#even between a player and a reader there’s a love story

[heliosunny]

Hello!! hello! i love all your works!!! and how much you post per day???? pls take breaks between writing if you can!

i read the streamer!jing yuan one...

if requests are open can i request sunday with the same scenario?

i imagine he'd never play any otome games on his own so robin would have to coerce him into playing the game. i also see him to be the type of player who'd clear every route and have things down to a T ...

but what if there was one route he never finished? the hardest route to trigger and the one with the most bad endings cause the favourability bar is super fickle?

but the payoff is worth it once he somehow???? manages to trigger a yandere event hehe

Yandere!Streamer Sunday x Reader

Game Loading… Welcome Back.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms before settling in for another long night. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this.

When Robin had first forced him to play, he’d scoffed at the idea. Him? A dating game? No way. But somewhere along the way—after countless hours, multiple endings, and way too much money spent on DLC—he’d become obsessed. His competitive streak wouldn’t let him quit until he had 100% completion.

And yet, one route remained unfinished.

Yours.

You were the hardest love interest to win over, your favorability bar more unstable than any other. No matter what he did, one wrong move could send it plummeting. He had watched others fail, seen forums filled with players begging for hints. No one had a clear guide. No one had reached the true ending.

Tonight, that would change.

“Alright, chat” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t care how long it takes—I’m finishing Y/N’s route tonight.”

“Sunday, you’re too deep in, bro.” “At this point, Y/N is your real partner.” “No way you’re getting the true ending. It’s cursed.” “Watch him fumble and lose favorability in five minutes.”

He exhaled, ignoring the teasing comments as the title screen faded, and the game resumed where he left off.

This was it.

Carefully, he selected his next dialogue option, choosing words with precision. Your sprite appeared, and for the first time in all his failed attempts, the favorability bar twitched upward.

[Favorability +5]

“That’s new” he muttered, brows furrowing. Chat exploded with excitement, theories flying in real-time. He leaned in, hyper-focused. The background music softened, replaced by an eerie silence.

Then, the screen flickered.

“What the-?”

Your expression on screen shifted. Subtle, almost imperceptible. The soft smile you usually wore seemed… off. Before he could react, a new dialogue box popped up.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“?????” “This isn’t in the script, bro.” “GOT THE SECRET ROUTE?!” “ABORT. ABORT.”

Before he could click anything, the screen distorted. Pixels warped, the background dissolving into a mess of static. A sudden high-pitched ringing filled his headphones.

Then—darkness.

Sunday had always been good at games. He could grind through any RPG, master mechanics, and break down any system with enough time and effort. But Ethereal Reverie: Fated Bonds was different.

When he stumbled upon your route, he had been hooked.

You were different from other love interests. You're the ultimate challenge. And Sunday loves that.

In the world of Ethereal Reverie, you were the kingdom’s renowned scholar and strategist, sought after by nobles and rulers alike. Your mind was your greatest weapon, and you wielded it with precision. Unlike the other characters—who were knights, royals, and adventurers—you had no need for physical prowess. Instead, you navigated court politics, warfare, and intrigue, always three steps ahead of everyone else.

Most players never even got past your acquaintance phase. Your favorability was infamously fickle—one wrong move and you'd cut ties with the protagonist entirely, locking them out of your story. It was said that only a handful of players had even managed to trigger a romance flag, and none had reached the true ending.

Sunday was determined to be the first.

But now, as he stared up at you—no longer a 2D sprite but a living, breathing person—he realized he had made a grave mistake.

“Sunday.”

His breath caught in his throat. You knew his name. That wasn’t possible. His in-game avatar had a preset name—Caius—the default protagonist. But you weren’t looking at Caius. You were looking at him.

Sunday barely had time to process what was happening before another voice called out from behind you.

“Lord Sunday, you’ve finally arrived.”

What?

It wasn’t just you.

He turned his head sharply, eyes darting around. The grand stone courtyard he had landed in was familiar—ornate fountains, banners bearing the royal crest, and intricate marble pillars. This was the capital’s royal palace, the heart of the kingdom.

He knew this place. He had seen it countless times in the game.

But this wasn’t the protagonist’s usual starting point.

And then the pieces clicked.

His ornate outfit, the way the NPCs were addressing him, the "Lord" title—

This wasn’t his usual avatar.

The game hadn’t just dragged him into the world. It had assigned him a new role.

A dangerous one.

There was only one person in Ethereal Reverie who was constantly at odds with you. One person who stood as your rival in the court’s deadly political game. The one strategist whose name was whispered with both admiration and fear—

Lord Sunday, the Grand Strategist of the Northern Territories.

He had become your greatest enemy.

Why the hell did the game slot me into the villain’s role?

“Lord Sunday. I hope you’re ready. We have much to discuss.”

He had spent a month obsessing over you, trying to understand your thought process, learning every intricate detail of your route. He knew how dangerous you could be.

And now, he was trapped inside the game—forced to be your rival.

The tension in the grand hall was suffocating.

Sunday sat at the long, polished table, hands clenched into fists against his lap as his brain scrambled to keep up. Across from him, you stood poised, arms crossed, your expression carefully neutral—yet he could see the sharpness in your gaze, the unmistakable glint of contempt.

You hated him.

Which was funny, considering he had spent weeks trying to get you to like him.

“This is reckless” you said coldly, turning away from him to address the gathered nobles and military officers. “If we march our forces north under such a thinly-veiled deception, we risk stretching our supply lines too far. It’s a fool’s errand.”

Sunday barely heard the murmurs of agreement that followed. His mind was still caught on the fact that you were speaking to him like he was an actual person. Not a scripted character, but as though he had always been here—as though this world had been real from the start.

And worst of all?

His name, his role in this world, had come with pre-existing relationships—and every single one of them pointed to you absolutely despising him.

He could feel the weight of the stares on him, waiting for his rebuttal. He had no choice but to play along.

“Stretching our supply lines?” he scoffed, leaning back into his chair, “What, do you think my forces can’t handle a simple flanking maneuver? Or do you just enjoy opposing me on principle?”

A flicker of irritation crossed your face. “I oppose stupid ideas on principle.”

There it is.

You had always been like this in the game—blunt, tactical, calculating. You didn’t suffer fools, and apparently, he was a fool in your eyes.

Fine. If that’s how this world saw him, he’d use it to his advantage.

“The southern front is already stabilizing” he continued smoothly, gesturing to the map. “If we strike before the enemy fully regroups, we force them into a defensive position and eliminate their supply routes. You can’t tell me you don’t see the logic in that.”

You narrowed your eyes, and for a moment, Sunday swore he saw something flicker across your expression.

Then, your lips curled into a humorless smile.

“Oh, I see the logic. I also see the arrogance of a man who plays at war like a gambler throwing dice.”

A collective oof rippled through the court. Even Sunday felt that one.

The tension between the two of you was so thick it could be cut with a blade.

“Tell me, Lord Sunday” you continued, “when was the last time one of your little schemes didn’t end in absolute disaster?”

That was a loaded question.

And one he definitely didn’t know the answer to.

Because he had no idea what his past self had actually done in this world.

What the hell did my predecessor do to make you hate me this much?!

Sunday knew when to back down. He had spent the past month failing your route over and over again, watching his choices backfire, and seeing your favorability bar plummet to zero in an instant. Pushing you wouldn’t work.

So, he changed tactics.

For the next few weeks, Sunday did what he did best—he studied you.

Not in the obsessive, love-struck way he had before. No, this time, he played the role the game had given him—your rival. A nuisance at court, a persistent thorn in your side, someone you could never quite get rid of.

But somewhere along the way, he started slipping into your life.

When you left the palace on a diplomatic mission, your caravan mysteriously found safe passage through bandit territory—unaware that Sunday had bribed the local mercenaries to keep them away.

When you spent long nights buried in military reports, a second set of documents would appear on your desk—already summarized with the most critical information highlighted.

When an assassination attempt nearly succeeded in the dead of night, your would-be killer was found dead in an alley the next morning. The guards claimed they had no idea who had done it.

And your favorability bar?

It didn’t move.

No matter how many times Sunday secretly lent a hand, no matter how much effort he put in, you remained completely indifferent to him.

It was infuriating.

It was addicting.

But then, Kristiana betrayed you.

And Sunday knew—this was it. This was where he had to step in.

Kristiana—your most trusted friend, the one person you had allowed yourself to rely on—had sold you out.

For what?

Power. Influence. A higher seat at the table.

Sunday had seen the signs before you did.

But even he hadn’t expected it to be this cruel.

By the time you realized, it was too late.

The palace was in an uproar, whispers spreading like wildfire. You had been accused of treason. Fabricated evidence, falsified reports—all of it meticulously crafted to erase you from power.

And it would have worked.

If Sunday hadn’t stepped in.

When you were dragged into the throne room, stripped of your titles and power, the nobles stood like vultures, watching your downfall with thinly veiled amusement. Kristiana stood at the front, her expression unreadable.

And then—

Sunday spoke.

“...What an interesting turn of events.”

His voice was lazy, amused, and every single person in the room stiffened. Because Sunday never spoke at these gatherings unless he had something dangerous to say.

You turned to him, eyes narrowing. “What are you playing at?”

He ignored you.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but are we really accusing the kingdom’s greatest strategist of treason?” He chuckled. “How convenient. And Kristiana, of all people, is the one bringing it forward?”

Kristiana lifted her chin. “The evidence is irrefutable.”

Sunday tilted his head. “Is it?”

Then, before anyone could react, he threw a stack of papers onto the table.

“What—” Kristiana’s eyes widened.

Sunday grinned. “Because I have evidence too. And mine says you’re the traitor.”

Kristiana paled.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said, “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

He turned to look at you “I told you, didn’t I?” His voice was quieter now, softer, just for you. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

And for the first time since you met him, since he arrived in this world, your favorability bar moved.

All eyes were on Sunday. It was infuriating how effortlessly he controlled the room.

He had just turned your execution trial into his own personal stage.

Kristiana’s hands trembled as she stared at the documents he had thrown onto the table. Papers filled with her secret dealings, her correspondence with enemy factions—detailed proof that she had orchestrated everything.

You didn’t know whether to feel furious or relieved.

Kristiana quickly schooled her expression, regaining her composure. “This is absurd” she said sharply, eyes flicking between Sunday and the king. “Lord Sunday has always opposed Y/N. He has no reason to support them now unless—”

Her gaze snapped to you, then back to Sunday.

“…Unless he’s playing a game of his own.”

She was right. Sunday was known for strategy, deception, manipulation. He wasn’t a savior. He was your rival. You thought.

This wasn’t kindness—this was tactics.

Kristiana latched onto that, her voice rising. “Your Majesty, can’t you see? This is just another one of his ploys! He—he’s aligning with them to further his own agenda!”

Sunday let out a low chuckle.

“Now, now, Kristiana.” His tone was almost mocking. “If that were true, wouldn’t it make you the fool for not realizing it sooner?”

Kristiana’s face burned red with rage.

And you didn’t know what to believe.

Sunday’s interference had saved you. But why?

You weren’t friends. You weren’t allies. You were enemies.

“Your Majesty” Sunday finally said, turning to the king with that same, insufferable confidence. “With all due respect, I think it’s clear who the real traitor is.”

The king’s gaze flickered between you and Kristiana. The weight of the court’s murmurs filled the air.

“Guards” the king ordered. “…Take Kristiana into custody.”

“Wait—!”

The guards moved instantly, seizing her arms before she could react. She thrashed against them, screaming your name—screaming that you would regret this. That Sunday would betray you, too.

And maybe she was right.

You didn’t even notice how tightly your hands had curled into fists until you felt the sting of your own nails against your palms.

The moment the doors slammed shut behind Kristiana’s struggling form, the tension in the room finally snapped.

“What do you want?” you asked him, voice carefully neutral.

Sunday smiled.

“I’m resigning from my position as Grand Strategist.”

The room erupted.

“You—”

Sunday’s smirk didn’t waver as he turned his back on them all. “Figure the rest out yourselves. I’m done.”

And with that, he walked away.

Sunday had abandoned his entire career.

For what?

You didn’t know.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

The tavern was dimly lit, the scent of alcohol and warm food hanging in the air. It was quieter than usual—most of the patrons had already retreated to their rooms or stumbled home.

Sunday sat alone in the corner, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass of dark liquor. He wasn’t drunk, but there was a sluggishness to his movements.

His fingers tapped idly against the table as he swirled the drink in his hand. Resigning had been necessary. The position was a leash, binding him to forces he had no control over. And if he wanted to truly be close to you— if he wanted to get everything he desired—

He had to start over.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

His eyes snapped open.

You stood at the entrance of the tavern. Unlike in the palace, where your every movement was calculated, here, in the dim light of the inn, there was something… different about you.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, “What, no gloating? I thought you’d be thrilled to see me jobless and miserable.”

You sighed, stepping forward. “I don’t have time for your dramatics.”

You pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Kristiana was a problem,” he said simply. “I dealt with it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

For a moment, he considered telling you the truth. That you were the reason. That, in another life, he had spent weeks chasing after you, memorizing every dialogue choice, failing and failing just to see you look at him with something other than cold indifference.

That this was all a game to him once—but now?

Now, it was his reality.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just tired of playing the role they wanted me to?”

Your brows furrowed, caught off guard by his sincerity.

“I should just let you waste away here, but…”

You hesitated. Then, with a sigh, you reached into your coat and slid a folded letter across the table.

“…I need a strategist.”

His fingers brushed over the letter as he picked it up, unfolding it with careful precision. His eyes scanned the contents—an official contract, under your seal. The offer was clear: a position within your faction, under your personal command.

He had to bite back the grin threatening to form.

Staying in the palace as Grand Strategist kept him shackled to the court’s politics, unable to act freely. But working under you?

That gave him access to everything.

To you.

“Does this mean we’re friends now?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I accept.”

And just like that—

He had slipped right back into your life.

The first few days of having Sunday around were... strange.

You weren’t used to having someone constantly at your side. At first, you thought giving him a position as your personal servant was just a way to keep him under control—make sure he wasn’t scheming something behind your back. After all, he was your enemy.

Or at least, he used to be.

Now, he was everywhere.

You barely had a moment to breathe without Sunday inserting himself into your routine. If you so much as reached for a teapot, he was already pouring your tea. If you sighed after a long day of dealing with incompetent nobles, he was magically at your side, hands on your shoulders, pressing into the knots of tension like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Why are you still here?” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Sunday, standing beside your desk, completely unbothered, merely hummed as he flipped through the reports you had been working on. “Making sure you don’t overwork yourself.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Mm. Clearly.” He held up a document, tilting his head. “Like this mistake right here?”

You snatched the paper from his hand, scanning it quickly—only to freeze when you spotted the minor miscalculation. Your grip on the paper tightened.

Sunday smirked. “You’re welcome.”

You exhaled sharply, setting the document down before rubbing your temples. “I should fire you.”

“But you won’t.”

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, exhaustion settling in. You had been working since morning, and the strain was finally catching up to you.

Without a word, Sunday moved behind you.

Before you could react, his hands were on your shoulders, fingers pressing into the knots of tension with practiced ease.

“…You’re tense”

You gritted your teeth. “Maybe because someone keeps breathing down my neck.”

He chuckled, his fingers working at the tension with slow, deliberate pressure. It felt annoyingly good. You hated to admit it, but he was good at this.

“You know” he said, “I think I’m growing on you.”

Your eyes snapped open.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And yet, he didn’t stop.

---

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Secret route triggered. Remaining lives: 4

Sunday gasped as his consciousness was yanked back into existence. One moment, there was nothing—just the cold, suffocating embrace of death. And then, suddenly—He was back.

He jolted upright, hand instinctively clutching his chest. He could still feel it. The sharp pain. The blood. The sheer betrayal.

You had killed him.

Not out of hatred. Not out of revenge.

But because you thought he was scheming against you.

The memory was blurry. He remembered standing in your office, your cold, empty gaze, the guards stepping forward—your blade piercing through him.

This was new. The system had never interfered like this before. He had suspected that this world wasn’t entirely real, but for it to suddenly have rules about death?

The message had been clear:

If he died four more times, he was gone for good.

And there was only one way to stop that from happening.

He had to figure out why you had killed him.

-2nd life-

This time, Sunday was careful.

He stayed out of sight. He watched. He listened. He took note of everything—the way the guards moved, the shifts in your behavior, the whispers among the servants.

And yet, despite all his caution, he still died.

A dagger in the dark.

Slipping through his ribs as he passed through the halls alone.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 3

-3rd life-

He wasn’t alone this time.

He stuck by your side closer than ever, watching you, watching your people. And still— The moment he took a sip of wine, his throat locked up. His vision blurred. Poison. As his body collapsed to the floor, he saw the wide-eyed horror on your face, the way you rushed to his side.

The way you whispered, "Who did this?"

But the system was already pulling him back.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 2

---

When he came back again, Sunday finally had enough pieces.

He had overheard the murmurs between the palace servants. How they whispered in dark corners, how they spoke of him as if he was a threat. How someone had been spreading lies about him to you.

You had always been calculating. If you believed he was plotting something, then that meant you were given evidence.

Fabricated evidence.

And just like that—he knew.

Someone in your inner circle wanted him dead.

And if he didn’t fix it soon,

he would die for real.

Sunday had two lives left.

This time, he didn’t act recklessly. He smiled at the servants. Charmed the guards. Pretended he didn’t know that any of them had already been responsible for his previous deaths.

And most importantly?

He stayed close to you.

It didn’t take long for him to confirm his suspicions.

The whispers in the halls, the stolen glances between certain attendants, the way they avoided his gaze whenever he passed. Someone had been feeding you lies about him.

Twisting the truth. Painting him as a traitor.

And the final piece clicked into place when he overheard a conversation outside the grand hall.

“Has the master grown suspicious?”

“Not yet. But if that man continues to cling to them, we’ll have to push harder. The evidence is nearly ready.”

Evidence.

They think they can manipulate me?

They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

He had to move carefully.

But even knowing what he knew, he still miscalculated.

Sunday had been following the movements of one of the suspicious attendants, gathering clues, trying to find solid proof before he confronted you—

When he felt the cold press of a blade against his throat.

“You should have stayed in your place.”

The blade sliced.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅.

-Last chance-

Sunday woke up shaking.

This was it. One life left.

The moment he was revived, he went straight to you.

He didn’t wait for the lies to spread again. Didn’t wait for another chance to be stabbed in the dark.

He had to make you listen. So when he found you in your private study, brow furrowed over a new report, Sunday did something he had never done before.

He dropped to his knees.

“What are you—?”

“Someone has been feeding you false information about me.”

“What?”

“I don’t know who exactly is behind it, but I have proof that some of the palace attendants have been manipulating you,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I’ve overheard them talking. The whispers in the halls. The fabricated ‘evidence’ against me.”

“Tell me,” he said, “what did they show you?”

You hesitated.

Your fingers tightened over the report in your hands.

Sunday saw the conflict in your eyes, the way your mind worked behind that carefully unreadable expression.

For weeks, he had been watching you—learning you. Every minute change in your stance, the flicker of your gaze when something unsettled you. And now?

You were unsettled.

Good.

That meant he was getting somewhere.

“Tell me, then.” Your voice was composed, but he could hear the tension beneath it. “What do you think I saw?”

“Something that made me look like a traitor.”

He pressed on.

“Documents with my forged signature? Secret meetings I never attended?” His voice lowered. “Maybe even an intercepted message—words twisted just enough to convince you that I had been plotting against you all along.”

Sunday exhaled slowly. “You didn’t question it because it made sense, didn’t it?” He tilted his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “Because I’ve always been your biggest obstacle. Because I’ve always been the one who stood against you.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t deny it, either.

He needed to tread carefully. One wrong move, and you could still see him as a threat.

“But even after all that… you let me stay by your side.” He tilted his head, watching your reaction. “Why?”

“You were useful.”

“Liar”

Sunday sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look. You don’t trust me. Fine. But at least trust yourself.” His voice softened. “Think about it, really think about it—was there ever a time I actually betrayed you?”

Sunday leaned back slightly, voice steady as he gave his final push. “If you still want to kill me after thinking it through, then do it.”

You stared at him.

Seconds passed.

Then, your fingers loosened over the report in your hands.

You set it down.

“…Who?”

“Let me find out.”

And this time, he wouldn’t die before getting his answer.

For the first time in weeks, Sunday wasn’t lurking in the shadows or biting his tongue. No, this time, he moved freely.

You hadn’t explicitly told him to investigate, but by not ordering him to stop, you had given him permission.

And he would take full advantage of that.

Sunday wasn’t stupid. The moment he started looking too closely, his enemies would know.

So he laid a trap. He spread a rumor. A whisper in the halls, planted through a careless slip to an eavesdropping maid:

“The master is growing suspicious.”

It took less than a day for the rats to scurry.

Late into the night, Sunday followed a group of attendants as they snuck through the palace corridors, slipping into a secluded study.

He pressed against the wall, listening.

“The fool is still alive.”

Kristiana.

Your former best friend.

“No matter. The next attempt will not fail” she continued. “Their trust in him is wavering, but it is not broken. We must strike before it is too late.”

A second voice—one of your high-ranking advisors—spoke up. “Then we must act now. The documents are already prepared. A few words from our informant and the master will be forced to execute him. This time, there will be no hesitation.”

So that’s how they did it.

Forcing your hand. Setting you up so that killing him was the only logical choice.

He stepped into the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

The room fell silent.

Kristiana’s eyes widened before narrowing. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I shouldn’t be alive either, and yet, here I am.” His gaze flicked over the forged documents on the table, then back to her. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

The advisor paled. “You have no proof—”

“I don’t need proof, because you’re going to confess.”

Kristiana scoffed. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he murmured, taking a slow step forward, “I am still standing here.”

“And that means I know exactly what you’ve done.”

Sunday let the silence stretch before delivering the final blow:

“I wonder what will happen when I tell the master.”

Kristiana was a skilled manipulator, but even the most cunning fox could be outplayed. Still, Kristiana wasn’t the type to surrender without a fight.

“You assume Y/N will believe you.”

“I don’t assume. I know.”

Kristiana clicked her tongue, fingers twitching toward the hidden dagger at her belt.

“Let me guess. This is the part where you try to silence me?”

He didn’t give her the chance.

Before her blade could even leave its sheath, guards swarmed the room.

Her face twisted in shock as soldiers restrained her, yanking the weapon from her grasp.

Sunday turned, finally meeting your gaze as you stepped into the room.

You weren’t looking at him, though.

You were looking at Kristiana.

“…Why?”

Kristiana let out a breathless laugh. “You still don’t get it?” Her smile was sharp. “I was never going to let you win.”

“Take her away.”

[Favorability +20]

For the first time since entering this world, Sunday saw the notification appear.

All this time, he had been serving you, watching you, following you. He had given you his loyalty, his time, even his own life. And yet, only now, after clearing out the people who poisoned your ears, did the game decide to acknowledge his efforts?

Still, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he watched you.

You had been silent since Kristiana was taken away. You stood there, alone in the now-empty study, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“…You were right”

Sunday blinked. “What?”

“About Kristiana. About the lies.” Your jaw clenched. “About me being too blind to see it.”

“…You trusted her,” he said simply. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“It was careless.”

“No. It was human.”

[Favorability +10]

This time, he really did laugh.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

For the first time since Sunday entered this world, things were peaceful.

Kristiana was gone. The whispers had died down.

And you stopped looking at him with suspicion.

You still didn’t fully trust him, but that was fine.

Because you let him stay.

He continued to serve you, just like before.

When you were tired, you didn’t push him away when he set down a cup of tea beside you.

When he disappeared for a few hours, you caught yourself wondering where he had gone.

[Favorabiliy +5]

It was slow.

But it was happening.

Of course, he knew this peace wouldn’t last forever.

Kristiana might be gone, but her knowing smile haunted the back of his mind.

Something else was coming. The true storm. And Sunday would be ready.

The palace halls were silent.

The mourning drapes hung heavy over the grand windows, blocking out the golden light of dawn. Even the servants moved quietly, their usual whispers and hurried footsteps replaced by a solemn stillness.

Your father was gone.

The weight of it pressed down on you like an iron chain.

He had held on as long as he could. Even in his final hours, he had smiled at you—his tired eyes filled with warmth, his hand resting weakly over yours.

“You will be alright.”

His last words echoed in your mind.

But you weren’t.

You could barely eat. Barely drink. Barely breathe.

The world around you blurred. People came and went, offering condolences, yet their voices were distant, as if muffled by water.

And through it all—

Sunday remained.

----

You didn’t see it. Didn’t notice the way Sunday silently turned away envoys, nobles, and officials, intercepting their letters before they could reach your hands. Marriage proposals. Political alliances disguised as heartfelt offers. Opportunists circling like vultures, waiting for the moment your grief would make you vulnerable.

Sunday burned them all.

Every request. Every demand. Every veiled attempt at stealing you away.

They didn’t deserve you.

And if anyone thought they could force your hand—

Well.

They would have to go through him.

-----

The night was cold.

You sat by your father’s desk, the candlelight flickering against the tear-stained letters before you.

You hadn’t touched the meal that had been left for you.

“You need to eat.”

You didn’t respond.

He stepped closer. Gently, he placed a cup of warm broth beside you, the steam curling into the air.

Still, you didn’t move.

“…He wouldn’t want you to waste away like this.”

For a moment, Sunday thought you would ignore him again.

But then, slowly, you reached for the cup. The broth sat warm in your hands, but you barely tasted it. It was just something to do. A distraction. A meaningless action to appease Sunday so he wouldn’t pester you further.

You had expected him to leave once you took a sip.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Sunday crouched beside you, plucking a small piece of softened bread from the untouched plate.

“Here.”

“I can feed myself.”

He didn’t argue. He simply held the bread near your lips, gaze steady.

“You’ve barely eaten in days.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward and took a small bite.

The moment the food hit your tongue, you realized how hungry you truly were.

You had been so caught up in grief, in the crushing weight of loss, that you had ignored your own needs. But now, your body reminded you—loud and clear—that it was starving.

Sunday didn’t say anything as he picked up another piece and lifted it toward you.

And without thinking, you let him feed you.

The warmth of his fingertips, the way he wordlessly knew when to offer you water, the way his gaze never once wavered from yours.

For the first time, you actually looked at him.

He had always been there, hadn’t he? Lingering in the background, watching over you, handling things before you even had to ask.

And now, up close like this, he wasn’t that annoying.

Actually… he was— Handsome.

The thought struck you so suddenly that you nearly choked on your next bite.

Sunday blinked, brows furrowing slightly. “Careful.”

You coughed, hastily grabbing the cup of water he handed you. Heat crept up your neck, but whether it was from embarrassment or something else, you weren’t sure.

“What’s wrong? Finally realizing how charming I am?”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t push it.”

But he only chuckled, satisfied.

[Favorability +5]

You didn’t see it. The tiny, nearly imperceptible shimmer in the air—like a system notification only meant for him.

“What?” he said. “Did I get more handsome just now, or are you finally acknowledging that I’ve been devastatingly attractive this entire time?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’re seriously fishing for compliments while feeding me?”

“Multi-tasking is an important skill.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he plucked another piece of bread from the plate and held it up, smirking, “you’re still letting me feed you.”

You froze, only just realizing it.

You could argue, push him away, reclaim some of your dignity… but you were still hungry. And honestly, this was the first real conversation you’d had since your father passed.

…It was nice.

So instead of answering, you simply huffed and took another bite, avoiding his gaze.

“You know, if I had known all it took was feeding you to make you behave, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

“I take it back. You’re annoying.”

“Too late. You already let me in.”

-----

Sunday should have been pleased.

You were recovering. You were finally eating, standing tall once more, resuming the duties your father left behind. He had worked for this. Stayed by your side through the worst of it. Protected you, fed you, shielded you from the opportunistic nobles who sought to take advantage of your grief.

And now?

Now you were back to work.

And he hated it.

Not because he wanted you to remain weak—no, he would never wish that on you. But because now, he had less control. Before, when you were withdrawn in your chambers, he was the one managing things. The one turning away suitors, handling your food, ensuring your safety without question.

But now?

Now you were surrounded by people. Officials, nobles, potential threats.

And worst of all—

You were talking to them. Laughing with them. Standing too close to them.

Sunday’s fingers twitched as he watched from the shadows of the court hall.

He couldn’t stand this.

His jaw clenched as he watched you tilt your head toward one of your advisors, listening intently to whatever nonsense they were feeding you.

You weren’t even aware of it, were you? How vulnerable you were in moments like these.

What if someone whispered poison into your ear? What if they sought to turn you against him?

His mind spun with all the possibilities—his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface—

And then, a soft chime.

A faint glow only he could see.

𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔: 𝑼𝒏𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅

Favorability: 40%

40%. It had never been this high before.

But if he had learned anything from playing this game before—

40% wasn’t enough.

Sunday’s mind was already calculating his next move when another chime echoed in his ears.

[System Assistance Available]

His eyes widened slightly. Since when?

Before, the system only interfered when he died. It never offered him anything—no guidance, no tools, nothing. But now?

He focused on the faint glow only he could see, willing the system to respond.

[Query Registered: Assistance Requested]

A loading screen flickered in his vision before a new window appeared.

[Available Items – Secret Route]

Whispering Veil – Conceals the user’s actions from others for a limited time. (1 use)

Falsified Letters – Alters the contents of incoming messages before they reach the recipient. (3 uses)

Echo Crystal – Records and replays conversations to the user. (1 use)

Subtle Influence – Temporarily shifts favorability by +5% in a critical moment. (1 use)

Locking Key – Prevents an individual from leaving a designated area for 12 hours. (1 use)

These were cheats. This world had been working against him for so long, making every step toward you a battle. But now?

Now he had weapons.

The Falsified Letters were already useful. How many proposals had he secretly turned down for you? With these, he wouldn’t have to intercept them—he could alter them entirely.

The Echo Crystal was perfect. He would find out exactly what these scheming nobles were saying to you behind his back.

But the Subtle Influence?

Sunday’s fingers twitched.

A guaranteed +5%?

It took him months to raise your favorability even this much. He could get closer right now.

…But no.

Not yet.

[Item Acquired: Echo Crystal]

Let’s see what these people were really saying.

Sunday gripped the Echo Crystal in his palm, feeling the faint warmth of its magic pulse against his skin.

Slipping out of sight, he activated the crystal. A shimmer of light pulsed from its surface before fading, leaving only a soft hum in his ears.

“We need to act soon.”

Sunday’s eyes narrowed.

The voice was familiar—one of the noble councilmen, Lord Arventis. A well-spoken official who had spent the past weeks pretending to be loyal to you.

Another voice joined in, one that sent a sharp chill through his spine.

Kristiana.

“Y/n's regaining their strength” she murmured. “If we don’t secure their hand in marriage or weaken their standing, soon they'll become untouchable.”

Sunday’s fingers curled tight around the crystal.

These leeches. These pathetic, scheming rats.

They weren’t just trying to manipulate you anymore.

They were planning to seize control.

Sunday exhaled, slipping the crystal into his sleeve as he stepped out from the shadows.

He needed a plan.

And this time?

He wasn’t playing fair.

It took two days.

Two days of watching, listening, gathering proof.

Every word spoken behind your back, every noble secretly conspiring against you—Sunday had it all.

And now?

Now, it was time to remove the pieces from the board.

One by one, carefully, subtly.

The Falsified Letters were the first to be used.

Kristiana? Lord Arventis? The others who sought to control you?

Every letter they sent—every request for a private meeting, every false plea of loyalty—was altered.

You never saw their real words.

Instead, what you received were poorly veiled insults. Demands. Mockery disguised as diplomacy.

Your anger was immediate.

Within hours, you had your court questioning their intentions.

Within a day, Lord Arventis had lost your favor.

And Kristiana?

Her carefully woven web of deception began to unravel.

Sunday watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction.

When you looked at him that evening, your gaze lingering just a little too long—

Sunday saw it.

That flicker of realization.

That first, fragile crack in your walls. He didn’t need the system to tell him this time. You were finally seeing him.

Sunday had been waiting for the right moment.

The Locking Key wasn’t something to use carelessly. It was a tool meant for control, for ensuring that no one could interfere with what was about to happen.

It happened without warning. The door, which had been perfectly fine just moments ago, let out a soft click.

You frowned, standing up to test the handle, only for it to remain firmly shut. “…Strange.”

Sunday, who had been silently refilling your tea, glanced up in feigned curiosity. “Something wrong?”

You jiggled the handle again. “The door isn’t opening.”

His lips parted in mock surprise. “Oh?”

You turned to face him, your exhaustion making you more irritable than usual. “Did you do something?”

He blinked at you, the perfect picture of innocence. “Why would I lock us in?”

“Then what, the palace just decided to trap me here?”

He hummed in thought. “Maybe it’s fate.”

You shot him a glare, but deep down, you knew there was no use fighting it. You were tired—too tired—and the energy to argue with him simply wasn’t there.

The weight of the past few days had finally caught up to you. The grief, the stress, the endless work… it was pressing down on your chest, your body begging for rest.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you brought them to your temple.

Sunday noticed immediately.

“Sit” he murmured.

You resisted. “I’m fine.”

“You can barely stand.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, something shifted. A strange warmth settled in your mind—a pull, a quiet lure, almost like… magic. It was subtle, like a whisper, telling you that you should just listen to him. That for once, you could stop fighting.

Your legs moved before you could think.

You collapsed into the nearest seat, but the hard wooden chair was uncomfortable, your body aching as you tried to relax.

Sunday sighed. “You’ll never rest like that.”

He moved forward, taking the empty space beside you—no, not beside. Right behind.

Before you could react, his hands were on your arms, guiding you gently but insistently. “Come here.”

Your breath hitched. “What—”

He pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve moved. But your exhaustion made you weak, and your body—traitorous, selfish—sank into him instead.

His warmth seeped into your skin, his steady breathing oddly calming as your head rested against his shoulder. His fingers brushed against your wrist before settling at your back in a silent reassurance.

“…Better?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, then—reluctantly—nodded.

“You’re finally listening to me.”

You hated the way your face warmed.

[Favorability +30]

Sunday felt the chime before he saw the number.

Thirty. Thirty?

That was insane.

Nothing he’d done before—no silent loyalty, no favors, no devotion—had ever made your favorability jump this high.

He had expected a modest increase, maybe five or ten points at most. But this?

This was a breakthrough.

His mind raced, replaying every second leading up to this moment. The exhaustion, the quiet lure of his voice, the way you had naturally leaned into him without fighting.

And then it clicked.

You liked skinship.

Or rather, you found comfort in it.

Not that you’d ever admit it, of course. You were still too stubborn, too prideful to say it out loud. But your body?

Your body didn’t lie.

It was something subconscious, something deeply ingrained in you that even you didn’t seem aware of.

All this time, he had been carefully balancing between too much and too little, afraid of pushing his luck. And yet, the answer had been right in front of him—literal physical closeness.

Of course, he couldn’t abuse it recklessly. You were quick to irritation, your temper flaring if someone overstepped.

But if he did it right…

If he played this carefully…

Then he had just unlocked his greatest weapon.

His arms tightened around you slightly, as if testing the waters, but he didn’t push further. For now, he let you rest against him, let you trust him.

And when your breathing evened out, when the tension in your muscles melted completely, Sunday only smiled to himself.

Checkmate.

----

The next morning, when you drowsily shuffled into the dining hall, he was already there, waiting. He handed you a steaming cup of tea, but instead of simply setting it down, he took your hand in his, guiding your fingers around the cup.

[Favorability +5]

A test—and a success.

You barely reacted, too groggy to care. But it worked.

At midday, when you were busy drafting letters and reviewing reports, he appeared by your side with an ink-stained cloth.

Without a word, he took your hand and gently wiped the smudge off your fingers.

You stiffened for a second but didn’t pull away.

[Favorability +7]

And so, the pattern continued.

Each day, a small touch here, a silent act there. Never enough to raise suspicion, never enough to cross a line, but just enough to nudge you closer.

[Favorability +2]

At 84%, you had stopped questioning him.

At 87%, you had stopped fighting it.

And now?

90%.

The notification chimed in his ears.

You still didn’t notice.

But he did.

And now, the only thing left to do…

Was push you past the threshold.

---

Sunday had been playing the game well. He had spent days getting closer, learning your preferences, adjusting his every move to keep you comfortable while steadily increasing your favorability.

But what he didn’t know—what he never could have anticipated—was that the more you grew attached to him…

The more possessive you became.

It wasn’t obvious at first. A lingering glance here, an oddly fixated stare there.

Then it got worse.

And today?

Today, you were seething.

You stared at Sunday across the dining table, your fingers gripping the silverware a little too tightly as you cut into your meal.

He was being too calm.

Like he had nothing to be guilty for.

“So.”

Sunday barely looked up from his plate. “So?”

“I heard you were with the maid today.”

He paused for a fraction of a second before responding. “…I was.”

That made your grip tighten.

You placed your utensils down with a little too much force. “You were seen with her at the market.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but his expression remained composed. “She was just getting supplies. I needed to ask about—”

“Flowers?” you cut in, your tone sharp.

His lips parted in realization. “…You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” you lied. “I’m simply asking why my personal servant was out shopping for flowers with another woman.”

Sunday stared at you, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

You weren’t supposed to be like this.

You weren’t supposed to care.

But you did.

Because the way you felt at that moment—the way your blood boiled at the idea of him entertaining someone else, at the thought of him being kind to someone that wasn’t you—it was irrational. Terrifyingly so.

“…You think I was flirting?”

“Wasn’t it?”

Something flickered in his gaze before he let out a small breath. Then, he placed his utensils down and leaned forward.

“Look at me.”

“If I wanted to flirt, don’t you think you’d be the first to know?”

You should have let it go.

You should have brushed it off, laughed, changed the subject.

But instead, you found yourself gripping the edge of the table, voice quiet but trembling with something unfamiliar. “…Then don’t do it.”

Sunday’s smirk faltered.

For the first time, he saw it.

The hint of something deeper in your eyes.

This wasn’t just a favorability boost anymore.

This was dangerous.

And for the first time…

He wasn’t sure who was hunting who.

[Favorability: 96%] → [Favorability: 94%]

Why?

He had been so careful, every action calculated, every touch measured. You were supposed to be getting closer, not slipping away.

Just as he was about to summon the system, a knock echoed through his room, followed by the soft creak of the door opening.

“Who were you talking to?”

For a split second, panic clawed at his chest, but he forced himself to relax, plastering on his usual lazy smirk.

“Talking? I was just thinking out loud.” He leaned back, stretching as if nothing was wrong. “Why? Miss me already?”

Your eyes didn’t waver.

“…Let’s go for a walk.”

Sunday blinked. “…A walk?”

You nodded, stepping further inside. “You’ve been inside all day, haven’t you? A change of atmosphere would be good.”

His mind raced. He needed answers from the system—but with you watching him like a hawk, there was no way he could summon it now.

“…Fine.” He stood, brushing himself off. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me carry all your shopping bags, I’ll protest.”

You scoffed. “As if I’d waste your time with something so trivial.”

(But if it meant keeping you outside longer, he wouldn’t have minded.)

The air was cool, a soft breeze brushing against the streets as you and Sunday wandered through the bustling town. You had led him to a small ice cream stand, insisting that since it was his first time out in a while, he should try something sweet.

Sunday wasn’t really one for desserts, but the moment he saw the way your eyes lit up as you tasted yours, he found himself taking a bite of his own without complaint.

“What do you think?”

Sunday tapped his chin, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… tastes better than I expected.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could just say you like it, you know.”

“And give you the satisfaction of being right?” He smirked. “Never.”

You huffed, taking another bite of your own, and he had to force himself to look away before he stared too long.

Then, it happened.

You took a step forward—and slipped.

Sunday’s body reacted before he could think.

In an instant, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you against him just before you could hit the ground.

The ice cream you had been holding slipped from your grip, landing pathetically on the pavement, but neither of you reacted to it.

Because at that moment, you were way too close.

Your face was inches from his, your breath warm against his skin.

Your hands had instinctively grabbed onto his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric. You weren’t moving away.

[Favorability +3]

“…You okay?”

Sunday swallowed, forcing himself to breathe.

He was the one who caught you—so why did it feel like he was the one about to fall?

Sunday wasn’t sure how long he held you like that.

Seconds? Minutes?

It didn’t matter.

Because all he could focus on was the warmth of your body against his, the way your breath hitched slightly as you realized how close you were.

Your hands were still resting against his chest, fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his clothes. His arm, firm and unmoving, remained around your waist, securing you in place.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

“…Are you going to let me go?”

“Do you want me to?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering down to where his fingers pressed into your side, then back up to his eyes.

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t need you to.

His other hand lifted instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

Sunday had spent so long trying to read you, to predict your reactions, to find ways to win you over. But right now?

You were looking at him like you were the one figuring him out.

Slowly, your hand slid up from his chest to rest lightly against his collarbone. The touch was hesitant but intentional.

You weren’t pushing him away.

If anything, you were leaning in.

His grip around you tightened slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips. He could kiss you right now.

And then—

“Ah! Your Grace!”

Both of you froze.

Sunday barely had time to react before someone practically materialized beside you, bowing so quickly they almost fell over.

“It’s an honor to see you again! Thank you for your generosity the other day—our village has been thriving because of your kindness!”

Your entire body went rigid.

Sunday could feel the way your muscles tensed, your hands jerking away from him like you had just realized what was happening.

The warmth disappeared.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

You coughed, taking an awkward step back. “Ah, yes. Of course. I’m…glad to hear that.”

Sunday clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale slowly.

He turned his head slightly—only to see you blushing.

Not just a small, embarrassed flush—a full-on, heated, flustered mess.

Sunday blinked.

You? Blushing? Over him?

His heart nearly stopped.

And that was before he felt the warmth creeping up his own neck.

His ears burned.

You glanced at him briefly, eyes darting away almost immediately when you realized he was already looking at you.

Sunday almost cursed out loud. Instead, he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from grabbing you again. “…We should keep walking.”

You nodded way too fast. “Y-Yeah. Let’s go.”

The villager beamed, bowing once more before stepping aside.

And as the two of you walked off—still visibly flustered, still awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze—Sunday let out a small breath.

Maybe that damn favorability bar was a nightmare to raise.

But right now?

He didn’t even need to check it to know that something between you had changed.

Sunday woke up with an immediate sense of wrongness.

For one—his arms didn’t move.

For two—his legs didn’t move.

For three—you were straddling him.

He blinked, slowly coming to terms with his predicament. His wrists were tied to the bedposts. His ankles were similarly restrained. And above him, sitting comfortably atop his waist, you were smirking down at him.

“…I must still be dreaming”

You chuckled. “Oh, you’re awake? That’s good. I was starting to think you were just pretending.”

Sunday squinted at you. “Why. Am I. Tied up.”

You shrugged, tilting your head in mock innocence. “I thought I’d do something different today. Y’know, entertain you.”

His lips parted, a dumbfounded expression flickering over his face.

Entertain him.

He was seconds away from losing his mind.

Your fingers drummed along his chest, your weight warm and solid against him. “You seem awfully close with the maids these days. I thought perhaps… I should remind you where your loyalties lie.”

Sunday stared.

“Excuse me?”

You smiled, leaning in slightly.

The warmth of your breath tickled his cheek. “You’ve been talking a lot with them, haven’t you?”

You were jealous.

The realization slammed into him like a freight train.

The hours he had spent gathering information—asking the maids about your favorite foods, your daily habits, your preferences—had backfired spectacularly.

And now here you were, pinning him to his own damn bed.

Sunday had never, in all his life, imagined the ‘Impossible Route’ would turn out like this.

You leaned in even closer, lips dangerously near his ear. “…You should be more careful. People might think you’re plotting something.”

His jaw clenched.

His heartbeat thundered.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And you were enjoying every second of it.

Sunday inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. “Alright. You’ve had your fun. Now untie me.”

You hummed in thought, fingers lazily tracing the outline of his collarbone. “Mmm… I don’t know. I think I like you like this.”

Sunday's patience snapped.

In one swift motion, he flexed his wrists and ripped free of the bindings.

Before you could react, Sunday flipped you over, pinning you beneath him.

Your back hit the mattress, your wrists caught in his grip. The tables had turned.

“My turn.”

You barely had time to blink before he leaned down—and stole your lips.

Your mind went blank.

Sunday pulled back just enough to see the dazed look in your eyes, his lips still hovering over yours.

“Next time you try to trap me” he murmured, “make sure I can’t escape.”

And then—

The door swung open.

“…Oh.”

Sunday didn’t move.

You didn’t move.

The servant froze in place.

A long, suffocating silence filled the room.

“…Should I come back later?”

You shoved Sunday off of you so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

“GET OUT.”

The servant practically tripped over themselves trying to flee.

The door slammed shut.

You and Sunday sat there for a moment, staring at each other.

Your face? Completely red.

Sunday, meanwhile, simply grinned.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“SHUT UP.”

You avoided him for the rest of the day.

Which, really, was adorable.

Every time Sunday entered a room, you’d suddenly be very interested in a random document or an irrelevant piece of decor. The moment his eyes met yours? Immediate retreat. He’d never seen you so utterly defeated before—it was addicting.

And that blush? That frustrated, completely flustered look?

He wanted to see more of it.

You tried to act like nothing had happened the next morning. You sat at your usual spot, drinking tea as if the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely obliterated your composure.

Sunday casually poured himself a cup and sat across from you, resting his chin in his palm.

“So.” He smirked. “That was quite the reaction yesterday.”

You choked on your tea.

Coughing violently, you shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

“You’re not denying it?”

Finally, you set your cup down with a soft clink and exhaled sharply.

“…Fine.” You looked at him, shoulders squared, lips pressed into a thin line. “I admit it. I lost that round.”

“Round?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.”

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “…You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am. Still by your side.”

You faltered. Your fingers curled slightly, as if hesitant to say what you were thinking. Sunday watched as you took a slow breath, steadying yourself.

Then, with clear reluctance, you muttered—

“…I suppose I don’t mind.”

He almost forgot how to breathe.

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the way your tea swirled in your cup. But Sunday could see it—the faintest hint of a smile on your lips. The soft flush still lingering on your ears.

[Favorability: 100%]

His heart skipped a beat.

You finally looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “Why are you staring?”

Sunday blinked. He schooled his expression just in time, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“…No reason.”

But inside?

Inside, he knew.

He had won.

And he would never let you go.

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 13

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 16 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

When your boyfriend is an ice hockey player, finding time for a date can be tough. Sure, you and Sukuna always spend lunch breaks together, meet in the library, or tumble into bed together in between practice or assignments. But planning something that goes beyond those everyday things is quite the challenge.

Sukuna's days are filled with a busy schedule. Hockey training, team meetings, morning runs, daily gym sessions, and seemingly endless hours of watching and analyzing his opponents' games. Sukuna doesn't just give 100% but 200%. It's a trait you find incredibly hot, but it also makes it hard to find time for a date.

Sukuna says he would skip practice for you. But you don't want that. It would make you feel guilty. You know how important hockey is to him, and you love how invested he is. But you certainly can't say no when he stands in front of you with his sexy, boyish grin and tells you,

"If you don't want me to skip practice for a date, then join me at the gym or on my morning runs."

So yes, you blame Sukuna's charming personality and your own foolishness for getting yourself into this situation: jogging down the dark road long before the rest of the campus comes alive, panting loudly and coughing as you run as fast as you can, in your desperate attempt of trying to keep up with your super athletic boyfriend, who jogs several meters before you at a, for his standards, very leisurely pace.

You know he is holding back for you. It makes your own poor attempt even more pathetic. Sukuna doesn't even break a sweat. When he turns to smirk at you, he looks perfect, as always, winking at you and making flirty teasing comments as if he is chilling on the couch with you and not jogging across the campus at an ungodly hour in the morning.

Sukuna looks mouth-watering. As if he is grinning at you from the cover of a Men's Health magazine. Sleeveless black compression shirt and red shorts that give you the best view of Sukuna's firm ass and those tantalizing thigh tattoos that still make you lose your mind every time you see them. His buff muscles flex attractively with every move. His lopsided boyish grin only adds to his overall handsome features. Sukuna looks sexy as hell.

Something you don't think can be said about you at this moment. You were skeptical from the moment Sukuna suggested joining him on his morning runs so you could spend more time together. You are fully aware of how unathletic you are and how super athletic Sukuna is. But it touches you that he asked you to join him, obviously wanting to spend more time with you. And so you agreed.

But right now, you regret saying yes. It's six in the morning, you have had no breakfast yet, and you feel nauseous from all the physical activity. You are panting and sweating heavily, but no matter how fast you run, you can't keep up with your hockey boyfriend.

Sukuna looks over his broad shoulder as he slows down even more, a playful smirk on his face, as he calls out to you,

"Come on, princess, catch me!"

"I.. ah...ah, I can't..."

Sukuna just laughs and turns around fully, running backwards now so he can look at you. You feel embarrassment creeping over you, knowing full well that you must look like a mess. Sweating and out of breath. Completely at your limit.

"Don't look at me, Kuna!"

But your boyfriend just smirks even broader, his maroon eyes filled with amusement, as he teases you,

"Why? I thought you like to get my attention?"

But the teasing playfulness vanishes from his face a second later when you suddenly stumble over your own feet, overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. You gasp loudly, but before you can fall, Sukuna is already in front of you. Catching you once again before you hit the ground.

"Careful, princess. Are you okay?"

His strong arms hold you up, his low voice that was so teasing a second ago now filled with genuine worry.

You hum weakly, seeing black spots dancing before your eyes as you practically slump into Sukuna's muscular arms, unable to stay upright by yourself.

"I... hate... running. Especially in the mornings. I don't think my blood circulation is made for this."

You turn your head, burying your face in Sukuna's broad chest, clinging tightly to him, hiding your face in his chest. You feel his strong arms tightening reassuringly around you, and you slump bonelessly against his tall, firm body.

Sukuna laughs softly, a low rumbling in his chest that you don't just hear but also feel against your cheek,

"Why didn't you tell me you don't like morning runs? I would have never asked you to join me if I knew."

"Because I thought it was really sweet of you to ask. And I wanted to spend more time with you."

Sukuna laughs again, hugging you even tighter to him as he rests his chin on your head.

"Yeah, well, I only want to take you on dates you actually can enjoy. Not ones that make you pass out."

You shake your head, laughing into Sukuna's chest,

"I guess this date failed. Sorry!"

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. I will find a better idea. Hey, if I let go of you for a second, can you stand, or will you fall over?"

You lift your head, looking up at Sukuna's tattooed face, nodding slowly as you loosen your tight grip on his tanktop,

"Yeah... I can stand."

Sukuna watches you for a long moment as if he needs to make sure, but then he carefully takes a step back, slowly letting go of you. But only to turn around and bend down and point a long tattooed finger at his muscular back.

"Come on, princess, hop on. I'll carry you."

You don't even try to turn down his offer. You are too exhausted and too wobbly on your legs to even think about walking home by yourself. And, after all, Sukuna is strong.

You climb onto his broad back, grateful for his strong, large hands that wrap around your calves, helping you and giving you a feeling of safety as Sukuna straightens up to his proud 6'3" height.

You let out a relieved breath as he starts walking, carrying you piggyback seemingly without any problems. You slump against Sukuna's muscular back, hugging him tightly and wrapping your legs around him, feeling like some koala with the way you cling to him.

"Thank you, baby."

Sukuna snorts, followed by a low chuckle,

"You're welcome, princess. Just don't puke over my hair!"

You groan loudly, but it turns into a laugh when you reach out to ruffle Sukuna's pink hair playfully,

"Wouldn't that be a cute date?"

Sukuna carries you all the way back to his dorm and into his apartment, past his brother, who stands in the kitchen and grins at the two of you as he lifts a coffee mug in greeting.

"Interesting new morning workout, bro."

"Shut up, brat. The real workout will happen in the shower, so you better fuck off and give us some privacy."

Making you hide your face in Sukuna's broad back while the twins bicker with each other about their sex lives or lack of.

Sukuna really carries you into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind you, finally letting you carefully slide off his back. Only to corner you against the door with a flirty smirk on his handsome face and his large tattooed hands pulling your t-shirt up.

"I wasn't joking, you know. Be my workout partner in the shower."

His lips find yours, kissing you heatedly while you both tear at each other's workout clothes. And only a short moment later, you get swooped up again and carried into the shower, where Sukuna has you pushed up against the shower wall in no time at all, swallowing your moans with his lips while he fucks you with fast, deep thrusts.

Twenty minutes later, you stand next to Sukuna in front of the bathroom mirror, applying your skincare while stealing slightly flustered glances at your boyfriend, who just fucked your brains out even after carrying you across campus.

Sukuna doesn't look flustered at all but instead grins at you when he catches you staring in the mirror,

"I guess I made up for our failed morning-run-date, huh?"

You splutter helplessly, but Sukuna's grin just turns bigger. He grabs his cherry-scented hair gel, applying it meticulously, while he tells you in a much more serious voice,

"I promise you, I will take you on the best date, princess."

But before the two of you find time for a date, Saturday rolls around, which means ice hockey. The Tigers play at home, and so you and Nobara stroll to the arena to watch Sukuna's game. Of course, Nobara complains on the whole way, but you just grin to yourself, knowing that she would never let you down and will always drag her pretty ass off the couch to keep you company at your boyfriend's games.

She is in the middle of a rant about how stupid she finds hockey players when you receive a text message from one of said players. A smile spreads over your face as you read it. You jerk your chin towards Nobara and stop her monologue by telling her,

"Sukuna arranged for us to have special seats."

Nobara's eyes widen, and she lunges towards you, grabbing your hand to yank your phone towards her before you can stop her. Her eyebrows shoot to the sky as she reads Sukuna's message with the casual "Love you, baby" and your reply, which is equally lovey-dovey.

"The two of you are so disgustingly cute. It makes me want to puke!"

You huff, feeling your face get hot even as you start to argue with her, but Nobara shuts you down by laughing and linking her arm with yours, pulling you along into the already super crowded arena. She grins at you, yelling over the loud noises in the arena,

"At least your Kirby boy got us better seats! I hope we also get free drinks and snacks!"

"I don't think that's how it works, Nobara!"

But you can't stop smiling broadly as you make your way through the crowd. The new seats are really amazing. They are probably the best in the whole arena, with a perfect view of the rink and the snack stand only a few rows away.

The players enter the ice a few minutes later, and you feel the familiar adrenaline fill your veins. You have come to absolutely love the atmosphere in the hockey arena. The excitement, the loud cheers, the sound of the metal blades on the ice, and the hockey sticks meeting each other.

Sukuna enters the ice, and your eyes are instantly glued to him. His helmet is casually tugged under one arm as he lifts his head proudly. He looks so hot. Tall and broad with that sexy conviction written all over his tattooed face. Everyone can see how intent on winning he is. Ambitious and confident.

The whole arena chants his name, but his gaze immediately strays to you. A lazy, sexy smirk spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face as he lifts a large hand in greeting.

You draw in a sharp breath, Sukuna's intense, deep gaze hitting you so hard somehow, making everything even more real at that moment. This is Sukuna's first game, that you watch since the two of you became a couple. This sexy guy on the ice isn't just your fuckbuddy anymore, not just the hot hockey player who somehow decided you are his lucky charm. Sukuna is your boyfriend!

A stupid smile lifts your lips. You feel light-headed all of a sudden as Sukuna's smirk softens into a smile, too. He winks at you, making a kissy face in your direction, completely unashamed about this very public display of affection.

A happy giggle escapes your broadly smiling lips as you beam at Sukuna. You mouth the words "Good luck!" and Sukuna smiles broadly at you, mouthing something back while pointing at you, and you think it means, "I will score a goal for you, baby."

You blow him a kiss, hearing Nobara next to you make a retching noise.

But you don't care about the groaning coming from Nobara as you sit down on your seat again, getting ready to watch your boyfriend's ice hockey game.

Sukuna is marvelous as always, leaving you starstruck with his fast and brutal play style. He's skating across the rink at neck-break speed, skilled and confident, like the King that he is. Yuuji and Todo are on his left and right, body-checking their opponents to keep them away from Sukuna. And Sukuna takes on the rest of the players who dare get in his way, slamming them into the boards or onto the ice with his full body weight, not letting anyone or anything stop him on his way to the goal.

When Sukuna scores the first time, the puck hits the net so hard it almost seems to tear, and the whole arena is on their feet, screaming and cheering, celebrating their star player. Sukuna pushes one hand in the air in a victorious gesture, his brother jumping onto his back, yanking Sukuna's helmet off to ruffle his pink hair, making Sukuna laugh, looking so genuinely happy that it makes your heart thump wildly.

You are in the stands clapping and cheering, smiling from ear to ear, when Sukuna's maroon gaze finds you, and he grins proudly at you. He says something again, and this time, you can read it unmistakenly off his lips,

"For you."

It sends the butterflies in your stomach fluttering crazily, and you laugh and lift your hands in a big heart, laughing even louder when Nobara elbows you,

"Oh, stop it! You are so embarrassing! I swear he looks so fucking stupid like that! And now you also join in. I cannot do this! I will get a sugar shock from all the disgusting sweetness!"

But you keep laughing and feel your heart race when Sukuna grins and winks at you, making another kissy face in your direction. He doesn't mind that the whole hockey arena sees what he is doing. Everyone can know that you are his, and he is yours. And you know 100% that anyone who dares make a rude comment about Sukuna being so soft for his girl will receive a brutal body check that sends them facefirst onto the ice or into the boards.

It's a thought that makes you smile even more broadly. You are Sukuna's official girlfriend. His number-one fan. His lucky charm. His girl.

You get your cute date a week later. The perfect date.

Sukuna sends you a text message while you are in class on Monday morning, casually informing you about his plans.

Sukuna 🏒👑❤️: Make sure to be free this Friday at 8 pm, princess. I'm taking you on a date. And I promise it doesn't involve running this time ;)

You: Where are we going?

Sukuna 🏒👑❤️: It's a surprise. But wear your best dress.

When you ask Sukuna later on about the location, he just smirks smugly at you and ruffles your hair, making you squeal and pat this hand away while he says,

"Don't even bother, baby. My lips are sealed. You'll find out on Friday."

So, on Friday evening, you pace up and down the living area of your apartment impatiently, wearing your best dress after spending an hour on your makeup, which Nobara even helped you with.

Sukuna's taking you to a restaurant, you are pretty sure about that. But you are low-key worried that you will be overdressed with the pastel pink cocktail dress with the chiffon sleeves and the glittery flowers sewn on the waistline. It's a dress you bought a few years ago for a wedding party.

But then Sukuna knocks on your door, and you yank it open impatiently, only to gasp when you see him. You were definitely right to wear your most fancy dress. Because your boyfriend is also dressed to the nines. And he looks hellishly attractive!

Sukuna is wearing a black suit that sits snugly on his tall and muscular body, accentuating his athletic figure perfectly. Combined with a dark red dress shirt that brings out his maroon eyes, a black tie, and some really nice black shoes. In his hands is a huge bouquet of red, pastel pink, and white roses that he pushes into your arms as he leans down to kiss your cheek.

You automatically take the flowers but are too busy staring at Sukuna. He looks so handsome that you can't stop yourself from letting your gaze slowly travel over his body. When you finally reach his tattooed face, you are greeted by Sukuna's broad grin.

"Like what you see, princess?"

"Yeah, you look really good, baby."

He grins broadly at you, raising an eyebrow cockingly as he shrugs,

"I always do."

"Oh, Kuna!"

You roll your eyes, smacking his broad shoulders playfully, and groan dramatically, which turns into a happy chuckle when you feel Sukuna sneak his strong arms around your waist and pull you to him.

You wrap one hand around Sukuna's tie to lightly tug on it as you get on your tiptoes to kiss him. You can feel his lips lift in a smile when he kisses you back, slow and teasingly, licking into your mouth in a way that makes you a bit dizzy.

But Sukuna pulls away again after a moment, only his large hand stays on the small of your back, caressing you lightly. His low voice is a velvety murmur,

"You look absolutely beautiful, princess. Clearly stealing the spotlight from me, and that is not something I say lightly."

He winks at you, making you burst out laughing happily as you finally take time to look at the flowers in your hand, bringing them to your nose to inhale their scent.

"The flowers are so pretty. Thank you so much!"

And as smug as Sukuna usually acts, you see his face turn into an almost flustered expression. To your surprise, your bad boy makes a gesture that you only knew from his twin brother so far. He averts his gaze, lifts his large hand, and scratches his neck, staring at a space slightly left to your face while he informs you,

"I wasn't satisfied with the bouquets that woman at the flower shop showed me, so I had her make one exactly how I wanted it for you. Pink is you, and red is me... and the white is for my Tigers hoodie that I wore when you slammed into me at our first meeting."

You are sure your heart just melted into a puddle. A little squeaky noise escapes your lips as you lunge at Sukuna, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. And he chuckles and asks,

"What?"

"Oh, nothing... I just think you are the best."

And you know he can feel your smile against his chest just like you can feel his smile when he leans down to breathe a kiss on your forehead.

"Did you win the lottery?"

You look incredulously at Sukuna as you stand in front of the fanciest restaurant in the whole region. Sukuna just grins at you, lifting one eyebrow playfully,

"Only the best is good enough for my girl."

"But..."

"Shhh. This is a special occasion, so let me spend a little money. I swear it's okay. I know someone who works here. He used to play hockey with me, and he gives me a discount."

You are sure that even with a discount, the meal is still too expensive for a college student, but you don't say it and instead just smile at Sukuna and thank him as you bump into his side.

The guy at the reception desk waves over a waiter, who leads you to your table for two. You feel your pulse race as you walk on Sukuna's arm, feeling as if you got teleported into a romance novel where the main character gets introduced to the fancy life at some Mafia prince's side or something.

The thought makes you laugh softly under your breath, and Sukuna only adds to that little fantasy, acting like a true gentleman. He pulls out your chair, helps you sit down, and then holds your hand atop the table, occasionally bringing it to his lips and kissing your fingers, giving you crazy butterflies with everything he does.

The food is incredible, and Sukuna is a charming conversation partner, who is funny and smart, just like you know him from your lunch breaks in the dining hall. But tonight feels different. Special. Almost magical. Both of you are dressed in your fanciest clothes, sitting in this exclusive restaurant, surrounded by an elegant and luxurious atmosphere, while your table is filled with the fanciest meal you have ever seen.

Sukuna really went all out. He truly meant it when he promised to take you on the best date.

The four-course meal he booked is delicious, and the wine that goes with it tastes amazing, even though you doubt you have the exquisite taste buds for actually being able to tell which wine is good and which isn't. You eat the delicious food, drink your wine, and toast to your newly updated relationship status, joking around and flirting playfully the whole time.

By the time your dessert arrives, you feel completely happy and satisfied, exhilarated by the luxurious meal and Sukuna's company. The waiter places a huge plate with various desserts in front of each of you, making you go, "Ooooh!" which brings a super pleased grin to Sukuna's face.

You both dig into your desserts, but you realize that Sukuna doesn't touch one of the variations at all. The one which you like the most. A knowing smile plays around his lips when he scoops some of it onto his spoon and offers it to you wordlessly.

You smile at Sukuna, whispering a thank you when he brings the spoon to your lips, and feeds you your favorite dessert. It's cute, loving, and even sexy, given how sensual the act of it is. Your heart beats even faster, making you feel so light-headed and happy that you can't stop smiling.

Sukuna looks happy, too, and it makes your heart flutter. He must have really wanted to excel at this whole date thing and make this evening special. Because you are special to him.

You watch him eat, soon finding out which dessert is his fave, and safe it up for him, too, which leads to both of you playfully reaching across the table to feed each other the other's favorite dessert, laughing and joking around until both of your plates are empty.

Sukuna's large hand wraps lightly around your wrist, holding it as he lets you feed him the last spoon of the cherry chocolate pudding he liked the most. A small grin plays around his lips as he takes the spoon carefully into his mouth, and his maroon eyes look deeply into yours.

It makes you flustered somehow, feeling like a teenager on her first date, and you giggle nervously as you feel your face get hot. But you don't look away, too transfixed by how good Sukuna looks and by the warmth in his eyes when he looks at you.

"This is the best date I've ever had, Kuna."

His smirk is smug as hell when he replies with a,

"That was my goal."

At the same moment as you add,

"But you really didn't have to spend so much money on me! I would have also been happy with eating your home-cooked dinner."

Sukuna laughs softly, that low rumble that makes the hairs on your arms stand up and makes that delicious tingling feeling flow through your veins. His maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours, so serious despite his cocky attitude,

"This is our first real date, princess. I want it to be one you will never forget. Not my everyday cooking in my kitchen, not a stupid hockey party or a mediocre restaurant that you can just visit every day. I want it to be special."

You are sure Sukuna can see the little hearts in your eyes because that's how you feel. Overflowing with affection and love. No one ever put that much effort into being with you.

Just when you are about to get too emotional, Sukuna adds with a little smirk,

"And I definitely had to find something better than a morning run that almost made you puke."

You look into his eyes for a long moment, trying to control yourself, but you can't hold back and snort loudly, bursting out with laughter. Too loud for this solemn atmosphere. You press a hand over your mouth, but you can't stop, tears welling up in your eyes from how hard you are laughing. And Sukuna joins in, laughing the kind of laugh that he only allows you and his twin to see.

It earns the two of you some scandalized stares. The tables around you seem to be so calm and collected, so professional and restrained even at a private dinner, and your loud laughter is so completely opposite to that and carries through the whole room, making everyone look at you. But it makes you laugh even more, unable to stop, while you still look at Sukuna.

The guy at the table next to yours clears his throat loudly, catching Sukuna's attention, who cocks his head at the man while raising an eyebrow slowly,

"What? Are you allergic to fun?"

The man and his wife both inhale sharply, eyes widening, both opening their mouths but then closing them again without saying anything after taking a good look at Sukuna's tattooed face. And you hide your face in your hands as more loud laughter bubbles out of your mouth.

You feel exhilarated when you walk to Sukuna's car, a bubbly feeling in your chest and a smile on your face even as the chilly nightair hits your naked shoulders and makes you shiver. But Sukuna is perceptive as always, immediately taking off his suit jacket to drape it over your shoulders before he wraps his arm around you and pulls you against his side to keep you warm.

You are sure anyone who walks past you can see how smitten you are. It's a wonderful feeling, the kind that makes you smile nonstop. Even more so when you reach Sukuna's car, and he holds open the door for you and closes it carefully behind you before he jogs casually around the car and gets into the driver seat with a dazzling smile on his tattooed face.

The drive back to campus takes about an hour. You spend most of it in comfortable silence and the occasional laugh when you remember the way the other guests reacted to your laughing fit. Sukuna lights a cigarette, smiling as he takes a deep drag and slowly exhales the smoke. He quickly turns up the heat, making sure you stay warm despite the open car window.

And you sigh happily as you snuggle into Sukuna's jacket and lean back in the comfy leather seat, reaching out to put one hand on Sukuna's muscular thigh, where it stays the whole drive home.

Sukuna parks in front of your dorm and walks you to your door, still the perfect gentleman. But before you can remark on it, he kisses you. A sweet, deep French kiss, where both of his tattooed hands cup your cheeks, and he tilts your head back to kiss you even deeper.

You feel weak in the knees, grateful for Sukuna's tall, strong body to lean against, sighing softly into the kiss, wishing it will never end.

When Sukuna pulls away, you reach out immediately and grab his tie, smiling at him as you let your gaze trail over him again. He really looks fine as hell. You tug on his tie, pulling him closer again, and tilt your head to grin up at him,

"Hey, where do you think you're going? Stay the night, baby. I want this date to last the whole rest of the day."

And Sukuna's eyes twinkle playfully as he grabs your chin and slowly leans down,

"I'm going nowhere. As long as you'll have me, I will always stay the night, princess."

SIGHHHHHHH 💗💗 That date with him would make me melt, too. I hope you enjoyed it!! The thought of Sukuna dressing super nice in a suit and tie is always very delicious to me.

Thank you so much for reading and for all the love! I hope you liked the new chapter. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

In Chapter 14, we will see our dear dormmate Nobara maybe becoming a bit softer for our hockey boyfie lol + Reader taking care of a pissed-off Sukuna, who lost a game ;) He needs us so bad 😘

[sweetbans29]

Back to You (4) - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: We are getting somewhere

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 2.5k

Previous

Back to You Masterlist & Sweetbans Masterlist

You wake up the next morning with a pounding head. You groan and turn over onto your stomach, dreading having to open your eyes.

Your hands feel around to find your phone but can't seem to find it. You keep feeling around until you find something familiar and you do. You find your stuffed pig Pua and pull it into your chest.

The bed dips near your left hip, you let out another groan.

"Good morning to you too," Kate says as she rubs your back.

You don't respond.

Although you want to rip your head off, you can't help but feel tears begin to form. You bring your hand to catch the first tear before it falls.

"Hey," Kate says softly, as she shifts to sit on the bed and bring your head to her lap. "You don't need to be tough here."

You let the tears fall as you hold Pua and let Kate rub your back. You haven't cried like this since the early days after your break up, when you vowed to not let Caitlin have such a big affect on you. But here and now, it almost feels worse than the initial blow.

"I hate her," you say in between sniffles.

The words come out straggled and you mean them, Kate knows you mean them. But what is not said is how much you still love Cait and how you hate that you know you always will. Kate also knows how much you love Caitlin.

"I don't think I can keep doing this," you say.

"This is your dream job," Kate says softly. "You have worked so hard to get here and I know this is the last team you wanted to work for but being the head of player development is where you belong. There is no doubt in anyone's mind about that."

You know she is right.

"Don't let her take something that you were made for," Kate says and you really don't know how you ended up being so lucky to have her as your person.

"I just don't understand why it has to be here," you say. "Out of all the places - even looking overseas, I end up here. It is like the world is playing a cruel joke."

"Or maybeeee it is showing you that you can exist in a world with her but live independent from her," Kate says and you finally look up at her.

"Since when are you wise?" You say giving her a skeptical look.

Kate hits you on your shoulder and the two of you end up play fighting until you feel ready to tackle the world.

You know it is not possible to live in a world where you always avoid Caitlin, especially in the Caitlin capital of the world. Initially coming into this new job you thought you could go unseen, but the more you thought about it the more you want to be seen. Not by the world, but by her. You miss her - have since the day she ended it and you always told yourself that you would never let her in again. At the end of the day, you have to protect yourself and you stand by that. But looking at life, you feel like you are hurting yourself more by trying to keep her out of your life than letting her back in. Not nearly as much as you had before but working for the same team, you know you need to be cordial.

Being cordial with Caitlin does not mean you are allowing her back into your life.

Being cordial with Caitlin does not mean handing your heart back for her to hold.

Being cordial with Caitlin means no longer doing everything in your power to avoid her.

Come Monday, going into work you were ready to face whatever the wind blows your way - Cait included. You let your assistant Ben know that he no longer needed to make excuses and he nodded with understanding eyes.

Ben doesn't know the story - he's never asked and never will, not that you would tell. But he knows enough, has seen enough pain in your eyes and watched as you practically sprint the other direction when no.22 comes walking your way. But Ben prides himself in being great at his job and that includes knowing the boundaries of his boss.

You decide to head to the practice gym while the team is warming up. There is a home Fever game tonight and you know it is going to be a tough one, not only physically but potentially mentally considering we are playing the Lynx.

The team is in the middle of individual shooting drills and you observe as your staff works with a few of the players. You see Keith working with Caitlin and know she is taken care of. As you watch them, you notice how even after a few years Cait still has a lot of the same mannerisms she had in college. She has developed a lot, her shot selection has grown and you have seen her continue to become great in all aspects of her game. She has gotten stronger and has filled out more which you try not to think about too much outside from it being an on the court advantage.

Caitlin is locked in and you are grateful her attention is on the game instead of your presence. Once it is time for the team to head to the lockers before the game, you see Cait do a double take in your direction.

You can see the internal battle that she is facing. You never show up before games - the only time she has seen you on game day was when she stole that moment during half time. And with what happened at the Nike event, she was not expecting to see you so soon - even if it is what she has been hoping for.

Caitlin heads into the lockers, running by you in the process.

You don't trust your voice or your eyes for that matter and turn away as she passes. Your hands grip a nearby table and you take several deep breaths.

As you compose yourself and head out onto the floor, you take up space next to Ben.

"Ready?" Ben asks.

"I am here, aren't I?" You say and give him a smile.

Ben smiles and nods.

The Lynx are the first ones on the court and you find your eyes wandering over to their side. You spot the sharp shooter you are looking for and find that she is already looking your way. You give her a smile which she returns.

You stay in your spot as the teams are called and the game commences.

The Lynx come out strong, shooting 64% in the first quarter. Caitlin starts the game with 4 points in the first and you can tell she is in her head, she doesn't wear it well.

You watch the coaching staff do their job as you observe to better direct your team come next practice. Going into the second quarter, you see Caitlin chatting it up with McBride on the floor.

You don't want to think anything of it but when you see Caitlin begin to get a little chirpy and bump Kayla's shoulder you finally move from your spot. You take a step forward, not knowing what you are doing as the ref's whistles blow and Caitlin is pulled back by Hull and Howard. Kayla just waves her hand dismissing whatever Caitlin said which only causes her fire to fuel even more.

You don't know why but you feel your anger begin to boil and you want to approach Cait but know this is neither the time or space to do so.

The game continues, becoming even more physical if that is even possible. It is the last minute of the first half Kayla pokes the ball out of Caitlin's hand causing it to go flying into the backcourt. Both players go for it, colliding hard. Caitlin is laying on her back, hands above her head as she tries to catch her breath. Kayla is the opposite, laying on her stomach as she pounds her hand on the ground.

A time out is called as the refs go to the monitor and the med staff comes out to check on the players.

"She is an idiot," you mutter under your breath as you watch Caitlin get help up. You can tell she is avoiding you but you know she feels the heat of your stare.

"Do you want to talk to her?" Ben asks and you know he is offering to get her in a room during the half.

"No, that is honestly the last thing that I want to do right now," you say. "I think I would actually rip her head off."

Ben nods, trying to hide his smile. You are too busy staring down Caitlin to notice.

If anyone were to ask Ben, anger is a giant step in the right direction when it comes to you and Caitlin. But no one asks.

Caitlin comes to sit on the bench and your stare burns into the back of her head.

The refs call it a foul on Caitlin which puts the Lynx in the bonus, sending Kayla to the line. She hits both and the quarter finishes with the Lynx leading by 7.

You don't bother going down the tunnel and opt for walking across to the visitors side. Finding a spot, you wait for the team to run out. When they do, you see Kayla slow down before you have a chance to stop her yourself.

"I'm sorry," you say and wish you could say more.

Kayla firmly shakes her head no.

"You, you have nothing to apologize for," she says with a calmness and sureness that almost immediately reassures you.

"Are you okay?" You ask scanning over her as if she didn't finish out the second quarter on the floor. "It was a big hit."

She chuckles and brings her hands to hold you in place and says, "I am perfect."

Between her hands on you and the smile she is giving you, a blush creeps up your cheeks and you shy away.

"Thank you for coming to check on me, it means a lot," Kayla says and you nod.

"It is the least I can do," you say. "Watch yourself out there."

"I got you watching me, what more do I need?' Kayla says as she begins to jog out onto the floor and you wave her off with a smile.

You let her take the floor and make your way back to your spot next to Ben. It is now your turn to feel the burn of a pair of eyes staring intently at you during the final warm-ups.

"I don't know who has a deadlier stare," Ben says quietly.

"Ha ha ha," you fake laugh as you watch everyone but Caitlin.

The third quarter is just as intense as the second as the Fever bring the game back within one. They will need a big fourth quarter to secure the win and all eyes are on the all-star.

The fourth is a battle as there are seven lead changes. It comes down to the final seconds, Lynx are up by one and the ball is in Caitlin's hands. As the seconds wind up, she lets it fly and it hits the back iron - rebounded by Kayla.

The final buzzer sounds and Lynx win by one.

You watch the crowd thin out and the team's head to greet friends and family. The players eventually head into the lockers to change and head into media. You head to your office to take some notes on the game before heading out for the night.

On your way out, you pass the tunnel to the floor and hear someone. You immediately know who it is as you stand there for a second debating if what you are thinking is a good idea.

Your legs override any thoughts you have as they lead you to the floor.

Caitlin is standing in the spot she missed the final shot as Keith is feeding her the ball.

"Go home Keith," you say.

"No," Caitlin says, not looking at you as she goes for another shot - missing.

Keith gives you a look and you nod your head towards the door.

Being alone with Caitlin was not on your bingo card for today but here you are, sending Keith home so you could be alone with her.

You take his spot and feed Caitlin the ball but she just stops and stares at you. You stare back at her.

She takes a step towards you but you take a step back, keeping the same distance between the two of you. You watch as her hands come to grip the bottom of her jersey, a habit that you know she has developed to avoid touching something that should not be touched.

The two of you stand there in silence. After a few minutes you finally break the silence.

"We are not friends," you say and you see Caitlin's shoulders rise a little as if she is about to argue with you but they fall as if she remembers how the two of you ended up here.

"I can't be your friend," you say. "Not that you deserve it."

Caitlin is now looking down at her hands.

"But I am tired of whatever is going on between us," your voice is tired. You are tired.

"So where does that leave us?" Caitlin asks softly.

"Honestly?" You ask, more so asking yourself than her. "I have no idea."

She nods, taking in your words.

"But I deserve to walk into work and not be crippled with anxiety over the thought of seeing you," you say looking at her now. "We both work here. We both live here now. We are going to see each other, that's the reality of the situation."

"She is nothing compared to you," Caitlin blurts out and you breath trying to lose your composure.

"We aren't anything," Caitlin follows up. "We met a few weeks ago and I invited her because I didn't want to go to the event alone and Kate was going with you..."

"So it's my fault?" You ask, anger bubbling under your skin.

"No," Caitlin says and tries again to take a step towards you and succeeds. "Not even close."

You put your hand up to stop her moving closer and bring your other hand to rub your face.

"I know I messed up, that seems to be all I am able to do since you've arrived, but I am ready to fight. Fight for you, for us," she says.

"There is no us," you say with a little more bite than you anticipated.

"I deserved that," she says softly. "But I meant what I said - that night is the biggest mistake of my life because you are worth it. And I am an idiot for not doing this sooner."

You look up, eyes meeting hers and you know she means every word. And you know that being cordial with Caitlin is going to be a lot harder than you initially anticipated.

AN: Well, we are starting to head in the right direction, right? Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[nameless-jamie]

Hey love, your writing is absolutely amazing and I’m obsessed with it! I love the way you write Jamie 🫶🏼

I’d really love to read a friends with benefits fic with Jamie being jealous and then confessing his love for reader in the messiest and cutest way lol🥰

Thank you 🤍

French With Benefits

One Shot - Jamie Tartt x fem! reader

Masterlist

Trope: Friends-With-Benefits

TW: cursing, suggestive scene/language, smut, FWB, angst, drama

A/N: Helloooo, I tried my best to write this. I really like the idea of Y/N being Richard's French little sister. Everything I wrote in French is translated in brackets after. My French is all Google Translate, I'm sorry french people! I took French for 3 years in school but I'm still bad at it. Also, this fic is veryyyyyyyyy cheesy TW.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag as she stepped into the hallway of Nelson Road. The faint echo of laughter and the distant thud of a football against the ground hummed through the air. She glanced down at her phone, scrolling through Richard’s last text: Meet me by the locker room. Don’t get lost, petite sœur.

The air smelled faintly of turf and sweat, not exactly pleasant, but oddly comforting. As she rounded the corner, a burst of noise and movement caught her attention—players spilling out of the locker room, laughing and tossing jabs at each other. Amidst the crowd, her eyes snagged on one figure.

Jamie Tartt.

She recognized him immediately from the matches she’d watched on TV with Richard. His presence was magnetic even from a distance—dark hair styled to perfection, that cocky smirk resting casually on his lips as if he owned every room he stepped into. He wore his Richmond training kit like it was designer, sleeves clinging to his arms in a way that was definitely intentional.

Jamie’s gaze flicked her way, and his smile shifted. Slower. Sharper. A flicker of interest sparks in his eyes.

“Oi, Rich,” Jamie called over his shoulder without looking away. “Who’s this, then?”

“Don’t even think about it, Tartt.” Richard stepped between them like a shield, his smile easy but his tone firm. “This is my sister, Y/N. Elle vit avec moi maintenant. Et toi—” His eyes narrowed in warning. “—tu la laisses tranquille.” (She’s living with me now. And you—you leave her alone.)

Jamie tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Didn’t know you had a sister, mate. Thought you were just blessed with that pretty face of yours.” His gaze slid back to Y/N, and the smirk deepened. “Guess good looks run in the family, eh?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Is that your best line, or did you leave the good ones on the pitch?”

The players around them chuckled. Sam clapped Jamie on the shoulder as he passed, shaking his head. “Careful, Jamie. Richard’s already loading up his threats in French.”

“Eh, I’ve been threatened in worse languages,” Jamie shot back, eyes still locked on Y/N like she was a challenge he was ready to take on.

“Come on, Y/N.” Richard placed a protective hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let Tartt get in your head. He’s not worth the trouble.”

“Oi, rude,” Jamie called after them, but Y/N didn’t miss the way his gaze followed her as they walked away.

And she definitely didn’t miss the way her pulse kicked up beneath her skin.

To celebrate Y/n's arrival the team decided to have a little night out at Sam's restaurant. And while her brother used the evening to test out the restaurant's whole wine card and get drunk off his ass, Y/n was tired and ready to go home. In between her brother's horrible childhood stories and Jamie's flirty looks, she was desperate for some air right now.

The air outside Ola’s carried the faint hum of traffic and the distant buzz of laughter from inside the restaurant. Y/N tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders, cursing herself for not bringing something warmer.

“Oi, you alright?” Jamie’s voice cut through the quiet, and she glanced up to find him watching her from a few steps away. Hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched—casual, but there was something sharp in his gaze.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Richard fell asleep on the table and I'm tired, so I should probably—”

“I’ll walk you,” Jamie offered before she could finish.

She blinked. “I don’t need an escort.”

“Didn’t say you needed one.” He shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “But I’ve had a few, and I reckon it’s either walk you home or risk Keeley takin’ my keys ‘cause she thinks I’m too pissed to drive.”

“Right. So I’m your designated stroll, then?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

She should’ve said no. Really, she should have. But her feet were already moving, and Jamie fell into step beside her. The distant hum of the city wrapped around them as they walked down the quiet street, the air thick with words unspoken.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Their footsteps echoed against the pavement, and every brush of his shoulder against hers sent sparks along her skin. She hated the way her pulse jumped whenever he was close—the way his presence seemed to take up more space than it should.

“So,” Jamie finally broke the silence, his voice low. “Rich mentioned you’re studyin’ here, yeah? What’s that like?”

“It’s… fine.” She glanced sideways, catching the faint glint of streetlights in his eyes. “Though I didn’t expect to have a built-in babysitter. Our parents basically assigned Richard to watch my every move.”

“Yeah, he’s proper protective, innit?” Jamie chuckled, shaking his head. “Man’s actin’ like London’s full of villains tryin’ to steal his sister away.”

“More like trying to keep me away from certain bad influences,” she shot back pointedly, arching a brow at him.

Jamie’s smirk didn’t waver. “What, me? I’m a saint, love.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please. You’ve been flirting with me since the moment we met.”

“Can’t blame a bloke for tryin’,” he said, voice dipping into something rougher, something that slid beneath her skin. His gaze flicked to her lips, just for a second. Barely a glance—but she noticed.

Her heart did that stupid, traitorous flip again.

“Richard told you to stay away from me,” she reminded him, though her voice was softer now, less certain.

Jamie stepped closer. Not enough to touch—but close enough that the air between them felt heavy, electric. “Yeah… but the thing is, you ain’t told me to stay away.”

Silence.

Thick, weighted silence that seemed to crackle with every second that passed.

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest. She should say something. Anything. Tell him to back off, remind him of all the reasons this was a bad idea.

Instead, she stood frozen as his gaze dropped to her lips again, lingering this time.

“Jamie…” she started, but she didn’t know how to finish.

“Yeah?” His voice was a rasp now, rough with something unsaid.

God, this was so stupid. So reckless. Richard would kill them both.

But when Jamie took another step forward—close enough now that his breath ghosted against her skin—she couldn’t make herself move away.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispered.

“Probably,” Jamie agreed. His hand lifted, brushing her cheek with the faintest touch, and the heat of it burned through her like fire. “So tell me to stop.”

Her pulse pounded in her throat. “I—”

But the words wouldn’t come.

And then Jamie kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. Wasn’t tentative. Weeks of tension snapped like a rubber band, and the kiss hit like a spark to dry tinder—fast, hot, and all-consuming. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him as her fingers tangled in his jacket, holding on like she might drown if she let go.

The world around them dissolved into heat and pressure, the faint distant sounds of the city fading until there was nothing but the rough scrape of his stubble against her skin, the heat of his mouth on hers, the desperate press of their bodies against each other.

She should stop this. She should.

But God, it felt too good.

Jamie pulled back just enough to catch his breath, forehead resting against hers. His thumb traced her jaw as if memorizing the shape of her.

“You alright?” he murmured, voice rough.

“Yeah,” she managed, her pulse still racing.

His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “Fuck, Rich is going to kill me if he finds out,” he said again, quieter this time.

"Who says he'll find out?" She whispered and kissed him again.

That's how their secret arrangement started. Sneaking around behind Richard's back. Neither of them fully ready to commit... a friends-with-benefits kind of relationship.

It was a Sunday evening, rain pattered softly against the window of Jamie’s flat, the faint hum of city traffic muffled by the walls. The air inside was warm, faintly tinged with the scent of his cologne—woodsy, with a hint of spice—and something about it made Y/N’s pulse thrum harder against her ribs.

She stood just inside the doorway, coat still clutched in her hands, heart hammering against her chest as Jamie leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her with that unreadable gaze of his. His gray t-shirt clung to his chest, his sweats hanging low on his hips—effortlessly casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the heat simmering beneath the surface.

Neither of them had spoken since she arrived. They didn’t need to. The air between them was thick with all the things they wouldn’t say—couldn’t say.

Jamie tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging over her like a slow burn. “Bit late for a booty call, yeah?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Y/N admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. She dropped her coat onto the nearby chair, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted the hem of her sweater.

Jamie pushed off the counter, crossing the room with that slow, deliberate stride that always made her breath catch. He stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there before meeting her eyes again.

“You shouldn’t be here this late. Rich will find out...” he murmured, though he made no move to step back.

“I know.” Her pulse pounded in her throat. “But I am here now.”

Silence stretched between them—thick, heavy, electric.

Then Jamie reached for her.

His hands slid into her hair as his mouth claimed hers, hot and desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for weeks and couldn’t do it a second longer. Y/N clung to his shoulders as he backed her toward the wall, the faint scrape of her shoes against the floor drowned out by the sharp hitch of her breath when her back hit the cool surface.

Jamie’s hands roamed her body with a roughness that spoke of barely contained restraint, fingers gripping her waist, her hips, as if trying to memorize the shape of her. Their kisses were messy, frantic—weeks of pent-up tension crashing over them in a tidal wave neither of them could stop.

Somewhere between heated kisses and hurried hands, they stumbled toward the bedroom, clothes hitting the floor piece by piece. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city through the curtains, casting shadows that danced across bare skin.

His gaze burned into hers—intense, unguarded in a way that made her breath catch. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, and for a moment, the air between them shifted. Slowed.

“Tell me to stop, baby” he whispered against her lips, the same words he’d said that first night.

But she couldn’t.

She didn’t want to.

!!!SMUT!!!

Instead, she gripped the front of his t-shirt and pulled him back into a kiss—harder this time, fiercer. Jamie groaned low in his throat as their mouths collided, hands sliding over her waist, her back like he couldn’t get close enough. The edge of the mattress hit the back of her knees, and she fell onto it with a soft gasp as Jamie followed her down, his weight pressing her into the sheets.

His hands slid beneath her sweater, fingers skimming the bare skin of her waist as he pushed it upward. Y/N arched into his touch, her breath catching as his thumb grazed the underside of her breast. Their kisses turned messy—teeth clashing, breaths mingling—like weeks of restraint were finally breaking apart all at once.

“Been thinkin’ about this all week,” Jamie rasped against her throat, his lips trailing down to her collarbone. “Damn near lost my mind watchin’ you at training the other day… standin’ there like you had no clue what you do to me. In these tight fuckin' jeans.”

“Jamie—” Her protest melted into a gasp as his teeth grazed her skin, just enough to leave a mark she’d have to cover up later.

“Gonna have to be quiet, love,” he whispered against her ear, hands sliding beneath the waistband of her pants. “Unless you want my neighbors knockin’ down the door again, yeah?”

“Shut up,” she managed breathlessly, but her words dissolved into a sharp inhale as his fingers found her, slow and deliberate, teasing her through her underwear until she was clutching at his shoulders, hips shifting beneath him.

“Always so impatient,” Jamie chuckled, voice rough with amusement. “You want somethin’, you just gotta ask, yeah?”

“Jamie, please—”

“Please what?”

Her nails dug into his back through his shirt, her frustration clear in the way her breath hitched. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say it for me, baby,” he demanded, his lips brushing her jaw.

“Touch me.” The words came out softer than she intended, but Jamie groaned like they unraveled him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, slipping beneath the fabric and pressing his fingers against her where she needed him most. Her breath hitched, hands fisting in the sheets as he found a rhythm that had her pulse thrumming in her veins. His mouth found hers again, swallowing the sounds that slipped from her lips as tension coiled tight in her stomach.

“Look at me,” he whispered against her lips. When she did—eyes meeting his, breathless and vulnerable—something inside him seemed to shift. His gaze darkened, the teasing edge falling away until all that was left was raw, unfiltered want.

Her release hit fast and hard, heat crashing through her as her back arched against him. Jamie held her through it, pressing kisses to her jaw, her cheek, her lips—soft, almost reverent, as if trying to memorize the way she fell apart beneath him.

As the tremors faded, she slumped back against the mattress, chest heaving as Jamie kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. His fingers tangled with hers against the sheets, and for a moment—just a moment—the world outside this room didn’t exist.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, Y/N knew this wasn’t supposed to feel like more.

And yet, the way Jamie pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard as if trying to slow the hammering of his own heart—she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too.

!!!SMUT OVER!!!

Later, as they lay tangled in the sheets, their breaths slowing, Y/N couldn’t ignore the ache blooming in her chest. This was supposed to be just physical. No strings. No emotions.

So why did it feel like something more?

Beside her, Jamie’s arm was draped loosely over her waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns against her skin. His breathing had evened out, but she could feel the tension still lingering in his muscles—the same tension that had been building between them for weeks.

“Jamie,” she murmured, not sure what she was going to say until the words slipped out. “This... it’s getting complicated, isn’t it?”

His hand stilled against her hip, but he didn’t pull away. After a moment, he shifted, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t think too much about it, yeah?” he said softly. “It’s just us. No pressure. No... complications.”

But the way his arms tightened around her told a different story.

And neither of them dared to say what they were really thinking.

The bass thrummed through the club, a pulse of music and heat that seemed to vibrate beneath Y/N’s skin. Neon lights flickered across the crowded dance floor, casting flashes of color across moving bodies. Laughter and shouted conversations blended into the music’s heavy beat, but Y/N barely heard any of it. The team was out clubbing and Y/N tagged along with her brother.

Her drink was cold in her hand, condensation dripping down her fingers as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Across the room, Jamie leaned against the bar, surrounded by a few of his teammates, but his eyes hadn’t left her all night.

Every time she glanced his way, she found him watching her—gaze dark, unreadable, but so heavy she could feel it like a weight against her skin.

It had been weeks since that night at his flat. Weeks of stolen kisses in hidden corners, whispered promises made in the dark—no strings, no emotions—but the lines between what they’d agreed to and what they actually felt were getting harder to ignore.

And tonight, the tension between them felt like a live wire waiting to snap.

“Tu ne bois pas, chéri?” Richard’s voice cut through her thoughts, and Y/N blinked, glancing up at her brother. (You’re not drinking, darling?)

“I am,” she said quickly, lifting her glass to her lips as if to prove it.

Richard frowned slightly but didn’t push. “Come dance,” he urged instead, tipping his head toward the dance floor.

“Maybe in a minute,” she replied, her eyes drifting back toward the bar.

Jamie was still watching her.

Their eyes locked—and for a second, everything else fell away.

The noise of the club faded to a dull hum, and all she could hear was the faint rush of blood in her ears. Jamie’s gaze flicked to the man standing too close beside her—a stranger who’d struck up a conversation while Richard had gone to the dancefloor—and something in his expression shifted.

Something dark.

Possessive.

Y/N’s pulse quickened as Jamie pushed off the bar and started toward them, weaving through the crowd with the kind of focus that made her stomach twist. His jaw was tight, shoulders squared like he was preparing for a fight before anyone had thrown a punch.

She should stop him—should say something before this spiraled out of control—but before she could react, the stranger beside her leaned in closer, voice low against her ear, stroking her arm with his disgusting fingers.

“You here with anyone?” he asked, his hand kept brushing lightly against her arm.

“No—” She stepped back instinctively, but before she could finish, a hand clamped down on the guy’s shoulder.

“She’s with me, you twat.”

Jamie’s voice cut through the noise like a blade, sharp and unmistakable.

The guy blinked, turning slightly to face Jamie. “Mate, I was just—”

“Yeah?” Jamie’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, you’re done now, mate. Move the fuck along, yeah?”

“Jamie—” Y/N stepped forward, but it was already too late.

The stranger frowned, stepping back but not quite fast enough. “Chill out, mate. We were just talking, right pretty girl? No need to—”

The words hadn’t even left his mouth before Jamie’s fist connected with his jaw.

The sound of the punch cracked through the air like a firework, loud even over the music. Gasps echoed through the crowd as the guy stumbled back, clutching his jaw as chaos erupted around them.

“Jamie!” Y/N’s shout barely registered as Richard suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Jamie by the shirt and hauling him back before he could throw another punch.

“Putain de merde, t’es complètement malade ou quoi?!” Richard barked, his French accent thick with anger. (F***ing hell, are you completely insane or what?!)

“Get off me!” Jamie struggled against Richard’s grip, eyes blazing as he glared at the guy now being helped up by his friends.

“Tartt! You wanna throw your career away because of some idiot at the club?!” Richard’s voice rose above the music, furious and unrelenting.

“It ain’t about him!” Jamie snapped, twisting free of Richard’s hold. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, but his eyes—his eyes were locked on Y/N.

As if the whole world had narrowed down to just her.

“Jamie, what the hell is wrong with you?!” Y/N shoved past Richard, stepping between them before anyone else could throw another punch.

“He shouldn’t’ve been touchin’ you!” Jamie shot back, his voice rough with something she couldn’t quite name.

“Oh, so now you care?” she fired, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Since when do you get to decide who talks to me?”

“You think this is just about that?” Jamie’s voice cracked, raw and unfiltered. “You think I’m standin’ here like a bloody idiot ‘cause some guy flirted with you?”

“Then what is it about, Jamie?!”

“You!” His voice was a shout now, sharp enough to cut through the noise and the crowd and every excuse they’d been hiding behind. “It’s about you!”

Silence.

Even with the music thudding in the background, the world seemed to narrow to the space between them.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, but she couldn’t speak—couldn’t move—because Jamie was looking at her like he was standing at the edge of a cliff with nowhere else to go.

“I can’t—” His voice broke, rough with too many emotions to name. “I can’t stand seein’ anyone else touch you. It’s not just physical for me, and it never bloody was.”

Her heart lurched into her throat, but before she could answer, Richard stepped between them, his expression thunderous.

“Jamie, get the hell out of here before I do somethin’ we both regret.”

For a moment, it looked like Jamie might argue. His fists clenched at his sides, chest still heaving from the adrenaline of the punch. But then his gaze flicked to Y/N—eyes searching hers like he needed her to say something, anything—and when she didn’t, his shoulders sagged.

Without another word, he turned and pushed his way through the crowd, disappearing into the night.

Y/N watched him leave, ready to follow after him, but her brother took ahold of her wrist.

"If you go after him, Y/N. Je te le jure, tu le regretteras." Richard threatened her his grip tightening. (I swear, you'll regret it.)

“Jamie, wait!”

Y/N pushed through the crowd outside the club, heels clicking against the wet pavement as she chased after him. Cold night air bit at her skin, her breath fogging in the air as she caught sight of him a few meters ahead—shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides as if he was still holding back the urge to punch something.

“Jamie!” she shouted again, louder this time.

He stopped.

For a moment, he didn’t turn around—just stood there beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. When he finally faced her, his eyes burned with too many emotions to name—anger, frustration, something dangerously close to heartbreak.

“What d’you want, Y/N?” His voice was rough, like the words scraped against his throat on the way out. “Come to tell me what a prick I am? Go on, then. Reckon I deserve it.”

“God, you’re so—” She threw her hands up, words catching somewhere between anger and confusion. “Why do you have to make everything so bloody complicated?”

“I’m makin’ it complicated?” Jamie barked out a humorless laugh. “You’re the one actin’ like this is still just a bit of fun when we both know it ain’t!”

“We agreed—”

“Yeah, we agreed it was just physical,” he cut her off, stepping closer until she could see the faint gleam of sweat on his skin, the rapid pulse in his throat. “But it stopped bein’ just physical for me the second I kissed you that first night. Hell, maybe even before that. And you—” His gaze searched hers like he was trying to find the truth beneath her silence. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

Her breath caught in her chest. “Jamie—”

“Tell me you don’t,” he challenged, voice rough with something close to desperation. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’ when I touch you. When I look at you. Go on, then. Say it, and I’ll walk away right now. I swear.”

Silence.

The city noise buzzed faintly in the background—distant laughter, the hum of cars passing by—but all Y/N could hear was the hammering of her own heart.

“I—” Her throat closed around the words she wanted to say.

Jamie’s gaze softened—not with pity, but with something raw and unguarded. “I can’t stand seein’ anyone else touch you like that,” he murmured, his voice breaking at the edges. “It’s not just physical for me, and it never bloody was. I’ve been fallin’ for you since the day we met, and I’ve been too much of a coward to admit it ‘cause... ‘cause I didn’t think I was good enough for you. Still don’t.”

Her chest ached at the vulnerability in his voice, so different from the cocky footballer the rest of the world saw.

“Jamie…” She stepped closer, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as if grounding herself. “I tried so hard not to feel anything. I thought if we kept it simple—if we didn’t get attached—it wouldn’t hurt when it ended.”

“And does it?” he asked softly, searching her eyes. “Does it hurt?”

She swallowed hard, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. “Yeah. It does.”

Jamie’s breath hitched, and for a second, neither of them moved. Then his hand came up to cradle her cheek, rough fingers brushing her skin with a tenderness that made her chest ache.

“Then don’t let it end,” he whispered.

The last thread of resistance inside her snapped.

She surged forward, crashing her lips against his in a kiss that was messy and desperate and so full of everything they hadn’t said. Jamie’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him like he never wanted to let go. His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as he kissed her harder, deeper, like he needed to prove that this—them—wasn’t something either of them could walk away from.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingled in the cold night air, but neither stepped back.

“Fuck—I think— I think I love you, Y/N,” Jamie murmured against her lips. “Reckon I’ve loved you for a while now.”

Her chest swelled with something too big to contain. “I love you too, Jamie.”

His breath caught audibly—like he hadn’t let himself hope for those words until now—and then he was kissing her again, softer this time, but no less intense.

And this time, it wasn’t about stolen moments or secret touches.

This time, it was real.

The roar of the crowd echoed through Nelson Road as AFC Richmond took the pitch. Y/N sat on the benches beside Richard, who wasn't playing today. Her heart thudded in time with the chanting fans as she scanned the field for Jamie’s familiar figure.

“There he is,” Richard muttered beside her, but this time, there was no anger in his voice—just the begrudging acceptance of an older brother who’d finally come to terms with the inevitable. “If he hurts you, je lui casse les jambes.” (I’ll break his legs.)

Y/N laughed despite herself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Below, Jamie glanced toward the bench—and when his gaze found hers, a slow smile spread across his face. Subtle enough that most wouldn’t notice, but Y/N saw it. Felt it.

And when he winked—quick and cheeky before turning back to the match—her heart did that stupid, traitorous flip that she no longer had any reason to fight.

Because this time, she wasn’t running from what she felt.

This time, she was running toward it.

[cosmictheo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | kang dae-ho

—summary: a sudden closeness of you and player 333 makes dae-ho's usually sweet mood swing in the opposite way, triggered by pure jealousy. why would you ever need anyone else when you've got him right there? —pairing: kang dae-ho/player 388 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —contains: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, really passionate sex, voyeurism, public sex, sub dae-ho!!! (canon), slight praise kink if you squint, he talks to you through it, jealous and possessive behavior, fluff, dae-ho being so in love with the reader.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Kang Dae-ho had been protecting you ever since he had helped you survive Green Light, Red Light, the first game of all this hell in disguise as a promising new opportunity.

Not knowing you from absolutely nothing, he stepped right in front of you, stretching a hand out to the back to hold yours and guide you across the arena, playing human shield until together, you had crossed the finish line. 

And that basically summed up the kind of person Dae-ho is; kind-hearted, courageous, selfless, caring. He was one of the best people you had ever met and he was making this whole calvary into something much better, something brighter, something to keep fighting for until you made it out of there.

Since that, he had stuck by your side, practically standing as your own shadow, constantly putting you first, looking out for your well-being and safety. Without him, you would probably be dead by now, devoid of purpose.

The other players had already gotten used to seeing the two of you together, always watching each other's backs and fooling around and strategizing. Through thick and thin, you were together.

It was only a matter of time —hours—; before something else began to spark between the two of you, growing every time your hands brushed, or when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders or when your bodies cocooned in each other's warmth at night when you slept. A tension was just starting to build, an emotion that for some reason, would always make Dae-ho nervous and flustered, whenever you'd smile at him or clasp his bicep to be by his side every time Gi-hun related a story from his past experience at the games, or when you'd lean your head on his shoulder or when you'd hug each other every time a game ended.

Whatever it was, out of the same feeling, Dae-ho sensed a heaviness in the pit of his stomach, feeling as if his guts were constricting like a viper, every time you chatted with the 333 player.

He looks at you from the distance, frowning slightly as you laugh at something the guy says, he doesn't even know why he dislikes him so much... he just does.

“Why are you all puckered up?” Jung-bae questions him, pausing his own story to express concern for his teammate's face, following his gaze until he finds you, naturally.

Dae-ho clicks his tongue, shaking his head gently, his tone of voice fluctuating between disbelief and annoyance, "Why is she even over there? It's dangerous"

“Dangerous? Buddy, she's just talking to him. He saved her in the last game, remember?” Jung-bae answers him, confused by the uncharacteristic grumpy attitude of the younger man, used to the sight of him being so cheerful and jovial and optimistic.

“If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be here,” Young-il adds, also glancing at how you whisper with player 333, “She's just being polite.”

But Dae-ho huffs humorlessly, forcing his eyes to drag from you to Jung-bae standing in front of him, his fingers still grasping his fork tightly, not really feeling like eating lunch today, “Bullshit, I would've saved her anyway. She didn't need him.”

Gi-hun rolls his eyes, sitting by his side as he quietly observes the whole scene, chewing a mouthful of rice, “You're just jealous, man, admit it,” he pronounces with his mouth half full, eyes attentively scanning Dae-ho's reaction.

The whole group of men laugh upon seeing Dae-ho's face morph to one of embarrassment and some offense, cheeks blushing furiously at Gi-hun's fake allegation.

“I'm n-not jealous” he tries to defend himself with a stuttering voice, looking frantically around the amused faces of the men around him, his fingers letting his fork drop by his twitching and nervous state, attracting the attention of a few players who were nearby, including yours, which only makes Dae-ho to blush even redder.

Jung-bae smiles playfully, picking up the fork that had fallen to the ground, “And you're being overdramatic.”

“I am not!” Dae-ho squeals, his brow furrowing as he stands up and yanks the fork out of Jung-bae's hand. As the whole group laughs at him, his eyes again search for you in the crowd, finding you in record time, and his whole face darkens again as he notices the way your hand is resting down the player 333's forearm, like you would usually do with him.

He sighs heavily and for the first time, he seriously considers the words of the older men.

Time passes unnoticed within that place, hours perhaps, days? No one really knows.

But the warning that the lights go out in thirty minutes usually means that you should lie down and rest for the next event that the monsters who created this have planned for you all.

The first thing you notice when you arrive at the bed you share with Dae-ho, is that he is lying on his side with his back to you, which concerns you a little, since he never had his back to you when he would sleep.

Something is off.

“Dae-ho?” you call out his name in a gentle whisper, sitting down on the bunk and looking across the broadness of his back with worried eyes, “Are you okay?”

No response.

“Hey,” you try again gently, thinking that maybe he's not exactly having a good day, considering the current situation you're stuck in.

Dae-ho is feeling his chest heaving as he senses your hand laying on his shoulder, fingers delicately squeezing his flesh beneath the tracksuit jacket. 

And suddenly, he's cracking up.

“I'm trying to sleep” and yet, he replies to you curtly, without showing even the slightest sign of rolling over and wanting to actually look at you.

You admire his back with unconvinced eyes for a moment, lying down on the bed and resting your head on the pillow, your hand moving from his shoulder, down his back, across his shoulder blades, before dropping to the surface of the bed.

“You sound off.”

Dae-ho considers his options; whether to just keep talking to you in that oh-so-ungentlemanly way —which made him physically cringe—; whether to express everything he was feeling or just stay quiet and pretend to sleep.

In any case, he acts on impulse, rolling over so he can finally look at you, his eyes softening the instant they meet yours, his heart beating hard and fast, pounding in his ears.

“It's not good for you to associate with players outside our group,” he suddenly blurts out and sees how you just stare at him with further confusion washing over your pretty face, “It could be dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” you inquire, silently urging him to elaborate on his point. You are quick to notice how deadly serious his face is, his lips lightly pursed and his eyes solemn, a look that is unusual on him. You don't like to see him like that, like everyone there usually acted.

“Player 333,” he replies, jaw clenched, his eyes following you as you sat up again on the bed, looking down at him in sheer confusion, as if somehow, you aren't recognizing him, “I saw the way he was looking at you.”

He sounds... hurt? Disappointed?

“Lee Myung-gi” your face turns enlightened, finally understanding what he's referring to now.

Dae-ho deflects his gaze away from yours, slightly rolling his eyes. Whatever that idiot's name was...

“I was just talking to him. He saved me in the last game, Dae-ho,” you explain in an overly naive tone, a little smile curving the corner of your lips, “I went to thank him”

“But I am the one doing that, that's why I'm here. You didn't need him, you have me,” he retorts back to you instantly, your name being pronounced by his lips like a plea for mercy, gesturing to himself with his hand for emphasis on his words. Your brow furrows at the same time as his, your lips turning into a small pout, feeling like a scolded child, “I was going to save you anyway! You only need me, no one else...”

His voice fades the more he speaks, shaky hand brushing through his loose hair. And now you notice it, the betrayed and hurt expression on his face, his eyes hiding something more than friendliness, something much deeper and bigger.

He is jealous.

“Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” you are questioning him, getting more comfortable on the mattress, your voice keeping low so as not to wake the others, but also firm on your side of the little argument. You had done nothing wrong, “He was just being a good companion—”

“He didn't seem to be performing the good companion role,” Dae-ho interrupts you, spitting out the words as if they were venomous, rising himself up to also sit on the bed and face you, gesticulating with his hands, his tone of voice is fueled by sarcasm and subtle irony now, “I didn't like the way he was looking at you... neither how you were touching him with your hand.”

He crosses his arms and resembles a sulky kid who's had his favorite toy taken away, but you're too pissed off to pause and laugh at him.

Instead, you roll your eyes, starting to unbutton your jacket, feeling too hot all of a sudden, Dae-ho's eyes follow your fingers as they pull down the zipper, “You're being overdramatic.”

"I'm not!" he gasps-whispers, expression offended, he genuinely does seem to be feeling betrayed by what you had done. He leans close to you, so close that you feel the natural warmth of his body, but you stand your ground, looking at him with baffled eyes, his gaze remains soft yet aching, “I'm just looking out for you.”

“You'd rather I touch your arm then?” you raise an eyebrow on your forehead, dropping the jacket by the bottom of the bed, holding his gaze, “Is that what this is all about?”

The effect of your words in instantaneous on Dae-ho, blushing and causing him to pull away from you rather abruptly, brushing his hand through his hair again like a maniac.

“Yes,” he replies with certainty, the word barging into his throat before he could even think of a reasonable response, so he shakes his head slightly, “I mean no— I mean yes—” he cuts himself off, flustered by your attentive gaze, “—that's not the point! The point is that you don't need to go to anyone else when you have me right here.”

He gulps hard, eagerly waiting for your reaction through desperate, sheepish eyes.

“I know,” you whisper, letting out a soft sigh from your mouth, switching to a more empathetic postur. Then you nod your head and stretch out a hand towards him, who wastes no second in reaching out to take it and pull it close to his chest, nuzzling your knuckles with his thumb, “But he just dragged me with him, I couldn't do much,” you offer him a small apologetic smile, “I know you would have saved me anyway, Dae-ho.”

“Of course,” he murmurs your name, bringing your hand to his mouth to press his lips onto your knucles, kissing your smooth skin, “You're not alone, you're with me. You are everything...”

Without saying anything, you move closer to him and hug him. Dae-ho is more than happy to reciprocate your embrace, wrapping his beefy arms around your waist and hiding his face in your neck, breathing in your sweet and comforting scent, the scent he so adores. You feel his warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver runs through you from head to toe.

One of your hands goes up to his head, caressing his hair, fingers sinking into his dark long locks, the soothing and so intimate touch making him sigh.

“You're jealous,” you murmur after a moment of comfortable, heart-warming silence, and he stiffens, his body freezing, you can feel the way his muscles tense against yours.

Dae-ho pulls away from you just a little, far enough to be able to look at you, offering you a sheepish little smile, his cheeks blushing from all the attention and touch and closeness, the way you're talking and looking at him has him breathless.

“Maybe a little,” his expression shifts to one of shame as he dares to confess, valiantly enough to hold your gaze, letting himself fall into the gentleness of your eyes, always so lively and playful, but as beautiful and sparkling as a pair of gemstones, with your long lashes brushing your cheekbones every time you blink.

His hands gently squeeze your waist, contouring your curves and fitting into them perfectly, as if crafted for him to touch and hold.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweets,” you assure him, like a promise, a complicity, leaning into him again.

Dae-ho swallows loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels your beautiful soft lips press down onto his throat, kissing his bouncing Adam's apple. He can feel himself in heaven, letting himself be swept up by the way you are treating him, the way your hands run down his body, passing down his chest until they stop at his midsection, just at the moment your tongue traces across his skin, making him hiss, feeling all the air being knocked out of his lungs.

“Fuck— ngh,” he whimpers, his whole body aching with heat, his heart pumping hot blood into his crotch, heartbeats matching up with each of your wet kisses on his neck.

His big hands wander over your waist, lightly caressing your lower back, fingers barely grazing the curve of your ass above the fabric of your tracksuit pants, clasping the flesh, pressing you helplessly against his body. His touch is needy, but nonetheless respectful, as gentlemanly as ever.

“Is this okay?” comically enough he's the one to ask as your mouth reaches his chin by a wet trail of soft kisses through his skin and he almost feels himself cumming into his boxers by the way you open your eyes to look up at him, pupils dilated in pleasure.

You sigh out a soft chuckle and your breath crashes against his half-open lips, needily breathing in your air, breathing you in. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of his jacket.

“You want this?”

It's stupid that you even had the mere thought of that question.

“Yes, please, baby— please,” Dae-ho rushes to answer, hands squeezing everything they could grab from you, desperately, “Can I kiss yo—”

Before he managed to formulate the question your lips are on his and from one second to the next he pulls you close to sit on his lap, making you feel his erection press against the underside of your thigh.

Frantically, between kisses, tongues recognizing each other and hands grasping what they can of the other, he helps you to remove his shirt, breaking away for just a moment to pull it over his head, looking at you with eyes darkened with desire.

He groans against your mouth as you kiss again, your teeth nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

“Shh...” you coo against his lips, pushing him down to make his back lay against the bed, “You don't want the others to hear, do you?”

A playful smile stretches at the corner of his lips, squeezing your butt once you leaned over him to begin kissing his chest, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, feeling the way your back arches.

“I wouldn't mind if 333 listens—”

“Dae-ho,” you name him disapprovingly, but your eyes are heavy with playfulness and longing.

He gazes adoringly up as you take off your shirt, eyes roaming down your neck, across your chest, down your stomach.

“You're so pretty, fuck— come here,” he tugs you closer to him to kiss you one more time, his hands detaching from your hips to lift his own, pulling down his pants and his now, wrecked boxers, clumsily sliding the waistband of the cloth down his thighs.

His dick springs free and it has you open-mouthed, staring down at it with eyes of raw longing and adoration. His mushroom-shaped, leaking, needy head bumps barely against his lower abdomen, lining up with his happy trail.

Dae-ho blushes under your gaze, one of his hands caresses your hip to attract your attention back to his face.

“Can you handle it, baby?” his tone of voice lowers sheepishly.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing from his words only and in less than ten seconds, you're stripping off your pants too, pulling your soaking wet panties aside. He can actually feel how wet you are when your pussy barely brushes against his bare crotch, he has to resist to keep from cumming right there.

“I can— fuck, yeah— I can handle it,” you babble tremblingly through gentle gasps as he reaches his cock, stroking it three times before he aligns it with your inviting hole, rubbing it slowly up and down your slit to scoop up all of your wetness, and use it as a natural lube.

Dae-ho bites down on his lower lip to muffle a moan that ascends his throat, feeling the head of his cock push up into the tight entrance of your pussy, plunging between your slick folds.

He leans his forehead flat against your chest, nestling right between your breasts, his whole body trembling from a riot of pleasure, muffling his moans and noises against your skin.

“Shit, y-you're— h-hah— you're so wet,” he raspes out into your bare skin, his lips slurring insults and name-calling you like a prayer, a poem through your sweaty skin, his tongue rolls out from between his parted lips, coating your skin with his drool. 

His hands are roaming over your hips, each digit digging into the fat of your ass, never applying weight, giving you all the time you needed to settle onto his size, yet his voice was desperate and eager with anticipation, “So tight— so pretty.”

Your lips are pressed against the crown of his head, breathing shakily as you begin to lower yourself into him achingly slow, drawing a gasp from both of you. Your palms squeeze his broad shoulders, suppressing the urge to cry out with every inch he is pushing his way inside you, your pussy fluttering and squishing him deeper.

“Yeah, just like that, that's it,” Dae-ho is praising you, pressing sloppy kisses all over your tits, fingers caressing your lower back while his other hand pats your ass appraisingly, “just a little more, baby, a little m-more and I'm all yours— I'm yours.”

His words really touch your very core, hand sliding up his neck to sink into his hair and pull it, making him hiss as he licks your nipple. Your pussy swallows another inch of him and you feel him in your fucking guts by now. He feels your squishy walls clench around him like a vice and he refuses to even think about the possibility of a life without feeling like this again.

“Dae-ho,” you whimper his name as the bulging tip of his cock reaches a particular spongy spot and instantly your whole body reacts as well.

“Mh-hm,” his lips lick and kiss your collarbone all the way up your neck and then he kisses your lips, “I'm here. I got you, I always got you,” his eyes finally lock with yours again and you nearly feel every single muscle and organ in your abdomen twitch when you notice tears being held back in them, all from the flood of pleasure and bliss your body is giving him.

He can feel himself in heaven, beneath you, his hips grinding up into yours as his cock is plunged so deep inside you.

Dae-ho kisses you again, intoxicated, a thread of spit remains connecting your mouths once you part.

A few more long seconds and you're all the way down sitting on him, his heavy, throbbing balls pressed flush against your ass. Your pussy envelops him thoroughly, molding into his shape as you breathe a deep sigh and Dae-ho breathes out as well when your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

“There you are, my baby, you're doing s-so good,” he croaks, fondling your backside affectionately, feeling your dampness dripping down his thighs, “Holy shit you feel good... I'm so deep—”

And when you start to move on top of him, he has to close his eyes, his sweaty palms pawing your ass, hopeless for your mercy. 

But you have no mercy, your pussy, your thighs, your fucking hips, the way you look down at him and ride him, giving him whiplash with every bounce. And he can swear he knows you from another life, from the way his cock forms a shape inside you, reaching parts within you that no one else has been capable of reaching before, as if your body was made for him— no, as if he was made to fit your body.

“My God—” he hiccups and you press your forehead against his, seeking his lips with yours to silence you both, pushing him down until he's lying flat on the mattress.

The bunk just barely creaks beneath the relentless sway of your hips slamming into his, ass bumping hard down on his thighs, taking him all the way down and up again, so deep that every time you bottom out you feel him in your fucking throat.

“You feel so good, baby,” you whine, looking down at him and all of his body is reacting to the petname.

You take in the gorgeous sight that is his face flushed with utter pleasure, eyes squinting, sweaty arms wrapping all around you and holding you impossibly close, his lower belly tensed and cramped.

He looks so pussy drunk, drinking and drinking in your body and essence, everything you provide. The tought makes you feel your insides flip, squeezing into a knot. And Dae-ho feels it too.

You bend down, lips falling onto his shoulder, trailing down to the tattoo on his side and when your tongue traces the black ink, exactly when his engorged tip brushes against your fucking cervix and your ass does a particularly powerful bounce on his thick thighs, he starts to feel his body twitching, reaching that exquisite release. He begins to cum, wracked by a rush of erotic bliss that has him seeing stars in the pitch-black.

His hips begin to meet yours in mid-between your wild bouncing and your pussy squelches around his cock, ready to take in all he has to give.

“I'm cumming— hah— b-baby, where—” he babbles through breathy hiccups and whimpers, his body is flushing, seeking your gaze with half-closed eyes, his chest gasping fast.

You kiss his tattoo one more time before answering him, having the nerve to smirk, as if you aren't jumping his bones, “Inside— mhm— fill me up, Dae-ho,” your eyes finally meet his and you squish his biceps, “please,” you beg him, with tears on your eyes.

“Holy shit— you don't have to convince me, love” he growls out hoarsely, and you have never hear him insult so much in such a short span of time. He kiss the corner of your lips messily, “I'm so fucking deep, you take it so well, baby— fuck.”

He chokes on his own voice and squeezes your hips until his palms are molded into your flesh. His tip touches that special squishy spot inside you again and you're cumming with him, both of you riding your own high, sinking into each other's bodies, souls becoming one. Straight into the core of the storm of pleasure.

His trembling fingers eventually loosen his grip on your ass, but his imprint stays right there, flushed. His cock softens deep inside you and you can feel it still spurting hot ropes up into your womb. Dae-ho whimpers flush against your mouth, gasping for breath. And you know you might as well die right there, tangled with his body.

Your head is empty, blurry with him and only him, your hips keep rolling on their own motion, slower. Your pussy squelches, full of him, the friction only makes him chant your name over and over in raspy whispers, like a hymn. Your orgasm is rough and strong, rocking your body like an earthquake. It makes you moan his name and he cuts you off, kissing you senselessly.

“Thank you, thank you...” he mumbles repeatedly against your mouth, hissing once you stop all movement on top of him. And he kisses you again, appreciatively, lovingly.

Dae-ho throws his head back on the bunk, trying to catch his breath, his hands drop to your thighs, always with a possessive hold, groping around for your ass, pressed down on his trembling thighs.

And it's ridiculous how absolutely majestic he looks there under you, in an afterglow that has him breathless, eyes narrowed and lost stare, gazing upwards as if he's suspended in paradise. His entire abdomen is sweaty and you hold back the urge to run your tongue across his cute little tummy, since your body is slowly beginning to give in to exhaustion, your legs wobbling.

You are satisfied with tracing your fingers along his sweaty skin, touching what were strong muscles, now softened under your thumbprints. Your hand makes an appreciative path up his pecs and he comes back to reality with the touch, looking up at you and patting your ass lightly, his gaze softening as he met your eyes amidst the darkness. The look of love.

“Don't do that, I'm about to get hard again,” he murmurs in a playful voice, a little sheepish smile growing on his lips. He is blushing, like he's not balls deep inside you, his cum leaking out of your cunt and trickling down your thighs.

You let out a sleepy chuckle, leaning down and snuggling close into his chest, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he tugs a blanket over the two of you.

“I had to take you on a date first,” Dae-ho blurts out suddenly, sounding more like he's talking to himself than to you, but you do manage to hear him, yet not really understanding what he's trying to say.

“What?” you ask curiously, still a little dizzy, fingers tracing light caresses on his chest, right where his heart is.

He clears his voice, bowing his chin so he can look down at you, gaze full pure love and adoration, his fingertips soothingly caressing your spine as he answers you in a hushed whisper, “I was supposed to take you on a date before.... all of this.”

You smile bashfully against his chest, looking up at him with big, soft eyes, “Well, we're not exactly in a position where having a date is doable, Dae-ho.”

But he is confident on the subject, fingers drawing little circles on the small of your back, “After we get out of this, I'll pick you up at your house and take you to the fanciest restaurant.”

You kiss him tenderly. 

And he smiles like he's actually in love.

“I'll be waiting for you in my best dress, then.”

[madamechrissy]

𖢔 Duvet Days and Vanilla Ice Cream 𖢔

𖢔The five times Satoru tried to confess his feelings, and the one that worked𖢔

𖢔Pairings: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

𖢔Summary: Satoru Gojo was your best friend in the world, you'd long since had it bad for him, over the many years, but of course he's so popular and handsome, star basketball player, you think you have no chance. Satoru however, has tried five different times over the many years to tell you he loves you, but the words just never came out right, and you would never believe it to be possible. So, you both grow distant, as life takes over, until in your last year of college you end up at a Christmas party with him, where both of you are dealing with fresh breakups, and Suguru Geto is hanging mistletoe over your heads. Drinks pour, and so do Satoru's feelings he's kept inside. Have you both been in love with each other this whole time!?

𖢔CW: MDNI- Will be showing elementary, middle, high school and college missed confessions with Satoru and you! Lots of fluff ! Smut in current time (hints of it in early college) Friends/idiots to lovers, Toru is an idiot as a teenager lol, and they're bad at feelings, Christmas themed, emotional- light angst to fluffy smut. Explicit sexual content, fingering, cunnilingus. blow jobs, sexual tension, rough sex etc. 𖢔 Word Count- 15k words (holy fk lol)

𖢔Comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoy this one!!𖢔

Christmas Eve, Last year of College

There is Christmas music playing as you enter the party, thrumming softly as you smile at so many of your friends, many you have barely seen in months. With being in the last year of college, many of you all had separate classes in separate buildings, and getting together was rarer and rarer. They wave at you while you take off your heavy winter coat.

It was freezing outside, and there was a faint dusting of snow, perfect for a Christmas Eve you muse. Little droplets melt on your hair as you shake your head to get them off, the warmth of the party and the sea of bodies enwrapping you. You see him then, right next to all of your friends, the man that never seems to leave your mind, Satoru Gojo.

God you’ve been friends forever, literally since you were ten years old, and running around in a playground at elementary school during recess, about Christmas time you’d met him in school and you’ll never forget him throwing snowballs so damn mean at you. You’d cried that day and somehow that had been the catalyst for your friendship.

But also your feelings.

You feel his blue eyes on you, eyes that you never got used to even after knowing him like the back of your hand, bright and piercing across the room, framed by a fringe of snow white lashes. He’s got a soft smile playing on his lips, waving a long arm at you, shouting your name. You hate that after all these years he still has such a damn effect, butterflies that never really left.

You’ve always tried to keep them pushed down, not get your hopes up ever, the few times you thought maybe Satoru could be available, had ended with him getting some new girlfriend. You had jokingly called them his flavors of the month, this month’s you’d called her an advent calendar jokingly over text, texting is mostly how you all talk now.

Satoru’s a star college basketball player and you’ve chosen to start a writing major, he’d be practicing basketball and you’d watch him in between typing up stories. He’d wave and smile at you as you sat on the bleachers to support him, though of course that was some time ago, when you both got significant others the friendship had gotten more distant.

You’d gotten broken up with literally last night, you were sure that your friends wondered why you were alone, but when you walk up to them, they just greet you. Suguru Geto, Satoru’s best friend and one of your good friends, hugs you first, in a warm embrace with his strong arms. You hug him back and smile up at him.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Suguru!”

“Of course, love, we miss you. We all miss each other.”

“Me too! Hey Shoko!” Shoko hugs you now too, pulling back to look at your pretty dark red dress.

“You look so hot!”

“Aw, thank you, you do!” You now look at Nanami, who’s all decked out in a full three piece suit, you remember his emo days and it always surprises you how much he’s grown up. “Nanami!”

“Hello, darling.” He hugs you now as well, leaving you face to face with Satoru, who stands now, towering over damn near everyone, even taller than Nanami. Suguru is the only one in the room as tall as he is.

You crank your neck back to look up at him as he gently places his hands on your face, kissing your forehead sweetly. You grip his wrists gently and melt at the gesture, it’s a gesture of friendship deep and important. It’s one you haven’t felt in such a long time, you get so emotional from it you gulp, swallowing. You realize you’ll probably never really get over him.

But he’s just your friend.

A friend that looks sexy as fuck-

Stop that!

“I missed you, sweets. Mwah!” You giggle now as he smacks another kiss on your head and pulls you against his strong chest.

“Ugh, I miss you! But… maybe not so friendly, your-”

“I’m a free man so I can hug my friend again.” He teases, then pulls back and winks at the three of your other friends. “All my friends.”

“Don’t hug me, disgusting.” Nanami says with a shiver, earning Satoru’s huge, wolfy grin, big bright white teeth shining and reflecting the twinkling lights hanging on the ceiling above you.

“Well, that makes two of us.” You say softly, and Satoru’s eyes lock on you then, blue storms unreadable, a little lock of his soft white hair falling over a brow. Your eyes lower, taking in the white dress shirt and dress pants he’s wearing, worth more than you make in months easily. God he looks good.

Don’t think that way, it’ll always fuck you up.

“What happened?” Suguru asks softly, and you sigh, looking up at the dark haired man and smiling a bit.

“He wanted to go separate ways, I’m in college and he’s not anymore, I guess he felt we were too distant and separated because of it.”

“He didn’t wanna buy you a Christmas gift, cheap ass.” Satoru says with a huff, and you all laugh then.

“So we’re broken hearted for Christmas hmm?” You tease him now, taking his hand and squeezing gently, he pauses then, usually humorous face so serious, it makes you falter a bit, you ease your hand off, just when Suguru clears his throat.

“Ahem. Well then.” He holds up a thing of fake mistletoe now, right above Satoru’s white head and you, and you giggle a bit, but something in Satoru’s face shifts, his pretty pink lips part just a bit, eyes getting lidded.

“Well, there’s mistletoe, it’s a tradition.” He says, voice a little husky, you try to laugh it off, but quiet when he leans down a bit, hands in his pockets.

“Oh stop being silly you all.” You say, tempted by those glossy lips, but you don’t trust yourself not to lose it if you cross that line. Vivid images of straddling this man fill your mind just thinking of kissing him, you can’t go that far.

“It’s just a kiss, silly. C’mon, smooch me.” He puckers his lips all silly, Nanami and Suguru snort in laughter, and Shoko rolls her eyes. You sigh then, remembering, it’s just silly Satoru, your best friend. No big deal for him to have a kiss, especially as you both had shared a few kisses, one in middle, one in high school… and one drunken college encounter.

You may or may not have them written in a diary somewhere.

There may BE a Gojo diary.

“Okay, fine, tradition is tradition.” You say, he smirks now, hands out of his pockets to rest gently on your shoulders, so big he overtakes them. You exhale and your eyes flutter shut, as Satoru Gojo’s lips descend.

Fuck it feels so good to kiss him, it’s like you become boneless in his goddamn hold, it’s not just the pressure of some plush lips, it’s so much more, you are sure he probably doesn’t feel this, but you can’t help but lean up on your tip toes, even in your high heels, hands trailing up that stark shirt. He exhales and deepens the kiss, hands pulling you even closer.

You’ve never felt anything as sweet as his lips.

Satoru has never felt anything as sweet as your lips.

Fuck he knew it would feel this way, but it takes everything in him not to drag you upstairs and kiss every inch of your body. And fuck your body looks so good in that tiny little formfitting red dress, like a present just for him to unwrap. Satoru feels your skin heat up as he presses his lips on yours once more, in sweet little pecks, drinking in your breathless sounds.

He looks down at you, your eyes have dilated so much they’re almost black, just a ring of your pretty eye color left. Your lips are just slightly reddened from his kisses, parted just so, looking dazed. If you look like this from a kiss, he has to wonder how you look when he’d kiss you everywhere, every inch of your smooth skin, so bare in that dress he’s mad anyone even gets to see you.

You flush now, and he sees it, sees how flustered you get, biting your lower lip, lashes trembling just so over your eyes. Your hands are clutching his chest, his heart races under your palm, he wonders… Do you feel it? Do you feel even a bit of what he’s felt so long for you?

He longs to kiss you again, as his friends and yours all laugh softly, making little ‘ooooh’ noises, which you giggle at, but you don’t step back or step away, no you stay there, in front of him. He can feel your body heat, entrancing him, when you finally ease away you’re smiling so cute and shy at him, tearing his heart apart.

Satoru has to remember you’re just a friend, but it’s awfully difficult right now, especially since he knows you’re single. He knew the guy wasn’t good enough for you, but as your best friend he tried to be respectful, but he’d just tasted your sweet lips, like cherries, and now he’s imagining tasting your other lips. He’s a horrible friend, isn’t he, but…

Satoru’s been in love since he met you.

He knows you have no clue of it, the few times he’s tried he’s covered it up completely, much to your never ending confusion. Suguru, Nanami and Shoko all knew how bad he had it, even now, girls were placeholders, things to try to cope with the fact that he was too scared to share his feelings. He was nervous, Satoru Gojo, the man that could score under any pressure.

He scores in games, in life, with women. You were his weakness, breaking through this barrier he had, some invisible barrier that just a touch from you could destroy, a happy little smile on your perfect lips. Lips that are quirked up, you run your hand through your silky hair, hair he wonders what it would feel like in his fingers, pulling it as he…

Shit.

“Should we catch up a bit?” You ask softly.

“Miss me sweets?” He teases, and you roll your eyes, laughing.

“A bit.”

Fuck his heart stops. “Let me get you a drink?”

You nod and smile at his friends, who give him a sly little nod. They have made tonight their mission to try to get Satoru to express his feelings, finally and once and for all, before he went to play professionally, and before he maybe didn’t get a chance. He’d tried before, but something always holds him back, some fear of rejection, your rejection that sinks into him.

“I missed you, Toru.” You say softly, and the nickname hits him in the gut, the nickname you have called him for so long. He grabs a vodka bottle and smiles over at you, mixing you the drink he knows you love so much.

“Of course you missed me.” You laugh softly, Satoru always makes jokes, because he’s so scared to truly be vulnerable. You shove at him a little playfully, tiny little hand on one of his shoulders.

“You didn’t miss me, hotshot?” You tease.

“Miss you every day.” He says softly. You pause now, hands over his as he hands you the little cup, feeling yours get sweaty, as you tremble just a bit.

Are you as affected as him?

You can barely focus when Satoru’s long fingers brush against yours, you clear your throat and smile tremulously, taking the drink and sipping. “I wish we had more time to… hang out.” You say, cursing yourself internally.

“Hang out hmm?” He leans back on the counter, as the partygoers walk in and out of the kitchen.

“Yes, hang out. We used to all the time. I guess life happened?”

“Jealous boyfriend, jealous girlfriend happened.” He sips his drink, a little droplet falls, urging you to wipe it with your thumb, he catches your wrist in his big grip, tense, you both stare at each other quietly.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He lets your hand down gently.

“Satoru I… do you think… you’d ever…”

“Ever what, sweets?”

“Ever…” You’re a blushing mess now, wondering at yourself, but it’s been forever, your boyfriend and you had not slept together, and before that it’s been almost a year since you last slept with someone. And fuck Satoru looks so good your mouth is just watering.

“You can ask me anything.” He says, so soft, and you take a breath.

“Have you ever thought of um… hooking up?” You whisper the words, earning his huge eyes getting even bigger, mouth wide with shock. “Oh god of course you haven’t! I just thought since we… almost back in the day? Also, it’s been a while and I trust you, and… oh god forget it so embarrassing!” You slam your hands on your face now, feeling your ears even overheating.

“Wh-what!?” He demands, leaning down and taking your hands off, you can’t even meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry that was so off base. You’re probably hurt! I’m a little hurt too. I just… fuck I need to go.”

“What!? No no no.” Satoru stops you now, exhaling as he studies you carefully. “Like just a hookup? You don’t think it’ll ruin…”

“It wouldn’t ruin anything for me. I’ve always… I’ve always wanted to.” You admit, earning more of a blatant look of shock. “I know I was a little too… I don’t know, romantic back when we were younger? But I thought of it.”

“Yeah? Shit… Yeah?” You giggle now, nervously.

“Yeah I’ve always thought about it. I know… but do you think of me that way? If not it’s fine, no pressure really.”

He scoffs now, shaking his head. “Never thought of you that way?”

“Well you’ve been picking on me since you were ten, throwing snowballs at me, little shit.” You poke his chest, ignoring the hammering of your heart, and Satoru takes you by your arm, long fingers wrapping it entirely.

“Christmas Story time young lady.” You giggle and let him lead you out of the lively party, out to some of the quieter rooms, and he snatches you in one quickly, locking the door behind you both. He sits down in a huge leather seat in the quiet room, tapping one of his long thighs.

You suddenly get even more shy, and he notices, leaning forward. “I am not very experienced at being casual, Toru, give me a minute.”

“We’re not doing anything yet anyway, sit on Santa’s lap.” You snort, shaking your head, and he narrows those blue eyes, before leaning over and snatching up a santa hat and grinning. “Now, come here, be a good girl.”

“Good girl!?” You’re wet, great. You nervously shuffle to his thigh now, sitting and hoping he can’t feel your heat.

“You’re all talk hmm?” You sigh.

“I can’t believe I said all of that, I’m so sorry. I’ve always… Well, I’ve always had a crush on you. It sounds silly.” You look away, only for Satoru to cup your face, turning you to him carefully, your breath catches when you see how serious his pretty face is under that silly hat.

“Are you ready for story time?” He asks softly. You nod then, leaning closer in his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck, the other hand resting on his hard chest.

“I’m ready, Santa Toru.” He smiles just a bit, then he remembers.

*****

The First time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

Fifth Grade- Age 10

“Oh my gosh! Ugh!” You’re shivering now, Satoru has thrown two giant snowballs at the prettiest girl he’d seen, wearing a wicked grin as they both hit your sweater, soaking wet with them now.

You turn and glare at him, and gosh, Satoru really thinks you’re cute, your face is all scrunched up in a glare, a face he frequently stared at in class. You were so, so pretty, and you always had your head in a book, where most classmates fawned over Satoru, laughed at his jokes, you just…

Were you.

Satoru wanted some attention, so this seemed like a great way to try, until he walks over and sees your face, tears in your eyes, your lips trembling. He pauses then, blinking his snowy lashes, worrying now, as he’s not ever seen you upset, and now he feels it like a hit on his chest.

“You’re crying?” He asks, and then remembers people around you are watching, and he doesn’t want to seem too soft. “Why are you crying? Just snowballs.”

“I’m soaking wet and cold now, Gojo!” You stomp a foot, shivering, Satoru suddenly feels awful.

“I… oh… um…” He takes off his jacket then, shivering just a bit in the chilled air, so cold he could see puffs of your breath as you sigh.

“No, no you’ll be cold. I’ll be fine. I’ve just had… um a bad day.” You whisper, looking down and hugging yourself.

It’s then, Satoru realizes…

He thinks he likes you…

A lot.

He eases off your soppy sweater, throwing his jacket over your shoulders, and you look up at him and keep crying. “I’m sorry, okay!?”

“N-no. You’re just sweet, Gojo. Thank you.” You swipe at your eyes with your gloved hands as he clutches your sweater, he brings it to his nose for a moment, inhaling you. “Are you… smelling it? Do I smell bad!?”

“No, no! You smell sweet.” You raise your brows, color on your cheeks, on your cold little nose. “I mean… you… I…”

“Thank-”

“I mean whatever. Bring that back tomorrow.” You blink in surprise as he shoves your sweater in your hands, and he doesn’t like how excited he is when your fingers brush against his, he doesn’t like how your face in tears made him feel.

He was the head of the Gojo clan, he had to be strong, not a mess for some sad little girl in his class. He turns away and you call out his name softly. He tilts his head, blue eyes glinting at you. “Thank you!”

“Yeah.” He throws a peace sign at you, and Suguru runs up to him now.

“You like her!”

“Do not.”

He did not like you, no… 

Ten year old Satoru was surely falling in love already.

*****

Present Day

“You liked me then!?” You ask incredulously, remembering the look on his big blue eyes as he’d left you with his coat. “I thought you were picking on me?”

“I was… but I wanted your attention.” You exhale now, brushing his hair back gently, his eyes flutter shut. “I still want your attention. I just don’t throw snowballs at you anymore.”

“I mean, it kind of worked?” He laughs now, hot breath against your cheek as you pull back just a bit, cupping his face carefully. “You don’t need to throw snowballs anymore, I threw myself at you just now.”

“Nah, you didn’t. You just brought up something I’ve been dying to do, but too fucking afraid.”

“Afraid of me, you’re Satoru Gojo.” His hand feels so good up and down your back you damn near purr like a cat. “Popular, gorgeous, a sports star.”

“Well I don’t feel like any of that around you. I get… stupid and tongue tied. And say all the wrong shit.” You tilt your head, feeling the energy shift.

“You really liked me, Satoru?”

He sighs, thumb brushing across your lower lip, sending shivers of pleasure from just that down your spine. “Like… That’s not really the word.”

“No?” You whisper.

“No…” Satoru’s lips press against yours once more, and you let out a soft cry from the back of your throat, your hands entangling in his hair, body arching just so, earning his soft moan as he pulls back, your noses touching. “I didn’t just sleep with you before, back at the beginning of college, remember?”

“Oh I remember… somehow, despite the beer.”

“I didn’t because… it would be more.”

You shift just a bit, earning his breath catching, feeling the pressure between your thighs. “Is this too much?”

“No, no. Not enough.” You moan now, as his tongue slips past your lips, swiping in and swirling with yours, you drink up his every breath, as he sips up your cries. “Fuck, feel how hot you are.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s sexy. You’re sexy.” Satoru eases back now, a pink blush on his high cheekbones. “Story time, ready for more? If you listen good, Santa will take good care of you.” He teases, brushing thumbs over your nipples.

“Of course, Santa Toru. Carry on.”

Satoru smirks, looking so charming, you feel your blood rushing through your veins, struggling to calm as he speaks. “Remember eighth grade well?”

“Of course, you were already a little wise guy.” You earn his serious look, and he is shaking his head. And then it hits, that memory, of your first kiss ever with anyone, with Satoru Gojo. “You mean our kiss?”

“Yeah, our kiss.”

*****

The Second time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

Eighth Grade- Age 14

Satoru was extremely popular, especially with the girls in school, he had several of them all over him even though he came on a date with one of your pretty classmates. You at this point have the biggest crush on him, though you certainly wouldn’t tell him, and he wouldn’t look at you that way, surely. You’re sipping on punch as you sit on one of the bleachers, watching everyone dance.

Little do you know, Satoru is watching you, his blue eyes keep peering your way over and over, looking at how cute you are in this pink, floofy little dress, one he didn’t expect to see you in. You’re nervously fidgeting with your little red solo plastic cup, smiling and waving a bit at him, as girls keep asking him questions, and one is dragging him out to the dance floor.

You watch Satoru with his hands on her waist, the thoughts of that alone make you feel sick for some reason, you’re not sure why. Suguru Geto comes up to you now with a smile, long hair pulled half up off his head, holding a hand out, you look around. “You sure? Me?”

“Yes you silly, you look pretty tonight.” You can’t stop the shy smile on your face as he stands you up, taking you to the floor for your first dance with someone.

“Thanks Suguru.” You say, he puts his hands on your waist as you both sway side to side, and you feel Satoru’s eyes burning holes as you both do, as he spins around the dance floor.

“Do you like him?”

“Like who?”

“Satoru.” Suguru tilts his head, and you want to sink into the floor, exhaling and shaking your head. Suguru smiles. “Not at all?”

“As a friend um… even if so, he’s too busy with his fan club.” Suguru chuckles at that, spinning you now.

“You think he doesn’t like you?”

“No way he does.” Suddenly Satoru’s standing between you both, arms crossed, his face just gets prettier every year, it’s really not fair you think.

“My turn.” He says, and Suguru gives a little mock bow, winking at you and dancing with another girl, Satoru’s hands tremble when they hit your waist, fingertips brushing over the mesh of your skirt. Something about the contact makes you gasp, your eyes flying to him when your hands rest on his shoulders, feeling how broad they’ve gotten.

“You don’t have to dance with me, Satoru. Suguru was already being nice.” You look down nervously, afraid to misstep, to accidentally stomp on his foot.

“Why do you think I don’t want to?”

“You have so many pretty girls, but you are a sweet friend. Thank you.” He pauses now, and you pause with him, his blue eyes glinting as there are lights flashing all around you all, in the middle of the dance floor. “What’s wrong, Satoru?”

What’s wrong is how he wants to kiss you, to kiss his best friend, he wonders if your lip gloss tastes yummy, and he shouldn’t wonder. He’s kissed girls, but he has never wanted to kiss anyone like he does you, you’re looking up at him curiously, his hand on the small of your back now. You’re always so shy and insecure, and Satoru doesn’t know why.

You’re so beautiful.

He should tell you.

Instead however, he opens his mouth, then closes it, to open it again, finally he just leaves you. You’re trembling in embarrassment, scowling now and following him out of the throngs of people as people are watching and whispering. You stomp out into the hallway, he even walks right out of the double doors. You follow him and are shouting his name.

“You’re so rude sometimes! You shouldn’t have asked me if you didn’t want to!” You shout, feeling tears pricking your eyes, and Satoru turns around then, tears glistening in his own eyes, making you pause.

“Why can’t you understand?” He asks, cupping your face with a cool hand, and it feels far too good on your overheated cheeks.

“Understand what, that my best friend is being mean?”

“I’m not being mean. I can’t… I can’t…” He exhales now, hormonal brain whirling, why can’t he think of anything good to say!? Why can’t he tell you he’s got it so bad for you, that you’re all he thinks of sometimes? But he’s so scared because you’re so close to him, such a good friend. What if you don’t feel the same?

“You can tell me anything. Always.” You cup his hand on your cheek, he feels how warm it is under his touch, leaning down now, your eyes dart to his lips, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks. “What are you…”

Satoru presses his lips against yours, your first kiss ever, you pause as your heart is pounding in your chest, unsure of what to do. Where do you put your hands!? Where do you… stand? You step back and look at him with shock, he’s so serious which is nothing like the Satoru you know, a goofy silly boy who’s always bright and smiling.

“You just kissed me.” You whisper, unable to say what you want to, that you have never felt your heart beat so fast, that you have never imagined a kiss from the boy you have it so bad for. That you’re so happy you could spin.

“I did.” Is all he manages, it sounds choked out, as he leans close again, the wind fluttering leaves around your feet, in uncomfortable platform heels you’ve stolen from your mother’s closet.

“But don’t you have a date tonight?” You touch your lips, still tingling with him, and Satoru gulps now, visible, leaning in close again. “Don’t confuse me, please, you would never be interested in me.”

“Why do you think that way? Why can’t you see that I-”

“Satoru!” Satoru’s date comes out now, and you feel terrible, you feel so embarrassed, especially when he shoots her a smile, and then a sullen look at you as she grabs his arm. “Oh it’s Satoru’s little friend. You’re like a little sister, right?”

You glare hurt eyes at Satoru now, and he feels himself closing right back up, knowing how bad those words hurt you, how confused you must be. “A little sister? Is that what you call me?” You ask, quietly, hiding your every feeling.

“I said we were really close like family, yes, but…” You laugh just a bit, blinking back tears, looking at his date now.

“He’s definitely just like family. Have fun you two.” You stomp off then, and Satoru wants to stop you, wants to say something, but he thinks he’ll just make it worse. You left right after, he didn’t see you the rest of the dance, and the next week at school you were back to normal, his sweet friend, you both didn’t bring it up, what happened.

Satoru knew he hurt your feelings, and he didn’t know how to apologize, or how to tell you how much the kiss meant, and how badly during every school project, every study session, that he wanted to do it again. So instead, he just stays your friend, wondering if you forgot it all.

*****

Present Day

You feel pesky tears prick the back of your eyes, sighing shakily now as Satoru’s lips pout just a bit, his brows drawn together. “You felt something for me? Then?”

“Yes, I wanted to tell you, but I fucked it all up.” You remember how hurt you were, to be called that, after your first kiss, remember rushing home and crying in your bed all night.

“I thought it was some dare or something.” You admit, and he leans forward, shaking his head, pulling you more firmly against his hard body, a body you’ve dreamt of being pressed against this way more than once.

“No, not at all. You looked pretty in that dress, I remember it like it was yesterday, exactly what you wore.” Satoru’s voice gets husky as his gaze lowers, to your breasts that are showcased in black and red lace over your dress, you feel it like a caress, filling you with longing.

“You were my first kiss.” You say now, his eyes widen in surprise.

“I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked. You never brought it up again.” You swipe at an errant tear as Satoru cups your face gently.

“I was a shithead.” You giggle now, nodding. “You’re not supposed to agree!”

“Well you were. Why’d you kiss me, Satoru?” You lean in close, lips just a breath from him now, tasting his sweetness on his lips, tantalizing you.

“I thought it would be my epic moment. You rushed after me, thought I’d tell you how I feel, finally. But then…”

“How did you feel?” He sighs now, kissing your lips once more.

“You listened to story number two, I said I’d treat you for being so good. On the nice list, hmm?” You giggle again, as he kisses down your chest.

“You’re avoiding the question… mmm… not complaining.” You gasp when he reveals one of the peaks of your breasts now, he lets out a soft moan.

“You’re so pretty.” His lips are descending on it, latching on a nipple and sucking. You enwrap your hands in his hair, pulling it while he sucks on it with his hot mouth.

Desire shoots down your body, making you tremble, Satoru’s hand presses against your tummy, fingers slipping against the soft velvet of your dress, your eyes roll back at how good it feels when his teeth nip at the peak. He pulls back, strings of saliva dripping from his lips, then he’s pulling your other one out, shifting you to straddle his lap, and you feel him.

Fuck he feels so good against you, when you sink down on his lap, and he’s got another peak in his mouth, his hand squishing the other, lips trailing back up, looking at you under those snowy lashes. You’re trembling now, thighs tense as you feel his length under those slacks, pressing against soaked panties. His head falls back as he sinks your hips lower.

“Oh my god.” He murmurs. “You’re so wet from just that? You’re so desperate for me, hmm?”

“Oh fuck you.” You glare, he laughs softly as you try to back up, yanking you back down.

“I like you so needy. It’s cute.” Your eyes are just narrowed now, and you slide your hips down his length, earning him tensing, sucking in a breath.

“You’re needy. It’s so cute.”

“Brat.” He brings your lips back down to his, and relishes in the feel of you, the taste of you. God he’s wanted this for so long, but he has to tell you, he has to tell you what’s in his heart, even if he is currently thinking of sinking into the heat that’s grinding on his cock. He pulls away, physically painful, looking into your dazed eyes.

“More stories!? We’re gonna need a break, I won’t be able to focus.” Your hair is falling softly against his chest as you roll your hips again, and he presses up, feeling the slick heat even through the barriers.

“For every story you listen to, I’ll make you cum.” He watches the mess that makes you with a satisfied grin.

“But I’ve already listened to two!”

“There are three more.”

“You can’t cum five times in one…”

“You’re doubting me, hmm?” Your lips press his again, and he hoists you up, holding you effortlessly in strong arms, pressing you against the wall now, the coolness on your back doing nothing to cool down your body.

“Maybe you’re all talk, all star.” He snorts now, easing you down, pressing his arms on either side of you.

“Then a little demonstration, before the next story.” His hand slips up your dress by the hem, baring your thighs, you tremble as your eyes lock, and he finds you over your panties, dripping and sticky. “Fuck, these are ruined.”

“Shut up, Satoru.” You whine out as he presses against your clothed clit, moaning as he does, pressing his finger up higher, you’re whimpering, slick coating his fingers. “Please…”

“Please what, sweet girl?” Satoru murmurs softly, and you’re trembling, hand gripping his wrist, feeling the strong muscles on his arm.

“Touch me.” He slips his fingertips under your panties now, finding your aching clit and rubbing in circles, making you throb around nothing, head slamming back into the wall as his lips capture yours again. He moves in tantalizing circles, quicker and quicker, working you up, making you want more and more. “Ngh!”

“Those sounds you make, fuck.” He huffs, pressing his finger up more, blue eyes flicking over your face, free hand cupping your chin. “Let go, I’ve got you.”

He starts pressing up more, your cunt soaking his fingers as he works your clit so good, you’re gasping when it hits you, the orgasm from Satoru’s long fingers that keep slipping to tease your entrance. You’re dying for more, but he pulls his finger away, your hands are clinging to his shirt, crumpling the fancy fabric, Satoru slips his finger to his lips now, moaning.

“You’re so sweet tasting. Mmm.” He kisses you again, coating your lips with your own slick, you’re grinding up against his thigh that’s now slotted between yours. “Can’t wait to drink you up.”

“Drink me, I… Toru, the things you’re saying…” He’s kissing down your cheek, down your neck, before he pulls back with a smile. “Let me…”

Your hand slips down his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense under your touches. “Not yet, horny little nerd.”

“Oh whatever!” You shove at him now, as he doesn’t allow you to touch his cock whatsoever yet, gripping your wrist above your head.

“That’s one, I’ll give you four more, but I need you to listen.”

“Or what, I’m on the naughty list?” You tease, tugging on his hat, he fixes it back on his head with a smirk. “Who knew you even remembered little things like that about me.”

“Little things? That kiss wasn’t a little thing.” You melt at his words.

Words Satoru has longed to tell you.

“Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I tried. A couple more times. Now… Come on, we’ll make an appearance, and continue this soon. Don’t you pout, can’t just use me for my body.”

“Oh god.” You breathlessly giggle as you all get back to the party, and Satoru’s snatching you up in his arms for a dance, you feel your friends gazing upon you both, sharing knowing looks. “You sure can dance, Satoru.”

“Of course I can.” He spins you now, bringing your back against him, you feel his strong chest on your back, your ass pressed against his hard thighs. His hands guide your hips as the music plays, soft and sweet like his caresses.

“So what’s next, Santa Toru? On the cringy memory train of me.”

“Cringy of you? Nah. Well, the next trip of Christmas past would be… Sophomore year of high school. Remember that bowling night?”

“Bowling night, which one?” You’re turning your head to look up at him, his santa hat is falling just so, as you sway with him, and remember.

*****

The Third Time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

Sophomore Year of High School- age 16

Satoru and you had fallen back into an easy friendship, you all were going bowling, Suguru, Shoko, Nanami, you and Satoru. You all were always together, along with a couple other close friends, and Satoru’s new girlfriend, she was very pretty and very clingy, all over him to the point Suguru was laughing at it. Satoru could barely get a moment to breathe.

Nanami is showing you how to bowl, and something in Satoru tenses, as you’re giggling up at him and grinning, and he sees Nanami is blushing. He’s mentioned a few times he thinks you’re sweet and pretty, and Satoru supposes no one else he knows would be good enough for you, aside from his friends. But it hurts, to see his hand on your shoulders, on your back.

Satoru’s girlfriend is kissing all on his neck, irritatingly, she’s gorgeous and a star cheerleader, who should be with the star player, right? Satoru supposes that’s what is done, and he loves making out with her and more… but… something about you is addling his psyche, constantly. Every time you laugh it’s like his heart tightens, every brush of your skin against his makes him weak.

Even hugging you was hard now, so he’d backed off a bit, you’re too pretty, you smell too good, you look so pretty in those little school uniforms. He can’t even stand to see you in those skirts. Thankfully you’re just wearing blue jeans, so that he didn’t have to stress even more about you and Nanami.

Why can’t he just tell you!?

He gets so tongue tied around you, Satoru Gojo, the boy who can’t ever shut up, but with you he stutters, he stammers, he blushes. And ever clueless, you have no idea what your effects are on him, on anyone. Still so insecure, but Satoru really does not know why or how, can’t you tell that you alone make him go crazy? That all these girls are just not you.

You smile at him now, a little sad he notices, waving, and only serving to make his girlfriend clingier. You walk up now, looking at him for a moment, before looking at the group. “Does anyone want pizza? I’m so hungry, I’ll buy.”

“I’ll come with you.” Satoru stands now, his girlfriend huffs.

“Don’t leave me, Gojo.”

“Just gonna get food, you want something baby?” Baby, the little term crushes your damn teenage heart, as Satoru pecks a kiss on his girlfriend’s lips, and you can’t get over Satoru enough to even have a dating life. You compare any man to him, to this ever taller, lanky best friend of yours.

Satoru’s gotten six feet tall now, towering over everyone, and the basketball has only served to enhance every muscle. Just being at his game yesterday, seeing his muscles in his jersey had been too much to handle, you’d had to jot it all down in your diary, fast becoming a Satoru Gojo diary. Not that you could say anything, he’s always got a girl on his arm.

You remember that kiss so well, what had he been thinking? Sometimes you worry it was some dare, some joke or something. It’s the only kiss you’ve had still, though you think if you had another you could maybe start pushing that back, maybe realize it wasn’t so amazing, right?

Satoru comes with you now, walking beside you, hands in the pockets of his jeans, you all are walking toward the food court. “Missed ya short stuff.”

“Missed you, tall ass.” You giggle now as he grins down at you, nudging you. “Everyone’s short compared to you. What are you even eating!?”

“Lots of candy and cookies.”

“Ah, that’s the secret. I’ll grab you something sweet.” You order pizza for everyone, then you order churros, one of Satoru’s favorites. He moans when he sees it, hugging and picking you up, you try to ignore how the casual touch gets you.

“Thank you, sweets.” He smacks a kiss on your cheek, you cup your face carefully, looking down at your tennis shoes.

“No biggie. Gotta feed you, growing boy and all.” He starts nibbling as you all wait for the pizza to finish, sitting at a little booth now, his thighs are spread and they’re so long they’re pressing against your thighs, making you so flustered, but you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

He does notice though, he notices everything about you, he wants to tell you then, to stop this facade of friendship. But he’s on a date, and you’re both with friends in a crowded bowling alley. It doesn’t seem the right moment, but he’s carefully watching you while you are taking a little sip of your drink.

“Have a bite.” He says, and you freeze.

An indirect kiss!?

You are thinking too much!

You lean forward and take a nibble, he watches as you do, little crystals of sugar on your lips. “Yummy.”

An indirect kiss!

Satoru thinks with a smile, wiping the little bit of sugar dust off you, and then freezing. You both freeze, your eyes locked on each other, Satoru’s thumb lingers on your lower lip, eyes lowering to stare at it, your chest rises and falls with your breaths, his attention now on your collarbone, where you still wear that necklace he got you forever ago.

A friendship necklace.

“You still wear that, huh?” He asks quietly now, you touch it as is a habit, it’s a long faded half of a yin yang.

“Of course I do. Do you have yours?”

“I still have it.” You smile, brightening his heart then, and he opens his mouth, he has to just say it, to say he has that necklace dangling off a picture frame, and the picture is of you and him. A polaroid you all took together on a field trip, that he looks at it every night.

“That makes me unreasonably happy. I was sure you tossed it.”

Satoru blinks. “Tossed it?”

“Well yeah, we’re older now, and I know Suguru is your real best friend. I’m like secondary, honorary.” You playfully mess up his perfect silky locks, but he doesn’t laugh, no he’s serious again, as serious as that eighth grade dance.

“Do you like Nanami?” He asks suddenly, surprising you.

“He is sweet and so handsome, yeah. I do like emo boys a bit. Why?” You ask curiously, pretending to like Nanami, would it make it less painfully obvious that you’re in love with Satoru?

He frowns now. “I didn’t like seeing you two-”

“Pizza’s up.” Satoru uses the moment, hopping up, leaving you confused, but he doesn’t even acknowledge any of it, just grabbing the pizza boxes and smiling down at you casually.

“Satoru, what did you mean? Do you think I wouldn’t be good for Nanami?” You ask, insecurities wracking you. He shakes his head as you both head toward your friends again, through the busy room.

“No, I didn’t say that, not at all.”

“So what do you mean?” He opens his mouth again, just as his girlfriend bounces up and smiles at him, and you realize how foolish you are to think he meant that.

You all go back to being more separated, Nanami has gotten you a slice of pizza and you’re both sitting together and smiling, but your eyes keep going to Satoru, hurt in them when his clingy ass girlfriend practically drapes herself on him. Satoru needs to let these feelings go, he’s doing nothing but hurting and confusing you. So he decides the best thing to do?

A little bit of distance.

*****

Present Day

“Is that why you basically ignored me for like months?” You ask curiously, Satoru spins and dips you, bending you back over his arm in a move that would make anyone swoon, and of course you do, his lips hovering over yours.

He brings you back up, making you dizzy and breathless. “I thought I was hurting you, confusing you.”

“You definitely were confusing. But I missed you when you didn’t spend any time with me at all. That hurt.” He nods just a bit, the song is ending, and you’re still pressed so close against him.

“I wanted to say that I didn’t like Nanami with you, because I wanted to be with you. But how could I say that?”

“I don’t know… you could have tried to?”

“Stop being all logical.” You snort now. “Another orgasm on the list.” He whispers against your ear, you tremble now.

“Are you all finally going to get this tension taken care of?” Shoko asks, and you gasp, realizing they’re all watching you two.

“Tension?”

“Since high school.” Shoko says.

“Nah, Middle School.” Nanami counters.

“Even younger.” Suguru chimes in, and you watch Gojo’s cute little blush overtake his perfect pale skin.

“Seems like you all planned this.” You admonish, and they whistle, looking every which way, but Satoru looks right at you still.

“Think you’re invited to the afterparty, my place?” He says softly, unlike most of the people in dorms or frat houses, Satoru has his own place, beautiful too. You look at your friends now.

“Are they invited?”

“Nah, exclusive.”

“Oh just go, dear god. I’m so tired of the pining.” Shoko says, shoving at Satoru and handing you your coat.

“You kicking us out!?” You demand playfully, only being shooed right out, into the cold snowy night with Satoru. His hands come to warm your cheeks, as you stare at him with glittery eyes, eyes that make his heart falter every time. “Satoru I really… I’ve been… for so long…”

“Ah-ah. You have two more Christmas stories. C’mon, I’ll tell you one on the way.” You follow him breathlessly to his fancy black sports car, he turns on the heat after he starts the car, a hand pressing on your thigh. You lean close to his side, cuddling against him for warmth like a cat. “Remind me to get you cold more often.”

“I hate the cold, ugh. You’re warm though.” You snuggle closer, shutting your eyes and inhaling the scent of his cologne. “Feels so natural.”

“I know, it always scared me.”

“Did it? Wait, are we transitioning to another teen Gojo tale!?”

He chuckles now, one hand brushing against your thigh, you’re wrapped around his arm, his other hand guiding the steering wheel, the lights scattering across the dark night, reflecting his perfect profile. You feel the heat building and building, even worse by the orgasm he’d brought you, planting a little kiss on his neck.

Your lips on his neck drive him so crazy, as does your sweet little body against him, he inhales that scent he’s always loved, this vanilla cupcake scent that makes his mouth water. How do you still smell just like that? How do your lips still taste so sweet, burned in memories.

“I really should tell you how I feel too.” You say softly, and his heart pounds in his ears as he tries to focus on the road. “After your two last stories, Santa.”

“Ah, yes. Be good and listen.” His hand now wraps your waist, making your thoughts anything but nice, but you nod against his neck, holding him close. “We’re up to Senior year, are you ready for the trip?”

“Ready. What part of Senior year, spirit guide?”

“That closet.” His voice gets husky.

“Oh… oh shit.”

*****

The fourth time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

Senior Year of High School- age 18

“I can’t believe they put us in here.” You whisper, trapped in the closet with Satoru Gojo, just last week he was proclaimed prom King, and he’s as popular as ever, somehow taller too.

Satoru’s mind is foggy as he stands in the little closet with you, he’s so close he can inhale that scent, he can feel you against him. He feels his body react, god if he just brushes against you it does. And you’re both just not as close as you once were, since the awkwardness of watching you with Nanami, who you even dated for a few months, much to his displeasure to see.

You’re both single now, something that hasn’t happened in some time, it seems Satoru always has arm candy, and you always were left to wonder if he’d ever notice you. Even in a closet, you imagine his mind is far away, perhaps on his ex-girlfriend, the prom queen and cheer captain. You couldn’t even do a somersault without getting injured, a clumsy mess.

You hate comparing yourself, but you can’t help it with Satoru, you’ve had boyfriends now, you’ve had kisses. A little more experience. But something keeps drawing you back to all the what ifs, of how someone can be so close to you, yet so distant, just out of reach, as if you couldn’t touch him like you wanted… some barrier he has.

“They’re just always thinking you have a crush on me.” Satoru says teasingly, cocky as hell. You snort, rolling your eyes.

“Uh huh. Well I don’t.”

“I don’t either.”

For some reason his words hurt you, and deeply.

Just like your errant words hurt him.

Both of you lying, both of you hurting, and for what? Well, because you still can’t picture a world where Satoru likes you, and he can’t manage to open up, to be honest with you. He’s right behind your back, you feel his breaths against your neck, blowing and tickling your hair now, making you tremble.

“Good, wouldn’t wanna break your nerdy heart.” He whispers, hands on your waist, taking it over, long fingers sinking into the jut of your hips. Your breath comes even quicker in the dark, quiet room now.

“You’re mean lately, your head’s so big I don’t know how it fits through doors.” Satoru laughs, meanly, pressing harder against you.

“Not the only thing that’s big.” He whispers, you tremble now, looking back nervously, eyes adjusting in the dark.

“W-well I won’t find out. Not your type.”

“Says who?”

“Says your very long list of girls. And that’s cool, but don’t confuse me.” You turn to him now, pressed against him intimately in the closet, and suddenly everything stops, the world stops, as he holds you in his arms. As he feels your bare skin from your crop top, so sexy he wishes no one else could see you. “Satoru…”

“You’re beautiful.” Your breath stops in your lungs, when he leans in so close, god it’s been four years since middle school, but you can still feel it lingering, that kiss all those years ago. His words muddle your mind.

“What?”

“Beautiful. You always have been, okay? Stop thinking that you’re not.” Your tears hit your eyes, while you tremble in his strong hold, fire coursing through your veins, mind whirling.

“Oh, thank you Satoru. That’s sweet.”

“Sweet? Nah.”

“It is. Thank you.” You lean up now, kissing his cheek, he shuts his eyes at how good you feel, your every curve pressed against him, his hands slipping down your hips now, you gasp, a little breathy, sexy sound. He turns his head now, lips brushing yours for just a moment.

Just a moment and then he’s devouring your mouth, tongue slipping in, taking over everything you are, and you melt with him, tongue meeting his stroke for stroke, as he presses you further against him. His hand pulls at your hair, making pain hit your scalp, but it feels so good. You moan, a sound you’ve not made with a guy, and he practically growls now.

Satoru presses you against the wall, the clothes on either side of you separating, dresses on either side of your skin when he lifts you, and your legs wrap around his hips. You pull back to suck in a breath, looking at Satoru with wide eyes, and he glints even in the dark, his lips glossy, he’s breathing as heavy as you. His strong hands grip your thighs, you feel how excited you are then.

“Satoru, what are we doing?” You ask carefully, and he wants to finally say it, in this closet, at some dumb party. He wants to say it, that he’s in love, that kissing you is better than anything he could imagine.

The door knocks now. “Seven minutes over!” You both separate quickly, you adjust your skirt, embarrassed at how you reacted, your nipples tight against your top, clearly visible, judging by his bright blue eyes that are glaring at them.

“What was that!?” You demand in a hushed whisper, and he opens his mouth, as the door keeps knocking. He glares now, opening it, and seeing it’s his ex, prom queen herself, she looks at you both and laughs now.

“Well that was probably a boring seven minutes.” You feel the words crush you, making you feel sick, you can feel you’re literally on fire from him. What is this, is this just what he does!?

Satoru sees you rushing away, and he follows you, ignoring his ex, trailing you and shouting your name. It was your turn to run from him, he supposes, usually it’s him running. He finally catches you, you’re shivering as the chill of autumn is hitting, and you’re barely wearing anything.

“You’re gonna get sick in that, wearing nothing!”

“You’re not my big brother. Certainly not right now after… what even was that!?” You demand, turning to him, eyes glistening with tears.

He feels it like a punch to the gut.

“You can’t just kiss me when you’re bored and date everyone else, everyone in your league.” Tears are falling, you’re shivering, Satoru gulps, shaking his head now.

“No, it’s not that. You’re in anyone’s league, fuck you’re out of anyone’s. I didn’t kiss you because of that.”

“Then why? Don’t you know, it means a lot to me?”

“I…”

“I’m not like you, I don't just sleep around.”

Satoru glares now. “And who says I do?”

“The entire school! And I don’t care as a friend, but I do care if you think I’m available like that.”

“You think I want to fuck you?” He asks, raising a brow, and your heart sinks in your stomach. “I didn’t try to fuck you, did I?”

“Then what…”

“Kissing, in a closet. You think that means sex? You’re cute, little virgin.” He pats your head and you smack at his hand, glaring, hurt written all over your face. Satoru hates himself so much, but he can’t say it, especially now. How can he even begin to tell you the truth!?

“I know what sex is.” Satoru glares. “I’m not an amusement, I’m your friend, you can’t act like that.”

“Fine then I won’t kiss you again, ya happy?”

“No!”

“No?” You shake your head, stomping away now, he grabs your wrist, making you glare at it. “Please, I’m sorry. I just…”

“Just what!?” Your face is covered with tears. “Just go get your prom queen, and leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I… I shouldn’t have…”

“Shouldn’t have kissed me?” You whisper, he just gulps, aching to tell you how badly he wants you, to tell you he is in love with you. But he just stands there, like a damn idiot, as you continue to cry, yanking your hand away. “Don’t worry, we’ll just forget it.”

“What!? I didn’t-”

“Good bye.”

*****

Present Day

“Damn this place is beautiful, Satoru.” You murmur as you walk in after riding the elevator up, lingering memories of high school still in the air, creating tension.

His loft is sleek and gorgeous, an expansive open space with high ceilings, windows that overlook the night, you exhale at the view. It’s illuminating the modern room softly, a mix of lights in the buildings and moonlight seeping in. Sleek paintings of all kinds decorate his walls, it’s cozy and inviting, you’ve been here before, but something is different.

Everything is different.

“You want a drink, Sweets?” He murmurs softly, his hands slipping up and down your back, creating a network of goosebumps everywhere he touches.

“Am I staying the night Toru?” You tease. He smiles so big now, illuminating the room.

“Of course you are. You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you.” Your breath catches at his tone, he casually smirks and saunters off to his kitchen, leaving you pulsing, as if your pussy has a goddamn heartbeat. “Aw, shy now?”

“N-no. I’ll take one.” You follow him into the pretty, sleek kitchen, Satoru has cookies he’s made earlier sitting on the stove, he pulls out bottles from his bar, mixing you up a drink, you take it and eye the cookies. “Are you baking for Santa?”

“I’m interested in your cookie.”

“Oh stop!” You snort in laughter, he does too, finally taking the santa hat off, popping it right on your head carefully. You lean up, slicking back his hair into place, feeling it like silk under your touch.

“You’re getting minimum four orgasms tonight. But I’ll give you a fifth if you can guess the next time I fucked up.”

“Guess? Shit… I think it was the night we both fucked up.”

“Ding-ding-ding.” He taps your nose, you smile at it, then he sips his drink as you do, now leaning back against the counter, looking up at him. “You’ve been so good though, I think I’ll give you another right now.”

“Oh yeah? I’m on the nice list?” You gasp when he’s bending low, sinking two fingers under your panties and inside your eager cunt, he moans out loud with you when you cling to him. “Oh f-fuck…”

“S’tight, s’wet…” He’s pressing that spongy spot in your gummy little walls now, your head falls back, leg wrapped on his, he’s kissing down your neck as he presses over and over, making you see stars. “There’s that spot. Good girl.”

“Toru!” You cry out as he fingers you with his stupidly long fingers, longer than the one guy you’ve been with, longer than his entire cock. You’re sure he didn’t hit as deep as Satoru’s fingers, and he surely didn’t finger you like that. You’re overtaken, cunt dripping down his hand, down to his silver rolex and dress sleeves.

“Hear yourself, huh sweetheart? How fuckin wet you are.” His low tone just edges you further, now he’s pulling back to look at you, and you’re closer and closer.

“Fuck me, please.” You beg, he moans, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

“Oh fuck your santa stories, and fuck me-” He slams his lips on yours, pumping his fingers in and out of your soppy little cunt now, and you hear it squishing lewdly in the quiet loft, he presses other fingers against your breast, squishing as he pumps them, until you fall over the edge now, cumming so hard you can’t see.

“There it is, you’re taking them so good.” He cooes those words, you’re already fucked out and you haven’t even been fucked by him yet. You blink and struggle to make him come into focus, gasping for stuttering breaths.

“Oh my… oh my… I…” The room is spinning, he takes his fingers, dripping wet with your arousal, shoving them into your mouth now.

“Taste how sweet you are.” He orders, and you do just that, sucking on his fingers, tongue swirling around them, your pussy is pulsing more and more wetness out, as you crave more of him. “God you’re sexy.”

“Please…” You pull him down by his collar, kissing him, swapping the taste of you, only making Satoru harder. He can’t wait to bury his face in your plump little cunt, god it’s all he can think of.

“Patience. You came twice already, look at me.” You grab him then, and he about dies, nearly cumming from your touch, gasping.

“Let me take care of you.”

“Fuck you’re a little horny brat. You have one more story.” You sigh then, head falling back, for more of Satoru’s kisses and bites, he wants to fuck you senseless, but he also wants to savor this, to make this perfect for you.

“Oh fine but I’m aching.”

Well so is he, precum making a wet spot in his boxers, straining against the fabric of his jeans, just from the smallest little touch. You’re so wet and hot there, so greedily your cunt sucked up his fingers, he can only hope he can last, if you touch him at all it will probably end him. He’s been waiting for this moment for so long.

“One more story, can you last?” He challenges. You giggle then, nodding.

“I can make it.” He studies you, bright eyed in that damn santa hat, imagining how beautiful your body must look while he gently strokes your shoulders, you bite your lip, eyes lidded with desire.

He hopes he can make it too.

*****

The Fifth time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

College- Sophomore year- age 20

Everyone was celebrating the ball game, they had won nationals, and everyone was praising the all stars, Suguru and Satoru. They also were top of the fraternity, none of this was really your style, you were focused a little more on academics, though you helped Satoru study a ton to keep his high GPA, he was as smart as could be and still could accomplish so much.

You had been so proud of him, cheering him on from the stands eagerly. You all had taken some time to make up after that high school party, but truly you couldn’t be mad at him for long. You equated it to some strong spiked punch and being shoved in a closet together, close proximity. It certainly couldn’t be anything else.

Satoru comes up to you now with a big wide grin on his face, picking you up and spinning you, donned only in a Toga, showing far too much of his chiseled body. “Missed you short stuff!”

“Missed you too, Toru.” He hugs you so tight you hear your damn ribs creak, before he finally sets you down.

“You at a Frat Party!?”

“Yes, I had to celebrate the victory with you. So I make an appearance.”

“Elusive.” Suguru comes up and says, you hug him tightly.

“I miss you too!”

“You should hang out more.” He looks at Satoru. “Way more, shouldn’t she?”

“Um what? Sure.” He shrugs, looking away, as his friend calls him the fuck out, but luckily you’re oblivious, still a little shy, insecure thing.

If you were his you’d never feel that way.

But could you ever be? Or was Satoru stuck in this friend zone with you, until you move on, get married, have kids… go be a writer, he’s sure you’ll be famous, you’re so talented. And he’ll marry who he’s supposed to, who his parents pressure him to, and have a career with basketball, soon what would you all be, memories of each other?

But then why do you still wear it?

It’s a charm on your bracelet now, he imagines the little rope it was on broke long ago with all the wear it got, but you have his little yin charm right there, along with more charms you’ve added over the years. His gaze darts up your body, you’re wearing a sexy little grecian gown to go with the theme, with a golden crown in your hair of fake leaves.

You’ve even got glitter all over your skin, you’re so damn beautiful, like an actual goddess. So effortlessly pretty you take his breath away, he feels the effects of studying your curves right on his cock, he shifts then, hoping you can’t see it. But your eyes remain on his, as Suguru hands you a beer.

“Thanks Suguru. You all know I don’t drink these though.”

“Oh don’t be a baby, do it.” Satoru teases, you snort, and Satoru’s watching hungrily as you sip it. “What a baby sip.”

“I’m not chugging it!”

“Well I’m doing a keg stand.” Suguru gives you a little peck on the cheek, smirking as he earns Satoru’s ire. He knows more than anyone how long Satoru has been pathetic for you.

How do you not know?

“Go have fun, crazy.” You step a little closer to Satoru now, looking at the loud game of beer pong.

“Wanna play?”

“Oh god no, I’ll suck so bad.”

“Nah, c’mon.” Satoru drags you over by your hand, wondering if tonight could be the night. He’s coming off this high of winning that championship, you’re standing here looking like Venus herself, surely he can do it.

Why is he so afraid to tell you?

Soon you all are competitive, but he’s winning, annihilating you honestly, smacking every bounce you attempt, throwing and sinking endless pong balls into those solo cups. You pout now, earning his laughter as you keep sipping on your beer, until you end up with another. You finally sink one and bounce up and down, arms in the air, so fucking cute.

“Haha- take that, Toru!” You place your hands on your hips, sticking your tongue out, he’s reminded of the day he met you, the day he thought you were so cute he needed to yank your pigtails, and you’d stuck out a tongue.

“One hit and you’re claiming victory? What are you, the goddess of war?”

“Goddess of nothing, silly. You’re the one looking like a god.” You flush so damn cute now, looking down shyly at your words.

“A god hmm? Fits me.”

“Oh you’re so conceited.” You roll your eyes at him, but he does look like one, his strong, long, chiseled frame. He’s so gorgeous it makes you ache, he always has been, but it’s like every time you see him it’s worse, this need, this desire.

To be with him in so many ways.

Ways you haven’t yet, ways you shouldn’t want him.

“Finish the game, brat.” He tosses a ball your way, you laugh now, sinking another one and cheering, and soon you’re both a little tipsy, and playing together against Shoko and Suguru.

You both kick their asses, much to their dismay, Shoko opts for vodka shots like a classy bitch, Suguru is on another keg stand, and you and Satoru are giggling and dancing around to the music. It’s so loud you feel it thrumming through your entire body, Satoru’s so easy to fall into, you keep trying to hold back, but how can you? When he’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

And how can Satoru ever hold back with you? He’s tried, four different times, to tell you how much he loves you, yet… How can he? As he’s grabbing your hip, pulling you against him, your head falling on his chest, as you’re grinning so big, he just… has to say it.

He has to.

“I need to say something…” He murmurs then, you can barely hear him, leaning up closer.

“Hmm? What Toru?”

Someone bumps into you then, knocking you against Gojo, and he glares now, shoving at the drunk frat brother. You wave your arms to stop him. “What the fuck man, watch it.”

“Shit, my bad Gojo, chill.” He then grins all big as he looks at you, where your toga is now falling, revealing far too much of your breast. You squeak, quickly trying to pin it up, and now Gojo’s torn between wanting to see you, and anger at this asshole. Gojo shoves him into a wall then.

“Don’t fuckin’ look at her.” He says through his teeth, surprising you then.

“What, she's your girl? Weren’t you just banging a girl out last night?” He says with a laugh, and Satoru pauses, but you hear it.

You feel sick then, stepping back, how can you be so dumb, to think Satoru would want you, or choose you!? He’s never going to be interested, the only times he’s kissed you he was… why had he kissed you!? What was this friendship? Was it a friendship at all or you holding on to the idea of hope with him.

You’re blinking back stupid tears as you run off to a room, sobbing as you struggle to fix your toga, only for Satoru to walk in. You glare now.

“Go!”

“We’re not together, why are you mad if I fuck someone?” He demands, and you sputter, shaking your head, tears hot and sticky as they fall.

“I shouldn’t be upset.”

“Then why?” He’s right against you, big hands on your shoulders, you look up at him now, mascara streaking down your cheeks, his stomach drops at it.

“Because I’ll never be… I’ll never be…”

“Be what?”

“Yours.”

“Wh-what!?” You shake your head now, running out of the room, Satoru’s chasing you, reminiscent of two years ago, fuck it’s always a chase, a push and pull. “Come here! Stop it!”

“No, I’m done with this, with you giving me bits of affection, only to ruin them.” You shove at him now, he’s grabbing you, pulling you against him. “Don’t you kiss me, don’t you dare tease me.”

“I don’t kiss you to tease you, I kiss you-”

“For a game!”

“Shut your mouth.”

You scowl. “You shut your mouth.” Satoru shuts both your mouths, as you’re outside the insane frat house, pressing you against the brick wall of the dormitory, smothering your lips with his. You bite his lower lip, glaring as he pulls back.

“Stop running from me, stop hiding.” He begs, and you sigh.

“Why should I? I won’t be a notch on your bedpost.”

“You think-” Several people start filing out now, and Satoru’s got you pressed right on that wall, his chest heaving as he hovers, as the chaos ensues all around you both. “You think you’re that to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you. A friend you kiss every two fucking years or so?” You say with an angry glare, and he cups your waist, burning your bare skin with his touch, shooting desire straight through you.

“You’re so much more than that. If you’d just let me show you.” He whispers, but you’re so scared then, of letting go, your breathing gets erratic, as you feel his thigh pressing between yours, moving on it, earning his soft moan, vibrating his chest as your hands slip up it. “I have to tell you something, please.”

“I’m listening, mmm.” You arch again, craving him so badly, nothing like you’ve felt with anyone, it’s so maddening.

“I really… I really…” Satoru’s pausing now, stuttering, you make him a mess, he’s resting his head on yours, feeling your heat, thinking of sinking into it. Sure he had girls, only because he couldn’t have you. You were his all consuming thoughts, but how does he put it to words?

“Really…” You urge him on, and he gulps then, panicking. What if you don’t feel the same!? What if he ruins this…

“I really… you’re really…”

“Satoru! Satoru!” They all start cheering then, a whole group of his frat brothers, fists pumping in the air, and he lets you go, leaving you aching with need, he looks at you so longingly, you’re dying to know just what he wanted to say, but he smiles then, kissing your cheek, shaking his head.

“Come on.” He yanks you with him, as everyone starts chanting for Satoru, and you try to pretend you are okay, as Satoru hides his feelings yet again, and as you think maybe you should give up on it happening.

You’re in love with him, and it hurts.

How can you let him go finally?

*****

Present Day

“You were trying to tell me something. Important.” You say softly now, in Satoru’s cozy kitchen, and he nods then, gulping, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I was. I was trying to confess… that I love you.” You blink once, twice, three times. Surely you’re dreaming. Surely he can’t…

“You love me?” You whisper back, and he nods, so beautiful as he cups your face in his big hands.

“So you see, baby… I can’t just hook up.” Satoru’s words bring you to the present, his eyes are glossy, mirroring the deep emotions you both feel, your breaths come faster, as he lifts you up, placing you on his counter.

“All this time… you felt the same?” You whisper, he swipes at your tears now, smiling.

“You crying?” He asks, and you just nod, remembering that day. “I’ve loved you since I threw those snowballs at you. So, so long ago, I knew it, that I was in love with this pretty, sweet girl.”

“Satoru…” You snatch him to you, kissing him through your falling tears, salty against your sweet lips. Satoru’s heart feels so achingly full, his hands shake as he slips them up your thighs, he’s never been nervous until now. Never felt anything like this, like your thighs around his narrow hips, pressing his fingers into the plush of them.

“There can be no hook up, pretty. I need you to be mine if you want this, I need you to be only mine.” Satoru says softly, possessive now, you feel yourself melting more and more, feel the insane need build inside of you.

“Satoru, I’m in love with you too. I have been, since you gave me your jacket after plowing me with giant snowballs, you mean little shit.” He laughs now, through his own tears, that you swipe with trembling fingers, exhaling. “Oh Satoru, I’ve always been yours.”

He slams his lips on you now, picking you up in his arms, you cling to him as he clumsily navigates you to his room, your tongues not stopping, teeth clicking together with the force of your kisses. You’re drinking every bit of him in, as he’s drinking you in, barely coming up for air, in gasps. Your kisses get hungrier, messier, sloppier than anything you’ve ever known.

Satoru’s hands are all over you as he lays you down on his bed, pressing you into his soft, plush mattress, leaning up to study you, carefully, brushing his fingers across your cheeks, wiping the last of your tears. “All mine?”

“All yours.” He moans again, kissing you deeply, hands slipping up your dress, you’re arching up for more of his touch, his kisses, hands hastily unbuttoning his dress shirt, kissing each piece of revealed skin.

“Baby… I need to see you. Now. Please.” He says softly, giving you puppy dog eyes, you nod, so nervous, when he pulls back, pulling you to sit, and slipping your dress up over your head, the santa hat falling with it. When you’re bare to him aside from your damn panties and lacy little bra, he groans. “Oh my god.”

You are so beautiful his heart pounds in his chest, Satoru drinks you in, your every perfect curve and line, every inch of your silky smooth skin on display. He unlatches your bra with a quick flick, revealing those perfect tits he’d sucked on earlier, god you make his mouth salivate. He’s literally drooling when he gets to your panties now, a soaking mess.

“You got so wet.” He cooes, enjoying your reaction, your hips shifting, thighs pressing together, as he eases them off you, finally seeing your pussy for the first time. “Fuck it’s perfect.”

“Th-thank you… Toru!” He’s lost it now, hungrily staring at your bare cunt, glistening with your arousal, lips all puffy from his edging. He exhales, just his breath making you shiver, crying out.

“So easy, hmm?”

“Oh you… ah!” Satoru breathes against you again, grinning as you jerk, as much as he wants to make love love to you, god he also wants to fuck you senseless.

“Imma ruin you for anyone.” His insane words versus the sweetness wreck you already, you’re screaming out when he flicks his tongue up your slit, looking down into his bright blue eyes, seeing the shift. Satoru is going feral as he inhales you, pressing his face against you, nose bumping your engorged clit, kissing at your entrance.

“Toru!” Your hands are gripping his hair so tightly you’re pulling it, as you feel him against you, as he tastes you there. Then he’s devouring your pussy, spreading the lips wide, tongue sliding into your velvety walls, fucking you with it, making you start to gush all over his pretty face, moaning as your back arches.

Satoru’s lapping up all your honeyed arousal, as you start dripping everywhere, and your walls are fluttering around that wet muscle. “F-fuck, taste s’good… god could do this forever.”

“Ngh!” Is all you manage, incoherent at the pleasure his mouth is giving you, feeling your peak coming as he slips two fingers back in you, pulling back and looking up at you, face glittering in your slick. The sight of it edges you on, as he finally licks your clitoris, just one flick and you shatter.

“That’s it, good girl… s’good f’me.” He whispers, as you’re pulsing around his thick fingers, and he laps up more of your cum. “You’re so messy.”

“M-messy…” You can’t function, you’re trembling with aftershocks, he grins at you, an insane feral fucking grin, his silky white locks falling just so. “Please, lemme see you.” You manage, and he gulps now, blushing pink, shocking you since he’d just been so cocky. “Satoru, lemme touch you.”

“Not too much, I won’t last.” He admits, and leans back off the bed standing, you watch him, raising up on your elbows, hair falling down behind you softly like a curtain. He starts to get undressed, and you drink every inch he bares in slowly, his hard, chiseled body, all the lean muscles, abs cut within an inch of your life. Your eyes go lower now as he unbuckles his belt.

You bite your lip, cunt still aching from his play, from the pleasure he has brought you, but when he gets to his boxers, and your eyes trail down the white hair below his belly button you gasp. His cock slaps that belly button when he takes off his boxers, and Satoru Gojo is huge, thick, long with a curved pink tip, beading with pearly white precum already.

“Oh my god… you’re so beautiful, Satoru.” You say softly, coming to your knees on the bed, he exhales nervously, he has always known he looks good, but hearing you say it meant everything. Seeing the desire makes your eyes dilate and glitter, as your eyes worship him.

“You’re beautiful, especially on your knees.” You kiss down his abdomen, then you kill him, when you grip his cock with your tiny little hand, that friendship charm still dangling from your wrist, and God Satoru cannot wait to buy you real jewelry, a ring to glitter as you stroke him.

His hands enwrap in your hair, pulling it into a ponytail as you lap at his tip with a kitten flick, making his eyes roll back, he can tell you’re maybe not experienced as you try to suck, making out with his tip, but he loves it, he loves you. Anything you’re doing to him, your soft strokes and you sucking more and more, until you’re drooling all over his cock.

“I need to be inside you, now baby. Sorry, I can't take this.” He has you back on your back so quick you barely blink, and then you feel him, stroking his thick tip on your slick cunt, you’re shaking, arching up, so ready.

“Will it fit though?” You ask, and he chuckles, blushing more now.

“As wet as this pussy is? Fuck yeah it will.” You whimper as he’s kissing you, pushing your legs apart with his knee, and aligning his cock with your soaking entrance. “You ready?”

You nod, breath shaky, and Satoru pushes in, so slowly, letting you feel every inch of his thickness filling you up, stretching you. You feel so full, so complete with him inside you, he gasps as he sinks deeper, stretching and burning your skin, but you crave it, you want more, more, more.

He grips your hands, entwining them above your head, so intimate and beautiful you want to cry. “God, baby, you’re so tight. So wet. Fuck… look at you.” He sinks in deeper, lifting a thigh now, releasing a hand, eyes studying every bit of your face as you take more of him. “So pretty.”

“Satoru!” You’re whining out, your nails digging into his back as his cock sliding deeper, deeper still, so many inches you can’t comprehend, until he’s shoved so deep you feel him against your cervix. “Oh my god…”

“Oh my god…” He moans right with you, your pussy clenching him so tight, he can feel your walls gripping him like a vise, but you take him, fuck you take him, so greedy your slick little cunt, pushing him over the edge. “Fuck.. that’s it… slutty little cunt loves it, hmm?”

“Slutty, I- you- ah! There, there!” You scream out when he hits that spot with his tip, dragging on it inside your walls, and you’re pouring so much wetness you can hear it, as the gentle slap slap slap of his pelvis on your ass hits, as his balls are smacking your little ass hole, and his white hair is grinding on your clit when he bottoms out, you’re soaking his veiny length, dripping onto his fancy covers.

“That’s it, baby, s’good. Taking this dick like it’s made for you.” He huffs, fucking you harder now, faster, making you shudder as he slips his hand between you both, pressing a thumb against your clit, making you cum so hard all you see is stars, glittery fucking darkness.

Is this what you’ve been missing!?

“L-love you…. L-love - ah!” You’re brokenly confessing as he lifts a thigh, pressing it high, yanking your hips down more on his length, fucking you harder and harder with every thrust.

“You’re m-mine now, baby. All - f-fuck- mine, to fuck whenever I want, however I want. Got me baby?” He whispers, losing it over you, you’re so perfect, so wet, so pretty under him, he’s imagining every position he wants you in, every place he wants to fuck you in, how he wants to cum in your perfect little cunt, fill you. “Answer me baby, answer me.”

His voice is whiny, pleading, you’re barely able to take a breath or function, damn near falling off the earth, clinging to his perfect skin for any stability, as he starts to pound mercilessly into your pussy. Sweat drips down his nose onto one of your breasts, which he squishes with his hand, pinching your nipple and twisting as he fucks so hard it hurts.

“Too much, too much.” You manage, and he smiles now, that cocky Satoru you’ve known your whole life, leaning down and rolling his hips just so, grinding that leaky tip against your cervix, pushing you to cum again, this time you’re drooling, mouth wide open.

“Aw you’re s’cute like this… look at you. Drooling. Dumb fucked out look.” You can’t even be mad, you want him to keep going, so you whine, nodding just a bit, earning his grin. “And you like it, being so slutty just for me. Only me.”

“Y-you.” Is all you manage, but it’s enough to send him over the fucking edge, pressing your thighs up high, smushing your breasts, now he’s so deep you feel him everywhere, your stomach, your entire body, he’s moaning as he watches your tummy bulge between your thighs.

“Feel me, everywhere, fucking up your guts… huh?” You just weakly nod, whining as you’re so embarrassingly wet, you hear every slutty sound of his cock wrecking you. “Made f’me, s-say it again.”

“Made for ah- y-you! Satoru!” He’s groaning, leaning his heavy weight on you, pelvis smacking hard as he stuffs you so full, too fucking full, and now he’s cupping your face, insane swirling blue eyes drinking you in.

“Anyone fill you yet, baby?” You shake your head, and he grins even more psychotically. “Good, Imma fill you up, gonna be d-dripping me for days.”

“C-cum in me, cum in me. D-do it, please.” You beg, you don’t fucking care, you want it, you need it. His hips stutter, mouth dropped open as his cock thrusts harder and harder in your now sloppy pussy, so wet and needy she’s sucking him up.

“Cum in you? F-fill you baby?” He’s so sweet now, a psychotic contradiction that you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of. “Put a baby in you?”

“Baby!? I… fuck it… yes! Put one in me, please.” You’re pathetic for him, and he relishes in it, starting to thicken, as your cunt milks him.

“Gonna breed you, f-fuck you feel so- ah - gonna breed your pussy, every fucking day, got me? Say yes baby.”

“Y-yes, please…” He whimpers then, Satoru Gojo, all star, prom king, the strongest man you know, whimpers as he begins to cum inside you so deep, coating your walls with his hot white ropes. You cum just from that, clinging to him, he slams his lips on yours over and over in messy kisses.

“Never felt this, oh my god… your pussy what the… yes baby take it all… f-fuck please…” He’s whining as he pushes his cum deeper inside you, stuffing you so full, still pressing you up, folding you. You’re sobbing now, overwhelmed, pussy so sore but she’s milking him more, even as he’s dripping down his cock and your ass, mixed with your glistening cum.

He’s exhaling now, easing your thighs down, kissing you deeply, over and over, you’re clinging to him, trembling legs so sore, still full of him. He leans up and takes a deep breath, looking at you with those endless blue eyes, eyes that you adore, that face you adore. You get choked up now, tears falling, tears that he gently wipes, like he wasn’t just pounding your cunt.

He’s looking at how beautiful you are under him, the girl he’s loved for as long as he’s even known, tears glittering pretty on your cheeks. “You’re pretty crying, y’know that?”

“Sadistic ass. That’s why you threw the snowballs.” He smiles down at you, so handsome your heart aches.

“You’re mine now. Mine forever.” His words should be crazy, but as you look at the little charm glittering in the night, cupping his face, his words aren’t crazy at all.

“I want to be yours forever. Satoru, I have for so long. I’ve been so scared when you leave…”

“You’re coming with me. Yeah? Basketball wife?” He says with a grin, and you nod then, through your tears, through your smile, a myriad of emotions.

When he’s cleaned you up, and it’s slowly falling snow outside, Satoru has you in his lap once more, his Santa hat on, as you sip cocoa. “Are there more stories I need to know about, Santa Toru?” You ask teasingly, lapping a little whipped cream from your steaming hot mug.

“There is the time I saw you in the girls locker room.”

You glare. “What now!?”

“On accident!”

“Oh this better be good.” You snatch his cocoa up with a scowl.

“Don’t take my cocoa baby, you’ll get on the naughty list.” He says with a glare, and you’re glaring right back.

“Oh, I’m so scared Santa!” He bends you over the chair now, slipping his hand up under the dress shirt of his you’re wearing, with nothing else. You gasp when his hand smacks your ass cheek, making you jolt, desire pooling in your tummy all over again, when he leans forward over you.

“Merry Christmas. It’s midnight.” He says, you peek at that watch, as he smacks your other ass cheek, and you’re moaning, head falling back. “Looks like you’re not gonna be able to sit for Christmas dinner.”

And that was the final time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings, and this time it worked, and you felt the same the entire time <3

I hope you all enjoyed the cuteness and idiots in love, it was a request for a 5+1 that FLEW off the handle. Ty for readingggg

Gen Masterlist here

Geto’s 5+1 HERE

[cutehoons02]

Forced roomates or forced to be lovers?

University series: Jungwon Jake Jay

*pairing: popular pervy gamer Heeseung x popular cheerleader

*trope: forced roomates/opposites attract

*synopsis: Heeseung, a slightly introverted nerd but popular in the world of video games and in his computer course, with a passion for video games, and Y/n, the most popular cheerleader on campus, they find themselves sharing the apartment due to a mistake in the allocation of rooms. They could not be more different: he loves to spend sleepless nights in front of the monitor with always in hand a bowl of ramen, immersed in role-playing games, while she lives between exhausting training cheerleaders, evenings at the various parties of the football team and stories on Instagram. Initially the two barely bear each other, but a series of funny and intimate events will lead them to discover that, perhaps, they complement each other.

*tags: A lot of humor, tension, fluff, spicy, pervy Heeseung, a little pervy reader, Unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) pet names (Barbie, Baby, Good girl), pet names (Nerd, Loser), jealousy, teasing, possession, references to video games, cowgirl, +16,sweet moments at the end.

8.4k words

It’s the first time i write explicit scenes so i hope you like (🎮)

Heeseung’s room at that precise moment was full of mathematical forms and calculation sheets and various drawings of characters he invented, you could hear only the noise of the joystick and the various clilc he made in the mouse, with his excellent score in all subjects in the computer course and being one of the best video game players in the state, Hee had the chance to register for an online tournament for only nerds and professional gamers lasting a few months and the first 3 who had unlocked the level "Queen" they would have received a reward from one of the largest video game production companies and only 3 people would have had the chance with funding from the university and this video game production company to create their own virtual game, but he would not have imagined that his life at that exact moment could change with the entry into play of a noisy Cheerleader, who spent hours in their shared bathroom to make masks or to prepare to go out and tease him from morning to night.

He heard loud punches at the door of his apartment and when he took off his headphones he thought that those punches meant only one thing, His friends Jake and Jay had finished football practice and had come to disturb him or eat a cup of ramen together but when he opened the door he choked on his own because he found himself in front of a girl in a mini denim skirt and tight t-shirt with I ♡ HOT BOYS, Blonde as a ray of sunshine with a bright smile and a scent that left a sweet trail every time she shook her long tail of hair and with a bag of lacquered leather that had to cost more than her computer and a pink suitcase. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was. Y/n, one of the strongest cheerleaders on campus and perhaps all other universities, a marketing student and undisputed queen of the campus. She organized the best parties and seemed to always have the answer ready for any situation.

"Hey, i know you’re a nerd and you don’t deal with girls but are you listening to me instead of looking at me like i’m an alien?" Heeseung fixed Y/n’s shirt and felt the cheeks slightly redden when he read the entire I ♡ HOT BOYS writing and looked at how well it wrapped the shirt slightly tight in the breast of the girl in front of him.

"You’re kidding me, right? What if you are one of those perverts who come to the instant only at the sight of a girl in a slightly tapered T-shirt and a skirt? Did you hear what I just said a few seconds ago?"

Finally Y/n heard the voice of Heeseung «I don’t even know what you’re talking about Barbie, i think you’ve got the wrong apartment» replied Hee with an indifferent tone, returning to his room to continue his game of League of Legends. His online teammates were already complaining about his afk.

“Barbie? Are you serious?" Y/n entered his apartment and like a puppy followed the nerd and went into his room and stared at him with a mixture of contempt and disbelief.

"The lease says this is also my apartment and you will be my roommate for next year, Lee Heeseung."

Heeseung froze when he heard that sentence. He paused the game, ignoring the barrage of insults he was receiving in the game’s chat, and turned to her. «Wait. What would your apartment be like? This is my room for...now a year and in the option, i always put that i did not want roommates and then the other room sometimes I need!»

"Well, now that room will be mine. My parents bought the whole student building and the only apartment where there was only one person was yours. Congratulations, nerd. You’ve got the roommate of your nightmares or maybe your most perverse dreams" You whispered these last words near his ear and then you went to get your pink suitcase and to disturb your roommate I played one of the songs that you were supposed to dance on the football field for the beginning of the new season and sang until your room was slightly "Decent" and clean to your standards.

It was two weeks since the beginning of the partnership and you couldn’t stand Heeseung, he was a serious pain in your neck, You didn’t understand how he had so many followers in his profile and so many girls who commented on his life or who added edit about him while playing. Some girls stopped you to ask if he was engaged or if you had taken part in watching him in one of the many tournaments he did. You really hated that nerd especially when you found empty bowls of ramen around the apartment, colored electric cables scattered around the sofa, and Joysticks of shapes and sizes of verse scattered as well in the laundry but the thing you hated most was that he played until late at night and started laughing with his virtual friends at those stupid games or tournaments you always heard about.

The hatred was mutual also on the part of Heeseung, the cheerleader with whom he shared the apartment had monopolized the bathroom they had in common hair dryers, plates with strange shapes, tricks that cost more than the food she ate, glitter, and also bought a kind of mini refrigerator to put his masks or creams for skin care. Heeseung didn’t understand how everyone was following him or how he had so many friends or guys to go out with but the thing that he couldn’t stand about you was being perfect with everyone from the professors, To your friends, family and how you thought you were always the center of attention.

That late afternoon you and Heeseung were both in the apartment, trying to study business but as always when there was Heeseung at home there was never silence. You snorted and went into Heeseung’s room and watched him sitting in the gamer’s station with his hair slightly ruffled around the professional headphones, he had a slight grin but the thing that struck you most were his hands.

God since when did that boy have such attractive hands? They were large, slightly veiny, and wore a silver and black ring that sometimes tortured them for anxiety or maybe to wait for the next level, you recovered from that state and went near the desk.

Heeseung had noticed you but he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of being in the center of attention and kept on wielding his joystick even though he was about to start a game. “Can you turn that down? I’m studying." Heeseung watched you speak, a slight puff came out of his lips as he took off his headphones and wore them around his neck. «What do you want, Barbie?»

"I said if you can please turn down that volume, I’m trying to study."

«And you can stop occupying the bathroom for three hours or sprinkling blue and gold glitter in the bathroom? The other day while I was training, i found a flurry of glitter in my gym shirt, and some thought i joined your flying spinner team!» He answered, not taking his eyes off the monitor while dodging a zombie.

Heeseung looked at you with those little deer eyes put his headphones back on and kept talking to his friends as if you’d never even entered his room until he saw you go under his table for a second and sit between his muscular legs, when you sat down you sunned yourself to look at him and observed the small ones that filled his face. Hee stood still for a moment, caught unawares, but he recovered immediately.

«What are you doing? Do you want to sabotage me? You can’t go to one of the many little friends» he asked with a somewhat grumpy tone. You wanted to take him by surprise and see how long it lasted not to give your attention

"I’m just checking your level of concentration. Don’t tell me I’m the first girl to sit over your legs or do this. You know, as an experienced cheerleader, I enjoy distracting nerds like you." Y/n moved slightly above Heeseung’s legs and watched him straighten his hair perhaps out of frustration or embarrassment.

Heeseung laughed slowly, trying not to show her that she was slightly in awe of the blonde sitting almost above her length.

«You know, I knew that I was a temptress and that I had no fear of anything Y/n but spoiler does not scare me either because I’m used to going into video games of wars, zombies, demons, etc» Y/n started laughing and looked at Heeseung

"How do you know those animated things are scary? Let me see I’m curious, nerd."

Heeseung pressed a button and an unsettling scene appeared on the screen: a dark corridor, distant moans, and a shadow creeping slowly into the bloodshot view with eyes out of its sockets. Y/n barely jerked, unintentionally clinging to Hee’s shirt.

"What the hell was that monster?" she exclaimed, opening her eyes wide as a zombie made a chilling sound and hurled itself toward the screen. Hee burst out laughing, holding the controller with ease. Oh, I thought cheerleaders were not afraid of anything. What happened to your courage?» Heeseung looked at you carefully and thought you were not as bad as his mind had painted you but he would never tell you

Y/n turned around, pretending to be upset. "I’m not afraid! It’s just... I didn’t expect it."

«Yes, Barbie. You were shaking like a cat in the rain.»

"I don’t tremble! and I’m not a coward, if I was afraid I would not be thrown by human beings for air as work," said Y/n, straining his shoulders in a theatrical move. " If you want, I’ll take the controller and I’ll kill that thing."

«Oh, yes? please, come in. Let’s see the cheerleader against the zombie. And it has nothing to do with people blowing you up Barbie, if you’re not used to a little horror you’ll always be afraid» You felt Heeseung whispering these things to you and where was the nerd from before who was in awe with you sitting between his legs?

Y/n took the controller with determined action and started playing. Hee looked at her with a restrained smile as she moved nervously through the virtual corridor. «Why are you moving like that? No need, your character does not follow you! If you’re doing it to get my attention all on yourself Barbie did it, so stop moving between my legs and rub against my length because you will never win the level» You hated how that nerd made you feel. The tension increased with each step and suddenly a zombie broke down a side door with a scream. Y/n shouted and almost threw the controller.

"YOU NERDS ARE CRAZY. THIS IS A GAME FOR PSYCHOPATHS!"

Heeseung laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. «You’re incredible! You screamed louder than the zombie! Oh my god, it would have been iconic if it had been live streaming» Y/n stood up how angry but at the same time scared, and ran into his room until he heard Heeseung yell «I have all the cards in hand too win this game between me and you, not play with fire that sooner or later you will burn. Sweet dreams, Barbie» hit your face with your hairy pillow and Lee Heeseung in all the languages of the world.

It was almost a week after that little clash with Heeseung and for two whole nights, you had not slept properly for your standard because you always had in mind those horrible images of zombies with eyes out of the orbites.

«You are a little tired and less energetic Y/n, is everything all right?» Chan asked one of your group’s dancers and one of the few athletes you trusted to get you thrown in the air

"Yes, it’s all right I’m just a little tired of the exams and the selections we would have in the middle of the year. I would like to try to run as captain for the new year and that’s why I’m creating a choreography to run" Chan arranged the sheet you had on your head and smiled at you

«Please do not ask too much of yourself Y/n, The genta thinks this sport is nonsense but I would not want to see you again bandaged and in the hospital while crying because you could not move your leg or because your mind had made you think that you were not perfect for this sport and skipped meals or hours of sleep»

"It won’t happen again Chan, now I go home and make a good hot ramen and a nice hot shower to get all this sweat away and sleep until tomorrow morning at 10" Chan smiled at you and brought the bag until you were under your apartment

«Take care of yourself Y/n, and if you do not ask your roommate to prepare a nice basin of hot water for your feet and make ramen, Every time I get videos of Heeseung on Twitch or Tik Tok always has a bowl of ramen" the smiles and when you came in you raised your eyes, God because everyone saw Heeseung as the perfect boy and not as a loser who spent hours and hours playing those stupid games.

When you entered the apartment scientists immediately it was cold enough for your taste and on the sofa there was Heeseung who was watching a TV series to your great surprise he wasn’t playing any of those games and this thing made you alarmed because he always spent the evening At least 3 hours to laugh with his friends. Perhaps he had understood that you needed a good evening without hearing him giggle or hear from his headphones moans of zombies just killed or guns.

"Why aren’t you playing? Don’t tell me that all your friends have you pulled little and you have no one here to shoot or play" Heeseung raised his eyes and continued to eat and pay attention to the TV series he had put on the TV.

"Hey nerd, you listening? why is it so cold in here I’m going to ask you again why you’re not in your room?" Heeseung suddenly stood up and stood in front of you, you hadn’t looked at how he was dressed and had two sweatshirts and some sweatpants that he never wore inside the apartment because it usually made more than 20 degrees but now it must have been just over 10 degrees.

«The heating system of the whole building is out of use for a couple of hours and before the day after tomorrow will not be adjusted Barbie, for that you see me dressed so stuffed. You’ll have to take a cold shower today or you could call some of your friends and get them to host you» You jumped onto the sofa and made yourself slightly tiny in Heeseung’s eyes

"today is a day to forget in the sense of the word, I did not pass an exam and at Cheerliding I made mistakes I do not know how many steps I would just like to take a nice hot shower, eat some good ramen and put myself to bed warm" Heeseung looked at you and you made him a little pity where the girl had gone always exuberant, cheerful and that played music to the ball and that danced for everything?

«Relax for the ramen I can think of it, I am a master in doing so and if you want I can heat water and put it in baccinelle. I know it won’t be as relaxing as taking a shower with a full hot water shower but at least you can wash yourself and get rid of the sweat from your training»

Heeseung a little amazed and speechless, I did so with my head and you watched Heeseung prepare the ramen for you and even put an egg to you to be seasoned more.

«Here is the ramen, I hope you like it you would have made it with more ingredients but it’s been 2 days that I did not go to the grocery. Now.. Yes, I’ll make you some hot water and bring it to the bathroom. Come and see me when you’re done and leave the dish that I washed» You were seriously surprised by this version of Heeseung, is it not that maybe he suffered from some kind of bipolar disorder? Or was this the real Heeseung that everyone loved?

When you finished eating you went to the bathroom and prepared 4 basins of boiling water in the sink you had also put on a plush over-stuffed sweatshirt and a small smile formed, what is happening to Heeseung because he was so good today with you?

The shower with the basins had not you relaxed at all but at least you were washed and no longer had that smell of sweat, when you left Heeseung was no longer on the sofa, you wanted to thank him for both food and hot water and then knocked on his door.

"Heeseung" From the inside, you heard the familiar sound of the keyboard and a few nervous clicks of the mouse. And you heard his answer distractedly because he was concentrating on some computer calculations

«Yes? What is it?»

You entered without waiting for an invitation and crossed your arms for the cold. God, why is it so cold in this house? You wanted to ask Heeseung to share the bed so you could at least stay close and get a little warm but we are always talking about Heeseung the guy who loved to tease you and make you go crazy. Heeseung looked up, noticing his oversized t-shirt and his sweatshirt on the girl in front of him, he would never admit it but you with his clothes made him feel things that he should not think about you, He always wanted to see you with his things and a side of possessiveness intruded into his body. The sight of you made him swallow noisily, but he strove to keep a neutral expression.

"I wanted to thank you for the food and the hot water... I thought maybe we could share the bed. Just to keep warm. Just for this evening, I called my parents and they told me that tomorrow morning the technician will come. In my room it freezes so I thought to ask you" You had a fake smile shy, you wanted to absolutely embarrass him as he did while playing together with those stupid horror games

Heeseung opened his eyes wide and his mouse slipped out of his hand. God wanted to put him in awe

«what?! I don’t trust you at all Y/n, I know that after making you scared with that game you want to crash me» You raised your eyes to the sky, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, man this guy had understood you immediately but you kept insisting

"Oh, relax. It’s not an indecent proposal. Except that I would never do anything with you, you’re not my type Heeseung. It’s pure survival. We’ll freeze both or keep company and sleep together and warm up a little"

Hee rubbed his neck, embarrassed. He has no idea how to respond. Share the bed with Y/n, the most popular girl she knows. He’s never even been this close to a cheerleader... and now he has to share a bed but the thing that pissed him off was that phrase that said he wasn’t his type at all. Who wanted Y/n in his life? a stupid boy who made him feel nothing or he who always teased her and had seen how she reacted when she sat between her legs that was a little embarrassed also.

Heeseung moved nervously to make room on the bed, trying not to think too much about it as she tucked herself under the duvet with disarmingly natural ease. Y/n sat down next to him and made his feet touch his legs against his

"You’re made of wood, you know? Don’t tell me it’s the first time you've slept or that you’re in bed with a girl, nerd" you joked with Hee to embarrass him a little

«Sorry, I don’t share my bed every day with some girl»

"Really? You wouldn’t know it, you can even admit that you’ve never slept with someone you know" he slowly grinds, moving closer.

Heeseung was definitely tired from the constant grip of the cheerleader so he took off his sweatshirt because he was definitely dying from the heat in that situation and he lay down in bed and spread his legs a little because he did not want to feel Y/n’s legs intertwined with his. Y/n had leaned with an arm and was absorbing it and without thinking embraced the piece of wood next to her and a scent of citrus and spices invaded his nose, Heeseung seriously had a slender body but at the same time toned and felt from the shirt that he had strong abs, not bad for a nerd!

«Y/n, what did you take me for? for your giant teddy bear that you have in your room?» You laughed because even if you could not stand it sometimes it was nice to be in his company.

"Mmm, no my teddy is definitely sweeter and nicer than you, nerd. I’m hugging you because I’m cold and your temperature is too hot to not have the heat on" Heeseung ran his hands through his hair and turned off the lights, for a couple of minutes he no longer heard Y/n speak, and thought she had fallen asleep but before talking about the devil they sprang horns, felt the cold fingers of Y/n go under the shirt and roll them up their bare abs, He felt little shivers all over his body and cursed the heating not working.

«Y/n, stop it I know what game you are playing with me, I will not fall into your trap» you started to laugh even if he had turned off the light could imagine that he had slightly red cheeks and definitely had that super cute grumpy. You also put your other hand on its narrow waist and tried to go a little lower but a strong hand stopped you and now you had your arm over your head and Heeseung slightly above you holding himself with one arm.

«I repeat it again Y/n, I have all the cards in hand to pottery beat, if you are in need of attention go to your friend's football players, or swimmers with whom you do evening but not with me because otherwise, I could ruin you in an instant» You snorted and shoved Heeseung into the other side of the bed and you sunned yourself with your shoulders turned to him. "Sooner or later you will lose Heeseung, and I know for certain that it will be me who will make you lose your head" A small smile formed on your lips before you fell asleep.

Heeseung woke up a little later that morning, you were out of bed, you had gone to study somewhere or to work out. When he went into the bathroom and looked back he started to ride but I swore in all the languages of the world because you had left him a red lipstick stain with your lips engraved on his cheek and the more he tried to send away that joke, the harder it was to remove.

That Saturday went all wrong, the university football team had lost badly and even the show you had prepared to make the majors identify you as suitable to take the place of captain was a mess. Some freshmen had it all wrong and you were seriously pissed off and wanted to just smash yourself in ice cream and finally spend hours under the jet of boiling water they had repaired.

When you came in, you slammed the door of the apartment, with a face tense from anger. You dropped your bag on the floor with a thud. It had been a nightmare day. During the show before the match, a couple of girls continued to make you miss all the shots, and the coach took it with you in front of everyone because if you wanted to become the captain you had to be perfect and able to support also freshman line.

You were about to head for your room when you heard laughter coming from the living room. Heeseung’s familiar voice is clearly distinguished, and also that of Sunghoon one of his closest friends who was skating, and there was also another athlete Jungwon but along with them, there was also a girl. Y/n stood on the threshold, crossing his arms.

On the two chairs, there were Hoon and Jungwon, instead Heeseung was sitting with legs apart, bent forward to look at the screen and see how he smiled or squinted at Heeseung. She was way too close. She had Sunghoon in the same room who was one of the most beautiful guys I’d ever seen, but no she was attached to Hee.

"Well, look at that, our gamer has found someone who gives him a go," you commented in a deliberately sharp tone.

All turned to her. Heeseung seemed surprised, but he recovered immediately and saw that it was past 10 in the evening so the game had ended a long time ago. «Hey, Barbie. Difficult day? don’t tell me that the football team lost» he asked, with a smirk, and raised your eyes to the sky.

"Oh, don’t worry about me. It seems like you’re having enough fun already."

The girl next to Hee laughed, and for some reason, that sound irritated you more than it should have. <<If you want I can leave my place Y/n>> says Jungwon with a genuine smile, man how much gold would have paid to have as a roommate a person like Jungwon always nice and sociable with everyone that loser from Heeseung?

"No, no, quiet Jungwon I’m going to take a nice hot shower and some healthy skincare for my skin. I already greeted you all because I don’t know when I’ll get out of that bathroom" You went to the bathroom and felt the look of Heeseung in your body covered only by a shabby skirt and a light sweatshirt but you scrolled away all the slacks with a nice warm bath.

After almost two hours you left the bathroom in your pajamas and at the door, Heeseung’s friends were getting ready to go home, you were preparing a calming herbal tea but you watched the first girl named Luna greet Heeseung with a hug and then with a shy kiss on the cheek. That scene made you even more angry against the world, from what point did you get annoyed by girls around that nerd?

"Really, Heeseung? Bring people here without telling me? And then that girl... who the hell was she? We agreed that when I had a show when I came home I wanted to be at peace"

Heeseung stood in the middle of the living room, an eyebrow raised but with a funny look

«Does it bother you that I had friends here? What should I say when you take your best friends to make your beautiful pajamas that scream or speak of everyone or is it only Luna who has bothered you because you have always made enough friends with all my friends?» You looked at the nerd in front of you and crossed your arms.

"Don’t be smart. I hate that you don’t even have the decency to tell me when you bring people. Aren’t we roommates?"

Hee barely smiled, a smile that seemed to know long.

«You and I are roommates, so why do you seem so... jealous and upset by the presence of Luna?» You looked at him furiously, approaching a few steps.

"Me? Jealous? Of you? Don’t make me laugh, you know you’re not my type."

«Then why are you so agitated?» he replied, standing up to approach you. Heeseung not only looked beautiful but also his height was perfect, you always liked tall guys and he with his 1.83 compared to your 1.65 was overtaking you. You felt the tension grow between you two. you approached again and pushed it slightly with a hand on your chest.

"Maybe because I can’t stand when you’re bragging about your "friends," I saw how comfortable you were and how you flirted with her. You pretend to be the "good guy" of the situation but we all know that underneath you love seeing girls lost for you"

Heeseung looked at you for a few seconds, then shook his head with an incredulous grin.

«You know what? You’re unbearable when you do that, what is it you want to always be the center of attention barbie? the world does not only revolve around you»

"Oh, stop it, you’re so annoying from the first day that I set foot in here with your little smirk cheeky" you answered with your face now a few inches from his.

Heeseung was definitely tired of your spoiled behavior and even as a child he did the last thing he expected to do but he wanted so much to silence you and put you in your place. You felt yourself by the wrists and Heeseung gently slammed you against the island of the small kitchen.

«Stop» he said in a rock and still voice. You looked at him wide-eyed, ready to reply, but the words stuck in your throat when he leaned over and kissed you. The kiss is initially decided, almost to silence you, but then it becomes sweeter as if he was also surprised by his own boldness. You were slightly still for a moment then you relaxed and carried your arms around his neck and brought him closer to you. You felt his big hands under your ass and in a few moments he made you lean on the kitchen island and began to kiss you again or not devour you «Fuck, the only way to make you shut up is this Barbie? , if I knew it before I would have made you quiet in other ways, Y/n» You absolutely wanted to reply but when it detached from your lips he plunged to give light kisses around the clavicle until reaching your neck, a little moan came out of your lips when it began to torture you a small section of your neck under the ear, you felt that it was licking and then biting. Your coach would kill you if she saw some suckers but at that moment you were too much at the mercy of Heeseung and what he made you try; "Hee, stop torturing me I can’t be seen with a" You did not stop talking that you sucked strongly another area of your neck and pulled as much as possible his hair.

What you were doing was absolutely nothing normal but you felt too excited to stand between him, you felt Hee come even closer to you and you perceived its hard length in the pants of the suit she wore, You tried to approach him and touch him but he took your arm and brought it back to the shed.

«I don’t give a fuck if your coach tomorrow sees you with some pacifiers and don’t try to touch me, I don’t let the bad girls put their hands on me, and this evening you were a bad girl rather you behaved like a child and spoiled» You felt the big hand of Heeseung to slightly bloom your pants and felt your panties slightly wet and Heeseung had an expression that you had never seen perhaps victory? His hands made little circles over your pajamas but never took them off because in his eyes you were definitely a bad girl that night without thinking touched your pussy and stimulated you until you felt that from there you would come like a loser with both pants and panties around, You leaned on him and when you felt that you were coming to the climax but he detached and looked at you with all red cheeks.

"It can’t be, you’re really an asshole Heeseung" Heeseung looked at you with a grin and whispered to you «We are already 2-0 for me Barbie, when will you start to understand that with me you’ll burn yourself?» You watched him drink a glass of water and then go to his room as if he had not almost made you come in your underwear and as if you did not exist.

It was a week after those kisses, either Y/n tried in any way to avoid Heeseung and the thing was mutual with him as well. His best friends Jay and Jake had invited him to the last half-season game and with him were Hoon, and Jungwon, But he did not realize that before the game there was the show of the Cheerleaders and in front of his eyes there was Y/ n who was warming with other dancers both male and female. He watched her carefully trying to do a handless somersault and after a few seconds Chan one of the best and most famous dancers on the entire campus took her by the hips and made her lightly jump off the ground and put it over his shoulder, He knew that Y/n was good because she spent hours and hours training but did not think that she had so much charisma and ease to make such a lot of acrobatic. Heeseung looked away from the beautiful cheerleader for a moment and saw Sunoo take it back and give him a hint with his thumb.

"Why are you filming Y/n?" Sunoo looked at the oldest boy in the group with a smile and continued recording

<<I’m making some content for her team’s tik tok and Instagram profile, she asked me the day before yesterday when I saw her in the library>> Heeseung looked at Y/n smiled at Chan, and hugged him slightly, Why did you ask Sunoo to be your little filmmaker and not him who lived on technology? And then why did he embrace Chan so often, relationships between athletes were forbidden but a sense of jealousy took hold in Heeseung, and watched from the edge Y/n field that he was fixing his makeup.

Y/n for her knew that Heeseung was watching her since she had left the locker room but she would not give him his attention for anything in the world because he was seriously an asshole.

<<Your favorite nerd can not take his eyes off you for 20 minutes and is throwing me some hateful looks as if he tried to kill me with an axe or a virtual gun>> You wake up to the joke of Chan and you squatted to pretend to lace your shoes and sunflowers Heeseung’s head and eyes were watching you and you saw him turn all red when you caught him looking at your ass even though it was barely covered by a short skirt the smiles and I made the mark of 2 with my hands because he was still ahead between you two but in added a 1 because even if he did not want to admit it would also sacrifice a game of those stupid tournaments to have you and to make you his, He winked and was petrified to watch you enter the locker room to give the charge to everyone and to start the show before the half-year game.

The game ended in a beautiful victory and you came home to take a quick shower, put on makeup, and dress up for the winter party. When you entered the house there was nobody and it seemed so boring and at the same calm, there were no screams of Heeseung, the laughter of his friends, There were no sounds of gunshots or moans of evil characters and this thing made you a little bit sorry you didn’t want to admit it but by now you were used to all that mess and see the apartment empty and without the blue lights of the computer or smart tv, you put a little sadness. When you left the bathroom you felt a delicious smell coming from the kitchen and at that moment you did not think that Heeseung could return so soon, You went to the kitchen, and Heeseung when he saw you dressed as you were, looked at you with a furious look but at the same time, he saw that it was hard to take your eyes off of how he wrapped your short skirt, a light crop top sweater and on your feet you had black loafers with ankle warmers.

«Where do you think you are going dressed like that? you studied all this morning and this afternoon you trained and not even two hours ago you blew up I don’t know how many times, It’s not better to ask for a break from your body and stay at home» watch Heeseung from the mirror you had at the entrance of the apartment with a grin and sprayed a little perfume and set up your cheerleader bow in your straight hair

"Wow, someone’s in a bad mood didn’t you like the show or the game? I’m going to a party. You know, those social things that normal people do for fun, to drink, to chat, or maybe to be in the company of a nice guy or girl!" You squinted at Heeseung and he had his arms crossed to his chest and wouldn’t stop staring at you «I know what Barbie parties are, just don’t understand why you have to dress like..» you approached him and looked at him with a smile, maybe for the first time in your life you had the knife’s handle on your side the nerd in front of you was seriously jealous.

"How what? A girl who knows she’s irresistible and wants to go out and have fun with her friends? How should I dress to go to a party, certainly not with a pair of sweatpants or a sweatshirt" Heeseung looked at you attentively and saw him blush as you pressed your breasts to her strong chest and flushed from that little touch with your body.

"Relax, nerd. I can handle the compliments myself. You don’t need to worry." You took your Chanel bag and went to the door and looked at Heeseung leaning against the wall with that adorable little grumpy and his deer eyes that didn’t leave a moment. " Don’t expect me awake. I might be late or not even come home."

Heeseung when he saw you leaving the house and leaving a sweet scent whispered «Oh, I will wait for you Barbie.»

When you came back to the apartment it was around one and a half at night, I took off my boots and sighing for fatigue went to your room but before entering I saw Heeseung sitting on the bed wiping his hair wet with a cloth, He had just come out of the shower because there was that citrus scent coming out of the bathroom and you raised a eyebrow curious to see him still awake, if you had made it clear to him that he could go to sleep.

"Why are you still awake? Didn’t I tell you not to wait for me? Don’t tell me you were worried about me and that you wanted to see me safely back home without anyone."

«I admit it I was just worried and wanted to see how you yourself said that you would come home with your legs»

"How sweet. I didn’t know you were so protective." You put your bag on the desk and sat down on the edge of the bed watching Heeseung while he rubbed his hair and stared at you with sneaky eyes Your legs were almost completely uncovered and how he showed you the curves especially your breasts that sweater shrunk

«It’s not protectiveness. It’s frustration. I can’t understand why you enjoy teasing everyone... including me. What do you want Y/n?» a small smile came out of your lips and to Heeseung’s surprise you put on horseshoes in his toned legs and carefully dried the hair half gone for how many times he had passed the cloth to dry them while waiting for you

"Am I the one who provokes? One week ago you almost made me come in my pants and then you left like a loser without completing the work." Heeseung tried to put his hands on your hips but you took his big hands and placed them over his chest, "Don’t dare touch me until I tell you, the last time I was acting jealous or maybe like a child but this night you were the loser of the situation that in order not to admit that you wanted me you left me to go to a mega boring party"

You helped Heeseung to take off her shirt and a little whistle came out of your lips "How can you have such a physique and not show it off?" You began to slowly rock over its width felt it under you become harder and harder and you started kissing its neck until you reached below the navel. Heeseung had dreamed of this moment from the first time he saw you enter his apartment, he would never admit it but masturbated even thinking of you and was seriously afraid to come if you would continue to swing with that miniskirt that now let you all the thighs uncovered and saw your black panties in lace.

«I need to hear you somehow or show you that I’m not a loser as you think Y/n, please let me make you feel good and let me finish what I had started; I hate to pause the gaming games the same thing goes for you Barbie» Heeseung with reddish cheeks and eyes half-shiny desire and gently laid you down in his place and bent down to make you feel good, you made the sign to take off your skirt but he did no head and a grin formed in his face «I want to make you come with this skirt of a bad girl and then you will take my dick» you were seriously shocked by Heeseung’s words that you wanted to tease him again but your voice stopped when you felt the fingers slipping into your still-dressed slot and Heeseung’s slightly wet hair buried under your skirt, You jumped at him as you felt his middle finger and ring slide down your pussy while with the other hand, he suddenly took off your panties in a provocative way. He looked at your panties for a moment and then dived back under your skirt and you felt her finger on your palm clit with her thumb. You crave the feeling, of holding tight to his arms, the longer he pleased your clitoris, the sooner you would lose control of yourself and that was what Heeseung wanted, to see you lost to him. And in the end, you were just giving in to what your body wanted: rubbing against that annoying nerd’s hand, you felt his fingers get inside of you for good, and little moans came out of your mouth.

«Fuck love to hear your moans, and groans for me Y/n, make everyone feel who is fucking you and who is ruining only with two fingers inside of you, I can not wait to see you ride my dick and be able to have you finally mine»

You pulled Hee’s hair and small moans came out of your mouth as fast as her fingers went inside you at that moment.

"Hee, I need" fuck was nice to be filled by his long fingers. You felt his fingers curl inside, and you closed your mouth with your hand, afraid to wake up anyone who was sleeping. Annoyed, Heeseung pulled his hand away from you and admired you as you had your mouth open, hair in his bed, and were standing up for him and not one of those stupid athletes who came after you.

«Come for me baby, don’t be shy» felt that you taunted your clitoris again and came moaning again the name of Heeseung, The nerd under your skirt slowly tasted the mess that had caused you and tasted your shiny white cum that polished your pussy. When he got up he looked at you and leaned to give you a little kiss on the forehead «Good girl», after a while you got your arms around Heeseung’s neck and kissed him with a hunger for him and pushed him back into bed and rode over him to his cock.

"I need you Heeseung" The guy in front of you interrupted the kisses you were giving and looked at you with a shy and sincere smile, «Fuck tell me that I’m not dreaming Y/n, it’s months that I want you close around me, for me this is not a game Y/n» You smiled at Heeseung and took off the light sweater you had and the boy in front of you cheeks turned red and took off your breast-holder with nonchalance and immediately took a bud from your breast and with the other hand held you and tickled the other breast.

"Not for me either Hee this is a game, I want it" A little moan came out of you when he sucked slightly your nipple and a little spit went down your left breast repeated this thing also with the other. You really needed him so you lowered his pants and at the same time boxer shorts and saw his cock semi-erect, caressed him slowly but after a while you started to pump him slightly, It was beautiful to see him swearing under the sensation of your warm hand, slowly pumping it and observing the way his tip leaked copiously liquid.

«I thought of you I don’t know how many times in these months in this exact position...» mumbles, slightly shivering, «please Y/n, I need you» A little laugh came out from your lips, you had never seen Heeseung in this state and it was only thanks to you.

"You know we’re tied right now Heeseung, you seem so desperate for me right now. If you want fuck me”. he sent you a charming smile before pulling down your hips with that slutty skirt still on you; he wheezes sweetly at the feeling of your pussy flying around her tip, already able to feel your exhaling excitement before you finally slowly sink over him.

"Fuck, oh shit Hee" You were seriously ecstatic by the length of Heeseung inside you, and slowly you moved to let it in and out so that your bodies lined up and went at a rhythm.

«God you are so tight» You felt his big hands under your ass and brought you even closer to him and you put your hands over his back to ride it harder. «Who is fucking you so well, Barbie?» You felt again his thumb rub your wet pussy as you took his cock up on the ground and hit exactly your G-spot to make you moan his name. " You, Hee, only you Heeseung"

Heeseung began to leave open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, climbing up, climbing up until finally reaching your ear, leaving a kiss behind it before whispering: «You are mine and from this moment I will not share you with anyone»

By the time he pushed back in you could already feel the tears ticking your eyes: you’re loud and cheeky in your sounds as he starts hammering you again because he knows it’s coming soon and he wanted to feel your body again, you felt your back curl from the way Hee’s hand started to rub your clitoris again, you could only groan softly for feeling, Allowing him to play with you as if you were his own game or even worse his favorite toy.

"Hee, I’m close."

«Come for me Barbie, I want to feel and see you with my sperm in all your beautiful pussy that right now is taking my cock»

Finally allows herself to come inside you, you can hear Hee sibilate softly for the sensation, triggering her orgasm while you whimper for all the sensations you had experienced thanks to that loser of your roommate. You’re hot and full to the point that it’s already started to leak out, and Heeseung swears he’s never seen a better show, and you’re burying your head in the hollow of your neck.

You felt Hee give you a little kiss on the head and then on the forehead and put you lying in her bed and after a few seconds of silence she went to get you some warm clothes and cleaned you from her cum and put you her clean boxers and her crumpled nerd t-shirt and brought you to my bride in your bed, Your cheeks were seriously all red and maybe you were also agitated because now things would go with him?

When he put you under the covers you saw him lay an arm around your waist and look at you smiling softly move a rebellious tuft from your face around your ear give you a light kiss on the cheek and lay down with his head leaning close to your neck and crossed your legs. You were seriously surprised by his attitude but maybe underneath he also felt emotions like a classic twenty-year-old boy and you embraced him a little timidly because you had never seen this act of Heeseung.

«We are 3-2» You started again with your joke but in your head, you were 2-2.

"What did I do this time to get you back in the game? It seems we are still 2-2" You felt his nose close to your neck and started laughing, he did not want to admit but for him that three were you. He would be able to skip a session of video game tournaments to make you happy and maybe he was falling in love with you but he would never admit it if you didn’t do it first, because the weak point of the situation was him not you.

Comments are appreciated:)🎮

©cutehoons02 all rights reserved 2024.

[plutotheplum]

Felt Good About You

akaashi keiji x fem!reader

summary: delivering a revised manuscript to your editor turns into something more.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, post-time skip, oral sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, handjob, p in v

wc: 4.8k

a/n: i'm afraid i have the fattest crush on akaashi

also on ao3!

“The romance isn’t working.”

You groan when your editor pushes your manuscript for this week’s chapter towards you. You didn’t need any more bumps in the road, not when you were already running behind on deadlines, with the publishing company breathing down your neck to get the next volume out.

“The romance is fine, Akaashi” you mumble, flicking through the pages of the manuscript to skim through his notes.

“If it was fine, I wouldn’t be here,” he replies dryly.

Akaashi was as blunt as ever. Most of the time you appreciated his honesty, he was the reason for such success with your manga after all, but sometimes he managed to get on your nerves.

“It’s an unnecessary subplot,” he continues, flipping through a couple of pages to show you a few of the panels you had drawn, “there’s just no plausible progression between the two, no chemistry.”

You glare at him. He was really starting to get on your nerves. Akaashi rolls his eyes when he sees your glare, reaching out to flick your forehead.

“You’re already behind on the scheduled publishing date,” he reminds you, crossing his arms over his chest, “and I get the short end of the stick because I’m your editor.”

“The higher-ups love you,” you retort.

You stare pointedly at the small stash of awards that were tucked onto a shelf in his office, the small trophies and plaques a clear display of the company’s commendation for his work. 

“Not enough to let me work in the literature department,” he mutters bitterly.

“I’m right here!” you protest, an exasperated expression spreading across your face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Akaashi murmurs. 

He taps your manuscript a few more times before giving you a stern look.

“Get me the revised version by tonight, otherwise you’ll miss out on this week’s issue.”

You curse him under your breath, giving him one final glare as you gather the pages of your manuscript into your hands. You had come into his office thinking he’d been fine with the story, but now you had somehow ended up with more work than before, and an even tighter deadline.

- 

A few hours later, you end up finding yourself outside Akaashi’s apartment. Guilt had won out in the end, and you figured that it wasn’t fair to let him take the blame for your tardiness. Revised manuscript clutched against your chest, you ring his doorbell.

You can feel your throat dry when he opens up the door. His hair is damp, towel slung around the back of his neck. He’s wearing an old volleyball shirt with sweatpants, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to him looking so domestic. 

Akaashi stares at you blankly, clearly not expecting you. Usually you would’ve just emailed the revised manuscript over to him, not show up outside his door.

“I felt guilty,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing at the awkwardness in the air, “and- and I ordered gyoza so it should be here in a few minutes.”

“Right,” he says after a moment, “you didn’t have to.”

You stare at each other for a moment longer until he sighs, opening the door wider to let you in.

“You’re just as bad as Bokuto,” he informs you.

The mention of the pro-volleyball player makes a smile spread across your face. You had met Akaashi’s volleyball friends a few times when they had enlisted your help in throwing Akaashi a surprise birthday party - which had maybe ended up in a disaster - as well as when you had wound up to a few of their games.

“He’s a sweet guy,” you reply, handing him your manuscript.

Akaashi only hums in response, walking over to his desk. He hangs his towel on the back of his chair before sitting down. You watch as he slips his glasses on, examining the pages of your now edited work.

“I thought you’d try and fight me about the romance,” he murmurs, his pen making a few adjustments here and there. 

“Figured it wasn’t worth it,” you sigh, slumping on the couch in his living room, “you were right, as always.”

He peers over at you, his eyes narrowing as he watches the sulky look on your face. Despite your random bouts of laziness, even Akaashi had to agree that you were a good mangaka whose popularity had built up a loyal reader base. 

“Look,��� Akaashi says, setting his pen down, “if you’re that hung up about cutting those scenes, start drafting it now.”

Your gaze shoots up to meet his eyes.

“Seriously?” you ask, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Akaashi was dedicated, sure, but he wasn’t exactly one to take on extra work. Sometimes  you felt as though he would’ve been right at home in the literature department, editing novels instead of volumes of manga. It was like he worked with you out of obligation, not enjoyment, despite the friendship you had built up over the years.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing his glasses up a bit further to sit better on the slope of his nose, “I’m serious.”

You don’t get to dwell any longer on your editor’s change in mind, the sound of the doorbell piercing through your conversation. Akaashi waves you away when you move towards the door, grabbing the delivered containers of gyoza himself. 

He sits down beside you on the couch, handing you one container whilst he takes the other. For some reason, you’re feeling more on edge than usual. The brush of his arm against yours has heat rising to your cheeks, body growing taut with the way your stomach is swirling with nervousness.

It was no secret that Akaashi was one of the most handsome men in the office, and you had maybe developed a tiny crush on the man, which was now inflating into something that was not so tiny, and much, much harder to control the more time you spent with him. 

“You okay?” Akaashi asks, peering over you.

You don’t trust yourself enough to reply which is why you stuff a gyoza into your mouth and nod rapidly.

Silence lapses over you both as you eat, but you can feel his eyes boring into the side of your head. You pretend not to notice, trying to engross yourself in the taste of the gyoza and the tang of soy sauce.

Akaashi slouches slightly, his body relaxing as time passes. You can see it in the way his shoulders drop, his thighs spreading as he gets more comfortable.

“Instead of adding romance as a subplot, why don’t you make it into another story altogether?”

You blink over at him, surprised. 

“I don’t have time to write another manga,” you say, shaking your head, “I’d have to find another publisher if I wanted to write something that was purely romance.”

“Shonen manga in the romance genre exist,” he replies, running his hand through his hair, “or you could just self-publish.”

You’d been hoping to avoid the topic of self-publishing. Sure, you knew of it, participated in it even. It’d been used as a creative outlet, to get out some ideas that you couldn’t work on when your success as a mangaka had grown. Besides, it wasn’t like you could tell Akaashi that you had drawn up stories that were, well, inappropriate. 

“But that would be too much work,” you sigh, trying to stop his train of thought.

Akaashi stares at you thoughtfully. The more you spend time with him, the more you begin to regret your choice to come here. Emailing the manuscript to him would’ve been the smarter choice, but you just had to feel sorry for the guy.

“I did read one the other day that had a similar art style to yours.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You can feel your composure slipping. There was no way he could know that you self-published stories that were practically panel after panel of porn. Maybe he enjoyed it? One thought leads to another and you find yourself imagining Akaashi with his hand wrapped around his cock, his head tipped back as he strokes himself.

“What was it about?” you manage to grit out, trying to see through the haze of your indecent thoughts.

“About a couple,” he says simply, “they ended up fucking.”

You can feel the hope swirling in your mind fade. Akaashi definitely knew. 

“Didn’t know you read that sort of thing.”

“I’m a man, aren’t I? Sometimes porn just doesn’t cut it. The story was pretty great too.”

He thought the story was great? You can’t help yourself from perking up, the compliment making you feel warm. 

“I just find it so strange,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you.

You swallow harshly, mustering up a smile with your trembling lips, “why’s that?”

“The author’s note,” Akaashi says, “the little bunny avatar was the same as yours.”

So, you had messed up. You spy the front door from the corner of your eyes. If you walked, you’d get there in about ten steps, but if you ran, you’d get there in about three - maybe two - strides. Sure, you wouldn’t ever be able to face Akaashi again, but you think you’d be fine with it. Report filed to the higher ups stating creative differences and you’d be able to find a new editor, no problem.

“It’s all probably just a coincidence,” you say nonchalantly, “plenty of people like bunnies.”

“Some of the dialogue was similar to yours, distinct writing and all that.”

You grit your teeth. The man didn’t know when to let go.

“Like I said, coincidence.”

“Right,” he says, nodding along, “a coincidence. Was it also a coincidence that the couple that had sex was a mangaka and her editor?”

You scramble to your feet when he says that. Letting out an awkward laugh, your cheeks heated with embarrassment, you decide that this is the best time to take your leave.

“Have- have a good night!” you say, voice pitching.

Determination has Akaashi’s eyes gleaming and now you’re bolting, feet nearly tripping over each other as you dart towards his apartment door. It seems as though fate isn’t in your favor tonight, Akaashi’s hand curling around your wrist as he catches onto you before you can open the door. You squeak when he slams his hand against the wall, right next to your head as he pushes you up against the door.

“Classic scene,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your meek expression, “you always use it.”

“Fuck off, Akaashi!” you snap, pushing at his chest.

It’s a struggle, but you reach back behind you, hand grabbing blindly for the door handle. He doesn’t let you reach it, catching your wrist and pinning it against the door.

“You sure?” Akaashi asks, his eyes darkened, “or maybe you want me to fuck you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, mouth opening before closing again. There’s nothing left in you, no retorts, no words to get yourself out of this situation. He lets out a sigh when he feels your body relax, his hand on your wrist loosening as he lets go. You stare up at him, biting your lip nervously.

“You should’ve said something,” he says quietly, adjusting his glasses.

“And embarrass myself?” you mutter, picking at the wool of your sweater.

Akaashi doesn’t say anything, his hand smoothing up your hip and settling on your waist. Your eyes widen, arousal shooting through your body as he presses himself closer, his other hand finding your waist. Akaashi squeezes gently and you bite back a whine, eyes drooping slightly as he just squeezes and pets at your sides.

“It was good,” he says hoarsely, “the story, the details, the sex… came to it a couple of times.”

“You- you liked it?” you whisper, voice airy.

“Yeah,” he whispers back, his eyes meeting yours, “liked it… like you.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheek, your heart thudding in your chest. You never dreamt it’d come down to this, but you find yourself grateful for Akaashi’s observational nature.

He takes his glasses off, placing them into his pocket. Akaashi’s lips drag across your cheek, pressing soft kisses against your skin. He kisses the corner of your mouth, lips brushing against yours gently. 

“Kiss me, Akaashi” you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Yeah,” Akaashi says softly, “yeah, I’ll kiss you, baby.”

A contented sigh escapes you as he slots his lips over yours, kissing you gently. The heat between you begins to grow, his hands slipping under your sweater to feel your bare skin. You gasp into his mouth, his hands surprisingly warm.

Akaashi smiles against your lips, his hand running up your back as his kisses turn hungrier, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips. You let him lick into your mouth, tugging at his hair desperately. Rocking up onto the tips of your toes, you deepen the kiss, pulling him impossibly closer. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, groaning when your nails scratch his scalp fleetingly. You bite your kiss-swollen lip as he drags his lips down your neck, landing heated kisses to your skin.

Akaashi kisses the pulse of your throat, his lips finding their way back to yours. Soft pants fill the air, his smile hazy as he peers down at you. You smile back, head tilting to the side to let him kiss your cheek again.

“You’re such a dork,” he whispers, his eyes twinkling.

“Shut up,” you whine, pushing at his chest.

He grins, his hands grasping yours. Akaashi pulls you away from the door, his arms wrapping around the backs of your thighs as he picks you up. You laugh, legs wrapping around his waist, lips pressing against his as he carries you to his bed.

Akaashi lays you down on his bed and you watch with half-lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt off. He might not have played as competitively like he did in highschool, but you had been there when he had played with his friends. It’d been entrancing to watch the way he had set the ball for his friends, the ball curving through the air cleanly for the spiker to hit.

“‘s not fair how good you look,” you grumble, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, crawling onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“You look pretty good yourself,” Akaashi says, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater.

You lift your arms for him, letting him pull it off of you. His gaze fixes on the swell of your breasts and you flush, looking away.

“You’re shy now?” He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he kisses your jaw.

“You’re such a jerk,” you huff out.

Akaashi smiles and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to be truly angry with him. He’s patient more than anything, caring and always honest. You’ve never met a man like him, never met someone who could quell your worries the way he could. It makes you want to never let go.

His body settles between your thighs, his nimble fingers pulling your bra free. Your nipples pebble in the cold air and Akaashi leans forward, his hot, wet mouth enveloping a hard bud into his mouth.

You whine brokenly, back arching slightly as he sucks your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud. He groans as you run your fingers through his hair, his mouth suctioning around your breast for a few moments before he pulls off with a pop.

His mouth finds your other breast, kissing the side of it, mouthing at your skin. You can feel his tongue caress the underside of it, laving across your breast before he bites gently at your flesh, his half-lidded eyes meeting yours. 

“You’re a fuckin’ tease,” he whispers against your breast.

You shake your head, mewling when his hand slides up, his fingers pitching at your spit-coated nipples. He rests his head between your breasts, watching you contentedly as you writhe under the onslaught of his touches. 

“A- Akaashi,” you whimper, hips bucking, “want- want more, please.”

“So polite, baby” he coos, his hands groping at your breasts. 

He pulls away from you and you whine, lifting your hips for him when he peels your pants off. There’s a moment of silence and you’re anticipating the feel of his mouth on your body, only for him to let out a low laugh. 

“Bunnies til the end, huh?” Akaashi asks, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

Your brows furrow, not quite sure what he’s talking about until you prop yourself on your elbows and see that you’re wearing a pair of bunny-patterned panties.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan, slumping back down onto the bed and slinging your arm over your eyes.

“They’re cute,” he smiles, prying your arm away from your face, “just like you, baby.”

Akaashi grasps one of your legs, bringing it to his mouth as he runs his hand along the length of it, kissing the sole of your foot and then your ankle. A soft hum leaves you, watching as he kisses up your leg, his kisses feather-light.

You run your fingers through his hair as he kisses the little bow on your panties, his nose pressing between your clothed folds to breathe you in.

“Pussy’s soaked through,” Akaashi murmurs, pulling back to look at your dampened panties.

“‘s your fault,” you slur, trying to push his face back to where you want it.

“All my fault,” he agrees, his tongue licking up over your panties, “guess I’ll have to take care of you then.”

You nod, trying to stop the little twitches that shoot through your body. Akaashi lets his mouth latch onto you, trying to suck the slick that’s soaked through the fabric of your panties.

“A- ah!” you pant, fingers fisting his hair as he squeezes your hips, his face nuzzling deeper between your thighs.

Akaashi’s lithe fingers pull at your panties, dragging them down your thighs. You don’t miss the way he tucks them into his pocket.

“Always so pretty, baby” he whispers, his thumbs pulling apart your folds to expose your pussy.

He moans when he sees the translucent strings of arousal that cling to your folds, his tongue darting out to lick up the little strings. You whimper when he kisses your clit gently, watching as he rubs the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit. Thighs twitching, you shift, trying to tilt your hips a little higher so you can feel his mouth on you.

“Ask for it,” Akaashi says, his cheek pressing against your thigh as he stares up at you.

“‘m not- ‘m not asking for it,” you retort, glaring at him.

“Bet it’d feel good,” he whispers, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

You whine when he just keeps his tongue there, saliva dripping from the tip of it and onto your pussy. He makes an obscene noise, gathering some more saliva, spitting on your cunt.

“All you gotta do is ask,” he coaxes, his arms wrapping around your thighs, “clit looks so achy… makes me wanna kiss it better.”

“P- please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” Akaashi smiles up at you, his eyes twinkling.

You’ll have to get him back for his teasing later, but right now you can’t wait.

“Please lick my pussy!”

You squeal when he latches his mouth onto you again, his tongue lapping over your wet pussy. He groans and you tug at his hair, thighs squeezing around his head as he laves his tongue over you greedily, letting his tongue dip into your hole before he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Legs kicking out, you let out a strangled noise as he flicks his tongue over your clit. Akaashi lands the filthiest kisses to your clit, alternating between sucking and little pecks, while he’s sunk two fingers inside of you. They curl up inside of you, grazing your sensitive spot perfectly. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, your wanton noises filling his bedroom.

Akaashi presses his face deeper, his fingers crooking. The feeling of his mouth in tandem with his fingers has you whimpering and whining, airy noises spilling from your lips at his ministrations. You might not ever be able to go without him ever again.

He holds you in place as you thrash, the overwhelming feeling inside of you building and building. Akaashi slips his fingers out of you in favor of devouring your cunt again, licking through your velvety folds, his tongue swirling before he presses it inside of you. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls. 

You blink down at him dazedly. There’s a light flush covering his cheeks, his mouth glistening with your wetness. He opens his mouth to say something else but you ignore him, pushing his head so that his lips are flush against your cunt. Akaashi lets out a muffled laugh against your pussy, his tongue licking over you again.

Hand squeezing at your breast, you bite your lip, losing yourself in the caress of his tongue. He laps over you, again and again, pressing sloppy kisses to your clit. 

“Gonna come,” you whisper, feeling the softness of his hair under your palm, “gonna come, ‘kaashi.”

He tilts your hips a little more, rising up onto his knees with your legs slung over his shoulders. You squeal again when he shakes his head, tongue dragging from side to side before he plunges it inside of you, his thumb pressing against your clit at the same time.

Your thighs squeeze tightly around his head as you come, loosening after a while when twitches rack through your body. Akaashi squeezes your thighs, lets your legs slip from his shoulders as he kisses your trembling thighs. 

“Good girl,” he whispers.

Akaashi kisses your cheek and wipes the stray curls of your hair away from your face. A soft sheen of sweat covers your body and he hums, smoothing his thumbs over the underside of your breasts.

He lays down beside you and you curl up beside him, eyes catching on the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Need some help?” you murmur, fingers dragging down his chest.

“If you don’t mind,” he sighs, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him.

You smile, kissing his jaw gently as your hand slides past his navel, disappearing into his sweatpants. The weight of his cock is heavy and hot and Akaashi moans softly when your hand curls around his length.

“Ask for it, ‘kaashi,” you whisper, voice lilting.

“You’re such a brat,” he mutters.

“Use your manners, Keiji.”

His eyes widen when you use his name and you grin, landing a soft kiss to his cheek as your breasts squish up against his bicep. You squeeze around his cock and he lets out a soft whine, his hips bucking.

“Fuck- fuck hah-,” Akaashi grits out, “stroke my cock, baby, hm? Please?”

You hum softly, beginning to move your hand. His thick cock twitches as you stroke him, your wrist rotating.

He pants softly, his head turning to meet yours. You smile, running your fingers through his hair, brushing the soft strands out of his eyes. Affection bursts inside of you, heart fluttering as the flush on his cheeks deepens.

His brows have drawn together and you smooth your thumb over them, peppering soft kisses over his face, leg slinging over his as you pull down his sweatpants to free his cock completely. Akaashi’s cock has filled out, pre-cum smearing across his abdomen. You caress the head of it, giggling when he lets out a broken moan as you rub your thumb against the tip.

“You look so handsome,” you say, stroking his cock a little faster.

Akaashi smiles and you dip your head, kissing him. He groans, his hips chasing after the feeling of your hand around him as you kiss. Your hand tightens a little, squeezing at the tip of his cock. Pre-cum wets your hand, soft gasps escaping Akaashi as you let your tongue slip into his mouth.

“Keiji,” you whisper, lips brushing over his, “Keiji, will you fuck me?”

You squeak in surprise when he manages to grab onto your waist, lifting you up and placing you on his lap. His cock is snug between your folds and you whine, dragging your hips along the length of it, biting your lip as more pre-cum leaks from him.

“Sit on my cock, baby” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your thighs.

You nod, shifting a little so that you’re up on your knees. Akaashi watches as you grip the base of his cock, moaning when you rub his cock against your pussy, letting it catch on your clit. Akaashi’s head tips back as you sink down, whimpery, little noises leaving you as your pussy swallows up his cock.

It’s so thick inside of you, fitting so snugly that you clench around him. Akaashi wraps an arm around your waist, bringing your front flush against him. He lets you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, his arms tightening around your waist. You can feel him move, his feet flat against the bed as he bends his knees.

“K- Keiji!” you wail when he begins to fuck up into you.

Akaashi grunts, holding you against him as he moves his hips, rutting up into you. His hands grope at your ass, gripping your ass tightly as he moves a little more forcefully. You bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck, pressing sloppy kisses against his skin as you smooth your hand over his hair. 

“Is this- fuck,” Akaashi grits out, “is this what you imagined when you drew up those panels?”

You nod, too far gone to cling onto the remnants of your stubbornness. 

“Yeah?” he whispers, “imagined me fucking up into you, huh?”

“Y- yes!” you cry out, body squirming when he lands a heavy spank to your ass.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

A soft mewl leaves you at the praise, your hips swaying back lazily to meet his thrusts. The sound of his hips slapping into your ass echoes through his room, your wetness leaking around his cock and coating his balls.

Your body rocks against his, your hand gripping at the sheets beside his head when he adjusts his grip on you, planting his feet a bit firmer against his mattress to thrust into you harder. You gasp at the sensation, sinking your teeth into his shoulder when his cock hits deep inside of you.

Akaashi hisses at the feeling of your teeth, spanking your ass again before you clench around him with a scream, body shuddering on top of his as you come. 

“Baby, baby, you gotta let go,” he rasps.

You shake your head stubbornly, pushing your hips down so that it swallows his cock all the way to the base.

“Inside, Keiji.”

He groans, his hands kneading at your hips roughly. You can feel the twitch of his cock, a satisfied coo leaving your lips when he comes, spurts of his hot cum filling you up. Akaashi’s hips stutter, thrusting into you unevenly as his cock jerks, more cum flooding your pussy.

You both pant, chests heaving. Akaashi rubs his hand along your back and you emerge from the crook of his neck, a drunken smile on your face.

He laughs hoarsely at your expression, cupping your cheek to guide you into another kiss while his cock softens inside of you. It’s a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind, losing yourself in the heat of his body as cum leaks from your pussy.

“How long have you known?” you ask, tracing the slope of his nose.

“About a month,” he murmurs.

“A month?” you scoff, hitting his chest, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Akaashi grins, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss across your knuckles.

“That would ruin the fun.”

You roll your eyes, prodding your fingers into his chest, “it was hardly fun, Keiji.”

“But you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he whispers.

You laugh when he flips you onto your back, moaning softly when you feel his cock beginning to harden again inside of you.

“Put- put your glasses on,” you whisper, head tipping back as he rolls his hips into you.

Akaashi reaches over to dig his glasses out from the pocket of his discarded sweatpants, pushing them up to sit comfortably on his nose.

You clench around him at the sight, biting your lip as you give him a pleased smile.

“Knew you had a thing for ‘em.”

He grabs at your legs, moving them so that they’re pressed against his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulders.

“Use this as inspiration, baby,” Akaashi smirks, “I’ll even edit it for you.”

[prythiansprincess]

shut up kiss me.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

song inspiration: shut up kiss me by angel olsen.

author's note: everyone say thank you to my love @writingsbychlo for fueling my delusions. constantly spamming her with my ideas because i have no self control when it comes to this man. there’s just something about theo fighting that makes me absolutely feral but i’ll hush now before i spoil it 🤭

Theodore. Fucking. Nott. 

Those three words fueled your rampage as you marched across the quidditch pitch. The audacity of that cocky, arrogant, silver tongued Slytherin knew no bounds. For years, you tolerated the pompous prick and the rivalry between you, but today he had finally gone too far. 

You cleared the field in less than a minute, passing by confused players as you angrily seethed. You spotted a shock of familiar platinum blonde hair and walked right up to Draco Malfoy. 

“Where the hell is he?”

He chuckled, perfectly aware of your longstanding enmity with his closest friend. “What’s he done this time?”

“Where. Is. He?” you repeated through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me ask again, Malfoy.” 

The blonde paled several shades when he saw the fire burning in your gaze. “Locker rooms. I wouldn’t go in there, Y/N. They’re still shower—“ Draco sighed as you brushed past him. “Whatever, it’s your funeral.”

The locker rooms were steamy, the heat and humidity clinging to your school uniform as you stalked through the aisles. The Slytherin players startled when they spotted you amongst their midst. 

“Well, well, well,” Mattheo drawled as he leaned against the wall. A towel hung dangerously low on his hips and he smirked when your eyes flickered over his body. “What do we have here? A sweet little Hufflepuff marching straight into the viper’s den.”

“Where the fuck is he, Riddle?”

Mattheo grinned lazily. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, sweetheart.” 

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. Your arrogant prick of a friend who sent my fucking date to the hospital wing!” 

Before you went to sleep last night, you had done so with a grin on your face after a wonderful date with Alec Stone at the Three Broomsticks, but then you arrived at breakfast this morning with no Alec in sight and the rumor mill rampant with talks of Theo pummeling some poor Ravenclaw in the courtyard. 

You were going to kill him. 

“Sorry, love. Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

You frowned, purposely bumping against Mattheo as you walked further down the dimly lit aisle. In your trail for vengeance, you ran into a very flustered looking Enzo who yelped as he sought to cover his very naked torso. 

“Y/N,” Enzo said, hastily wrapping a towel around his waist. “What are you doing in the locker rooms?”

Behind him, the sound of the shower running echoed against the marble tiles. “Is he in there?”

Berkshire’s face fell. “You heard about the fight?” 

“It wasn’t a fight,” you said angrily. “He pummeled Alec so badly that he’s currently in the hospital wing with a concussion and several broken bones.”

“Just hear him out, okay?” 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. “Hear him out? Your precious Theodore beat the absolute shit out of my date and you want me to hear him out? For what? What reason could Theo possibly have for doing what he did to Alec? He couldn’t stand to see me have fun for two fucking seconds? This is low even for him and you know it, Enzo.”

“You don’t know the whole story, Y/N.” 

“Well then please point me in the right direction so I can hear from the arsehole himself.” 

“He’s in there,” Enzo said, pointing to the shower stalls. “But I’m warning you, Y/N. He’s in a proper foul mood.” 

You huffed. “That makes two of us.” 

The steam from the showers rose up like a malevolent fog, curling around your feet as you stormed through the stalls. You found him in the farthest corner, water trickling down his back as he faced the tiled wall. His body language was tense, like a serpent preparing to strike. A crimson trail swirled against the marble as blood dripped from Theo’s bruised knuckles. The sight of it incensed you. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Theo whipped his head towards your direction, his dark curls plastered against his cheek. Those watercolor eyes were stormy, the blues and greens flickering with anger as he met your gaze. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said dismissively. 

“Bullshit!” You countered, stepping further into the stall. The steam barely covered Theo’s naked form, but you weren’t about to let that deter you from demanding answers. “You owe me a fucking explanation.”

“For what?” 

“For what?” you repeated incredulously. “You beat Alec within an inch of his life and that’s all you have to say for yourself? Honestly Theodore, have you gone absolutely mental?” 

“He deserved it.” 

“Why? Because he took me out on a date? Because you couldn’t stand to let me have this one thing? You absolutely loathe the idea of me being even remotely happy, don’t you?” 

Theo clenched his fists as his jaw twitched in anger. “No. I loathe the idea of that miserable excuse of a human being breathing the same air as you.” 

“So you beat him to a bloody pulp?” 

His voice was cold and icy, cutting through you like glass. “He’s lucky I didn’t do worse.”

“What do you have against Alec?” You moved closer to Theo, closing the gap as you poked his chest. The shower streamed over the both of you, blurring your vision. The water was hot against your skin, but it paled against the heat of your own anger. “What did he ever do to you, Theo?” 

Theo gripped your wrist. You were vaguely aware of his nakedness, but he made no move to hide it and you were too furious to even care. “Don’t say his name. I can’t bear to hear you say it after what he said about you this morning.” 

You stepped backward, flinching. “What—what are you talking about?” 

When you met his gaze, you startled. You’d never seen Theo this angry before. His eyes, which were usually dead and expressionless, burned with a cold sort of fury. 

“I heard him in the courtyard, bragging to his stupid friends. I thought he was just chatting shit, so I kept back. I only came down for a smoke, but then he said your name.” 

The pit in your stomach grew. “What did he say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. Not if he was this angry over it.

“The stupid fucking prick was talking about your date. The dress you wore. The smiles you gave him. The hand holding through Hogsmeade. Then one of his gormless mates asked if he got lucky.” 

You froze at his words as a horrible feeling washed over you. Theo loosened his grip on your wrist, but didn’t let go. 

“Do you know what that sodding idiot said? I will, soon enough. I can tell she’s raring to go.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. You felt like you were going to be violently sick. 

“And his friends—those miserable fucking wankers started betting on how long it would take. Two dates. Three. A month.” Theo’s hands were shaking, violence spilling over into his veins. “That smug tosser smirked and said he could’ve had you out in the hallway. That’s how eager you were.”

“I barely even touched him!” you said angrily. “I kissed his cheek good night and that was it.” 

“I know,” Theo said, his voice low and rough. “I know you. I knew he was lying, so I fucking lost it. I walked over there and just punched and punched until my knuckles were bloody and bruised and all I could see was red. I wanted to wipe that stupid fucking smirk off his mouth.” 

You could picture Theo putting out his cigarette ever so calmly before walking over to throw the first punch. You’d seen him fight before. He was relentless. Where Mattheo was pure fire and rage, Theo was as cold as ice. There was nothing but lethal calm in those dead eyes as he delivered blow after blow in absolute silence. 

“Eventually, Blaise and Enzo pulled me off of that prick.” He averted his gaze as if remembering the moment. “When his idiot friends finally peeled him off the floor, I spit on the fucker. I told him to consider it a warning. That I’d do a lot worse if I ever heard your name come out of his mouth again. I promised him that a concussion would be the least of his worries if he didn’t stay the fuck away from you.”

The tears fell down your cheeks despite your efforts to keep them in. The anger all but faded from Theo’s eyes as soon as he realized that you were crying. You were so, so stupid. For thinking Alec was a nice guy. For being so giddy after your date only for him to turn around and spit vile lies about you. 

For crying in front of your worst enemy.

The color drained from Theo’s face as you cried into your hands. You felt him shift beside you, debating whether or not to come closer. 

“Don’t,” you said through a broken sob. “Don’t come near me.” 

Theo flinched at your words, looking visibly pained. His voice was soft and soothing when he spoke again. “Tell me how to fix it. Do you want to yell at me? Punch me? Go ahead, love. I can take it.” He sounded desperate. “Just please, please don’t cry.” 

You hugged your arms around your waist and glared at him. “Why do you even care?” 

He paused, fingers flexing at his side as he fought the urge to reach out and comfort you. 

“Because I care about you!” The exasperation in his voice made your chest tighten. “I care that you let that stupid idiot take you on a date to the Three Broomsticks. I care that you fucking smiled at him when he gave you roses even though I know you prefer sunflowers. I care that you kissed him on the cheek when he dropped you off at your dorm.”

You sniffled, utterly perplexed at his words. “I don’t understand. We hate each other!” 

Theo visibly softened, the tension leaving his body. “I could never hate you, Y/N.” He reached for your hand. Your first instinct was to pull away, but you let him trace soothing circles on your skin. “I may tease you. Prank you. Annoy you. But I’ve never hated you.” 

Theo wiped the dried up tears from your cheeks. No fresh tears, which he took as a good sign. “I don’t even think you remember this, but I tried asking you to the Yule Ball in fourth year.” 

The memory surfaced. You were reading by the Black Lake and Theo had asked if you had a date. You said no, to which he promptly asked if he could take you. You left in a huff, thinking that it was just another way to rile you up. 

“I thought you were just trying to get a rise out of me. If I would’ve known…” 

Theo paused. “How could you not know? How could you not see?” 

The rage crashed against you like an errant wave. You didn’t know if you were angry at Theo or yourself, but you exploded either way, unable to keep your emotions under control. 

“Because you never told me, you idiot!”

“I never told you, but I showed you.” He smiled crookedly. “I'm not good with words, obviously. Every time I open my mouth it’s like I say the perfect combination of words to piss you off. So I learned to tell you how I felt through my actions.” 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why your favorite study spot in the library is always free? That’s because I threatened anyone who came near it. Or how you never seem to run out of quills despite the fact that you manage to break one every day from how hard you write? I always replaced them when you weren’t looking.” Your heart clenched at his words. “I even bribed first years to bring you hot chocolate when I knew you were pulling all nighters.” 

You stood there, staring at him. This wasn’t the cocky, arrogant Theo that you knew. He was looking at you so earnestly that it physically hurt how endearing it all was. 

“Why would you let me think that you were an inconsiderate jerk this whole time?” 

Those hypnotizing eyes pierced right through you, filled with a sadness so heavy that you felt it weighing on your chest. 

“Because at least you were thinking of me.”

You swayed gently. The water had long seeped into your bones, making you shiver as all of your clothes stuck to your skin like paper. You were convinced that your body had gone into shock. The range of emotions you were currently experiencing was turbulent to say the least. You stood in stunned silence, just taking it all in. Then the impact of his words hit you all at once. 

Theo watched as your bottom lip trembled. Panic seized him as you began crying again, this time not bothering to hide it from him. “Fuck I’m sorry, Y/N. Please don’t cry.” 

He didn’t know what to do. Should he comfort you? Should he keep his distance? Theo felt like he was doing a rather exceptional job of mucking things up. 

“Why are you saying sorry?” You said between hiccups. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

Theo caressed your cheek. So gently. Like he half-expected you to recoil. That only set a fresh wave of tears to spill onto your cheeks. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, love.” 

“Of course I do!” you nearly wailed. “I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve thought the worst of you, but all this time you were doing all these sweet, considerate things and I never even noticed. You should’ve told me, Theo.” 

“I—I didn’t think you’d ever see me that way,” Theo said softly. “It was better to have you hate me and still be part of my life than risking not having you in it at all.” 

Because at least you were thinking of me. 

It was the saddest thing that you’ve ever heard. For years, Theo settled for being your enemy because he’d rather have your hatred and loathing than indifference. He sustained himself on the bare minimum because he thought that was all he deserved. 

“I’m sorry, Theo. I’m so so fucking sorry.” 

Theo was absolutely distressed. “Fuck, look Y/N. Let me just finish up here and get my towel and when I’m dry and slightly less naked then we can talk, okay?” 

You sniffled, wiping your tears away. There was no way you could wait. Not after everything Theo had just told you. Not after everything that he’s been telling you all these years. Theo had literally and figuratively laid himself bare before you. The least you could do was to even the playing field. 

So you unlaced the gold and black tie around your neck. Unbuttoned your blouse and threw it somewhere behind you. Stepped out of your skirt and stared at Theo head on. 

“Oh—Merlin’s beard, what in the hell are you doing, Y/N? Are you trying to send me into cardiac arrest?” 

You shook your head, smiling slightly. Theo was determined to look everywhere but at your very exposed body. You were still in your bra and panties, but the black lace really didn’t leave much to the imagination. Especially when the water clung to every inch of your skin. 

“You were vulnerable with me,” you said simply. “So I’m returning the favor.” 

Theo felt like he was definitely headed for an early grave. He tried to think of something—anything—other than the girl he’s been head over heels for since third year standing naked in front of him.

“Theo,” you said softly. His name had never sounded half as good coming out of anyone else’s mouth. He wanted to bottle the sound. “Can I—can I hug you?” 

He could’ve sworn that his heart had stopped beating. The air had all but left his lungs, deflating his entire body as though he’d fallen off his broom and plummeted through the sky at breakneck speed. 

Theo didn’t recognize his own voice as he said, “Of course you can, Y/N.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before you dashed into his arms, nearly toppling him over from the force of it. You were a tiny little thing, but you were stronger than you looked. He smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes as you hugged him. For a minute you and Theo just stood there under the trickling water, holding each other as though you were the only two people alive. 

If this was all the affection you were willing to give him, Theo would’ve been content to hold onto you until you grew tired of him. His slender fingers traced down your spine, drawing soothing circles against your skin as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. You felt safe. Like nothing bad could ever happen as long as you were with him.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this. There was just this spark between you. Perhaps that was part of the reason why you had been so angry this morning. 

It hadn’t just been because Theo sent Alec to the hospital wing, which you were now thankful for after hearing all the disgusting things he said about you. It was also because you thought that he had ruined your chance of feeling that rush with someone else. The same rush you got when the two of you were arguing. The same rush that was noticeably missing when you kissed Alec last night. 

Things with Theo had always been electric. You attributed it to mutual loathing, but that wasn’t the full story. Sure he made your blood boil sometimes, but he also made you feel alive. You were terrified to admit it to yourself, which is probably why you said yes to Alec in the first place. 

You sighed as Theo’s fingers tangled through your hair. He gently pulled your head back and looked at you in the most heartbreaking way. 

“Y/N,” he said hoarsely. Theo’s gaze dipped to your mouth as his arm snaked around your waist. “I think I might die if I go one more second without kissing you. Will you please put me out of my misery, love?” 

You couldn’t help but smile. “Gladly.”

Theo held his breath as you pulled him down to you, lips brushing shyly at first. Then you leaned in and kissed him. And he truly and honestly thought that he had died. 

Your lips were soft against his, tasting of strawberries and mint toothpaste. He cupped the back of your head and tilted your chin to deepen the kiss. Before, Theo thought he could’ve sustained himself from a simple hug, but right now, he couldn’t even control himself as he gorged himself on your taste. 

He chuckled when you tried and failed to get on your tiptoes to offset the height difference between you. Theo caressed your cheek and smiled against your mouth. 

“Need some help, love?” 

You nodded before pulling him back down again. This time, the tender kisses turned more heated as he locked your legs around his waist and pressed your back against the wall. You gasped as the cold tile made contact with your bare skin and Theo took the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. 

Merlin’s beard. Theo kissed with his entire body. There wasn’t an inch of you that wasn’t touching him and the skin to skin contact set your body on fire. You’d kissed other boys before, but they paled in comparison. You couldn’t get enough of Theo. You ran your fingers through his hair. Wrapped your legs more tightly around his waist. Trailed kisses along his jaw and neck and throat. 

Then he fucking moaned. 

It was a low, rumbling sound that sent tremors over your body and shook every fiber of your being like a devastating earthquake. You wanted to hear him make that sound over and over again. 

“Y/N,” Theo said, his forehead dropping to yours. “Before I lose all sense of self, I want to—no—I need to tell you—”

“What is it, Theo?”

“If we do this, then you have to understand what it means to me,” Theo whispered. “I may be terrible with words, but it’s important for me that you hear me when I say this. I want you. Not just physically, but in every sense of the word. I wanted you in third year when you first told me off for being a dick to the first years and I want you now even though you came in here to defend a prick that definitely doesn’t deserve it.” 

“What are you saying, Theo?” 

“I want you to be mine, Y/N.” 

You beamed. “Like, your girlfriend?”

“I don’t think girlfriend is a strong enough word to express how I feel for you, but it’s a start.” He moved the hair out of your face and cradled your cheek. “So yes, I suppose I do want you to be my girlfriend. I want to hold hands with you in the hallways. I want to look up at the stands during my games and see you cheering me on. I want to take you up to the Astronomy Tower and kiss you under the stars.” 

“And you say you’re bad with words,” you teased. “I want to do all those things and more with you, Theodore Nott. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

“Good, cause you’re mine.” Theo said matter-of-factly, those adorable dimples making an appearance on each cheek. “You were mine even before you knew it.” 

He kissed you again, but this time it was soft and sweet and it filled your stomach with butterflies. Theo no longer felt the need to hoard as much of your affection as he could because you had just given him the ultimate reassurance that he would have plenty of you in the future. 

You sighed contently against him, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. He shifted, pressing kisses against your neck. Your fingers froze when you felt him stir underneath you. 

“Theo,” you said slowly, biting back a smirk. “Is that what I think it is pressing against my leg?” 

He groaned. “We’re half naked, in the shower, heavily making out, and you just agreed to be my girlfriend. Of course I’m hard.” 

You stifled a laugh. “Theodore Nott, is emotional intimacy turning you on?” 

“Everything about you turns me on.” 

“That’s helpful to know,” you said with a little smirk. “Especially when we're dueling and I’m losing.” 

“Merlin’s beard. My girlfriend’s downright evil.” 

You grinned so hard that your cheeks ached. Theo peppered kisses all over your face before setting you down. 

“I suppose we should head to dinner soon. My teammates watched you march in here in a fit of rage. They might think you’ve murdered me.” 

“There’s only one problem,” you said as you finally turned off the shower. “I’m soaking wet.” 

“I bet you are, darling.” 

You rolled your eyes. “From the shower, you wanker.” 

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “It’s alright. I’ve got some extra clothes in my locker.”

Ten minutes later, the two of you walked out in the quidditch pitch hand in hand. Theo’s sweater completely enveloped you and he smiled a little at the sight. You received a few interesting stares as you made your way through the castle halls, but one look from Theo and they all quickly found something else to gawk at. Having a scary boyfriend was already paying off. 

On the way to dinner, you ran into Enzo. The git had the biggest smile on his face when he saw that you and Theo were holding hands. “So you heard him out after all, huh?” 

“Yeah, we sorted out our differences,” you said with a smile. “Coincidentally, I gained a boyfriend out of the whole ordeal. Happy now, Berkshire?” 

“Absolutely chuffed,” Enzo said with a grin. “See you lovebirds at dinner.” 

Theo rolled his eyes as his friend disappeared into the Great Hall. He turned, squeezing your fingers. “I should warn you. My friends can be a bit…much.” 

“Don’t worry, I think we all got fairly acquainted in the locker rooms. If they tease us, well I’ve got a perfectly scary boyfriend to fend them off.” 

He chuckled. “A scary boyfriend with an even more terrifying girlfriend.” 

You winked, kissing his bruised knuckles. “This school won’t know what hit them.” 

“Neither did Alec,” he said with a satisfied smirk. You gave him a reprimanding glare, but it was half-hearted. You didn’t actually feel sorry for the prick. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“You know you can’t punch everyone that says anything bad about me, right?”

“Of course not. I’m perfectly capable of kicking them too.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Shut up and kiss me, Theo.” 

“Yes ma'am.” 

taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468

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[ch0llies]

EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO. PT.5

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4

brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader

You're an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt's best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can't ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don't understand the fire you're playing with- but Matt does. And he's burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.

story warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap) p in v, virginity loss, squirting, creampie, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, corruption kink (if u squint), brothers best friend, getting caught, pet names (sweetheart, angel, my love), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 6k

ib: @ariestrxsh’s young god

“You’ve earned it now for sure, sweetheart. You ready?”

His words send a sharp thrill down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach at the sheer possession in his tone. His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up further, forcing you to hold his gaze. His blue eyes are still dark, still hazy, but there’s something new simmering beneath the surface now- something wicked, something insatiable.

“Did you like that, angel?” His voice is rough, still laced with the remnants of his pleasure, but now there’s an edge to it- low and dangerous, laced with the promise of something more.

You don’t answer, but the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together instinctively, tells him everything he needs to know.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips as his grip shifts, fingers ghosting along your jaw before trailing lower, his knuckles grazing the rapid pulse at your throat. His touch is featherlight, teasing, as if testing just how much you can take.

“You’ve were so good for me,” he murmurs, his thumb swiping across your lower lip, pressing just enough to part your lips slightly. “I think it’s time I take care of you again, yeah?”

The anticipation coils tight in your stomach as he leans forward, his breath hot against your skin. His free hand slides down, fingertips skimming your arm before tracing over your waist, your hips, until he’s gripping you firmly, pulling you closer.

“You want that, don’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs, his lips brushing just below your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

Your body betrays you before you can even answer- your fingers gripping onto his thighs, your breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

Matt chuckles, low and knowing, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“That’s what I thought.”

His hands tighten, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulls you onto his lap in one swift motion, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands landing against his chest. His skin is still warm, his dick hard beneath your slick heat.

The way his gaze drags over you- slow, possessive, like he’s already imagining all the ways he’s about to ruin you makes your stomach flip.

His hands slide down, gripping your hips, holding you there like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you feel against him.

“You’re shaking,” he notes, voice dark with amusement. “What’s the matter, angel? Too much?”

You shake your head, but he tuts, tilting his head.

“No? Then why don’t you show me just how much you can take?”

The challenge hangs between you, thick with heat, and before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you move- shifting against him, running your slick folds him. You don’t know why you’re doing it, but for whatever reason you had the painful urge to create friction between you and him.

Matt’s breath hisses through his teeth, his grip on your hips tightening like a warning.

“Careful, sweetheart, ” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rough with restraint. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

You don’t understand what he’s saying and your mind is too polluted with the feeling of him hard and warm against you so you shift again, just slightly, and that’s all it takes. Matt’s patience snaps.

A low growl rumbles from his chest, and before you can react, his hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he moves.

Your gasp barely has time to escape before you’re in the air, weightless for a moment as he lifts you with ease. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, legs dangling around his waist as he carries you, his grip firm and unyielding, his movements purposeful.

Your heart pounds, breath catching in your throat as he strides across your room.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” Matt murmurs against your ear, his voice deep and wrecked, laced with something raw, something possessive.

Your body shivers in response, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him, your nerves warring with your excitement.

You feel your cool silk sheets against your back as he lays you down, his weight following immediately after, pressing you into the mattress.

His hands roam, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of you beneath him. His blue eyes are dark, hooded, filled with something almost reverent as he takes you in- every curve, every inch of skin exposed to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing path down your side, his touch featherlight, making you shiver.

His lips find yours- soft at first, coaxing, but quickly turning hungry, desperate. He kisses you like he’s been starving, like he can’t get enough, his hands never still, never stopping.

“You sure about this?” he rasps against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot, uneven.

The concern in his voice tugs at something deep in your chest, and it only makes you fall harder.

You nod, biting your lip, eyes wide and full of trust as you whisper, “I want this. I want you.”

Matt groans, his hand slipping beneath your thigh, dragging it higher around his waist as his lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint, his self-control hanging by a thread.

But he won’t rush. Not with you. Not when he finally has you where he’s always wanted you- completely his.

And tonight that’s exactly what you’ll be.

Matt exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours for just a second as he gathers himself, as if grounding himself in this moment. His fingers trail lightly along your side, tracing the delicate curve of your waist, his touch so careful- like he’s handling something precious.

Because to him, you are.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, lower, laced with something almost tender. His fingertips ghost over your arm, your shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s okay, my love. You don’t have to pretend you’re not.”

Your breath hitches, and you nod, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as you try to steady yourself. He’s right- you are nervous. Your heart is racing, your stomach tight with anticipation, with the weight of everything this moment means. But you trust him.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” you whisper softly, your voice a squeak. Your cheeks heat at the confession even though he already knows. It’s still embarrassing to you how inexperienced you sound, how vulnerable.

Matt groans, his hands flexing against your hips. “Fuck,” he breathes, shaking his head slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself in. “You have no idea how much that turns me on, do you?���

Your lips part, confused, and his gaze darkens, his fingers tilting your chin up.

“You’re so innocent,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe it, like it’s something he’s savoring. “So sweet. So fucking pure.”

His thumb brushes against your lower lip, dragging it down slightly, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. “And you’re giving yourself to me,” he says, voice thick, reverent. “Letting me be your first.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the weight of his words, at the intensity in his gaze, like he’s memorizing every second of this, like this means just as much to him as it does to you.

“I want it to be you,” you whisper, your fingers curling around his wrist, holding onto him, grounding yourself in him. “I trust you, Matt.”

He groans again, low and wrecked, his restraint visibly unraveling at the edges. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

His lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, down your throat, to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. He takes his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of exposed skin, his hands never rushing, never demanding.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he reassures you, his voice gentle but firm. “Just let me take care of you. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

His fingers slide down your sides, mapping out your body with reverence, learning you, memorizing you. He’s slow, patient, making sure you feel everything, making sure you have time to adjust, to breathe.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “So perfect.”

Matt hovers over you, his weight supported on his forearms as he strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers, his touch impossibly gentle. His blue eyes search yours, dark but soft, so full of something deep and unspoken.

“You’re absolutely sure?” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but beneath it is a layer of concern, of restraint.

You nod, swallowing hard, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Matt exhales slowly, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “Okay, angel,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

His hand traces down your sides again, warm and steady, grounding you as he uses his other hand to position himself, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds a few times, collecting your arousal that’s dripping onto your thighs.

You both moan at the contact, your eyes glued to his cock, his eyes glued to you. Every movement is unhurried and deliberate- like he’s savoring every second, like he’s making sure you’re ready.

But when he finally starts to push in, your breath catches- your entire body tensing at the unfamiliar stretch, the slow, burning pressure.

Matt freezes immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his forehead drops against yours. “Shit,” he breathes, voice tight. “You’re so -fuck- so tight, angel.”

A small whimper escapes you, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s more than you expected- it aches, a deep, overwhelming pressure that steals the breath from your lungs.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Matt-” Your voice wobbles and comes out small and uncertain. You knew he looked big, but you didn’t know it would feel this big.

His head snaps up, and the second he sees your expression, his entire demeanor shifts. His hands cup your face instantly, his thumbs wiping at the wetness gathering beneath your lashes.

“Hey, hey- sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, soothing. “I’ve got you. We don’t have to do this, okay? Just say the word, and we stop.”

You shake your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his biceps. “No- I want to,” you insist, though your voice is barely a whisper. “It just… it just hurts a little.”

Matt swallows hard, his restraint written all over his face, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push any further. Instead, he leans down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he breathes against your mouth. “So good for me.”

His hands stroke your sides, slow and reassuring, easing the tension in your body. He kisses you again. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck- each one gentle, patient, as he gives you time to adjust.

“Just breathe for me,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “Relax, my love. Let me in.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to will your body to unclench, and slowly, bit by bit, the burn starts to fade. It’s still overwhelming, still a stretch, but the pain begins to dull, replaced by something warmer, something deeper.

Matt watches your face carefully, his fingers brushing soothing circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod hesitantly. “Yeah… better.”

He exhales in relief, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before he moves, just a little, just enough to make you gasp.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re taking me so well.”

You feel so impossibly full- stretched beyond anything you ever thought possible. It’s overwhelming, an ache that borders on too much, like your body is being split apart, struggling to take all of him.

A fresh wave of tears prick at your eyes, your breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps as you shift slightly, trying to adjust.

“Are you… are you all the way in?” you whisper, your voice small.

You prop yourself up on trembling elbows, forcing yourself to look down and the second your gaze lands between your bodies, your stomach drops.

He’s not even halfway there.

Your eyes widen, lips parting in silent disbelief, and when you snap your head up to meet his gaze, Matt is already watching you.

His blue eyes are dark, searching, laced with nothing but pure lust, his jaw tight as he takes in your expression.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low, strained, like he’s barely holding on.

You swallow thickly, your fingers clutching onto his arms, your entire body trembling beneath him.

“I…” You trail off, unable to form words, the realization hitting you like a freight train as you lay back down.

Matt exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmurs. His hands stroke over your thighs, your waist, smoothing over your skin in silent reassurance. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

His lips brush against yours, soft and patient, as he whispers against your mouth. “Just breathe for me.”

And as he finally, finally sinks in all the way, filling you completely, his hands never stop touching you, never stop soothing you.

Matt stills the moment he’s fully inside you, his breath ragged, his arms nearly trembling as he holds himself still. His forehead presses against yours, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room is the shared rhythm of your breathing, the quiet hum of your bodies pressed so intimately together.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so good, angel- so warm, so tight.”

You whimper softly, still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, the deep stretch that leaves you breathless. Your body is still tense, still unsure, but Matt doesn’t move, doesn’t rush, doesn’t do anything except hold you close, his lips brushing against your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing slow, comforting circles against your hip.

You nod hesitantly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath your touch. “It’s… a lot,” you admit, your voice small, shaky.

Matt exhales sharply, his grip tightening like he’s barely holding himself together. “I know, my love,” he soothes, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I know. Just breathe for me, yeah? Let your body relax.”

His hands continue moving- gliding up and down your sides, ghosting over your stomach, slipping beneath your thighs to pull you just a little closer. He kisses you again, deep and slow, his tongue tracing along your lower lip, distracting you, coaxing you into letting go of the last bit of tension.

And when you finally, finally exhale, your muscles softening beneath him, Matt groans, his jaw clenching.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s my good girl.”

He pulls out just an inch before easing back in, slow and careful, watching your face the entire time. You gasp, nails digging into his back, overwhelmed by the sensation, the way he fills you so completely, like he was made to fit against you, inside you.

Matt’s breathing is ragged now, his control visibly fraying, but he keeps his pace slow, keeps his movements gentle as he only pushes about and inch out and back into you. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw. “Taking me so well- being so good for me.”

Your body starts to adjust, the discomfort slowly fading, replaced by something warmer, something that makes your toes curl and your breath stutter. A soft moan escapes you, and Matt groans in response, his fingers tightening against your hips.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice rough, strained. “Feels better, doesn’t it?”

You nod breathlessly, your hands sliding up his arms, over his shoulders, clinging to him as the warmth between your legs grows, the pleasure building in slow, tantalizing waves.

“Please,” you whisper, not even sure what you’re begging for, only knowing that you don’t want him to stop, don’t want this moment to end.

Matt groans like the sound of your voice is his undoing. “Fuck,” he breathes, his movements still slow but deeper now, more deliberate. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

He presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that feels like a confession, like worship. Every roll of his hips is measured, controlled, like he’s savoring you, like he wants this to last forever.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, his voice thick with possession. “You know that, right?”

You shiver beneath him, nodding without hesitation. “Yes,” you whisper.

His lips curl into a smirk against your skin, and his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head.

“Good girl.”

And then he moves, slow and deep and perfect, and you finally, finally surrender completely.

Matt’s slow, controlled thrusts start to falter, his breathing growing heavier, more uneven. He’s been holding back, reining himself in, treating you like something fragile, something delicate. But the second you moan his name, the second your nails scrape down his back, something snaps inside him.

“Fuck-” he groans, his grip on your hips tightening. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. So perfect for me. I can’t hold back anymore. Tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?”

His pace picks up immediately, his movements more desperate, more intense. The deep, steady thrusts give way to something rougher, something needier, like he can’t get enough of you, like he needs to feel every inch of you wrapped around him.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he growls against your ear, his voice dark, strained with pleasure. “Wanted me to ruin you?”

You whimper beneath him, barely able to form words, your body overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you now, by the way he’s making you feel.

He smirks against your neck, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his lips tracing down your jaw. “Taking me so fucking well. Such a good girl for me.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body arching against him, craving more. He notices, of course he notices, and groans, one hand slipping between your bodies, fingers finding the most sensitive part of you.

“Fuck- listen to you,” he breathes, his fingers working you in slow, devastating circles. “So fucking needy for me. You like this, don’t you? Like being my good girl?”

You nod frantically, barely able to think straight, the pleasure building so fast it leaves you dizzy.

Matt chuckles, dark and satisfied, his other hand gripping your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder to take him even deeper.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his pace relentless now, his hips slamming into yours with every thrust. “God, you feel so fucking good. So perfect. All mine.”

You’re close- you can feel it, the pleasure coiling tight, ready to snap. Your hands grip his shoulders, your body trembling beneath him, and he notices that too.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna let me feel you fall apart on me?”

You nod, whimpering his name, and that’s all he needs.

His fingers move faster, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper, hitting that spot that makes you cry out, your entire body tightening around him.

“Come on,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “Be the good girl you know you are and cum for me.”

Everything shatters.

Pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as you fall apart beneath him.

Matt groans, feeling your body tense and shudder around him as your climax washes over you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, and he watches you unravel beneath him with a look of pure possession.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his fingers still working you through your high, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. “So fucking beautiful when you cum around me.”

But he isn’t done. Not even close.

His hips never stop moving, never stop thrusting deep into you, and the overstimulation has you whimpering, your body twitching as he keeps pushing you past your limit.

“Too much?” he teases, smirking against your neck as he rolls his hips just right, making your back arch off the bed. “You can take it, sweetheart. Just let me make you feel good.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, but the heat in your stomach is already building again, the sensitivity morphing into another wave of unbearable pleasure.

“You wanted me to make you feel good, didn’t you?” Matt growls, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open wider as he pounds into you with deep, bruising thrusts. “Wanted me to use this perfect untouched little body until you crumble?”

You can’t even answer, your words turning into breathless moans, and Matt groans, his pace rough and unrelenting.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, his head falling against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “So tight, so fucking perfect- God, I’m not gonna stop. Not until I’ve had my fill of you.”

He moves your other leg over his shoulder, sinking even deeper, and you cry out, your whole body jolting from the intensity of it.

“That’s it,” he praises, his hands roaming over your body, gripping your waist, your thighs, your breasts. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You’re already close again- your body hasn’t had time to recover, the pleasure slamming into you with relentless force.

“You gonna cum for me again?” Matt grits out, his voice wrecked, strained. “Come on, baby, give me another- wanna feel you squeeze me again.”

His fingers press harder, rubbing tight, devastating circles against your swollen clit, matching the deep, punishing rhythm of his hips. The pressure is unbearable, the heat coiling so tightly in your stomach that you can barely breathe.

“Matt-” you gasp, your entire body locking up, your back arching as white-hot pleasure rips through you.

But this time it’s different.

Your orgasm hits you like a fucking tidal wave, crashing into you with so much force that your vision blurs, your breath catches, your legs shake uncontrollably over his shoulders. A sharp, helpless cry rips from your throat as your body clenches so hard around him that he groans, his rhythm faltering.

A sudden rush of liquid spills between you, soaking the sheets, drenching his stomach, your thighs, everything.

For a split second, your mind goes blank.

Your body shudders violently, your chest heaving, your limbs weak, your head spinning.

Matt stills.

You’re panting, shaking, blinking up at him in shock, completely dazed, barely able to comprehend what just happened.

Matt exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls back slightly, looking down at the mess between you.

His lips part, his eyes darkening, and then he lets out a low, guttural groan.

“Holy fuck.”

Your face burns, your stomach twisting in embarrassment. You have no idea what just happened.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, mortified, trying to close your legs, trying to hide, but Matt’s hands clamp down on your thighs, spreading you open again.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, his voice low, feral, dripping with pure, unfiltered desire. His thumb swipes through the wetness, his breath shaky, his body tense.

“You just fucking squirted all over me,” he mutters, almost like he can’t believe it, like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

You let out a small, humiliated whimper, covering your face with your hands, but Matt just chuckles darkly, shaking his head.

“Sweetheart,” he purrs, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, caging you in. “You think I’d be anything other than completely fucking obsessed with this?”

Your eyes widen as he grinds against you again, still hard, still throbbing inside you.

“You’re gonna do that again,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking against your pulse, his hips pulling back only to slam into you again.

“And this time, I want you to scream my name when you do it.”

Matt doesn’t give you a second to recover- doesn’t give you time to process what just happened.

Before you can catch your breath, before you can even close your legs, he’s already moving again, thrusting deep into you, stretching you all over again, his hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go.

“Oh my god- Matt-” you gasp, your voice wrecked, shaking, your entire body still tingling from the last orgasm.

But Matt- Matt is relentless.

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my fuckin name,” he growls, snapping his hips forward, his pace turning brutal, needy, unforgiving. “You’re gonna give me another one. I know you can.”

His fingers slip between your bodies, rubbing tight, torturous circles over your clit again, zeroing in on your most sensitive spot.

You whimper, thrash, tremble, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming, too intense.

“Matt- I-” you choke out, your legs twitching, your thighs trying to squeeze together, but he doesn’t let you.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough, desperate, obsessed. “Let it happen. Let me see you cum all over me like that again.”

His pace grows punishing, his fingers unrelenting, and you can feel it building again.

The heat, the pressure, the sharp coil of pleasure tightening in your stomach so fast it nearly blinds you.

You try to fight it- try to pull away, the overstimulation too much, too intense.

But Matt doesn’t let you.

“Don’t you fucking run from it,” he growls, pinning you down, holding you still, his breath hot against your ear. “Be a good girl and fucking take it.”

That’s all it takes.

Your body seizes, your back arching off the bed, and then-

A sharp, helpless scream rips from your throat as another rush of liquid spills from you, gushing between your legs, soaking the sheets, drenching him all over again.

“Holy fuck-” Matt groans, his jaw clenching, his hips faltering as he watches it happen, as he feels it happen.

Your entire body shakes, your vision going white, your mind blanking completely as wave after wave of pleasure crashes into you.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls, his voice strained, wrecked, completely gone as he pounds into you one last time.

“Fuck- Y/N-”

.A deep, wrecked groan tears from his throat as he buries himself inside you, his entire body shuddering as he spills into you, his fingers gripping you like he never wants to let go.

For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the warm press of your bodies still tangled together as he pulls out.

Matt collapses against you, his lips brushing over your damp skin as he exhales shakily. “Fuck,” he mutters, still catching his breath. “You’re… unreal.”

You hum softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. But just when you think you’re done, Matt’s lips curl into a smirk against your skin.

“You didn’t think we were finished, did you?” he murmurs, his hands already sliding down your body, already spreading your legs apart again.

Your breath hitches. “Matt-”

But he’s already kissing down your body, already pressing his fingers against your still-sensitive core.

“You can give me one more,” he coaxes, his voice smooth, confident. “And then another. And then another.”

His blue eyes flicker up to yours, dark and filled with something insatiable.

“You’re mine for the night, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh. “And I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Within seconds he’s moving again, his hands pulling the teeshirt over his head and throwing it across the room, hands gripping your thighs and spreading you open beneath him. His blue eyes are dark, wild, still hungry as he drags his fingers down your oversensitive core, teasing, testing.

“You can give me more, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing. “I know you can.”

Your body jolts as his fingers slip between your folds, his touch slow but deliberate, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your already throbbing clit. A cry escapes your lips, your body twitching from the complete and utter overstimulation, but he just smirks, watching you squirm beneath him.

“Too much?” he teases, tilting his head as he leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “That’s what you said last time, too- and look at you now.”

His fingers push inside you, and you gasp, your nails digging into his arms as he starts pumping them at a devastating pace, curling them just right. His thumb continues rubbing tight circles against your clit, and the pleasure slams into you again, sharp and overwhelming.

“Matt- ” you cry out, but your words dissolve into breathless moans as he keeps working you, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Shh, my love,” he soothes, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open for him. “Just let me make you feel good again.”

His fingers work you faster, deeper, and you’re already spiraling, already teetering on the edge again, your body writhing beneath him. He watches your face, his lips curling into a smirk as he sees the way your eyes squeeze shut, the way your mouth parts in desperate pleasure.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Cum for me again, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”

It crashes over you so fast you barely have time to prepare- your 5th orgasm of the night tearing through you, your entire body seizing up as you cry out his name, your hands clutching onto him like he’s the only thing grounding you.

Matt groans, feeling the way you clench around his fingers, the way your body trembles from the sheer force of it. He keeps his movements steady, dragging out your pleasure until you’re twitching from the overstimulation, whimpering against his shoulder.

“God damn,” he breathes, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw. “So fucking good for me. So fucking perfect.”

But he’s not done. Before you can even process what’s happening, he’s gripping your hips and flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. Your breath catches, your body still trembling, but Matt’s hands are firm, steady, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

“You can give me one more,” he murmurs, his hands smoothing over your hips before gripping them tight. “Just one more, baby.”

He pushes inside you in one slow, deep thrust, and the stretch makes you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as he fills you up completely.

“Fuck,” Matt groans, his hands tightening on your waist. “You’re still so fucking tight. How are you still this tight?”

He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, and you let out a strangled moan, your back arching as he sets a brutal, relentless pace.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you harder and unbelievably faster and deeper, like he’s finally letting himself go. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His hands slide up your back, one gripping the back of your neck, the other slipping between your legs, rubbing rough, desperate circles against your puffy and abused clit. Your body jolts at the contact, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach again, and Matt groans at the way you squeeze around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate. “One more. Come with me this time.”

You’re so close, the pleasure slamming into you so hard it leaves you breathless. Matt’s grip tightens, his movements growing frantic, and his voice is wrecked as he whispers,

“You’re mine, baby. All fucking mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice, the way he’s taking you, claiming you—it sends lightning through your veins, the coil in your stomach tightening dangerously fast.

“Matty- ” you choke out, your nails digging into his back, your body clenching around him, and he feels it, notices it, because his thrusts somehow become even harder, faster and deeper.

“That’s it, sweetheart, don’t hold back,” he groans, his thumb slipping between you, pressing even rougher circles against your swollen clit. “You’re gonna come for me again. I can feel it.”

His free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider for him, letting him sink in even deeper, hitting that spot that has you seeing stars.

It’s too much.

Your whole body locks up, your mouth falling open as a strangled, wrecked cry rips from your throat. Your orgasm slams into you, wave after violent wave, and you can’t stop it-

The release pours out of you, drenching the sheets, soaking him, the mess between you completely obscene.

Matt loses it.

“Holy fucking shit-” he groans loudly, his hips slamming into you one last time, his entire body tensing hard as he buries himself deep inside you.

His release spills into you again, hot and endless, mixing with yours, his grip on you tightening, his body shuddering from the sheer force of it.

Matt finally pulls out, groaning softly as he watches his release spill out of you, dripping onto the already ruined sheets beneath you. He lets out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, looking down at the complete mess you both made. “We absolutely destroyed these sheets.”

You let out a whimper, covering your face with your hands, still dazed, still trembling from everything that just happened.

Matt grins, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your temple before rolling off the bed.

“Stay there,” he murmurs, pulling the soaking wet sheets off the mattress in one swift motion. The fabric lands on the floor with a heavy thud, and he’s already reaching for fresh ones, moving quickly, effortlessly, like he’s done this before.

Your face burns at the thought.

Matt glances over his shoulder at you, smirking, noticing your expression.

“Don’t go getting all shy on me now, baby,” he teases, snapping the new sheet over the mattress, smoothing it out with practiced ease. “Not after you just squirted all over me, what? Three times?”

You groan, burying your face in a pillow as he lets out a low, satisfied laugh.

“Adorable,” he muses, tossing the ruined sheets into the corner before climbing back into bed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.

“All set, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair, grinning as he wraps himself around you again. “Now get over here and let me hold you.”

And even as exhaustion starts to take over, his grip never loosens- his body never stops pressing against yours, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

Matt groans softly, still catching his breath, his arms wrapped securely around you. His body is warm, his skin slick with sweat, but neither of you move for a long moment, both too blissed out, too exhausted.

You’re still blushing furiously, the aftermath of everything settling in.

But there’s one thing you can’t quite wrap your head around.

You shift slightly, looking up at him with wide, confused eyes, your fingers playing with the hem of the blanket.

“Matt…” you murmur, your voice small.

He hums in response, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.

You hesitate before finally asking, genuine confusion in your tone,

“…What happened to me… when I… you know?”

Matt stills.

His lips twitch, and he lifts his head slightly, brows raising as he looks at you, almost like he didn’t hear you right.

“You mean… when you came?” he asks carefully, watching your expression.

You chew on your lip, your cheeks burning, your body curling in on itself slightly.

“I- I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling incredibly shy. “I just… it felt really good but then- then it was like…a lot.”

Matt’s eyes darken, his grip tightening slightly on your hip as he exhales through his nose, clearly holding back a smirk.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, amusement lacing his voice. “You really don’t know?”

You shake your head quickly, suddenly mortified.

Matt grins, propping himself up on his elbow, gazing down at you like he’s completely enamored.

“Baby,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back, his thumb stroking your cheek. “You squirted. Like I said”

You blink.

Your brows furrow, and you shift under the blanket, pulling it closer around you, feeling smaller, embarrassed.

“I- what?”

Matt chuckles, clearly loving this.

“You know…” he smirks, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “When a girl gets so worked up, so completely lost in pleasure that she-”

He gestures vaguely to the soaked sheets on the floor.

You follow his gaze- and suddenly, realization dawns.

Your eyes widen, your face going completely red, and you whip your head back to him, absolutely mortified.

“MATT!” you squeak, hiding your face in your hands.

He laughs, genuinely laughs, shaking his head as he pulls your hands away, his grip gentle but firm.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Don’t get all embarrassed. That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You groan, your cheeks burning, trying to turn away from him, but he won’t let you.

“Sweetheart,” he purrs, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.

His blue eyes are dark, filled with something warm, something possessive.

“You have no idea how much that turned me on,” he murmurs. “How fucking good you looked when you let go like that.”

Your stomach flutters violently, and you bury your face in his chest, whining softly.

Matt just laughs again, wrapping his arms tighter around you, completely obsessed with your innocence, your sweetness.

Then he shifts.

You blink up at him, bleary-eyed, as he carefully untangles himself from you and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” you murmur sleepily, frowning as you reach for him.

Matt chuckles, shaking his head as he stands. “Relax, sweetheart. I just need to clean you up.”

That wakes you up a little more.

You sit up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “You need to… what?”

Matt glances at you over his shoulder, smirking. “Clean you up,” he repeats simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He grabs a clean rag from the dresser and disappears into the bathroom.

You sit there, stunned, your legs still weak and trembling as you try to process the situation. He’s… he’s going to clean you up?

You don’t have time to overthink it before Matt is back, damp rag in hand, his expression calm and casual- like he hasn’t just spent the past however long wrecking you completely.

But then he kneels back onto the bed, his large hands gripping your thighs, and you suddenly feel very small, very exposed.

“Matt-” you start, but he just smirks, shaking his head as he spreads your legs apart again.

“Sweetheart,” he tuts, his voice low, teasing. “I just made you cum like six times. You can’t be all shy and shit now.”

Your entire face burns, your thighs instinctively trying to press back together, but Matt just grips them firmly, keeping you open for him.

“Matthew!” you squeak, but then you see it.

Your gaze drops, and your breath catches as you notice the mess between your legs- his cum, mixed with yours, spilling out of you, slick and warm against your thighs.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, absolutely mortified.

Matt chuckles, his eyes darkening as he watches your reaction. “It’s normal, angel,” he reassures you, his thumb stroking your inner thigh.

You look back up at him, eyes wide. “You’re not… grossed out?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. If anything…” He leans in slightly, his gaze flickering downward, his jaw clenching. “I’m almost getting hard again just looking at it.”

Your face somehow turns even redder.

“Oh my gosh,” you whimper, covering your face with your hands as you flop back against the pillows, absolutely overwhelmed.

Matt just chuckles again, his smirk unmistakably smug as he brings the warm rag between your legs and starting to clean you up, his touch gentle, careful.

But even as he moves with patience, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, and the way he looks at you makes you wonder just how much rest you’re actually going to get tonight.

After he finishes cleaning you up, Matt tosses the rag aside and looks down at you, his blue eyes softer now, filled with something warm, something that makes your stomach flutter. He brushes a hand over your thigh, his fingers tracing gentle, soothing circles.

“You sore?” he asks, his voice low, genuinely concerned.

You shift slightly, feeling the lingering ache between your legs, and nod. “Yeah… it hurts down here.”

Matt exhales, running a hand through his hair before he moves, standing just long enough to walk around the bed before slipping under the covers on the other side. He pats the mattress beside him.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, inviting.

You hesitate only for a second before scooting over, letting him pull you into his arms. His warmth surrounds you instantly, his body solid and comforting, his scent still intoxicating- like musk and something undeniably him.

His chin rests lightly atop your head, and he sighs, his hands lazily tracing up and down your back, grounding you both in the quiet afterglow.

“How was it?” he asks after a moment, his voice rumbling against your skin. “Your first time?”

You let out a soft giggle, nuzzling closer against his chest. “It was really good,” you admit, your voice muffled against his skin. “But… I don’t really know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Matt chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you came six times, I’d say it was pretty damn good, sweetheart.”

“Is that normal?” Your cheeks flush, and you bite your lip, hiding your face against him.

He laughs again, clearly amused. “No. Not usually. But that’s a good thing,”

“Matt?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

“Mm?”

You shift, rolling over so you can face him. He tilts his head slightly, his brows raising at your expression.

“How many people have you done it with?” you ask, your gaze flickering downward, suddenly shy.

Matt blinks, visibly caught off guard. His mouth opens, then closes, and for the first time since the night started, he looks almost… awkward.

“Uh…” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why?”

You shrug, still not looking at him, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” you mumble, your voice suddenly small. “I was just… wondering.”

Matt watches you for a long moment, and then realization dawns. His lips twitch slightly, and he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.

You immediately look down, avoiding his eyes entirely, and he exhales sharply, his smirk growing.

“Oh, you are,” he murmurs, his fingers tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes flicker with something playful, something teasing. “That’s adorable.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands, but Matt just chuckles, prying them away and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, “I don’t care about anyone before you. The only person I’m thinking about right now- the only person I want- is you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, and you finally look up at him, your lips parting slightly. His expression softens, and his thumb strokes over your cheek, his gaze filled with something deeper, something more sincere.

“Okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Okay.”

Matt grins, clearly satisfied, and pulls you back against his chest, his arms tightening around you.

“Good,” he says, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “Because I plan on keeping you all to myself.”

Matt tilts your chin up again, his blue eyes flickering between yours, his gaze deep, searching. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his breath warm as he leans in.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not like before- not rushed or desperate. This kiss is slow, deep, intimate. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your stomach flip, makes your body melt into his touch. His hands cradle your face like you’re something precious, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your jaw, down your neck.

You sigh into his mouth, your arms looping around his shoulders, pulling him closer. The heat between you starts to build again, your bodies pressing together under the covers, the slow drag of his lips against yours turning into something more heated, more urgent.

Matt groans softly, tilting your head back further as his tongue brushes against yours, deepening the kiss. His hands wander lower, slipping beneath the blanket, gripping your waist as he shifts, rolling you onto your back.

He hovers over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips trailing down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice husky, wrecked, “I can’t get enough of you.”

He starts to crawl over you, his knee parting your thighs, his hands framing your face as his lips find yours again, this time more desperate, more claiming-

BANG.

The bedroom door swings open so suddenly it slams against the wall.

“Hey, Y/N, I was a fucking hour into the drive when I realized I forgot my wallet, do you know where I-”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

You freeze. Matt freezes.

Your brother stands in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, taking in the scene in front of him:

Matt completely naked and hovering over you, your legs tangled together under the covers, both of you breathless, flushed, naked, and clearly caught in the middle of something.

Your brother’s face twists in absolute horror, his expression shifting from shock to pure rage in a matter of seconds. His jaw clenches, his fists tighten, and then-

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he bellows, his voice shaking the walls.

The room goes still.

Your stomach drops.

Matt’s chest rises and falls slowly, his body tense, frozen, unreadable.

Your eyes snap to his, wide, panicked, pleading.

Matt just meets your gaze, steady and sure, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you speak.

There’s not much you could say anyways.

What is there to do when you’re caught with one man who was off limits?

EPILOGUE OUT NOW!

MASTERLIST

a/n: and with that, the earned it series has come to an end 🫡 thank you for all the love on this series. YOU ARE ALL INCREDIBLE!! you literally give me motivation to write. so thank you. i know i left on another cliffhanger…. sorry not sorry. the original draft of this chapter was actually like 8k words and included what happened after the brother walked in but i decided that I kinda wanna leave it up to the readers mind. yall get to decide what happens after this! (maybe I’ll put out an epilogue or smth idk) BUT THANK YOU AGAIN SO MUCH!!! SO MUCH LOVE!!!

-c🧡

for @mattsobvimyfav as always, i love you. thank you for being you. you are my sunshine.

tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

hockey player simon riley x f!reader’s relationship, through the eyes of the fans // sort of smau

i was listening to 5sos’ slsp while writing this so!!! sorry i went bonkers 😔 i just love this au sm

simon riley is obsessed with his girl, and it is maddeningly endearing.

of course he’s in love with you, everyone could see even from a continent away, but there is something clingy, possessive, in the way simon hovers around you. like you’d disappear right before his eyes if he wasn’t pressed close; if his tattooed arm wasn’t looped around your waist or his thick fingers were not twined with yours.

it is new, unheard of, even riley’s loyal fans says so, but it’s just so—

nice.

(the word is inadequate, they know, but there’s nothing close that could describe how heart-fluttering his devotion to you is.)

riley has always been a private person, sharing only sparse details of his life. one can even easily locate his earliest instagram post because there’s just about twenty uploads in his account since its creation—from 2017, and it’s a broken hockey stick. even that throw-away picture continues to amass likes as new fans come scouring whatever of him they can find.

his latest post was during last season’s finals’ celebrations—a series of pictures of the boys carrying the stanley cup. the first few pictures were all professionally taken, but the rest splinters into blurred shots of mactavish and garrick, particularly, drinking from the cup from inside of the locker room.

it said: thank you all.

curt, direct, but not any less meaningful.

cut to this year, mid-regular season (january), and after five months of drought, the simon riley posted a picture. and it wasn’t just any picture, but it was a hard launch of his new partner.

it was a selfie, taken by you, the camera angled just slightly. your back was pressed to his chest, and his chin was hooked to your shoulder, and, cheek-to-cheek, the two of you grin up at the camera. the background was distinctly new york, central park, so it must have been taken after the specgru’s game against the rangers (0-4 for the specgru).

for the caption, he wrote: she’s never been here before.

in an instant, all of the speculations were confirmed—the most eligible bachelor of the franchise is, finally, in an official relationship.

news articles popped up after that, speculations bloating at the shocking news. some people have even said that they’re sure they’ve seen you prior to the announcement—weren’t you that one fan simon riley was flirting with while he was on ice, mid-game?

(you were.

you were even one of the people that was tagged in johnny’s story before it got preemptively taken down; and the same person seen with the other WAGs, sprinkles of your silhouette seen on pictures like the ones that are taken on the days when the franchise flies them for game nights or the countless ones during the unveiling of the season’s WAGs jackets.

you have been a part of their circle even before the world knew who you were and, somehow, that was comforting; how simon riley had not thrown you to the wolves—or vultures, as mactavish snarled when they’ve hounded him about his fiancee’s abrupt end of her season in the FIVB, like her health wasn’t the priority over her career—and instead made sure you were surrounded by people who knew how to survive amidst the scrutiny.)

and, just like that, the dam called simon-riley’s-secret-album-of-you broke.

what had been a sporadic activity in his account exploded into series of posts, one update every week. it was a whirlwind of excitement because no one from the hockey world has ever seen this much of simon riley’s life.

he was always unapproachable, distant, like there’s always a wall between him and the rest of the world. like in exchange of being called the living legend, the guiding star, simon riley gets to shirk away from the public whenever he chooses. and who can fault him for that? riley’s career has always been heavily documented—people knew him even before he was drafted into the league, they had betted on his rookie year, and then had put him in a lonely pedestal. so of course he is fiercely protective of his privacy.

only a select few get to truly know him, only a select few have stories of simon that isn’t about the ice or hockey or his in-the-works legacy. only a select few see him beyond his crown, and now he’s giving a piece of his true self to the world because of you.

because you are worth showing off.

because life with you is worth celebrating.

.

riley41

[it’s a candid image of you standing on the balcony, wearing a too-big of a shirt that is getting ruffled by the wind and pyjama pants, and leaning over the railing as you stare at the scenery. you’re all silhouette because your body is devoured by the orange rays of the sunrise, its tendrils spilling into the wooden floors of the hotel room.]

liked by jmactavish.91, reyenzo14, and others

riley41 ibiza

.

riley41

[it’s a series. the first image is of the two of you on his motorcycle, the picture taken from simon’s bike’s camera. you’re both wearing tinted helmets and leather gears, the background a blur of colours which indicates that this was taken mid-ride. you’re gripping him tightly and your body is almost fully-covered by his bulk, leaving only the top half of your helmet to be seen peering from his shoulders.

the second image is of the beach. it’s dusk, and the sky is an explosion of pinks and purples and blues.

the third image is a selfie with your visors up. you’re looking at the camera with a shy smile, your eyes squinted because of how bright it still is, while simon only has his eyes on you.]

liked by pricejhn2, alexkeller_, and others

riley41 vroom

.

riley41

[it’s a mirror selfie of the two of you, with simon taking the photo. the background is notably his house. your back is facing the mirror, your head tilted to rest on his shoulder, while his arm is curled around your waist. you’re wearing this season’s WAG jacket—it’s black and green, their colours. the pose now makes sense because you’re showing off the back of the jacket that spells out RILEY 41 in white. simon’s wearing their away-jersey.]

liked by kylegarrick, konig_76, and others

riley41 game six let’s go

.

riley41

[it’s a video; the angle shows that it is taken by someone else. you and simon are hugging, and are swaying lightly as the two of you dance to the faint sound of music booming from somewhere behind the camera. simon’s mouthing the lyrics to your ear, his cheeks flushed like he’s buzzed from drinking, while you giggle and softly rub your palm at his back.]

liked by jmactavish.91, kylegarrick, and others

riley41 my favourite person

.

.

yourname

[it’s a candid picture you’ve taken of simon sleeping while he uses your lap as pillow. the angle captures the way your fingers are playing with his hair and scratching his scalp gently. the picture is a little blurry because there’s not enough light to properly focus the lens.]

liked by riley41, jjoanne.spam, and others

yourname im the happiest when im with him

[yogurtkags]

❝ HUSH ❞ — sakusa kiyoomi

cw. f!reader, fluff, olympics au, athletic trainer!reader, timeskip characters, established relationship, secret marriage, language (omi swears like once), not beta read (sorry!) word count. ~ 1.6k

“japan’s outside hitter sakusa kiyoomi and newly revealed wife, athletic trainer y/n l/n, steals the spotlight in the city of love!”

@tetzoro's summer olympics collab

your eyes glance in his direction, letting it linger on his figure as the team settles down into their corner. he’s a little tense, understandably so– it’s his first time at the olympics, and with the pressure of the finals sitting on his shoulders, the nerves are showing, though carefully hidden behind his standard resting face that you can see through so well. the lights hanging along the ceilings of the south paris arena cast a tasteful warm glow along the contours of his face. despite the subconscious clenched jaw and slightly downturned lips that make you want to kiss the frown off so badly, there’s a shine in his eyes like no other.

the last few days have been pretty rough, of stiff beds, subpar food and sleeping without kiyoomi. you know he feels the same if the progressively increasing frequency of late night calls and texts are any indication. with the boys sharing rooms in twos amongst themselves and the rest of the team’s staff being housed in a separate wing of the building, falling asleep in his arms was a faraway thought since you arrived at the olympic village.

loml ♡ : miya snores so fuckin’ loudly i can’t handle this me : well it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve dealt with it baby loml ♡ : i still think we should’ve fought harder for us sharing a room

he drifts off into slumber easily after washing up and getting his fill of talking to you (never enough), the mental and physical fatigue of matches and practices in between taking a toll on his body, but for you, being wrapped in his warm embrace was the perfect recipe and vital to a good night's sleep. it’s safe to say that you haven’t been sleeping well for the past week.

it didn’t help that being sworn to secrecy about your relationship also meant that any interactions you had with him outside being the team’s athletic trainer was like treading on eggshells. it feels like you’re in high school again, sitting next to him in the dining hall during meal times with your clasped hands hidden under the table from watchful eyes, his thumb rubbing soft circles against the back of your hand or squeezing ever so often, as if to affirm his presence and silently reassure that i’m here.

it seems to be a trend lately for athletes to be active on their social media platforms, be it their team’s or just a personal account, recounting stories or even taking avid viewers through “a day in the life of an olympic athlete” — without looking too far, even miya jumped on the bandwagon, often seeing suna running around filming short clips of their shenanigans in free pockets of time during the day. you and kiyoomi talked about it before the season began, keeping any non-professional interactions to a minimum. there’s eyes everywhere and it’s better to be safe than sorry.

both of you are very private people, it was only natural that you preferred to keep your personal life and matters to yourselves behind closed doors. this ended up being a double-edged sword, because everyone wants to be all up in your business, especially kiyoomi who finds himself in the spotlight more often, being apart of the “young handsome eligible bachelors” of the MSBY 4 and now one of the most sought-after new additions to japan’s national team.

you on the other hand, were better known by twitter as “the pretty trainer” from the shweiden adlers and now the national team, standing next to another fan-favourite, iwaizumi hajime. thankfully your role is kept more so behind the scenes, checking on the players during games and making sure they remain in tip-top shape on and off the court.

being the quiet and brooding one amongst outgoing chatterboxes meant that the media would try to dig any information out of kiyoomi, but prying interviewers and prodding questions towards him and his love life were smoothly deflected and brushed aside, the boys even coming to his defense if anyone got too pushy with it, which you were beyond thankful for. not that they needed to most of the time, he’s known to be curt with his responses and quick to bring the topic back to the game, and no one likes a snappy sakusa anyway, many have learned this the hard way.

just months prior to the both of you getting called in to begin training for the olympics and before schedules start to pick up, you had a small private wedding in your hometown with just close friends and family, the ceremony kept under lock and key and tucked away from the public eye. it made it all the more intimate, more like a quiet gathering to celebrate your union than a grand spectacle, which suited you perfectly. the honeymoon hasn’t happened yet with the timing of everything, you’re saving it for post-season when you both can finally take a break and relax for a little while.

you won’t deny that there are some days where you wished that things were different, and that you could openly express your love for each other without scrutiny and attention being on you, but alas, that is to be expected as someone exposed to the public eye.

the olympics is your first public appearance as married individuals, not that anyone particularly cares about your status, their eyes instead zeroing in on kiyoomi and the chain around his neck carrying a shiny new silver band. it's safe to say that judging by the scowl on his face and the chatter buzzing around the front rows of stands as the team settles into their side of the court, his “mystery wife" is the new talk of the town.

when he comes over to you during timeout, his eyes meet yours bashfully as you hand him a bottle, fingers brushing against yours in an unspoken apology. you just smile and lightly pat his back as he turns to join the team huddle. there’s nothing to be sorry for, silly.

these little moments mean everything to you, even though it looks like nothing in the grand scheme of things. just being there with him and coming together with a shared passion even if it's in different fields of the broader spectrum of sport, fills you with a sense of happiness and content. watching him in his element and being able to support him on the sidelines through it all, you'd never trade that for the world.

and as you’re sitting at the edge of your seat with your bum hanging on for dear life, you lean forward with your hands pressed together, the top of your index fingers resting against the tip of your nose like a pseudo prayer. match point.

it feels like you’re watching the longest rally of your life and like a bad habit, your knee begins bouncing up and down in your nervousness and anticipation. iwaizumi too, is so engrossed in the play at hand that he doesn’t notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care enough in this moment to stop you with his usual slap to your thigh and a chiding comment, “stop it, even my grandma back in sendai can feel the tremours from your goddamn knees.”

with bated breath, you watch kageyama tosses one beautiful arc of a set to kiyoomi as he leaps into the air and makes contact with the ball.

with a powerful spike, he is a force to be reckoned with, sending the ball home as the opponents dive to save it, their arms hands and fingers stretching out in a last ditch attempt to connect and rescue the point, but to no avail. the ball lands with a harsh thud and as he stands tall above their groveling, the whistle blows and the crowds roar.

your arms instinctively raise in a cheer, and in the next moment they’re closed over your mouth, tears pricking your eyes as you stumble over your feet and scramble to get up. as the team rushes towards him with shouts of celebration, his eyes immediately dart in your direction, softening as he sees you dashing over. with knowing smirks and crescent moons for eyes, the boys follow his line of sight and give him firm slaps on the back, parting the hoard for you and giving just enough room for him to uncharacteristically swoop you up in his arms and crash his lips into yours, all caution thrown to the wind.

all the noise halts and time stands still, everything fades away and nothing else in the world matters in the moment, not the people, not the cameras, just the overwhelming rush of joy and pride, and love, oh love, swelling from the depths of your chest and your heart bursting at its seams.

your senses flood with everything kiyoomi, from the way the sweaty strands of his hair at the back of his neck feel on your fingertips, his cheeks dampening from your tears, the nudge of his nose against yours, and the press of his smile on your locked lips. he breathes out and you breathe him in, letting all of his being rest in the room in your heart saved specially for him, seeping into every corner of your soul.

when you inevitably pull apart for air, the current predicament doesn't exactly click in your mind just yet until he grabs your hand and pulls you into his side, shielding you from the onslaught of reporters and press looking to get a fresh scoop on the hottest piece of news. with blown out eyes, you look at him in a daze and disbelief, did that really just happen?

the smug smirk on his face says it all.

the matching silver bands on your finger and hanging around his neck, it was always there. for the longest time it was your little secret, and now a declaration of love and devotion — not even a shiny new gold medal could compare.

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[ozzgin]

Omg i love your Yandere serial killer with a split persona so much 😭😭, can you do more headcanon about him?? Like does he aware of his other persona seeing reader kinda scared to talk to him normally thank u

Yandere! Serial Killer Scenarios

Featuring the kind, quiet man who has no idea why you look at him with terror in your eyes. This time with an official character design!

Content: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror, dubious/non-consent

[Main Story] | [More original works]

You only attempted to escape once.

His frequent warnings had begun to wear off, and your mind dared to wander towards hope. One day, during his evening walk, you ran to your bedroom and pulled out a train ticket you'd hidden earlier inside a drawer. The small piece of paper weighed heavy in your hand. Come, now, you scolded yourself. It was weeks of careful planning: anticipating his schedule, erasing your tracks, preparing the essentials. You could already smell the worn leather seats, and hear the jarring whistle of departure. Then you'd be far away from this maniac, all but a terrible memory to be locked away.

There was no time for hesitation. You grabbed a small bag and sped towards the station, frequently looking over your shoulder, muttering silent prayers. Once you made it to your compartment, you exhaled in relief. A relief you hadn't felt in months, washing over your body and relaxing your tense muscles. You climbed the stairs, and searched for your seat. Has someone misread their ticket? You found your spot occupied by a stranger.

"What did I tell you about running away?" his deep voice echoed across the empty hall.

The walk back home was silent. You were convinced this was your end. You'd arrive at the house, and he'd cut you into pieces. Your lips curled in a horrified grimace, mind flooded with foreign feelings: your nails plucked apart with pliers, a burning sting after each detachment. The roots of your teeth grinding and screeching within the bone of your jaw, until all that's left is a fleshy, gaping wound. Plop, plop, as each little souvenir falls into the jar.

He slammed the door shut and stared you down. You looked at the floor, but all you could see were the grimy ID cards of all the women who never made it out of this damned house. You were next.

His large hand ruffled your hair, and you glanced up in disbelief.

"This stays between us. Mother better not hear that her soon-to-be daughter in law tried to run away. Especially now that she's warmed up to you. Are we clear?"

You nodded desperately. God, how pathetic of you. But being trapped was better than rotting underground like the rest of them. You just wanted to live.

You can always tell whether it's him, or him. It's the silence. Or lack of, for that matter. He likes the quietness, the muffled ticking of the clock, the busy rattling in the kitchen, your laughs, your chatter. You'll sit together and listen to the rain, or read your books across from each other. There's no need for words, you know you can be at peace.

He likes music. When you hear the record player, you know it's your cue to perform. You exit your room - it's better if he doesn't call you down himself - and descend to the main area. The stairs creak louder, the wallpaper begins to yellow. It's almost as if the house ages with the music, and you tumble back in time.

He's been waiting for you, naturally. How's a man meant to spend his evenings, if not with his adored wife? He'll reach out for your hand, and invite you to a slow dance. Those are the worst moments. The tight, suffocating hold, his deranged stare drilling into your very soul, the whispered promises: that you're forever his, and you'll never find happiness anywhere else. He knows it. It's the same for him, really. Everything he's ever needed lies within your embrace.

Some days, the charade doesn't last long. You simply won't be in the mood to be kissed, to be stripped naked and fondled by his murderous hands. So you'll just pout and gaze ahead. It angers him terribly.

"Wretched whore. Do I look like a beggar?"

He'll shove you aside and make his way out, taking his tools with him. He hates asking for your affection and would rather take his anger out somewhere else. You know he won't hurt you, or force himself on you, which means someone else will have to pay for your disrespect. And yet, it's the only freedom you have around him - the privilege of refusing him and living to see the next day. The rest aren't as lucky. You'd rather not think too deeply about it.

My honey, I know With the dawn that you will be gone But tonight, you belong to me Just to little old me.

What a bizarre thing, to harbor such hatred towards the one you love. You've never met anyone kinder. He's thoughtful, patient, caring. He knows everything about you and lives to serve you. He's your best friend and your lover. He's the one you want to marry one day. But he's also...well...him. And you can't have one without the other.

"No, Mother, it isn't tacky," he barks at the shattered mirror, adjusting your necklace. "And you know what? It's up to (Y/N) to decide if she wants to wear your wedding jewelry."

"It's nice", you respond curtly. You look into the empty reflection and nod. He likes it when you take his side in front of Mother.

"I knew you'd agree. We're a match made in Heaven, aren't we?" he smiles and zips up the old dress. You shiver: wearing a dead woman's gown was not part of your wedding plans. The corset is tightened, and you gasp. His hands are tense.

"I know he proposed to you. And what a stupid grin you had on your face when it happened! You never act like that around me."

He doesn't call me a bitch, for starters, you think to yourself. You shuffle on the bed, trying to loosen up the garment, but he swiftly pins you down onto the mattress.

"Not that it matters. Would you like to know why?" he inquires with a familiar glimmer of jealousy in his dilated pupils. "Because I'll always be your first. You know it, I know it. He never will.

At the end of the day, you belong to me."

To compete with oneself. Nonsense. Utter madness, all of it. The house; the drawer filled with gory trophies; the nightly talks with Mother dearest, whose bones have most likely turned to dust by now; the bloodied scalpels; the embrace of a man who fills you with warmth and terror.

You're part of it now.

[onceinablueberrymoon]

special report | salesman (recruiter) x reporter!reader

next: (cheers) to the future (slight nsfw) | scavenger hunt | intermission (mild nsfw) scenario: ever wonder how the VIPs watch the games before they arrive on the island? reporter!reader delivers the highlights of each game to viewers around the world. and a certain someone is their biggest fan.  setting: in seoul between the second game (dalgona) and the special game during season 1 warnings: reader can be any gender, but this was originally written with fem!reader in mind; reader also works for the games; they're both just not nice people lol (but we love them anyways!); no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 629 notes: someone in a reddit thread had a theory that the VIPs would watch highlight reels of the first few games and this story popped in my head. salesman is called recruiter here since that's his official title. i love this guy sm (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“And that concludes our coverage for Day 2 of the Games. Please stay tuned for the Special Game, which will take place in two hours.”

You bowed to the camera, only straightening your back upon hearing the director yell “Cut!”. You shuffled the papers on the desk in front of you, then checked your phone. 

Three missed calls. 

You snorted, a small smile forming on your lips. You pressed on one of the missed calls, the number redialing on your screen. Bringing the phone to your ear, you waited for the recruiter to pick up. It didn’t even ring once before his smooth voice came through the speaker.

“Finally.”

You sighed, leaning forward to prop an elbow on the desk. “You know I’m at work. You of all people should know that.”

You could picture his cocky smirk.

“Care for a bite to eat? My treat,” he offered, which you accepted. There was still an hour and a half before you had to return to prepare for the Special Game.

You met at the tiny kimbap shop down the street. While you both could afford a fancier restaurant, a cheap, filling meal was all you needed right now.

“So,” you started, pouring hot barley tea into your teacups, “Did you catch any of the last game?” 

He nodded, resting his chin on his hands with his elbows on the table. “Very entertaining, as always. You never cease to impress me,” he praised.

Taking a big sip of tea, you scoffed, “Oh please. I’m the least interesting part of the show.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head. “Why is that?”

Shooting him an unimpressed look, you spoke, “Did you not see the same footage I did? The utter fear when they had to carve out the dalgona?” You laughed, “And when that guy got shot and slid down the slide… You just can’t make this stuff up!"

Pouring some more tea into your cup, you continued, "Seriously though, watching those players carve out the umbrella shapes was priceless. They were so scared!” With a shake of your head, you sighed, “I can’t believe some of them actually passed.” 

The recruiter chuckled, leaning closer to you. “While that was amusing, I found your performance to be far more enticing.”  

A blush crossed your cheeks, but you quickly shook it off, clearing your throat.

“I try my best. By the way,” you motioned towards him, “You’ve outdone yourself with the players this time. A perfect mix of competent and woefully tragic players. I’m not sure which I like more.” You shot him a smile, which he returned.

“Oh, and the group with the Host? Hilarious,” you grinned. “I can’t believe that 218 and 456 were childhood friends.” You tapped your fingers against your teacup. “But I guess, at the end of the day, trash is still trash.”

The lady running the shop arrived with your food, and the two of you ate in comfortable silence. However, you couldn’t help but notice the recruiter’s intense gaze lingering on you.

Once the recruiter paid, the two of you left the restaurant, and he walked you back to the office. 

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked, briefcase in hand.

You hummed, “Tomorrow is Tug of War, and there’s still lots to prepare before the final games.” You took a step towards him, a teasing smile on your face, “Why, miss me already?”

He huffed, “I can watch you any time.” Bringing his lips to your ear, he whispered, “But I prefer being near you instead.”

You tilted his head to look at you and kissed him on the cheek. Turning to enter your office, you looked back and called to him.

“Until next time, my dear recruiter!”

He flashed his signature smirk.

“Take care, my lovely reporter.”

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Meeting Up With Ken After He's Moved Back To Japan

Ken Sato X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: Reader has a slight panic attack, touch of angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

(A/N:) I have never watched Ultraman in my life and I never planned on it honestly. But dang I saw the trailer ad for Ultraman Rising and they barely give you a glimpse of Ken but it was enough. I watched it. I loved it. And now I'm obsessed with Ken Sato. End of story. I have lots in my drafts I want to write for him so keep an eye out! But until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The day that Ken Sato had moved out of your life had been the saddest one you could remember. Being kids, the adults didn't see it as such a big deal but between the two of you, it seemed like the world had ended. You both kept in touch but it still didn't make the distance seem any shorter. Years passed by and video calls turned into phone calls. Phone calls turned into missed calls. Missed calls turned into text messages and even then that didn't last long. As you grew older you let the thought of seeing Kenji again go and then the pain finally eased. You never felt that ache again, until you watched the news.

Super star player Ken Sato returns to his home country and that is the day your little world stopped spinning. Your phone rang off the hook as your friends tried to call you.

"Did you hear," your friend screamed making you grimace, "Kenji is back!"

"Yep," you sighed. "It's all over the news. Hard to ignore it."

"You don't sound excited! I thought he was your best friend when you were kids?!"

"He was, but that was a long time ago and now he's this superstar baseball player. Why would he remember me when he's made it so big?"

"Don't make that excuse, you need to go see him. You'll see that he'll be just as happy to see you as you are of him."

Despite your better judgement and a long sleepless night, you found yourself at the Giant's stadium. You had tried Ken's house only for him to be gone. And despite feeling like a stalker you tried both day and night. When that didn't work you tried looking at the restaurant you both loved as kids, no luck there either. You knew the stadium would be your best bet but you didn't want to get carted off for trespassing or embarrass Ken by your being there. Maybe you were using those as excuses. Or maybe you were terrified by the face that he probably wouldn't remember you or he'd laugh in your face that you came crawling back. Your heart slammed against your chest and your breathing turned into panicked gasps. This was impossible, you didn't know why you even bothered.

Reporters began to exit the building, pushing you along as you tried to calm yourself. The chatter of the group was too much for you at the moment. You stepped away towards a quieter part of the stadium, not noticing that you were entering in a restricted part for players and managers only. The quiet helped calm you and now you finally realized where you were at.

"Miss are you lost," a man wearing a security uniformed approached you and your panic starting to rear it's ugly head once more.

"I'm sorry I got lost," you eased back, clinging tightly to your bag's strap.

"It happens," he said politely. "May I escort you back to the main entrance?"

"Yes please."

You deflated as you followed the security guard. It didn't seem like you were ever going to see your best friend ever again. Your heart broke and you refused to let yourself cry until you got home. You almost made it back to the hall where you got lost in the flood of reporters when a voice calling your name had you freezing. He couldn't possibly know it was you? After all this time did he really remember you so well?

"Kenji?"

"I thought it was you," he grinned.

You sucked in a breath at the sight of the boy you once knew. You could tell he was handsome on the TV screen but you weren't prepared for the sight in real life. Even as a kid you had a crush on him, you just didn't realize it until later. Your mom thought it had been cute but now you just felt embarrassment. With longer sleek black hair and eyes that were so dark they sucked you in. You stopped breathing for a second when he finally stood in front of you. His eyebrow raised, he bent over waving a hand in your face. Lean and tall, it was no wonder he was an amazing athlete.

"Hello," Ken stared leaning over. "You still with me?"

"It's so good to see you," you stumbled stepping back at the proximity. "I didn't know you were coming back so soon."

He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "It wasn't planned honestly. Losing mom and dad needing me."

You gasped grabbing his arm, "Kenji I'm so sorry."

You glanced to your hand and you quickly let him go, cheeks flushing brightly.

"It's okay," his smile wavered. "Have to grow up sometime."

"But," you started feeling horrible.

"It was good seeing you again," Ken replied turning away. Though this was the first time you'd seen him in so long, he still had that same way of showing his true emotions. The slightly hunched shoulders and it felt like all the warmth suddenly left the room.

"Kenji wait," you yelled.

He turned keeping his hands in his pockets. The sorrow in his eyes had you blinking back tears and you knew it was time to be brave. He remembered you and though he wasn't the same person when he left, he was still your friend. Yeah a little taller, a little more selfish, a lot of ego (you couldn't deny he earned the right), and a lot more handsome, but Kenji Sato all the same.

"Wanna go get something to eat? Our old haunt is still open and I would love to treat you. I've," you paused. "I've missed you a lot actually."

Though it didn't quite reach his eyes Ken smiled, nodding in agreement, "I'd like that. But I'm buying, no arguments."

"Fine Mr. Super Baseball Man."

He laughed, "You haven't changed at all."

That was a little disappointing. You were hoping he'd at least see how much you've grown, while he was away.

The restaurant was busy, a line forming outside but you both didn't mind waiting. Kenji hadn't eaten here in years and if you were honest, you hadn't either. You tried once after he left and though the food always tasted delicious, it wasn't the same without him. You both were ushered in a little bit after arriving and after all this time the owners remembered you both. Ordering the same thing as you both did all those years ago, it didn't take long for contentment to ease between you both. Ken's foot tapped beneath the table and you could tell he was struggling.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," you spoke up. Not wanting him to feel like he had to do anything to make you comfortable. Though you still felt awkward, especially when fans made their way to him for pictures and autographs, you couldn't deny that it was still easy being around him.

"It's not that I don't want to," he groaned, now drumming his fingers on the table. "It's been forever. I should have so many things to tell you and I do! I just...I don't know where to begin."

"Start with baseball that seems to be going well," you grinned.

"Ha! You could say it is going decent," he nodded. "It was different in America, I'm curious to see how it's going to go being back home."

"I imagine so. Not going to lie though, home wasn't the same either when you left. It felt like I had to start all over, it was kind of terrifying."

"I'm sorry."

You touched his hand, "It's not your fault. We were both kids. Life changes, gets in the way, separates us from loved ones. We had no control over it, like we don't have much control over anything now. I'm glad you were able to find your way Kenji. I'm glad you made a life for yourself and I'm glad you got to follow your dream. I can tell how much baseball means to you."

Ken nodded a small smile pulling at his lips again, "It does. But I think this moment right here with you means more to me than baseball right now."

You flushed brightly. You weren't expecting a reply like that but it made you feel warm inside. You opened your mouth to reply, though unsure of what you could possibly say when your orders were set down before you. Saying thanks for the food and the chime of you both breaking chopsticks apart. Another peaceful silence stayed between you both as you both slurped noodles. True to his word Ken paid for the meal and you both left with full stomachs. Your heart felt lighter and you could have sworn you were walking on air. Glancing up at Ken, you caught him watching you intently.

"Something on your mind there Mr. Sato?"

Ken shook his head giving you a look like he'd tasted something bitter, "Please don't ever call me that again. Making me feel like my father over here."

You could tell things weren't good between Ken and his dad so you didn't pry. "Okay Kenji," you crooned making him shiver.

You didn't realize how you made him feel. When Ken saw you lost in the stadium, following that security guard his heart had skipped a beat. You two had always been close as children and even though you had stopped communicating for years, what he felt for you never waned. Having you here by his side, so close and yet still so far away, it felt like a dream. One he never wanted to wake from. With a soft touch, his fingers trailed down your arm leaving goosebumps in it's wake. You stared up at him, soft eyes taking in every bit of him. He never felt so naked or alive. He didn't stop until he found the back of your hand and still he slipped further, pointer stroking against your digits. Then he bit the bullet, taking your hand into his. He almost laughed at how much smaller your hand was compared to his, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. He squeezed tighter, careful not to hurt you in anyway. You stiffened at first, shocked at him being so bold. But you had to remember he was used to getting what he wanted.

"Would it be possible that we could do this again," he asked. "Maybe somewhere more formal?"

You nodded unable to speak. He kissed the back of your hand and you could have melted right then.

"I would like that very much Ken," your voice wobbled but you didn't let it keep you from speaking.

The answering smile had you in a puddle, the only thing keeping you upright was Kenji himself as you both started reminiscing. And now that some things had been brought out in the open, you both found yourselves talking a lot easier as the past few years passed by with every verbal exchange. You never felt so happy and all it took was for the game of baseball to bring back your best friend and you were ready to see what the future held in store.

[lemonsdietcoke]

A Pearl - Player!230

Dark!Choi Su-bong/Thanos x Fem!Reader

Warnings: emotional and physical abuse, NONCON/DUBCON,substance abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, toxic relationships, childhood trauma

Summary: “I fell in love with a war, and nobody told me it ended.” You thought love was supposed to hurt. That it meant holding on when everything burned. Inspired by ‘A Pearl’-Mitski

MINORS DNI

A/n: this story is super heavy so just be prepared going into this. This is probably the darkest thing I’ve written. Also the bold means it’s a flashback. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………..

The house is too quiet.

Not the quiet that lulls you to sleep, the kind that hums with the soft rhythm of peace. No. This quiet is suffocating. It weighs down on your chest, fills your throat until you can’t swallow properly, and presses against your ears until every little sound feels magnified. The ticking of the clock is too loud. The hum of the refrigerator rattles through the walls like a warning. And the silence, that awful silence, screams louder than anything else.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under your weight as though the house itself is protesting your stillness. Your fingers move without thinking, the chain of your necklace twisted between them. You tug it forward, letting the locket fall into your palm. The cool metal feels heavier tonight, like it knows something you don’t. You trace the shape of the rose etched into the surface—a small, intricate carving, its petals curling toward the center where the gold is worn smooth from years of touch.

When you were a child, you’d thought the rose was magic. Your parents had given it to you for your twelfth birthday, saving for months to afford something so fine. Your father had clasped it around your neck with careful fingers, your mother watching with teary eyes, saying it was for the little lady you were becoming. You’d carried it with you everywhere, opening the locket a dozen times a day just to see the tiny, faded photo inside—a family portrait taken before everything went wrong. The three of you, smiling despite the faded edges of your clothes, despite the peeling wallpaper behind you. Your father’s arm was wrapped tightly around your mother, and she was holding you on her lap, her hand tucked over yours. You remember the way her hair smelled like rosemary, the way your father’s laugh used to make your chest flutter.

You hadn’t worn the locket in years, not until him. Not until Su-bong had found it in your drawer, tucked away like a secret. “What’s this?” he’d asked, holding it up in the air between two fingers, his expression teasing but curious. When you’d hesitated, he’d snapped the clasp open before you could stop him, his brows raising slightly at the photo.

“Wow,” he’d said with a lopsided grin, tossing it back into your lap like it didn’t matter. “Didn’t know you were the sentimental type.”

You’d put it on that night, your chest burning with embarrassment. You’ve worn it every day since, the metal resting against your skin like armor.

Now, it feels like a lifeline. You wrap your hand around it tightly, letting the edges dig into your palm. The chain pulls against your neck, but you don’t loosen your grip. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded as your thoughts spiral. He left hours ago—another night, another excuse. He hadn’t even stopped to look at you when you asked him to stay.

“Do you really need to go? It’s already late.”

He’d barely paused to shove his shoes on, his hair falling into his face as he fumbled with the laces. His jacket had hung off one shoulder, sloppily thrown on in his hurry to leave. “Don’t start,” he’d muttered, voice low and clipped.

“I just—Su-bong, please.” Your voice had cracked, small and unsure, the way it always did when you tried to hold him back.

That was when he’d stopped. Just for a moment. He’d looked up at you then, a flash of irritation cutting through the haze in his eyes. “I won’t be long,” he’d said, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch. Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the picture frames rattle against the walls.

He hasn’t come back. You’re not sure if he will.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand. 2:47 AM. The seconds tick by, loud and relentless. You press the locket against your lips, as though the cool metal might soothe the heat rising in your throat. The ache in your chest twists tighter, suffocating and raw, and you force yourself to stand.

The bedroom is dark, lit only by the faint yellow glow of the streetlamp outside. The shadow of the blinds cuts across the walls like a cage. You make your way to the window, each step slow and deliberate. Your legs feel heavy, your bare feet brushing against the cold floor. The night outside is still, the air thick with fog. You half expect to see him stumbling down the street, his head tilted to one side, his steps uneven. But there’s nothing. Just the empty road stretching out into the dark, a void that swallows everything in its path.

Your stomach churns. You don’t even know why you bother looking for him anymore. He never answers your texts when he’s out. He never picks up his phone. He always comes back when he wants to, not a moment before, and when he does, it’s like you’re supposed to forget he ever left. “What are you so worried about?” he always says, brushing you off like you’re a child. “I’m fine. Just let it go, babe.”

He never understands why you can’t let it go.

Your fingers shake as you unlock your phone, scrolling through your empty messages. The last text you’d sent hours ago—“Let me know when you’re on your way home.”—sits unread, untouched. You’d stared at the screen for so long that your eyes had blurred, waiting for the little dots to appear. They never did.

You close the app and toss the phone onto the bed, breathing out shakily. Your chest tightens as you imagine him laughing somewhere, his hand wrapped around a bottle, surrounded by people who don’t care that he’s tearing you apart piece by piece. He’ll come home eventually, his breath hot and sour against your skin, his hands rough and insistent. You’ll let him touch you, because it’s easier than saying no. Because it hurts too much to fight him when he’s like that. Because at least when he’s touching you, you know where he is.

The thought makes your stomach turn. You press your hand to your mouth, your breath shaking against your palm. The metal of the locket digs into your skin again, grounding you, keeping you here, when all you want to do is disappear.

The house is too quiet. The clock ticks louder.

And he’s still not here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The light in the hallway buzzes faintly, flickering every so often. You’re leaning against the bathroom door, your back pressed flat against the wood, knees curled up tight to your chest. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, too fast, too loud, until it feels like your whole body is vibrating with it. You can hear him on the other side—his voice rising, slurring, vibrating with that sharp, manic edge that always makes your stomach churn.

“Open the door!” His fist collides with the wood, hard enough to make the frame rattle. “Don’t fucking ignore me!”

The sound sends a jolt through your body. Your hands grip the locket around your neck so tightly the edges press into your palm, the thin gold chain pulling taut against your skin. You don’t even notice the sting. You’re not thinking about anything except how close he sounds. How loud. How angry.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your breathing shallow, uneven. You tell yourself to be quiet—don’t make a sound, don’t move—but your body isn’t listening. Your knees are shaking so badly they knock against the door, the vibration rattling the hinges.

“I’m not gonna fucking ask again!” The next hit is harder, a sharp, jarring kick that makes the whole door shudder. You gasp before you can stop yourself, slapping a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late.

“Oh, so now you’re scared?” he sneers, his voice dropping low and venomous. You can picture the way his lips curl when he says it, that smug, mocking smile that always makes your stomach turn. “What, you think this door is gonna save you? You think I won’t fucking break it down?”

The door shudders again—another kick, harder this time, and you flinch so violently that your head knocks back against the wood. A crack splinters through the frame, faint but audible, and you can feel the panic crawling up your throat.

You press the locket tighter against your chest, the rose etched into its surface digging into your skin. You focus on the weight of it, the coldness of the gold, the soft click of the clasp when it used to open. Anything to keep your mind from spiraling too far. But it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Earlier That Night~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night had started quietly, the house dimly lit as you waited for him to come home. He’d promised you that morning, “I’m staying in tonight, alright? No bullshit.” You hadn’t believed him—not really—but some part of you had wanted to. Some part of you had clung to that tiny, fragile hope like it meant something.

When the door slammed open hours later, you knew.

You’d smelled the whiskey first. It clung to him like a second skin, sharp and sour, mixing with the faint scent of cigarettes that always seemed to follow him. His steps were uneven, his hand gripping the doorframe for balance before he stumbled further inside. He didn’t look at you, didn’t say anything. He just went straight for the kitchen.

You’d stood in the doorway, your chest tightening as you watched him dig through the drawers, muttering under his breath. When he pulled out the pill bottle, your heart dropped.

“Seriously, Su-bong?” you said, your voice sharp before you could stop yourself. “You’re already drunk.”

He didn’t even look at you. He popped the cap off with a flick of his thumb, dumping two pills into his palm and swallowing them dry. “Relax,” he muttered, like you were the one being unreasonable. “I’m fine.”

Something in you snapped. You crossed the room, grabbing the bottle from his hand and slamming it onto the counter. The sound was loud, jarring, but it didn’t make him flinch. If anything, he looked bored.

“Fine?” you snapped. “You can barely fucking stand, and you think you’re fine?”

That got his attention. He turned to you, his gaze narrowing, sharp and calculating even through the haze. A slow, bitter grin spread across his face.

“Oh, so now you’re the expert, huh?” he said, his voice low and mocking. He stepped closer, the smell of alcohol making your stomach churn. “Since when do you give a shit what I do?”

The casual cruelty of it made your throat tighten, your anger dissolving into something smaller, something more fragile. You tried again, softer this time.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice quiet, careful. “Just… stay home tonight. Please.”

For a second, you thought he might listen. His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw tightening. He looked tired. Worn out. You could almost see the man you used to know beneath the haze.

But then he shook his head, huffing out a bitter laugh. “I can’t stay here all night listening to your shit.”

You stepped in front of the door before you could stop yourself, your chest tight with something between panic and determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you said, your hands trembling as you tried to sound steady.

His head snapped up, his gaze locking on yours. His face twisted into something colder, sharper, and for the first time that night, you felt the first flicker of fear.

“Move,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

You shook your head. “No. I’m serious, Su-bong—”

It happened too fast. One second he was standing there, and the next his hand was wrapped around your arm, gripping so tightly you gasped.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he snarled, dragging you to the side like you weighed nothing.

Your other hand shot out instinctively, pushing against his chest as hard as you could. He barely stumbled, but the movement seemed to snap something in him. His hand jerked, his grip tightening until you felt the sharp pinch of his nails digging into your skin.

“You fucking bitch,” he spat, and that’s when you ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your breath is coming too fast, too shallow, making your head spin. The pounding on the door has stopped, but you don’t feel any relief. Not yet.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less venomous. “Hiding in there like a fucking child. You think I need this shit? You think anyone else would put up with you?”

The words hit harder than his fists ever could. Your hands tighten around the locket until the rose leaves an imprint in your palm, the edges sharp and unforgiving.

You don’t respond. You don’t move. You just sit there, shaking, waiting for him to leave.

Eventually, he does. The front door slams behind him, and the silence that follows is heavier than the noise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clock’s ticking feels slower now, like it’s dragging time with it. The minutes stretch and warp until they don’t feel like minutes anymore. Just this endless, dragging ache that lives in the pit of your stomach and refuses to leave.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table now, your phone lying in front of you, facedown like it’s mocking you. There’s a mug of tea in your hands, untouched. It’s lukewarm now, the steam long gone, but you don’t put it down. You hold it tightly, your fingers wrapped around the ceramic, because at least it’s something to hold. At least it gives your hands something to do besides tremble.

The house is dark except for the faint glow of the light over the stove. It casts long shadows across the counters, over the piles of unopened mail and empty bottles that have been gathering there for weeks. You keep meaning to clean, but every time you think about it, your body refuses to move. It’s hard enough to get out of bed most days, let alone scrub the smell of him out of the walls.

You glance at your phone again, your chest tightening as though it might vibrate, might light up with his name. It doesn’t. It never does, not when you’re waiting like this. You should be used to it by now, but the sting of it never dulls.

The worst part is, you don’t know if you want him to come home.

You close your eyes, letting your head drop forward, the heel of your hand pressing against the locket that hangs around your neck. The edges of the rose dig into your skin, sharp enough to leave marks. It grounds you, keeps your thoughts from spinning too far out of control.

But the memories are harder to stop. They come rushing in like they always do, filling the silence with the sound of his voice, his laugh, the way he used to look at you like you were something soft, something beautiful, something breakable. He doesn’t look at you like that anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can still see the first time he smiled at you—really smiled, that kind of stupid grin that made your chest feel too full. You’d been sitting across from him at some shitty little diner, your fork pushing around a plate of cold fries while he talked about some dream he’d had, something ridiculous about a casino and a dog wearing sunglasses. It wasn’t even funny, but the way he told it made you laugh so hard your face hurt. You’d leaned forward, your elbows on the table, and he’d just stopped. Mid-sentence, he’d stopped, like he couldn’t believe you were there.

“You’re cute,” he’d said, simple and easy, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would stick with you for years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You open your eyes and the memory dissolves, slipping away into the dark like it never happened. You feel stupid for thinking about it, for still holding onto those pieces of him like they mean something. Like they haven’t been buried under all the yelling and the slammed doors and the nights you spent wondering if he’d ever come home.

You set the mug down on the table, your hands shaking slightly as you fold them in your lap. The quiet feels heavier now, pressing down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.

What if he doesn’t come back this time? The thought creeps in before you can stop it, wrapping itself around your throat like a noose. It’s not the first time you’ve wondered, but it’s the first time it’s felt real. Like a possibility instead of a threat.

You try to tell yourself that you’d be fine if he didn’t. You’d figure it out. You’d get up tomorrow, make coffee, go to work, clean the house, move on. But the thought of it—of him not being here, of him leaving without even a word—makes your chest feel like it’s caving in. You clutch the necklace tighter, the chain pulling taut against the back of your neck.

He always comes back. He always does.

But what if this time is different?

The clock ticks louder. The house is too quiet.

And you’re still waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The door slams hard enough to shake the walls. You feel it in your chest, a dull, rattling thud that echoes through the quiet house. Your stomach twists, the dread rising so fast it feels like a sickness. You already know how this night is going to end.

You’re still sitting at the kitchen table, the cold mug of tea in front of you. It’s been hours since he left, and you’d given up hope of him coming home sober somewhere around midnight. But now that he’s here, a part of you wishes he’d stayed gone.

You hear his footsteps before you see him, the uneven shuffle of his boots dragging against the floor. When he stumbles into view, it’s like you’ve summoned him with your thoughts. His hair is messy, sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his jacket is hanging off one shoulder. He looks at you, his eyes glassy, his mouth curling into a sloppy grin that makes your chest ache.

“There you are,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. He sounds almost affectionate, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it, the kind that makes your throat tighten.

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Your hands are clenched in your lap, your nails digging into your palms. You’re trying to stay calm, trying to keep your breathing even, but your heart is already pounding.

He doesn’t seem to notice. He walks toward you, his movements slow and unsteady, and leans against the table with one hand. The other hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“Why are you sitting here all alone?” he murmurs, his tone soft now, almost sweet. The contrast makes you want to scream.

You pull back slightly, your jaw tightening. “Where were you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You hate how small you sound, but it’s all you can manage.

His grin falters, and for a second, something colder flickers across his face. “Don’t start,” he mutters, standing up straight. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“I’ve been waiting for hours, Su-bong.” You can hear the edge creeping into your voice now, but you can’t stop it. The anger is bubbling up, sharp and bitter, mixing with the fear in your chest. “You said you’d be home—”

“I said, don’t start,” he snaps, cutting you off. His voice is louder now, the sharpness in it making you flinch. He takes a step closer, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, heavy and sour. “What’s your problem, huh? Why do you always have to make a big fucking deal out of everything?”

Your throat tightens, the words you want to say choking on the way up. You look away, your gaze dropping to the table. You can’t do this tonight. You can’t fight him when he’s like this.

But he doesn’t let it go.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less demanding. He reaches for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Why are you so mad, huh? You missed me?”

You don’t answer. You don’t move. You just stare at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and something that feels too much like fear.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, and his mouth curls into that lopsided grin again. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, leaning down until his face is inches from yours. “Don’t be like that.”

The kiss is sudden, his lips pressing against yours hard enough to make you pull back instinctively. You turn your head, breaking the contact, but his hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

“Su-bong, stop,” you say, your voice shaking. You try to push him back, but he doesn’t budge. His grip tightens, his other hand sliding down to your waist.

“You’re so tense,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your ear. “Relax.”

You push harder this time, your hands pressing against his chest, but it only seems to annoy him. His movements become rougher, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you to your feet.

“Stop it!” you cry, your voice rising in panic. “I don’t want to—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he snaps, his voice low and sharp. He spins you around, pressing you against the edge of the table, his body trapping yours in place.

Your heart is pounding now, the fear clawing its way up your throat. You keep trying to push him away, but he’s stronger, and he’s not listening.

The locket around your neck catches on the edge of the table, the chain pulling tight against your skin. Your hand shoots up instinctively, clutching it, your fingers trembling as you press it against your chest.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He doesn’t answer. His hands are on your hips now, his grip bruising as he pulls you closer. The tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. You don’t move. You don’t fight. You just stare at the wall, your breathing shallow, your fingers clutching the locket like it’s the only thing holding you together.

You can hear him murmuring something under his breath—something about how good you feel, how much he missed you—but the words blur together, lost in the haze of your thoughts. You’re not here anymore. You’re somewhere else. Somewhere quiet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house is still. The only sound is his breathing, slow and heavy as he lies beside you, one arm draped carelessly over your waist. You don’t move. You don’t even blink.

The locket is still in your hand, the imprint of the rose etched into your palm. You stare at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, and try to ignore the ache between your legs.

The tears come later, after he’s asleep. You press your face into the pillow, your shoulders shaking as you cry silently into the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car engine rumbles beneath you, a low, uneven growl that vibrates through the seat and into your chest. Su-bong’s hand is loose on the wheel, his other arm resting on the open window as the wind whips through the car. He’s not driving fast, but the way he keeps drifting too close to the curb, jerking the wheel at the last second, makes your stomach twist.

You press your hand against your thigh, trying to keep it from shaking, and force your gaze to stay on the road. You don’t want to look at him. You don’t want to see the glassy, unfocused look in his eyes or the faint grin that keeps twitching at the corner of his mouth. He hasn’t said much since you left the bar—just a few muttered curses under his breath, his jaw tight and his grip on the wheel tightening every time he takes a turn too sharply.

You want to tell him to stop. To pull over. To let you drive. But the words stick in your throat, thick and heavy, like a stone weighing you down. You know how that conversation will end. He’ll snap at you, tell you to relax, accuse you of trying to control him. And you’re too tired to argue. Too tired to do anything except sit there and hope the car doesn’t drift too far into the wrong lane.

The silence feels heavier than the rumble of the engine.

“You embarrassed me,” he mutters suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet like a crack of thunder.

You flinch, your hands tightening in your lap. “I wasn’t trying to,” you say quietly, your gaze still fixed on the road ahead.

He snorts, shaking his head. “Really? Because, You had to make a fucking scene, didn’t you? In front of everyone.”

The heat rises in your chest, sharp and stifling, but you press it down. You’ve gotten good at that—at swallowing your anger, letting it fester somewhere deep inside where it can’t escape. “I wasn’t trying to make a scene,” you say again, your voice quieter this time. “I just… I didn’t want you to drink anymore.”

“Why do you care?” he snaps, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. His grin is gone now, replaced by that sharp, mocking sneer that makes your stomach churn. “What’s it to you?”

You don’t answer. You don’t trust yourself to.

The car jerks suddenly as he swerves to avoid a parked car, and your heart leaps into your throat. He laughs—a short, bitter sound that makes your skin crawl—and slams his palm against the steering wheel. “Relax,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “Jesus, you’re so fucking tense all the time. It’s not that serious.”

It feels serious. Everything about this feels serious—the car, the road, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a hand around your throat.

You don’t say anything else for the rest of the drive. You just stare out the window, watching the dark streets blur together, and press your hand against the locket around your neck, the edges of the rose digging into your skin.

~~~~~~~~~

The house looks worse than the last time you saw it, though you’re not sure how that’s even possible. It’s his friend’s place. The place they all went to drink themselves into oblivion, and share drugs.

The porch sags under its own weight, the roof dotted with holes that make it look like it’s caving in. The windows are either boarded up or covered with newspaper, and the light above the door flickers weakly, casting the entire place in a sickly yellow glow.

Su-bong doesn’t wait for you to follow. He slams the car door shut behind him and walks up the steps, his boots heavy against the rotting wood. You hesitate for a moment, your hand still resting on the car door, and try to swallow the lump in your throat. You don’t want to go in there. You don’t want to see his friends, to feel their eyes on you, to sit in that awful, stifling air and pretend you’re okay.

But you don’t have a choice. Not really.

The inside of the house smells worse than you remember—like sweat, beer, and something sharp and chemical that makes your nose burn. The walls are yellowed with smoke, the carpet littered with cigarette butts and broken glass. There’s a coffee table in the middle of the room, its surface covered in ashtrays, empty pill bottles, and the faint glitter of crushed powder.

Su-bong’s friends are sprawled across the couches and chairs, their laughter filling the room like static. One of them glances up as you walk in, his bloodshot eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

Su-bong shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto the back of a chair, and grabs a beer off the table without a word.

“You’re late,” one of the guys Nam-gyu mutters, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He’d been friends with Su-bong for a long time. Before you even met him.

“Yeah, well,” Su-bong mutters, twisting the cap off the bottle with his teeth. “Got caught up.”

Nam-gyu glances at you, his gaze lingering a little too long, and something tightens in your chest. Su-bong notices, too. He sets the beer down and shoots the guy a look, his voice sharp as he says, “What the fuck are you staring at?”

Nam-gyu laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender. His sweaty hair falling around his face, framing it.“Nothing, man. Relax.”

Su-bong doesn’t say anything else. He just takes another sip of his beer, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before turning back to the table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hallway feels narrower than it should. The light from the main room barely reaches back here, leaving everything steeped in shadow, the air growing thicker and harder to breathe the farther you go. You can hear the faint hum of the television from the living room, the muffled sound of laughter and the clinking of bottles. The floor beneath you creaks with every step, the uneven boards sticky against your shoes.

The door to the back room is half-open, the dim yellow light spilling into the hallway. Su-bong pulls you inside without a word, his grip firm around your wrist. The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, sealing the two of you into the suffocating darkness.

Your first instinct is to stop breathing. The smell hits you like a wall—stale sweat, mildew, and the sour, chemical tang of old beer. There’s a mattress on the floor, sagging in the middle, its surface stained with patches of something dark and unrecognizable. The fabric is dotted with cigarette burns, the edges curling up like it’s been sitting here for years.

A single roach skitters across the corner of the mattress, vanishing into a crack in the wall before you can even process what you’ve seen.

Your stomach churns, your body screaming at you to leave, leave, leave, but Su-bong is already pulling you toward the mattress, his hands clumsy and insistent as they find your waist.

“Su-bong,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Stop.”

He doesn’t listen.

His breath is hot and sour against your neck, reeking of alcohol and something sharp and metallic. His hands slide up your sides, rough and impatient, tugging at the fabric of your shirt. You push against him weakly, your palms flat against his chest, but he’s too strong, too stubborn, and you’re too tired to fight.

“Relax,” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. His fingers grip your shirt harder, pulling it up over your head before you can stop him. “You’re always so fucking tense.”

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in on you as the smell of sweat and mildew grows thicker, coating the back of your throat. You tilt your head away from him, your gaze darting to the ceiling, to the cracks in the plaster and the faint shimmer of cobwebs in the corner.

The locket presses against your chest, its familiar weight grounding you in a way that feels almost cruel. Your fingers brush against it, trembling as you press it harder into your skin.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper, barely audible.

He pauses for a second, his head tilting slightly, and you think—for just a moment—that he might stop. That he might actually hear you. But then he sighs, annoyed, and grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from your chest.

“Don’t start,” he mutters, his grip tightening as he pushes you down onto the mattress. The fabric feels damp beneath you, sticky and rough against your skin, and you can feel something small and hard digging into your back—a piece of broken glass, maybe, or a shard of plastic.

You want to cry. You want to scream. But the lump in your throat won’t let you make a sound.

His hands are on you again, rougher this time, tugging at your waistband and pulling you closer. The mattress groans under his weight, the springs creaking loudly enough to drown out the sound of your shaky breathing.

You stop fighting. It’s always easier that way.

The smell of him overwhelms you—sweat, cigarettes, whiskey—and the sound of his voice blurs into static as your mind starts to drift. You stare at the wall, at the faint shadows moving across its surface, and try to focus on anything else.

Your fingers close around the locket again, the edges of the rose pressing into your palm. You focus on the feel of it, the coolness of the metal, the way it feels against your skin. You roll it between your fingers, clutching it tightly, and let your mind go quiet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room is silent except for the sound of his breathing—heavy and uneven as he collapses beside you, his arm draped carelessly over your waist. The mattress shifts under his weight, the springs creaking one last time before the quiet settles over you like a blanket.

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just lie there, staring at the ceiling, your fingers still curled around the locket.

There’s a roach on the wall above you, its legs moving slowly as it crawls toward the corner of the room. You watch it for a moment, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, before closing your eyes.

The smell lingers—on your skin, in your hair, in the back of your throat. You know you won’t be able to wash it off, not entirely. It’ll stay with you, just like everything else.

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears start to slip down your temples, soaking into the filthy mattress beneath you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The car ride home is silent.

Not the kind of silence that settles naturally, soft and comfortable. This silence is jagged, sharp enough to cut, stretching tight between the two of you like a rubber band about to snap. The sound of the engine hums beneath you, broken only by the occasional crunch of gravel as Su-bong drifts too close to the shoulder.

His hands grip the wheel loosely, his knuckles brushing against the cracked leather as he leans back in the seat. His head tilts slightly to the side, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, and you can smell the whiskey on him even from here.

You press your hand against the locket around your neck, your fingers curling around the metal as your chest tightens. You don’t dare look at him.

The tension in the car is suffocating, pressing against your chest like a weight. Your throat feels tight, your pulse thudding in your ears. You want to say something, anything, to break the silence—but the words stick in your throat, thick and heavy, refusing to come out.

When the house finally comes into view, you feel a flicker of relief. But it’s fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the hollow ache that’s been sitting in your chest all night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door slams behind you as Su-bong stumbles into the living room, tossing his jacket onto the couch without a second glance. You linger near the doorway, your hand still gripping the locket tightly, as though it might anchor you to something real.

The house is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp outside. Shadows stretch across the walls, long and jagged, and the air feels heavy, stagnant, like it’s holding its breath.

Su-bong doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look at you. He just collapses onto the couch, his head tilting back against the cushion, his eyes closed.

For a moment, you think he might pass out.

But then he sighs—a long, low sound that seems to echo in the silence—and drags a hand down his face. His fingers rub against his temples, slow and deliberate, and his leg bounces restlessly against the floor.

“You’re mad,” he mutters, his voice slurred but steady.

You don’t respond.

He opens his eyes, tilting his head to look at you. There’s something in his gaze—something searching, something almost vulnerable—that makes your stomach twist.

“Say something,” he says, his voice quieter now.

You stare at him, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a physical force. Your chest aches, the words you want to say bubbling up inside you, but you swallow them down. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His leg stops bouncing. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together as he looks at the floor.

“I know I fucked up,” he says quietly. “I know that.”

The words hang in the air, brittle and heavy, and you feel your fingers tighten around the locket.

“I shouldn’t have taken you there,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done any of it.”

He looks up at you then, his eyes glassy and rimmed with exhaustion. “I don’t even know why you put up with me,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m such a fucking mess.”

He stands up slowly, unsteady on his feet, and takes a step toward you. His hands reach for yours, warm and trembling slightly as they close around your wrists.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says, his voice low and desperate. “You’re all I have. You’re the only thing that keeps me together.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your chest tightening as you stare at him. You want to pull away, to put distance between you, but his grip is firm, almost pleading.

“I’ll do better,” he says, his words spilling out in a rush. “I’ll stop drinking, I’ll stop everything. I’ll get clean. I swear to God, I’ll do it for you.”

You close your eyes, the tears stinging at the corners as you shake your head. “You’ve said that before,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I mean it this time,” he insists, his grip tightening slightly. His voice cracks on the last word, and you can feel the tremor in his hands. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… please don’t give up on me. Please.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You think anyone else is gonna love you like I do?” he asks, his tone soft but cutting. “You think anyone else is gonna put up with you?”

Your breath hitches, the words cutting deeper than they should.

“Your family doesn’t want you,” he says, his voice cracking slightly, like he’s holding back tears. “They’ve never wanted you. But me? I love you. I need you. You’re the only good thing I’ve got.”

The locket feels heavy in your hand, the edges of the rose digging into your palm. You want to scream, to push him away, to tell him to stop—but the lump in your throat won’t let you speak.

“What if you can’t?” you whisper, your voice breaking. “What if you don’t stop? What if it’s always going to be like this?”

He shakes his head, his expression tightening with something that almost looks like panic. “It won’t be,” he says quickly. “I swear, baby. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything.”

The tears slip down your cheeks, hot and relentless, and you press your free hand to your face, trying to stifle the quiet sob that escapes your lips.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice breaking. He pulls you into his arms, his grip almost crushing as he presses his face against your hair. “Just give me another chance. That’s all I need. One more chance.”

You don’t hug him back.

But you don’t pull away, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He falls asleep hours later, curled up beside you on the bed, his breathing slow and even. You sit there in the dark, staring at the wall, the locket clutched tightly in your hand.

You want to believe him. You want to believe him so badly it hurts.

But deep down, you already know this isn’t the last time he’ll make this promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first sign is the smell.

It hits you when you walk into the living room one evening, faint at first, like a memory trying to claw its way to the surface. You pause in the doorway, your hand tightening around the frame as you try to place it. It’s familiar. Sharp and acrid, clinging to the air like a ghost.

Cigarettes.

He’d thrown out the pack weeks ago. You’d watched him do it—watched the way his jaw tightened as he flicked the lighter one last time, muttering under his breath about how he didn’t need it, how it was “just a habit” and “no big deal.”

“I’m serious this time, baby,” he’d said, his voice almost convincing. “No more of this shit. I’m done.”

But now, the smell is here again, seeping into the walls, curling in the back of your throat like smoke.

You don’t see him at first. The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of the TV, the sound muted to a soft hum. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the fading daylight, and the air feels heavier than it should.

He’s on the couch, slouched low with one leg thrown over the armrest, the other foot flat on the floor. A cigarette dangles from his fingers, the ash building up dangerously close to the filter, and there’s a bottle of something dark and half-empty on the coffee table.

Your stomach twists.

“Su-bong?”

He doesn’t look up. His eyes are fixed on the TV, the flickering images reflecting in his glassy gaze. The smoke curls up from the cigarette, disappearing into the stale air, and you can see the faint rise and fall of his chest as he exhales slowly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

He blinks, slow and deliberate, like it takes effort to process the sound of your voice. When he finally turns to you, his lips curl into a lazy, lopsided grin that makes your chest ache.

“What’s it look like?” he mutters, holding up the cigarette like it’s some kind of joke.

You take a step closer, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “I thought you quit.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. “Yeah, well.” He takes a drag from the cigarette, the ember flaring bright in the dim room, and exhales the smoke through his nose. “Didn’t stick, I guess.”

Your chest tightens. You can feel the anger bubbling up inside you, sharp and hot, but it’s tangled with something else—something smaller, something that feels too much like disappointment.

“You said you’d stop,” you say, your voice breaking slightly.

He laughs—low and bitter—and takes another drag, the smoke curling around his lips as he exhales. “Yeah, and you said you’d stop nagging me. Guess we’re both full of shit, huh?”

The words hit harder than they should, knocking the air out of your lungs. For a moment, all you can do is stand there, staring at him, the lump in your throat growing tighter with every second that passes.

It doesn’t stop with the cigarettes.

The next day, it’s the pills. You find the bottle on the kitchen counter, the cap loose, a few of the tablets scattered across the surface like they’d been spilled in a rush.

Your heart sinks as you pick it up, the plastic cool against your palm. You stare at the label, your chest tightening as you recognize the name—one you haven’t seen in weeks, not since the last time he swore he was done.

You don’t even notice him standing behind you until his voice cuts through the silence.

“You going through my shit now?”

You spin around, the bottle clutched tightly in your hand. “I found it on the counter,” you say, your voice sharp. “You’re not even trying to hide it anymore?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, and you can smell the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. “What’s your problem?” he mutters, snatching the bottle from your hand. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Your voice rises, trembling with anger and something closer to panic. “You promised me, Su-bong. You said you were done with this.”

He laughs again—that same bitter, careless sound that makes your chest ache—and shoves the bottle into his pocket. “Yeah, well, promises can be broken.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It all comes to a head one night when he stumbles in late, his steps uneven and his voice loud enough to wake the neighbors.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the locket clutched tightly in your hand, when you hear the front door slam. The sound reverberates through the house, rattling the picture frames on the walls, and you feel your chest tighten as the familiar dread settles over you like a weight.

The footsteps are uneven, shuffling, and you can hear the faint clink of glass as he moves through the house. By the time he reaches the bedroom, your hands are trembling, the metal of the locket cool and sharp against your skin.

The door swings open, and he’s there, leaning heavily against the frame. His hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his jacket is hanging off one shoulder. There’s a bottle in his hand, nearly empty, and his grin is wide and lopsided, his eyes glassy.

“Hey, baby,” he slurs, his voice low and hoarse.

You don’t say anything. You don’t move. You just sit there, staring at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger, sadness, and something that feels too much like fear.

He stumbles into the room, dropping the bottle onto the floor with a dull thud. The smell of whiskey clings to him, heavy and sour, and when he sits down beside you, the mattress dips under his weight.

“Why’re you sitting in here all alone?” he murmurs, his voice soft now, almost affectionate. The contrast makes your stomach turn.

You pull back slightly, your jaw tightening. “Where were you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs, leaning back on his hands. “Out.”

“You were supposed to be getting clean,” you say, your voice trembling.

He laughs—soft and breathy—and shakes his head. “Clean’s overrated.”

It’s different this time, though. The relapse isn’t just about him anymore. It’s about you—how much you can take, how much you can survive before the cracks in your foundation become too wide to repair.

You sit there in the dark, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, the weight of his relapse pressing down on you like a hand around your throat. The locket is still in your hand, the rose etched into its surface digging into your palm, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

It never feels like enough.

He’s laughing softly now, his voice slurring as he mutters something you can’t quite hear. His head tilts back, his eyes fluttering shut, and you know he won’t remember any of this in the morning.

But you will.

You always do.

The next day, he’ll act like nothing happened. He’ll grin at you over a mug of coffee, his hair still messy from sleep, and he’ll say something stupid, something that would’ve made you laugh once. And you’ll smile back, the same way you always do, because it’s easier than saying what you’re really thinking.

But deep down, you’ll know: this is how it always goes.

This is how it always ends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house is too quiet.

Not the quiet that lulls you to sleep, the kind that hums with the soft rhythm of peace. No. This quiet is suffocating. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’re the only person left in the world.

You’re lying in bed when you notice it. The sun is just starting to rise, the pale light slipping through the blinds and stretching across the room in thin, fractured lines. You’ve been awake for hours, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, the locket clutched tightly in your hand.

It takes you a moment to realize what’s different. The absence is subtle at first, just a nagging thought at the back of your mind that you can’t quite place. The blankets beside you are crumpled but empty, the faint imprint of his body still visible in the mattress.

You sit up slowly, the ache in your chest twisting tighter as your gaze darts around the room. His boots aren’t by the door. His jacket isn’t hanging on the chair.

Your stomach drops.

No. He wouldn’t. Not like this.

You stand quickly, the blood rushing to your head as you make your way to the living room. The floor creaks beneath your feet, the sound echoing in the stillness, and you feel your chest tighten with every step.

The living room is empty.

The couch is still rumpled from the night before, the faint smell of cigarettes lingering in the air. The ashtray on the coffee table is full, the edges of the glass stained yellow from use. But he’s not here.

You check the kitchen next, your hands shaking as you push open the door. The counters are cluttered with empty bottles and crumpled receipts, the remnants of another night that you’ve already lost track of. His mug is still on the table, the coffee inside gone cold, but there’s no sign of him.

The panic starts to set in now, creeping up your throat like a sickness. You check the bathroom, the hallway, the spare room that neither of you use, but it’s all the same.

Empty.

You make your way back to the bedroom, your chest heaving with shallow breaths, and grab your phone from the nightstand. Your fingers tremble as you unlock the screen, scrolling through your messages with a growing sense of dread.

Nothing.

No missed calls. No texts. No explanations.

You press the phone to your chest, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through your ribs.

He always comes back.

You tell yourself this over and over, like a mantra. Like a prayer. He always comes back. No matter how far he goes, no matter how bad the fight, he always comes back.

But deep down, you know this time is different.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You find the letter hours later, tucked underneath the ashtray on the coffee table.

It’s written on the back of an old receipt, the ink smudged in places where he’d pressed too hard. The handwriting is rushed, uneven, but you’d recognize it anywhere.

“Sorry.”

That’s all it says.

Just one word, scrawled across the paper in shaky, uneven letters. No explanation. No apology. No promise to come back.

You read it over and over again, your fingers gripping the edge of the receipt so tightly that it crumples under your touch. The word blurs as the tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, but you don’t stop reading it.

It’s the only thing he left behind.

The house feels bigger now, emptier. You wander through the rooms like a ghost, your feet dragging against the floor, your hands brushing against the walls as though you’re trying to anchor yourself to something.

His things are gone. Not everything—just the essentials. His jacket, his boots, the backpack he keeps in the closet. The rest is still here, scattered across the house like he’s planning to come back for it.

But you know he won’t.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the letter still clutched in your hand, and stare at the locket around your neck. The rose etched into its surface feels sharper today, the edges digging into your palm like a warning.

You think about the last time he smiled at you—the kind of smile that made your chest ache, that made you forget, just for a moment, how much he hurt you. You think about the way his hands felt on your skin, the way his voice sounded when he said your name, the way he used to make you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

But that man is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

You don’t cry at first.

The tears come later, in the middle of the night, when the weight of the silence becomes too much to bear. You lie on the floor of the living room, the receipt still clutched in your hand, and sob into the empty space where he used to be.

The locket feels heavy against your chest, the chain pulling tight against the back of your neck as you curl into yourself.

You think about calling him. About texting him. About driving to every shitty bar and trap house in the city just to find him. But you don’t.

Because deep down, you know it won’t change anything.

He’s gone.

And he’s not coming back this time.