself from Toji's shoulder, laying back down.

"Okay, bub?" Toji repeats, drawing sloppy circles on your clit with his bulbous head, coaxing a genuine, surprised gasp from your throat.

"Okay... okayy." You gently speak out, a long, staggered breath freeing itself from your system.

"Therrree we go, sweetheart. Just let it out. Such a pretty little girl." Keeping his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, he slides himself back in, basking in pride as he hears the smallest moan slip from your pretty parted lips. Gotta start somewhere.

"Give it to me, baby," Was the only warning you got before Toji began hammering into your puffy little cunt, forcing gasps and moans from you. Quickly you move your hand up to your mouth to cover your embarrassment, but Toji grabs your wrist, pining it beside your ear.

"Fuck, fucckkk sounds so good baby. Pretty little moans." He praises as he kisses along your jaw, forcing himself deeper into you. He knows he hit your sweet spot when your most blissed-out noise filled the room, signaling to his brain the beginning of his orgasm, bubbling in the pit of his toned stomach.

"Keep moaning like that and I'm gonna fill you up. Fuck, gonna make me cum... you close, bubba? Come on, talk to me." His encouragement works you up even more, making you feel brave.

"Mhm yeah, 'm really close Toji. Wanna cum with you." You moan out as his thrusts increase, then completely still all at once.

Your voice. God, your voice. Just hearing it had Toji gripping onto your hips and cumming on the spot. His orgasm triggers yours, your confident moans almost making him hard again.

"So good. So beautiful. Pretty moans for a pretty girl." Toji grins, breaking the peaceful ambience of the room.

"Wanna hear you for the rest of my life, pretty."

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

Thank you so so much anon!! Kisses! 💕

#jjk x reader #fem reader #size difference #age difference #jjk #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji zenin #toji headcanons #toji x you #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #💗asks💗

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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

Note

hiiii i loved ur CL fics sm I was wondering if you could write angst of LN inspired by the song Casual by chappel roan?😭 feel free to ignore this req though!!💕 love u

CASUAL | LN4

an: this is TOTALLY not based off personal experience and TOTALLY didn't make me cry writing it, i poured two years worth of bullshit into this i hope you enjoy it. one of these scenes actually happened try and guess which one AND TO MAKE IT WORST I WAS THE JOURNALIST AND HE WAS THE SPORTS PLAYER ANYWAY

wc: 10.2k

Present Time

The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked window of the sleek black cab, each droplet a reminder of how tonight had unravelled into something far too complicated. She sat back against the worn leather seat, her fingers unconsciously tapping the small notebook resting in her lap. She hadn’t written a word.

She shouldn’t have agreed to this interview. That much was clear now. But when her editor had mentioned his name, her chest had tightened. It had been a year—no, closer to two—since the last time she’d seen him in person. But when you cover Formula 1, you don’t escape the shadow of Lando Norris for long. Especially this season. And here she was, his shadow pulling her back in, as if those tangled months had never happened.

The cab slowed, pulling up to a luxury hotel that had never seemed like Lando’s style—until it did. The polished, impersonal grandeur, the kind that screamed you were too famous, too fast to belong anywhere at all. The driver mumbled something about rain, but she barely heard him. She was too busy staring at the figure that had just appeared through the entrance. Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly leaning against a pillar, Lando’s expression was hard to read, even from here. His trademark black leather jacket hung off him like a second skin. She remembered that jacket. She remembered far too much.

He spotted her through the rain, those piercing green eyes locking onto hers with the same intensity that had once sent her world spinning. For a moment, time seemed to slip backward, to late nights and whispered arguments, to hotel rooms where neither of them had belonged.

She swallowed hard and pushed the car door open. She wasn’t here for that. This was just work now. An interview, a piece for tomorrow’s newspaper. Nothing more. Lando had made it clear a long time ago that they were nothing more.

She stepped out into the rain, the cool drops on her skin grounding her just enough. Lando didn’t move, but his gaze followed her like a predator’s, waiting to strike.

"Long time no see," he called out as she approached, his voice low and edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

She flinched at his voice, directed towards her. Like it had all been some fleeting game, some disposable moment. The thing was, she had been the one who’d tried to keep it light, who’d pretended she didn’t care. But Lando had always seen through her. And now, she wondered if he could still see what a mess she was beneath the practised professionalism.

"Yeah," she forced a tight smile, trying to pretend that his voice didn’t sting. "Just work, Lando. Let’s keep it that way."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “If you say so.” He said it like a challenge, like they both knew this wasn’t just a story for either of them.

She held her breath, her heart pounding far too hard for someone who had promised herself she was over this. Over him.

But deep down, she already knew the truth: there was nothing casual about Lando Norris. There never had been.

Two Years Ago

It had been a suffocatingly hot afternoon at the Austin Grand Prix. The sun hung heavy in the sky, the smell of burning rubber thick in the air as engines roared, and tension crackled around the circuit. But none of that had mattered when she was with Lando.

Just minutes before, she’d been in his driver’s room, his body tangled with hers, skin still warm from the way their desperation had collided. It had been fast, rough—like all the moments they’d stolen in between races. And for a fleeting second, she had believed that maybe this time was different. Maybe this time, he’d let her in.

But as she stepped into the paddock, adjusting her shirt and fixing her hair, she heard his voice, sharp and careless, coming from around the corner. She should have walked away. But curiosity, or maybe the sick need to hear, pulled her closer.

"I don't know, man," Lando’s laugh broke through the air like glass. "It’s casual. She’s just another girl. You know how it is."

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. She pressed herself against the wall, just out of sight, the words slicing through her. Just another girl.

She heard the other driver—was it Pierre? Or maybe Charles—murmur something back, his voice muffled, like it didn’t matter. Nothing anyone else said mattered after that.

All she could focus on was Lando. The way he spoke about her as if the last hour hadn’t happened. As if they hadn’t just been in his room, their bodies and hearts closer than they had ever dared admit out loud.

Her stomach twisted violently, shame and anger rising in her chest. How could he act like that? Like none of it meant anything? Like she didn’t mean anything?

She pushed herself off the wall, her heart hammering. She had to leave, get out of here before the flood of emotions swallowed her whole. But just as she turned the corner, she came face-to-face with someone who could unravel her even more.

Lando’s mother, Cisca Norris, stood in front of her, a soft smile breaking across her face the second she saw her .

“Darling, it’s been too long,” Cisca’s voice was warm, so achingly kind, as she pulled her into an embrace.

She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to run, but instead, she wrapped her arms around Cisca and tried not to let the tears fall. Cisca held her like she was more than just another journalist, more than just another girl passing through Lando’s life. The woman had always been good to her, always treated her with affection that felt too close to motherly.

She couldn’t break now. Not in front of Cisca.

“Yeah, it has,” she managed, her voice thin as she pulled back and forced a smile. Her chest was burning, her throat tight. Cisca’s eyes searched her face with that kind of intuition only mothers had. She must’ve known something was wrong, but she didn’t ask.

“You should come by later,” Cisca continued, still holding her hands in hers. “Dinner with the family. It’ll be nice.”

She nodded, her vision blurring as she made some excuse, something about needing to finish a story. Cisca finally released her, her touch lingering as if she could sense the storm brewing inside her.

The second Cisca was gone, her composure cracked. She made her way to the bathroom, her legs unsteady as the pain crashed over her in waves. She locked herself in a stall, her back pressed against the cold tile wall, and finally let out the breath she had been holding.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the image of Lando’s smirk, the sound of his voice when he had so casually discarded her like she was nothing.

She had always known it couldn’t last, that Lando wasn’t the kind of man to settle down, least of all with someone like her. But hearing it like that—hearing him reduce everything they had been to something so meaningless—tore something inside her she hadn’t even known was fragile.

She thought of Cisca, of the warmth in her embrace, and it only made the ache worse. There was no pretending now, no saving face. The line between Lando’s world and her own was more jagged than ever. She didn’t belong, not here, not with him.

She had barely pieced herself together by the time she left the bathroom stall. Her reflection in the mirror looked foreign, hollow-eyed and shaky, her hands gripping the counter as if the world beneath her feet might give way. But she didn’t have time to fall apart. Not here. Not now.

The media pen was bustling with the usual post-qualifying chaos—drivers weaving between journalists, cameras pointed in every direction, reporters asking the same rehearsed questions. She’d done this a hundred times, and today should have been no different. But today, every movement felt like it was being held together by string, and she was one breath away from snapping.

As soon as she arrived, her producer, Mark, waved her over, holding up the microphone with a nod. She forced a smile, plastering on the face she always wore when the cameras were rolling. She could do this. She had to do this.

Lando was already there, standing with a few other journalists, casually leaning against the fence like he hadn’t just torn her heart in half an hour ago. He looked almost too relaxed, that signature smirk playing on his lips. When his eyes met hers, something in them flickered—like he knew. Like he could see how fragile she was, and he wasn’t about to make it any easier.

"Hey," Lando drawled as she approached, his voice low and smooth. He flashed her a grin, the one that used to make her stomach flip. Now, it only twisted the knife.

She kept her face neutral, gripping the microphone a little tighter. "Lando," she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. "You had a solid qualifying. What are your thoughts heading into tomorrow’s race?"

He tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. "Oh, you know," he said, his tone almost playful. "Feeling good. Always do when I’ve got the right motivation." He winked, just subtle enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up, but she caught it. And she hated that her heart still skipped at the sight.

She fought to keep her composure, swallowing hard as she moved on to the next question, doing her best to keep it professional. But every answer Lando gave was laced with innuendo, his eyes lingering on her in ways that felt too personal. Too raw. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop playing games, to stop acting like everything between them was fine when she was barely holding it together.

"Alright, thanks for your time," she said, ending the interview with a tight smile as the camera finally cut. Her hand was shaking, the adrenaline rushing through her veins like fire. She needed to get out of here. Fast.

But before she could move, Lando stepped closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice so quiet no one else could hear. "I'll meet you at the hotel later?"

She stiffened, her entire body tensing. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide, disbelief flooding her chest. How could he be so casual, so careless? Did he really think she’d just meet him after what she overheard? After the way he’d reduced her to nothing?

Lando’s fingers brushed against hers, and for a split second, he took her hand, bringing it to his lips. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, just like it always did. He kissed her hand gently, like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just broken her in two.

She yanked her hand away, her breath catching as the pain clawed at her chest. She couldn't do this. Not again. She forced a small, tight-lipped smile, nodding as if she was agreeing, but inside, her heart was shattering all over again.

"I’ve got to—" she started, her voice cracking slightly as she turned back to Mark, her producer. "I need to go. Tell them I’ll be back later."

Mark frowned, concerned. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," she lied, her throat tightening as she backed away, already feeling the tears pressing against her eyes. "Just… something came up."

Without waiting for his reply, she slipped through the crowd, moving faster now, desperate to get out of the media pen, away from the cameras, away from him. She barely made it around the corner before the sob hit her, choking her breath, her chest heaving as she pressed her back against the wall, her hands trembling.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears spilled over, hot and heavy, her body shaking as she gasped for air. How could he do this to her? How could he look at her like that, touch her like that, after treating her like she meant nothing?

She tried to steady herself, wiping furiously at her face, but the more she tried to hold it together, the more everything crumbled.

"Is that you?" A familiar voice cut through the fog, and she looked up, blinking through her tears to see Oscar standing just a few feet away. His brow furrowed in concern, his normally playful demeanour replaced by something much more serious.

"Oscar," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. She tried to pull herself together, to stand up straighter, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping it now.

He stepped closer, his expression softening as he realised what was happening. "Hey, hey, it’s okay," Oscar said gently, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Come on, let’s get you out of here."

She shook her head, embarrassed, ashamed that anyone had to see her like this. "I’m fine, I just—"

"You’re not fine," Oscar cut her off, his voice kind but firm. "Let’s get you somewhere quiet, okay? You don’t have to pretend with me."

She nodded, her vision still blurred with tears as Oscar guided her away from the chaos of the paddock, his arm around her shoulders, his presence steady and warm. She didn’t have the strength to protest, not now.

For once, she didn’t have to hold it all together. And maybe, just for a moment, that was enough.

Oscar’s arm was strong around her shoulders, a steadying force as he led her away from the paddock, away from the media pen, and away from the chaos of her unravelling thoughts. She didn’t resist, couldn’t find the energy to argue, not with the weight of everything crashing down around her. She was barely holding herself together, her body trembling, her breath hitching with every step.

They walked in silence through the back corridors of the paddock, Oscar casting glances at her every few moments, his brow furrowed with concern but not pushing her to speak. When they reached the quiet of his driver’s room, he opened the door without a word, guiding her inside gently.

She wiped at her face again, trying to compose herself, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She felt exposed, like her heart was laid bare for anyone to see, and the shame of it was almost as painful as the heartbreak itself.

“Sit down,” Oscar said softly, leading her to the small couch in the corner of the room. “You don’t have to talk. Just breathe, okay?”

She nodded, sinking into the couch, her hands still trembling in her lap. Oscar crouched down in front of her, his gaze soft and full of something like understanding.

Before either of them could speak, the door to the room opened again, and she looked up to see Oscar’s girlfriend, Lily, stepping inside. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene—her tear-streaked face, Oscar’s protective stance—and immediately crossed the room to join them.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Lily’s voice was full of sympathy as she sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "What happened?"

She shook her head, her throat tightening, unable to form the words. She didn’t want to say it out loud. Didn’t want to admit that Lando still had this kind of power over her.

Lily didn’t press her, just held her closer, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Oscar sat beside them now, his gaze serious as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Lando?” he asked quietly, and her silence was enough of an answer.

She sniffed, trying to hold back another sob, but the pain was too sharp, too fresh. She’d overheard Lando brush her off like she was nothing. And then he had the audacity to act like everything was fine, like they could just pick up where they left off—like it didn’t matter that she was breaking.

Lily exchanged a look with Oscar, her eyes narrowing in frustration. “Darling,” she said gently, turning toward her, “you can’t keep doing this to yourself. He’s… he’s not good for you.”

She swallowed hard, blinking back fresh tears. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But knowing didn’t make it any easier. Knowing didn’t stop her heart from racing every time she saw him, didn’t stop the ache she felt when he touched her, when he looked at her with that smug confidence that twisted her insides. She had told herself so many times that she needed to stop. But every time she tried to pull away, she got sucked back in—into the whirlwind that was Lando Norris.

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s using you, mate. You deserve better than this. Better than him.”

She flinched at the words. She had thought, once, that Lando could be more than what everyone said he was. She had thought, in those stolen moments between races, when it was just the two of them, that he felt something for her, too. But she couldn’t ignore it any longer. He didn’t. Not the way she wanted him to.

Lily squeezed her hand gently. “You need to end it,” she said softly but firmly. “For good. Before he hurts you any more than he already has.”

She knew they were right. Oscar and Lily had always been kind to her, more like family than colleagues. They had seen it from the outside—the way Lando toyed with her emotions, the way he pulled her close only to push her away when it suited him.

She inhaled shakily, her heart still aching, but there was a flicker of something else now. A quiet, growing resolve. She couldn’t keep letting Lando tear her apart, not like this. She couldn’t keep waiting for him to change, for him to see her the way she wanted to be seen.

“He’s not worth this,” Oscar added, his voice gentle but firm. “I know he’s my teammate but you deserve someone who’s actually going to be there for you. Not someone who makes you feel like you have to hide how much you care.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting their words sink in. She knew they were right. She had known for a long time, but it was easier to lie to herself, to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. That Lando would show up for her, the way she had always shown up for him.

Lily’s arm tightened around her shoulders, her voice soft but steady. “Darling, you don’t have to do this alone. We’ve got you.”

She nodded, her throat tightening again, but this time it wasn’t from the heartbreak. It was from the quiet understanding, the sense that maybe, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t as alone as she had felt.

She sat there for a while, letting Lily and Oscar’s presence anchor her. They didn’t push her to talk more, didn’t force her to explain everything. They just let her breathe, let her fall apart without judgement.

And for a moment, she felt the weight on her chest lift just enough to see things clearly.

She knew she shouldn’t go meet him in that hotel room. She knew it had to end. For good.

But she went back.

She went back to the hotel room, even though every part of her knew she shouldn’t. She told herself she was just going to tell him it was over, that she couldn’t do this anymore. She told herself that she wasn’t going to let him pull her back in.

But the second she walked through the door and saw Lando standing there, leaning casually against the desk with that damn smile—like he’d been waiting for her, like she was exactly what he wanted—her resolve crumbled.

“Hey, you,” he said softly, his voice warm in that way it always was when they were alone. He pushed off the desk and crossed the room in a few easy strides, pulling her into his arms before she could even think about saying no. “Missed you.”

She froze for a moment, her body tense in his arms. She wanted to believe him, wanted to sink into the comfort of his touch. But her mind was screaming at her to remember, to think of what she had overheard in the paddock. She’s just another girl. His voice echoed in her head, sharp and cruel, even as he held her close now, as if she was anything but.

“I thought about you all day,” Lando murmured against her hair, his lips brushing her forehead. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, and she couldn’t help but shiver under his touch. He had always known how to touch her, how to make her forget everything else.

She wished it was enough.

He tilted her chin up, his green eyes searching hers, and for a second, she saw something there—something real, something that made her heart ache with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he meant it this time.

But then the words he’d said to his mates resurfaced, slicing through her like a knife. It’s casual. She’s just another girl.

Her throat tightened, but she forced a small smile. She had come this far, hadn’t she? Why couldn’t she just leave now?

Because you want him to care, a voice in her head whispered. You want to believe he’s different when it’s just the two of you.

Lando pressed his lips to hers, slow and sweet, like he wasn’t in a hurry, like he could take all the time in the world with her. And for a moment, she kissed him back, letting herself get lost in it, letting herself pretend that maybe the things he said didn’t matter. That maybe this was the real Lando—the one who held her close, the one who kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

But the more he kissed her, the harder it was to silence the voice in her head. The harder it was to ignore the truth that was gnawing at her.

You’re just another girl. It’s casual.

His hands slid under her shirt, fingers tracing soft patterns on her skin, and she shivered again, but this time it wasn’t just from his touch. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he had reduced her to nothing more than a fleeting moment in his life, something disposable. It didn’t matter how tender he was being now. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to believe that this was something real.

“Lando,” she whispered, pulling back slightly, her chest tightening. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but she knew she needed to say something—anything—to stop herself from falling deeper.

He smiled at her, that lazy, cocky grin that always made her knees weak. “What is it, baby?” he asked, his hands never leaving her, like he couldn’t bear the distance between them for even a second.

She wanted to ask him. She wanted to confront him, to make him explain why he could hold her like this but talk about her like she was nothing when she wasn’t around. But the words stuck in her throat, too heavy, too painful.

Instead, she let out a shaky breath and shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Lando’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to read her, but then he kissed her again, deeper this time, and any chance she had of stopping this slipped away. His hands slid down to her hips, pulling her flush against him, his breath hot against her neck as his lips moved lower, kissing along her jaw, her collarbone.

And for a second, she let herself get lost in it, let herself drown in the sensation of his touch, the way his hands felt on her skin, the way he knew exactly where to kiss her to make her forget everything else.

But the words kept creeping back in, no matter how hard she tried to push them away.

Just another girl.

Lando’s hands were working their way under her shirt, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her waist, and her heart pounded in her chest, but not in the way it used to. Now, it was pounding with fear, with the knowledge that this would never be enough.

He was whispering something against her skin, something low and sweet, but she couldn’t hear it over the roar of her own thoughts. She felt his hands tugging at the hem of her shirt, and she let him pull it over her head, let him kiss her again, harder this time, like he couldn’t get enough of her.

But she wasn’t really there. Not fully.

In her mind, she was back in the paddock, hearing his laugh, hearing him reduce her to nothing. The way he talked to his friends—so casual, so careless.

Her body responded to him, the way it always did, but her mind was miles away. She was too distracted, too hurt to fully give herself to him the way she always had before. She wanted to be here, wanted to feel that connection again, but it wasn’t working. Not this time.

Lando didn’t notice. He never noticed when she was pulling away, not really. He was too focused on what he wanted, too caught up in the moment to see the cracks forming in her resolve.

As he pushed her back onto the bed, his lips trailing down her stomach, her heart twisted painfully. She should stop this. She should say something. But she didn’t.

Because as much as she hated it, as much as it hurt, part of her still wanted to believe in the version of Lando that was in front of her right now. The version that kissed her like she was the only girl in the world.

Even if she knew it was a lie.

The hours passed in a blur, a mixture of whispered words, shared breaths, and touches that felt both familiar and distant at the same time. She lay beside Lando afterward, her body nestled against his, her head resting on his chest as his arm wrapped lazily around her. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, like this was where she belonged. Like nothing outside this room mattered.

But it did.

The silence between them felt heavier now, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of everything she wasn’t letting herself say. She listened to the steady rhythm of Lando’s heartbeat under her ear, trying to ground herself in the moment, trying to make it feel real. But her mind kept drifting back to his words—just another girl—and no matter how close he held her, it felt like he was slipping further and further away.

For a moment, it almost felt peaceful, lying there in the quiet of the hotel room, their legs tangled together under the sheets. Lando’s fingers traced absent-minded patterns on her arm, like it was second nature to him now. She wanted to hold onto that feeling, wanted to believe that this, at least, was real.

But then his phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the stillness.

Lando sighed softly, shifting beside her as he reached for it. She felt the absence of his warmth immediately, and the hollow ache in her chest returned.

He glanced at the screen, his thumb swiping across it before he answered. "Hey, mate," he said, his voice low, casual. Like the moment they’d just shared didn’t change anything, like nothing had shifted.

She stared up at the ceiling, her breath catching in her throat as she listened to the one-sided conversation.

“Yeah, I’m at the hotel,” Lando continued, his tone easy, unconcerned. “What’s up?”

There was a pause, and she felt Lando shift again, his hand brushing absently against her bare skin of her hip as if he wasn’t even fully aware of her presence anymore.

"Alright, yeah," he said after a moment. "I’ll come down in a bit. Dinner sounds good." He laughed softly, the sound sending another pang through her chest. "Tell Max not to leave without me."

When he hung up, Lando turned his head to look at her, flashing her that easy, crooked smile. "That was the guys," he said, already starting to untangle himself from the sheets. "We’re heading out for dinner."

She forced a small smile, trying to keep her voice steady. "Right. Yeah. Sounds fun."

Lando leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before climbing out of bed. He moved with the same casual confidence he always did, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her.

"I won’t be long," he said as he pulled on his shirt. "Maybe I’ll bring you something back."

She just nodded, unable to find the words. She watched him button his jeans, the same knot of confusion and hurt tightening in her chest. How could he act like everything was so simple? Like she was just… there, waiting for him whenever he decided to come back.

Lando tossed a quick grin her way as he grabbed his jacket from the chair. "I’ll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "See you later."

And just like that, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The room felt so much bigger without him in it, the space beside her cold and empty. She stayed there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts spinning, trying to make sense of everything. But the more she tried to piece it together, the more it felt like everything was unravelling.

The sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand snapped her out of her thoughts. She glanced over, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name flash on the screen: Cisca Norris.

She hesitated for a moment before swiping open the message.

Hey, darling! We’re heading out for a little shopping trip tomorrow. Just me and Flo. Thought it might be fun to have some girl time—want to join us? xx

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes stinging as she read the message. Cisca had always been so warm, so welcoming, treating her like she was part of the family. She had this way of making her feel like she belonged, like there was a place for her in Lando’s world.

But it only made everything harder now.

She could still hear Lando’s voice in her head, so clear, so dismissive. It’s casual. She’s just another girl.

Her hands trembled as she typed out a response, her fingers shaky on the keys.

Thanks, but I don’t think I can tomorrow. Hope you all have fun though xx

She hit send before she could change her mind, before she could give in to the crushing weight of guilt pressing down on her chest. She knew Cisca didn’t mean to make it harder, didn’t know what was really going on, but it felt like a cruel reminder of everything she wasn’t—a real part of his life. She was just someone he kept in the shadows, someone he could pretend to care about when it was convenient.

The tears came before she could stop them, hot and relentless, blurring her vision as she lay there, staring up at the ceiling. She’d tried so hard to hold it together, to convince herself that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time. But it wasn’t different. It was the same as it always was.

Lando would leave, and she would be left behind.

She lay there, her body still against the cool sheets, the emptiness of the room pressing in on her. The tears wouldn’t stop. They spilled down her cheeks in silent waves, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t even try to hold them back. The room felt too quiet without Lando’s presence, without the pretence of connection he so easily crafted when it suited him.

Her phone buzzed again, a small ping echoing in the quiet. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to face any more reminders of what she couldn’t have. But her gaze drifted toward it, her blurry vision focusing on the screen as a new message from Cisca popped up.

That’s a shame, sweetheart. Maybe next time? You’re always welcome with us. Big hugs xx

The kindness in the message felt like a punch to her gut. You’re always welcome. But how could she ever feel welcome in a world where Lando could say one thing to her face and another behind her back? How could she fit into the life of someone who treated her like she was disposable—like she was nothing special?

She clutched her phone in her hands, her knuckles white, as her tears continued to fall. Her mind replayed the moment in the paddock, hearing Lando laugh, hearing him reduce her to just another girl, nothing more than a casual fling. And yet, here she was—back in his hotel room, back in his bed—still hoping that maybe he would see her, really see her, the way she saw him.

Her chest tightened painfully as she stared up at the ceiling, the dull ache spreading through her like poison. She had tried so hard to be strong, to keep her distance, to protect herself from this exact feeling. But it was like Lando had a hold on her, one she couldn’t break no matter how much she knew she should.

She wiped at her face, trying to steady her breathing, but the sobs kept coming. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Cisca treated her like family, like someone who belonged in their tight-knit circle. It was so different from how Lando treated her—warm and genuine. It made it worse, somehow, knowing that his family liked her, that they welcomed her, while he just kept her at arm’s length. It hurt in ways she hadn’t expected.

She curled up on her side, pulling the sheets tighter around her, as if they could shield her from the truth. She had been waiting for a moment like this, where Lando would be kind, where he would hold her, and she would feel safe. But no matter how close they were, she always felt that distance. He’d given her his body, sure, but nothing else. And she’d given him everything, every piece of herself, only to be left empty.

She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that were choking her. Her body shook with the force of it all, the heartbreak, the shame, the overwhelming feeling of being used and discarded. She had always been so careful in her life, always kept her guard up, but Lando had slipped past her defences with such ease.

The minutes ticked by, the silence of the hotel room swallowing her whole. She stared at the ceiling, the tears finally slowing but leaving a hollow ache in their wake. Lando would be downstairs by now, laughing with his mates, carefree, as if none of this mattered. As if she didn’t matter.

Her phone buzzed again, and she flinched, afraid it might be him—afraid that any text from him would pull her deeper into this pit she was already drowning in. But when she looked, it wasn’t him. It was Lily.

Hey, just checking in. Everything okay? Xx

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it impossible to answer right away. Lily had been so kind to her earlier, so gentle, and part of her wanted to reach out, to tell her the truth, to admit that she had come here even after she knew she shouldn’t.

But how could she explain this? How could she tell Lily that, even after everything, even after Lando had made it clear she didn’t mean anything to him, she had still come back? She had still fallen for his charm, for his soft touches, for his empty words.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain of what to say. The shame felt too heavy, too consuming. She didn’t want anyone to know how weak she felt, how much she had let Lando hurt her.

Instead, she typed a short reply.

I’m okay. Thanks for checking in xx

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, the lie sitting heavy in her chest. She wasn’t okay. She hadn’t been okay for a long time.

Another tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, frustrated with herself for still crying over someone like Lando. He wasn’t worth it. He never had been.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The bed felt cold without him, even though she knew his warmth was only temporary. That was the thing with Lando—it was always temporary, always fleeting. And she was tired of pretending it wasn’t.

She pulled her phone closer, her thumb hovering over Lando’s contact. She thought about sending him a message, thought about telling him that this was the last time, that she couldn’t do it anymore. But she knew that he wouldn’t care. He’d smile, maybe say something sweet, and she’d fall right back into his orbit, trapped by the promise of something that would never come.

With a shaky breath, she dropped the phone onto the nightstand, rolling onto her back once again. The tears had stopped, but the ache remained. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, to forget, just for a few hours. But she knew that when morning came, the reality would still be there—Lando would still be Lando.

And she couldn’t keep doing this to herself.

She got out of bed and she tried.

She had tried to pack. She really had.

She had grabbed her suitcase, tossed in a few clothes, and told herself that it was over—that this would be the last time she’d let him do this to her.

But then she’d stopped, staring at the half-packed bag, her hands frozen mid-motion. She couldn’t bring herself to finish. The idea of leaving felt like admitting defeat, like walking away from the small, fragile hope she’d been clinging to. The hope that maybe, just maybe, Lando would change.

And so, she had left the suitcase open on the floor, unfinished, just like everything else between them.

The hours dragged by in painful silence. She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the door. She should go. She should pick up her things and leave before Lando came back, before he could draw her in again with his soft smiles and casual charm.

But she stayed.

She stayed because part of her wanted him to come back. Wanted him to kiss her, hold her, make her feel like she wasn’t just another girl, like she actually meant something. Even though she knew it was a lie.

Her phone buzzed a few times on the nightstand, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to deal with anyone else right now—didn’t want to answer Lily’s worried texts or face the concern in her friends’ voices. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know what it felt like to be caught between wanting someone and knowing that they would never give you what you needed.

The sound of the door clicking open snapped her out of her thoughts, her heart jumping into her throat. Lando stepped into the room, the faint scent of alcohol and laughter clinging to him as he kicked off his shoes. He looked relaxed, like he’d had a good time, like the night out had done exactly what it was supposed to—take his mind off things.

“Hey, you,” he said with a smile as he spotted her still sitting on the bed. He held up a brown paper bag, a familiar logo stamped on the side. “Brought you something to eat. Thought you might be hungry.”

She stared at him, her stomach twisting at how easy it was for him. A quick thought passed her mind, wondering what he had said to his mates when he brought home some takeaway. He acted like nothing had happened, like everything was fine. She wanted to be angry, wanted to ask him how he could do this—how he could come back here, act so normal, after everything he’d said about her.

But she couldn’t. The anger was there, buried deep inside her, but it was swallowed by the familiar pull of Lando’s presence. She hated how he could disarm her with something as simple as a smile, hated how even now, after everything, part of her wanted to reach out and take the food he’d brought, to thank him, to let herself believe that maybe this was him showing that he cared, in his own way.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice hollow.

Lando crossed the room and set the bag on the nightstand before sitting down beside her on the bed. He leaned in, brushing a kiss against her temple, his hand resting on her knee as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her breath hitched at the contact, her heart betraying her as it fluttered in her chest. She thought of the highs, the way Lando could make her feel so alive, so wanted. She thought of the times when it was just the two of them, when he would hold her and everything else would disappear. Those were the moments that kept her here, that made her stay, even when she knew she shouldn’t.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with just enough concern to make her believe, for a second, that he might actually care.

She forced a smile, nodding even though she felt anything but okay. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”

Lando’s hand slid up her arm, his fingers gentle as they traced her skin. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips, slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to remind her of the connection they shared. And for a moment, she let herself get lost in it. She let herself believe that this was real, that Lando’s touch meant something more than just the physical.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Lando said after a few seconds, pulling away with a lazy grin. “I won’t be long.”

She nodded, watching as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the water starting up a moment later. She stayed where she was, her mind racing. The kiss had been warm, familiar, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the doubts, the pain that had been building inside her all night.

With a sigh, she glanced toward Lando’s phone, which he had tossed carelessly onto the bed before heading into the shower. The screen lit up with a notification, and despite herself, her eyes flicked over to it.

It was a text. From one of Lando’s friends.

You’re staying with her? Has she not got the hint yet?

Her blood turned to ice.

The air seemed to leave the room all at once, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. The message stared back at her, mocking her, confirming everything she had been trying so desperately to ignore.

Has she not got the hint yet?

Her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes again as the words sank in. Lando’s friend was in on it—on this twisted game Lando was playing. He knew. They all knew. And still, Lando had brought her back here, kissed her like she meant something, only to laugh about it with his mates behind her back.

Her hands trembled as she set Lando’s phone back down, her vision blurring with fresh tears. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep pretending that this was okay, that she was okay. Lando didn’t care about her. He never had.

The sound of the water running in the bathroom felt distant, like it was coming from another world, another life. She sat there, her mind numb, her heart breaking all over again. She should’ve left. She should’ve finished packing her bag and walked out of that door the moment Lando left for dinner. But she hadn’t.

And now she was paying the price.

Lando emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his hair damp and tousled from the shower. Water still clung to his skin, the dim hotel light casting a glow across the muscles of his chest and arms. He looked every bit like the Lando that had drawn her in from the start—effortlessly attractive, with that air of confidence that always seemed to follow him.

She couldn’t deny it. He was beautiful. Anyone would fall for him at first glance, and she had. But now, as he stood there, looking every bit the part of the man she had once thought she could love, the attraction didn’t hold the same weight it used to.

Sure, he was magnetic, the kind of person who could pull you into his orbit with just a smile. But what had that really gotten her? A heart that was constantly breaking, and a life lived on the sidelines, waiting for scraps of affection. The price she paid for being with Lando wasn’t worth it anymore—not when every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise felt like it was laced with lies.

Her chest tightened as she picked up her phone from the nightstand, her fingers curling around it like it was her lifeline. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t sit here, pretending everything was okay, pretending that she didn’t see that message, didn’t know exactly what Lando’s friends thought of her. What he thought of her.

“I’m just going to get some cutlery from downstairs,” she said, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to move toward the door, away from him.

But Lando’s hand shot out, gently pulling her back before she could make her escape. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she could feel the warmth of his skin, the way his touch still made her heart stutter despite everything. His brows furrowed slightly, his eyes searching hers.

“You’ve been off lately,” he said, his tone soft but probing. “Is it work?”

Her heart raced, panic flooding her veins. He was looking at her like he was genuinely concerned, like he cared. But she knew better now. This was part of the game, part of the act he played so well. And she had to lie—because the truth would only expose just how far she’d fallen for him, how deep this had gone for her, and how little it had meant to him.

“Yeah,” she replied, forcing a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Work’s just been a lot lately.”

Lando’s grip on her wrist loosened, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. He leaned in slightly, his voice soft, almost affectionate. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight as she fought back the storm of emotions threatening to spill over. She wanted to scream at him, to ask him how he could ask her that after everything—after the lies, after the way he’d treated her like she was nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

But instead, she did what she always did. She lied.

“Of course I would,” she said, the words tasting bitter as they left her lips.

Lando’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he let go of her wrist, his hand dropping back to his side. He smiled, that same easy, careless smile he always wore, and for a second, it almost felt like he believed her.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing a quick kiss against her temple before stepping back. “I’m glad.”

She nodded, her heart heavy in her chest as she forced herself to stay calm, to not let the cracks show. “I’ll just be a minute,” she mumbled, slipping away from him and heading for the door before he could stop her again.

As she stepped into the hallway, the air felt cooler, sharper, like a small relief from the suffocating warmth of Lando’s presence. She leaned against the wall for a moment, her phone still clenched tightly in her hand, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her mind was spinning, her heart aching with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

She had lied to him. Lied to protect herself, to protect whatever was left of her dignity. But deep down, she knew the truth. She couldn’t keep doing this.

Not anymore.

She didn’t make it far before the tears started. Her steps slowed as the pressure in her chest became too much, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. She turned a corner in the hallway, eyes blurry and throat tight, searching for somewhere—anywhere—she could hide.

She spotted a door slightly ajar, marked with a plain “Staff Only” sign. Without thinking, she slipped inside, closing it behind her. It was a cramped janitor’s cupboard, the air thick with the smell of cleaning supplies and stale mop water. But it was quiet, dark, and, most importantly, away from Lando.

Her back hit the wall, and she slid down to the floor, curling in on herself as the sobs broke free. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to muffle the sounds, but it was no use. The tears came in waves, the pain too raw, too overwhelming to control.

She hated herself for coming back, for believing, even for a moment, that things would be different. For letting him touch her, kiss her, knowing deep down that none of it meant what she wanted it to. And now, sitting alone in a janitor’s cupboard, hiding like a child, all she could think about was how foolish she’d been.

With shaking hands, she grabbed her phone, barely able to see the screen through the tears. She scrolled to Lily’s contact, hesitating for only a second before pressing the call button. It rang twice before Lily answered.

“Sweetheart?” Lily’s voice was soft but immediately laced with concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

The floodgates broke, and she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, her voice a broken, shaky whisper. “I hate myself,” she sobbed, choking on the words. “I hate that I let him do this to me. I keep going back, Lily. I hate it. I hate me.”

“Where are you?” Lily’s tone shifted, calm but urgent. “Tell me where you are. I’m coming to you right now.”

She swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath enough to speak. “I... I’m in some janitor’s cupboard. Down the hall from Lando’s room. I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m coming, okay? Just stay there. I’ll be right there.”

She nodded even though Lily couldn’t see her, clutching the phone to her chest as she waited, her sobs quieting but still leaving her body shaking. She felt so small, so utterly broken. The seconds felt like hours, each one dragging by in painful silence.

It wasn’t long before there was a soft knock on the door, and she heard Lily’s voice. “Darling? It’s me. Can I come in?”

She reached up, her hand trembling as she unlocked the door. Lily slipped inside, her face full of concern as she quickly closed the door behind her, blocking out the world. Without saying a word, she knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms around her tightly.

She broke all over again the moment Lily held her. She clung to her friend, burying her face in her shoulder as the sobs wracked her body. Lily didn’t say anything at first. She just held her, her hand gently stroking her hair, her presence a quiet reassurance in the small, dark space.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears. “I keep... I keep letting him hurt me, and I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop. I hate myself for it.”

“Hey, no,” Lily said softly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re not the one who’s wrong here. He’s the one messing with your head, making you think this is normal. But it’s not your fault, okay? It’s not.”

She shook her head, the tears still falling. “I just feel so stupid. I saw a text from his friend... asking if I hadn’t gotten the hint yet. They know. They all know, and I’m still here, like some pathetic—”

“You’re not pathetic,” Lily interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. “You’re strong, darling. Stronger than you think. And I know it hurts right now, but you don’t deserve this. You deserve so much more than what Lando’s giving you.”

She tried to breathe, but her chest still felt tight, her mind spinning with shame and self-doubt. “I don’t know why I can’t just leave.”

Lily squeezed her hand, her eyes softening with understanding. “Because when someone gets into your head like that, it’s not easy to just walk away. He made you feel special, even if it was for the wrong reasons. But you’re not alone, darling. You’ve got me, you’ve got Oscar, and we’re not going anywhere. I’ll be here with you until you’re ready to leave, whenever that is.”

Her lip quivered, fresh tears welling in her eyes. She nodded, grateful but still lost in the ache that Lando had left behind. Lily’s words were like a balm, but the pain still sat heavy in her chest, raw and unresolved.

Lily leaned back, adjusting so that they were sitting side by side, their backs against the wall. She kept holding her hand, her thumb tracing soothing circles over her knuckles. “We can stay here as long as you need. You don’t have to face him right now. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she leaned against Lily, her body still trembling from the tears. “But he hasn’t done anything wrong,” she murmured, trying to convince herself, even as the words tasted bitter. “He just... he just doesn’t know how I feel.”

Lily pulled back slightly, her gaze intense as she looked into her eyes. “Yes, he has. Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. It’s not just about what he’s done; it’s about how he makes you feel. And right now, you’re hurting, and that’s not okay. You deserve someone who cares about you, not someone who’s playing games.”

She bit her lip, frustration mixing with sadness. “I know, but...”

“No buts.” Lily interrupted, her voice steady. “You’re worth more than this. You don’t have to keep accepting less than you deserve. You know that, right?”

She nodded, but the ache in her chest remained, a stubborn reminder of the tangled mess of emotions that Lando had stirred inside her. She felt like she was being pulled in two different directions: her heart yearned for the connection she had with Lando, while her mind screamed for her to walk away, to protect herself from more pain.

“What if I just... went and got my things?” she whispered, almost to herself. “I could just—”

Lily shook her head firmly. “You shouldn’t have to do that alone. I can call Oscar and ask him to pick up your stuff from Lando’s. He’s supportive, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help.”

“Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly, the thought of involving Oscar making her heart race. “I don’t want to make things weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Lily said, her voice soothing. “It’s what friends do. You need to take the first step in reclaiming your space. Let’s get your things, and then we can figure out the next steps together. You don’t have to face this alone, and you don’t have to keep putting yourself through this.”

She nodded again, feeling a flicker of gratitude for Lily’s unwavering support. It felt good to have someone in her corner, someone who believed she could do better, even when she struggled to believe it herself.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice steadier now. “Let’s do that.”

“Good,” Lily replied, squeezing her hand tightly. “I’ll get Oscar to come over. And remember, you’re stronger than you think.”

Present Time

Now, standing in front of him in the rain-soaked street, she wondered if he even remembered that day. If he had any idea how much it had gutted her. The memory felt like a ghost, haunting her thoughts, each painful recollection mingling with the cold raindrops cascading down her cheeks.

“Should we get started?” she said, her voice a little too sharp. The rain was mixing with the ache in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand there, looking into those eyes that had once made her feel seen. Once. She hated that feeling of vulnerability he inspired, but even more, she hated the way it was fading.

Lando tilted his head, studying her with that signature smirk tugging at his lips. It was the same smirk that had once made her heart race, ignited her passion, and made her forget her own worth. But now, it only deepened the resolve she had built since their last encounter. There was a flint in his eyes, a spark that had once drawn her in, but she refused to let it affect her anymore. Those flames of desire he ignited had left her burnt before, and she wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“Yeah. Let’s get started,” he echoed, his voice smooth but tinged with a hint of something darker lurking beneath. She could sense it—an undercurrent of his charm that was both magnetic and dangerous.

They both knew this wasn’t just another interview. Not for him. Not for her.

But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She wouldn’t let him see her fall apart again. Not this time. Each raindrop felt like a reminder of her strength, a symbol of her resolve to stand firm against the tides of emotion that threatened to wash her away. She took a deep breath, grounding herself in the moment, and steeled her gaze against the storm brewing in her heart.

“Let’s talk about the last race,” she said, forcing her voice to steady. “You seemed to be struggling with the new tires. What do you think the team could do differently moving forward?”

Lando's brow furrowed, momentarily surprised by the shift in her tone. It was almost like he was used to her fawning over him, allowing his charisma to overshadow her professionalism. But not today. Not anymore.

He responded, launching into technical details, but she could see his focus drifting, his smirk slipping just a little as he searched her expression for any trace of the girl he had once known—the one who had been captivated by his every word. But he wouldn’t find her here, not today.

As he spoke, she fought to keep her expression neutral, not letting the echoes of their past seep into her demeanour. The way he moved, the way he gestured—there was still an effortless charm to him, but it was fading, like a sunset after a long day. She wasn’t here to be dazzled; she was here to reclaim her narrative, to make sure he understood that she had grown.

“Uh, sweeth-” he said suddenly, cutting himself off from finishing the per name she used to love, his tone shifting as he leaned closer, invading her personal space. “You seem… different. What’s going on?”

The intensity of his gaze was like a spotlight, and for a moment, she felt the familiar stir of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. But she clung to the memory of that cramped janitor’s cupboard, to the warmth of Lily’s embrace, and the strength it had given her. She wouldn’t let him in, wouldn’t let him see her falter.

“Just focusing on the questions, Lando,” she replied, her voice crisp and steady, eyes locked on his. “I’m here to do a job.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly thrown by her tone. The playfulness he often relied on was nowhere to be found, and for the first time, she saw uncertainty flash across his face. It was intoxicating, seeing him taken aback. It reminded her that he wasn’t invincible.

“Fine,” he said, his tone shifting back to that of a confident driver. “I can handle a little professionalism. I admire it, actually.”

“Then let’s keep it professional,” she shot back, her heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and exhilaration. There was something liberating about standing her ground, about showing him that she wasn’t afraid to push back.

As they continued their exchange, a storm raged on outside—water pouring down in sheets, thunder rumbling in the distance. But here, away from the rain, she felt the weight of her past begin to lift. She wouldn’t allow Lando to pull her back into his world of uncertainty and heartache. She was building her own life now, with friendships that mattered, goals that fueled her, and a vision that didn’t include him.

With each word, she drew a line in the sand, reminding herself that this was her moment, not his. She had reclaimed her voice, and she was ready to use it.

the end.

417 notes · View notes

angel1010xx · 3 months ago

Text

ｂｅｇｆｏｒｍｅ

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Pairing: Zoro x Reader (NSFW)

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“Goddammit woman, why didn’t you fucking listen to me?!”

Zoro was livid. Here was a man, towering in front of you, menacing, broad, ominously powerful—a man that has cut mountains in half—a man that just so happened to be unbelievably pissed off at you.

“Don’t even try raising your voice at me!” You retorted back. “We would have lost everything if I didn’t make that move! Everything that the whole crew has been trying to protect would have been for nothing, Zoro! Nothing!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” Zoro spat, “about some cuckoo artifact that some podunk fucking scientist made.” He sneered, slowly taking steps towards you as if he were a beast waiting to pounce on its prey.

Zoro had practically ripped your cabin door off of its hinges as soon as the Thousand Sunny had set sail again. This was only a few moments ago. Robin uncovered an artifact on the island the crew had stopped at, which just so happened to be one that was really, dreadfully needed. However, there were some… complications while leaving the island, to put it lightly. There was one particular enemy who tried to stop the crew. This nuisance had eaten a devil fruit that granted him the ability to neutralize one’s ability to fight, like a switch being flipped to the off position. He could only affect so many people at one time, and you were one of the unlucky ones to basically become a citizen in the battlefield.

That didn’t make you take a tactical retreat, much to the chagrin of a certain swordsman. “Then what do you give a fuck about, Zoro?”

“You want to know what I give a fuck about?” Zoro breathed out in a mocking tone of voice, now standing chest to chest with you. His eyes burned into your own. “Right now, it’s teaching you a fucking lesson.”

Zoro pushed you against the wall, and you let out a small yelp in surprise. He was still dirty from the battle, sweaty, scraped up… but you didn’t have time to think about that, because he crashed his lips onto yours with a feverish need. You yelped again, and all Zoro did was bite your bottom lip.

You felt your brain short-circuit. What was going on?

The swordsman reached down to put his hands on the back of your thighs, and he hoisted you up in the air in one swift motion. Instinctively, you wrapped both your arms and legs around him, your back still against the wall. “Zoro, what are you—?”

The swordman’s lips descended on your neck, and he just kept sucking and biting you. He groaned into your neck, and the combination of the low pitch of his voice, the vibration, and the warmth of his breath and mouth were all too much for you. Zoro bit your collarbone, and you gasped. He pulled away to kiss you again. “Shut up.”

Zoro pulled away from the wall, and took a few calculated steps backwards so he could throw you on your bed. You gazed up at him, completely flushed, but you felt an ache between your thighs. He wasted no time to straddle you, trapping your legs between his, and he grabbed your wrists. “You are going to listen to me right now.”

He growled in such a desperate way while he tied his ever-so-handy signature bandana around your wrists, and stared down at you. You were underneath him, writhing around, rubbing your thighs together for some friction and relief. You looked dirty, you looked needy, and you looked ravageable.

Zoro got off of on top of you, and stood by the edge of the bed. He grabbed your hips and pulled you towards him, and you gasped as he ripped through any fabric barrier between you and the air. What’s gotten into him?

He spat on your cunt, then teasingly rubbed one finger in-between your folds. You moaned and arched your back, finding it hard to handle his slow pace. He didn’t let up, though; he kept rubbing his thumb in lazy circles over your entrance, then moving up to rub lazy circles on your clit, and then back down. “Fuck, Zoro, why are you teasing me…?”

“Because you don’t know how to listen.” He watched with sadistic glee as you bucked your hips against his thumb, desperate for more stimulation. “I need you to know who’s in control.” Zoro kept staring a hole into your soul, pride swelling up in his chest as he gazed down at your swollen lips and all the marks he left on your neck. So fucking pretty.

“You want more?” He asked, barely sliding the tip of his middle finger in and out of you. “Tell me you want more. I’m not giving you anything until you beg.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to give in, but your sopping cunt was aching. You shook your head at Zoro. “No…”

He leaned over you, lips hovering just above yours, and growled at you while pulling hard on one of your nipples. “Beg.”

You cried out, grinding your hips against Zoro’s, whimpering as he continued to tug and squeeze your nipples. He grunted, grinding back against you, shuddering from the adrenaline. “Tell me what you want, and fucking beg me for it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Zoro, I need you inside me…. Please. I—please, Zoro—”

The swordsman took a second to tear his own clothes off of him. God, he was beautiful. Your eyes trailed down further and further… and God, how was he going to fit?!

Zoro smacked his dick against your cunt a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. “Say ‘please’ for me, one more time.”

“…Please.”

He pushed himself inside you in one hard thrust, giving you no time to adjust. An embarrassing squeal came out of your mouth. He was long, and he was girthy, and it felt like you were being split into two. His hand reached up to hold your tied-up ones, and he drilled into you like a man starving for water.

Sloppy, messy, wet, and god it felt so good.

Moans kept pouring out of your mouth as Zoro’s dick kissed your cervix with each thrust. He leaned his upper body onto yours, his voice dark with his own moans and grunts as he again began kissing and marking your neck. “Y’know what I give a fuck about?” He panted. “My woman. Alive.”

“Zoro, I’m sorry—”

Zoro changed his pace, his thrusts becoming slower and harder. Your body rocked with each one, and he put his finger in your mouth. “Ah ah ah. Show me you’re sorry. Beg for me. Beg me to make you cum on my dick.”

Your face was burning, you were swimming in pleasure, and your mind was a haze. You could smell sweat and a lingering trace of cologne, you could smell your own wetness, and all you could focus on was the growing, warm pit in your abdomen. His dick was rubbing just the right spot, but your body needed just a little bit more attention there, just a little bit more tension so you could snap—

“Fuck, please, Zoro. Please, I need you to make me cum. I need to cum on you, I’m so close, I—”

Zoro leaned back and put your ankles over his shoulders, and he began ravaging you like the beast he had been acting like earlier. It was all you could do to take it,

it was overwhelming, but his dick was curving right into that perfect spot, over, and over, and over, and over…

You cried out again, feeling the tension finally snap, and you saw white as your orgasm flooded every sense in you. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” You heard Zoro moan, and he snapped his hips into yours a few more erratic times before you felt him twitch, and then you felt the strangest sensation of being full.

He stayed inside you while the two of you fought to catch a breath.

The swordsman grunted, slowly pulling out. You could feel cum spilling out of you. He laid next to you, and untied your wrists. “I can’t… I can’t protect you when you run into the fight vulnerable like that. You were supposed to go where it was safe.”

You sighed, turning onto your side to face him, and traced your finger over the scar on his chest. “’M sorry, Zoro. I was trying to do the right thing.”

“I know,” he murmured, placing his hand over yours.

He really couldn’t stay mad at you.

#one piece x reader #one piece smut #smut #Roronoa Zoro x reader #Zoro x you #zoro x reader smut #zoro x you smut #Roronoa Zoro #Roronoa Zoro x reader smut #Zoro x reader #roronoa zolo #zolo x reader

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sanguineterrain · 6 months ago

Note

I am FERAL over your knight Jason thought. FERAL!!! Okay check this out: so Jason's ignoring reader because he feels guilty right? Maybe he tried to give them back but the king wouldn't allow it. But maybe the reader misunderstands and thinks they're not doing their "duties" so they make dinner and breakfast and wash his clothes and basically act like a perfect spouse. How would Jason react? 👀

Dear god... I feel another series coming on...

Idkidk, their dynamic is just really interesting to me! it's probably gonna be a bit of a slow burn here. Feel free to send more thoughts about them. I am rotating these two like a rotisserie chicken in my brain.

knight!jason todd x gn!reader. ambiguous time period but just assume it's olden times *gestures vaguely*. tw arranged marriage/forced relationship but it's complicated! jason is full of angst and self-loathing but he's a sweetie as per usual. original post for context.

****

The soldier—Jason—has said four words since you've arrived.

The first was "here," which he said whilst handing you a mug of milk. He didn't look at you as he said it, and that morning, he left for a five-day long station. You only know that because he said, after handing you the milk, "I've been stationed."

You realized it was five days when you heard his horse galloping towards the house... five days later.

You haven't initiated conversation because though you're a commoner, and no one ever had much hope for you to become anything but an old spinster, you know not to challenge knights.

But this is fucking ridiculous.

"Do you like veal?" you ask on your fourteenth day here.

Jason is about to leave, his boots half laced. He freezes at your question and looks up.

You stand tall, chin up. This is a normal question. A question a wife would ask her husband, except you're not a wife, and you're pretty sure this soldier isn't a husband either.

"I like veal," he says carefully, slowly. "Would you like me to fetch some from the market?"

Now, this is where it gets tricky. When the king summoned you, he made it clear that you were expected to care for Jason under his rules. You don't know how to navigate this world. You know what couples in your village do, but you don't know what's expected of you here.

"Actually, I..." Jason looks at you. His eyes are very green. He has a surprisingly sweet face under his helmet. "Actually, I was wondering if I could go. On my own."

"Oh."

You brace yourself for arguing or yelling. True, he hasn't raised his voice once, but he also hasn't said much at all. It's like living with a ghost.

"Yes, of course. Of course you can go." He fishes out a pouch of coins and gives them to you. You take it slowly, waiting for him to realize his mistake. He doesn't.

"Thank you," you say.

He nods and watches you walk.

"Wait."

You stop. Here it comes.

"There's a cargo ship in port today. The guards rotate at noon."

He leaves before you can form a thought. You hold the coins, watching blankly as the door shuts behind him. His horse whinnies, and then he's gone.

The market isn't far from the cottage. It's fantastic to be outside again. No one's noticed your absence, clearly, but that's alright. You've never expected more.

You buy a good cut of veal and potatoes and carrots and apples. Jason gave you more money than any cut of meat would cost, so surely he assumed you would buy other food. Why else would he give you so much?

A ship's horn drones in the distance. You're feeling some oranges when you remember his words. A cargo ship.

The sun is almost at its highest point.

"Oi! Either buy 'em or stop feelin' 'em!" the seller snaps.

You roll your eyes and move on from the orange stand. You can see the horizon of where the sky meets the sea from here. Any moment, the guards will change, and the ship will be...

You stop. Was Jason hinting at your escape?

No, he couldn't have been! That's preposterous. Why would he want you gone? The king took you for a reason.

And where would you go anyway? Once you leave, you'd be a criminal forever. You couldn't make a home on your own. And who knows what could happen in between? Pirates, enemy soldiers, anybody could snatch you up.

This must've been a test. A test to see if you would run. That's why he agreed to you going so easily.

No, your escape can't be planned now. Not when you're so obviously uncomfortable, and Jason knows it.

You ignore the ship and go home with your purchases. You spend the rest of the afternoon preparing veal stew. You warm leftover bread over the fire and set a pot of butter on the table.

Jason comes in louder than he has before, humming quietly. You perk up at the sound, happy for the lack of silence.

You set a bowl of stew at his chair and wait by the fire. As soon as he enters the kitchen, the humming stops.

"Welcome home," you say, wringing your hands. "I made supper."

Jason glances at the table, then back at you.

"You came back," he says.

"Why wouldn't I?" you ask, face neutral as you cut the bread into chunks.

"That—did the ship come?"

"Yes."

Jason sits. His face is dirty from training.

"I bought more than veal," you say, and hand him the pouch. "I hope that's alright. We—there were no more potatoes."

He takes the pouch, rubbing the string tied around the top. "You went to the marketplace... and came back."

It's not a question, but it sounds like there might be one behind it.

"Certainly," you say. "I'm loyal to you, Jason. I serve you."

He looks up, blinking rapidly. Then he looks back at his stew.

Oh, right. He's waiting for you to ask permission to sit.

"May I join you?" you ask.

Jason flinches. "You don't... you don't have to ask. I would never stop you from eating."

The words hang in the air. It's like neither one of you can speak right.

You watch him, and he watches you as you serve yourself and sit on the opposite side of the table. Jason takes the first bite, and you eat right after.

"Is the supper satisfactory? Have I done well?" you ask.

Jason stops chewing and sets his spoon down. You're struck by his shift in demeanor. You worry for a moment you've screwed up something as dim-wittingly simple as stew.

His eyes are sad as they fall on you. It's akin to grief, the pain he wears, but you don't know why he's grieving. You silently offer him more bread, pushing it toward him. He takes it.

"Yes," he says quietly and eats another spoonful. "You did. Thank you for supper."

Jason cleans his bowl three times. You have no stew leftover, which pleases you.

But as soon as Jason finishes eating, he gets up, rinses his bowl, and wordlessly leaves.

You don't see him for the rest of the night.

Somehow, you feel lonelier than when you weren't speaking.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood x gender neutral reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #knight au #knight jason #arranged marriage #batman fanfic #dc fanfic #jason todd fanfic #blurb #inbox

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missmugiwara · 1 year ago

Text

Just Say It Already

Summary: fem!reader x Gojo // Satoru is an ass, but he's your ass. He just loves getting under your skin - especially with the way he's been calling you his girlfriend for years. But guess what? You're so in denial about it. Warning: 18+, NSFW, smut, flirty, the Gojo rizz, so much sexual tension going on but I live for that, friends to lovers, unprotected sex, swearing, it's complicated, slow burn, mutual pining Note: Oh my god. I told myself to stop writing for more fandoms, but look what happened. Foaming at the mouth for my insane love of this man. Some minor spoilers if not caught up to season 2?

✦ Word count is 7.7k. Thanks for bearing with me and reading! I just really love long stuff! ✦

Quietly, you spoke to Nanami as you recapped the details of your last mission with him and training Itadori. Nanami nodded here and there, looking focused, listening attentively and appearing as cool as ever. As you two conversed, you both didn't even realize a certain someone passing by on his way out of the meeting room. A small hum left Gojo's lips, and he paused at the doorway. As if to get a better view, his hand pulled the blindfold upward from his face to reveal a singular blue eye whilst adorning a smirk so wicked that it only meant one thing: Gojo was up to no good.

"Trying to steal my girlfriend away from me, hm?"

And the conversation instantly ended. Nanami hissed through his teeth. You twitched in anger, an apparent frown pulling your lips downward. In synch, you both turned to the white-haired man with the cheshire grin as he cocked his head to the side. That sapphire eye fluttered to meet your gaze. Another moment, and Gojo returned the blindfold to where it once was before resting his hands in his pockets. It was painfully obvious he was savoring this.

"Satoru! How many times do I gotta say it!? I'm not your girlfriend!"

You whipped around to face him, taking an index finger and poking him repeatedly in the chest. He only laughed in response. You whined and sped up the poking at his cheerful display, trying to hide your obvious chagrin somehow with this. You fought and fought so hard to stop the growing heat to your face, but your fluster was so evident to Gojo himself that you knew he would just tease you more.

As if he didn't do it enough already!

It was so difficult to try and not be flustered, but ugh. Gojo was so good at unraveling you at the seams no matter how many times you were accustomed to this… wooing, one guessed it could be called.

"Not my girlfriend yet!" he purred, cocky as ever. He grabbed your hand to rest on his chest, and you fumed even further when he took a step forward. When he loomed over you like that, it was so easy to forget how freaking tall he was. He seemed so big no matter what height you were. You immediately pulled your hand from his.

"Not your girlfriend ever! Stop saying that! People will get the wrong idea!"

"Oh, but I want them to get the wrong idea."

The blindfold was slid upward on his forehead again, held there by a thumb, just to make sure his sultry expression was visible. He peered at you with heavily lidded eyes and a smirk so coy that it -

Well, it just -

It just made your heart race. Made you melt. Made your mind spiral.

Once more, the rising heat against your cheeks blossomed anew.

Gojo had been doing this shit since the dawn of time. Ever since long ago, way back into your youth. You were students at the time, and you had been flirting with another student from the Kyoto school during the exchange event. Like a typical silly high schooler, you just wanted to go on a date. All of a sudden, Gojo came flying in and kicked the guy square in the face - knocking him out cold on the spot. When you frantically screamed out of confusion, Gojo responded with a cheeky smile.

"What? This guy's trash."

Another pause and he leered at the unconscious highschooler with a sort of dark gaze.

"Lay off my girlfriend."

Ever since then, your sweet Gojo interrupted your love life - continuing these daring exploits well into adulthood. It seemed he lived for the sole sake of pushing your buttons. Pushing your buttons and making sure you were miserable.

And single.

Forever.

One time, you both were walking together to a work meeting across campus - now that you both were teachers. You were engaged in a very flirty phone call with a boyfriend. Gojo swiped the phone from your hand, earning him a gasp. Answering a phone call with Gojo right next to you was a big mistake, and you clearly should have known better. You pathetically hopped next to his tall, lean frame to try grabbing the phone (as he stretched out one arm to comically hold you back).

"Oh, hey - yeah. Look, we are very busy right now," Gojo would emphasize provactively, "so don't call back." As Gojo pulled the phone from his ear, you heard screaming from the other end before Gojo promptly hung up. That's when you knew you had another ex.

There was even a time when Gojo had invited himself over (unannounced as usual) while you ran around your apartment wrapped in a towel to get ready for a date. It was with a shy guy you had been out with a handful of times. But when said date finally showed up to the door? Gojo answered it with a frown. Oh, your date was shocked to say the least: trembling, scared, a fumbling mess as he clutched a bouquet of flowers to his chest. His jaw dropped upon seeing Gojo - a way more attractive, beautiful, model-like man who for some reason was there. Gojo took only one look at the guy, just one look and -

"Oh, god, no."

And slammed the door right in his poor face. Gojo turned toward you, smirking as always, as your jaw dropped in turn. He gave you a deliciously teasing smirk. You couldn't believe Gojo would be so daring! You went to the bathroom for one second, and this happened? That guy you were seeing wasn't actually bad (well, maybe he was kind of a square, didn't like anything you did, a bad kisser… but still).

Why? Why? Why was Gojo doing this!? He made you so freaking mad!

Satoru Gojo was so arrogant, so infuriating, so unbearable! Not to mention, he was so…

So…

He was so…

So damn hot.

Fuck.

Let's face it - the man was walking sex.

Whatever spell Gojo put you under, you hoped it would last an eternity. Because loving him was so natural. Sure you got mad at him, but maybe - just maybe the way he wanted you all to himself was kind of attractive. Just a little. When he walked in the room, butterflies took flight in your stomach. When he smiled at you, you restrained from grabbing his face to smooch those glossy lips. The way he put his hand so casually on your knee while talking during a meeting would send you over the edge.

No one ever looked at you like Gojo did. No one ever made you feel like Gojo did. Man didn't even need to try and you were a hot mess.

And those guys mentioned before? They were trash, just like Gojo said. There were lots of failed relationships. Because one cheated on you, one stood you up, one borrowed your car and crashed it - and yet you kept dating losers? Now somehow Gojo was able to tell who would hurt you from the beginning. So he put up these ridiculous defenses to protect you.

Speaking of ridiculous, it even reminded you of how you broke up with someone once. They complained that you spent too much time with Gojo and needed to stop being his friend. Nothing had ever made you angrier than that. No way would you ever push Satoru Gojo out of your life.

Despite the failed relationships, there were some good times, but only because of Gojo. One time, Gojo appeared at your door with snacks and a movie. Upon seeing your puffy, red eyes fresh from crying after being dumped - Gojo immediately dropped everything and was off to kick the guy's ass.

Satoru Gojo really, truly cared about you. Even if people thought he cared about nothing but himself - well, they were just stupid. They didn't understand how loneliness accompanied great strength. Nobody understood him like you did.

There was nothing wrong with Gojo. You didn't hate him, and he certainly knew that too. Because the two of you knew each other for forever, and you were quite smitten. Quite comfortable in snuggling on the couch after a bad break up, quite comfortable with his head on your lap and talking into the early hours of the morning. Never kissed, never groped, never pushed any boundaries… and yet you ran back to him as if he were always your lover. And he to you, through all his casual dates as well. Dates that always made you seethe with jealousy.

Gojo was close to your heart, but he definitely got on your nerves! He was conceited, a jokester, always did whatever he wanted - but this flirting game was so confusing. With the way Gojo acted, it was just… was he serious about liking you like that or was he really just poking fun at you after all these years? And that's what drove you mad the most.

Or maybe what drove you mad the most was the way you kept trying to push him away. Maybe you were pretending to be mad at Gojo about all of this girlfriend nonsense, to find something that could be your excuse to not date him. Because you feared losing him in this mad jujutsu world, just like how you lost your friends Haibara and Geto long ago. Everything was so difficult even though your heart swelled at the way Gojo seemed to want you so much. What if you got in a relationship with Gojo and it ended badly? Heartbreak from Gojo would be awful, but heartbreak from others? That was easy. Why were you in these awful relationships and never putting effort into them?

Whatever the reason was, it was all so stupid. It was obvious you were acting absurd. But if Gojo could just be more clear instead of leaving you to writhe in whatever frustrated state this was - yes, that would be great. Or maybe if you could stop acting this way, this nonsensical way, that would also be great.

"You know I'm just talking work business with Nanami. No one's stealing me from you."

You scoffed and crossed your arms, cheeks still hot, as you turned away from the tall man. Hopefully, the sarcasm got across. Nanami was long gone by now since he was always annoyed by Gojo's persistent little attempts to drive you wild. A chuckle and Gojo stepped forward to press his chest into your back, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as his lips lowered to it.

"Aw, come on, baby. You know I'm the jealous type."

After a pause, he blew a puff of air into your ear rather hotly. You jumped out of your skin and squealed. Goosebumps erupted on your neck, and you clutched your chest as Gojo grinned widely. Damn him for being such a tease. After a moment of gaining composure (and catching your breath), you smirked impishly.

Because you were so bad. You stroked his ego only further than he did to himself. In fact, anyone could clearly see you egged each other on way too much. Many times, people had called you both out on it - insisted you two just needed to get a room already.

"Why, Satoru!" you batted your lashes dramatically, resting the back of your hand to your forehead, "No man could ever sweep me off my feet when I have you - the strongest. No one could ever compare. They should be jealous of you."

A pause. Gojo smiled as he pulled back in an amused manner.

"See? This is why we're perfect for each other. You get me."

Know what else could never compare? The audacity. The audacity this man had was second to none.

You snorted out a laugh, "Please! No need to feel so threatened."

"Oh, I assure you I'm not. Dumbasses who think they actually have a chance with you?" he paused to chuckle, "Just putting them in their place. No one's good enough for you. Only the best."

As you reached for your coat resting on a chair, you stopped. Quickly, you turned to Gojo to try reading his expression, but the blindfold was back to covering his eyes. His plump lips were upturned into an innocent, closed-mouth smile - a genuine smile over one of those carefree smirks. He leaned against the wall, hands in pockets again, waiting patiently.

Only the best.

A fiery heat fluttered over your cheeks. Huh, well he certainly believed he was the best, so was he referring to himself when he said you deserved the best? He took your breath away. He was sweet when it mattered most. He was arrogant but had a heart. Despite others overlooking this, only seeing Gojo as one thing - the strongest - you knew otherwise. For many years, you always thought you weren't perfect enough to be with the strongest. You worried about living in Gojo's shadow, of unwarranted expectations from others, of him judging you for not being like him… but those feelings were silly. Even though they still fizzled in the back of your brain. Moreover, Gojo never did think less of you. So after another moment of reflection, you mirrored his soft smile.

"Do you really mean that?"

"I don't lie to you."

A small chuckle.

"Satoru, you… you're so sweet, you know that?"

"I know! The sweetest, right? Quality boyfriend material!"

His pink cheeks and goofy grin were adorable, his hands splayed out into the air in emphasis of his quality. In a failed attempt to look mad, you stifled a laugh. Gojo got you once again with his bravado. He was amazing. The way his tone brightened up and became chipper. The way he was so serious one minute and so silly the next.

For a split second, you wondered why your mouth just moved on its own.

You placed your hands on your hips as you gave him a lidded gaze, "Careful, Satoru! I just might fall for you."

Gojo sang back, "That's the plan!"

No hesitation whatsoever. Too bad he didn't know you fell years ago. Unless if he did know then you were just his plaything again, but you were more than happy to be his personal toy. More than happy to be used and teased by Satoru Gojo. Whatever he wanted. Why keep doing this to yourself though? Ignoring the rising anxiety, you draped your coat over your arm and turned to him.

"You know what would make me fall even more? Being spoiled. Let's go grab a drink, yeah? You pay this time!"

A grin as you walked up to the man, slinging an arm around his waist.

"Whaaat? Come on!"

He said facetiously, also with a smile, only to rest a lean arm around your shoulders as you laughed. And so began another trip to the bar between a couple of old friends after a terribly boring work meeting. More like a couple of fools, cackling down the sidewalk, arms around each other - acting as if they were already drunk. A couple of fools, sitting on an empty train car as the sun set - your arms wrapped possesively around Gojo's and your head leaning against his shoulder. Faces so close you could feel each other's breaths between all the jokes, the snickers, the whispers, the attempts at flirting but you shooting him down. A couple of fools, you whining when Gojo's mouth pressed close to the sensitive skin at your neck, nearly nipping you. A couple of fools, with you smacking his hand away when it rose too comfortably inward on your thigh.

A couple of fools indeed.

Since it was a weekday, the bar was pretty empty. The lights were low, and Gojo grabbed his drink only to cause the ice to clink gently when raised to his mouth. He took a sip, then set it down. He was never really a drinker, but once in a while he indulged. His crystal blue eyes darted over to meet your gaze. You rested your head in your hand and released a heavenly sigh.

He looked damn good. White collared shirt with the first few buttons undone, part of his collar bone peeking out, dark sunglasses perched so prettily atop his nose. His niveous hair flowed and framed his perfect face like a work of art.

He really was so gorgeous. Beauty so effortless.

His gaze turned lusty as he noticed you staring.

"Like what you see?"

Lay off my girlfriend.

Gojo's lips curled into a delicious smirk at the memory of the first time he called you his precious girlfriend. Honestly, he just did it out of boredom and wanted to see how angry you would get. Oh, and he was right about one thing.

It was so funny.

So he kept it up. Even when you went to college and took a hiatus from jujutsu. Even when he hung out with you between classes. Even when you came back. When you stood in your new teaching uniform at the gate to the school grounds, Gojo called out.

"Oh, did you miss me that much that you came crawling back? Well, I forgive you because… you're my girl. My one and only."

The wind blew, and you turned to him with the most astonished expression ever. The way he said that… he spoke so lovingly. Gojo tilted his head. How could you look so speechless when he had been calling you his for years? Amazing. A pause, and a tender look in your misty eyes formed. A tiny smile appeared, but you bit your lip to stop it from growing. Gojo's breath caught in his chest. He had never seen that look before. He thought you were going to get mad for certain.

"Come on, you big baby. We talk all the time! But if you must know, I did miss working with you… my Satoru. You never change."

A moment more, and Gojo realized -

Damn.

My Satoru.

He could have been brought to his knees. The way you looked melted his heart. The way your lips were glossed and eyes shined. The new hairstyle. The way your body formed new curvatures that were pleasing to his eyes. The way your face matured with the smallest of wrinkles now slightly forming as you began to approach your thirties. He knew it must have been from crinkling your face while laughing at his jokes all these years. He had never seen anything so sexy.

He did take a risk by calling you something different today, and he was so glad. Girlfriend never sounded crazy to him. It was the only thing he could say without freaking you out too much - to let you know how he felt. There was a problem though. It sounded so informal.

He wanted more than that.

Gojo always liked you. It was always more than a little crush. If you had asked, he would have told you how he felt without hesitation… but it never happened. Would you be all right with loving the strongest? Would that lead to high expectations of him being the perfect boyfriend? Huh. Gojo didn't give it much thought. Not that he was worried. Why was everything so hard? It didn't have to be, but you were both acting like children. Just because Satoru Gojo was the strongest did not mean he had everything. He did not have you. One of his best friends. The one that stayed.

He didn't mind waiting for you.

The look you gave him was so loving. And the way your eyes softened at him? Ugh, he couldn't take it. You never gave that look to anybody but Gojo. Nobody ever smiled at him like you did. Nobody ever wrapped their arms around him like you did. The way your mood brightened up when he walked in the room always sent him over the edge.

God, if only.

If only he could show you how much he loved you. If only you could scrunch up that pretty face while lying underneath him. Moaning with pleasure, eyes rolling back, crying out -

"Satoru!"

You whined, slapping your hands on the bar top. A chorus of glass shaking caused Gojo to blink and turn back to you, a slight blush on his face.

That was enough to snap you both out of lechorous daydreams. It was clear as day Gojo caught your dreamy gaze since you were so stupidly swirling the straw in your drink while biting your bottom lip a second ago. Gojo hummed playfully, his brows furrowing inward as he looked around for a second.

He raised his arm in the air to call the bartender, exclaiming that his girlfriend needed another drink to which you slapped his hand down. Oh, how he loved to embarass you as punishment. The moment you walked in that bar, Gojo went off. Really loudly, he drawled out the most shameful things. Oh, how sexy his girlfriend looked today. Oh, how thirsty his girlfriend was, and oh, how good of a boyfriend he was for taking his sweet girlfriend out.

He asked if you wanted another drink. You shook your head, murmuring that you were done for the day - just off to use the restroom before leaving. As usual, you insisted he could go on home without you, but he never took up the offer. Never wanted to go unless you were leaving with him. Now that you thought about it, that sounded very implicative. So with a wave of your hand to brush off your fluster, you told Gojo you'd be back in a minute.

Apparently, a lot can happen in one minute.

Because when you returned, some chick was seated next to Gojo. She had an obnoxious laugh, an incredibly ugly outfit, and Gojo looked utterly bored as he stared straight ahead at the wall of liquor behind the bar.

Your brows furrowed in disgust. She was trying to flirt, to get his number, or something. More importantly, this bitch needed to know that Gojo was here with you. This was when you hoped (oh god, for once you were admitting it) he would just simply state that he had… a girlfriend. Gojo never got the chance because you never left room for one. In a fit of rage, your body just moved on its own and flew over there. Gojo and the woman both looked up at you once your hand slammed on the bar.

"Get your hands off my -"

But you froze.

Your what?

"My…"

Your voice trembled. The expression in Gojo's eyes was so clearly readable when a smirk curled upon his lips. Because he sure as hell knew what was happening. You could practically read his mercilessly toying thoughts.

Hm? Just say it already.

That's exactly what he would say outloud! If he wanted. And he could, but alas he loved to torture you more. You could already imagine his velvety voice coming from those pretty, pretty lips of his.

You know you want to.

"My…"

Stop lying to yourself.

"My boyfriend!"

Gojo's mouth went into the surprised shape of an o, then a toothy grin. The woman's eyes widened in bewilderment. Immediately, she threw her hands up and backed away slowly. The expression on your face was indescribable. You glared as if she were a dumbstruck animal that just accidentally walked right into a wolf's den (with you being the wolf of course). You lividly watched her, making sure her ass scooted so far out of the bar that she was completely out of sight.

As soon as that woman was gone, you let out a sigh and your body relaxed. Fists unballed from your sides, and feeling those gorgeous blue eyes boring into your soul, you froze. Gojo was still there. So nervously, you blinked at him with a forced smile, but no amount of explanation could make this normal. No amount of excuses could get him to think otherwise. Especially from a tease like him who just heard the greatest slip-up of all time that revealed everything he wanted to hear but already knew deep down in his heart.

Gojo's sapphire eyes slowly drooped at you, the dark sunglasses slipping from his nose. The look he gave was absolutely sexy. He blinked once before his lips turned into a raunchy smirk.

"Your boyfriend, huh?"

That look, that dangerous yet lustful look in his eyes made your heart race. No matter what signals your brain fired to your body, you could not move. The first thought was: oh no, was this a mistake? The second was waiting for an onslaught of merciless jokes and teasing. But the latter never appeared. Carefully, you watched Gojo move smoothly as he took his chin from his hand, uncrossed his legs, and stood up.

"You wanna get outta here?"

He leaned his forehead to touch yours as his voice lowered to a whisper. It took every single ounce of willpower to stop yourself from pouncing him, from melting into a gooey, lovesick puddle on the floor. Gojo's breath fanned across your lips, and you whimpered at the sensation. Cheeks burning hot, you clutched your hands to your chest as Gojo chuckled before licking his lips. Eyes glued to his beautiful blue orbs. Your voice was barely a squeak, barely a whisper.

"Yes. Yes, I do. So badly."

With a hum, he just simply grabbed his coat.

"Turn around."

Gojo mused, and the smirk never left his face. On command, you immediately turned on your heel. Gojo gently draped his large coat over your shoulders. With his other free arm, he just gabbed your purse and coat to fold it over his arm. For some reason, your face was on fire at the gesture. Your mind was reeling.

"Then let's go, sweetheart. Can't keep you waiting any longer now, can I?"

An arm slung around your shoulders, Gojo's head tipped high into the air proudly as he led you out of the bar.

It was only an instant.

A blink of your eyes, and suddenly you were both in your apartment living room. Knowing Gojo as long as you have, teleportation antics were quite normal to deal with by now.

A pause.

You and Gojo just stared at each other. It was obvious your face was heated in a fluster, and cutely enough, there was a pink hue to his cheeks. Neither of you moved for a few seconds. Neither of you bothered to turn on the lights. His pale face was illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the windows. Then Gojo moved. He dropped your things to the floor and when his knuckles brushed against your jaw, thumb tucked under your chin as he leaned in -

It was over.

Your eyes fluttered shut, heartbeat thundered, lips parted as you let out a breathless sigh. Eagerly, you tipped your head upward to meet him.

Satoru Gojo's mouth touched yours.

The softest, most gentle kiss you had ever received. His lips were soft, plump - everything you imagined and more. They were warm. They were angelic. It was enough to make you question whether you were in heaven right now. A simple, soft kiss that lasted for a few seconds, and Gojo pulled away. When his lips released yours, he smirked because you had let out the tiniest moan.

With a slight nervous laugh, you both leaned in again to repeat that same soft kiss. This time, the white-haired seraph gently held your face in his hands, and you moved your arms so quickly to rest against his chest that the jacket slipped from your shoulders to join the rest of the belongings on the floor. Your lips moved slowly, smacking against his own once, twice, three times before he dipped his tongue past your lips - and you were losing it. If he said so, you would have dropped your panties then and there. When you pulled away for a breath, you both grinned sheepishly.

That low chuckle, that smirk upon his face when he brushed his thumbs over your cheeks. If only your mouth could make words, but he took your breath away.

"Took you long enough."

There it was. The comment you were bracing yourself for. When your throat tightened and you gripped at his shirt sleeves as he was about to turn away, Gojo stopped. He blinked in perplexion, about to ask why you clung to him, when his heart dropped. Your eyes watered and eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh my god… you're - you're crying. You're actually crying!" and Gojo settled his hands at your waist with the softest of touches.

Confusion was apparent in his blue eyes - you two had just shared a passionate kiss, and all of a sudden you were crying? Gojo was not one to panic, however, he really hoped this was not a terrible mistake and he had not hurt you in any way. When he led you to sit next to him on the couch, he did not ask any questions. He just waited. Waited until you were ready. There was a brief moment where Gojo had gracefully waltzed over to the bathroom, grabbed a tissue and handed it to you when he sat back down. Again, Satoru Gojo really was so sweet to you, and he placed a hand on your thigh.

"I'm just… so stupid!"

Oh.

He instantly knew what that was in reference to. Truth be told, he always knew how you felt about him, and you did too. He also knew you must have felt like an idiot for wasting all this time, for not just going after him earlier in life. To hell with all that. He couldn't care less.

"You're not stupid, babe."

"But I -"

A finger was pressed to your lips.

"Just shut up."

With a smile, he drew back his finger.

"Everything couldn't be more perfect."

With a hum, you tucked your chin down to stare at your hands folded in your lap. A tiny, gingerly smile graced your lips.

"Okay."

There was another pause as Gojo shuffled in his seat, bending downward to pick up all the dropped items on the floor. He placed them onto the coffee table with ease, then picked up his coat.

"I should go."

He firmly stood up and threw the coat over his shoulder. He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. With that loving gaze you always gave, the one he was such a fan of, you watched as he proudly strode over to the door. He wanted to give you some more time - was not about to start putting on the moves when you seemed a little upset. Especially on a work night, no less. When his hand settled on the doorknob, he whipped his head to you and smiled so widely that his eyes clamped shut.

"I'll call you tomorrow?"

Oh, too cute. The way he said that implied he was going to anyway but wanted to check first. You let out a small laugh. Surely, he did not forget you would see each other first thing in the morning at work, right? Tomorrow was the last day before summer break, after all.

"Satoru, we're going to -"

"Don't ruin it, babe!"

Another confident grin from him caused you to giggle. With a roll of your eyes, you grinned back.

"Yes! You can call me!"

"Great. Today was wonderful, by the way. Good night then."

"Good night."

There was another pause. No way you could just let him leave after all that.

"Satoru?"

Gojo's ears pricked at your tone. He turned to you. You jumped up from your seat and twiddled your fingers, hoping it would distract you from them trembling.

"I - I… will you stay over for the night?"

A red hue dusted over Gojo's cheeks as he blinked in amazement. A second to register what had been asked as your eyes away from his. For the umpteenth time that evening, that delectable smirk graced Gojo's plump lips.

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you down?"

It started innocently enough.

Gojo was used to this. He asked you to grab extra blankets and pillows as you usually did when he stayed over. He was prepared to sleep on the couch, but something was a little different in the way you stared at him then. You tucked your chin downward.

"No, no…"

And he paused.

"You… you can sleep in my room with me."

He froze again with a red hue so gorgeously plastered across his cheeks. There was a silence for some time, but another smirk from Gojo and he moved.

Gojo kicked his shoes off and leap-frogged over the couch to land next to you, grin and all. The impact caused you to bounce on the cushion, and in bashful fashion, you brought your hand to your mouth to stifle any giggles. When Gojo grabbed your thighs to pull your body closer, the giggles only increased as he peppered your face with kisses. Oh, it was supposed to be innocent. This relationship was still fresh. No need to rush, after all. Just throw on a movie and cuddle on the couch like you've done so much before. But then -

Gojo kissed your mouth.

So softly. So sweetly. So tenderly.

Then you kissed his.

With such ease, the white-haired man pulled you into his lap. His hands at your hips, thumbs rubbing gentle little circles. Your hands, holding his face as your lips pressed in perfect synch to each other. Those sweet, little kisses transformed into tonguing, and then that led to biting. Then it only became hotter when those kisses turned into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and grunts and groans.

It didn't matter that a movie was never decided upon. In fact, why would you want to watch a movie when this was so much more fun? Hot and slow touches began to sneak under clothes, on areas of skin you didn't even know needed touches, areas that you could never fathom feeling so electric underneath his fingers.

"Oh my god… angel," Gojo breathed, "you keep up those pretty little noises, and I won't be able to control myself anymore."

"Then don't."

He pulled back for a second. Gently, you held his face in your hands while running your thumbs over his cheeks. He gave a cheesy smile.

"Ugh, will you marry me?"

A heat returned to your cheeks as you rolled your eyes at his teasing. A second more, and he pulled you back to him - clutching his arms around your form, nearly knocking you on your back as his mouth immediately went to your neck for little nips and kisses to it. He was so strong, and he was just tickling you endlessly as you laughed uncontrollably.

"Ah! Sa… Satoru!" you laughed wildly, trying to push him away, "Satoru, please!"

"Satoru, please."

Body thrown against the mattress, lips feverishly mashing and molding against each other's, so many delicious moans and groans and hums inbetween them all, and what sweet music to your ears. A growl, one that sent shivers down your spine, and Gojo pulled away for a split second to snatch your collared shirt from your shoulder before firmly planting his lips to your skin, giving a quick bite. Oh, it would definitely leave a bruise as you clenched at the sheets below you in desperation for support, or some form of relief. But how cute because that bruise would only match the other marks adorning your chest.

Gojo's lips moved expertly along your collar bone and settled on your neck, leaving hot and wet kisses against your skin. A tingly yet ignited feeling that left you yearning for more as you whined, being pushed into the bed further. The sensation of his warm saliva on your neck, leaving wet stamps of his lips and soft traces of his tongue, reduced you to a mewling mess. One of your hands clutched against Gojo's chest to ball the fabric of his shirt, and with the other free hand, running it along the satisfying undercut of his hair before gripping his white locks.

"You're mine." he breathed against your skin, "Mine, mine, mine."

"Yes… ah - all yours!" you panted as you ran a hand through his hair again. A whimper escaped your lips when his tongue slid up your neck, "Always have been, always will."

Yes. It was always this way. Your feelings were limitless.

There was no doubt in your mind. Should not have ever tried to ignore your heart especially when it raced upon seeing him every single day. Why in the world did you date such losers when you could have had…

Satoru.

Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.

"Yeah, that's right, sweetheart."

Breath caught in your chest at his angelic beauty. And before you could gasp, his lips were back to your neck. They left such needy kisses, such sloppy, yummy kisses. His touch was leaving you drunk as your eyelids drooped heavily. Your will was breaking, practically bursting at the seams. Just thinking how badly you needed his mouth everywhere else. But you didn't have time to tell him when you turned your head further and released a moan that had the man chuckling lowly in your ear. The smirk on his face only grew when his hips bucked into yours, and you gasped while drawing your trembling arms around him in attempts to steady yourself.

"Goj - oh!"

"Ah, ah, ah - Satoru." he corrected, and your legs could have turned to jelly right there at his seductive tone. Your entire body could have melted into a puddle. He could have said the least sexiest thing in the world like that, and you could still fall for him.

"How long have you known me? You gettin' shy on me?"

A whine left your lips when you realized you said his last name. You just couldn't think straight. One thing was obvious though. It was obvious from the start that Satoru Gojo was in charge especially with how sugary he spoke. Such a sweet tone. Such honey-kissed, nectar-like, addicting words that dripped from his lips just like you were dripping wet with arousal. Heart pounding, core throbbing.

"It's cute."

Gojo was here and all yours. You couldn't believe it. Especially when you opened your eyes to take in this irresistible scene. Gojo, sunglasses thrown off somewhere to reveal those sapphire eyes, with his white shirt unbuttoned to show off his toned chest heaving to catch his breath. His pants looked a little too tight, hardly hiding his hard-on beneath them. He hovered over you, hands on either side of your poor, dizzy, flushed head. Those sky blue eyes roamed over your nearly naked form - which was barely covered by undergarments, with one bra strap already straying from a shoulder.

"N-no, I'm not being shy."

"Look at you. You're just a mess right now, sweetheart." he grinned, lowering his mouth to breathe against your ear, "Haven't even done anything yet."

A brush of his fingers against the wet, clothed spot between your thighs made your hands clutch his chest on command. They glided up to rest on his shoulders, effortlessly slipping beneath the fabric to slide the shirt from his beautiful, marble-like form. For a second, he stood on his knees to finish slipping the shirt off before undoing his belt, letting the small clink ring in the air. Pants were unzipped, leaving them to hang precariously from his hips, and Gojo returned back to his beloved spot, pink lips hovering over your own. You pressed a finger to his mouth and he paused.

"Please, Satoru…" you whispered, "don't tease me. You always do."

Gojo planted a quick kiss to your fingertip before his tongue poked out to run along it, causing you to freeze in surprise. He opened his mouth to gently suck your finger in, massaging his tongue against it before releasing you with a pop of his mouth.

"Oh, but it's sooo fun. I live for it."

That was always obvious since forever ago. Ugh, that sexy drawl and that smirk to match it. He was amazing in every way. So, running your fingers against the undercut at his neck, you whispered.

"Need you bad, Satoru."

You grabbed a fistful of his white locks, leading his mouth to your own to repeat that hot make-out session from earlier on the couch. Lips completely locked, not even stopping at getting in the way of clothes flying off, not even in the way of bodies swiftly moving and hands grasping at skin. His hands roamed over your breasts, squeezing them - biting with his teeth, pinching nipples and leaving you a moaning mess. His hands roamed over your thighs, over your ass - no part left untouched, but always savored. Nothing stopped this limitless love, even when Gojo hooked an arm under your legs and tossed you effortlessly into position on the bed - your head landing perfectly on its pillow while Gojo bounced on the mattress above you, mouth against mouth again in a heated kiss, slipping out a groan between parted lips.

A raspy whisper, "You ready for me?"

And you bashfully nodded yes, smiles and all as your sweet Gojo - the strongest, the most insufferable, but the most loving - positioned himself so that his pretty cock slid between your slick folds. A gasp escaped your lips when he groaned from how deep it went. Another gasp, followed by your soft moans when he started thrusting, giving that good friction and allowing your walls to tighten and suck him in further.

"Oh, fuck, sweetheart - fuck! So perfect."

"Sa… Satoru, fu - oh!"

A sharp intake of air once Gojo used a hand to greedily slide over the plushness of your thigh. He moved it ever so slightly, pulling it up a bit higher around his waist so that you both froze in place immediately, before letting out a pleasured groan in synch. The new angle which allowed him to go somehow deeper made your head spin.

Oh my gooood.

Your eyes clamped shut at the sensation, drool pooling at your mouth from how delicious Gojo's body was and when his lips drunkenly met yours, matching in swolleness. A little more speed, and you wrapped an arm around his neck as you just whined into his shoulder, clawing the skin at his back.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god more.

"Toru, fuck!"

Babbling his name over and over like a prayer. Curse words and moans spilling from both your mouths. Begging for Gojo to be faster, to be harder because god dammit you had waited too many years for this and he did too. Skin slapping on skin, sweat making your bodies stick together, and you could only grip onto him tighter as you were nearly screaming from the pleasure warming up your body.

"I love you, I love you, I fucking love you! Please, please, please, please, please!"

"Fuck, y-yeah… Love - love you too!"

And that tight coil in your lower half only got tighter and tighter, until - It snapped. The pleasure igniting your body as you were filled with his seed. You thought you saw stars? Forget that. Gojo could have put you in his domain, and you would have thanked him. A quick kiss to your mouth, raking your fingers through his damp locks before he released you to finally breathe, to ride out this high with a few slow and lazy thrusts of his hips. Lazily, you blinked the tears from your eyes. How sexy Gojo looked in this moment - if that even meant anything because he always looked good. His pure white hair stuck to his forehead in cute, wavy tufts. The way his pale face was red and flushed at the cheeks, lips so swollen to complement this as he panted, sweat shining on his skin in the dull light of the bedroom. Eyes clamped shut to recover from his high, but feeling your gaze on him, he blinked once. Your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of his illuminated blue eyes looking at you with hunger, glowing if just for a split second before he blinked again and the glow was gone. Your face heated up again - no, you must have imagined it.

"So you love me?"

He purred, eyes drooping at your flushed out face. Seemed he caught you staring off into space again. He panted against your skin, bringing you back from the endless blue maze that were his eyes.

"I do." you purred back with a smirk.

Between all the pants, Gojo cupped a hand to your face. He leaned to give you a quick peck on the forehead, then grunted when he laid next to you. When he got comfortable, you shuffled over to lay your head on his chest and firmly grab his jaw - giving a small kiss as he groaned into it. You pulled back to stroke a white lock from his forehead as he watched you with those blue eyes of his.

He smirked - one that meant he was up to no good again.

"So glad to be here with my pretty wife."

A pause.

You gawked at him. Literally, your jaw dropped open. Naturally, Gojo adorned a very wide grin and he swiftly crossed his arms behind his head.

"Oho… wife now?"

"I know, I know!" he winked, "Can't help it."

"You're kidding."

"Come oooon, let's just get married."

"Satoru!"

"Oh, yeah, baby. Say my name again."

"SATORU."

If only.

If only you weren't further embarrassed when Gojo pressed his lips to yours in a kiss again. And if only you two hadn't kept going all night, you would have never accidentally overslept into the next day. You both fumbled to school to be late to a faculty meeting. Of course, all eyes were on you. Because the staff sure as hell knew what happened judging by the shaken appearances (and bites to your neck that you forgot to hide).

And, if only Gojo didn't make things worse.

"Sorry, all! Guess my wife and I got a little carried away last night! But what are you going to do when two young adults are in love, am I right?"

You had never seen everyone's eyes widen in synch before.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #mugi writes

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bimrwolf · 19 days ago

Text

The Christmas Arrangement (Part 2)

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 10,009 warnings: SMUT SMUT ALERT!!!!!!! 18+ minors dni :P summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: sor maybe this will be more than 2 parts.... not betad and a little rusty on my writing still lmaooo i know...no real slow burn but steve and reader got a little impatient im sorry!!! Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

You woke slowly, the soft light of morning streaming through the curtains. The warmth of the bed was almost lulling you back to sleep when you noticed it—the weight around your waist.

Your eyes opened fully, and your breath hitched. Steve’s arm was draped over you, his hand resting lightly against your hip. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the soft puff of his breath against the nape of your neck.

For a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do. The room was quiet save for the faint creak of the house settling, and it struck you how peaceful Steve looked—his usual tension smoothed away in sleep.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. People shifted in their sleep all the time. But as you carefully slid out from under his arm, you couldn’t help the way your heart raced.

When Steve stirred, mumbling something unintelligible, you quickly turned your back, pretending to rummage through your bag.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. You hated how… adorable his voice sounded in the morning.

“Morning,” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the clock on the nightstand. If he noticed the earlier proximity, he didn’t mention it, and you weren’t about to bring it up.

“You sleep okay?” Steve asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Uh, yeah. Like a baby,” you said, pulling out a sweater from your bag.

He watched you carefully and you hated how he made you feel. You didn’t exactly hate that he was watching you. You peeked over your shoulder, and he pretended to yawn. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

He grunted in reply, standing up, stretching his arms up. You hadn’t really paid attention that he had put on sweatpants and a cotton shirt. It hiked up just a bit, and you felt your cheeks burn from seeing a sliver of his happy trail. Jesus. You hoped the water in the shower was scalding to cleanse you from the thoughts swarming through your mind.

This was all because of being close to him. It didn’t mean anything. It was like stupid biology that your lady parts were screaming for attention.

After your shower, you came out and guessed Steve was downstairs because he wasn’t in his room. You were grateful. You had remembered how uncomfortable the bra you were wearing was, and since there was no sign of him, you made the executive decision to change.

You stripped from your sweater and took off your bra, stuffing it back in the suitcase so you wouldn’t get it out again. You grabbed the one you wore yesterday. As soon as you went to put it on, the door to Steve’s bedroom opened.

Steve walked in, shirtless, dripping in sweat. “Is the shower free—” Steve stopped dead in his tracks, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He quickly turned around. “Jesus Christ…” His tone was indecipherable.

You squealed, quickly putting on your bra and sweater. You didn’t even protest that he hadn't knocked. It was his room. He probably didn’t think that you would be half naked in the middle of it. You stood there a moment to collect yourself.

Your head tilted. Since when has Steve been so… toned? His back muscles glistened. It took everything in you not to step forward and drag your finger down the crease of his back. “Uh… it’s safe. Sorry about that.”

Steve hesitantly turned around, not looking you in the eye as he scrambled to get into his bathroom. You almost laughed when you heard the click of the lock.

You were downstairs for forty-five minutes until Steve joined you, still not meeting your gaze. You smirked. You had unintentionally gotten under his skin. The best Christmas gift you have ever gotten.

“My mom is in town. Tomorrow is this big Christmas auction gala she organizes for the community.” He grabbed a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator.

“Oh, so we have the entire house to ourselves?” You made sure your tone was suggestive.

He looked up, already flustered. “Shut up.”

You smirked. “Oh come on. I didn’t think you’d be so worked up about seeing boobs.”

“You’re my employee. Of course I’m worked up about seeing your…” he trailed off, taking a sip of his orange juice. “Can we just drop it. I didn’t see much anyway.”

Your face fell. “Geez. Way to make a girl feel insecure,” you mumbled.

Steve ran a hand over his face. There was that small unintelligible word that sounded too close to your name which came out of his mouth. “Have you always been this obnoxious? Was I drunk when I hired you?”

You reached over and patted him gently on the cheek. “I think I was wearing that skirt.”

He didn’t like that because he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving you alone.

The Harrington house was quiet after Steve stormed out, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. You lingered in the kitchen for a moment, replaying the earlier exchange in your mind.

Something about this morning had felt… different. Maybe it was the intimacy of waking up so close to him, or the way his voice had softened when he said your name under his breath. Either way, the air between you had shifted, and it left you feeling restless.

With no clear destination in mind, you wandered through the house, letting your curiosity guide you. The walls were lined with family photos, some faded and slightly crooked, others newer and perfectly framed. There were a lot of Diane—her vibrant smile unmistakable in every shot. But it was the few photos of Steve that caught your attention.

You looked at the one you saw yesterday. He looked about eighteen, wearing a Hawkins High basketball jersey and holding a trophy with an exaggerated grin. His hair was bigger than you thought humanly possible, curling in wild waves that practically defied gravity. You snorted, biting back a laugh.

The hallway opened up to a dimly lit room, the door slightly ajar. You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. It was an office—clearly one that hadn’t been used in a while. Dust clung to the edges of the wooden desk, and the faint smell of leather lingered in the air. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and old knickknacks that spoke of someone who had once cared deeply about appearances.

As you walked further in, your eyes landed on the desk. A single picture frame sat on top, the glass slightly smudged. You picked it up, the image of a younger Steve catching your attention immediately. He was maybe eight or nine, sitting on a couch with a man who had to be his father. The resemblance was uncanny—the same sharp jawline, the same hazel eyes. But where Steve’s gaze held an openness, his father’s was piercing, almost cold.

“Figured you’d end up in here.”

You jumped, nearly dropping the photo. Steve stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He wasn’t angry—if anything, he looked resigned, like he’d been expecting this.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, setting the photo back down. “I was just… exploring.”

Steve shrugged, stepping inside. “It’s fine. No one really comes in here anymore.”

You watched him carefully as he moved to the desk, his hand brushing against the edge like he was grounding himself. His eyes flicked to the photo, softening in a way you didn’t expect.

“Your hair used to have its own zip code.” You smiled.

Steve huffed out a quiet laugh, his lips twitching. “Yeah. Mom called it my ‘fluff phase.’”

You grinned, leaning against the desk. “It’s impressive. I’m surprised you didn’t get recruited for shampoo commercials.”

“Missed my calling,” he muttered. Then he did something strange. He smiled at you.

You glanced around the room, your curiosity piqued. “Was this your dad’s office?”

Steve nodded, his expression growing more serious. “Yeah. He spent most of his time in here when he was home.”

“When he was home,” you echoed softly.

Steve hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything more. But then he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Christmas was… one of the few times he actually made an effort,” Steve said, his voice low. “I remember this one year—I think I was, like, ten. I’d gotten sick right before Christmas Eve. Just a cold or something, but I was miserable.”

You stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

“My mom wanted to cancel all our plans,” Steve continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “But my dad wouldn’t hear it. Said the Harringtons didn’t ‘sit out’ Christmas, even for the flu.”

You frowned, your chest tightening at the thought.

“But then,” Steve said, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips, “on Christmas morning, he came into my room. Had this stupid Santa hat on and everything. He brought me hot chocolate, sat on the floor, and just… stayed there with me. We watched movies all day. Mom kept checking in, but he told her not to worry.”

Steve’s smile faded slightly, his gaze distant. “I think that’s the last time I remember him actually being… present. Like he wasn’t thinking about work or his image. Just… me.”

The weight in his voice was palpable, and you found yourself wishing you could say something to take it away. But you knew better than to offer empty platitudes.

“That sounds like a good memory,” you said softly.

Steve nodded, his hand brushing over the edge of the desk again. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, the only sound the faint creak of the house settling. Then Steve straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone shifting back to something lighter. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You arched an eyebrow, folding your arms. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not,” he said quickly, though his tone betrayed him. “It’s just… usually today, I go to this Christmas party. My friends host it every year.”

“And since Robin’s probably already told them about us… it’d be easier if I came.” You said matter of fact.

He shrugged. “S’okay if you don’t wanna. I know that’s a lot more than you signed up for. And it’s more people we’d have to lie to. But my mom will wonder why you didn’t go and—”

“Okay.” You replied. A small smile fixed on your lips. You weren’t going to tell him that you were going to say yes once he brought it up. Nor were you going to tell him that him stumbling, avoiding your gaze, was cute. You stared at him for a moment. “What time?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Seven.”

You looked at the clock. You had plenty of time but you didn’t want to end up going empty handed.

The kitchen hummed with the soft sound of the oven preheating, the scent of cocoa powder and sugar already wafting in the air as you pulled out the ingredients for brownies. Steve leaned against the counter, watching you with an amused expression, arms crossed. His guardedness had melted somewhat, replaced by a warmth that was… nice. Too nice, if you let yourself think about it for too long.

“So, what’s the plan here?” he asked, nodding to the growing pile of ingredients. “You’re just going to wing it?”

You shot him a look. “Winging it is an art form. You wouldn’t understand.”

Steve snorted, pushing off the counter. “Right. Because following a recipe is such a niche skill.”

You grinned, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl with exaggerated precision. “You’re welcome to help, Mr. Harrington. Or are you going to just stand there and look pretty?”

“Pretty?” he shot back, stepping closer. His eyes sparkled as he grabbed the whisk from your hand.

“I said annoying.” You tried to correct yourself.

“No, I’m sure you said pretty.” He said in a sing-song tone.

You looked up at him, gawking at how different the Steve Harrington was standing right next to you to the Steve Harrington you knew twenty-four hours ago. “You misheard.”

“Did I? Then why are you blushing?” He teased.

“I am not.”

Steve chuckled, nudging you. “Move over. Let a professional show you how it’s done.”

“Professional? When’s the last time you baked anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve smirked, starting to whisk the eggs and sugar together. “Does it count if I helped Robin make cookies once? By ‘help,’ I mean I ate the dough.”

“That’s what I thought,” you said, nudging him aside with your hip. “Here. Hold the bowl steady.”

Steve did as you asked, holding the mixing bowl while you dumped in the cocoa powder. A small cloud of chocolate puffed up, and you both coughed, laughing.

“Great job, chef,” he teased, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, try aiming for the bowl?”

“Oh, shut up,” you replied, brushing a streak of cocoa off your wrist. “Mix it.”

You tried not to stare at how his forearms flexed as he mixed the batter. ”You’re not mixing,” you said, stepping closer and pointing at the bowl. “You’re obliterating. Look at it—there’s no love in that batter. You’re supposed to fold it.”

Steve scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Fold it? How do you fold a liquid? That makes no sense.”

“It’s not a liquid,” you countered, sliding next to him. “And if you don’t fold it, the brownies won’t be fluffy. Here, give me the whisk.”

He pulled the bowl closer to his chest like a petulant child. “I’ve got this.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “No, you don’t. Let me—”

But before he could protest, you grabbed his hands where they gripped the whisk. He froze, the heat of his palms bleeding into yours as you guided him.

“Okay,” you said, ignoring the way your heart did a tiny flip at the closeness. “Watch. Around the edges, and then through the middle. See? Gentle. Like this.”

Steve tilted his head, watching your hands guide his through the motion. “You’re not even doing anything. This is the same thing I was doing.”

“Uh, no,” you said, glaring up at him. “What you were doing was creating batter soup. This is how you fold. It’s all in the wrist. Look—soft, smooth motions.”

He mimicked your movements hesitantly, his frown softening into something closer to concentration. “So… like this?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “Just don’t overdo it. You want to mix just enough to combine everything without killing the air.”

Steve glanced down at you, his lips quirking into a reluctant smile. “Killing the air? You’re making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”

“Well, if you want good brownies…” you teased, not letting go of his hands.

“I didn’t realize baking came with a lecture,” he shot back, though his voice was quieter now, softer.

You looked up at him, realizing just how close you were. His face was mere inches from yours, and for a moment, you forgot what you were supposed to be doing.

“Got it?” you asked after a beat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve cleared his throat, pulling his hands back carefully but keeping his eyes on you. “Yeah. I think I’ve got it.”

You stepped back, letting Steve take over the folding, but your gaze lingered longer than it should have. His hands moved with surprising care now, each motion deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The soft light from the kitchen window caught on his hair, a mess of chestnut waves that managed to look both effortless and infuriatingly perfect. His jawline, sharp and dusted with just a hint of stubble, tensed with focus, and his lips—why were you noticing his lips?—were slightly parted, as if he was lost in the rhythm of the task.

He wasn’t just the boss who annoyed you at work or the guy with the quick comebacks and perpetual smug grin. He was… striking, in a way that made it hard to look away.

The warmth in his hazel eyes when he glanced at you, the easy laugh he’d let out earlier—it all felt disarmingly genuine, and it left you feeling unsteady, like you’d lost your footing on solid ground.

What the hell was wrong with you? This was Steve. The guy who once called you “relentlessly stubborn” after a client meeting and smirked when you’d glared at him. You weren’t supposed to notice how his t-shirt clung to his shoulders or how the veins in his forearms stood out when he gripped the whisk.

You weren’t supposed to think about how close his hands had felt under yours or how the faint smell of his cologne—something warm, woodsy, and distinctly him—seemed to linger in the air between you.

“Earth to you,” Steve said suddenly, breaking through your spiraling thoughts. He tilted his head, catching your eye with a teasing smirk. “You’re staring. Should I be worried?”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “No. I was just—” You gestured vaguely at the batter, your voice coming out higher than you intended. “You’re doing it wrong again.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. He just grinned, the kind that made your stomach do an annoying little flip. “Whatever you say, Chef.” He handed you the bowl back.

As you poured it into the pan, Steve leaned against the counter again, watching you with a small smile. “You’re not bad at this,” he admitted.

“High praise,” you said, smirking. “From a guy whose contribution has been… holding a bowl.”

Steve stepped closer, picking up a spoon to taste the batter. He dipped it in, taking a bite, and hummed thoughtfully. “Not bad. A little more sugar, though.”

You swatted at his hand as he reached for the sugar jar. “It’s fine the way it is!”

He shrugged, stepping back to give you space, though his grin lingered. As you continued to pour the batter into the pan, Steve stepped forward, brushing past you to grab a towel. “You’ve got something,” he said, gesturing to your face.

“Where?” you asked, trying to wipe at your cheek.

“Here,” Steve said, his voice softer now. He reached out, his thumb brushing just below your lip, and you froze.

Before you could process the moment, he brought his thumb to his mouth, licking off the batter absentmindedly.

Your brain short-circuited.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, turning back to the counter like nothing had happened. He made a distinguished sound that embarrassingly made a spot in your stomach heat up. His eyes rolled back. “This is heavenly,” he said casually, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

You blinked, your pulse racing. “Uh… thanks?”

The moment hung in the air for a beat too long, but neither of you addressed it. Instead, you slid the pan into the oven, your movements more deliberate as you tried to regain your composure.

By the time you arrived at the party, the brownies tucked safely in your arms, the house was already buzzing with life. Warm light spilled from the windows, and you could hear laughter and holiday music drifting through the crisp night air.

Steve opened the door, ushering you inside. You barely had time to take in the garlands, twinkling lights, and festive decorations before a familiar voice called out.

“Harrington!”

Robin appeared, beaming as she made her way over. She grabbed Steve by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. “I knew you’d bring her!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his tone. His hand casually fell on the small of your back. You smiled to yourself, leaning into his touch.

Robin turned to you, her grin widening. “Glad you came.”

”Thanks for having me.” You lifted the pan. “We brought brownies”

Robin smiled. “You’re a baker?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Steve interjected. “They are probably the best damn brownies I’ve ever had.”

You rolled your eyes. “He hasn’t even had one yet. All he did was lick the spatula.”

“Not true. I folded it like you asked.”

“Barely, it looked like you were auditioning for The Great Destroyer of Brownies.”

“But they came out perfectly fine. So I must have done something right.”

It was like you two had even forgotten Robin was there. You were looking at each other. Your faces only inches apart, playing a silent game of whoever smiles first, lost.

“Geez, get a room you two. I’ll take the brownies before you get freaky.” Robin’s face was twisted like she had eaten something sour. She took the pan from you, walking away into the house.

You thought Steve would take his hand off you, but instead he guided you further inside until you both were at the entrance of the living room. He must have seen how nervous you were at the sight of not only a couple of friends, but more than a handful. His hand moved across your back and rested on your waist.

“Steve!” Everyone cheered in unison. Their eyes immediately drew to you.

“I thought Rob was lying,” a petite girl with long brown hair said. “I guess she did. She said you were pretty but that’s an understatement.” She walked closer to you and you recognized her from a picture hanging at Steve’s house. “I’m Nancy.”

You smiled shyly, introducing yourself to her. She then hugged Steve, and you couldn’t help but feel some sort of jealousy as he held onto her a little longer. She turned back to you. “Do you drink?”

“Uh… occasionally.” You replied.

Nancy linked her arm with yours, looking up at Steve with a toothy grin. “‘Scuse me, but I’m going to steal your girlfriend. Make yourself at home.”

You gave Steve a look you had never given him before. A sad puppy dog face, eyes round, eyelashes fanning as you blinked. Steve’s smirk made your stomach flip as Nancy dragged you into the kitchen. Robin followed.

They were talking about some person named Jane… and that she was eleven? You weren’t sure. All you picked up was she was in Indianapolis with a boy named Mike and the family was leaving after the auction to spend Christmas there.

You hugged yourself, feeling overwhelmed. You listened, nodding along to the conversation. Nancy looked over at you, handing you a cold beer with a warm smile, tilting her head slightly as if to include you in their conversation. “Here.”

You took it with a quiet “Thanks,” gripping the bottle just to have something to do with your hands. The kitchen was alive with conversation, Robin perched on the counter while Nancy leaned against the island. They volleyed stories back and forth, mentioning names you barely recognized—Jonathan, Jane, Hopper. Their shared history was palpable, a comfortable rhythm you weren’t sure how to fit into.

Nancy must’ve noticed, because she turned to you, her smile softening. “So, how long have you and Steve been together?”

You froze, fumbling with the bottle in your hand. The words felt too big in your throat, but before you could even attempt to answer, Robin cut in with a mischievous grin. “Fairly recent.”

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. “And he brought you home for Christmas? That wasn’t meant to sound rude. He just hasn’t brought anyone around since…” she trailed off, taking a sip of her drink.

You bit the inside of your cheek nervously, unsure what to say.

“Oh, you know Steve,” Robin said, kicking her feet playfully against the cabinets. “When he falls, he falls hard. I give it six months before they’re picking out curtains.”

Nancy laughed lightly, but her gaze stayed on you, curious. “You must be pretty special,” she said.

Special? That wasn’t exactly the word you would’ve used. You managed a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “He’s, uh, full of surprises,” you said, which was at least half true.

Robin snorted into her drink. “Yeah, surprises. Like when he thought putting a bike together meant duct-taping it until it stopped rattling. Romantic and handy.”

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing a fraction. Nancy smiled too, and for the first time, the air felt a little less heavy. You took a sip of your beer, the coldness grounding you.

“So,” Nancy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “how did Steve get you to put up with him? He’s charming, sure, but that only gets him so far.”

Before you could think of a response, Robin piped up again. “I’ll tell you how—she’s a saint. That’s the only explanation. And a really good liar.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between you and Robin. “Liar?”

You opened up your mouth, but Robin interrupted. “That she isn’t totally in love with him.”

You froze. In love? You barely knew him. “I—“ you couldn’t even disagree. I mean it would sound weird to say you didn’t like him while dating him. The entire lie would be for nothing. Your mouth went dry.

Your heart stuttered at Robin’s words. The idea seemed absurd at first. You barely knew Steve outside the confines of work—and even then, most of your interactions had been steeped in teasing, bickering, and stolen glances. But the longer you sat with it, the less certain you felt about brushing it off. Because if you were honest with yourself, there had always been something about him—something you didn’t dare acknowledge until now.

You thought back to those late nights in the office, when the hum of the city faded and it was just the two of you, working side by side. How he always remembered the way you took your coffee, even when you changed it up without warning.

The way he never let you leave without walking you to your car, muttering some excuse about safety as if he wasn’t the one watching over you. Even the way he poked at your stubbornness during meetings wasn’t cruel—it was almost… playful, like he liked seeing you riled up.

And you remembered how, after every disagreement, he always found a way to smooth things over, slipping a comment or a smirk that left you reluctantly smiling despite yourself.

Maybe you’d been fooling yourself all along. Because in between the quips and banter, in the quiet moments where his guard slipped and you saw the person beneath the bravado, your feelings had crept in, unnoticed but deeply rooted. You’d just been too scared—or too stubborn—to admit it. Maybe you were in love.

The three of you walked into the living room. Nancy walked over to an empty space between a lanky, short haired boy, and another man who looked strikingly similar to the boy. He smiled at Nancy, putting his arm around her.

You noticed the ring on his finger and realized hers. You hated to admit the relief you felt that they were married and her and Steve were just good friends. Steve. He sat on a cushioned chair, smiling at you.

You moved closer to him, handing him a beer you had grabbed before you left the kitchen. He thanked you and when you went to sit on the ground, he grabbed your arm and pulled you gently into his lap. “This okay?” He asked, low enough in your ear so no one else could hear. He was making sure, remembering the deal. You had final say in all PDA unless absolutely necessary.

Why did you feel so shy? You nodded bashfully, looking away so he couldn’t see your face heat up. His arm snaked carefully around you, his palm resting on your stomach. It felt normal. But then again, this was exactly how it felt this morning.

Except now, you felt heat grow in between your legs as he gently pushed you so your back was flushed against his chest. He took a swig of his beer, drunk on smugness. What an asshole.

You wanted to kiss his smirk off his face.

And you did. You gently kissed the corner of his mouth, like a whisper. He didn’t push you off. His eyes glimmered and sparked with a sudden firework exploding in his irises. His grip became tighter.

“Oh my god, Steve. You’re down bad.” A chubby, curly haired boy that looked the same age as the one on the couch with Nancy and her husband.

“Alright man, tell us how you guys met.” A man with a buzzcut said. He was sitting on the ground criss-crossed. “I’m Eddie by the way.”

You began, “Oh we met at work—”

Steve cut you off mid-sentence, his voice warm and teasing but laced with something that made your chest tighten. “Oh, come on,” he said, his arm shifting slightly around your waist. “That’s way too boring. Let me tell it.”

You glanced up at him, your brows knitting in surprise. His smirk was firmly in place, but there was a softness in his eyes that caught you off guard.

“Alright,” Eddie said, his grin wide as he leaned forward. “Let’s hear it, Harrington. Lay it on thick.”

Steve rolled his eyes but chuckled. “So,” he began, glancing down at you like he was gauging your reaction. “She came storming into the office on her first day, looking like she was ready to fight someone. Hair all windblown, heels clicking loud enough to wake the dead—”

“I was not storming,” you interjected, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You absolutely were,” Steve shot back, grinning. “And then she marched right up to me, handed me a coffee—black, no sugar, just how I like it—and said, ‘If you’re the guy who hired me, then this better be worth it.’”

Robin snorted from across the room, nearly choking on her drink. “She did not.”

“Oh, she did,” Steve said, nodding solemnly. “No ‘hi,’ no ‘nice to meet you,’ just straight to business. And, honestly? I was impressed.”

You felt your cheeks heat as everyone chuckled, their attention fully on Steve. “It wasn’t that dramatic,” you muttered.

Steve’s grin widened, his hazel eyes sparkling as he leaned closer. “It was. And she’s late, by the way. Not just a couple minutes late—fifteen minutes late.”

Nancy snorted from her spot on the couch, and Robin outright cackled from her perch in the corner. Eddie’s eyes were wild like he was watching the most entertaining movie. The other two boys were trying not to laugh.

Steve ignored them. “Anyway we go to the conference room to begin her new hire orientation. She sits down, doesn’t even bother with the whole ‘sorry I’m late’ excuse. Just looks right at me, raises an eyebrow, and says—” he turned to you now, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “‘Am I in your seat, boss?’”

Laughter rippled through the group, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I did not say it like that.”

“Oh, but you did,” Steve shot back, his grin widening. “Like you were challenging me. And you weren’t wrong—you were in my seat. But I let it slide because, well…” He glanced down at you, his tone dropping an octave. “I couldn’t stop staring.”

The air seemed to shift with his words, the playful banter dipping into something deeper, quieter. The teasing smile faded from his lips, and for a moment, the room around you seemed to fade too. It was just Steve, looking at you like he was still that guy in the conference room, seeing you for the first time all over again.

“I didn’t stand a chance,” he admitted softly, his fingers tracing small, absentminded circles on your stomach. “From that first day, I was done for. And then, for the next few weeks, she basically ran circles around me—fixing my mistakes, arguing with me over every little thing, making me feel like an idiot in the best possible way.”

“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were insufferably arrogant.”

Steve grinned, the warmth in his gaze only intensifying. “Insufferably arrogant, huh? And now?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words as the room seemed to blur around you. All you could focus on was the way Steve’s thumb had started tracing slow, idle circles against your stomach, his hold on you steady and unshakable.

Eddie groaned dramatically, breaking the spell. “Alright, lovebirds, we get it. You’re disgustingly into each other. Someone pass me a beer before I die from secondhand swooning.”

The room burst into laughter, and you shook your head, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned. Steve just chuckled, pressing his lips to your temple in a way that felt too natural, too easy.

But as his hold on you tightened and his breath brushed your skin, you realized you weren’t sure you wanted him to let go.

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, though the warmth in his eyes didn’t waver. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the beer in his hand, as if weighing whether to continue. You tilted your head, sensing the shift, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, his thumb traced idle patterns along the glass bottle, his voice quieter when he spoke again.

“There’s… another reason I remember that day so clearly,” Steve said, his tone carrying an unexpected weight. The group quieted, their teasing falling away as they noticed his change in demeanor.

“It was…” He cleared his throat, finally meeting your gaze, his expression softer now. “It was the anniversary of when my dad passed.”

Your breath caught, the words settling heavily between you. Steve rarely talked about his dad—you’d picked up that much in the short time you’d spent with his family. And now, hearing it like this, you understood why.

Nancy’s face softened, her eyes flickering with something like recognition. Robin leaned forward slightly, her usual smirk replaced by concern.

“It was one of those days where everything felt… heavy,” Steve continued, his grip on the bottle tightening. “I didn’t even want to come into the office. But I knew if I stayed home, I’d just sit there, thinking about everything I couldn’t change. So I showed up. And then…” He smiled faintly, glancing down at you. “Then she walked in.”

You felt your heart twist, a strange mix of guilt and gratitude welling up inside you. Guilt for not knowing, for not realizing what that day had meant to him. And gratitude, because somehow, you’d been there—not knowing, but there all the same.

“She had this energy,” Steve said, his voice a little steadier now. “Like she didn’t care about anything or anyone, but not in a bad way. It was more like… she had her own gravity, and she didn’t need anyone else to pull her along. And for some reason, that made everything feel… lighter.”

Your cheeks flushed, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard. You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, hoping he could feel the silent support in your presence.

“And yeah,” Steve added, his smile turning crooked again, “she spent most of that first week telling me I was wrong about everything.”

The tension in the room eased, laughter bubbling up around you. His gaze flickered back to you briefly.

There was something unspoken in his eyes, something that made your stomach flip and your heart ache at the same time.

And for the first time, you wondered if Steve’s words weren’t just about the past. If, maybe, he was talking about now—about how much you’d started to mean to him in ways neither of you were ready to say aloud.

***

Steve had to practically drag you out of Nancy and her husband’s (you learned his name was Jonathan after having to embarrassingly ask for his name. Along with his brother, Will, and their friend Dustin) house. You all talked and they all gave you embarrassing stories of Steve.

You also learned he had dated Nancy at one point, but when the group told you, he held you a little softer. You tried to ask how they all became friends, but there was something in their tone of voices that let you know it wasn’t time for you to know. Maybe it had to do with the scar on Eddie’s cheek.

Steve was silent, hands in his pocket as he walked with you to his car. He opened the door for you and you looked over your shoulder. You wanted to play the gesture off that he didn’t want it to be suspicious if they were looking out the window, but they weren’t. The only sound on the way back to his house was the hum of the radio. Steve’s arm rested at his side as his other hand was on the steering wheel.

You kept looking at his free hand. Dangerous thoughts slipping into your mind as you wonder what it would be like to hold it. Or what it would feel like if he placed it on your thigh. Or if he touched you… good grief, get a hold of yourself. It was all pretend. Everything that you said and did was all fake.

He pulled up to his house. His mother’s car was still gone.

You barely had time to blink as he scrambled out of the car, shutting the door, coming to your side. He opened the door slowly, his body leaning against the car as you got out. Your breathing became slow as you felt the heat of his body when he reached to close the door. His eyes burned into you, only on you when he did so.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming in your ears as Steve stepped back just enough to let you move past him. The heat of his gaze didn’t waver, and for a fleeting second, you thought he might say something—something that would shatter the fragile boundary you’d been clinging to all night.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned toward the house, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you toward the door. The touch was light—barely there—but it lingered, sparking warmth that crawled up your spine and settled somewhere deep in your chest.

“You okay?” Steve asked, his voice low, almost tentative.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your throat tightened. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Steve didn’t press further. He unlocked the door, holding it open for you as you stepped inside. The house was dark and quiet, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering from the holiday decorations.

“You want something to drink?” Steve asked, flipping on the light in the kitchen as you wandered toward the living room.

You shook your head, dropping onto the couch and slipping off your shoes. “I’m good, thanks.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his hand braced against the frame as he looked at you. The soft glow from the kitchen light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

“You were great tonight,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “With my friends.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I… thanks. They’re great. And they clearly care about you a lot.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. They’re like family. Dysfunctional as hell, but family.”

There was something unspoken in his words. You opened your mouth to ask, but he pushed off the doorway before you could, walking over to the couch and sinking down beside you.

“They like you,” Steve said, his hand resting on his knee as he leaned back slightly. “I could tell.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Even Dustin? He seemed pretty skeptical.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Dustin’s skeptical of everyone at first. He’ll come around. Trust me.”

The way you both were talking… it put an ache in your chest. Why did it matter if they liked you? “I wish I could be real friends with them.”

He tilted his head. “I mean I don’t see why not.” He said it so innocently.

“Because friends don’t lie,” you answered.

He snorted, leaning his head back, whispering something about ‘If only you knew.’ His jaw ticked. If he wanted to say something else, he didn’t show it. Instead, he changed the subject. “Nancy said she invited you to get a dress for the auction.”

“Yes. Since someone forgot to mention it.” You elbowed him.

His mouth twitched but didn’t fully give in to a smile. Silence settled between you, comfortable but charged, the unspoken things hanging in the air like static. Your gaze lingered on the slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped absently against his knee.

“Steve,” you started, your voice hesitant, “about tonight…”

His eyes flicked to yours, something cautious but hopeful sparking in their depths.

“Thanks for bringing me,” you said, your words softer than you intended.

The air between you felt heavy again, but not in a bad way. It was the kind of heaviness that came with possibilities—with things unsaid but understood.

For a moment, you thought about leaning closer, about closing the small space between you and finding out if his lips felt as warm as they looked.

However, it was like after spending so much time chiseling at the walls he had built, you watched his eyes harden in real time. “Don’t worry, it won’t be unpaid,” he said.

You furrowed your brows. “That’s not…that’s not why I said it,” you finished, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

Steve didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to the floor, his jaw tight, and you could see the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee, like he was trying to keep something in.

“I know,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “But it’s better if we keep things clear, right? No confusion.”

The words landed heavier than you expected, and the ache in your chest twisted into something sharper. “Clear,” you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning back against the couch and letting out a breath like he’d settled something.

The sudden shift in his tone felt like a slap, and you couldn’t stop the sting that settled in your chest. “Steve—”

“It’s late,” he interrupted, his voice clipped. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. The vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier—the warmth, the openness—was gone, replaced by a wall so impenetrable it was suffocating.

But you didn’t want to fight. Not when you were both exhausted and treading on thin ice. So you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stood up. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some point across the room. “Night.”

The word was distant, almost hollow, and it lingered in the air as you made your way upstairs.

When you reached his room—the room—you closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it for a moment. Your mind swirled with everything that had been said—and unsaid—and the ache in your chest only deepened.

Why did it bother you so much? You’d known from the beginning this was a transaction, a temporary arrangement to get through the holidays. But the way he’d shut down tonight, as if the moments you’d shared earlier didn’t matter, made you question everything.

Steve followed in shortly. You noticed the way he looked at the bed and even glanced at you briefly, sighing.

You didn’t want to fight. You really didn’t. “This is bullshit.”

He was grabbing his sleep clothes. He turned around to look at you. His face was stony and emotionless.

“You cannot just shut me out like that, Steve Harrington. You said you liked it when I put you in your place, and unless that was all a lie, I’m going to do just that.” You crossed your arms across your chest.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up at your outburst, the sharp edge of his posture shifting into something more defensive. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, his voice low but steady, like he was trying to keep himself from snapping.

You stepped forward, refusing to let the heat in your chest falter. “I’m talking about you shutting me out every time I try to get close to you. Every time I try to show you that this—this thing—isn’t just about pretending for your mom or your friends or whatever. You’re the one who’s making this harder than it needs to be.”

Steve scoffed, tossing his clothes onto the bed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, I don’t?” you shot back, stepping even closer, your arms still crossed tightly. “Then enlighten me, Steve. Explain why you go from being… whatever we were earlier tonight to acting like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Because it’s not real!” Steve snapped, finally meeting your eyes. The frustration in his voice was palpable, and the tension in the room thickened. “This whole thing—it’s fake, remember? You said it yourself, it’s all built on a lie. And it’s better if we keep it that way. If we don’t confuse what’s real and what isn’t.”

His words stung, but you didn’t back down. “So what?” you asked, your voice rising. “Everything we did tonight, everything you said—none of it meant anything to you?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, Steve?” you demanded, your voice breaking just slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re running away from whatever this is before it even has a chance to mean something.”

Steve let out a sharp breath, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “I’m not running,” he said, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. “I’m just trying to protect us from making a mistake, okay? From thinking this is something it’s not.”

“And what if it is something?” you countered, your voice softer now but no less firm. “What if this isn’t a mistake, Steve? What if you just stop shutting me out long enough to see that?”

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a plea. Steve stared at you, his hazel eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite read—anger, confusion, longing.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you’re a coward,” you replied, your tone sharp despite the ache in your chest.

Something in him snapped. He closed the distance between you in two quick steps, his hands gripping your face as he kissed you, hard and desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

Your breath hitched, and for a split second, your body froze in shock. But then your hands found his chest, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

It wasn’t soft or gentle—it was a collision of all the things left unsaid, all the tension and frustration and longing that had been building between you. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers slowly intertwined in his hair, tugging lightly, moaning when you heard a soft groan from the back of his throat. You hated to admit the amount of times you’ve wanted to play with his hair.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making them part so he could slip his tongue into your mouth. His hands started to roam, squeezing your ass.

You broke first, as if you were gasping for oxygen. But Steve didn’t stop. His mouth fell to your jaw, trailing kisses to your neck. It was like he already knew where the spot was on your throat that would make your knees weak. You grasped his hair tighter.

“If you do that again, I might not make it to the bed.” He growled against your ear.

“The bed? That’s presumptuous, Mr. Harrington.”

If he wasn’t hard already, he was now. You whined as you felt his pants bulge against your stomach. You nearly choked out a laugh. “No shit. This whole time—”

He kissed you. “Shut up.”

You pushed him slightly away, his lips tried to chase after yours. You began to gently push him backward, leading him to his bed. “No wonder why you hate me calling you that. You’ve been getting turned on.”

He sat at the edge of the bed, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs. “That’s presumptuous,” he mimicked you. His hands playing with the hem of your shirt, his eyes asking for permission. You lifted your arms, allowing him to take your sweater off. His mouth immediately fell on your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about these two all day,” Steve admitted. His fingers threatened to unclasp your bra, but didn’t. Instead, he brought you down for another kiss. “Christ, I think about them all the time. But this morning, I couldn’t stop picturing you standing in the middle of my room with no shirt on. I felt like a fuckin’ teenager again.”

You giggled against his mouth. “You did take an awfully long time showering.”

He blushed. That was enough to tell you that your assumptions were correct. You crawled into his lap, bucking a little to feel him against your core. “Besides this morning, when was the last time you’ve thought about me?”

You helped him strip off his shirt.

He didn’t answer. His hands all over you again, soaking you up. “The other day when I kicked you out of my office.”

You put your hands on his shoulders, looking at him. You had imagined he had been on the other side of the door actually debating about firing you. You had even skimmed the “Help Wanted” section in the newspaper. You smiled at him, kissing him all over. On his mouth, cheek, and neck. Your hands splayed over his chest.

“So, you do stare at me when I wear the skirt.” It wasn’t a question and he knew it.

He rolled his eyes. “I told you. I do not stare.” His fingers finally unclasped the bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders. “I look for an appropriate amount of time.”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the boss to be looking at all.” You batted your eyes at him innocently.

His hands ran down your arms, sending a chill down your spine. “Oh, so now you’re concerned about professionalism? Convenient timing.” You would think that would make him upset but instead he continued to slip your bra all the way off.

He palmed your breasts gently before sliding a hand up to your throat, moving it to the back of your neck so he could gently tug your hair. You bit your lip as his mouth found that spot again, massaging your breast at the same time.

Your nails dug into his shoulders. “There’s no telling how long you’ve been mentally undressing me. Your sweet and innocent intern.”

“You’re kidding, right? Sweet and innocent my ass—“

“You talk too much,” you smirked mischievously.

You yelped, giggling as he picked you up and tossed you on the bed. He parted your legs with his knee. And you nearly cried as it barely touched you. His fingers started to unbutton your pants. You never knew eyes could get so dark as he hovered above you. “You’ve been driving me crazy since I’ve met you,” he mumbled. “If you have any concerns, I can stop.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin you living out your fantasy.” You arched so he could slip your pants off.

He kissed your stomach, planting small kisses to the hem of your underwear. “I only said, I think about you. You’re making me sound like a freak.”

You smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. "Oh, I don’t know, Steve. Spending all that time in your office, staring at me, imagining this moment? Sounds a little freaky to me."

He rolled his eyes, trailing another kiss along your hip bone. “Again, I never said anything about imagining. All I said was I think about you. That’s different.”

“Different how? Enlighten me, Mr. Harrington.” You teased, brushing his hair back.

“Well, for one, I’m very respectful in my thinking.” Steve chuckled, low and rough, his hands skimming down your thighs as he tugged at your underwear. "If I’m the freak, what does that make you? You’re the one letting your ‘boss’ take you apart like this."

You laughed, taking a deep breath once he pulled the cotton off of you. You tried to squeeze your legs together, but Steve pushed your knees apart, leaning back, taking you all in. His eyes scanned you, like he was trying to memorize every square inch of you. He seemed to love touching you because his palm started at your shoulder, slowly caressing it down, rubbing circles on your stomach with a finger. “None of this seems respectful, Mr. Harrington.”

A breath was caught in the back of your throat. His thumb found your sensitive area between your legs. Your back arched as he slowly rubbed it. You were embarrassingly already coming unglued. “You sure are complaining a lot about how I think about you.”

You closed your eyes, moaning as one of his fingers entered inside you. “I’m not… complaining… Jesus…” You grabbed a fistful of his hair as his tongue made contact with your sensitive spot, curling his finger at the same time. “M’only… stating facts.”

He lifted his head, and oh my god, you could burst right then and there. His lips were wet and swollen. His eyes were hazy, like he was drunk off of you. “Facts? I have one for you. I think about the way you argue with me during meetings. The way you glare at me like you’re seconds away from strangling me.”

“Sounds sexy,” you replied sarcastically, frowning. You had no idea where he was going.

He nodded. “It is. Especially when you get that little wrinkle between your brows. Drives me crazy.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dork.”

“Maybe. But you’re the one under me, letting me do whatever I want,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing as his finger curled, making you gasp. “So what does that say about you?”

You smirked, gripping hair again when his lips brushed your inner thigh. “It says I make terrible decisions.”

“Terrible?” His head shot up, eyes narrowed. “I’ll remember that the next time you attempt to proposition me.”

“Next time?”

He snuck another finger in. You bit your lip out of protest. “Confident, are we,” you asked, voice tight.

“Call it intuition,” he hummed.

“I call it arrogance,” you quipped. He went back down, his mouth back on your swollen heat, fingers pumping in and out of you. His other hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as you arched your back, thighs pressing on the side of his face. You cried out short whimpers.

Then he completely stopped.

His fingers and mouth were gone. It was so sudden you believed you had imagined it all. You propped yourself with your elbows, your breath still erratic. He looked at you with his stupid smug smirk. “Still have energy to complain?”

Steve Harrington had finally cracked how to make you speechless. You didn’t have any remark. Your mind spun, trying to grasp for a shred of your usual wit, but it was as if he’d stolen the words straight from your mouth. Steve Harrington had done what you thought was impossible—rendered you completely and utterly speechless.

The air between you felt electric, charged with the weight of what just happened, of what he had made you feel. Your heart raced, your body still buzzing from his touch, and all you could do was stare at him, at that insufferable, cocky grin plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

You hated how much you loved it.

He looked so infuriatingly pleased with himself, like he had won some unspoken game between you two—and maybe he had. For the first time, you weren’t the one in control, and the realization was both maddening and exhilarating.

What made it worse was that he knew it. He knew exactly what he’d done to you, and the way his hazel eyes gleamed with satisfaction only made your stomach twist in the most frustratingly delicious way.

“Now who is mentally undressing the other?” He began to unzip his jeans. Slowly and tauntingly. There was no hurry as he climbed out of them, tossing them to the side. You sat up, reaching out. Your fingers hooked the waistband of his boxer briefs, dragging it down.

He sprung out, making you let out a large breath. He was going to kill you, you thought. Once his underwear was to the side, he pushed you back on the bed, climbing on top of you. “Do you not need me to…” you trailed off.

He shook his head. “I think we’ve had a year long worth of foreplay. I need you. And I need you now.” Honestly, he was right. He could speak to you and you think you’d break. His expression softened, and his hand cradled your face. “This okay?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” you whispered.

He kissed you softly.

After adjusting, Steve slid into you. His face melted into a pool, his groan intertwining with your shaky exhale.

His hips rolled slowly, getting used to you and how you felt around him. He had to keep pushing your legs as they instinctively wanted to close around him.

It was warm and electric as the thrusts became more intense. Your nails dug into his shoulders, chests flush against one another. His hot wavering grunts stuck to your neck. He nipped and kissed your collarbone.

It was like you were a different person the moment he entered you. “You feel so good,” you purred, dragging your teeth against his earlobe.

It became more erratic. It was sexy as the sounds of flesh coming together blended with the dirty breaths of air escaping each other’s lips. “Everything about you is perfect,” Steve whispered.

He pressed his palm just right at the bottom of your stomach. You felt a tear roll down your face as the electricity inside you pulsed. “Steve…” It was like a champagne bottle opened inside you, fizzing all over the place.

“Christ, sweetheart…” he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppy. You could feel him twitch even as you came down from your high. He let out a sound that could only be made from the back of his throat and let go.

He laid on top of you, placing soft kisses on your jaw.

All of it felt unbelievable. Your mind was a haze. It was like a whirlpool of sensation and disbelief. Your body still trembled from the aftershocks of what had just happened.

How had this happened? How had you gone from presumably hating each other to this

—his body on yours, his lips tracing soft, reverent kisses along your jaw like you were the most precious thing in the world?

The way he had spoken to you, his voice rough with need and unfiltered affection, played on a loop in your head. Everything about you is perfect. You could still feel the heat in his words, the way they'd wrapped around your heart and squeezed it, as if he'd been holding them back for far too long.

You hadn't expected this-any of it.

Not the intensity of his touch, not the way he unraveled you so completely, not the way he made you feel seen.

And yet, the tender weight of his body, the way his breath brushed your skin as he whispered your name like a prayer, made it impossible to deny. Maybe you weren't just pretending anymore.

Maybe you never had been.

257 notes · View notes

alygator77 · 3 months ago

Text

♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: 7.3k

♬ a/n. hi lovelies, welcome to the debut of this fic :) very excited to explore this dynamic between satoru and y/n, thanks for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

series masterlist ♬ next chapter → pending...

ch 1 // the first measure

“Emotional regulation is defined as the process by which individuals influence the emotions they experience, when they experience them, and how they express them in response to different stimuli.”

Staring at the neatly printed words in your psychology textbook, your mind automatically begins to dissect the concept.

Emotional regulation. The holy grail of human behavior, wrapped neatly in clinical terms. It’s the ability to keep yourself in check, to craft a perfect mask that hides what’s boiling beneath the surface. The world only gets to see what you allow. If it were as easy as the textbook made it sound, half your classes wouldn’t exist.

Letting out a breath, you sink deeper into your chair.

People aren’t simple equations you can balance, after all—people are… complicated.

Emotions, even more so.

They ebb and flow like unpredictable tides, swelling when you least expect them, crashing down when you think you’ve regained control. They are messy, stubborn, and relentless—especially when the brain stops following its own rules.

Your mothers face comes to mind—uninvited. Her once-bright eyes are now dull with confusion, emotions flickering in and out like static on a broken TV. Dementia has stolen the filter that once kept her reactions in line with reality. It’s as if her mind is betraying her, one piece at a time.

You press your fingers against the pages of the textbook. Will any amount of psychology truly prepare you to untangle the complexities of the human mind? Can it allow you to help her—or at least understand her—before she’s lost entirely?

Before you can sink further into that thought, an ear-splitting crash reverberates through the store, jolting you back into the present. Glancing up with a sigh, the peaceful hum of the music store is shattered by the clumsy cacophony of someone abusing a drum kit like it owes him money.

Clearly, emotional regulation isn’t on that guy’s radar.

Yet, somehow, you’ve grown used to it. Working part-time here has taught you how to tune out chaos, as if the dissonance of the store has become its own kind of background music.

It’s chaotic, but it’s your kind of chaos.

The strings of guitars being tested, the pounding of drum kits, the chattering of customers—it all blends into a rhythm you no longer notice.

You’ve been working part-time in this quaint little music shop for so long that silence has become unsettling. If it’s too quiet, your mind starts wandering, spiraling into places you don’t always want to go. And so, the chaos is your anchor—it helps you focus, keeps you present.

Studying in silence feels foreign.

“Ugh… I have such a headache,” Utahime’s voice breaks through your thoughts, her hand pressing to her temple. Standing a few feet away, she shoots a glare towards the drum section. “He’s been at it for practically an hour now. Like… come on. Is he trying to destroy that kit or learn how to play it?”

Glancing up from your textbook, you eyes land on a brawny guy with jet-black hair, slamming away on the drums with no sense of rhythm, no control—just brute force.

“Has it really been that long?” you ask, blinking at the scene. The noise had faded into the background for you, becoming just another layer of the store’s soundtrack.

Utahime gives you a look that screams disbelief.

“You didn’t notice?”

You shrug.

“Guess I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Tch… wish I could do that,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her temples like the sound is physically burrowing into her skull. “That guy is killing me.”

Oh, shit. Now that your attention is focused, you notice just how bad it really is. It’s not just noise—it’s borderline offensive to music. He’s not even playing the drums—he’s assaulting them—completely unaware of the sonic devastation he’s unleashing on the store.

Utahime lets out another long, exasperated groan, her entire body sagging as she leans forward in defeat.

“I swear, if he keeps going, I’m going to snap,” her elbows rest on the counter, and she presses her forehead into her hands. “y/nnnn,” she whines, lifting her head just enough to glimpse at you. “Can you please do something?”

Glancing around the store, you catch the irritated looks of other customers—one guy near the synthesizers is glaring openly at the drummer, his hand gripping a set of headphones so tightly you half expect him to snap them in half.

It’s like the whole store is holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to make it stop.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook. It’s one thing to tune out the chaos when you’re focused on studying, but now that you’re paying attention, the noise feels like an assault on your senses too. You can’t blame Utahime for losing her patience—though she’s never been one to take matters into her own hands.

“Fine, I’ll handle it,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your seat.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, finally peeling her hands away from her temples. “Please, work your magic. Before we all go deaf.”

You roll your eyes internally, though you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Magic. Sure—that’s one way to put it.

What Utahime calls ‘magic’ is really just years of learning how to manage other people’s shit without losing your cool.

It’s not magic—it’s survival. A skill you’ve honed out of necessity, not desire. And sure, maybe your love for psychology helps—you’ve got the theories to back up the practice—but most days it feels more like wrangling toddlers who never learned how to grow up.

Taking a steady breath, you step into the fray, weaving through the store’s labyrinth of instruments and displays. As you get closer, the vibrations from the drums rattle through your bones, crawling up your spine. The sound is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through a megaphone.

The guy doesn’t even look up, his head bent low over the drum kit, raven hair falling in messy strands across his forehead. His arms move with the rhythm of someone who has no idea what rhythm actually is, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with each heavy-handed strike as he slams the sticks down like he’s personally offended by the drums.

You stand off to the side for a moment, watching him have at it. You’ve dealt with a lot of difficult people working here, but this guy? He’s so oblivious to the fact that the rest of the store is on the verge of mutiny.

Clearing your throat, you raise your voice, hoping to break through his focus.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

Another crash of the cymbals, loud enough to rattle your skull. Your jaw tightens as you try again, this time louder.

“Excuuuuse me!”

Still nothing. He’s completely in his own world, bashing away with reckless abandon. It’s like he’s in a vacuum, utterly disconnected from the chaos he’s creating around him.

Jesus this guy… your patience thins and you step closer—close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him from his overexertion. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and the muscles in his arms continue to ripple with each reckless swing of the drumsticks.

He’s not just playing hard—he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

As you reach out to tap his shoulder, you try to keep your touch firm but not aggressive, although, the moment your fingers make contact with him, his entire body jerks—drumsticks freezing mid-air as he whips his head around to face you.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sharp and filled with a flicker of annoyance.

“What?” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation.

Keeping your expression neutral, you try not to let his attitude get to you.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” you begin, as calm as you can manage. “We have a limited selection and there are other customers who may be wanting to try this kit.”

His eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed.

“So?” he drawls, waving the drumsticks lazily, like your request is beneath him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you press your lips together in protest. Stay professional, you remind yourself. Shifting your weight slightly, you square your shoulders and look him directly in the eyes.

“So,” you continue, voice firmer this time, “store policy is thirty minutes per instrument. You’ve been playing for over an hour.”

A low, sarcastic laugh bubbles from his chest, the sound filled with mockery as he tilts his head back slightly.

“And… what are you gonna do about it?” leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees like he's settling for a show—eyes glimmering with amusement as his lips curl into a smirk. “Throw me out?”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—every fiber of your being is itching to knock this guy down a peg.

Ugh. What a tool.

The condescension in his voice grates on you like sandpaper, but you force yourself to stay composed.

“Look…store policy is pretty clear,” you reply evenly, nodding towards the sign behind the counter. “You either give someone else a turn, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Your words seem to pique his interest—his smirk widens, eyes flicking over you slowly, appraisingly. Suddenly you’re more interesting to him than this drum set. He pushes himself off the stool in a slow, deliberate movement, and you hold your breath the moment he towers over you.

He’s by no means, a small guy.

The light behind him is blocked from his broad shoulders, and there’s a new edge to his gaze now. The moment he invades your space, it is just a little too close for comfort.

“Oh yeah?” your stomach turns from the low suggestive timber of his voice, “And what if I don’t feel like leaving, sweetheart? You gonna make me?”

Ick.

This guy might take the cake for being the most difficult prick you’ve had to deal with here, and that’s saying something. Working in this music shop, you’ve come across a lot of full of themselves wannabees, praising themselves like the next big thing—acting like God’s gift to music when all they want to play over and over again is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

A surge of discomfort ripples through your body, but you stand your ground. You know how this goes—he wants a reaction, and you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Look dude, I’m not asking,” your tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. “This is your last warning”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and a low whistle escapes his lips, as if he’s impressed—but it’s the kind of faux admiration that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he muses, chuckling softly.

Leaning in, the heat of his breath brushes against your skin as he invades your space once again—far too close for comfort—and you feel his gaze sweep over you slowly, lingering in a way that feels slimy and unwelcome.

“I like a girl with a little fire,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “It always makes things more fun.”

Gross.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides and you fight the urge to recoil as a surge of revulsion twists through you like a knife.

But before you can respond—before you even have the chance to formulate the sharp retort already forming on your tongue—the air shifts and a new voice cuts in.

“Wow, did I just walk in on the world’s worst pickup line, or are we about to throw hands over a drum kit?”

Turning your head towards the source of the voice, your eyes land on a tall figure standing a few feet away—his hair is a striking shade of snowy white, messy and untamed, falling in tousled strands that almost brush against the black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and even with his face partially hidden, there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint tugging at the corners of his mouth—like he’s watching the scene unfold for his own amusement.

Despite the casual nature of his appearance—jeans slung low, a loose-fitting hoodie—there’s something undeniably striking about him. It’s the kind of presence that demands attention without asking for it

Who the hell is this guy?

Clearly irritated by the interruption, the drummer straightens up—his smirk faltering as he sizes up the newcomer.

“This doesn’t concern you, man,” he growls, tight with irritation. “I’m just having a little conversation with her.”

The snowy stranger’s grin turns sharp, though his voice remains light.

“Yeeeah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he steps up beside you, and without hesitation, his arm slips around your waist, pulling you smoothly into his side like you’ve always belonged there. “Everything concerning her concerns me.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sudden, possessive gesture. Part of you bristles at the boldness, but another part… feels oddly safe in his grasp—like he’s been by your side forever.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as the drummer's eyes narrow—like the balance of power has tipped—the presence of this stranger throwing him off.

“Oh really? And just who the hell are you?” he snaps.

Your mysterious stranger doesn’t miss a beat—he chuckles softly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—brilliant, vivid blue, and gleaming with a spark that teeters between playful and dangerous. It’s the kind of look that makes your heart flip.

“Oh, me?” he feigns innocence with a nonchalant shrug, like this whole thing is just mildly amusing to him. “I’m nobody special.”

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he casually pulls you in a bit closer, and you are met with the warmth of his body as he leans into you just slightly.

“Just here to make sure my girl doesn’t have to deal with assholes. Y’know how it is.”

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Your girl? You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks as the words rolling off his tongue begin to register. You barely know this guy—hell, you don’t know him at all—and yet here he is, acting like the two of you are something.

But…maybe it’s working? Because the drummer’s eyes narrow further, his expression twisting as a furrow darkens over his features. Ah…but then you realize he’s not focused on the claim your stranger just made—no, his attention is locked on a different word entirely.

“Asshole?” he echoes, voice rising with indignation, practically spitting the word back. Clenching his fists, he steps forward with a scowl twisting upon you face. “You calling me an asshole?”

“Well, yeah,” your stranger remarks casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs again, utterly unfazed by the tension mounting between them. “When the shoe fits…I mean, you’re acting like one, aren’t you?”

Pure rage flashes across the drummer’s face, and you can visibly see his fists trembling slightly.

Uhh… on second thought, is this guy even helping?

Now you’re not so sure if your so-called rescuer is making things better or worse, because clearly, the drummer is on the verge of snapping.

“You better watch your mouth man,” the drummer snarls, fury simmering beneath the surface.

But the stranger’s grin only widens, and he exudes a confidence that makes it clear he’s not worried in the slightest.

“Heh. That’s a warning I get a lot,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “But y’know what? I don’t usually listen.”

It's a wonder the drumsticks the drummer is fisting haven't cracked under pressure, given how tightly he clenches them—his knuckles turn white.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls through gritted teeth.

A low hum rumbles against your strangers’ lips as he ponders the question thoughtfully.

“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty hilarious,” he scratches the back of his head, like he’s seriously considering the statement, then, glancing at you, his eyes gleam with amusement as his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Whatcha think babe? Am I funny?”

The question—and that pet name—catches you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But the drummer isn’t interested in the little game your stranger seems to be playing. His jaw clenches—teeth grinding audibly as his face hardens into something feral.

“I’m about two seconds away from wiping that stupid grin off your face,” he spits, taking another aggressive step forward.

Fucking hell, is a fight really about to break out at your work?

Your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you think he might actually swing at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the stranger says, still grinning like none of this phases him.

He releases his hold on your waist and steps forward with a smooth, almost lazy movement, placing himself between you and the drummer. His hands slip casually into his pockets, posture relaxed, but the air around him shifts.

“Let’s pump the brakes, big guy,” he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “You’re welcome to try. But I’ll tell ya right now—” his teasing lilt diminishes, replaced by something colder, more commanding, “you’re not gonna like how it ends.”

His words—a warning and a challenge wrapped in one—hang heavy, and for a moment it feels like the entire store is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Glancing around, you notice a few customers watching the scene unfold.

Fucking hell—this has gone from bad to worse.

And yet…the drummer doesn’t swing. He doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch.

He’s seething—rage evident in the set of his jaw, the clenched fists at his sides—but something about the stranger’s calm, unwavering demeanor is throwing him off balance. It’s almost impressive, really.

No, scratch that—it is impressive.

You misjudged this guy. He might have walked in here like a cocky troublemaker, throwing out cheesy one-liners and pushing your buttons, but now? Now, he’s cool under pressure, defusing a situation that could’ve easily escalated into violence.

Body language often says more than words ever could, and his is completely in control—relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single muscle tensed for a fight, yet there’s a sharpness beneath the surface—an unspoken control that demands attention.

It’s brilliant in a way. He’s defusing the threat without lifting a finger—a textbook example of how to manage tension without aggression. This guy is winning a psychological game the drummer doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

Their silent standoff stretches, until finally, the stranger breaks the silence with his smooth and almost disarmingly casual voice.

“Look, man,” he shrugs one shoulder with a nonchalance that seems almost practiced. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away with your dignity intact.” Tilting his head slightly, he gestures toward you with a subtle nod. “She asked you politely to stop. This is a store, not your personal garage. So maybe it’s time you pack it up and go before you make things worse.”

There’s a moment—a pause that feels like it stretches just a beat too long—where you can practically see the drummer’s gears turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to hold onto whatever’s left of his bravado.

Then, finally, he mutters through gritted teeth,

“Whatever.”

The word is spat out, dripping with frustration and barely-contained rage, and with a sharp movement, he tosses the drumsticks onto the kit—the wooden sticks clattering against the drums in a final act of defiance.

“You’re not worth it, and this place sucks anyway,” he mutters, full of aggravation, but his heart no longer in it—it’s clear his fight has deflated.

Turning sharply on his heel, he shoves past both you and the stranger with a forceful shoulder, storming toward the exit, and once the door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberates through the store with an unmistakable finality.

Just like that, the tension breaks. It’s like the whole store exhales at once—the weight lifting from the air as the distant murmur of customers resumes.

Before you can fully process what just happened, the stranger beside you turns his attention back to you.

“Well, that was fun,” he remarks, “Could’ve gone worse though. I mean, I didn’t even get to throw a punch. Talk about anti-climactic, huh?”

You barely manage to take a breath as he closes the space between you just a little more, his movements slow and intentional, and your heart flutters the moment his sunglasses slip down slightly, just enough for you to get a direct glimpse of his eyes. They lock onto yours—those bright, vivid blues—and for a second, everything else around you fades into the background.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You okay?”

There’s something undeniably genuine in his tone, something that cuts through the playful exterior and lands right in your chest. You weren’t expecting that—this tenderness from someone who moments ago had brushed off a near-fight like it was nothing.

His eyes—soft but still burning with intensity—hold yours captive, and for a second, you forget how to speak.

“Uh… yeah,” you manage, “I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Because I think you owe me a ‘thank you’ for that stellar rescue.”

You blink out of incredulity.

Thank you?

So much for tender—who does this guy think he is? You nearly scoff aloud. He wants a 'thank you' for a rescue that, truthfully, you weren’t even sure you needed?

Unsure whether you’re amused or annoyed by his arrogance, you open your mouth to respond—but before you can say anything, he cuts you off with a wink.

“Kidding,” he says with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Always happy to help.” His hands settle into his pockets and he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Especially when it means I get to rescue a pretty girl like you.”

The compliment lands harder than you’d care to admit as you feel the warmth creeping up your neck and into your cheeks—betraying the fact that—against your better judgment—you’re not entirely immune to his charm.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest…

—nope. Let’s not go there.

Pushing it down before it can grow into something more, you refuse to let that feeling root itself.

You’re not looking for attention, especially not from a guy like this—a guy who flashes a cocky grin like he knows it works. The kind of guy who acts like the world bends to his whims.

Romance? No thanks. You’ve got bigger things to focus on. He’s exactly the kind of distraction you don’t need.

“Rescue might be a strong word,” you mutter, finally finding your voice again as you cross your arms over your chest. “I had it under control… mostly.”

“Oh, you did? My bad,” leaning in slightly, his voice lowers as if sharing a secret. “But trust me, that guy? He was one wrong word away from turning this into a full-on disaster. You’re lucky I stepped in when I did.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his comment, refusing to let him rattle you this time, and there’s a flicker of amusement creeping into your voice as you challenge him.

“Lucky, huh? So, what now? You expecting a medal or something?”

His grin widens—a grin that’s undeniably magnetic, but you resist being pulled into its orbit.

“Naaaah, I’m not that high maintenance,” straightening himself, he regards you with a slight tilt of the head. “But… I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by his response.

Did he just… ask you out?

“Wait, what?” you stammer, not quite sure you heard him right.

“A coffee,” he repeats smoothly. “Y’know, like a reward for my heroic efforts.” He pauses, just long enough to make it clear he’s toying with you. “Or is that too forward? I can settle for your number instead.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips—a sharp exhale that’s part disbelief, part amusement. This guy is unbelievable.

Nope. You’re not going to let him get to you that easily.

“I don’t even know your name,” you shoot back, lifting your chin just a little higher, “and you’re already angling for a reward?”

“Ouch, y/n,” he replies, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if you’ve wounded him deeply—his grin, however, never falters. “That stings.”

You stare at him, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“How do you…?”

“How do I know your name?” he finishes for you, clearly enjoying this a little too much. He tilts his head. “Well, for starters, your nametag.”

Oh.

You glance down quickly and—of course—there it is, printed neatly on the tag pinned to your shirt, and now you are mentally kicking yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Right… of course,” you shake your head in mild embarrassment. It’s infuriating how easily he’s messing with you.

An amused chuckle dances on his lips and he leans back ever so slightly—hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“But that’s not the only reason I know you,” he adds, voice taking on a more playful tone, almost like he’s daring you to figure it out. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

You blink, trying to piece together where you might’ve seen him before. There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice…have you heard it before? Do you know him?

“I don’t…” you start, trailing off, searching for any spark of recognition, but you come up blank. “Uhh… should I?”

Flashing you a toothy smile, he's clearly delighted by your confusion.

“Ouch again. Double whammy,” with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head in mock disappointment as his crooked grin curves up. “I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his theatrics, and despite yourself, the corner of your lips do too. Ugh. You want to be irritated with him but somehow, he makes it incredibly hard to be.

“Right… well,” tilting your head, your voice dips with playful sarcasm, “maybe if you told me your name, it might jog my memory?”

With a soft chuckle, he slides his sunglasses off and rests them on top of his head, and just like that, you’re greeted with the full, unobstructed view of his eyes—striking, electric blue, so vivid they almost don’t seem real, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

“Satoru,” he says smoothly, as if his name alone should be enough to make everything click. “Gojo Satoru.”

The name floats in your mind, like it’s circling around something, but still, nothing concrete surfaces. He seems so confident—so sure that you should know who he is—and it only adds to your frustration.

Do you know him?

Generally, you keep to yourself, both at work and on campus—with your moms condition you don’t really have time for the exciting college life. Tilting your head, your eyes narrow as you study his face—surely, you would have remembered someone like him... wouldn’t you?

“Gojo Satoru…” you test the name on your tongue as if saying it aloud might unlock some hidden memory. But still—nothing. “Sorry, not ringing any bells.”

Satoru laughs again, rich and unbothered, like this is the highlight of his day.

“Wow, I’m really striking out today,” he shakes his head in mock dismay. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Before you can muster a response, he reaches out casually, plucking a pair of drumsticks from an endcap display nearby, twirling them between his fingers like it’s second nature. He examines them for a moment, then looks back at you with a raised brow.

“So, since we’re here and I’m feeling generous… how about you check me out?”

You glance down at the drumsticks in his hand, then back up at him—his expression is unreadable, that signature smirk lingering as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“...you mean ring up the drumsticks, right?” you clarify, though your voice is uncertain.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he murmurs, and then, with a sly wink, he adds, “But I don’t mind if you do both.”

For a beat, your breath hitches, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

Okay—this is guy is definitely a flirt. You’re not falling for his trap.

“Wow… you’re really not subtle, are you?” reaching out, you snatch the drumsticks from his hand. “How many women actually fall for that?” you turn on your heel towards the counter, and he follows in step.

“Hmm…I’m not exactly keeping score,” he admits. “But let’s just say I don’t hear too many complaints.”

Glancing back at him, you arch an eyebrow as you approach the register—fingers automatically moving to unlock your cash drawer, and he leans casually against the counter beside you, propping his elbow on it—like he owns the space.

“Will say though,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “I don’t usually have to try this hard. You’re pretty special.”

You scoff, your fingers hesitating slightly over the keys, though you refuse to let him see how his words make a tiny flutter bloom in your chest.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter under your breath, trying—and failing—to focus solely on the transaction.

Satoru hums, watching you with that same playful gleam in his eyes.

“Nah,” his tone drops to something almost conspiratorial, “you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Yup. He’s a smooth talker—and without a doubt, bad news.

Pressing your lips together, you force your gaze to remain on the screen in front of you. He’s playing a game, and you’re determined not to lose.

As you scan the barcode on the drumsticks, he casually pulls out his wallet to pay, and that’s when something catches your eye—a student ID peeking out from the clear pocket inside his wallet.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, your fingers hover mid-air as you get a better look. The ID is familiar—yet you can't make out the school’s name plastered right across it, but the logo and the colors are unmistakable.

Wait a second…

“We go to the same school?”

Satoru looks up, his grin stretching even wider and the glimmer in his eyes practically daring you to catch up—he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Took ya long enough,” he teases, playful but with a hint of smugness. “Yeah, we do.”

You blink, the pieces clicking together a little too late.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demand, unable to stop the half-accusatory, half-embarrassed tone that underlines your voice. A groan slips past your lips and you shake your head in frustration. “I swear…you’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

With an amused chuckles, Satoru lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.

“Hey, it’s more fun this way,” he leans in a little closer, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “Besides,” he pauses, tilting his head just slightly while his lips curve into a sly grin. “I like watching you piece things together. You’ve got this cute little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking hard.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and no matter how hard you resist, there’s that undeniable flutter in your chest, warm and unwanted.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer ground.

“Oof. You’re killing me, y/n. I pass by you every day, actually.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes.

“Every day? Where?”

“The water fountain,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically, just a light touch. “Y’know, where you sit and study. Every afternoon, without fail. I walk by almost every day.”

Ah. That’s why his voice must’ve sounded familiar. You probably heard him—another voice blending into the background while you were studying.

“Really? Guess I never noticed you.”

Resting his chin in his hand, a dramatic huff falls from Satoru's lips as they form into a pout.

“Jeez…you don’t quit. I can’t believe I’m that forgettable.”

You can’t resist the soft laugh that escapes you, despite yourself—it’s hard not to find his antics at least a little amusing, and though you’d never admit it, the way he’s so desperate for your attention is almost… cute.

“Maybe you just blend into the background too much,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow while extending your hand, silently gesturing for his payment.

“Ouch...” he winces dramatically, pulling out his card before placing it in your hand. “Okay, that one stung a little.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure your ego will recover,” you quip, glancing up briefly before focusing back on the transaction. But there’s a brief pause as you swipe his card—a silence that suddenly feels charged with something else.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy and expectant, and you try your hardest not to give in to the pull to look at him again—but the heat of his attention is unmistakable, almost like a gravitational force pulling you in, and you can feel your pulse quicken under his scrutiny.

“I gotta say, you’ve got a sharp tongue—I like it,” he murmurs.

Your fingers freeze for just a second, your breath hitching slightly as his tone shifts, and you can’t resist—your eyes flick up and he holds your gaze captive yet again.

“But it’s a bad habit, y’know,” he continues, his voice dropping, growing more intent as his eyes flicker over your features. “Not being aware of your surroundings like that...” leaning in just a fraction, his words become a quiet murmur between the two of you. “What if some creep tried to take advantage of you?”

The gentleness in his demeanor… is he genuinely concerned? It’s hard to tell—harder than you’d like to admit—and it’s easier to convince yourself he isn’t—that this is all part of his charming routine, because that makes it easier to ignore the subtle pull he has on you.

“Well,” you keep your voice steady, despite the flutter in your chest, “lucky for me, no one’s tried. Unless…” tilting your head slightly, a teasing smirk tugs at your lips, “you’re secretly admitting to being a creep.”

Satoru’s laugh spills out, rich and warm, breaking the moment just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Nah, I’m not creep,” his voice lightens as he straightens up just a little. “Just a concerned citizen looking out for someone who’s too absorbed in her textbooks to notice the world around her.”

You huff, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward against your will.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” you quip back, determined to maintain control over the situation. In a quick, defiant motion, you grab the receipt and shove it into his hand, a small victorious gesture.

“Right, right. You definitely proved that today when I swooped in for the rescue,” he teases, and his hand brushes yours ever so briefly as he takes the receipt—a touch so light is sends a tiny spark up your arm. “But hey, what if you don’t show up at the fountain one day? I’m gonna have to file a missing person’s report.”

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“A missing person’s report? Seriously?” you roll your eyes.

“Yup,” he grins, emphasizing the ‘p’. “You’re there so often it’s practically routine. Same spot. Same time. Every day. It’s kinda predictable, y/n. If I don’t see you there one day, I’ll just assume some creep finally got to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you can’t help the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Predictable?” you retort, trying to sound indignant. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you are,” he counters, clearly reveling in your reaction as he slips the receipt in his pocket. “But hey, that’s not a bad thing. It makes you easier to find if you ever disappear.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes, a snappy reply ready on your tongue, but he’s already raising his hands with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to paint the scene in vivid detail.

“I can see it now: ‘Missing: Cute girl who spends way too much time by the water fountain. Last seen buried in a psychology textbook. Answers to y/n.’”

It’s impossible not to laugh again, the sound bubbling up as you watch him weave his ridiculous scenario with such confidence and flair. His eyes flick to yours, and a satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth—clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on you.

“Wow,” you manage between chuckles. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, leaning slightly closer. “Gotta be prepared. I don’t want anything happening to my favorite water fountain girl.”

Your heart flips—and for a second, it feels like he’s given you some kind of title you didn’t realize you wanted. You try to brush it off, to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it’s not so easy with the way he’s looking at you.

“Riiiight… well, lucky for you,” you manage, attempting to sound nonchalant, “I’m not planning on disappearing anytime soon.”

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth. “Because I’d miss seeing you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the upper hand, though the small smile that tugs at your lips betrays you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you would.”

There’s a brief moment, just the two of you—his gaze still locked onto yours, when—

“Ahem.”

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to see Utahime standing beside you, arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She gives you a look—a very knowing look—that sends heat rushing to your cheeks all over again.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes dancing with mischief as they flick between you and Satoru. “So… don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air, you swallow hard and offer her a tight smile.

“No promises,” Satoru quips, that cocky grin returning to his face as he leans against the counter slightly—clearly unfazed by the interruption.

After Utahime saunters off, he continues smoothly, picking up right where he left off.

“So...” he starts again, “What do you say? How about you give me your number? Just in case I need it, y’know, for emergencies.”

He’s relentless, isn’t he?

Heat creeps up your neck as you blink from his boldness—with a soft, incredulous laugh, you desperately try to find your footing again.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

That familiar and confident gleam glistens in his eyes as his grin widens.

“Not when it comes to someone as interesting as you.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest—a flutter that you’re quick to squash.

“Mmm… sorry,” you murmur, tone sweet but firm. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of disappointment. I’m really not interested in players.”

For the briefest moment, his grin falters, and something unreadable flashes behind his eyes—a momentary crack in his facade. It’s so quick, so subtle, that you almost miss it. But there’s just enough time to wonder if maybe you hit a nerve.

Still, Satoru recovers in an instant, his playful charm sliding back into place like nothing happened.

“That’s cold, y/n,” his voice light and teasing, though there’s a trace of something deeper, almost wounded, lurking beneath. “You really think I’m that kind of guy?”

Tilting your head slightly, you cross your arms over your chest as you study him—gaze sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met enough guys like you to know how this works.”

With a soft chuckle, and a smooth, almost lazy motion, he lowers his sunglasses from where they’re perched atop his head—resting them back on the bridge of his nose as the dark lenses now obscure his eyes from you.

He’s hiding behind them—letting them do the work of shielding his real thoughts. Huh. Typical behavior for someone who enjoys the chase but avoids real vulnerability.

“You’re quick to judge. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants. And right now? I just want your number.”

Classic deflection—you think. He’s not even denying it. Still... something about the way he says it makes that familiar flutter stir in your chest, and you hate it.

“Yeah... that’s not happening,” crossing your arms more tightly, you try to maintain control of the situation.

His hands come up in mock surrender as a small, amused sigh slips from his lips.

“Bummer,” he concedes, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone, only amusement. “But hey,” he picks up the drumsticks from the counter, “offer’s on the table if you ever change your mind.”

“Right... I’ll keep that in mind,” you dryly reply, knowing full well that you won’t.

“Please do,” he shoots back with that infuriatingly confident grin. “Besides, I’ll be seeing you around, water fountain girl.”

The familiar nickname brings an unwanted warmth that you attempt to shake off.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Gojo.”

But Satoru just steps back toward the door, exuding that same unshakeable confidence. “Oh, I’m not worried,” he says with a cocky smirk. “You’re predictable, remember? I know exactly where to find you.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but before you can, he’s already halfway out the door, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers with effortless ease.

“See ya around, y/n,” he calls over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle before you even have a chance to respond.

And just like that, the store feels quiet again, as if the air shifted back to normal now that he’s gone. You stand there for a moment, blinking at the closed door. You should feel relieved that he’s gone, that the exchange is over, but instead, you’re left with this strange, restless feeling you can’t quite shake.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking your head, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s a part of you that’s frustrated—frustrated at how easily he slipped under your skin, how effortlessly he managed to unsettle you with nothing but a grin and a few flirtatious remarks.

You hate that you’re even thinking about it. About him. He’s just another guy with too much confidence for his own good.

But something about the brief crack in his facade sticks with you. That fleeting moment where his grin faltered, and something else—something almost vulnerable—flickered behind those cocky blue eyes.

What was that?

With another shake of your head, you push the thought aside. He’s a flirt. A player. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.

That’s all there is to it.

You don’t have time to psychoanalyze every flippant guy who crosses your path, even if there’s a part of you that’s still curious.

Just as you’re about to shake off the thoughts entirely, your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, glancing down at the screen.

Kyoko: Hey sweetie, just wanted to let you know your mom's been having a rough day today. She’s more confused than usual, keeps asking for you. Maybe you could visit soon?”

Reality crashes back in—grounding you in the weight of your responsibilities.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, already mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You: Thanks for the update, Aunt Kyoko. My shift is almost over, I’ll be home soon.

Focus. There’s no room for distractions—not right now.

Not with Satoru Gojo. Not with anyone.

a/n. thanks for reading the debut of bomh (or i guess the re-debut since this is a rewrite? hehe). i'm excited to explore a lot of topics in this fic, and rewriting it definitely helped rekindle my passion for this story. so, i'm looking forward with whats to come! hope ya'll enjoyed 💕 → you are currently all caught up ♪

taglist:

@gojoslefttoenail @satoryaa @ninjaturtletoes @murtabuckz @sorcerersseestars

@reagan707 @sakurasimppp @sugxryratz @tkyemfk @lovelyjkook

@lovebittenbyevans @kaemaybae @bloopsstuff

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