#i want to be careful not to make it seem like i’m dragging this in any capacity

[jupiterpilgrim]

Drown With Me

Pt.2: Interpolation

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 7K

part 1 | part 3

A/n: Pt.2 and pt.3 were supposed to be a single chapter, but it was split in two because of the block limit.

I wish I could be everything you wanted.

—

Oh, here we are again. But this time we're going back in time. We journeyed into the past because some things must be witnessed. And I say 'witnessed,' not 'understood.' For understanding confines the subtleties of human connections to a singular perspective, and that restricts the strange language of the heart.

We're at a bar now, where a lot of stories start. This is one of those:

The lights are dim and amber, casting warm shadows over the polished countertops and the scratched wooden floor. It’s a quiet Tuesday night, a lull between the weekend rush and midweek regulars. You’ve been working here long enough to know the rhythm of it—the predictable ebb and flow of people looking for drinks to drown whatever piece of life was gnawing at them. But then, just as you’re stacking a row of freshly washed glasses, the door swings open, and in walks her again.

She hesitates in the doorway, framed by the cool, blue glow of the streetlights outside. The first thing that grabs you, as it did last night, are her eyes—huge, almond-shaped, and impossibly feline. The kind of eyes that make you forget what you were supposed to be doing. They dart nervously around the room before finally landing on you, and for a moment, she freezes.

“You again,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean casually against the bar, arms crossed, trying not to seem too eager.

She’s wearing a cropped, black leather jacket that clings to her slender frame, sharp and a little out of place against the pale softness of her features. Beneath it, a white tank top hints at the curve of her collarbone and the toned lines of her stomach. Her high-waisted jeans, faded and torn at the knees, hug her slim legs like they were stitched onto her body. The scuffed Doc Martens on her feet somehow make her look even more striking—an accidental runway model lost in a world of beer stains and neon signs.

Her broad shoulders, almost too strong for her petite height, square up as if she's trying to summon some hidden reserve of confidence. But it’s her shyness, that hint of hesitation in every movement, that makes her feel like a puzzle you want to solve. She brushes a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away from yours as though the floor might swallow her whole if she stares for too long.

You tilt your head toward the bar, beckoning her closer. “Second night in a row, huh? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

Her lips part in a soft laugh, so quiet you almost miss it. “Hardly. My friend dragged me here yesterday. Tonight… I just needed some air.”

Her voice is as soft as her laugh, tinged with a slight huskiness that adds depth to her otherwise delicate demeanor. She approaches the bar slowly, her movements careful, like someone who’s always aware of the space she takes up.

“Well,” you say, pulling a coaster from under the counter and setting it down in front of her, “welcome back to the quietest bar in town. What can I get you?”

She perches on the stool, her knees pressed close together, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Um…just a Coke, actually.”

“Coke?”

She nods, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, only to dart away again. “I don’t drink much.”

“Second night in a row at a bar and no drinks? You’re full of surprises.” You grab a glass and pour the soda, sliding it toward her. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes my job easier.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, you realize, but it only adds to the quiet allure of her presence. “You work here often?”

“Most nights.” You lean against the bar again, giving her your best casual smile. “And you? What’s your excuse for gracing us with your presence twice in a row?”

“I’m…” She hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess I just liked the vibe. It’s not like other places.”

“It’s not like most places because most places actually get customers,” you joke, gesturing to the mostly empty room. “But hey, if the vibe brought you back, I’m not going to argue.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “It’s nice. Quiet. Less… intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” You raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

She fidgets with the straw in her glass, swirling the Coke absently. “Bars aren’t really my thing. Too loud, too crowded. I usually avoid them.” She glances up at you, almost shyly. “This one feels… different.”

You don’t miss the slight blush that creeps up her neck as she speaks, and something about it tugs at you. “Different’s good,” you say softly. “I like different.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The faint hum of the jukebox in the corner fills the silence, playing some slow, melancholic track that perfectly matches the mood. You watch as she takes a small sip of her drink, her lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

“So,” you finally ask, breaking the quiet, “what’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Coke Girl’?”

Her lips twitch into a smile again, a little more confident this time. “Ning Yìzhuo. And you?”

“Coke Boy,” you deadpan, earning a small laugh from her. “Kidding. It’s—”

The door swings open again, cutting you off as a group of rowdy patrons stumbles in, disrupting the peaceful bubble you’d been sharing. Ningning’s shoulders tense immediately, her fingers tightening around her glass. You can tell she’s debating whether to stay or bolt.

You lean closer, your voice low. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. Plus, I’ve got your back.”

She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for something—reassurance, maybe. And whatever she finds there seems to calm her, if only a little. She nods, taking another sip of her Coke.

You don’t know why, but you can already tell she’s going to stay with you longer than just tonight. Something about her feels significant, like a spark of lightning caught in a jar. Quiet, shy, and utterly captivating.

—

The weeks bleed into one another, and before you know it, Ning is a fixture at the bar. Not officially, of course. She doesn’t work here, doesn’t drink much, and always leaves by midnight like Cinderella with a self-imposed curfew. But she’s here. Three nights a week, like clockwork, perching on her usual stool and ordering her usual Coke, sometimes daring to live dangerously with a Sprite.

At first, you thought she came because it was quiet, because she needed a place to escape whatever stresses her life held. But it’s become increasingly clear that the bar’s charm isn’t the only thing pulling her back. It’s you. And you’re not mad about it.

Tonight, she’s dressed like she always is—effortlessly cool in her slightly oversized sweater, rolled-up jeans, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Her leather jacket is slung over the back of the stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. She’s got her sketchbook with her tonight, the same one she’s been carrying for weeks. You’ve seen glimpses of the drawings—sketches of people, abstract swirls, the occasional cat—but she guards it like it contains state secrets, never letting you get a proper look.

“What are you working on this time?” you ask, leaning on the counter with the practiced nonchalance of a bartender-slash-business-student who definitely isn’t secretly invested in whatever she’s drawing.

She glances up from her page, cat-like eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. “Nothing special. Just doodling.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you point out, reaching for a clean glass to wipe down. “And then you showed me that sketch of that old guy in the corner, and it looked like something out of a museum. You can admit it, Ning—you’re talented.”

She ducks her head, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not that good.”

“Sure,” you deadpan, “and I’m not the best bartender in this city.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that you’ve started to look forward to more than you’d like to admit. “You’re not even the best bartender in this bar.”

You feign offense, clutching your chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” she says, smiling up at you. “Which is why I’m honest with you.”

“Brutally honest,” you correct, smirking. “Fine. Tell me this: do all fine arts students have this much sass, or are you just special?”

“Special,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “And for the record, it’s not fine arts. It’s animation and visual effects. Totally different.”

You nod sagely, as if you know the first thing about animation or visual effects. “Ah, of course. Animation. You’re going to make the next Toy Story, right?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Something like that. What about you, Mr. Future CEO? Made any spreadsheets cry lately?”

“Every day,” you reply solemnly. “It’s part of the curriculum in business administration. They don’t let you graduate until you’ve traumatized at least three Excel files.”

Her laugh comes easily, her shoulders relaxing as she sips her Coke. She looks comfortable here now, like this place—and you—have become a safe haven for her.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

“You know,” you say, setting the glass down and leaning closer, “when you first started coming here, I thought you were just using the bar as a library with worse lighting.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I think you’re here because you can’t resist my charm.”

She snorts into her drink, nearly choking. “Your charm? Please.”

“Hey, admit it. I make this place bearable for you.”

She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You do make pretty good jokes.”

“High praise from the queen of sarcasm.”

Her smile softens slightly, the teasing edge in her voice fading. “I just like talking to you. You make things… lighter. Easier to deal with.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s rare for her to let her guard down like this, and you feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep it safe, to make sure she never regrets being vulnerable.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “as long as you keep coming back, I’ll keep telling terrible jokes. Deal?”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her hand like you’re signing a legally binding contract.

You shake her hand, her skin warm and soft against yours. There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where the noise of the bar fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Friends. Companions in this odd little corner of the world.

“By the way,” you add, breaking the moment, “if you ever need a businessperson in one of your animations, I know a guy.”

“Let me guess,” she says, smirking. “He’s incredibly charming and makes terrible jokes?”

“Exactly.”

She laughs again, and for the rest of the night, the bar feels a little brighter.

—

Ning sits cross-legged on her bed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the desk lamp Minji insisted on buying, claiming it was better for productivity. Across the room, Minji herself sits at her desk, perfectly upright, fingers flying across the keyboard of her sleek laptop. She looks like a Vogue spread come to life, even in her oversized knit sweater and black leggings, her shiny, straight hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder.

Minji’s skin practically glows, the kind of flawless complexion that makes you wonder if she’s secretly Photoshopped in real life. Her glasses—a stylish, rectangular pair with gold rims—rest perfectly on the bridge of her pointy nose, framing dark, intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. Her lips, soft and plump, are painted a subtle pink, just enough to look effortlessly put together. She’s everything Ning isn’t: confident, composed, intimidatingly perfect.

Ning chews on her pencil, staring at her friend’s back. “Hey, Minji?”

“Hm?” Minji doesn’t look up from her screen. She’s probably working on some group project for her international business course. Even in her downtime, Minji is an efficiency machine.

“How do you, like…” Ning hesitates, fiddling with the corner of her sketchbook. “How do you get guys to notice you?”

That gets Minji’s attention. She swivels her chair around, fixing Ning with a look that’s equal parts amused and curious. “What kind of question is that?”

“You know what I mean,” Ning mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks. “You always have a line of guys chasing after you. It’s like… you just exist, and they’re obsessed with you.”

Minji raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to get their attention.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Ning groans, flopping backward onto her bed. “You don’t even try, and they’re all over you. Meanwhile, I could walk into a room naked, and no one would notice.”

“First of all, don’t do that,” Minji says dryly, folding her arms. “Second, you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Ning mutters, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like this goddess of elegance or whatever, and I’m just… me. How do you make people like you?”

Minji sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in that annoyingly perfect way she does. “It’s not about making people like you, Ning. You just have to be yourself.”

Ning sits up, frowning. “That’s so easy for you to say. You’re perfect. People like you without you even trying.”

“I’m not perfect,” Minji says, though the way she says it makes it clear she knows she’s pretty close.

Ning snorts. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re the only person I know who actually looks good in those glasses. And don’t get me started on your ‘I just woke up like this’ hair.”

Minji chuckles softly, a sound that somehow feels condescending and comforting at the same time. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have some good qualities. But seriously, Ning, if you want people to notice you, just… put yourself out there.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not shy,” Ning mutters, pulling her knees to her chest.

Minji leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shy people are fine, but if you never let anyone see who you really are, how are they supposed to notice you?”

“What if who I really am is… shy?” Ning asks, her voice small.

“Then be the best version of shy,” Minji says simply. “Confidence doesn’t mean being loud or outgoing. It just means being comfortable with who you are. People are drawn to that.”

Ning stares at her, skeptical. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Minji admits, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But if you don’t at least try, nothing’s going to change. And trust me, you don’t need to change who you are. You just need to stop hiding it.”

Ning chews on her lip, mulling that over. Minji makes it sound logical, like a formula to be solved. But Ning isn’t sure she can simply flip a switch and become “the best version” of herself.

“And if it doesn’t work?” she asks.

Minji shrugs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Then it’s their loss.”

Ning laughs despite herself, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know that?”

Minji smirks, turning back to her laptop. “I know. Now stop overthinking and start being fabulous. You’ve got this, Ning.”

Ning watches her friend for a moment longer, a mixture of admiration and frustration swirling in her chest. If Minji says she can do it, maybe she can. But it still feels like an impossible climb.

“Hey, Minji?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Minji doesn’t turn around, but her voice is warm. “Anytime.”

—

The door to the bar swings open, and in walks Ning with a determined look in her cat-like eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white crop top that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, a plaid mini skirt, and her signature scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and there’s a hint of pink gloss on her lips. Tonight, she’s decided, is the night.

No more shy, stammering Ning. Tonight, she’s confident, bold, maybe even flirty. She’s spent the past three days psyching herself up for this moment, replaying Minji’s advice in her head like a mantra. Put yourself out there. Be the best version of yourself. You’ve got this.

The bar is warm and dimly lit as always, the low hum of conversation filling the air. She spots you cleaning a table, laughing at something one of the regulars said, your easy charm on full display. You see Ning and wave to her with a smile. Her heart skips a beat, but she steels herself. You’ve got this, she repeats silently, striding toward the bar.

Or at least, she tries to.

What she doesn’t see, in her single-minded determination, is the bright yellow Wet Floor sign in the middle of the room. Her Doc Martens hit the slick patch of tiles, and suddenly, her confident stride turns into a cartoonish flail.

“Shit—!”

She feels herself going down, her arms pinwheeling as gravity takes over. But just before she hits the ground, a pair of strong hands catch her, one gripping her waist and the other cradling her back.

“You okay?” Your voice is close—too close—and when she blinks up at you, she realizes her face is just inches from yours.

Her heart is pounding, and not just from the near-death experience. Your eyes, warm and concerned, lock onto hers, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” Her voice comes out quieter than she’d like, all the confidence she’d mustered evaporating on the spot.

You grin, helping her stand upright but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. “That was a close one. You almost went full slapstick there.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep things entertaining,” she mumbles, avoiding your gaze. Her ankle twinges as she shifts her weight, and she winces.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, noticing the way she’s favoring one foot.

“It’s just my ankle,” she admits. “I think I twisted it a little.”

“Let’s get you off your feet,” you say, guiding her to a booth in the corner. “Come on, sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protests, but you’re already pulling out a chair for her.

Once she’s seated, you crouch down in front of her, gently taking her foot in your hands. “Let me check it out. I can’t have my best customer suing the bar.”

She snorts softly, despite herself. “It’s my fault for not seeing the sign.”

“Well, next time, try looking where you’re going,” you tease, flashing her a grin that makes her heart skip again.

You slide off her boot carefully, your fingers brushing against her ankle. She tries not to shiver at the touch, but it’s impossible. Your hands are warm and firm, and when you start to massage the sore spot, she has to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended.

“Comes with practice,” you reply, focused on her foot. “My ex used to come home from work with sore feet all the time, so I’d give her massages. Got pretty good at it after a while.”

Ning’s ears perk up at the mention of your ex. “Oh?” she says, trying to sound casual. “What happened there?”

“She was… complicated,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Kind of jealous. Possessive. A little manic, honestly.” You pause, then chuckle, shaking your head. “I guess I have a type. Crazy girls seem to find me.”

She swallows hard, caught off guard. “Is that why you’re single now?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, still massaging her ankle. “Taking a break from relationships for a while. Thought I’d give myself some peace and quiet, you know?”

Ning’s heart sinks, though she forces a smile. “Makes sense. Less drama.”

“Exactly,” you say, glancing up at her with a grin. “And besides, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got customers like you to keep me company?”

She laughs softly, but it feels hollow in her chest. She watches as you go back to massaging her foot, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak you’ve just caused. But she doesn’t say anything.

Because Minji’s words echo in her head: Be the best version of yourself. And tonight, the best version of herself is just a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

—

The dorm bathroom is small, humid, and filled with the faint scent of citrus-scented body wash. The door is open, so the fragrance invades the whole bedroom. The overhead light flickers faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene. Minji stands by the sink in nothing but a pale lavender bra and matching underwear, her skin luminous under the harsh fluorescent light. She’s methodically applying lotion to her arms, her long, straight hair pushed over one shoulder to avoid smearing it. Every movement she makes is precise, deliberate, like everything else about her.

Ning is by the closet, half-dressed, rifling through her limited wardrobe with a furrowed brow. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the straps of her bralette. Her plaid pajama shorts are crumpled, a stark contrast to Minji’s immaculate appearance.

“Can I ask you something?” Minji’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, soft but with that unmistakable edge of curiosity.

Ning freezes, her fingers lingering on the hem of a black skirt she’s debating on. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

Minji finishes with her arms and moves on to her legs, bending one knee and propping her foot up on the closed toilet lid. Her movements are unhurried, as if the question isn’t a big deal. “Where do you go every week? At night, I mean.”

She glances over her shoulder, her face warming under Minji’s unreadable gaze. “Nowhere. Just… out.”

“Nowhere?” Minji’s lips curve in a faint smile as she straightens up, tilting her head slightly. Her sharp, dark eyes scan Ning, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidget with the fabric of her skirt. “That doesn’t sound like nowhere.”

“I mean it’s not anywhere in particular,” Ning mumbles, turning back to the closet. She grabs a random top to busy her hands, hoping Minji will let it go.

But Minji doesn’t let things go. “Ning,” she says, her voice calm but insistent. “You’ve been going out at least twice a week for the past month. You get dressed up, come back late, and you never say where you’ve been. It’s weird, because it's not something you used to do.”

Ning turns around, clutching the top against her chest like a shield. “It’s not weird.”

Minji quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t think so? Because to me, it looks like you’re sneaking off to see someone.”

“I’m not!” Ning’s voice rises slightly in protest, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. She tosses the top onto the bed and grabs her sketchbook from the desk. “Look, I take this with me, okay? How could I be seeing a boy if I’m bringing this?”

Minji’s eyes drop to the sketchbook, then lift back to Ning’s face, skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know. Art students have strange habits. Maybe you’re sketching him while you’re there.”

Ning groans, plopping onto the bed and flipping the sketchbook open to a random page. “It’s not like that. There’s a bar I go to. It’s… quiet, and it helps with creativity.”

“Creativity,” Minji repeats, crossing her arms as she leans against the sink. Her hair falls perfectly over one shoulder, her glasses catching the light just enough to make her look like a chic librarian. “That’s your story?”

“Yes!” Ning huffs, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence in a trial. “See? Just sketches. No boys, no dates, nothing like that.”

Minji steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies Ning’s face. “So you’re telling me you sit at a bar all night, alone, with your sketchbook? That’s it?”

“Well…” Ning hesitates, her fingers gripping the edges of the book. “There’s this bartender I talk to sometimes. But he’s just a friend.”

“A friend.” Minji’s voice is flat, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” Ning mutters, ducking her head.

“Probably not,” Minji replies, her tone maddeningly casual. “But now everything is even more suspicious.”

Ning sighs, flipping the sketchbook closed. “Oh, whatever! He’s the bartender. We talk. That’s it.”

“And you’re just friends?”

“Yes.” Ning’s voice is firm, but her cheeks betray her with their telltale blush.

Minji watches her for a moment longer, then does something that catches Ning completely off guard. She smiles. Not her usual poised, mysterious smile, but something softer.

“Can I go too?”

Ning blinks, sure she’s misheard. “What?”

“To the bar,” Minji says, stepping closer until she’s standing right in front of Ning. “If it’s so great for creativity, I want to see it.”

“You want to go to the bar?” Ning asks, her voice incredulous. “The one I go to?”

“Why not?” Minji shrugs, grabbing her towel and tossing it into the laundry basket. “It’s not a date, right? If you’re just hanging out with a friend, I don’t see why I can’t come along.”

Ning stares at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “Are you serious?”

Minji leans down slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose as she meets Ning’s wide-eyed gaze. “Dead serious.”

“But…” Ning struggles to find a reason, any reason, why this is a terrible idea. “What about your coursework? You’re always busy.”

Minji straightens up, brushing her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I can spare a night. Besides,” she adds, smirking, “I want to meet this ‘just a friend’ of yours.”

Minji’s calm confidence is both reassuring and terrifying. She knows Minji means well, but she also knows her friend. Minji doesn’t just show up. She observes.

Still, it’s hard to say no when Minji looks at her like that, her dark eyes steady and full of quiet determination.

“Okay,” Ning says finally. “You can come.”

Minji smiles, a triumphant glint in her eye. “Great. I’ll get ready.”

As Minji walks away, Ning flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. Just her, the bar, and a chance to take things slow with you.

Now?

She has no idea what’s about to happen.

—

The bar’s hum is steady but quiet tonight, soft music playing from the jukebox, mingling with the low murmur of scattered conversations. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and vaguely thinking about the economics lecture you skipped today when the door swings open.

You look up instinctively, and there she is—Ning. Except she’s not alone.

Ning walks in first, a bundle of energy in her casual but cool outfit: a cropped black sweater that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, paired with loose cargo pants that sit snug on her hips, and her ever-present Doc Martens. She looks great—like she always does—but it’s the girl walking in behind her that makes your breath catch.

Minji.

She’s dressed simply—an elegant cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, dark-wash jeans that make her legs look impossibly long. Her black hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, and she’s wearing the kind of gold-rimmed glasses that make other people look like try-hards but somehow make her look even more stunning. There’s something about her presence—poised but approachable, with a quiet confidence that fills the room—that makes it hard to look away.

“Hey!” Ning’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she practically bounces over to the counter. She gestures enthusiastically toward her companion. “This is my best friend, Minji. You’ll love her.”

You recover quickly, setting the glass down and offering a smile. “Hey, Minji. Nice to meet you.”

Minji steps forward, her smile polite but warm. “Nice to meet you too. Ning comes here every week, I got curious and realized I needed to see it myself.”

You nod, trying not to seem too obvious as you take her in. “Well, welcome. Hope it lives up to the hype.”

Ning slides onto her usual stool, pulling out her sketchbook like it’s just another normal night. “He’s being modest. It’s the coolest place ever. And the bartender’s alright, I guess.”

You smirk at her teasing but find yourself glancing back at Minji. “What can I get you two?”

“The usual for me,” Ning says, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Something light. I don’t drink much—health reasons.”

“Got it.” You start preparing the drinks, glancing at her again. “If you don’t mind me asking, health reasons?”

Ning's Coke is ready in moments, she takes a sip absentmindedly as she looks at her sketchbook.

“I have a heart condition,” she says casually, like she’s used to explaining it. “Nothing too serious, but I can’t really handle strong drinks.”

“Fair enough,” you say, sliding the glass across the counter toward her. “This should be light enough.”

She takes a sip, her lips curving into a small smile. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Ning, who’s been scribbling something in her sketchbook, looks up suddenly. “Minji has been really nosy lately, she wouldn't leave me alone until I brought her here, she's never done this before.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, raising an eyebrow at Minji. “Was she really that mysterious about it?”

Minji laughs softly, setting her drink down. “You have no idea. She’d leave without saying much, come back late, and when I’d ask where she was, she’d just shrug and say ‘out.’” She glances at Ning, her tone amused. “It was suspicious.”

Ning groans dramatically. “It wasn’t suspicious! I just didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought her along tonight,” you say, smiling at Minji. “It’s nice to meet one of Ning’s friends.”

“Best friend,” Ning corrects, nudging Minji with her elbow. “We’ve known each other forever.”

Minji chuckles. “She’s exaggerating. It’s only been a few years. But yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.”

You lean against the counter, genuinely curious. “How’d you two meet?”

“Orientation,” Minji says, glancing at Ning.

“At first I thought she was snobbish for being so serious."

“And I thought you looked like a troublemaker,” Minji counters, her eyes sparkling with humor.

You can’t help but laugh at their banter. “So, Minji, what are you studying?”

“International business,” she says, adjusting her glasses slightly. “What about you?”

“Business administration,” you reply, and her face lights up with interest.

“Oh, really? That’s great. What year are you in?”

“Third,” you say. “It’s not as glamorous as international business, but it keeps me busy.”

“It’s not glamorous,” Minji says with a small smile. “But it’s practical. And honestly, that’s more important.”

You nod, impressed by her straightforwardness. “So what made you choose international business?”

She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I guess I like the idea of understanding how things work on a global scale. It’s a challenge, but I enjoy it.”

Ning, who’s been quiet for a moment, suddenly speaks up. “She’s being humble. She’s the smartest person I know. She even helps me figure out my art projects sometimes.”

Minji shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “I just give her feedback. She’s the real talent.”

You glance at Ning, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of feedback?”

“She helps me refine ideas,” Ning says, twirling her pencil. “Like, if I’m stuck on a concept, she’ll point out things I didn’t think of. It’s annoying how good she is at it.”

Minji rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection in her expression. “It’s not that hard. I just have an outside perspective.”

“Well, it sounds like you two make a good team,” you say, genuinely impressed by their dynamic.

Minji smiles, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than you expect. “We do. But I think I understand why Ning likes coming here now. It’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Ning chimes in, her voice a little softer. “It is.”

The three of you fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking and laughing like old friends. But every now and then, you catch yourself glancing at Minji, wondering what it is about her that feels so… magnetic.

—

The bar has never been livelier for you, not because of an influx of customers but because Ning and Minji have made it their unofficial hangout spot. At first, it was a bit surreal—Ning showing up with her best friend in tow, bright-eyed and eager to introduce her to her favorite bartender. But over the next few weeks, it becomes routine.

Monday Night

Ning and Minji arrive together, as they always do. Ning’s dressed in her usual casual style—cropped sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and her trusty Doc Martens—while Minji looks effortlessly polished in a tailored blazer over a white camisole and straight-leg pants.

“Usual?” you ask Ning, already reaching for the soda gun.

“Of course,” she says, hopping onto her usual stool.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

“I’ll take the same thing as last time,” she says, her smile easy. “That drink was great.”

You get to work, sliding the Coke over to Ning and preparing Minji’s light cocktail. “So, how’s the week been treating you two?”

“Terrible,” Ning groans dramatically, opening her sketchbook. “I’m behind on like, three projects.”

Minji snorts, glancing at Ning over the rim of her glass. “That’s because you spent the entire weekend rewatching Spirited Away instead of working.”

“It was research!” Ning protests, flipping through her sketches. “It’s a masterpiece!”

You chuckle, leaning on the bar. “She’s got a point. Spirited Away is definitely worth rewatching.”

Minji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t disagree. But maybe she could balance her research with her deadlines.”

The two of you share a laugh, and Ning pouts.

“You’re both nerds,” she mutters, earning a grin from you.

“Guilty as charged,” you say, raising a random glass in a mock toast.

Wednesday Night

Tonight, Minji’s in a soft blue sweater that matches her dark-rimmed glasses, her hair swept back in a loose braid. Ning looks a little tired, probably from pulling an all-nighter.

“You look like death,” Minji observes bluntly as they sit down.

“Gee, thanks,” Ning says, dropping onto the stool and slumping over the counter.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding her a Coke without waiting for her order.

“Just tired,” Ning mumbles, sipping her drink.

Minji tilts her head at you. “So, did you finish that econ paper you mentioned last time?”

You perk up, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, just barely. Turns out writing about financial markets at two in the morning isn’t fun.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Minji says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I bet you still nailed it.”

Ning watches the exchange, feeling a pang of something she can’t quite name. She clears her throat. “Hey, can we talk about something not boring?”

“Sure,” you say, turning to her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Aliens,” Ning declares, grinning. “Do you think they exist?”

Minji sighs. “Oh god, not this again.”

You laugh, genuinely amused. “Honestly? I hope so. Would make the universe a lot more interesting.”

Ning beams, satisfied, while Minji shakes her head. “This is why she likes coming here,” Minji says dryly. “You encourage her nonsense.”

“Hey,” you protest, “it’s not nonsense. It’s curiosity.”

Minji chuckles, and Ning feels a little less out of place.

Friday Night

The bar is slightly busier, but the two of them still manage to snag their usual seats. Minji looks radiant in a sleek black blouse and gold hoop earrings, her makeup subtle but flawless. Ning, in her oversized hoodie and her Doc Martens looks comfortable but feels distinctly underdressed next to her friend.

“You look nice tonight,” you say to Minji as you hand her drink over.

“Thanks,” she replies, her voice calm and self-assured. “Ning practically dragged me out of the dorm, so I figured I’d make an effort.”

“You’re welcome,” Ning says with mock pride.

“So,” Minji says, turning to you, “tell me more about your business classes. Do you focus on entrepreneurship or management?”

“A little of both,” you reply, leaning on the counter. “Right now, we’re working on case studies about startups.”

“Oh, I love those,” Minji says, her eyes lighting up. “Which case studies are you doing?”

As you dive into the topic, Ning finds herself zoning out. The conversation is engaging—Minji is clearly knowledgeable, and you seem genuinely interested in what she has to say—but it’s not her world. She fiddles with her straw, feeling invisible as the two of you talk animatedly about market trends and business strategies.

Eventually, she clears her throat. “Hey, do you think they’d let me draw on the walls here?”

Both of you turn to her, surprised.

“I mean, this place could use some art,” she says, grinning.

“Go for it,” you say, laughing. “Just don’t tell my boss I approved it.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly creative,” Ning corrects, feeling a little more grounded again.

Sunday Night

The bar is nearly empty, the quiet hum of the jukebox filling the space. Ning is doodling absently in her sketchbook, while Minji sips her drink and chats with you.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Minji asks, her tone light but genuinely curious.

“Work, mostly,” you admit. “But when I have time, I like hiking. Clears my head.”

“I didn’t peg you as the outdoorsy type,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You shrug. “Gotta balance all the business talk with something peaceful.”

Ning glances up from her sketchbook, watching the two of you. There’s something about the way Minji leans slightly forward when she talks to you, the way her smile lingers a little longer.

“Do you hike?” you ask Minji.

“Sometimes,” she says. “But only when Ning drags me along.”

“Hey, I make hiking fun,” Ning protests, jumping back into the conversation.

“You complain the whole time,” Minji points out, smirking.

“Because you always pick the hardest trails!”

You laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us,” Minji says.

Ning blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. She glances between you and Minji, unsure how to feel about the way this strange triangle is starting to form.

As the night winds down, the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, but Ning can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.

—

The three of you have fallen into a strange, unspoken routine—meeting up not just at the bar but beyond it, like some evolving trio of mismatched energy. It feels natural, at least on the surface, even if Ning occasionally finds herself analyzing every interaction, dissecting every glance and laugh.

Tonight, you’re at the movies, sitting in a darkened theater. Ning insisted on watching the latest animated film, claiming it was "research" for her art, though the truth is she just really loves animated movies. You and Minji went along with it, no complaints. Ning sits between you and Minji, a giant bucket of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.

Halfway through the movie, she notices how Minji leans slightly toward you, sharing whispered comments about the plot. Ning can’t quite hear what you’re saying, but the low rumble of your laugh makes her feel strangely uncomfortable.

“Pass the popcorn,” you murmur, your hand brushing Ning’s as you reach for the bucket.

She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Here. Don’t eat all the good pieces.”

“You’re weirdly protective of popcorn,” you tease, taking a handful.

“Popcorn hierarchy is a real thing,” she replies, smirking. But her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

Minji chuckles, leaning closer. “She’s serious about it. She once bit my hand when I took the last caramel piece.”

“I did not bite you!” Ning protests, her cheeks flushing.

Minji glances at you, her smile lingering. “She absolutely did.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I believe it.”

The sound of your laugh sends a pang through Ning’s chest. She knows it’s stupid, knows she’s overthinking. But the way you and Minji interact—effortless, like equals—feels different.

Later That Week

The three of you are at a college basketball game, seated in the bleachers. It was your idea this time, a way to do something “normal and fun” after a week of classes. Ning, determined to feel confident, showed up in a cropped tank top and tight jeans, her makeup more pronounced than usual.

But as the game goes on, she notices the subtle ways you treat her. When she trips on the bleachers, you catch her arm, laughing softly. “Careful, kid. Don’t want you breaking something.”

“Kid?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally an adult.”

“Barely,” you tease, ruffling her hair in a way that makes her want to scream.

Meanwhile, when Minji leans over to ask you something, your tone shifts. It’s subtle, but Ning catches it. You’re attentive, leaning slightly closer, your voice quieter. When Minji laughs at something you say, it’s like the whole world fades out for a second, leaving just the two of you.

Ning fiddles with her phone, pretending not to notice.

At one point, Minji turns to her. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Ning says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… not a huge basketball fan.”

Minji studies her for a moment but doesn’t press. She turns back to you, asking something about the game. Ning doesn’t bother listening.

The Bar, One Week Later

It’s a typical slow night, the kind you’ve come to expect when it’s not the weekend. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and occasionally glancing at the door out of habit. When it swings open, you look up, expecting to see Ning and Minji together as usual.

But it’s just Minji.

She steps inside, her presence as poised as ever. She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck and a sleek gray coat, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. There’s a calm confidence in the way she walks, like she owns the space without even trying.

“Hey,” you say, smiling as she approaches the bar. “Where’s Ning?”

“She’s sick,” Minji replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “It’s just me tonight.”

There's a hint of excitement in her voice, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The absence of Ning—her usual energy, her playful remarks—feels strange. But Minji’s presence is undeniable, grounding.

“Just you,” you repeat, setting a glass on the counter. “Alright. What can I get you?”

Minji smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Surprise me.”

part 3

[flemingsfreckles]

Surprise Visitor (18+)

Synopsis: based on this request, You and jessie reunite at the Chelsea/Arsenal game in Washington DC and you finally get to act on feelings that were interrupted by her transfer.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral sex (r receiving and giving), fingering (r giving), making out, little bit of dry humping, language

WC: 5.7k

A/N: this is it (at least for now) I explain more in this post as to why I’m taking a step back from writing, it’s maybe not permanent and I’ll definitely still be around to read other work, make posts about transfers, all that stuff, but just taking a step back from writing for now. Love all of ya, thank you :)

“I have a surprise.” Niamh grabs your hand pulling you behind her.

“Hang on, let me get my damn shoes on.” You complained as the defender continued to drag you down the hallway, hobbling behind her you tried to get your heel into your shoe.

“Ta-da!” You hear Niamh say and you look up from your shoes where she stood arms out.

“Oh my god.” You feel silly as your jaw drops, clasping your hand over it in an attempt to hide it. “Jessie.”

“Hi.” The Canadian’s smile is soft. You can’t hold back anymore, rushing with arms open to Jessie, nearly slamming your body into her when you came into contact. Her arms around you wasn’t something you had felt since you dropped her at the airport, both of you in tears as she moved to Portland.

It’s like climbing into bed after a long day, stepping into a hot shower after being out in the cold, the first taste of a home cooked meal after being away for months, being back in Jessie’s arms is immediately relaxing.

“Sorry, I’ve just really missed you.” You finally speak up, shifting away slightly, both of you releasing each other.

“I’ve missed you so much.” Jessie affirms your own feelings.

Shaking your head in astonishment you still can’t believe the woman was standing in front of you. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I told Niamh, I wanted to surprise you.” You get lost in her smile, you had always gotten lost in her smile. She flashes a glance to Niamh who takes the hint and quickly excuses herself back to the locker room.

You wait for her to walk away, giving you the chance to fully look at Jessie. Scanning her head to toe, her blue and green Nike shorts, her grey shirt, the way her hair was down but neatly contained by the hat on her head. Her freckles are more prominent than the last time you saw her, the summer sun doing her well.

“You look good Jess.” You eye her up, her simple outfit allows you to fully appreciate her, her tan skin, her brown eyes, the way her hair was neatly placed. “Like, really good.”

You notice how she shys slightly at the compliment. “Thanks, the move has been good for me, I really like it in Portland.”

“Yeah it seems like your type out there.”

“What does that mean?” Jessie gently shoves your shoulder.

You shrug,worried you’ve offended the girl. “Biking, sustainability, knitting, the city gives off those vibes.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

There’s a small beat of quiet and you say what you’ve been thinking since you first saw the woman. “I do miss you though, everyday.”

“I know, I miss you too. I can’t believe you got here without me knowing.”

“Niamh helped.”

“Probably because she knew how I feel, felt, how I felt.” You admit.

“Huh?”

“How I felt about you, I told her.” you didn’t have to explicitly say anything for Jessie to immediately know what you were referring to.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, well not all of it. It’s just, I had a really, really hard time when you left. I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t take care of myself super well, and Niamh noticed, she was there for me. One night she came over to help me get my place back in order and I embarrassingly broke down and let it spill about my feelings.”

Jessie nods slowly, taking in what you had just told her.

“I didn’t tell her we kissed and I didn’t say anything about how you feel, how you felt.” You quickly correct yourself, realizing it would be naive to think she still had those feelings.

“How I feel.” Jessie says, nodding at you with a smile on her face.

“Hey you two, time’s up! You gotta come get ready.” Niamh’s voice, while usually a warm welcome in your life, was something you wish didn’t exist in the moment.

You look at Niamh before back at Jessie, you could feel the sadness start to bubble in your chest, you didn’t want to say goodbye again. You couldn’t.

“Go.” Jessie lightly pushed your shoulder. “I’ll be around after the game, maybe we can grab dinner? Niamh said you’d be free tonight. Or I’m around tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good luck, go kill it.”

As you took the pitch, all you wanted was to be off of it. You wanted to be back in Jessie’s presence, listening to her voice, watching her speak, you wanted to be with her. But instead you had 90 minutes between you and talking to her again.

You couldn’t help but find yourself scanning the crowd, looking for her. It took you until the 26th minute to find her. You’d run over to take a corner, bending down to pick up the ball, spinning it in your hands, and when you looked up, there she was. The focused look on her face, as if she was the one on the pitch, quickly turned into a smile when the two of you made eye contact.

You let out a sigh of relief hearing the final whistle. Chelsea had scraped by with a victory and now the only thing you had to think about was the freckled covered Canadian that stood patiently across the field talking with the fellow Canadians. You let her talk not wanting to interrupt her reunion with her other friends as well.

When she finally has a moment to herself you make your way over to her. “Hi.”

“Hi. Congrats, you played well.”

You shrug, she was just being nice, you knew it, you’d been admittedly distracted. “It wasn’t my best.”

“Well, it was still good soccer.” Her hand finds its way to your shoulders. “Don't be so hard on yourself.” You give her a sarcastic smile, Jessie always got on you when you’d tear yourself apart after a bad game or practice. She always knew how to calm you down, to remind you bad days happen, you’d missed her presence in your life greatly the past few days.

“That dinner invite still stand? I’d love to spend more time with you.” It may have sounded needy coming from your mouth but it was the truth, you wanted more time with her, that’s all you had wanted since she left, more time.

“Of course!”

“Okay, let me get showered and changed, I’ll meet you after?”

“Yeah.” Jessie nods and you head back to the locker room making sure to sign a few more jerseys and signs on your way. It was maybe the fastest you’d ever showered and changed, throwing on sweats and a shirt before throwing your gear haphazardly into your bag and heading out to find Jessie. The fatigue of the week finally begins to set in as you walk out of the stadium. You find her standing against a wall looking around. Her eyes catch yours as you let a yawn out.

“Hey.” You say mid-yawn, waving at her.

She smiles at you. “You look exhausted, I know I said it before but you played very well.” Extending her hand she makes a grabbing motion at you, “Give me your bag.”

“Yeah, exhausted is one way to put it, it’s a mix of traveling, London to New York to DC and the jet lag is finally catching up to me.” You pass the bag to her, she slings it over her shoulder.

“Want to just grab a pizza instead, come back to mine? We can just relax?”

You let out a small sigh of relief, while you would’ve done it for her, you didn’t feel like dressing up and going out. “That sounds perfect.”

That’s how the two of you ended up sitting on the couch Of Jessie’s hotel room, feet on the table, the box of pizza balancing on each of your thighs between you. Conversation has been flowing easily, a mix of old inside jokes, updates on your life, all coming up.

“So, you been seeing anyone in Portland?” Jessie had yet to mention dating, the topic simply avoided in conversation, but the question had been sitting in the back of your head since you saw her again, so you finally asked.

She gives you a quick smile, “Just jumping right to it then.” Looking down at the box and reaching for another slice she answers. “But no, I’m still working through some stuff, moving, captain, all that has just been a lot. What about you?”

“Nah, still getting over someone I never got to have.” You say nonchalantly, hoping she’ll pry.

Knowing her well, she does. “Oh really?

“Yeah, she uh, she was really cool, little nerdy, and pretty too, but then she moved for work and we never got to try, but I think we were pretty close to getting into something the week she left, we kissed for the first time in a hotel room and then she panicked and immediately told me she was moving.” You can’t help but contain the smirk that grows on your face as you watch Jessie realize what you were talking about.

“Oh you’re talking about me.”

“I am.” You nod, taking a bite of your pizza.

“I was stupid to wait around so long. I just wasn’t sure how you felt and I didn’t want to make things weird, and then moving to Portland, it was the easy way out, if things had gotten weird. I should’ve kissed you back when we won the league your first season.”

“I mean at least you did it eventually.”

Jessie hums in acknowledgment and you think back to when you first kissed her.

The two of you had been sitting on her hotel bed while Niamh was showering. You had been play fighting, you’re not even sure over what anymore. Gentle shoves became firm ones before you were tackling each other, and before you knew it you found yourself above her, your lips awfully close to hers.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been in that position with Jessie. Mistimed tackles on the pitch, other play fights, bus rides where you’d fall asleep on each other’s shoulders, your face and hers had been close before. You had always backed out, never giving in to your desire to kiss her.

But now, on the bed, on top of her, you decided against your better judgement and let your eyes wander to her lips, then back up, indicating what you wanted. When you saw Jessie just barely nod and move her head so her lips were just near yours, you leaned in connecting your lips. It had been a hard first kiss, but it confirmed all your feelings you had been harboring.

When you had pulled away you had expected Jessie to question why you’d done it, to yell at you, to tell you to leave. “I’m leaving Chelsea.” Were instead the words that came out of her mouth.

“What?” You were stunned, by the kiss and by her words equally.

“I, I got an offer, Portland, with Janine and Sinc, and I haven’t signed it, but I’m going to, the staff here already know. I’ll be leaving Sunday.”

You had been so sudden. The kiss, the hope of something only to be crushed by the news of her leaving. You felt as you had gone through the stages of grief trying to process Jessie’s news. You didn’t believe it at first, you knew deep down it was true, she’d be leaving you. You were mad, angry at her, not necessarily for leaving, but for not telling you sooner. You were upset, sad, spent the few nights left crying in your bed. And then you accepted it. You couldn’t do anything, she was leaving, she needed to. So you did the only thing you could think of and offered to drive her to the airport for her flight away from you.

There's silence between you and you’re not sure if she’s also replaying the kiss in her head too, or telling you the news, or the feeling of her walking through the airport doors away from you as you sat in your car fighting through tears to drive home.

“You’re cold.” Jessie says after you have a quick shiver as the air conditioner in her room kicked on.

“I’m good Jess.” Before you can try to convince her you were fine, she’s off the couch and rummaging in her bag.

You roll your eyes at her eagerness as she frantically digs. “Here.” A wave of red comes at you as she tosses a hoodie in your direction.

You flip it on your hands to see the Canada Soccer logo staring back at you. “I’m not wearing that!” You toss it back at her.

“Oh come on, it’s just a sweatshirt.”Jessie rolls her eyes at you as she sits back down, passing the fabric back into your lap.

“It’s a Canada sweatshirt.” You pass it back to her, holding it firmly into her lap, jokingly disturbed look on your face.

Jessie gasps pretending to be overly offended. “Don’t say that like it’s disgusting. Just put it on.”

“No!” You squeal as Jessie grabs your wrist, trying to put the sweatshirt over your arm. You manage to twist from her grip and dart across the room. She follows, chasing you. It’s no surprise when she catches you, you were faster in a sprint but she was always more agile.

Her hands grab around your waist pulling you in hard so your back is against her chest. You stop resisting for a moment, and relax into her, you can feel her heavy breathing behind you, the rise and fall of her chest. Just when she begins to loosen her grip on you, you wiggle free, managing to make it a few feet before she has you cornered in the entryway of the room.

Jokingly, you put your hands up by your head in surrender. Jessie is still just a few feet in front of you, sweatshirt in hand. There’s a tension, you can feel it, from the way you’re both panting, the intensity of her eyes on yours, the way she bites her bottom lip as she looks at you. It’s as if time freezes, for just a moment, the two of you on the edge of changing everything.

And then Jessie moves.

It’s swift, agile, just as she had moved around the room before, only this time it’s toward you. Two steps in and the hoodie is dropped to the floor, Jessie’s hands ahead reach for yours holding them out at the side of your head and now against the hotel door. Her chest is pressed against yours followed quickly by her lips pressed to your lips.

“Is this okay?” Jessie pulls back enough to talk, both of you breathing heavily, her hands still holding yours firmly to the wall.

Not sure how to even respond, you nod, mouth open as you stare at Jessie’s eyes that are intensely watching you. “Kiss me again.”

She does, releasing your hands as she occupies her left hand on your hip and her right hand on your cheek, pulling your body into her. Making out with Jessie was everything you’d imagined it could be. The perfect mix of soft, gentle touches as her fingers grazed your cheek, your neck, your hips, your stomach, she mixed it well with rough, bites to your lips, teeth grazing on ear and neck.

When she pulled her lips back from yours, her forehead resting on yours, her eyes stayed closed for a moment before slowly opening, meeting yours. “Just fuck me already Jessie.”

A small smirk comes across her lips. “Of course.” She kissed you hard again, her hands pushing you hard against the wall of her hotel room. Your fingers ran themselves through her hair, pulling slightly and keeping her close to you. A whine left your lips as she pulled back only to be quickly replaced with a deep moan as her lips found their way to your neck.

Starting with a hot open mouth kiss to the side you could feel your knees growing weak as she moved down before stalling just above your collarbone. Jessie attached her lips again, this time sucking.

You shouldn’t let her, you know that, you were an adult and a hickey, where people would see, wasn’t a good idea. Your teammates would see, they’d know something happened but the feeling of Jessie’s lips hot on you convinced you not to pull her away and you happily let her mark you.

She releases your neck a moment later, her hands grazing under your shirt, fingers cool on your abdomen. Growing impatient, you push her fingers off before grabbing the bottom of your shirt and lifting it over your head. You toss the shirt at Jessie, slinging it over her shoulder as her eyes remain glued to your bra. “You were taking too long.” You tease her, her eyes flickering up to yours before she returns back to your chest.

“Fuck we should’ve done this before you left, you’re so pretty.” She lowers her face for her lips to meet the top of your chest. Taking advantage by her distraction, you take the change to push Jessie, moving off the door before pushing her against the wall near the entry. Your hand grabs under her chin, lifting her head away from your breast so that you could kiss her again. The kiss is short before you’re breaking away, completely pulling away from contact with Jessie and walking further into her room, toward the bed. As you do so your fingers slip under the band of your bra and you’re quickly dropping it on the floor as you walk.

You lay back on her bed, letting your head hit the pillow. Jessie is quick to follow you into the room, kneeling at the end of the bed while you get comfortable. Once you stop adjusting, Jessie hovers over you, her eyes admiring your now naked chest. Your hands grab for the bottom of her shirt and she quickly helps, grabbing the bottom and pulling it over her head leaving her in a simple sports bra before returning her attention to you.

“Hmmm, still cold?” Jessie says, running her fingers down the valley of your breast, satisfied with the way your skin reacted to her touch and your nipples perked at the chill of the room and the desire to be touched.

Continuing her actions from before Jessie begins kissing down your chest, stopping this time to run her lips and tongue over your nipples. She alternates, soft sucking, quick twirls of her tongue before she switches sides, evenly distributing her attention. You reward her with breathy sighs and quiet moans, your thighs flexing in anticipation. The heat between your thighs was growing, you wanted and needed Jessie.

Testing the waters you grind your hips upward, immediately feeling Jessie react, her own hips rolling back against yours. She shifts, her lips still scattering, kissing along your chest and abdomen, moving so her thigh is between your legs. She shifts again and you feel the pressure of her thigh against your core. Unable to help yourself you roll your hips, grinding yourself against her in hope of even a tiny bit of relief. She lets you use her leg for a minute before she pulls away, smiling as what would be an otherwise embarrassing whine comes from your lips.

She sits back on her knees, her fingertips moving to your waist, fingers toying with the band of your sweats.

“Take them off.” You ask her, that’s all it takes and Jessie’s hands are grasping the elastic of your sweats and underwear pulling both down your legs in a rather quick motion. “Someone’s eager.” You tease her.

“A bit.” Jessie mumbles, a blush growing across her cheeks.

Jessie adjusts again, one hand holding herself above you, the other between your legs. You watch as her mouth drops in surprise as her fingers make contact with your arousal, her eyes widen for a moment before they roll back, closing.

Her fingers trace through you a few times before settling on your clit, gently circling it, looking between her fingers then up to you, you sigh as Jessie increases her pressure, you grind your hips meeting her movements.

Leaning down to kiss you, you let out a moan against her lips. The mixture of Jessie’s mouth on yours while her fingers touched you where you had longed for her for months was overwhelming. You’d had feelings for the girl above you for months, intense feelings, you’d always wanted her, she was everything. You can feel emotions, overwhelming desire and need and also the feeling of being close to her, to have her skin on hers.

“I want you.” You’re brought out of your own thoughts by Jessie speaking to you.

“You have me Jess.” Affirming her request, you were more than happy for her to make you hers in this moment, willingly offering yourself to her.

She shakes her head slightly. “No, not just right now, like for good, I want you.” The seriousness in her voice draws you from your arousal driven haze. You take a second to look at Jessie. Her eyes filled with lust and also what you had come to know as adoration. She looked a bit overwhelmed as she stared down at you. “I, I don't want anyone else to think they even have a chance.” She shakes her head more aggressively, curls bouncing in front of her own face.

“Jessie.” You pull your hands from her hips and bring them to the sides of her face, forcing her to look at you, preventing her eyes from wandering out of nerves. “No one else has a chance.” You mirror the shake of her head. “You’re what I want.”

“What about the distance?” She whispers eyes breaking their lock with yours, her thumb restlessly grazing your hip. You couldn’t believe this was the conversation

“We’ll figure it out, I promise, I just want you Jessie. You’re what I’ve always wanted. It’s always been you.” You begin to feel a bubble of emotion grow in your chest, unable to name it a mix of warmth, familiarity, safety.

You pull her into a kiss, hoping you can portray even a fraction of how you feel about her through your lips.

“You’re all I want, I’m yours if you want me.” You whisper against her lips as you both pull away from the kiss.

“I’m yours.” She replies before your bottom lip is sucked between hers, gently tugging it, instantly bringing back the arousal that had been overshadowed by admiration.

As she releases your bottom lip, Jessie’s lips move, covering inches of skin, your neck, chest, stomach, all while her fingertips slowly drag back down to your legs.

You’re met with her beautiful brown eyes looking up at you when she settles between your legs. Desire and need written all over her face as her eyes silently beg before she uses her words. “Is it okay if I-”

“Please.” More than eager to finally feel her, you spread your legs, inviting Jessie in which she does quickly, moving up so you can suddenly feel her breath on your core. You feel yourself clenching around nothing in anticipation.

You watch intensely as Jessie slowly lowers her mouth, eyes locked firmly with yours, and her tongue makes its first contact with you. Simultaneously a groan comes from both of you, it wasn’t much, a simple pass of her tongue but her first taste of you had Jessie desperate for more. She gave another drag of her tongue from your entrance to your clit. This time the slight flick of her tongue against your nerves has you closing your eyes and tilting your head back into the bed.

“You taste so good.” You hear her whisper. Opening your mouth to respond, you’re interrupted by the moan that escapes instead as Jessie fully commits her mouth to you, tongue and lips covering your pussy, the mixture of suction and pressure from her tongue was blissful.

Still in disbelief that she was here, that you were naked in her bed, that she had said she was yours, you just watch as Jessie works to please you. You relax even more into the bed, letting Jessie take over.

Her eyes closed, eyebrows pinches slightly,

“There.” You breathlessly say, feeling Jessie’s tongue flick against your clit in a way you know will have your legs shaking shortly. “Keep doing that.” It’s no surprise to you when Jessie immediately listens, always one to take coaching well, a quick learner, she doubles down on her movement eyebrows scrunching in focus.

“Fuck Jessie.” Her name comes out in a groan, Jessie responding with a groan of her own at hearing her name come from your lips so sensually. “You’re going to make me cum.”

It’s seconds later that your orgasm washes over you. Jessie’s head is suddenly being squished between your thighs, but that doesn’t stop her. Gently coaxing you through the waves of pleasure Jessie’s tongue and lips continue tracing circles against your clit. When your thighs finally relax, falling apart to the bed, Jessie pulls her mouth off of you, looking up with a grin. “That was so much better than I ever imagined.”

“You’ve imagined it?” A little surprised at the idea of Jessie fantasizing about you, you can’t help but ask.

“Uhhh, I mean,” Jessie’s cheeks tint red as she looks at the painting hung on the wall next to the bed, avoiding eye contact.

“Glad I’m not the only one who did.” You admit, watching as the midfielder visually relaxes. “Come here, let me get that.” You reach a thumb out towards Jessie’s chin, wiping away what remained of your orgasm on her face. Before you can wipe your finger on the bedsheet Jessie grabs your wrist, bringing your thumb to her own mouth. Slowly she runs her tongue across your finger before she briefly sucks off the liquid, softly moaning to herself.

“You taste so good.”

Sitting up you grab Jessie’s face kissing her. Her lips are still just as soft as before only this time you can taste yourself on her as your tongues meet. Leaning forward Jessie is thrown off balance, falling backwards onto her back, you follow laying on top of her. Both of your feet are now at the head of the bed. You kiss her for a few minutes, slowly increasing the intensity, letting your hands roam, pulling at the tied knot on the shorts she was wearing. It takes both hands to finally get the knot undone and your fingers quickly dig into the waistband before you pause to pull away.

As you pull away you watch Jessie starting to nod at you, smile beaming from her face. “Yes, you can take them off.” She says before you even ask. Sitting back you slide the shorts off her legs, taking a moment to admire her in just a bra and panties, everything about her was gorgeous, tastefully toned muscles wrapped in her tanned summer skin. You wanted to touch every inch of her. Instead you pulled away, standing up from the bed.

“Where are you going?” Jessie asks, a confused look on her face.

“Come here.” Kneeling on the floor, your hands reach for Jessie’s thighs as you pull her towards you. She adjusts, and at the same time pulls her bra up and over her head.

“Wouldn’t the bed be more comfortable?”

“Shh, just let me.” You grab under her knees, pulling her even closer to the edge of the bed and closer to you. Your fingers come to the last remaining article of clothing she had on. Pulling them off of her, they join the various other clothing items scattered in her hotel room.

Now bare you grab her legs, putting each one on your shoulder. You can see she’s wet. It takes every bit of restraint and self control to not immediately dive into her. Instead you turn your attention to her thighs, taking your time kissing from her knee to the crease of her leg. The closer you get the more you feel her tense up and when you switch legs, letting your breath run over her core, you notice the way her hips subtly tilt up.

You take a few more minutes kissing along Jessie’s legs, a couple kisses to her hips, along with gentle scratches from your fingers has her impatient, “I didn’t tease you this much.” You finally hear her complain.

Deciding she had suffered enough of your drawn out teasing, you place a hand on each thigh holding her legs open and bring your mouth to where she was dripping for you. Immediately you’re rewarded with the sound of Jessie moaning and her hand on your head holding you tight to her. “Fuck.”

Hearing her make those noises for you, because of you, sends a heat through your stomach. You needed more of her. You lapped at her as if it would be the last chance you ever got to taste her, for all you knew it would be. Determined to commit it all to memory you took in every sound, every whine, groan, breath, every movement she made, how she’d grip your hair tighter when you teased her entrance with your tongue, how her hips rolled slowly in time with your tongue, you wanted to remember it forever.

Abandoning her entrance you move your mouth to focus on her clit, softly sucking while applying firm pressure to her has her breathing harder. Eager to have your hands on her, and to show her why you’d move positions, you bring a hand up between her legs, running your middle and ring finger through her core, pulling them away as they become covered in her slick.

You let your fingertips circle her opening a few times, a flood of cockiness growing in you as you feel her clench around nothing, waiting for your fingers and she whines out, “Please.”

You bite back a laugh at how easily you had her begging before every thought in your mind is erased as you sink a finger into her. Enveloped in her warmth, you can’t think of anything else besides Jessie. Her taste, her noises, how she feels around your finger, it has you wet all over again. You give Jessie a few thrusts before adding your ring finger, her satisfied moans tell you everything you need to know as you continue to slowly but firmly fuck her with your fingers. You curl them inside of her, pulling a whimper of your name.

You wanted to hear that again and again, you never wanted to know what it would be like for someone to moan your name. Only Jessie from now on, only her. The primal instinct to fuck her was only growing inside of you, you began thrusting harder, faster, your tongue working harder, all your efforts being appreciated by Jessie.

The grip of her fingers in your hair was becoming almost painful but Jessie’s words made the sting worth it. “That’s good, that gonna make me cum, fuck.” The breathlessness of her voice, almost hoarse, grew your desire to watch, hear, and feel her cum.

It was minutes later that Jessie’s back arched off the ground, her hips tilting away momentarily before thrusting onto your fingers and mouth. Her head was thrown back but you could see how she harshly bit her bottom lip, doing nothing to silence the noises she made. Just as her thighs closed around your head, you felt the way she was rhythmically clenching around your fingers as you continue to thrust them, helping her through the pleasure.

“Too much.” The hand that had momentarily relaxed in your hair was suddenly pushing you away. Jessie’s legs fall open and when you feel her fully relax you slowly slip your fingers out of her, bringing them to your mouth. Just as you had before you begin placing soft kisses along Jessie’s legs, moving to her abdomen, then her chest, collarbone, up her neck, her cheek and finally placing a kiss on her lips. Her eyes remain closed, as she relaxes on the bed.

“As good as you imagined?” She says, opening one eye to peek at you.

“Way better.” You grin back at her. You climb onto the bed, adjusting the pillows that had been pushed around in your activity. “Come here.” You pat the space next to you and Jessie slowly rolls over and moves to lay next to you. Wrapping your arm around her you pull her in, her head coming to rest on your chest, her arm around your waist.

“So…” You start, your fingers tracing lines and squiggles across the bare skin on Jessie’s back as she laid on your chest. “Did this mean anything?” Jessie lifts her head off your chest, shifting to look at you.

“I mean, it doesn’t mean nothing.”

Tilting her head back down Jessie hide her face as she speaks again. “What does that mean?”

You let out a sigh. You’d just been bare in front of Jessie, maybe now it was time to be naked, to fully tell her. “It means I’ve have feelings, I’ve always had feelings for you, and this made them those feelings much more real, so this didn’t mean nothing to me, this meant a lot to me.”

“Good.” Jessie looks up at you again. “Because this meant a lot to me too. And I don’t know, long distance is a lot, but for you it would be worth every minute.”

“You’d be worth it.” You respond before craning your neck down to kiss her.

The two of you remained in her hotel bed for a bit, relaxing into each other with fleeting touches and soft kisses, until Jessie urges the two of you to get up, claiming you both should pee and wash your hands.

“Not complaining about the Canada logo now, are you?” Jessie smirks at you through the mirror as you wash your face, poking a finger into the sweatshirt of hers you had thrown on.

“Shut up.”

“I mean if you have a problem with it,” she pauses as she comes behind you, fingers playing with the bottom of the fabric. “We can definitely take it off.” Her big brown eyes are practically begging you as she looks up at you.

“Hmm then yes, maybe I don’t want it on anymore.” You pull it off your head as you exit the bathroom. Hearing Jessie quickly follow after you.

“Wait for me!”

[vunblr]

A Cabin for Two

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Desperate for a break from the constant interruptions of their daily lives, Bucky plans a getaway to a secluded cabin deep in the woods. What begins as a peaceful escape soon tests their patience, sparks intimacy, and reveals the strength of their connection.

Word Count: 8.3k

notes: Part of Roots and Branches AU

The quiet of the mornings was a fragile thing, and it had been shattered almost an hour ago by the insistent chime of the doorbell. Bucky lay in bed, with his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he listened to the muffled voices drifting from the front door. She’d answered it quickly but politely, though the conversation had dragged on far longer than it should have.

He sighed, the comfort and warmth of the bed doing little to soothe the irritation bubbling under his skin. Alone time had become a rare treasure, and lately, it seemed like everyone in town had made it their mission to interfere. He knew the elderly neighbor meant well, but after endless minutes of unsolicited chatter, his patience was wearing thin.

Her polite attempts to wrap things up were obvious, even from here: a gentle laugh, a soft, “Oh, well, I won’t keep you much longer,” but the woman didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Bucky’s jaw tightened for the first time in the day as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

With a grumble, he stood and pulled on his jeans, then grabbed his flannel shirt from the chair in the corner. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as he crossed to the hallway, shrugging into his coat and grabbing his keys from the hook by the door.

When he reached the entryway, he stopped briefly, flicking his eyes between the two women. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and her expression was somewhere between apologetic and exasperated. He arched a brow, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice low but polite, nodding at the elderly woman as he signaled his intention to pass.

“Oh!” The neighbor blinked up at him, clearly startled but recovering quickly. “Heading out so early?”

“I’m going to the workshop,” he almost growled as he glanced at her. Then, turning to Y/n, he softened slightly. “Call you later.”

She tilted her head, and a small frown tugged at her lips. “Oh, And breakfast? Want me to make y-”

“No need, darling,” he cut her off gently but firmly, turning on his heel before she could protest.

The screen door creaked and slammed shut behind him, and he strode toward the truck with purposeful steps. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he let out a deep breath, gripping the wheel as he stared at the empty road ahead.

Enough was enough, they needed a break. A time for just the two of them, away from the endless interruptions and the ever-watchful eyes of the town. The idea took root in his mind as the engine roared to life, and a plan took form as he drove toward the workshop. A cabin, a weekend, and nothing but the quiet woods surrounding them.

---

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, and the familiar hum of machinery was already buzzing in the background as Bucky pulled up. He parked the truck, killed the engine, and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel as the plan solidified in his mind. The only problem? It was the height of the season. Every halfway-decent cabin in the area would already be booked.

“Damn it,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the seat with a groan.

Swallowing his pride, he pushed open the truck door and made his way inside. The workshop was bustling as usual, but Sam spotted him almost immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing as he approached. “Morning, sunshine,” he drawled, already a grin tugging at his lips. “You look grumpier than usual. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Bucky replied curtly, shrugging off his coat and draping it over a nearby chair.

Sam raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’re stomping around like someone stole your breakfast, but it’s ‘nothing.’ Got it.”

Bucky shot him a warning look, but Sam only chuckled, leaning against the workbench with crossed arms.

“Actually…” Bucky started, gruffly, “you know any cabins ‘round here? Something quiet. Away from people.”

Sam’s grin widened immediately. “You mean, like your house?”

Bucky leveled him with a dirty look, “Farther away.”

Sam’s grin widened. “Oh, this is gonna be good. Why do you need a faraway cabin, Buck?”

“Just answer the question,” Bucky muttered, pulling a pencil from behind his ear and fiddling with it to avoid Sam’s knowing gaze.

“Alright, alright,” Sam said, smirking. “There’s a couple of places I know of, but good luck finding one that’s not booked. You’re cutting it close, man.”

Bucky huffed, staring down at the workbench. “Figured. That’s why I’m asking you.”

Sam tilted his head, his grin turning sly. “And why exactly do you need a cabin? I thought you hated leaving your place for anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“Because,” Bucky grumbled, his voice tight with reluctance, “we could use a break. Just us. No interruptions.”

Sam’s grin practically split his face. “Oh, so it’s for her.” He let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying Bucky’s discomfort. “Man, you’re whipped. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Sam,” Bucky warned, already starting to get irritated. “Are you gonna help or not?”

Sam chuckled, holding up his hands in a mock surrender. “Relax, big guy. I’ve got a cousin who rents out his place sometimes. It’s a little rustic, but it’s quiet, and I’m pretty sure he keeps a spot open for last-minute bookings.”

Bucky perked up slightly, meeting his gaze with Sam’s. “Think he’ll go for it?”

“For you? Probably,” Sam said, grinning. “But only if you promise to stop scowling at everyone for the rest of the week.”

----

By midmorning, Sam’s cousin had called back, and to Bucky’s relief, there was an opening. Apparently, Sam had pulled some strings, mentioning a few owed favors that Bucky didn’t bother asking about. He wasn’t thrilled about relying on Sam’s connections, but he’d take the win. The cabin was booked for the weekend, tucked deep in the woods with no neighbors for miles, a perfect escape.

The morning passed uneventfully after that. He kept busy at the workshop, occupying his mind with the trip and all the things he’d need to prepare. It wasn’t until just after noon that the door creaked open, and the sound of boots on the wooden floor caught his attention.

“Brought you something,” her voice chimed, light and warm, cutting through the steady hum of saws and chatter.

Bucky looked up to see her standing there, the familiar green tupperware in her hands and a smile tugging at her lips. His heart softened instantly, but with Sam and a couple of others milling about, he cleared his throat and kept his expression neutral.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, stepping closer to take the container.

“I wanted to,” she replied. “Figured you didn’t even have breakfast, did you?”

Caught, Bucky gave her a small, sheepish nod. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, low enough that only she could hear.

She tilted her head, widening her smile. “You’re welcome. Just make sure you eat it before it gets cold.”

He was about to step back when she leaned in, brushing a quick kiss against his stubbled cheek. His muscles tensed on instinct, heat rushing to his face as he shot a quick glance around the room. Sam, of course, was already watching, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Aww, such pampering,” he teased, dragging out the words. “Now I get why he wants to-”

Bucky’s glare cut him off mid-sentence, sharp and unrelenting. If looks could kill, Sam’s head would’ve been obliterated on the spot.

“Shut it, Wilson,” he growled, under his breath.

Sam held up his hands in mock surrender, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Alright, alright. No need to get your flannel in a twist. Just saying, man, she’s a keeper.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, and his ears tinged pink as he turned back to her, holding the tupper like it might save him from further embarrassment. She caught the faint tension in his shoulders and, more curiously, the lingering echo of Sam’s teasing. Tilting her head, she gave him a pointed look.

“So,” she asked lightly, her voice curious but playful, “what do you want?”

Bucky blinked, his brows knitting in confusion. “What?”

She arched a brow, twitching the corner of her mouth with amusement. “I pamper you,” she said, gesturing toward the tupperware in his hands, “so you want...?”

His jaw tightened, and a muscle in his cheek twitched as he quickly looked away. “Nothin’,” he muttered gruffly. “He just likes to talk.”

Her smile widened, and she folded her arms leaning slightly closer, clearly not buying his attempt to brush it off. He shifted awkwardly under her gaze, fumbling with the lid of the container.

“I should probably eat this,” he said finally, rushed and uneven, “and, uh, get back to the project.” He scratched the back of his neck, brushing the short ponytail he’d tied earlier that morning.

She stifled a laugh, and her eyes softened as she watched him retreat into himself with that signature mix of bashfulness and stubbornness. “Alright,” she said gently, stepping back with a teasing glint in her eye. “Enjoy the casserole, and don’t forget to actually eat it this time, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, turning toward the workbench with a slight hunch to his shoulders, clearly hoping to escape further scrutiny.

Behind him, Sam’s quiet chuckle reached his ears, and he sent another sharp glare in his direction. But as he settled back into his work, the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

-----

Bucky parked his truck outside her house. He grabbed the keys from the ignition and swung the door open, but as he stepped down, a sharp pang shot through his left arm.

“Dammit,” he muttered, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulder as he slammed the truck door shut. For the past two days, the damp weather had been wreaking havoc on the mess of titanium and bone beneath his skin. He grimaced, shaking it off as he made his way up the porch steps.

Fishing the spare key from his pocket, he fumbled with the lock for a moment before letting himself in.

The house was quiet, her laptop sat open on the coffee table, the screen glowing with text she’d been working on. She wasn’t in sight, probably in the bathroom or kitchen. Shrugging off his coat, he draped it over a chair and wandered closer to the coffee table, drawn by the colorful streaks of red and green she’d marked across the page.

He leaned in, squinting at the scene she was editing. A heated moment between a widowed heroine and a cowboy -one who, judging by the way she’d scribbled well-endowed in the margins- wasn’t exactly shy about his physical assets.

Bucky’s brow quirked as he read further. The barn. The hay. The cowboy’s intense sense of duty. The way the poor widow…wait. Was this guy seriously using a breeding-

“Bucky!”

He flinched, startled by her voice, and straightened so fast his neck cracked. She stood in the doorway, wide eyes darting between him and her laptop.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, rushing forward and snapping the laptop shut faster than he could blink.

He raised his hands in mock innocence, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Didn’t mean to snoop,” he drawled with amusement. “Just... couldn’t help but notice what kind of ‘research’ you’re doing these days.”

Her cheeks burned as she folded her arms, trying -and failing- to look unbothered. “It’s not research. It’s editing and proof-reading,” she corrected quickly. “And you’re supposed to be grabbing your tools, not reading over my shoulder!”

Bucky smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the back of the couch. “That what you call it? Editing?” She narrowed her eyes “I didn’t say anything about the, uh...” His smirk deepened as her glare sharpened. “...dedication that cowboy seems to have toward the widow and the old breeding stock on the barn.”

“Oh my god,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands.

Chuckling, Bucky pushed off the couch and moved closer. “Relax, sweetheart.” He brushed a hand against her arm, warmly and reassuringly. “I came to grab my tools, but... I’ve got something to tell you.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “What’s that?”

His smirk faded into something softer, more thoughtful. “How do you feel about a weekend away? Just us. No laptops, no interruptions, no... cowboys.”

Her hands dropped from her face, and her eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck under his short ponytail. “Yeah. Got a cabin lined up. Quiet. Middle of nowhere. Thought it’d be good to... get outta here for a bit.”

Her expression melted into a warm smile, and she stepped closer, resting her hands lightly on his chest. “That sounds perfect, Buck.”

He ducked his head, and his lips twitched into a small, shy smile. “Figured you’d like it.”

She leaned up, brushing a kiss against his lips. “I love it. And you.”

His heart stuttered but he recovered quickly, pulling her closer. “Love you too, darlin’,”

She tilted her head with a playful glint in her eye as her hands slid down his chest. “So,” she began, teasing but curious, “what’s the occasion? Don’t tell me I forgot some special date I’m not aware of?”

Bucky froze for a split second, fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater as his eyes darted briefly away. “I just-” he started, but the words got stuck in his throat. He kicked himself inwardly, forcing himself to man up and meet her gaze. Taking a breath, he straightened his shoulders.

“I want alone time with you,” he said firmly, tumbling out the words with an edge of determination.

Her lips parted in slight surprise, though her smile didn’t fade. She somehow understood where this was going, but knowing how rare it was for him to be this straightforward, she decided to play innocent and coax him into saying more.

“Alone?” she echoed, tilting her head. “But you already sleep here four days a week, and normally on weekends we-”

“Completely alone,” he cut her off.

She blinked at the rare flash of certainty in his voice, but his grumpy pout that followed had her stifling a laugh.

“No boy scout cookie sellers,” he grumbled while his expression darkened at the memory of being roped into buying five boxes last week. “No bored old ladies ringing the doorbell to trap you all morning. And not that friend of yours who always shows up for baking lessons she doesn’t even take seriously.”

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled at his increasing exasperation. “I get it.”

His frown softened slightly, but he still looked serious.

“And...” she ventured, with a sly grin, “what exactly are your plans for those days alone, hm?”

Bucky’s ears flushed red, and his mouth opened as though to respond, but for a moment, nothing came out. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, flicking his eyes to the side before landing back on her.

“Well...” he started, “figured we could... I don’t know. Talk. Sleep in. Walk in the woods. Maybe build a fire. Eat something you didn’t have to cook.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just... be.”

Her heart softened, and her grin faded into a gentle smile as she stepped closer. “That sounds perfect, Buck,” she said softly, brushing a hand against his cheek.

His eyes searched hers for a moment, then he exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips as she added, “especially for the part where we could wander around naked at any hour knowing no one would come.”

Bucky froze, tightening his hands instinctively on her waist. His gaze flickered with something darker, primal, as her words hung in the air.

She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks warming as she saw his expression shift, at his blue eyes narrowing with interest. Emboldened, she tilted her head closer, dropping her voice into a sultry whisper. “And… since there are no neighbors... we can be all loud... and naughty.”

The growl that escaped him was low and deep, sending a delicious shiver racing down her spine. His hands slid down to her hips, holding her firmly as he stepped closer “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek.

“Am I?” she teased, as she trailed her fingers up his chest, her nails brushing lightly over the fabric of his sweater.

“You are,” he confirmed, tightening his grip just enough to make her breath hitch. “You sure you can keep up?”

Her laughter was soft and breathless as she leaned in, brushing her lips against his ear. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

----

The weekend came by, and they headed off to the cabin. It was nice. The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over the snowy landscape. The truck rumbled steadily along the winding road, and the soft hum of the cozy heater filled the silence between them.

But as they rounded a bend, the truck jolted suddenly, listing to one side.

“Great,” Bucky muttered, pulling to the shoulder and cutting the engine. He stepped out into the crisp evening air, already suspecting the problem before he even reached the rear tire. The flat was obvious, the sagging rubber was almost completely deflated. He muttered another curse, running a hand through his hair.

He heard the passenger door open and turned to see her climbing out, tugging her coat tighter around herself as the snow began to drift down in lazy flakes.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, frowning as she approached.

“Coming to help,” she replied simply, her boots crunching against the snow as she reached his side.

“You should get back in the truck,” he said, gruffly but not unkind. “You’ll get sick out here.”

She raised a brow, crossing her arms. “The same could be said for you.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, already crouching to pull the jack and wrench from the toolbox in the bed of the truck.

“Bucky,” she said softly, stepping closer. “You’re not fine. I know your arm’s bothering you.”

He froze briefly, before resuming his task without looking at her. “It’s nothin’. Just the weather messin’ with it.”

“And you were going to say something, when? she retorted. “Let me help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He shook his head, gripping the jack with his good hand and positioning it under the truck. “I’ve got it,” he said, firmly. “Go sit in the truck where it’s warm.”

“Bucky,” she pressed, kneeling beside him despite the cold seeping through her jeans. “Stubborn man, you’re in pain, you’re not fooling me.”

He shot her a sideways glance, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I’m not lettin’ you freeze your ass off out here. Go inside.”

She reached out, placing a hand on his arm, not the one that ached, but the other, steady and sure. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly.

His jaw clenched, and his resolve flickered as her words settled over him. Finally, he sighed, easing the tension in his shoulders just slightly. “Fine,” he muttered. “You can hold the damn flashlight.”

She smiled, leaning up to press a quick kiss on his cheek before grabbing the flashlight from the truck. As she illuminated the work area, he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered under his breath.

The flat tire took longer than it should have. His left arm ached like a bitch, and each motion was a reminder of the puzzle of titanium and bone that would never quite work the way it used to. He tried to power through, determined to manage on his own, but his movements grew slower and more strained.

“Here, let me help,” she said softly, stepping forward as he struggled to lift the wheel into place.

“I got it,” he gritted out, but his grip faltered just enough for her to step in, steadying the weight with him.

It stung more than he cared to admit, her intervention feeling like a bruise to his pride. Once the wheel was finally secured, he tightened the lug nuts in silence, his mood darkening with every passing minute.

By the time they climbed back into the truck, the snow was falling heavier. The heater hummed softly, but the tension in the cab was palpable.

Bucky stared sternly at the road, gripping the wheel as his mind spiraled. The sting of the cold on his bare hands, the ache in his arm, the fact that he hadn’t been able to handle the damn tire without her help, it all gnawed at him, feeding the deep-rooted insecurities he tried so hard to bury.

“You okay?” she asked gently, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” he said shortly, not looking at her.

She hesitated, scanning his profile. The stiffness in his posture, the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the wheel like it might slip from his grasp, she knew he wasn’t okay.

“Do you want some coffee?” she offered, lifting the thermos she’d packed. “It’s still warm.”

“No, thanks,” he replied, clipped.

She frowned, and her concern grew as the silence stretched on. His hands, red and raw from the cold, caught her attention, and she wondered if the pain had worsened.

“Bucky,” she said softly, “do you want me to drive? Your hands must be hurting after working in this weather without gloves.”

That did it.

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, his jaw locking as the words struck a nerve. He knew she meant well, but the offer felt like a confirmation of everything his mind was already whispering, that he wasn’t enough. That he couldn’t even take care of something as simple as a flat tire without help.

“I said I’m fine,” he muttered tensely.

She bit her lip, sensing the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior but unsure how to reach him. “It’s not a big deal,” she tried, her tone gentle. “We’re in this together, remember? There’s no shame in letting me help.”

His grip tightened further, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I said I can handle it,” he said firmly, his voice edged with frustration he hadn’t meant to direct at her.

He drove silently, fixing his gaze on the snow-dusted road ahead, while his mind churned with doubts. He hated the way he’d snapped at her, hated that she’d seen him struggle. Most of all, he hated the nagging voice in the back of his head, whispering that maybe he wasn’t enough for her.

---

The rest of the trip passed in silence. She had shifted slightly toward the window, leaning her shoulder against the door, with her gaze fixed on the snow-covered forest rushing past. The quiet wasn’t oppressive, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

Bucky’s grip on the wheel loosened. He hadn’t meant to snap, but the words had come out sharp anyway, cutting through her concern with the jagged edge of his pride.

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as guilt settled in its place. She’d only been trying to help, and he’d let his frustration get the better of him.

At some point, the need to bridge the growing chasm between them grew too strong to ignore. He cleared his throat softly, his voice came low and gruff as he murmured, “A little coffee sounds nice now.”

There was no answer.

Frowning slightly, he glanced over at her, ready to apologize. But the words caught in his throat when he saw her.

Her head rested lightly against the window, her eyes closed, breathing softly and even. She’d fallen asleep.

Of course, he thought, with a pang of guilt. It was late, the air outside was cold, and to top it off, he hadn’t even been good company. He’d acted like an idiot, stewing in his frustration instead of appreciating the woman who had braved the freezing weather just to help him.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment, taking in the soft curve of her lips and the way her lashes rested against her cheeks. She looked peaceful, and the sight tugged at something deep inside him, making him tighten his grip on the wheel.

He returned his focus to the road, clenching his jaw briefly as he wrestled with the mess of emotions swirling in his chest. He couldn’t undo the way he’d acted, but he could make up for it. For now, he’d let her rest, keep her warm and comfortable.

----

As the cabin came into view at last, tucked into a small clearing in the snow-dusted forest, Bucky frowned slightly. It was smaller than he’d expected and not exactly what you’d call visually appealing. The roof looked like it hadn’t been repaired in years, the paint on the shutters was peeling, and the porch sagged just enough to make him hesitate about stepping on it.

He sighed quietly, chastising himself for being so quick to judge. Focus on the goal, he thought. Time alone with her. No neighbors. No interruptions. That’s all that matters.

She stirred beside him as he turned off the engine, and her eyes fluttered open. She sat up quickly, stretching as she glanced at him. “Oh, sorry I fell asleep,” she murmured, her voice still a little thick.

He shook his head, brushing off her apology. “Don’t worry about it,” he said softly. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I was... a grump. Didn’t mean to ruin the start of the trip.”

She tilted her head, and her gaze softened as a small smile tugged at her lips. “You didn’t ruin anything, Buck.”

He gave her a faint smile in return before glancing back at the cabin. “Let’s get inside,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

Getting the door open was another matter entirely. The old lock protested against his attempts, creaking and groaning as he jiggled the key. After a few muttered curses and a bit of elbow grease, the door finally swung open with a loud creak.

He stepped inside first. He’d fantasized that even if the cabin looked old on the outside, the inside would be a pleasant surprise, something rustic but cozy, maybe with modern upgrades to make up for the exterior.

No such luck.

The interior was just as outdated as the outside. The furniture was mismatched and worn, the wallpaper was peeling in places, and the lighting was dim at best. The faint smell of wood smoke lingered in the air, and the fireplace looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

Bucky stood in the center of the small room, crossing his arms as he took it all in. He’d definitely be having a chat with Sam about this cousin of his when they got back.

But for now, he had to find something positive to say, even as the disappointment tugged at the corners of his mind. He glanced back at her as she stepped in, brushing her hands over her arms to warm up.

“It’s... clean,” he finally said, feeling the words awkward as they left his mouth.

She blinked at him, then looked around, and her lips twitched as she fought back a laugh. “Clean, huh?”

He shrugged, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Let’s see... also it’s got four walls and a roof. That’s somethin’, right?” He sighed, glancing at the dingy fireplace. “I’ll start the fire.”

She smiled softly, setting her bag by the door. “I’ll grab the luggage,” she announced, turning toward the truck.

“Wait,” he called, already stepping toward her. “I can-”

“Nope,” she cut him off, spinning on her heel to face him, hands on her hips. “Don’t even start, James Buchanan Barnes.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and he crossed his arms. “You shouldn’t be out in this snow. It’s freezing.”

“Exactly,” she retorted, pointing at him. “Which is why you’re not going out there either. Your arm’s already giving you trouble, and I’m not about to let you make it worse.”

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, but she wasn’t having it.

“Fine, huh?” she shot back, raising a brow. “Last I checked, we’re not living in the caves anymore. You don’t have to do everything yourself. I’m perfectly capable of hauling a couple of bags.”

“Darlin’-” he started, but she stepped closer, resting her hand lightly on his chest.

“Bucky,” she said gently. “Let me do this. You’re not proving anything by pushing yourself in this weather. Just... let me help, okay?”

He hesitated, and his jaw worked as his eyes searched hers. He hated the thought of sitting idle while she did the heavy lifting, but the concern in her gaze gave him pause. Finally, he sighed, slightly slumping his shoulders in defeat.

“Alright,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But take it slow.”

“Always do,” she said with a small smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek before heading out the door.

-----

Starting the fire was proving to be yet another test for Bucky’s patience. He muttered a string of curses under his breath as the stubborn logs refused to catch, the kindling only sputtering weakly before fizzling out. At this point, he was starting to wonder if this whole thing was part of some hidden camera prank, because damn.

She had reentered the cabin while he was still wrestling with the fireplace, carrying their luggage and moving quietly so as not to disrupt his focus -or, more accurately-, his battle with the firewood. She unpacked their belongings in the small bedroom, making the best of the limited space and creaky furniture.

When she finished, Bucky was still hunched over the fireplace, furrowed brows and lips set in a grim line of determination. Suppressing a smile, she decided to let him be, for now, heading to the kitchen instead.

The tiny space was quaint, with mismatched cabinets and appliances that looked older than she was. She busied herself getting familiar with it, unpacking their groceries, and pulling out a few ingredients for dinner.

After a while, she peeked through the kitchen doorway to check on him. He was sitting back on his heels, rubbing his elbow absently, clearly, the ache in his arm was getting to him. The fireplace remained cold and unlit.

She sighed. She knew a direct approach wouldn’t do any good, not when his pride was already bruised. Instead, an idea formed in her mind, and she couldn’t help the mischievous grin that crept across her face.

“Um, Buck?” she called, with a note of uncertainty. “Can you come here for a second? There’s something about the water heater I don’t understand.”

His head snapped up, furrowing his brows as he stood and brushed off his hands. “The water heater? What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, feigning confusion as she poked her head out of the kitchen. “I just need you to take a look.”

Without hesitation, he crossed the room. “Alright, let’s see what’s goin’ on.”

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, she turned to face him, with wide, innocent eyes. He barely had time to notice that nothing in the room seemed out of place before she stepped forward, grabbing him by the front of his sweater and gently pushing him back against the counter.

“What the-” he started, gruffly with confusion as his ass hit the edge of the counter.

Her hands slid up to rest on his chest, and her fingers curled into the fabric as she looked up at him with mischief. “Gotcha,” she said softly, with a playful smile tugging at her lips.

He blinked, arching his brow as he realized he’d been ambushed. “This ain’t about the water heater, is it?”

“Not even a little,” she admitted, tilting her head as her grin widened.

His lips twitched, quirking upward despite his earlier sour mood. “You think you’re clever, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, leaning closer, and pressing a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Now, let me make you a deal.”

He arched a brow. “I’m listenin’.”

“You come to sit down and rest that arm of yours,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “and I’ll take care of the fire.”

“You?” he asked, his voice skeptical but not unkind.

“Me,” she replied confidently, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Trust me, Buck. I’ve got this.”

He hesitated, and his jaw worked as he weighed his pride against the undeniable ache in his arm. Finally, he exhaled a slow breath and nodded. “Alright,” he muttered gruffly,  but his tone was tinged with reluctant gratitude. “But if you need help-”

“I’ll call for my big, strong lumberjack,” she teased, brushing another kiss against his cheek before stepping back toward the fireplace.

The thing was, she’d anticipated this exact scenario. Having grown up with the conveniences of city living, she’d given in to her practical instincts at the general store and bought a couple of ignition discs, just in case. No fuss, no frustration. Just place them under the wood, light them, and voilà.

She crouched near the hearth, arranging the wood carefully before sliding one of the discs into place. With a quick flick of the lighter, the flame caught instantly, spreading evenly and licking at the dry kindling.

Behind her, she heard the sound of a chair scraping softly against the floor. She glanced back to find Bucky standing there, arms crossed, one brow quirked as he watched the flames come to life.

“Couldn’t you, you know… have told me sooner you had those?” he asked, with a mix of curiosity and mild exasperation.

She straightened, dusting her hands off on her jeans as she met his gaze deadpan. “Well, you weren’t exactly in the mood for more interventions earlier.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as his lips tugged into a wry, self-aware smile. “Fair point,” he muttered, slumping his shoulders slightly. “I’m sorry... again.”

She stepped closer, brushing her hand lightly against his arm. “It’s okay, Buck. We’re here now. Fire’s going, and we’ll be warm in no time.”

He nodded, easing the tension in his posture as he let out a slow breath. “Alright,” he glanced toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you let me take care of dinner? You’ve already done enough. I’ll check it, stir it, and whatever else it needs.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, cutting her off before she could get the words out.

“And you,” he continued, his tone firm but warm, “are going to take a shower and relax. You’ve done more than enough already.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, her hands resting on her hips. “Bucky, I don’t mind helping finishing-”

“I know you don’t,” he said, stepping closer and dipping his head to meet her gaze. “But I want to do this. You’ve been running around taking care of everything since we got here. Let me handle this, darlin’.”

Finally, she let out a soft sigh, quirking her lips into a faint smile. “Alright, fine,” she relented.

With that, she headed toward the small bathroom, and soon the faint sound of falling water filled the cabin. Bucky moved to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he inspected the bubbling pot on the stove. He stirred it slowly, tasting the broth and deciding in record time it was ready. With a satisfied nod, he turned off the burner, set the lid in place, and leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the warmth from the stove soothe his thoughts.

She wasn’t the only one who got to pull sneaky moves, he decided, and he figured it was about time to even the score.

Quietly, he walked toward the bathroom, his footsteps oh so soft against the wooden floor. As he moved, he peeled off his sweater and undershirt, letting them fall into a pile near the bedroom door. His boots and socks followed, then his jeans, until he was down to nothing but a faint smirk as he reached the bathroom door.

The faint creak of the hinges went unnoticed, her voice carrying softly over the sound of the running water. She was singing along to a tune playing on her phone.

The flimsy shower curtain barely masked her silhouette, and he stepped closer, his shadow looming behind it as he reached for the edge.

She didn’t notice a thing, too lost in her song to hear the quiet rustle of the curtain rings sliding along the rod.

Until he stepped in.

“Bucky!” she squeaked, spinning around as the cool air rushed in with him.

He grinned, utterly unrepentant as he crowded into the small space, warm water splashing over his chest. “What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Figured I’d save some water. Also, thought you liked surprises, like that little ambush in the kitchen” he murmured, as his hands found her waist, pulling her closer under the spray.

Before she could come up with a witty response, he dipped his head and captured her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His touch was unhurried but thorough as his hands started to explore the soft, already-soaped curves of her body with an ease that made her toes curl.

She gasped softly against his mouth, curling her fingers instinctively into his damp hair, pulling him closer. Bucky,” she murmured between kisses, though the protest in her tone was faint.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his lips trailing from her mouth to her jaw, then down the column of her neck, leaving a warm path against her slick skin.

“This is...” She paused, her words faltering as his hands slid lower, steadying her against the slippery tiles.

“This is me,” he murmured, his voice deep and gravelly, “making up for being an ass earlier.”

A soft laugh escaped her, while her breasts brushed against him as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “This how you apologize?”

He smiled, tracing lazy circles against her hip with his thumb. “Depends,” he drawled. “You acceptin’ it?”

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a slow, teasing smile as her fingers trailed down his chest. “Hmm,” she mused, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know... You were kind of a grump earlier.”

His smirk faltered just slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “Yeah,” he admitted softly, his hand tightening gently on her waist. “I was.”

Her heart softened at his honesty, her teasing tone giving way to something gentler. “You know, all you had to do was talk to me,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly up over his collarbone.

“I know,” he murmured, lowering his gaze for a moment. “I just... get in my head sometimes. Don’t mean to take it out on you.”

She cupped his jaw, guiding his eyes back to hers, brushing her thumb against the faint stubble on his cheek. “I know that, Buck. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself. I’m here. Let me be here, okay?”

He held her gaze and slowly he nodded, leaning into her touch. “Okay,” he whispered, the word heavy with unspoken gratitude.

Her smile widened, and she leaned up to press a soft kiss on his lips. “Good,” she murmured against his mouth.

When she started to pull back, he caught her by the waist, his half smile returning as he lowered his voice to a playful murmur. “Still haven’t said if you’re acceptin’ my apology, though.”

She laughed softly, sliding her hands back up to his shoulders. “I guess I could be persuaded.”

“Persuaded, huh?” he murmured, leaning in until their foreheads brushed, his lips barely a breath away from hers. “Guess I better try harder.”

“That so?” she whispered, her voice trembling with amusement and anticipation.

“Mm-hmm,” he rumbled, sliding his hands up her slick back, pulling her closer under the warm spray. “Wouldn’t want to leave any doubt.” He captured her mouth and fisted her hair with one hand, while the other roamed down her back to squeeze the curve of her ass. He broke the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses along her jawline, nipping and sucking at her sensitive skin. “Think I can convince you?” he breathed against her ear, as he started to grind his hardening cock against her stomach.

“Uhuh, for starters you were the one who booked this cabin for us to be alone. That adds some points.” She conceded, biting her lip.

“Let’s see if I can score some more”. With a sudden move, he spun her around, pinning her against the tile wall. The cool surface of the tiles against her nipples contrasted sharply with the heat of his body at her back, and she shivered.

She gasped, feeling his full awakened cock pressing against her, as the water drippled over their bodies. "Such a naughty lumberjack" she teased, arching her back slightly to grind against him. “To think you get all flustered and awkward on a daily basis, and then…”

“...and then I let loose like this” he growled, punctuating the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, grinding his thick length against her ass. He slid up a hand to flick his thumb over one of her nipples as he leaned in to nip at her neck. “Guess I've got two sides to me, sweetheart”. His free hand slid down to cup her pussy possessively, spreading her open and rubbing his fingers on her wet folds.

“Yes, you do" she moaned, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck. "I love both sides of you, Buck. The sweet, grumpy boyfriend, and the passionate lover". She rocked her hips into his touch, soaking his fingers with her slick. "Please” she whined, pressing her rear against his aching cock.

He groaned at her words and bit down gently on her neck. “Patience, darlin’. We’ve got all night” he rasped, even as his fingers continued their torturous dance, circling her clit before dipping inside her. As much as he wanted to bury himself balls-deep in her right now, he also craved the slow burn of building pleasure between them. He knew just how to tease her, how to make her squirm and beg without ever quite reaching the edge. “Look at you, so wet and needy already”, he praised, adding a third finger to stretch her further as he pumped them in and out of her tight heat. “Tell me what you want, sugar”

“Oh god, Bucky please...” she pleaded, riding his hand shamelessly, chasing her release, desperate for friction, for more penetration, for anything that get her closer to-

With a low chuckle, he withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and aching. He turned off the shower and lifted her effortlessly, carrying her out of the bathroom and towards the creaky bed awaiting them. As he laid her down, a little rougher than intended, he stood at the foot of the mattress, raking over her splayed form with appreciation. A smug smile curved his lips as he watched her squirm restlessly, trying to close the distance between them. “Not yet, sweetheart” he crooned, his voice husky with promise. “First, I need to taste you.”

Her body thrummed with pent-up desire as she gazed up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Her pussy clenched at his words, and a whimper escaped her parted lips. "Please, Bucky" she begged, spreading her thighs wider in silent invitation.

His gaze dropped to her exposed folds, and he swallowed hard, fighting the urge to plunge straight inside her. Instead, he crawled onto the bed and leaned down, dragging his tongue up her slit, to swirl it around her needy clit.

She cried out, and her back arched off the mattress as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more contact. He hummed in approval and repeated the motion, increasing the pressure and speed as he worked her higher. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her still as he feasted on her, alternating between gentle laps and firm sucks on her clit. Just when she teetered on the edge, he pulled back, leaving her panting and desperate. “So close, aren't we, darlin’? With a wicked grin, he positioned himself between her thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging her entrance. Ready to leap?”

“If this is your way to ask for apologies, let me tell you-“ she was interrupted by his thick length spearing into her in one smooth stroke, making her cry out.

He stilled for a moment, savoring the sensation, before slowly withdrawing until just the tip remained inside her. Then, with a powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt once more. This time, he set a relentless pace, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her entire body. “Take it, sweetheart. Take everything I've got for you,” he groaned, as the headboard collided dangerously against the wooden wall again and again.

"Yes yes yes!!" she screamed as he struck her sweet spot repeatedly, digging her nails into his back as her inner muscles clenched wildly around his thickness. She was so close, the tension inside her building to a fever pitch, until finally, she came undone beneath him, milking his cock as he continued to thrust, prolonging her ecstasy. ”Bucky! Oh god, Bucky!”

“Gonna fill you up, darlin’”, he snarled, snapping his hips faster, going deeper as he neared the edge. “Fuck, you're squeezing me so good. So fucking tight and wet, just for me.” He praised, each word punctuated by a harsh slap of flesh against flesh. “Can't hold back anymore baby, I gotta-”. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let go, emptying himself inside her willing pussy. For several moments, he remained frozen, savoring the sensation, until finally, with a soft groan he collapsed on top of her, his body heavy but comforting as his chest heaved against hers. His damp hair clung to his cheeks, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

After a long quiet stretch, she brushed her lips against his temple, “Hey.”

He grunted in response, low and muffled against her neck.

“How’s your arm?” she asked, brushing her fingers gently over his shoulder, breaking through the haze of contentment.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes. His blue gaze was soft, still clouded with lingering post-coital bliss and a flicker of surprise there too, as if he hadn’t expected her to bring it up now.

“’S’ fine,” he said, “Doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

“You sure? No lying to me, handsome.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shifting his weight as he propped himself up on his forearms. “I’m sure,” he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead tenderly. “You’re good at distracting me.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she shook her head. “Bucky,” she said softly, her tone turning serious. “I mean it. If it’s hurting, you need to let me know.”

He sighed, dropping his forehead against hers. “It’s alright,” he promised, his voice more earnest now. “Doesn’t hurt like it did earlier. Just... aches a little.”

“Alright,” she said, brushing her fingers soothingly along his arm. “Because maybe I’ve packed some oil for a sexy massage... just in case you needed it.”

Bucky froze for a beat, raising his brows slightly as he lifted his head to look at her. The surprise in his expression quickly gave way to a bloomed blush. “Oh, yeah?”

She grinned, “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. You know, for emergencies.” she added teasingly.

“Emergencies,” he repeated.

She nodded, keeping her expression straight despite the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Of course. A good partner always thinks ahead. But I don’t see you very into it, maybe you don’t wanna-”

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbled promptly, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him so she sprawled across his chest. “I’d be a fool to turn down an offer like that.”

“Smart man,” she teased, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his lips before slipping out of bed to rummage through her bag. “Stay put, honey.”

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath that she couldn’t quite hear. When she turned back, bottle in hand, his gaze darted to it briefly before flicking back to her face, with a mix of amusement and lingering flustered disbelief. “Darlin’ you spoil me too much”

“Oh, and I plan to keep doing so. Now, roll over and relax.” She playfully ordered. When he complied, she straddled his waist. Her hands started moving expertly over his skin, spreading the warmed oil on his shoulders and upper back and the tension in his muscles slowly began to melt away as her thumbs pressed into the knots, working them loose with deliberate care.

He let out a low, contented groan, turning his head slightly to rest on his folded arms. “Really, you didn’t have to go all out like this,” he murmured, but even he faintly protested, his voice was thick with relaxation.

“Oh, I definitely did,” she teased lightly, moving her hands to his biceps, carefully avoiding his left elbow.

As her hands continued their soothing path, he silently thanked whatever twist of fate had brought her into his life.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[shivunin]

Hey! 7 or 16 for the Rook story time prompts!

Hey! Thank you so much!!

For 16. Rook falling in love for the first time:

(prompts)

(Rook Ingellvar/Lucanis (and past Ingellvar/OC) | 1,248 Words | CW: Mention of corpses, suggestive intro)

The heat always took her by surprise—the heat of a living person’s skin against her own, hands lifting to touch her, lips against her cheek. 

Ingellvar had grown too used to the cold rigidity of corpses, the waxy sheen their skin took on when they’d been dead too long. But this—for someone who had gone most of her life without being touched by anybody, this was a revelation. 

Edeline was already unbuttoning Lenore’s shirt, nimble fingers dancing over her starched shirt and below, tracing the edge of her underthings with the tip of her fingernail. Lenore couldn’t pull her mouth away long enough to speak, but if she’d been able to she might’ve told the other woman to slow down. They had all night, after all. They slept only a few feet and a thin wall apart from each other and nobody was going to interrupt.

There was no need to rush; they could’ve made it to one of their beds instead of doing this on the settee. Edeline never seemed to care about these facts.

“You were late again,” she said, mouth dragging over Lenore’s lips and lower, where her throat met her jaw. “I was waiting for hours.”

“I—have my practical Tuesday,” Lenore said, and parted her legs readily when Edeline pressed her knee between them. “Had to finish—I needed to—mph.”

Heat—skin touching her skin. Ah, she never felt as alive as she did when this was happening. It was foolish, she knew; the late nights, her increasing lack of focus on her coursework, and—and everything else. She was putting her future at risk by doing this, but it felt so good. She was drunk on it, tilting her head away so Edeline could press her teeth into the soft skin of her throat. 

Touch me, she wanted to say, touch me, touch me—but she was already being touched, hands sliding over her ribs to her hips, sliding off her shirt until it trapped her shoulders in place. 

“I was all alone,” Edeline went on, drawing back to tie her long hair back, “waiting for you.”

She was beautiful. Disastrous, but beautiful. Lenore stared up at her for a moment, eyes wide, and wondered: Is this love? It was difficult to know. She’d never loved anything but the Necropolis, had never been loved by anybody but Grief, so much as the embodiment of mourning could love somebody it hadn’t lost. 

“I want you,” Edeline went on, bending once more to her. 

Was it love? She didn’t know. The heat against her skin, the breath catching in her lungs—that had to be love, didn’t it?

Yes, she decided as she lifted her head to kiss her roommate again. This is probably love. 

|

“Rook? Do you need to go?” 

Lucanis’s soft voice roused Lenore, who sat on the cot in his room. His hand brushed her elbow, finding bare skin at her forearm below. If he had touched her arm with lightning, it would not have electrified her more. 

“No,” she told him, dragging her eyes open. “No. I’m awake.”

“It isn’t the best place to sleep,” he told her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Not that I have tried to do so very often myself. You would be tired in the morning.”

Lenore smiled and stretched her neck one way and then the other. Dozing in this position had been a dreadful idea. Her neck already hurt from a few minutes of it; surely a whole night of it would make tomorrow a nightmare. Still…it was tempting, just to have an excuse to stay. 

“I will still be here in the morning,” he told her, his voice still soft. 

His eyes lingered on her face, her mouth. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. They hadn’t done that, though he’d made his interest clear. Their near-kiss in this room was the closest they’d gotten. She found she didn’t mind as much as she might’ve expected. Something about being near him made it difficult to question. 

“Promise?” she asked. 

“You have my word,” he told her, the corner of his mouth twitching again. Leaning back against the wall while they’d been talking had mussed the back of his hair slightly. It was…endearing, she decided. She’d never seen his hair messy like this before. 

“You will sleep better in your own bed,” he added after a moment. They were so close. She could kiss him right now. She could lean forward right now and—

“It’s generous to call it a bed,” she told him and stood, stretching her back, “but I take your point.” 

“I will walk you to the door,” he said. 

“Bodyguard duty now, too?” she asked, opening the door to the pantry. Nobody was in the dining room beyond. Fortunate. “Overachiever.”

“Yes—I won’t charge you extra for it.”

Lenore laughed. She might’ve thought of something to say in response to that, but his hand found hers as they passed the table and any thought fled immediately from her mind. 

His hands were so warm. That made sense, of course. She’d felt his hands before. He’d helped her up when she’d fallen in combat and passed her dishes at the table, among other things.

But he hadn’t ever held her hand before. He held it loosely now, as if ready to let go at any moment. It was difficult to hold very still and walk at the same time, but she tried it anyway. Anything to hold onto this moment a little longer. Could he tell that she’d slowed down? It was such a short distance to the door. She didn’t think she could drag it out terribly long, but…

“Thank you,” she told him. “For spending time with me tonight, I mean.” 

“I could say the same to you.”

Drat. Here was the door already. 

“Here,” he said, swinging the door open.

Beyond, the Fade looked more or less like it always did. There was no night here. That had certainly taken some getting used to. 

“See you in the morning?” she said. His thumb ran over her knuckles, touching each in turn. 

“Mm,” he said, and lifted her hand to his lips. 

Lucanis kissed her, lips brushing against the scar over her third knuckle. It was hardly any contact at all, but he may as well have driven a blade through it for all the shock she felt. 

Oh, she thought. Oh, dear. 

“Goodnight, Rook,” he said, and she took three steps through the open doorway before she could think of anything to say in return. 

“Goodnight, Lucanis,” she told him. He ducked his head and closed the door behind her. She was left blinking at the too-bright world beyond. 

Before her, skeleton lovers embraced, the statue towering over the courtyard. The Caretaker had replaced a wolf statue with it one day when she’d been sleeping. It was almost precisely the same as the one she’d tended for years in the Necropolis. It seemed like a sign somehow that it was standing before her now. 

No matter how long Lenore stared at the statue, it offered no guidance. 

“Oh, dear,” she said, because it was all she could think. 

Exhaling shakily, she raked her shorn locks back from her face and stumbled down a set of floating stairs toward her room. A fierce fullness in her chest, a song under her skin, a heat in her cheeks—that’s what love felt like. 

If nothing else, she supposed it was good to finally know.

[trisnomials]

hot & heavy - pt. 2/2

pt. 1 link

...in which: hazel hosts a party for the fight club in her basement, but your drunk boyfriend won't leave you alone.

...pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

...warnings: portrayal of a toxic relationship (not hazel dw), underage drinking, cursing + the f slur, cartoonish homophobia, comphet

...author's note: this is a songfic inspired by hot & heavy and christine by my queen lucy dacus!!! AAAAAAAAAA OMG for my first actual fic, im super super happy w how this came out!!!

Hazel grabs your shoulders- cool, slender hands against your anxiety-warmed skin, and stations you around a corner in her house, tucked out of sight from the doorway. “Stay here,” she mumbles, softly puffing from their sprint upstairs, “I’ll take care of it.”

True to her word, she turns on her heels to attend to the pounding on her door. You hear bits and pieces of the reverberating chatter between Hazel and the booming voice of your boyfriend. The familiar ache of fear pools in your stomach.

It washes through your veins next as guilt.

You tore this girl away from her own party to help you with your toxic boyfriend, when you shouldn’t even be with him in the first place. It’s your own fault, really. Even worse, you shouldn’t feel the way you do about her. Sure, Hazel’s a lesbian, but she’s not just gonna fall in love with every girl she knows. And you have a boyfriend. You’re straight. Hopefully.

You slide your back down the wall as the world seems to close in on itself. The conversation crescendos, then halts. The sound of a door slamming shut. The growl of an engine outside. Hazel returns to find you in a ball, and she crouches beside you. “He’s gone.” she declares with some amount of pride. Her voice coaxes your head out from between your knees. She sifts through her short brown hair, still feeling the adrenaline down to her fingertips. “What did he say?” you ask, regaining your composure.

“Let me talk to y/n. You faggots are all fucking each other down there and I'm taking her home.” your boyfriend slurred, slumped against the doorframe. Hazel puffed her chest, face hardening. “She can be wherever she wants. And I’m not letting her get in a car with you, you’re drunk off your ass.” Hazel bit out with arms crossed over her chest. The conversation ended with lots of yelling, and a promise from your boyfriend that you were going to “get it” when he sees you next.

Hazel purses her lips, eyes narrowing. She shakes her head. “Y’know what? Don’t worry about it. How’re you feeling about all this?” she sits next to you against the wall, your sides pressed together.

“I'm gonna break up with him once he's sober.” you sigh, running a hand down your face. “He can be nice… sometimes. But I’ll admit that he’s not what I had in mind.”

“And thanks for talking to him for me, even though I know it probably sucks that I had to drag you away from the party like that. You didn’t have to do it, but you did, and that means a lot to me.” You offer her a shaky smile.

Hazel swallows, something hesitant in the way she looks at you- cautious, yet so sure. “I think that I’d do… um, anything.”

The world that was crumbling around you moments ago suddenly seems to expand into widescreen.

“Hazel, you-”

“Honestly, y/n? I’d rather lose my dignity than lose you to someone who won’t make you happy.” the girl confesses, her face now reading as almost desperate. “I mean, anyone would be so lucky to have you! I know if I dated you, I would be so grateful ‘cus you’re, like, a goddess, but I’m not saying that you should date me… unless you… wanted to… ‘cus I want to…” she clears her throat as the word-vomit comes to a stop, squirming smoothing over where she was clutching onto her shirt fabric. “...but it’s fine. All good.” she finishes. Smooth.

The two of you sit there in stern silence, shoulders and knees and arms still pressed together but neither is bold enough to move away. You shuffle your sneakers. She picks at her nails and rings. Basement music pulses from the floorboards.

“I’ve never dated a girl before,” you state softly, eyes glued to your shoes, “I’ve been afraid of it ever since I realized that I do like girls. But I think with you, I don’t feel so afraid anymore. Of a lot of things, actually.”

You can feel Hazel’s wide and wild eyes on you. As always, you can’t escape them, so you submit and look over to her. “So what should we do?” she asks quietly.

“Can I kiss you?” You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to.

“Um- yeah. Yeah, go for it-” and you take her by the face.

Kissing Hazel Callahan is like breathing- albeit, labored breathing- but life supporting nonetheless. Her hands fumble around your elbows, then your neck, before settling securely on the cinch of your waist. As her lips ease into a steady rhythm against yours, you can’t decide if the sensation is entirely too much or not enough. You’ve kissed and been kissed time and time again, but not like this- genuine and gentle.

“You taste funny.” Hazel whispers, smiling against your lips. No doubt it’s the result of Sylvie’s mystery drink

And you feel hot in the face once again.

[wewillbeseen-butnotbeheard]

i didn’t really want to post this but i just want to say thank you to whoever it was that addressed me as “fox” in the asks (if you see this then you probably know who you are)

it was a few days ago now, but it’s made me realise that i really don’t get to experience that sort of thing often and it means a lot to me (far much more than it should). and thank you for the “comfort” even if i don’t necessarily deserve it at all.

i don’t think i’ll ever get that in real life and while i’ve already thought to myself that i’d be happier being referred to as (that), it’s not like i ever find myself in a situation where that happens. and now when it has i’ve gotten pretty emotional over it, several times. sometimes i look back at the message and read it again because of that. i don’t know if this sounds stupid or trivial but it really means a lot to me and i need to get this out there because i want to make that clear.

this is more of just an observation of my own feelings. i don’t know

[jackdawsfavorite]

I’ve been watching the latest season of love island USA on my normie [affectionate] sister’s rec, and while it’s good tv it’s also got me like, “fucked up that they made a world where girls don’t kiss,” so naturally I type “bisexual reality tv” into a search engine and learn that there was a pretty recent- christ, never mind, it premiered five years ago, how time flies -that in 2019 there was a bisexuals-only season of Are You The One and I’m like, “That sounds fun,” and one episode in it Is except that there are like ten seconds of poly-related commentary that make me pull my own hair a little.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ no one has to know what we do ]❜

ft. cho sang-woo x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you lay in bed with your dad’s best friend after a night of passion┊1.3k words

contains: slight smut!! dom sang-woo & sub reader┊age gap (reader is early 20s & sang-woo’s early 40s), (adopted) dad’s best friend trope, purposeful seduction, one-night stands, unprotected piv (don’t do anything the reader does, this is fiction & unrealistic, stay safe), creampie, biting, smoking, 

➤ author's note: i was thinking about this man all night, i’m not kidding, i’m doing it again tongiht too because he’s so fine idc if he’s evil, i wanna fuck him not fix him

it’s nearly four in the morning on another cold winter’s night with nothing but a yellow-tinted bedside lamp illuminating the room, completely silent aside from the rustling of the blanket from your movement. you sigh softly and nestle closer to the man lying flat on his back for more of the addicting warmth radiating off his body, your face nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder and your legs entangling with his. he doesn’t pull away like you expected him to, just takes another drag on his cigarette and ignores you for the most part with the weight of the past few hours— the weight of the sins he committed tonight— pressing into his mind.

you, on the other hand, were all soft smiles and feeling content as if you just crossed off an accomplishment on the top of your bucket list. for a situation that could ruin both of your lives if discovered, it certainly feels blissful and freeing to finally fuck the man you’ve been dreaming about almost religiously ever since you came back home from university for the holidays a week ago. you have no idea how you’ve never met him until now when you’ve heard so much about him, but perhaps it was better that way when your thoughts were less than innocent. 

despite being middle-aged, he was still very handsome with intelligent albeit weary eyes which seemed to hide some sort of darkness to them. you found yourself studying him from afar, noticing him not wearing a wedding ring and making no mention of a family other than his mother, so you quickly made up your mind that you were going to fuck him before going back to school. it’s not like you had anything better to do anyway.

it actually didn’t take much to seduce him surprisingly: accidental eye contact filled with longing, lingering touches when you handed him his chilled cheap beer, careful actions and words to play up your sex appeal— it reminded you that most men are the same even if the stoic cho sang-woo was older and prided himself in his cunning mind, starved for affection with wandering eyes that frequently followed beneath the hem of your skirt. he looked at you behind his glasses with distrust and tried to act indifferent towards you in front of gi-hun, probably already suspicious about your intentions, but you could already see him drinking up your appearance in your cute little outfit as he downed another bottle. this little game was one you knew well and you always won in the end, there has yet to be anyone you wanted who couldn’t resist you and he certainly wasn’t going to be the first.

he stayed the night in the guest bedroom because it was already dark out, your former room which was converted after you moved out (sometimes it was rented out for extra cash), and at the strike of midnight, you knocked on the door and presented yourself to him seeking his comfort for an unspecified reason with slightly teary doe eyes. it was clear that you didn’t disturb him from his slumber and that he was already awake, visibly restless, and maybe even stressed. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what was bothering him so much. he was hesitant to let you in at first, as any good man would, but his resolve crumbled after seeing how beautiful you looked in the dim light (not like it wasn’t already a breeze away from collapsing after the alcohol). it’s surprising what a little silk nightgown can do with the thin straps threatening to slip off your shoulders, the short hem revealing your soft thighs, your perk nipples straining through the thin fabric, and how small and vulnerable you looked shivering in your lack of clothes.

“you shouldn’t be here at this time.”

“are you going to turn me away?”

still, even if it all went according to plan, he’s not in love with you. you don’t think he is anyway. you don’t expect him to be. would you like him to be in love with you? it might put the aching loneliness at ease even if it won’t make it disappear entirely. he’s a man old enough to be your father after all, he’s a man who grew up with your father and considered him to be a close friend. is this how you thank your father for taking you in and sharing what little he had with you? by seducing and sleeping with his best friend? 

in all honestly, though, he certainly fucked like he was in love with you— like you two were the last two souls on this earth. he was a lot more pent up than you anticipated, or a lot more lonely, trusting into you so deeply one would think he was trying to reach your empty heart as you clawed at his back leaving red rivers of scratched skin. you barely even needed any prep for his size with how soaked you were, evident with a wet patch on your underwear which he teased before throwing it to be forgotten on the floor along with all your other clothes. 

it was difficult to keep the sinful sounds of sex to a minimum, skin against skin with moans slipping from your mouth and groans from his. he had to resort to covering your mouth with his large palm to shut you up and bit into your collarbone leaving his mark on you, finally finishing inside of you in his haze before using his fingers to help you reach your orgasm and embarrassing you for once by staring intently at how the mix of your arousals dripped all over his hand.

“when are you leaving for university?”

“why, are you going to miss me when i’m gone?”

“we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“no one has to know what we do,” you giggled, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth and inhaling the smoke. “i’m old enough to keep a secret.”

those last words made him pause for a second. this was immoral and forbidden. if seong gi-hun were ever to find out, their relationship would be ruined forever and you would be disowned, and he could only imagine the look of betrayal on his face. yet you didn’t seem to care in the least bit about what he would think, gingerly rubbing your thighs together at the feeling of him leaking out of you and touching the area where he bit you. it drew his attention, finally turning to you and admiring the mark sunken into your skin, looking almost proud of it like art on a clean canvas. 

“i don’t want you sleeping with some other stupid boys when you go back.”

“hm, only if you promise that this won’t be the last time and that you also don’t fuck anyone else while i’m gone.”

“you know, i can’t promise that. we were lucky to not get caught this time, but who’s to say there will be a next time?”

“well, then i’ll go back to university and have sex with whoever i want, then you can do the same—”

“oh, shut up,” he scolded, pinching your cheeks to pull you towards him and kissing you possessively as if he could consume you whole by it. you were glad to reciprocate, allowing him to climb back on top of you while your arms wrapped around his neck. “fine, as long as you keep your word.”

he said it like he didn’t really want to continue this, like he was conceding to your demands and was merely tolerating you with better things to do, but the thinly veiled desperate need in his words and actions was clearer than glass to you. not that you minded, it was all working out just how you wanted it to.

[verstappenverse]

Knight of My Heart

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After one too many drinks, a protective Max arrives right when you need him most.

1.7k words / Masterlist

It was nearly 2am when Max’s phone buzzed on his nightstand, dragging him from the edges of sleep. The faint light from his screen illuminated the dark room, and he reached for it with a groggy hand, squinting at the text that appeared.

“She’s drunk. Like realllly drunk. Can you come get her?”

Max sat up, his heart already sinking. The message was from one of your friends, someone whose name he only half-remembered from the countless times they’d insisted they’d “watch out for you.” Max knew better by now. He sighed, ranking a hand through his messy hair, before throwing the blanket off and quickly pulling on a hoodie and jeans.

The drive to the club was quiet, but Max’s mind wasn’t. He hated these nights. It wasn’t just the thought of you being drunk and vulnerable; it was the idea that you were so carefree and beautiful, and people always noticed. Too many times Max had seen guys try to get too close, their smiles too slick and intentions too obvious.

When he finally pulled up outside the club he saw you almost immediately. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

You were leaning against a lamp post near the curb swaying slightly in your heels, a dazed smile on your face as a man hovered beside you. Max’s chest tightened at the sight. The guy was too close, his body angled toward yours as he spoke animatedly, gesturing with his hands. You laughed softly at whatever he said, your voice carrying over the low thrum of the music spilling from the club’s entrance.

Max killed the engine and climbed out, his jaw set. His strides were purposeful, closing the distance between you in seconds.

“Maxie!” you squealed the moment you spotted him, your arms flinging open in delight.

“You’re here!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his torso and nearly toppling yourself over in the process.

The guy looked over at Max, not at all intimidated, but Max didn’t care. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching by his sides as he stepped closer.

“You good?” Max asks you, his voice a little rougher than usual.

The man gave Max a once-over, clearly sizing him up. “She seems fine to me,” he said, his tone too casual for Max’s liking.

Max’s eyes narrow, the jealousy coursing through him now unmistakable. He took a step closer to you, brushing his hand lightly against your shoulder. “Oh because you know her so well, right?” he asked the guy, voice clipped.

With a taunting smirk, the guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “She was just telling me about her night. She looked like she needed some company.”

Max wasn’t having it, he stands tall, his body blocking your view of the man now. “Right, I don’t think you understand,” Max replied dryly, placing a firm hand on your waist. “I’m her boyfriend, she's mine. Thanks for your concern, but I’ll take it from here.”

The man’s lips twitched, as though he wanted to argue, but something in Max’s gaze seemed to convince him otherwise. With a tight nod, he muttered a quick, “Whatever man,” and walked off into the crowd.

As the guy disappeared, Max’s frustration didn’t completely fade, but he focused right back on you. Guiding you towards his car, hand never leaving your side. You leaned into him, your cheek resting against his shoulder the alcohol making your limbs feel heavy.

You looked up at him, your face slightly flushed, your eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” you asked quietly.

Max’s lips press together tightly, trying to ignore the flare of jealousy still lingering. “I’m fine,” he said, even though he’s anything but. "Just... I want you to be safe, alright?"

You nod, though your head wobbles slightly. "I know... just wanted to have fun."

Max exhaled slowly, his tension only easing slightly as he turned to you. You were beaming up at him, clearly oblivious to the small confrontation that had just unfolded.

“I get it,” he said softly, his hand steadying you at your waist. “But where are your friends?”

“They’re inside,” you mumbled, waving a hand vaguely toward the club entrance. “Or somewhere. I don’t know. I came out to get some air.”

Max sighed, scanning the area for any sign of your group. Just then a few of your friends emerged from the club giggling.

“Max!” One of them called her tone far too cheery. “She’s all yours.”

Max’s brows furrowed, his frustration bubbling over. “Why did you let her get this drunk?” he snapped. “Anything could’ve happened to her out here!”

Your friend blinked, her smile faltering. “She’s a big girl Max. Besides, we knew you’d come.”

“That’s not the point,” Max said, his voice sharp. "You should’ve made sure she was safe.”

Your friends exchanged glances mumbling something, he exhaled heavily running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m glad you've all had fun, but next time just… watch out for her yeah? She’s very important to me.” He gazed down at you.

Your friends exchanged glances, some looking sheepish, others visibly annoyed at his tone.

“We had it under control, Max,” one of your friends said, her tone defensive. “We weren’t going to babysit her all night.”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Being there for your friend isn’t babysitting, it’s just what you do.”

Another friend, the quieter one of the group spoke up “Okay Max. We’ll keep a better eye on her next time, promise.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, looking back down at you. Your eyes were half-closed, a lazy smile on your lips as you mumbled something unintelligible against his chest.

Max shook his head, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his face. “Alright,” he said to the group, his tone a little lighter now. “I’m taking her home. Get back safely.”

“We will,” the quieter friend said, giving him a small, apologetic smile.

Max turned to you with a sigh of relief. “Let’s get you home.”

Max guided you to the car, his hand never leaving your waist. You leaned into him heavily, giggling at every little thing—the way his hand steadied you, the low muttering under his breath, even the way he opened the car door for you like you were royalty.

“You’re so nice to me, Maxie,” you said, settling into the passenger seat with a content sigh.

“I’m always nice to you,” he replied, pulling the seatbelt across your body and clicking it into place.

“You are,” you agreed, your voice soft and dreamy. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?”

Max froze for a moment, sure his heart skipped a beat, before he shook his head and closed your door.

The drive home was quiet, save for your occasional hums and mumbled comments about the pretty city lights. Max glanced at you every so often, his hand gripping your thigh, your eyes fluttering shut for brief moments.

When he finally pulled into his apartment’s parking garage you stirred, blinking sleepily. Inside you clung to him like a lifeline, your arms looped around his neck as he guided you to the bathroom.

“You’re so tall,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest. “Like a tree. A strong, handsome tree.”

Max chuckled despite himself, shaking his head as he set you down on the bathroom counter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like me anyway,” you said, your grin lazy and smug.

He didn’t respond, instead reaching for a makeup remover wipe from the cabinet. You watched him curiously as he carefully cupped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Taking your makeup off,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, as he carefully wiped at your face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and he avoided your eyes, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"You take such good care of me." You whispered, reaching up to touch his hand. “You don’t have to, you know?”

“I know,” he said with a slight frown, his eyes finally meeting yours. “But I want to. You deserve it.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Max carried you to the bedroom, letting you climb him like a koala as you giggled into his shoulder. He set you down gently, pulling the covers over you before crouching beside the bed. You blinked at him sleepily, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re like a knight,” you mumbled, your voice thick with drowsiness. “My very own knight in shining armour.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “A very tired knight,” he replied, brushing a stray hair from your face. “But you’re going to hate me in the morning if I let you go to sleep without water and something for your hangover.”

“I don’t hate you,” you slurred, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “I could never hate you.”

His chest tightened at the sincerity in your tone, “Stay awake for just a few more minutes okay? I’ll be right back.”

You made a soft noise of protest as he stood, but you didn’t try to stop him. Max moved quietly through the apartment, grabbing a glass from the kitchen and filling it with cold water. From the bathroom he grabbed a pack of paracetamol, the domesticity of the routine bringing a faint smile to his lips.

When he returned you were still half-propped against the pillows, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his footsteps.

“Here,” Max said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He handed you the glass and pressed two pills into your palm. “Take these and drink some water. Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You squinted at the pills like they’d personally offended you. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Max replied firmly, his lips quirking upward. “No arguments.”

“Bossy,” you muttered, but you popped the pills into your mouth and swallowed them with some water. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

You handed the glass back to him, and he set it on the nightstand before leaning forward to pull the blankets higher around you.

“I’m so lucky you’re my Maxie,” you sighed.

“Sleep,” he said softly, stroking your cheek.

“Stay,” you murmured, your eyes already half-closed.

Max hesitated, his heart twisting with adoration, before nodding. “I’ll be right here.”

[chuulyssa]

୨・──── TELL ME I’M A LITTLE ANGEL, SWEETHEART OF YOUR CITY ────・୧

pairing ⸺ satoru gojo x reader

teaser ⸺ as a child, you were taken in by the powerful gojo clan and raised alongside their heir, gojo satoru — but never as his sibling. now, at an elite school, your fragile bond is tested when an actual noble woman enters the picture, bringing in a marriage proposal.

FIRST IN ARRANGED. [GOJO SATORU X READER]

READ PART II HERE

content ⸺ fluff, reader is an academic achiever and has a good handwriting, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, cliff hanger ending, human auctions, implied slavery, jealousy, implied torture, shoko talks about using medical tools for torture (lol), blood, implied abuse, implied grape (not at reader), magic!au, historic!au, the ages of reader and gojo throughout the story: 3, 10, 12, 15, 17

count ⸺ 22k

author’s note ⸺ thank you to everyone for waiting patiently! this is just the part one, i hope it does well to give me enough motivation to write a part two. i have so soo many ideas i’m hoping to incorporate.

🎧 ao3 wattpad

You sat next to the man, bowing deeply with him at some figure you couldn’t care less about. It had to be someone important obviously, and you knew now was the time you were going to get kicked out of a place for the tenth time in your life, unwittingly dragging this poor man with you as well. He had seemed kind enough when he had bought you off at that auction.

He wasn’t anything like you had feared. You had met other girls bonding with each other inside the cage; girls older and prettier than you, getting sold off one by one to old and creepy men who looked like they couldn’t keep it in their pants. You had dreaded meeting the same fate as them. That was, until the man who kept increasing his offer for you looked younger and stronger.

He was probably like one of those army officers you had seen at your mother’s house, who would stand guard outside your small room each night she and her happy family went out to lavish parties, to make sure you didn’t escape. Well, even if you did, you thought that was what they would have wanted, but they kept saying that they didn’t want anyone noticing your existence. Not that they didn’t have a good reason.

In your mind, you had hoped the man would win, and when he had, the triumphant look on his face made you sigh in relief; at least now you were sure you wouldn’t be used as a hole for life. But were you, though? Because the thoughts kept creeping back; the looks on the other girls’ faces when they were taken away by their new masters. But the mysterious man had made you sit on his pretty horse, taking you somewhere, away from the horrifying auctions that represented the worst atrocities made by humans.

You peered from under your hands, still in your bowing position. The person had now risen. He had dark hair and vivid blue eyes. He seemed to peer at you in as much curiosity as you were at him. That was, until a crisp voice had cut through the silence, knocking you out of your bow when it addressed your saviour to “pack his things and leave”.

“I understand, madam,” he said smoothly, getting up to leave, not before giving another curt nod. Then he turned to you. “This is where my job ends, little one. You’ll be much happier here,” he whispered, nodding at you and standing up. You almost wanted to stop him before you remembered you were told several times that you didn’t possess any human emotions. So you watched him leave, wondering how he was so sure this wouldn’t be another one of your previous houses.

“As for the child,” you snapped your head back to the dark-haired man in front of you who seemed to be giving commands, “we must decide which family keeps her. From the looks of it, she needs to be tended to,” he eyed your wounds from previous struggles you wished to forget about.

You stared at the people he was questioning, and they all looked away. This seemed like a meeting room, and the people were lined up sitting parallel to each other. Some were glaring at you like you had come to raid their houses, fuck their wives and drink their blood. None of them seemed to realize you were only a child of ten. Nervous under all the gazes, you wished to find another person you could bow to, just to avoid all the staring you were receiving.

“We will,” said the same voice you had heard earlier, and you finally looked at its source.

She had long, white hair that seemed to reach till the floor. Her eyes were light, and she looked pretty. She had a cold look on her face that made her seem frightening, though, and that was probably why you saw that none of the others could even muster enough courage to look at her eyes when she said those words.

“Well, it’s decided then,” the man said in a final tone, as if he had only bargained about the price of a few watermelons from his local vendor. “Love, if you will.”

Love? Oh, maybe they were married.

The woman stood up and everyone bowed at her again. You were about to sink back into the position before she crouched down in front of you, caressing your hair with a touch that made you look back at her.

“Come with me, daughter.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

“I have a sister now?” “Shh, and don’t call her that. I’ve already told you, she’s not your sister—”

“Does she know how to ride horses?” “Do you ever do anything else?”

“She should know how to ride horses.” “You can teach her.”

“Oh, wow, really?”

You scrambled away from the door at the sounds of footsteps returning and sunk back into the expensive bed the woman had had prepared for you. The ‘woman’ who asked you to call her ‘mom’, somehow losing the twinkle in her eye when commanding maids around, which she seemed to regain every time you spoke something.

You knew it was a trap though. If she really ‘adopted’ you and wanted you to call her ‘mom’, wouldn’t that mean you were the sister to whatever child she already had? Yet here you were, all cleaned up and changed, almost believing the charade before realizing the child was being advised not to consider you as their sister.

You bit your lip, trying not to cry. At least you weren’t at your old house thinking of ways to poison your family, or in that cage counting down for when it was your turn, or lying dead in some creep’s backyard. Maybe you could enjoy this while it lasted.

“May I come in?” A polite, boyish voice rang out from behind your door. A hushed whisper of an older woman seemed to reprimand him for not knocking, and the two started to argue.

“Yes?” You didn’t quite know how to respond professionally to the request, so your answer came off more as a question. You sure hoped the man wouldn’t scold you for your manners as well.

A boy stepped forward, and you immediately knew he was the son of the two clan leaders. Not because of his clothes, but because of his face. He had the same white hair as his mother, and the blue eyes he got from his father. Maybe blue eyes were a thing of the clan?

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, and the door closed behind him. “Mother sent me here for ‘bonding time’.” You kept staring at him, not realizing you were staring. He looked up at you and flushed. Only then did you realize, chuckling awkwardly and scratching your wrists, trying to get used to the expensive scents the maids had covered you with.

“Can I… uh,” he trailed off, staring at you, and you blinked back at him, not knowing what he was going to say.

“...sit on the bed?” You offered, and he raised an eyebrow before climbing on it, sitting in the most formal position you had ever seen.

“Do you like horse riding?” “What?”

He flushed even more. “Mother said we should ask each other questions to get to know the other better.”

“Oh.” “Yeah.”

There was another silence.

“So it’s my turn to ask a question now?” You asked. “Yeah.”

“Do you like potatoes?”

“What?” He processed your question for a solid five seconds before bursting into laughter. You kept staring at him as if he was stupid. Did you say something stupid?

“I like you!” He said in between giggles, his old formal, uptight position long lost. It was your turn to flush now. No one had ever said they even wanted you alive, let alone say that. Well, no one except for three people in the past few hours, and now this guy. You had a feeling you might prefer this over anything else for now.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The soft hum of celebration still lingered in the air. Lanterns flickered outside glowing warmly across your room. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the wrapped gifts and trinkets the Gojo family had insisted on presenting you earlier. It had been strange, the idea of sharing a birthday with Satoru. You didn’t even know your real birthday, so his — no — your mother announced it would be shared.

Satoru had, of course, embraced the attention, dragging you along with him to cut the massive cake. You had never seen anything like this before, and it might have shown on your face, because he had held your wrist tightly as if annoyed you were taking so long, and cut the cake with you. That was what made it impossible to shun the feelings of belongingness.

Now, the house was quiet, and the festivities had faded. But just as you were about to pull the covers over yourself, the faint sound of your door creaking open made you pause.

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice whispered, followed by the soft padding of his feet. You turned your head to see him, still in the formal robes mother had fussed over earlier, though they were now slightly askew. His hair was a mess, his face flushed from excitement — or maybe all the sweets he’d devoured.

“Should you not knock?” you asked, folding your arms. You inwardly cringed at the noble accent you had unknowingly adopted from the Gojo family. “And what are you doing here?”

“Escaping,” he said, as if that explained everything. He plopped down without invitation beside you on the bed, leaning back on his hands and gazing at the ceiling. “Mother’s got the maids cleaning up. I was bored. Figured you’d be awake.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the faint smile tugging at your lips. “You’re going to get us in trouble. Again.”

“What’s the point of having a birthday if you can’t even cause some trouble now?” He shot you a grin, then leaned closer to the window. “Let’s go outside.”

“What? No.” “Please, please, pretty please?”

“I am not letting my first birthday become my death day,” you scoffed at him. Taking one look at the pout on his face, which seemed to stretch all the way down to his neck, you sighed, and he knew he won. “Fine. But we’re only looking outside.”

“What!? But what’s the fun in that?” “Then go alone.”

He pouted again, but you merely looked away trying to shield yourself from his cuteness. Soon after though, Satoru relented. He slid the window open and climbed onto the ledge, grumbling for you to follow. You joined him, settling beside him as the smell of night air filled your room. The stars were brilliant tonight, like silver dust across an ink-black canvas.

“They’re so bright,” you murmured. “It’s almost… too much.”

Satoru snorted. “That’s the problem with you. You overthink everything. Just look at them — they’re pretty, that’s all there is to it.”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “Fine. They’re beautiful. Happy now?”

“Very,” he said, grinning. Then he tilted his head, closing his eyes and mumbling something to himself. He opened his eyes, looking at you expectantly. “Now it’s your turn. Make a wish.”

“What?” You frowned.

“A wish! Like for your birthday. I know we already made some during the cake thing, but this one’s private. Just for us.”

You hesitated, unsure of what to wish for, before finally closing your eyes. Satoru watched you intently as if trying to guess your wish, but when you opened your eyes again, he pretended to be fascinated by the sky.

“Oh, done already? What did you wish for?” he asked after a moment.

“You said it was private,” you shot back. “What did you wish for?”

“Not telling,” he replied smugly, crossing his arms. “What if you laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because you’re you.” “And you’re stupid.”

The two of you fell into another argument, but when it finally died down, it was followed by a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sound of distant crickets. Then, out of nowhere, Satoru blurted out, “Do you think the stars can hear us?”

“What?” You stared at him.

“The stars,” he said seriously, pointing upward. “Do you think they grant wishes, like gods or something?”

“That’s stupid,” you muttered, but you couldn’t hide the faint curl of amusement on your lips. “They’re just balls of gas.”

“Well, maybe those gas balls are listening,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “You don’t know everything. Maybe they are hearing us right now.”

You opened your mouth to retort but froze. A memory seemed to resurface…

“I still don’t know why you decided to keep the child!” a deep voice was screeching at another, soft one.

“I don’t know what came over me, I swear!”“It is the spawn of Satan himself! I respect you for what you have been through, but it is time to dispose of her.”

“Dispose? You don’t mean—”

Large hands came your way to muffle the screams from your mouth.

Your fingers clenched the windowsill.

“They didn’t hear me before,” you said quietly, almost to yourself.

“What?” Satoru noticed the change in your tone, and turned to look at you, his brow furrowing. “Who? The balls?”

You shook your head quickly. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

But Satoru wasn’t one to let things go. “Hey,” he said softly. “You can tell me. I mean, if you want.”

His sincerity made your chest tighten. Normally, after the word ‘balls’, he would have made a bad joke about male anatomy. But he seemed to have read the room enough to shut up. You looked at him, his bright blue eyes watching you with genuine concern. For a moment, you thought about telling him. But then, the weight of it all felt too heavy to share. He was too young, too shielded from the horrors of the world to be able to handle any of it anyway.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered. “Just something dumb I used to believe.”

Satoru opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he smiled gently and nudged your shoulder. “Okay. But if you ever want to talk about dumb things, I’m here. You know, I’m dumb, so…” he tried making the joke you always did.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you simply nodded. The two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, watching the stars. Finally, Satoru stretched and hopped down from the ledge.

“Goodnight,” he said, giving you a lopsided grin. “And happy birthday.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his voice. “You too,” you said softly.

As he closed the door as softly as he could behind him, you stared out at the stars, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they had started listening after all.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The sound of hooves clattering against the cobblestone path filled the air as the royal carriage swayed gently on its way to the prestigious School of Royalty. The morning sun cast a golden glow on the lush green fields outside, but inside, the atmosphere was both tense and excited.

“You know,” Satoru began, leaning lazily against the plush velvet seat, “I heard there’s a whole batch of new exchange students joining today. Rumor is, one of them’s from the Silver Crescent Kingdom. Ever seen anyone from there? They’re supposed to have that, uh… ‘ethereal glow.’ You think that’s real, or just something people say?”

You barely glanced up from the notebook in your lap, furrowing your brows as you paused your incoherent babbling of equations. “If you spent half as much time studying for the exam as you do gossiping, maybe you wouldn’t need to cheat off me later.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Cheat? Me? I’m offended. I’m just naturally brilliant.”

“And naturally annoying,” you muttered, flipping to another page of hastily scribbled notes.

Satoru ignored the jab, his grin widening. At fifteen, he’d grown into someone who couldn’t step into a room without people swooning for his attention. You guessed it was just a Gojo thing he inherited from his mother. The girls adored him — some from afar, others more boldly (you still cringe remembering that one time a girl with a sorry excuse of a top was taken away by your guards for trying to get a kiss from him last year) — and the boys either envied or wanted to be him. The name “Satoru Gojo” seemed to be whispered wherever he went, and he couldn’t be happier.

You, on the other hand, had decided that the attention you receive at your house was enough to satisfy you for a lifetime, and you would rather spend your time learning something new — at least, that’s what you told your mother; that you would rather cry over your grades than guys, to which Satoru had cleverly remarked, “Why not both?” earning a glare from his mother. While you did have friends, and you did seem to be friendly with everyone around you, you would watch in dismay when most of these friends would recite their love stories, and you had nothing to share. The boys barely noticed you, too busy being gay over Satoru. But you had your books, your achievements, and the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t need anyone’s approval.

“And get this,” Satoru continued, his excitement growing. “I heard one of them’s some kind of prodigy. Like, they mastered advanced magic when they were ten. Can you imagine? Finally, someone who might be able to keep up with me. They’re a senior too, so I want to see the look on their face when they realize I’m better than them.”

“Mhm,” you replied distractedly, not bothering to look up. You were too busy with the definition of archaic spellcasting principles and the formulas for mana stabilization to muster a reply of more than a single syllable. The exam was in less than an hour, and the thought of failing even one question sent a jolt of anxiety through you.

Satoru leaned forward, peering at your notes upside down. “What’s that? Something about magic circles? You’re still on those? I mastered those ages ago.”

You snapped your notebook shut and shot him a glare. “You didn’t ‘master’ anything. You just wing it and hope for the best.”

“Hey, it works, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Besides, you’ll cover for me if I mess up. That’s what partners are for.”

“We’re not partners.”

“Sure we are,” he said breezily. “Partners in crime. Mischief-makers extraordinaire. The unbeatable duo.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of your head.

The carriage hit a bump, causing you to clutch your notes tighter. Satoru, unfazed, lounged back in his seat and stared out of the window. “You know, you should relax a little. Exams aren’t life or death.”

“For you, maybe. Some of us don’t have a safety net made of charm and raw talent.”

He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Wow, you really think I’m charming and talented? Thanks, baby.”

You didn’t dignify that dumb statement with a response. Instead, you turned your attention back to your notes, determined to make use of every second you had left.

The carriage began to slow, signaling their arrival at the school gates. Satoru straightened, his excitement palpable. “Here we go. Time to make an impression. Think the exchange students are going to swoon over me?”

“Only if they have no taste,” you muttered, gathering your things.

He grinned, standing and offering you a hand as the carriage came to a stop. “Come on, don’t be such a poopy.”

You cringed again before taking his hand, letting him help you down. The moment your feet touched the ground, the buzz of the school grounds surrounded you. Students swarmed the entrance, chattering excitedly about everything from the new arrivals to last-minute cramming for the exam.

Satoru strode ahead confidently, while you lingered a step behind, clutching your notes tightly. He glanced at you, running back to catch up with you. “Where’s Kuro? He’s supposed to be part of the dramatic entrance I had planned.”

“I sent him away. He was annoying me with the confetti.” “You— WHAT?”

You ignored him, continuing to walk up the stairs leading to your exam hall without looking up at anyone. Satoru jogged beside you.

“We haven’t met with any of the exchange students yet!” “Satoru, if you want to, then leave.”

He pouted, planting your face in front of yours above your notes. “You know I won’t leave you.”

“Then stay quiet and let me study.” “Alright, alright,” he said, sighing. He stared at you for a few moments, pacing around the hall with you while you muttered curses under your breath. He smiled. You always hated this one subject but felt the need to excel in it anyway. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’ll do great, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d better hope so. If I fail, you’ll fail too.”

He laughed again, a sound as effortless as everything else about him. “That’s true. Can’t impress anyone with an F on the paper, can I?” The loud bell rang, and Satoru moved to cover your ears with the palms of his hands. “I’ve got you covered, princess. In return, you must guarantee that I pass.”

You smiled a genuine smile at him, something you had gotten quite used to doing in the past four years you had spent with your new family. “I can’t guarantee that. Let’s go, I’m done now.”

His eyes widened comically, “What do you mean you can’t guarantee that?” You laughed at him, and he snatched your notebook from your hands. “Give me that! Oh god. I’m doomed, aren’t I?”

“Yup, let’s go now.”

The exam hall echoed with the sound of faint murmurs and the occasional nervous coughs. While theory had been nerve-wracking, at least you had been able to cram for it. But the practicals? They were a whole different beast. No amount of late-night revisions could prepare you for actual spellwork.

You clutched your wand tightly, its polished surface cold and smooth against your clammy palms. The examiner called your name, and your stomach flipped. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward. What were the steps again? Swing your wand, say the words, and hope for the best.

You stood before the enchanted apparatus. It was a simple magical round glass that would respond to the accuracy of your spell, changing its colour accordingly. The orb pulsed softly, steams of gas floating stilly in its interior, waiting. You were supposed to transfigure a cactus into a goblet full of water. The room was silent, dozens of eyes boring into your back. 

Why did they have to make everyone do the practicals individually, and on stage?

You closed your eyes briefly, mustering every ounce of focus. With a flick of your wand and the carefully practiced words spilling from your lips, you executed the spell. Wand still in the air, you waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Then, the orb glowed a brilliant gold.

“Perfect!” The elderly professor cried, clasping her hands together. She really liked you. “Next, please.”

Relief washed over you, and you felt a disbelieving smile creep onto your face. Scooting off the stage, you climbed down the stairs to your seat. You caught Satoru’s eye and mouthed, Good luck. He was slouching on his chair, winking at you and giving you a lazy thumbs-up.

Just as you sat down, you noticed your gaze didn’t leave him. You kept looking at him, how effortlessly good he looked in his outfit, sunglasses perched languidly on his nose. He was looking straight ahead at the stage above, and you glanced at the front too. Shoko got a pale yellow glow from the orb, an easy B.

Your eyes wandered to the girl in line ahead of Satoru. You recognized her instantly, how could you not? Wavy chestnut hair that caught the light just so, impeccable posture, an air of confidence that bordered on smug, and her pink lips upright looking behind her. She was from one of the distant kingdoms—brilliant in class, annoyingly charming, and unfortunately, quite pretty. And right now, she seemed pretty happy about being positioned so close to Satoru.

It was the way she was smiling at Satoru that irritated you. Not the polite, fleeting kind of smile you’d give a classmate. No, this was different. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curved in a way that made even you highly uncomfortable. You saw her fingers brush a strand of hair behind her ear — twice, because apparently once wasn’t enough — and she leaned just a fraction closer to him.

You squinted. Was she flirting? She was flirting. Yuck. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but your jaw tightened. Getting up sneakily from your seat, you joined the crowd they stood with to spy on the two.

“I hear the examiners this year are super strict,” she said, her voice soft and lilting. “Not that you need to worry. I’ve seen you in dueling practice — you’re incredible,” she sighed at him dramatically, eyes turned to hearts.

Satoru blinked at her, then scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks? I guess?”

She laughed — too loud for a casual compliment. “You’re so modest! That’s so rare, you know.” Her eyes sparkled as she stared up at him, clearly hoping he’d reciprocate the energy.

He didn’t. “Modest? Me?” Satoru’s tone was laced with genuine confusion, his brow furrowing slightly. “You sure you’re talking about the right guy?”

You saw Geto, his best friend, stifle a laugh at that, but you didn’t find any of this funny. Geto caught your eye and immediately stopped laughing, trying to inch closer to Satoru to warn him of your incoming wrath.

But the girl kept blocking his way.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said smoothly, leaning in even closer. “I bet you’ll get top marks, as always. You must have so many admirers.”

Your grip on your wand tightened. You might not be as violent as Satoru when it came to dueling, but you couldn’t care less about that at the moment. Nor did you seem to notice the sheer number of students surrounding you.

Satoru, as usual, was utterly oblivious. “Admirers? I sure hope so,” he said with a shrug. “But thanks, I guess?”

You wanted to shake him. How could he not see what she was doing? The way her voice softened whenever she said his name, how her lashes fluttered just a bit too much when she looked at him — it was painfully obvious. And yet, Satoru treated her like he treated everyone else: polite, casual, and just detached enough to make it clear he wasn’t interested.

“Next!” called the examiner, and the girl’s name echoed through the hall.

She turned to Satoru with a dazzling smile. “Wish me luck?”

“Uh, good luck?” he said, scratching his head.

You were half a second away from gagging, Geto slipping from beside Satoru to join you, both of you dissing the situation in hushed whispers.

As she walked away, you muttered under your breath, “Unbelievable.”

Geto muttered, equally frustrated, but this was pointed towards Satoru, “Unbelievable indeed.”

Your eyes followed the movements of her wand, and you tried to calculate the exact angle by which she tilted her wand too high, the length by which her hand movement went wrong and the distance between her wrist and the cactus assigned to her. Geto shook his head at your overly focused expression.

A loud pop filled the air, followed by startled squeaks. Your eyes widened. The examiners scrambled around, now very much turned into rats! The girl froze, her wand dangling uselessly at her side as laughter rippled through the room.

You bit your lip. What were you supposed to be feeling right now? Secondhand embarrassment or vindication? Serves her right, you thought, though a small part of you almost pitied her. Almost.

The headmaster, who had been watching the whole ordeal with an amused expression, quickly restored order, probably glad he wasn’t turned into a mouse or something. He dismissed the rest of the students and awarded automatic A’s to those who hadn’t gone yet.

You groaned and Geto laughed at you, a grimacing Shoko dangling from his arm. Together, the three of you were about to leave the hall when Satoru caught up with you, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Wild. Best exam ever. I didn’t even have to do anything!”

You shot him a sideways glance, your mood souring again. “Yeah, lucky you.”

“Wait, are you mad?” he asked, peering at you. “You’re mad. Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” you said shortly, walking faster, waving goodbye to Geto, who was now left alone to deal with a hungry kitten, Shoko.

“You’re definitely mad,” he teased, catching up. “What, is it because I got an A without lifting a finger? Don’t worry, you’ll get to cheat off my usual genius self next time. Maybe you’ll even get an A+++++++ because of me… or whatever the highest grade is.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You’re so modest,” you mimicked the girl from earlier, but he didn’t get the reference.

At break, you sat under the shade of a tree, quietly eating your snack and watching the courtyard buzz with post-exam chatter. Across the lawn, the girl was crying into her boyfriend’s shoulder, her wails loud enough to carry. You frowned, unsure whether to feel sorry for or annoyed at her.

Her boyfriend, a tall, broad-shouldered guy from her kingdom, seemed to be comforting her, rubbing her back and murmuring reassurances. Weird, you thought. He doesn’t even know he’s worse than Satoru in her eyes.

The suspension had been swift: four months for reckless and dangerous spellcasting. Watching her now, you couldn’t muster much sympathy. It was one thing to fail; it was another to fail so dramatically. It’s what she deserves.

Satoru plopped down beside you, unwrapping a burger he’d somehow acquired (probably chased after Shoko to steal her food). “Hey, isn’t that, uh... Britney? No, wait, Bridget? Or... Burger?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Burger?”

“Yeah, burger,” he said, taking a huge bite and gesturing vaguely in her direction. “She’s got layers, y’know? Like a burger.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

“C’mon, you gotta admit it’s funny,” he said, his grin widening. “She tries to turn on the charm, and bam! Instant ratification.”

You groaned at the pun, but laughter bubbled up anyway. Satoru’s dumb humor always had a way of disarming you.

“Heyyyyyyyy!” A voice dragged out, and you were met with a flash of dark blue hair before you were hugged tightly. “I heard your exam went great, but then, of course it did.” She patted your head. “Well done.”

“Thanks, Utahime.”

“No need to thank me,” Utahime pulled out your favourite chips from her bag and handed them to you.

“Hey, nothing for me?” Satoru wailed.

“Who the fuck are you?” “Rude.”

She ignored him and turned back to you. “Anyway, did you see any of the new exchange students? They’re good-looking.”

“So?” You munched on your chips.

“So,” she said loudly, shooing Satoru off to sit in his place next to you, “we can finally get you a boyfriend.”

Satoru snorted. “Boyfriend? Why does she need a boyfriend?”

“And,” she stepped on his foot with her heel and he skipped away across the courtyard, foot in his hand and muttering curses under his breath. “There’s that prodigy guy. You two could have been academic rivals if he was in your grade. Ugh, this is so annoying. Couldn’t he repeat a few classes? Dumbass.”

“Uh, I’m not interes—” “Yes, you are,” she looked at you with a wide, crazy smile as if daring you to disagree, and you gulped.“No wasting time watching couples break up,” she pointed at the girl in front of you, whose boyfriend seemed to have heard of the real reason she messed up her spell. Utahime lifted you by one arm and practically flew the yards to reach the main hall, where your assembly would take place to welcome the exchange students.

The assembly hall buzzed with anticipation, the crowd of students shifting restlessly as they filled the rows of wooden benches. Your arm still ached from Utahime dragging you all the way here. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel drained—physically and emotionally.

The morning’s drama was still fresh in your mind, particularly the girl’s humiliating display. The idea of someone so brazenly cozying up to Satoru still gnawed at you. And now, you had to sit through an assembly to greet some mysterious prodigies who probably thought they were better than everyone else. Perfect.

“Sit here,” Utahime ordered, pointing to a spot near the front. “I need a good view.”

“Of what?” you asked, dropping onto the bench with a huff.

“Duh, the new guys. Maybe one of them will be your destined academic rival-slash-love interest,” she said dramatically, clasping her hands like a cheesy romance novel heroine.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine without one, thanks.”

“Oh, don’t be boring,” she said, plopping down beside you. “You need some excitement in your life. Besides, I heard some of the new guys are supposed to be really good-looking,” she whispered, leaning in as if discussing a conspiracy theory involving the Monarchy of Mars. “Like, model good-looking.”

You let out a noncommittal hum, tracing the edge of the seat in front of you with a finger. Utahime nudged you. “Don’t you care? Come on, aren’t you curious?”

“Not really,” you lied.

Utahime rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Sure, sure. But if someone walks in here looking like a movie star, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Your gaze wandered to the double doors at the front of the hall, where the new students were supposed to enter. You didn’t care much about the guys. But what if there were girls? Pretty girls. The kind with perfect skin and perfect hair and that effortless grace you always seemed to lack.

Your stomach churned. Why were you even thinking about that?

You glanced at Utahime, still chattering away about rumors she’d heard excitedly. She was bouncing slightly in her seat, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. But you couldn’t shake the thought — what if everyone thought the other girls were prettier? You could almost smell the break up stories your dozen friends would fetch for you because the new girls seemed hotter to the dung-nosed guys of your school.

“For the next few months, I will be stuck amidst boy troubles,” you muttered, glancing across the hall. Satoru had finally joined the crowd, sauntering in late as usual. He spotted you almost immediately and shot you a wink before sliding into a seat with Geto and Shoko.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, but you shoved the feeling down. He was just being Satoru like always. That’s all it was.

Right?

The headmaster’s booming voice filled the hall. “Welcome, students, to this year’s exchange program orientation!”

The crowd settled as the headmaster launched into a long-winded speech about tradition, excellence, and the importance of collaboration between kingdoms. You zoned out almost immediately, your eyes drifting back to Satoru.

He was whispering something to Geto, who smirked and nudged him in the ribs. Shoko looked utterly disinterested, flipping through a medical journal she’d smuggled in. Typical.

You pulled your eyes away from them. The last time you had zoned out in class because of him, your mood had been soured for the whole following hour. The sound of applause gave you an excuse out of your reverie. The exchange students were being introduced now, stepping onto the stage one by one. They were all polished, confident, and, admittedly, quite impressive.

Utahime elbowed you sharply. “Look at that one!” she hissed, nodding toward a tall boy with striking blond hair and piercing brown eyes.

You blinked. “Looks like he walked out of a painting.”

“Exactly,” she said, smirking. “He’s perfect for you.”

You groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

Utahime ignored you entirely, listing off reasons why he’d make a great boyfriend: “Smart, handsome, probably good at magic—”

“Definitely better at cactus transfiguration,” you muttered, earning a snort of laughter from her.

Meanwhile, Satoru had twisted around in his seat, craning his neck to see what the commotion was about. When his eyes landed on you and Utahime, his expression soured slightly. He didn’t like being left out, and it was written all over his face.

“Who’s better at cactus transfiguration?” He suddenly appeared behind you.

“None of your business,” Utahime shot back, sticking her tongue out.

“Wow, mature,” Satoru deadpanned.

The assembly droned on, with each exchange student introducing themselves in turn. You tried to pay attention, really, but your mind kept wandering. Utahime’s ridiculous matchmaking schemes. Satoru’s infuriatingly perfect smile. The girl’s earlier meltdown. It was all swirling together into a chaotic mess of emotions you didn’t have the energy to untangle.

Finally, the headmaster wrapped up his speech with a flourish. “Let’s give our guests a warm welcome!” he declared, prompting another round of applause.

As the crowd began to disperse, Utahime grabbed your arm again. “Come on, let’s go talk to him!”

“To who?” you asked, bewildered. “The blond-haired guy, obviously!”

“Absolutely not,” you said, digging your heels into the ground.

But before you could argue further, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Leaving without saying hi? Rude.”

You turned to find Satoru standing behind you still, his trademark grin firmly in place.

Utahime groaned. “Go away, Gojo.”

“Can’t. I’m here to rescue my friend from your matchmaking madness,” he said, draping an arm over your shoulder.

You tried to shrug him off, but he held on tight, his presence annoyingly comforting.

“Why do you care?” Utahime shot back.

Satoru’s grin widened, but his tone was surprisingly serious. “Because she doesn’t need some random guy when she’s got me.”

He tugged you away, leaving Utahime fuming in his wake.

“Thanks for the save,” you mumbled once you were out of earshot.

“Anytime,” Satoru said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice you couldn’t quite place. “And besides, didn’t want you to end up with an annoying mother—”

You raised an eyebrow at him. Did he forget he was in a royal school where all the students and teachers were high-class nobles and the mere mention of vocabulary outside of the poshed-up ones exclusively for the rich would make him an infamous wreck in everyone’s eyes?

He caught your eye and continued, “—trucker.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The dining table was as extravagant as ever, its polished surface reflecting the golden glow of the chandelier overhead. Plates were neatly arranged, and bowls of steaming food were placed in a perfect line down the centre. Mother sat at the head of the table, her posture so upright it made your back ache just looking at her. Across from her sat Father, whose stern expression was an almost permanent fixture at meals.

You occupied your usual spot, tucked between Satoru and his mother, a position that felt both safe and stifling. Satoru, of course, lounged in his chair as if it were a throne, pushing peas around his plate with one chopstick, clearly uninterested in the discussion at hand. It was peaceful and calm. But as soon as Satoru’s father set down his chopsticks, you knew this tranquillity wouldn’t last.

“Satoru,” his father began.

Satoru didn’t even look up, lazily poking at his food. “Uh oh. Here we go.”

“Don’t start,” his mother said sharply, and Satoru sighed dramatically, dropping his chopsticks like they were too heavy to hold.

“Fine. What is it this time? Did someone see me napping in class? Because, for the record, I was listening with my eyes closed.”

“Your instructor tells me your theoretical scores are excellent, as expected,” Satoru’s mother began, her sharp gaze sweeping across the table to land on him. “But your duel with Suguru during last week’s practice was... undisciplined.”

Satoru shrugged, not bothering to look up. “It’s not my fault Suguru got cocky.”

His father’s goblet hit the plate with a sharp clink. “And whose fault is it that you refuse to follow proper form? You’re not dueling for fun, Satoru. These exercises are meant to sharpen your skills for real combat.”

You could feel the tension grow, so you instinctively focused on the rice in your bowl. Satoru, however, leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.

“Real combat isn’t about sticking to the rulebook,” he said lazily, resting an arm on the back of your chair. “It’s about adaptability.”

“That is not an excuse to showboat,” his mother snapped. “You might think you’re untouchable, but arrogance will get you killed one day.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes — irritation, maybe, or defiance — but he masked it with a grin. “Not likely.”

“Only because you’re naturally talented,” his mother interjected coldly. “Talent will only carry you so far, Satoru. You lack discipline, respect, and—”

“Manners,” his father finished, glaring at him.

His mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “All we’re trying to make you understand is, this isn’t a joke, Satoru. You’re supposed to be the strongest, and yet you’re constantly underperforming. Meanwhile, look at her.” She gestured to you, and your heart sank.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

“Look at her,” his mother repeated. “Top marks in every subject, excellent dueling reports, and the teachers can’t stop praising. Why can’t you be more like her?”

Satoru threw up his hands. “Because she’s a robot! Have you seen her handwriting? It’s terrifying!”

“I just have neat handwriting,” you mumbled defensively.

“Neat? It’s like a calligraphy competition on every page,” Satoru said, jabbing a chopstick at you. “She probably practices writing spells for fun.”

“She’s perfect,” his father said firmly, as if it were an unshakable fact of the universe.

“Exactly my point!” Satoru exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “How am I supposed to compete with that?!”

“You’ve been doing wonderfully,” his mother interrupted warmly, and you almost choked on your water. She reached to kiss your forehead and you felt fuzzy all over.

“Really?” you said hopefully.

“Yes,” his father agreed, nodding. “We’re very impressed with your progress. And your last dueling performance was flawless. Keep it up.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s it? No lecture about being even better? No existential guilt trip?”

“She doesn’t need one,” his mother said simply.

“She’s already self-motivated,” his father added.

Satoru gawked at them, then at you. “Wait, are you seriously not going to roast her? Not even a little?”

His mother held up a hand to silence the banter. “Enough. We’re not here to discuss her. We’re here to discuss you and your inability to take anything seriously.”

“I take plenty of things seriously!” Satoru protested.

“Name one,” his father challenged.

Satoru opened his mouth, paused, then pointed to you. “Her.”

You nearly choked on your rice. “What?!”

“See? I take her academic success very seriously,” he continued smoothly. “She’s basically my tutor at this point. Without her, I’d probably be failing food transfiguration.”

“Food transfiguration is not the metric for success,” his father said dryly, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“And yet, it’s a class!” Satoru shot back. “A class I pass, thanks to her.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Never,” Satoru said cheerfully, ruffling your hair like you were a pet.

The room went silent for a beat, and then his father muttered, “Pass the rice.”

You couldn’t help but snort, quickly covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. Satoru’s grin widened, clearly taking your reaction as a victory.

“I’m serious about the food transfiguration, though,” he whispered to you as the conversation shifted. “You saved me from flunking that one.”

“By telling you to stop turning the chicken into a dinosaur?” you whispered back, rolling your eyes.

“Exactly. Genius advice.” Satoru sighed, slumping dramatically. "I swear, if I weren’t so charming, I’d be useless."

“You are,” you replied, teasing him with a grin.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The foreign exchange students filed into the classroom. You hadn’t met any of them yet, but the instant you saw a giggling pack of girls, dressed in a way that clearly screamed “I’m a tourist, please give me attention,” take seats scattered around the room, you knew this would be a long class. They were chatting loudly, condescending smiles on their faces and prissy postures to back it up. One of them locked eyes with you and stood up.

The girl scanned the room, perhaps trying to find something to shift the attention of the bustling and noisy class to her. Sitting beside you, Geto didn’t even flinch as the girl cleared her throat loudly. You could feel it. She was about to open her mouth.

And open it she did.

“Do you guys feel,” she addressed her fellow exchange people, “that the culture here is a bit… Well, I don’t know what you'd call it. Primitive, I guess? It’s like they just dug it up from some ancient ruins," she said, waving a hand dismissively, as if she were talking about a dusty artefact. “This whole— uhm— ‘honour’ thing? So outdated. I didn’t find any such codes on how to behave in the culture of the South, or the West, or the South-West. Maybe it is because the people here still need to be taught manners, I suppose.”

The other students, contrary to what she had hoped, didn’t pay any attention to her. They didn’t seem to have heard her, because if they had… well, all of them were from noble clans, of course they would have a problem with it.

The girl didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“You there!” She screeched at you, coming to a halt in front of your desk after pacing around like she was delivering an important lecture. “I heard you’re the top student. Representative, or something, they told me. Like—” she turned to face you more directly, suddenly noticing the lack of a surname on your badge “—wow, you don’t even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?”

You flushed. Most of the students were tactful enough to not point that out to you, and if they did, they would return with a bruise soon after, credit to Satoru. But Satoru was in the hospital wing right now, and thankfully so, because you didn’t want him making a scene here in the middle of your Charms class. Geto’s fingers brushed lightly against your arm; he was trying to calm you down. He didn’t need to say anything; you already knew what he was thinking.

Shoko, sitting in front of you, shifted in her seat. Her fingers twitched toward her coat pocket, and you could swear you felt a chill run down your spine at the look she had on her face. Shoko’s glare was murderous, and her hand slowly moved to her doctor’s tools — just a few inches away from hurling them at the girl’s smug face.

“Don’t bother,” Geto murmured under his breath. “Let her go on. She’s not worth the energy.” His eyes never left you as he spoke, a detached smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ignore her, Shoko.”

The girl leaned on your desk as you continued to determinedly stare at a spot on your notebook

“Oh, but wait,” she continued haughtily, “you must’ve been a mistake. I mean, the Gojo clan leaders, right? They couldn’t possibly have any sense of judgement, could they? Considering who their son is, who he’s raised by. They probably just took in anyone, huh? Just to fill the numbers. I bet they didn’t even care to see if you had any real worth.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geto interrupted her calmly, his smile widening, a maddenned look in his eyes. “If you don’t stop right now, you might have to deal with a curse or two, because I’m not exactly one to be afraid of duelling in front of teachers.”

Alina was unfazed, leaning back in her chair with a smirk plastered across her face. “Oh, I so do. You can’t silence me. The Gojo clan is only famous because they have money and influence — nothing more.” She leaned forward again, her eyes narrowing. “And the leaders? They’re a joke. All that power, and they still let their precious son — what’s his name? Satoru? —play around like the child he is. Tell me, do you ever wonder if he’s actually good for anything besides being the ‘chosen one?’ Or is it just another piece of their precious family’s empire?”

No.

That was it.

You snapped. Your body moved before your brain could catch up. Pulling out your wand from your pocket, you let the cold tip touch her throat. The girl immediately shut up, caught off guard and not having the time to reach her own wand, which was kept on the table her friends were sitting at.

“What’s wrong? Can’t speak? I’d love to hear more from that croak of a voice you possess. Please, go on with your pathetic guesses about my lineage.”

“Don’t,” Geto warned, but you were too blinded by the ringing echo of her words about your family. Shoko was already gripping the side of her desk, looking like she wanted to step in.

“You want me to speak more?” The girl said. “I can speak more. Because I know what you are. I would have felt sorry for you if you weren’t so stuck up though. As they say, no power, no future.”

Before you could retort, or even say a quick charm to freeze her throat so it snapped in half, the door flew open, and a voice interrupted your anger.

"Both of you, in my office. Now."

It was the teacher, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, clearly fed up. Without missing a beat, you spun on your heel, flicking a glance at Geto and Shoko.

──── ୨ৎ ────

It was oddly quiet in the headmaster’s office. You sat alone at the desk, gloves pulled snug over your hands, a rag in one and a half-polished trophy in the other. The cleaning did little to distract you from the frustration you felt.

The headmaster’s words still rang in your ears: “Detention builds character, and perhaps a lesson in self-control will serve you well.”

Self-control. As if it was your fault someone had insulted your family.

The soft creak of the door interrupted your thoughts. You stilled, expecting the headmaster to return and scold you for slacking off. Instead, a familiar white head of hair peeked around the doorframe.

"What the—" you hissed. "Are you insane? If someone catches you here—"

“Wow. You, of all people, getting detention?”

Satoru leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk on his face.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Came to pick you up,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Kuro was freaking out because he didn’t know why we weren’t at the gates, so I told him to head home without us.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Relax. He’s used to me pulling stuff like this.” Satoru strolled into the room, glancing around with mild interest before his eyes landed on the pile of trophies waiting to be polished. “So... what’s the story? Did you finally snap and hex someone?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophy in front of you. “Shouldn’t you be hiding somewhere? I mean, you’re not supposed to be here after school.”

“Oh, I’m cutting it. I figured detention with you would be more fun.”

You ignored him, hoping he’d get bored and leave, but Satoru was never one to take a hint. He perched on the edge of the desk beside you.

“Come on,” he said, nudging your arm lightly. “Tell me what happened.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. Just... a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s all you’re giving me?”

You stayed silent, scrubbing furiously at a nonexistent smudge on the trophy. But your hands were shaking slightly, and he noticed.

His teasing expression softened. “Hey,” he said quietly, leaning closer and nuzzling your hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you said quickly, but the crack in your voice betrayed you. You cursed under your breath, setting the trophy down harder than you intended.

“Right,” Satoru said dryly. “You know lying is a sin, right?”

Before you could stop him, he reached out and plucked the rag from your hand. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a firm look.

“Enough,” he said, tossing the rag onto the desk. He grabbed your hands, tugging the gloves off gently, his touch warm and steady against your cold fingers.

“Satoru, what are you—”

“Helping,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your breath hitching slightly as he held your hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Gotten detention, I mean.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away. “I didn’t even do much. I just threatened her, ‘s all—”

“I know,” he said. “But you didn’t have to stand up for me like that.”

“Yes, I did.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. “She had no right to talk about your family like that. Or mine,” you added quietly.

Satoru’s expression softened, and he sighed, letting go of your hands only to pull you into a hug. Your breath stopped. It was so sudden and unexpected, but his arms around you were so warm and secure, and for a moment, you forgot just how cold the office was.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair. “For putting us first.”

You swallowed hard, your face pressed against his shoulder. You could feel his heartbeat. His vanilla scent filled your nostrils, and you couldn’t help but sigh at the sensation.

Just what were you feeling?

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. The gesture was so gentle, so unexpected, that it sent a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps prickled along your arms, and your breath caught in your throat. Eyes widening on his chest.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. He studied your face for a moment, his gaze searching, before giving you a small, crooked smile.

“Alright there?” he asked softly.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. His smile widened, and he gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

“Good,” he said, picking up your gloves and the rag you had abandoned. “Because I think it’s my turn to polish these things. You’ve done enough.”

You blinked at him, confused. “You can’t just—”

“Too late.” He waved the rag dramatically, grinning. “Go sit down and relax. Perfect students need to take a break to be imperfect once in a while.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off, already humming to himself as he began scrubbing.

──── ୨ৎ ────

You sat with your detention homework in your garden after the headmaster had insisted on giving you some more ‘punishments’ for letting Satoru in his office. On the stone bench, you glared at the crumpled detention slip in your hands. The words from earlier still rang in your ears.

Wow, you don’t even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?

You must've been a mistake

The nerve of that girl, whatever her name was. She had no right to talk like that. But as much as you hated to admit it, her words dug deep. Why didn’t you have the surname? Why were you even here?

You sighed, staring down at your hands, throwing the slip away and watching it skid between bushes. The gate creaked, pulling you from your thoughts. Satoru’s mother stepped into the garden. She always seemed to know when something was wrong.

She smiled warmly as she approached. “Trouble at school?”

You let out a small huff, tossing the detention homework onto the bench. “Some girl decided to remind me I don’t belong here,” you muttered. “She’s not wrong. I mean, I don’t even have your family name. I’m just... here.”

Her expression softened, and she sat down beside you. “Suguru told me it was someone from the Kamo clan. She said that, did she?”

You nodded. “She made it sound like I’m just some random stray you all picked up out of pity.”

A shadow flickered across her face, but she stayed silent for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. Then she sighed softly and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “You don’t carry the Gojo surname yet because... you aren’t meant to. One day, you will.”

You were confused. “One day? What are you talking about?”

Her gaze softened further, and she reached for your hand. “You’re not here because of pity. You’re here because I care for you deeply. You’re family to me. And... well, you’re engaged, my dear. To Satoru.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap. “Engaged?” you whispered.

She nodded gently. “It was my decision. Not to strengthen ties or fulfill some tradition — I couldn’t bear the thought of marrying you off to anyone else. You’re important to me, and to this family. No one else would cherish you the way you deserve. No one else would love you the way I know he can.”

Your head was spinning. Engaged? To Satoru? The same Satoru who stole your dessert, teased you relentlessly, and drove you up the wall with his arrogance?

“Does he know?” you managed to ask.

A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. “Not yet. I’m waiting for the right time to tell him. You know how he is — he’d probably react with some ridiculous joke or dismiss it entirely without thinking it through.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You mean I’m supposed to sit on this bombshell while he’s running around like an overgrown child?”

She chuckled softly, reaching over to pat your shoulder. “It’s not so bad. You’ve already grown close to him, haven’t you?”

Close. You couldn’t deny it. In the past few years, you had gone from tolerating his antics to — well, something. The butterflies in your stomach betrayed you every time he smiled or stood too close.

But this? This was too much.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked weakly, peeking through your fingers.

“I wanted you to have time to figure out your feelings without the weight of this hanging over you,” she admitted. “And... I wasn’t entirely sure when you’d be ready to hear it. But seeing you upset, questioning your place here, I couldn’t keep it from you any longer. Forgive me, darling.” She stood then. “You’re exactly where you’re meant to be,” she said gently. “Never let anyone make you doubt that.”

And with that, she disappeared back into the house, leaving you alone with the truth.

Engaged. To Satoru.

The butterflies in your stomach weren’t just fluttering now—they were staging a full-on rebellion. You let out a groan, slumping back against the bench.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Over a year had passed. The two of you were turning seventeen the next year, and with the increase in your age, the load of schoolwork increased too. The School of Royalty had seen so many changes. They were rebuilding the duelling grounds and organising even more clubs than before. Girls were mysteriously beginning to drop out of school, and you didn’t want to know why. There were less than ten girls in your class of fifty, and you figured this number would reduce even more as women in nobility were hurriedly married off to distant kingdoms, forced to give up their education to serve as a showpiece for the men to flaunt.

You were thankful the Gojo clan saw you as more than that, or you wouldn’t have been in the same class as your friends this year. You couldn’t bear not seeing Utahime, Shoko, Suguru and of course, Satoru.

Satoru.

The one you had realized you didn’t want if he wasn’t looking at you at all times, if he wasn’t talking to you at all times, or cracking jokes to you at all times. The one you had realized you wanted more of, more than what the two of you are now, more than what you two have ever been, more than friends, more than best friends; you wanted him more than anything in the world. Him, him, him, him. You wanted his eyes on you, his hands on you. You wanted everything about him. Everything. Every single thing—

“Hey, you alive?” His voice snapped you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh yeah.”

“I was saying,” he pulled a girl towards him by her hands and she landed on his chest with a dull thump. “This is Alina.”

You stared at her. Triumphant looking face, lips giggling into the broad layer of his front.

Wait.Wasn’t she—?

“You might remember her,” Satoru pressed. You did. Vividly.

Oh.

“She needs some duelling practice apparently, so she’s gonna be watching us from there,” he points at the stands. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay,” you said in a voice you didn’t know you owned. The words felt so heavy on your tongue, as if it was an entirely different person speaking them. 

“Great, thanks,” he ushered the girl back to the stands and leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead again. You blinked.

Oh, no, he didn’t see it like that at all.To him, it was just a gesture he had grown used to doing. Yeah.

You stood across from him on the training field, your stance ready and tense. The sunlight was bright today, almost too bright, and you didn’t know if it was the heat or the sudden emptiness you felt. Satoru smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You ready?” he asked, voice nonchalant. It wasn’t the usual teasing edge. The spark was missing.

You nodded.

“I’ve got you today, Gojo,” you tried making the dumb jokes he used to make. You weren’t sure if it was working, but you tried anyway.

The sparring session started, but something felt wrong. Satoru’s movements were slower than usual, his focus elsewhere. He kept glancing at the stands from time to time, as if trying to see if she was watching him. He didn’t block your attack in time, letting you knock him down with ease.

“You alright?” You bent down to help him up, but he just waved you off, a tight smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Just… tired, I guess,” he shrugged, avoiding your eyes.

Alina came running down the stands, her hands clutched on her chest, fussing over him while he waved her off too, getting up.

“Another one?” “No, thank you.”

That was the first time you had ever said no to him.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Later that week, you walked into the cafeteria, hoping to find Utahime and grab a quick meal before your History class. You were halfway into the queue before you realized Utahime had Charms class right now. After all, she was a senior of yours; she would have more schoolwork than you. So you were about to take the tray you got to one of the empty tables alone, hoping to find someone else.

And you did find someone. Satoru sat across from Alina as comfortable as ever. They looked like they were on a date. Was this why he had skipped a class he had with you?

“Oh, hey,” he greeted you when you approached, but his voice lacked its usual warmth. There was a coolness in it, like he wasn’t really there.

The girl’s voice broke into the silence, bright and too eager. “I was just telling Satoru about how I’m finally starting to get the hang of wand control now. I know he’s been busy with other stuff, but he’s still managed to help me out.”

You felt the hairs on your neck prickle.

“That's great,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “I'm sure Satoru is happy to help.”

You tried to keep your expression even as you sat down on their table. Wrong choice. Satoru, oblivious or indifferent, didn’t seem to notice any sort of tension in the air. He smiled, nodding along to whatever the girl was saying, while you forced a smile and picked at your food.

You felt like an outsider.

──── ୨ৎ ────

That same week, after a banquet of the noble families held at the Gojo clan’s immaculate residence, you were walking alone towards the girls’ dorms when you overheard two voices seemingly arguing calmly. You pressed an ear onto the door hiding the people.

“You don’t seem to realize your Alina is the same girl who was insulting your own family,” Suguru was saying. “She got us into trouble too. You weren’t there so you don’t know how bad she talked about—”

“I know she’s not like how she was before,” Satoru interrupted loudly. “And I know you guys still have a problem with her, but you’ve got to trust me, okay? She’s changed.”

Your heart sank. “Changed?” Suguru repeated bitterly. “Really? After everything she said about the Gojo clan?”

He didn’t reply right away, but when he finally spoke, it was with that soft, almost apologetic tone.

“I get it. I really do. But she’s… trying, okay? She’s not the same person.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. You felt numb all over. Uprooting one leg from your position, you walked backwards, away from your heartbreak.

“I don’t know if I can believe that, Satoru. Not after everything she did.” “I know, but please. Try, for me?”

Your back hit the pillar and you stopped. Slowly lifting feet one after the other, you walked. You didn’t know where you were walking to, but you just walked. You didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that he was asking you to trust her, or the fact that you wanted to — because you trusted him so much.

“There you are!” Utahime caught up to you. “Where did you go? How can you get lost in your own house—” You lifted your face up to her, and she looked taken aback. She inhaled, wiping tears you never realized started falling after stinging your eyes so bad, and she asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Utahime—” your voice broke.

──── ୨ৎ ────

You were walking down the school halls, your mind preoccupied with your own thoughts as you made your way to the classroom. The noise of chatter and the shuffle of students faded into the background, making you realize you were starting to zone out again. You seemed to do that a lot these days.

“And I just know it will be you!” Alina’s voice cut through, syrupy, too sweet to be sincere. You froze, stopping behind a pillar. They were standing conveniently near the same path you had to cross to get to your class. Great. Now you had to bite back any snide remarks you had because poor Satoru would be upset if you didn’t.

You peeked out. Alina was leaning against the wall, her laughter light and airy as she spoke to Satoru, who was right beside her, looking at her with that familiar, careless smile he used to reserve for you, one that you had now grown to hate.

You could hear her complimenting him, the way she laughed too loudly at every word of his. “Oh, Satoru, your technique today was amazing, as always! I honestly don’t know just how you do it.” Her tone was sugary, and you cringed. You wanted to look away, but something held you in place, as if some invisible force was gripping you to that spot, making you watch the scene in front of you with red eyes and darkness underneath them.

Then you heard his voice. “Come on, Alina, you’re making me blush,” he chuckled playfully. He was oblivious, as usual (or maybe he wasn’t, and he truly trusted this woman more than his friends). But you weren’t. You noticed how her hands lingered on his arm a little too long, how her fingers curled around his sleeve possessively.

You couldn’t breathe.

You turned, hoping to slip past unnoticed, but of course, she caught sight of you. There was a flicker of something dark in her eyes before she forced a smile onto her face, calling out in that voice that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, hey!” she chirped, calling out your name. “You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

The words hit you like a slap. You were caught between disbelief and anger. How dare she speak to you like that? You glanced at Satoru, hoping he would interject, but he didn’t. He was too busy focusing his attention on her like a complete idiot.

You looked down at the floor, clenching your teeth. “You can have him,” you muttered. You didn’t want to show her how much it hurt, but it was all too clear in your voice and actions.

Alina’s smile faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, are you sure?” she said, “I’m sure Satoru wouldn’t mind at all. He’s such a generous guy.”

You could hear her subtle challenge, the way she was almost daring you to react. But you didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, you straightened up, forcing the words out with a calmness you didn’t feel.

“I’m sure,” you said simply. Not waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away as quickly as you could, your heart pounding in your chest.

Behind you, you could feel her eyes on your back, but you refused to turn around.

You hated her. You hated the way she acted so confident. You hated how she was so entitled. And you hated how Satoru, in all his charm and glory, refused to hear a word against her; how he couldn’t see the way she was trying to wedge herself between not only the two of you but also your entire friend group.

It was always this way, wasn’t it? The more you wanted him, the farther he seemed to slip out of reach.

──── ୨ৎ ────

After a three hour long soak in your bathtub, you decided it was time to go back into your room without anyone noticing. You spent most of your time hiding away from everyone; your parents, your servants, and him anyway, so you doubted anyone would miss you. With a sigh, you wore your nightdress and pushed your bedroom door open.

Satoru was sitting on your bed, his chin in his palms as he stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought and waiting for you to return. The moment you walked in, his gaze snapped to you, and the tension in the room tripled.

“You’re back,” he said. There was something in his voice — you couldn’t point out what exactly it was, but you didn’t like how it made you feel.

“What are you doing in my room?” The words came out harsher than you had intended them to be.

He didn’t answer right away; just sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face before standing up and facing you fully. “Why are you always so mean to her?” His voice was quieter now, more frustrated than usual.

You blinked, taken aback. "Mean to whom?" you asked, trying to play dumb.

“Alina,” he said. “Why do you always treat her like that?”

You controlled the urge to roll your eyes, though you knew Satoru expected you to. You wanted to scream, but you held it back, just barely. “Oh, you mean the girl who’s been constantly hovering around you? The one who acts like she owns you?” You crossed your arms defensively. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to cheer her on and clap for every little thing she does.”

Satoru scoffed, taking his face in his hands before looking up again. “You don’t have to be so cold all the time! Can’t you just try to get along with her? She’s changed. Why can’t you just see that?”

“Changed?” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at his innocence. “She’s the same girl who insulted your family. She insulted everything you stand for, everything you care about, and you think she’s changed? Are you seriously that blind?”

His eyes darkened, and he gritted his teeth. “You’re always so hung up on the past! Why can’t you just move on?”

You shot him a look, disbelief swirling in your chest. “Move on?” Your voice was shaking with the effort of holding back everything you wanted to say. “Why is it that you’re the only person who sees that she has changed? Why is it that everyone else around you swears she hasn’t?”

Satoru didn’t respond right away. Then, he took a deep breath in, as if it was taking every bone in his body to control his emotions to hit you at that very moment. “Why do you care so much? Why can’t you just give her a chance?” he asked, almost pleading with you.

You stared at him for a moment too long. “Because,” you bit back, “She’s using you. And you’re too caught up in your own world to even see it.”

He took a step toward you, voice rising now. “That’s not true! She’s not using me! She—”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “You don’t get it, do you?” You were shouting now. “She is using you, Satoru! And I’m the one who’s supposed to stand here and watch while you defend her? While you act like she’s some saint who’s done nothing wrong?”

Satoru’s patience snapped, and his expression hardened. He couldn’t stand anymore of you making assumptions about her anymore. “You don’t even belong in this house! Why do you think you have a say in anything I’m doing? You’re not even part of this!” He took a step toward you, his eyes dark with anger, a final insult.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The blood drained from your face as everything came crashing down around you.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even look at him. You felt your heart shatter into a thousand pieces in your chest.

Satoru’s expression faltered, but it was too late now.

“Leave,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

He hesitated for a second, looking like he wanted to say something more. But he didn’t. With a sharp breath, he turned and walked toward the door.

The second the door slammed shut behind him, you collapsed onto your bed, your hands clutching at the sheets as sobs wracked your body. You cried harder than you ever had before — louder, deeper, until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest ached with every gasp, every sob, the pain of his words echoing in your mind.

You don’t even belong in this house!

He was right.

You don’t even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch?

She was right.

It is the spawn of Satan himself!

They were all right, all absolutely right, weren’t they?

Come with me, daughter.

It was a lie.

You know I won’t leave you.

Lie.

She doesn’t need some random guy when she’s got me.

Lie, lie, lie!

You know lying is a sin, right?

You clutched your chest hard. You didn’t know how long you cried, but when the tears finally stopped, all that remained was emptiness. A hollow space where something you had always held onto seemed to disappear.

──── ୨ৎ ────

“What are you doing here?” you asked coldly.

He shrugged, his usual smirk flickering to life. “Just passing by.”

“Passing by my room?” you shot back, though your voice was devoid of any emotion.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Maybe… I wanted to talk.”

“What do you want?”

He hesitated, just for a moment, before forcing a laugh. “I don’t know. How are the studies? Still out to prove you’re the best in the room?”

Your expression didn’t change, and the awkwardness between you grew even more.

“Also,” he chuckled nervously, “what did you say to Utahime? I was almost killed thrice in the last two days.”

“If you don’t have anything important to say, Gojo, move.” You stepped past him, unlocking your door. You had begun locking it since the incident that night, to avoid him sneaking in when you were away and to avoid anyone walking in on you bawling your eyes out, trying to drown the repetitive voices in your head with theories about spells and charms.

“Why are you being like this?” His voice stopped you. He paused, watching you fiddle with the lock, clearly taking the hesitating actions as a cue to continue. “Like… like you don’t care.” His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, they weren’t the Satoru you knew. There was no smugness, no teasing — just guilt.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “You’re imagining things,” you said, pushing the door open.

“Am I?” His tone sharpened, and he took a step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You won’t even look at me.”

“Maybe I have nothing to say to you,” you replied, turning to him to see his expression one last time before sorrow overtook your senses again.

His shoulders were stiffened, and for the first time this night, he couldn’t meet your gaze.

“That’s what I thought,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You know exactly why, Satoru. You just don’t want to admit it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you said, slamming the door in his face before he could say anything else.

The silence that followed was deafening, and on the other side of the door, he lingered. You waited, holding your breath as you leaned against the wood, but no sound came.

And just like that, the distance between you grew wider.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Your school year was nearing the end, and summer was around the corner. The days before that had been a blur. You had avoided Satoru like the plague, throwing yourself deeper into your books and classes. Even your classmates had noticed the change, though none dared to bring it up to your face.

Except for Shoko.

“Are you okay?” she asked one afternoon, cornering you in the library.

“I’m fine,” you lied, not looking up from your Curses: A Guide to Identify the Weakness book.

“No, you’re not.” She pulled up a chair, crossing her arms as she stared at you. “You’re avoiding him, he’s avoiding everyone, and the rest of us are stuck in the middle of whatever this is.”

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

She groaned, leaning back in her chair. “You’re lucky this is me and not Utahime. Just so you know, he sent a message.”

That caught your attention. Slowly, you closed your book and looked at her. “What message?”

“He said he’s done with Alina,” Shoko said softly. “Said he wouldn’t talk to her anymore.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked quietly.

“Because,” Shoko said, standing up, “you’re both being stupid. And I’m sick of watching my friends tear themselves apart over something that could be fixed with one honest conversation.”

“Honest conversation?” you repeated bitterly. “What’s there to say? He made his priorities clear, Shoko.”

“Did he?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Or did you just decide that for him because you’re too scared to hear what he actually thinks?”

Your jaw tightened. “You weren’t there, Shoko. You didn’t hear the things he said.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t. But I’ve seen how miserable he’s been these past few weeks,” she countered. “He won’t say it, but he’s been beating himself up about it. He knows he messed up.”

“And what about me?!” you snapped, your voice harsher than you intended. “I’m supposed to just forget everything? Pretend like I wasn’t the one he hurt?”

Shoko sighed, her expression softening. “No. But you’re not giving him a chance to make it right. He’s been trying to talk to you — hell, he even took all the hits heroically when Utahime nearly ripped him apart.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Utahime — what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shoko said. “She had a few choice words for him. Might’ve included running him over by her carriage horses. Not my place to repeat them, but let’s just say she wasn’t thrilled with how he handled things.”

Despite yourself, a small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Good for her.”

“Look,” Shoko said, softening her tone again, “you don’t have to forgive him right away. But at least talk to him. He’s done with Alina, and it’s obvious you’re not over him. Don’t let this thing between you two fester any longer.”

You stared at her for a long moment, her words sinking in despite the stubborn walls you’d built around yourself. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally.

“Good,” Shoko said with a satisfied nod. “Just… don’t take too long. We’re not kids forever, you know.”

──── ୨ৎ ────

The knock on Satoru’s bedroom door felt louder than you intended. You had rehearsed this moment in your mind a dozen times already. What were you supposed to say again?

Hey. It’s me. Haha.

No no no. Hey, how have you been?

No, ugh. Hey, nice weather?

Still, when the door opened and his bright blue eyes met yours, every word you had prepared seemed to vanish. The two of you only stared at each other, he in surprise and you in embarrassment.

“Hey,” he said, trying to break the silence.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretched between you for a moment before he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. You did, though your fingers fidgeted nervously at your sides.

The room looked messy. The bedsheets were sprawled around as if he had been tossing and turning all night earlier. The curtains were closed so the room was in utter darkness. Yet, you needed no amount of light to see the look of sleep-deprivation he carried on his face.

Was it because of you? Because you had acted this way? Was it because he was regretting what he said to you earlier (he should, a voice in your head said, but you pushed it away)? Or was he failing his classes again? His stream was different from yours so you couldn’t meet him in school either. Or was it perhaps because of—

“I was—” you both started at the same time, cutting each other off awkwardly.

You let out a breathy laugh, and for the first time in weeks, his lips pulled upward, a glimmer of the boy you knew. “You first,” he offered, stepping closer.

“I was going to say that I…” Your words faltered as he reached for your hand. His fingers, warm and tentative, brushed yours before interlocking gently. “Oh. Wow.” He smiled at you, pulling you closer to kiss the top of your head. “I missed this,” you admitted finally, your voice breaking slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, softer than you had expected him to be. “For everything. For being such a—”

A sudden knock interrupted him, and a servant’s voice called from the hall. “Young Master, Miss — Madam requests your presence in the meeting room immediately.”

Satoru groaned under his breath, but you let go of his hand, smiling as well now. “We’ll talk later,” you murmured, turning to leave.

The Gojo clan’s meeting room was one thing, but the Gojo family’s meeting room felt even more imposing. High ceilings, ornate woodwork, and an air of superiority — that was the only way anyone could describe it. Mother and Father sat at the head of the low table, their expressions unreadable.

“You’re here,” his father said. He gestured for you and Satoru to sit, and you did, sitting in a formal position with your hands on your knees, feet touching the soft pillow under you. His mother only nodded at both of you. “We’ve received an invitation from the Kamo Clan.”

Kamo Clan? You had read about a legend of theirs in your history class. A man who had dropped himself to the bottom of the hells indulging with curses to create powerful heirs. The Kamo Clan had an awful reputation — ancient, powerful, and, if rumours were to be believed, sinister.

Beside you, you felt Satoru stiffen, and whisper only one word.

“Alina?”

Of course! How could you have forgotten that? The girl who had been plaguing your school ever since she set foot in it was Kamo Alina. Suddenly, what his father said didn’t matter anymore. The way his mother was staring between you and him didn’t matter anymore. What was about to happen in his room that time didn’t matter.

“The banquet,” Satoru’s father continued, and it took a lot of effort from you to keep listening, “is an exclusive gathering of noble families from across the globe. It will take place in the south, and attendance is mandatory for representatives of our house.”

You gathered the courage to steal a glance at Satoru’s expression. The look on his face was enough to tell you he wasn’t surprised by the connection. He knew. He had known it all this time. Your hands curled into fists under the table, your nails biting into your palms, probably leaving marks too.

His mother’s voice said coolly. “Prepare yourselves. You’ll leave at the end of the week. Dismissed.”

You didn’t wait for Satoru as you stood abruptly, your pillow gliding across the floor. You made your way back to your room, trying not to look back at his face, but you didn’t make it far before he caught up with you.

“Wait!” He grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. “It’s not what you think.”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him. “It’s not what I think? Really, Gojo? Because I think you lied to me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You said you weren’t in contact with her!” you snapped.

“I’m not! This isn’t me — it’s her family. They’re the ones—”

“Oh, so her family conveniently sends in an invitation to us to attend their stupid gathering at somehow the right time?”

“I don’t know? Look,” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, not at you, no, but at that darn family. “I told you, I’m not in contact with her. That is the truth. I haven’t spoken to her since—”

“Since when?” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Since you told Shoko you were done? Or since you got caught? Because it feels like right now, I’m finding out the actual truth.”

“That is not the truth, please just list—”

“Stop,” you cut him off. You had had enough. “It’s okay. I don’t know why you think I even care. I ‘don’t belong here’, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.

You stepped back, shaking your head with a sigh. “Don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he pleaded, his voice softer now, desperate. But you didn’t look back as you turned and headed for the courtyard, away from him and his stupid, stupid noble traditions.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The journey to the Southern estate was agonisingly long, but then again, you were from the East, and crossing entire landmarks took more than weeks by unruly waters. After the travel on the Gojo estate’s huge ship, your family was met with a stout, snotty man representing the Kamo clan, in charge of dropping you to their estate by comfortable carriages. The carriage rocked back and forth, and the countryside unfolded before you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to appreciate any of it. Your focus remained on the window, your reflection glaring back at you. Anything to avoid looking at him.

Satoru sat beside you, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the carriage floor. The silence was so oppressive it practically screamed at both of you to make up already. His mother sat across from you, but her usual composed expression faltered slightly as she glanced between you and her son.

After what felt like an eternity, Satoru let out an exaggerated sigh, his head lolling back against the seat. "Are you seriously going to do this the whole trip?"

You didn’t move. “Do what?”

“This,” he said, waving a hand vaguely in your direction. “Acting like I don’t exist.”

“I’m not acting,” you replied coldly. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

He bristled at your tone, his foot tapping faster. “Wow. Real mature.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead shifting slightly in your seat to angle yourself even farther away from him. The silence returned, heavier now, and his mother finally cleared her throat, breaking it.

“Is everything all right?” she asked delicately, her eyes lingering on you longer.

“Yes,” you answered quickly, too quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

Her brow lifted slightly, but she said nothing, her gaze darting to her son. He sat rigid, his jaw clenched as he poked his head out of his own window, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Fine,” Satoru muttered after a beat, as if to echo you. His tone was harsh, though he didn’t look at either of you.

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t press further. The realisation seemed to dawn on her that her carefully curated plans for her son’s life — whatever they might be — were starting to crack at the seams.

Satoru’s foot finally stilled, but his irritation hadn’t seemed to disappear yet. After another stretch of unbearable silence, he tried again, his voice softer this time. "Look, I’m not going to apologize for something I didn’t do.”

“Good thing I’m not expecting one, then.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you at least try to meet me halfway here? This is ridiculous.”

You finally turned to look at him. “What’s ridiculous is pretending any of this matters. I shouldn’t even be here, right? So why don’t you just—”

“That’s enough,” his mother cut in, her tone sharper than you had ever heard it. Her gaze pinned you both in place. “We’re almost there. I suggest you both compose yourselves before we arrive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, retreating back into silence, but not before catching the slight smirk on Satoru’s face. It wasn’t amusement, though — it was frustration barely held in check. He didn’t say another word, leaning back against the seat and staring resolutely at the ceiling as the carriage rocked along. You pressed your lips together and turned back to the window.

That was when you saw it.

The estate loomed in the distance, its dark silhouette framed against the dusky sky. It wasn’t grand in the way the Gojo mansion was. No, this place had an oddly familiar air of foreboding. Its high walls and shadowed towers looked like they were whispering secrets and things long forgotten in history. The closer you got, the more a strange chill settled over you, prickling the back of your neck.

Goosebumps ran down your arms as the carriage rolled closer. The gates opened with an almost eerie slowness. There was billowing mist surrounding the entire area, and it made the scene even more creepy. You couldn’t explain it, but something about this place just felt… wrong. It wasn’t just the estate’s imposing presence or the way the evening light seemed to bend around it — it was something you couldn’t place at all.

You felt like something bad, really bad was going to happen here, or perhaps had already happened. A chill ran down your spine when you recalled the pages of absolute horror you had seen attached to the restricted books in your library, and their vibes seemed to match that of this place.

Beside you, Satoru shifted uncomfortably. You glanced at him for a moment and saw that his confident facade had slipped. His eyes lingered on the estate, as if trying to figure out just what it was that made the place seem so uncanny and unreal, like it was something straight out of a horror novel.

As the carriage came to a stop, his mother stepped out first, poised as ever. She didn’t seem fazed by the oppressive air of the place, but then again, she rarely showed any cracks in her demeanour.

You followed, your legs unsteady as they hit the gravel path. The chill hadn’t left you, clung to your skin. Satoru came last, his usual swagger dimmed.

“Remember,” his mother murmured as the servants approached, her voice low and pointed, “appearances are everything. Do try not to embarrass the family.”

You nodded stiffly, but deep down, all you could think about was how much you wanted to leave this place. Sighing and ignoring the tremble of your gut, you held your own hands and entered the estate.

The estate’s grand entrance hall was vast, its high ceilings decorated with intricate wooden carvings that spiralled into ominous shapes. A line of servants stood on either side, their heads bowed low in synchronised precision. “Welcome to the Kamo estate,” they chanted together, their voices echoing.

A servant stepped forward, addressing Satoru’s father (and not batting an eye to his mother) with an apologetic tone. “We regret to inform you that our — that is, the Kamo clan’s — leaders could not greet you in person. Urgent matters required their immediate attention, but they send their sincerest apologies and look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

Satoru’s father met his wife’s eyes, and she nodded curtly, and the servant's eyes widened as if he realised the error he made by ignoring her and addressing only the male leader in your group. “It is of no consequence,” she replied coolly.

As the servants moved to escort you all further inside, you couldn’t help but glance around. The estate was undeniably grand, but there was something cold and uninviting about it. The polished marble floors gleamed under flickering chandeliers, and the thick, musty air clung to your skin. It felt more like a mausoleum than a home.

The servants led you through endless corridors, the silence broken only by the sound of footsteps on stone. Every now and then, you passed ornate doors or shadowy alcoves, each one looking more foreboding than the last. You tried to shake the feeling of being watched, but the creeping sensation never left.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a door, and the servant gestured to it with a bow. “This will be your room,” he said before retreating with the others.

You stepped inside hesitantly. The room was smaller, far removed from where they were escorting Satoru now, and you had a feeling his would be uncomfortably close to Alina’s. The room was smaller, colder, and had an air of neglect, as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Dust coated the surfaces, and the faint scent of damp wood lingered in the air. There were faint scratches on the walls as if someone had clawed at them long ago. The wallpaper had started peeling in places, and the furniture looked untouched, as though someone had decided only yesterday to disturb the fifteen year old cobwebs. The architecture, the layout, even the faint smell of mildew — it was unsettlingly familiar, though you couldn’t quite place why.

Satoru’s mother appeared behind you. She took one look around the room, and her eyebrows twitched into a carefully concealed scowl. “Well,” she said. “This is... quaint, to say the least.”

You turned to face her, unsure of how to respond. She gestured vaguely at the room, the bare walls, the dull, muted colours. “If you find this unsuitable, arrangements can be made. I’m sure a clan as proud as Kamo wouldn’t want their guests to feel...” She paused, her lips curling in distaste, “uncomfortable.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No, mother,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “This is fine.”

Her brow arched, as though she didn’t quite believe you, but she didn’t press. “As you wish,” she said softly, turning on her heel and leaving without another word.

The door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and the silence of the room enveloped you. You exhaled slowly, taking in the sparse furnishings, the musty air. You hated the idea of being a burden, but now, as you sat on the bed, watching it creak loudly, you wondered if you had made a mistake.

Late that night, you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get yourself to sleep.

“One sheep, two sheep, three sheep—”

What would he be doing right now? Was he still upset?

“Fuck, lost count again.” You sighed loudly. This was probably the sixth time you had tried but failed to sleep. All because of him. You closed your eyes tightly to try again.

“One sheep, two sh—”

Shit. Nature’s call.

You widened your eyes and glanced at the door, dreading the thought of stepping out into the pitch-black halls of the manor. Your room didn’t even have a washroom, which seemed absurd for a house of this size and considering who it belonged to. Clenching your jaw, you tried to distract yourself from the pressure in your bladder by examining the room, but there was nothing to look at. No paintings, no books, no trinkets — just plain walls and dull furniture.

With a sigh, you finally pushed yourself up, deciding to find a maid to help you find the washroom. You lit a candelabrum sitting next to your bed to help you navigate the area. The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows across the walls. You tried to stay calm, but every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made you jump. 

You walked, and walked, and walked. The layout of the house was like a maze in itself, and every turn seemed to lead to another identical hallway. Within the span of minutes, you found yourself descending a set of stairs you didn’t remember seeing before.

The air grew colder. The scent of damp stone and decay was thick in your nostrils. You paused at the bottom of the staircase, realizing with a jolt of horror that you were in what looked like the basement of the manor. The little light coming from your candles barely illuminated the space.

A wave of nausea hit you. The place smelled like dead rats, but somehow, despite your lack of sight in the room, a lot of scenes seemed to cross your mind. Shadows in the halls. Muffled screams. The overwhelming fear of being dragged into this very basement to be punished for something you couldn’t understand. Your eyes caught on the walls, and you lifted your candelabrum up and stepped closer. There were faint marks carved into the stone. Tally marks. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

Your hand reached out, trembling, brushing against the ridges. A flash of a memory hit you — your hand gripping a piece of stone fully covered in blood, dragging it across a surface, one line after another. But where had it been? In a classroom, on the board? No — this was something else, something darker. Your stomach twisted, and you stumbled back, the nausea overwhelming.

“Miss?” A voice shattered the silence, and you whipped around to see a maid standing at the top of the staircase. Her face was pale, her brows furrowed, as if you had offended every fibre of her body by stepping down into this basement. “What are you doing down here?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. The smell of the basement, the tally marks, the scenes — they clung to you, and you could only shake your head.

“Let me escort you back to your room. You shouldn’t ever be here”

You nodded mutely, following her up the stairs. She led you back through the winding halls. By the time you reached your room, the trembling in your legs had mostly subsided, though the chill of the basement still remained. She opened the door for you, offering a rigid nod before disappearing back into the dark hallways. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and exhaled shakily.

Your hands were still trembling slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady your breathing. The scenes — fragmented, disjointed — played on a loop in your mind. What were they? Forgotten memories? Flashbacks? The tally marks, the muffled screams. They were just like something out of your worst nightmares. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the sting of tears prickling at your eyes.

A soft knock at the door startled you. You hastily wiped your eyes, rising to your feet. When you opened it, Satoru’s mother stood there. Her expression softened slightly when she saw you.

“You’ve been crying,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, stepping aside to let her in.

She swept into the room, her gaze flickering briefly to the empty, barren space. “This room is unacceptable,” she said bluntly. But then, as she turned to face you, something in her eyes looked gentler, almost human — something she had always carried around you. “You should have asked for it to be changed, darling.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want to be a bother. It’s fine, really.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she studied you. Then, to your surprise, she stepped closer, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You’re far too used to accepting the minimal,” she said quietly. “That’s not what you deserve.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness in her tone. Before you could respond, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, her cool hand lingering briefly against your cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so maternal, that your throat tightened with emotion.

“I will speak to the servants in the morning,” she said, straightening but not pulling away. “And if you ever feel uncomfortable — ever — you will tell me. Do you understand?”

You nodded wordlessly, unable to trust your voice.

“Good.” She adjusted the edge of your sleeve with a small, practised motion, as if tidying you was a second nature for her. “Get some rest. You look exhausted.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. “And whatever it is that has you so unsettled tonight... I will see to it. Do not let it weigh on your mind. The past has a way of creeping into the present, but you are stronger than it.”

The door closed softly behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room.

For the first time since you had arrived at the estate, you felt a sliver of comfort.

──── ୨ৎ ────

Over the next week, your efforts to blend in with the household paid off in more ways than one. Most of the maids, initially wary of you as a noble guest, had warmed up to your presence. They appreciated your willingness to help with menial tasks and often joked that you were more reliable than some of their own peers. Soon enough, their dislike for the Kamo family began to slip into their conversations.

It started one evening when you were helping two maids, Haru and Tomoko, carry water from the wells. They spoke in hushed voices, glancing around nervously as though the courtyard’s walls themselves might eavesdrop.

“I’ve always said the Kamo family has skeletons in their closet,” Haru muttered. “Well, in this case, they’re probably in the basement. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You nodded. “I have. It’s disturbing. What were those tally marks on the walls?”

Tomoko sighed, setting her bucket down with a huff. “No one really knows for sure. Some say it’s the number of people tortured down there. Others think it’s the number of people who died. Either way, nothing good ever happened in that place.”

Before you could press further, another maid, Aoi, cut in sharply. She was older, sharper, and rigid. Yet you had watched her pull the buckets back up from the walls with such brute force that it was no wonder she was still working for the clan despite her age. “Enough! You shouldn’t fill her head with stories. She’s a noblewoman; this isn’t her concern.” Her eyes avoided yours, fixed firmly on the stone path.

Haru rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, relax, Ms Aoi. She’s not like the rest of them. She’s helped us more than half the family ever has. Why shouldn’t she know what’s really going on?”

Tomoko nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! And she’s already seen the basement. It’s not like we’re revealing some great hidden treasure. Besides, it’s about time someone outside this house knew what the Kamo family is really like.”

Aoi crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “And what good will it do her to know? The Kamo family isn’t to be trifled with. You’re putting her in danger — and yourselves, too, for that matter.”

You cut in gently, trying to defuse the tension. “I appreciate the concern, Ms Aoi, truly. But if the Kamo family has nothing to hide, then why should talking about it be dangerous?”

Haru smirked. “See? She gets it.”

Tomoko leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you want to know what I heard? Years ago, when the punishments in the basement were still happening, the head of the house would personally oversee them. And sometimes…” she trembled visibly. “Sometimes, they weren’t even punishing people who broke the law. Just anyone they didn’t like. Servants who fell out of favour. Merchants who got on their bad side.”

Haru shuddered. “They say the screams would echo up through the floorboards. That’s why most of the older staff refuse to even talk about it. Too many bad memories. There is also the ghost of that little girl—”

“That’s enough!” Aoi snapped. “The girl doesn’t need every grisly detail.”

“Oh, come on, Aoi. You hate them as much as we do. Don’t act like you’re above this.”

“Whether I hate them or not is irrelevant,” Aoi huffed. “You’re still being reckless. If anyone hears about this...”

Tomoko grinned mischievously. “And who’s going to tell them? You?”

Aoi gave an exasperated sigh but said nothing.

That night, you wrote letters to Shoko and Utahime, recounting the strange conversation and the haunting basement. You might have mentioned a glimpse of Satoru, too, though your thoughts on him were far more conflicted.

Shoko’s reply was predictably blunt.

Sounds grim. Torture rooms, tally marks, mysterious deaths — real classic Kamo vibes. Maybe they’re compensating for their family’s lack of charm.  But, you know, not my circus, not my corpses. Still, were they tortured with surgical precision? If so, let me know which tools were involved. I’ve got a scalpel set if you want to reenact it. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see how far someone could go with a bone saw and no anaesthetic. For science, of course. Stay alive. Bye.

PS: If you find any good booze down there, bring some back for me.

Utahime’s letter was far less chill.

That two-timing bastard is probably off doing handstands to impress some girl who can't tell her right from left. Honestly, I’m waiting for your mother to tell him the truth already. If he doesn’t start acting like your fiance, I’m going to come over there and bury him in that damn basement myself. If I had to spend more than two breaths in his company, I’d kill him. Actually, I’d kill him for free. Just say the word.

PS: If I didn’t love you, I would’ve told you to go into that basement again just for fun. But I do love you, so stay safe.

The Kamo clan leaders remained an enigma. Somehow, their presence was so secretive that their portraits were absent from every book and document in the library. You wondered if even the servants themselves had seen these people. “Maybe they’re so ugly they’re too ashamed to show their faces?” Shoko had suggested in one letter, and you still snorted remembering that.

From all your time in the estate’s library, you could only  find their names — Kamo Daijiro and Kamo Akane. Creepy. You also learned they had two daughters: Alina, the eldest, and her twin who had married into another prestigious family and no longer lived at the estate.

You still hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Daijiro or Akane, but that would change soon. A grand gathering was scheduled for the following night, and the maids were already preparing for their arrival in the estate.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The Kamo maids worked on you, dabbing floral scents to your neck and pulling a corsage on your hands. Behind you, Aoi’s hands deftly pulled at the laces of the corset you were reluctantly being tied into. Earlier, an unexpected scuffle had broken out between the Gojo clan maids and the Kamo maids when the latter had shown up, intending to tend to you.

“She’s our priority,” one of the Gojo maids had sniffed, her arms crossed.

“Not anymore,” retorted Tomoko. “She is living in the Kamo residence right now. Your loyalty isn’t required here.”

“Well, she’s from the Gojo clan!” snapped another maid, her tone haughty.

“Yes, and?” Haru shot back. The Gojo maids had given up after a reassuring smile from you, muttering about how they are only leaving because “the Lady asked so”. 

Now, Aoi was tugging the corset strings tighter. The conversation had shifted from the petty bickering of maids to something far darker.

“You wouldn’t believe the stories this house holds,” one of the younger maids murmured, a shiver in her voice. “Do you know about the little girl?”

“What girl?” you asked. You hadn’t seen the story of any little girl mentioned in the books you had read, but you had distinctly remember a mention of her story in an earlier conversation with these maids.

“Ms Aoi knows about it best!” Haru exclaimed.

Aoi’s face darkened as she let out a long sigh. “It happened about a decade ago,” she began. “A child had appeared on the doorstep, barely an year old, mind you. The family had taken her in, but of course, they did not treat her like a daughter. They had left her in the care of us servants. I was like her mother,” she said proudly. “She had turned three, I still remember, it was her birthday that night. She spilled a glass of expensive red wine on Lady Akane’s dress. It wasn’t even the girl’s fault. She was just a baby, carrying a tray too big for her tiny hands. But Sir Daijiro… he doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

The other maids exchanged uneasy glances as Aoi huffed loudly, pausing her hands on your laces to wipe stray tears. “The girl was dragged to the basement, where they lock away the disobedient. She… she never came out.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “She was… killed?”

“Yes,” whispered one of the younger maids, her voice trembling. “It’s said her ghost still lingers. Sometimes we hear her cries late at night. And the mist that hangs over the estate? They say it’s her curse — her anger at the clan.”

Aoi nodded grimly. “I was here. I wasn’t much younger than I am now, but I couldn’t do anything to save her. All I could do was sneak her scraps of food and try to mend her torn dresses after… after the punishments.”

You were horrified. “Punishments? For a child?”

Aoi’s tears couldn’t be held back anymore. “She was just a baby,” she croaked thickly. “I’d hear her cry at night, calling for her mother. And when… when…” Haru handed Aoi a cloth to wipe her face. “When she died… it was the moment I stopped believing the Kamo family had any humanity left.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of Aoi’s sniffling and your shallow breathing. “How can someone be so cruel?” you murmured.

“That’s why we’re all so terrified,” Tomoko confessed. “If they could do that to a child, what chance do we have? Everyone here walks on eggshells, afraid to make even the smallest mistake. The leaders haven’t changed. They’re still the same people who let that little girl die.”

Aoi’s hands resumed their work, tying the last knot on the corset. The maids stepped back. You glanced at the mirror, seeing not just your reflection but the haunted expressions of the women around you.

The little girl’s story stuck with you, her cries echoing in your mind. If the Kamo clan could be so ruthless to a defenceless child, what horrors could they unleash on those who dared to cross them?

──── ୨ৎ ────

The grand gathering was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of incense and expensive perfumes, the soft hum of conversation occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter. You had probably sent about fifty letters in all to Shoko, Utahime and even Geto asking them if they would come to the South, and they all had replied with repetitive no’s. You had tried to keep your head down, avoiding the heavy gazes of the Kamo guests. But you were glad to see that Satoru, for once, was sticking close to you, uncharacteristically quiet. He hadn’t so much as glanced at Alina all evening, and perhaps even all this time during the visit if you were lucky. Not that you cared, of course.

Earlier, when you had overheard his mother asking him to keep his distance from “that Kamo girl”, and you remembered how he had rolled his eyes so hard you thought they would have gotten stuck.

“Fine,” he had said with mock drama. “But only because I’m such an understanding guy. And because I want you to stop looking like you’re ready to shank me with a chopstick.”

Now, true to his word, his focus was entirely on you. Every time you caught him looking elsewhere, it was never in her direction. He had even waved off her attempts to engage him, subtly turning his back to her as though she didn’t exist.

“See?” he murmured, leaning down to your ear. “Haven’t even looked her way. You believe me now, right?”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “You don’t get points for doing the bare minimum, Gojo.”

“Bare minimum?” he gasped, and you smiled a little. His response reminded you of the ‘old times’, as they were now. “This is maximum effort for me! Have you met me?”

“Hush now, both of you,” his father interrupted. “They’re here.”

The Kamo clan heads arrived, and the air shifted. The room quieted, all eyes turning to the doors as Daijiro and Akane Kamo entered. Their presence was magnetic, commanding. As they moved through the crowd, the guests bowed slightly, parting to make way. You moved your eyes to the carpeted floor. You didn’t want to introduce yourself to someone who would torture a little girl to death, for God’s sake.

But then curiosity overtook your senses. You had been thinking of what they would look like for ages. They were like a mystery you had been picking apart ever since you stepped foot into that basement. Now was finally the moment you would get to see the leaders who hid from newspapers, books and even their own servants. You finally looked up. And the moment you saw their faces, the world seemed to tilt.

Sharp cheekbones. Piercing eyes. Their very presence struck a chord you hadn’t felt in years. Distantly, hauntingly familiar…

Your parents.

“Hush, little baby, everything you need is right here,” your mother cooed, and you walked to where he was leading you. “Yes, that’s it. There are your favourite snacks here, and all your favourite toys. Come on. Go there.”

But you found something else to interest you. Aoi, the maid, was standing right there, watching everything, and you wanted to walk to where she was instead of your bad mother.

“Stupid girl, where are you going?” your father pushed you from behind into the basement, and you fell over its many steps. Falling, falling, falling. By the time you reached the bottom, your face felt hot with some weird liquid.

“This is your new house — for now,” your mother said finally, walking down the steps. “You have given me enough trouble. From the moment I was cornered in that dark alley, alone and frightened, till now — you have been nothing but trouble. You are a constant reminder of what happened to me that night. You shall die, die!”

“There, there, now, Akie,” you watched your father cradle your mother’s head in his chest. You tilted your head, and the force almost made you fall back to the ground. “The child will no longer remain here. I have the most secretive merchants arriving from the North to here. They will be taking this… thing away from us, away from you. And then you shall finally be free.”

The realisation hit like a crashing wave, pulling the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred, and your chest tightened. It was too much. Too much. It was unbearable.

Without thinking, you reached out, your trembling hand finding Satoru’s mother instead of him. Her warm, steady grasp grounded you back to reality, and she turned to you immediately in concern. She studied you for just half a second before realising something was wrong, horribly wrong.

“Come,” she said softly, guiding you out of the hall without a moment’s hesitation.

Satoru’s voice trailed behind you, confused. “Where are you—”

“Stay with your father,” his mother ordered firmly over her shoulder.

Once outside, the cool night air hit your face, and it made you realise the warm wetness flooding your cheeks and stinging at your eyes. She led you to a quiet corner of the garden, still holding you as tightly as possible.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, her eyes scanning your face. “Are you unwell?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “They’re my parents.”

Her brow furrowed. “Who are?”

“Them.” You swallowed hard, finally breaking down. “They! They left me. They sold me. I didn’t know their names but… I’ve seen them. They’re…”

Her expression shifted from confusion to horror. You looked at her face. You had never seen a look like that on her ever before. She released your hand only to pull you into a tight embrace.

“You poor thing,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. But I swear to you, they’ll never hurt you again. Not while I’m here.”

You cried on her shoulder loudly, and you could feel she was crying softly too. “Why? Am I not worth raising… Mom?” She pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands. “Why didn’t they come back for me?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care what their reasons were. You will be a Gojo soon. It is only a matter of time now. And you will forever, forever,  be a part of our family. I will not let the Kamos stain your history, ever.”

You sniffled. From somewhere in the hall, you could hear Satoru’s loud voice, probably causing some kind of scene.

“See?” his mother said softly, trying to distract you. “He hasn’t looked at their girl once, just like he promised. That boy might be infuriating, but when it comes to you, he’s surprisingly reliable.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips.

Satoru’s mother stood behind you. Her fingers were combing through your hair softly, as if to sooth your emotions with her caring rhythm. She adjusted your corset strings next, pulling them tighter, not harshly, but enough to make you focus on the present instead of the roaring panic threatening to take over.

Beyond the ornate doors of the gathering, voices rose and fell. You strained your ears to pick out the words, leaning slightly toward the source. And then you heard it.

A deep, booming voice. The same voice from your nightmares. The one that haunted your memories. Your breath hitched. It felt as though the walls were closing in to suffocate you.

Satoru’s mother’s hands immediately moved to your shoulders to steady you. “Breathe, darling,” she said firmly. “I’m here, am I not? You are safe.”

You nodded, though tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I’m trying,” you whisper, clutching the fabric of her dress tightly.

And then, the voice spoke words that made your blood run cold.

“…a marriage between Kamo Alina and Gojo Satoru.”

You froze. Your heart seemed to have stopped. The room seemed to have crashed down onto you. You tried to process what you had just heard. Satoru’s mother stiffened behind you, her hands pausing mid-movement.

“What did they just say?” you whispered.

She didn’t respond, though her head tilted slightly as she listened intently to the conversation happening inside the room. You caught snippets of whispers as noble families exchanged their astonishment at the bold proposal.

Surely, Satoru’s father knows. He knows that Satoru is supposed to be engaged to you.Right?

But then you heard him speak. His voice seemed proud and approving. “An excellent proposal, Daijiro Kamo. This alliance shall strengthen both our families. I accept.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your stomach churned, and for a moment, you thought you might be sick.

“Mom?” you whispered and turned to Satoru’s mother. “Why…?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “That moron,” she hissed under her breath. Her hands fell away from your shoulders furiously. “He didn’t consult me. He didn’t consult anyone except Daijiro. Of course, he didn’t. Men like to think their decisions are final simply because they made them.”

The applause from the other side of the door grew louder. The sound vibrated in your ears as the nobles toasted the ‘union’. Your panic surged again. “What do we do?” you asked desperately.

Satoru’s mother exhaled sharply. “I shall handle it.”

When she threw the doors open roughly, the room fell silent. The silence following her entrance was not mere courtesy; it was submission. Her presence demanded it. Yet Kamo Daijiro, standing near the center with a goblet of red wine in his hand, immediately stepped forward with a smug smile. “Ah, my lady Gojo,” he began, his voice filled with condescension. “I was just about to inform you of the wonderful arrangement your husband and I have come to. My daughter, Alina, will—”

“Will do nothing,” she cut him off coldly.

Daijiro blinked, clearly taken aback by the interruption. “I beg your pardon?” he said with mock-politeness.

“You heard me,” she said, stepping further into the room. Every eye in the room was on her. “You dare discuss an engagement for my son without consulting me?”

Daijiro’s lips curled into a patronizing smile. “With all due respect, Lady Gojo, this is a matter for the men to decide. Your husband and I both agree that this alliance is mutually beneficial. Surely you trust your husband’s judgment.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Trust his judgment? You think I’m going to stand by while you play politics with my son’s life?”

She turned to glare at her husband. Satoru’s father cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable under her piercing gaze, but Daijiro waved him off. “Lady Gojo, your anger is misplaced. This is a matter of strategy. You may oversee the household, but these are decisions of power — something women cannot fully comprehend.”

The room grew deadly quiet now, and Alina seemed to have understood that what her father just said had been a mistake. Satoru’s jaw tightened at the insult at his mother, but he did not say anything yet. You were still frozen in the doorway, but you could feel that he was about to snap at any moment now.

Satoru’s mother’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Women cannot comprehend power?” Every word was pronounced clearly, and she took a single step closer. “You’re standing in my authority. Under my presence. Having begged for my appearance at this folly of an event. And you think I don’t comprehend power?”

“But this is an alliance—” Daijiro started.

“An alliance that disregards my authority,” she interrupted sharply. “An alliance that treats my son like a pawn in your political game of blind chess,” Her eyes flicked briefly to Satoru, who watched the exchange with a furrowed brow.

The room erupted in whispers. The many noble families exchanged shocked glances. Even Satoru’s father looked uncomfortable now, though he didn't dare interrupt.

Daijiro straightened, his tone hardening. “Lady Gojo, I understand you may feel... emotional about this. But this is for the good of both our families. Surely you don’t mean to disrupt an agreement between two patriarchs.”

Her expression darkened further. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for a glass of wine from a nearby tray. In one swift motion, she threw it to the ground, and the crystal shattered into thousands of shards. The sound echoed in the silence.

“The marriage is off,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “Because Satoru already has a fiancee.” She turned and gestured to you, standing awkwardly in the doorway having followed her from outside. “My future daughter-in-law, her.”

The room erupted into chaos. Gasps and furious whispers filled the air. Kamo Daijiro’s face turned a deep shade of red. The Kamo clan, the maids (who were standing outside, peering through the gates you left open, having not been allowed to enter the prestigious ceremony) and leaders alike, looked mortified at her words. 

“You cannot be serious,” Akane said through gritted teeth.

“I’ve never been more serious,” she countered.

“You have humiliated my family!” Daijiro growled, stepping closer threateningly.

At this, Satoru stood up, his sword in his hand as he placed himself between his mother and Kamo Daijiro. He tilted the weapon slightly to make sure the threat of blood was sent across to Daijiro, and blocked the way to his mother. Her eyes softened at his action, and she straightened. “This discussion is over. Take your child and leave, Kamo. I will take mine. There is no alliance to be forged here. Gojo clan!” She called to the maids, soldiers and workers of the Gojo clan who had come along with them on the journey. “We shall set off back home right now. Prepare.”

Daijiro stared at her with rage and humiliation. But when he glanced at the sea of judgmental eyes surrounding him, he knew he lost. With a barely concealed snarl, he turned on his heel, motioning for his family to follow.

Satoru fixed his sword back into its scabbard. His mother turned to you, softening again. She rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Come. We shall leave this place now, for good this time.”

She led you out of the hall, her grip steady and reassuring, even as the whispers behind you grew louder.

──── ୨ৎ ────

The journey back home felt strangely fast compared to the painstaking crawl southward. Perhaps it was Satoru’s mother’s fiery words that had lit a spark of patriotism among the servants, and maybe even the horses. Whatever the case, you arrived at the Gojo estate far sooner than expected.

You barely had time to set foot inside when Satoru found you. He cornered you in one of the quieter hallways. The first thing you noticed was his face; his usual, easygoing expression was clouded with something you had never seen before.

“Did you know?” he asked.

You blinked, thrown off by the abruptness. “Did I know what?”

“That you’re my fiancee.” The words came out bitter and flat, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying them aloud.

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been bracing for this conversation, but not so soon. Not like this. “Yes,” you admitted after a moment.

He reeled back, as though the admission had physically struck him. “You knew?” His voice rose, echoing off the corridor walls. “How long? How long have you known?”

“A year,” you said hesitantly, feeling guilt rise up in your throat. “I mean… last year, your mother—”

“A year?” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’ve known for an entire year, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I thought she would tell you,” you stammered. “She said she’d handle it.”

“Well, clearly, she didn’t!” he snapped, spinning to face you again. “So what, you were just going to wait until the wedding invitations went out?”

“That’s not what I meant!” you shot back. “I didn’t even agree to this in the first place. I was just as blindsided as you when she told me!”

“But she did tell you, and you did know,” he repeated coldly. “And you didn’t think I had a right to know?”

“You’re acting like I had a choice!” you said, your voice rising to match his.

“That doesn’t excuse keeping it from me!” he shouted too. “You and my mom — both of you — went behind my back. You made me feel like an idiot standing in that room today.”

“Oh, we made you look like an idiot?” you scoffed. “Why? Because you were actually planning to agree to her proposal? Because you wanted to marry that witch of a woman?”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious? I barely even looked at her if I didn’t have to!”

“That was because mother had told you not to!” you countered. “Don’t stand there and question me when you’ve been acting like you have other options.”

“I didn’t know I didn’t have other options!” he shouted. “Because no one told me! The two people I trust the most in this world, you both kept me in the dark!”

You sighed. “Satoru—”

“No,” he cut you off. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? To know that the people you rely on the most didn’t think you were worth the truth?”

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, trying to find the right words. “I was just obeying mother—”

“Obeying mother?” he laughed incredulously. “By lying to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” you snapped. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Well, you should have figured it out,” he said bitterly. “Because now, all I can think about is how little I actually know about you. About us. About… anything.”

The air between you felt heavy, suffocating. You wanted to say something, anything to fix the look of betrayal in his eyes, but your mind was blank.

Finally, he shook his head, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. “Look… I’ve never thought of you that way before, okay? You’re… you’re pretty, but you’re like a sister to me. That’s how I’ve always seen you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Oh. Of course.

“I need space,” he muttered, stepping back. “I need time to think.”

──── READ PART II HERE

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Danny: The Couple That Could Have Been

Tim Drake and Danny Fenton weren’t just Gotham’s it couple—they were the couple.

Tim, the poised and brilliant CEO, and Danny, the charismatic streamer with a chaotic streak, were the kind of pair that inspired faith in love. Their relationship was public but never performative. The candid photos, the impromptu livestreams where Danny would drag Tim into the frame to tease him about his “ridiculously expensive suits,” the way Tim would smile when he thought no one was looking—it all seemed so real, so untouchable.

For years, they were inseparable, the picture of what love should look like. And Gotham believed in them. People joked that they’d be together in every timeline, every universe, because how could they not be? They were made for each other.

So when Danny uploaded a new video one unassuming Tuesday, everyone thought they knew what was coming.

The engagement announcement.

Danny’s setup was different this time—gone were the familiar vibrant backgrounds and playful chaos. The walls were bare, his face somber, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard.

“Tim and I…” He paused, swallowing hard. “We’ve decided to go our separate ways.”

What?

No, that couldn’t be right.

This was Tim and Danny. The couple everyone was convinced would make it through anything. The couple people joked would find each other in every timeline, every universe, because it was always them.

But Danny kept talking, his voice trembling as he explained—without really explaining—that they couldn’t make it work. No details, no messy drama, just a quiet goodbye that left everyone feeling like the air had been stolen from the room.

———

The Batfamily found out the same way everyone else did—through Danny’s video. They hadn’t even realized anything was wrong. The last time they saw Tim and Danny together, they’d been the same as always: teasing, bantering, comfortable in each other’s presence.

Bruce was the first to confront Tim about it, cornering him in the Manor with that familiar stern frown.

“Tim, what happened?”

Tim didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because he didn’t know either.

Danny had been the one to end it. One day they were fine—perfect, even—and the next, he was breaking up with Tim over coffee, quiet and somber, like he was grieving something Tim couldn’t see.

“I just… we can’t,” Danny had said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Tim. I love you. I’ll always love you. But we can’t keep doing this.”

And that was it. No further explanation.

Now, Tim was left packing up his things from the apartment they’d shared, trying to piece together what went wrong. Danny was on the other side of the room, just as quiet, boxing up his own belongings. They didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The space between them had never felt so vast.

“I love you,” Danny had said, his voice breaking. “I’ll always love you. But I can’t… we can’t keep doing this.”

And just like that, it was over.

And Danny? Danny knew exactly why.

———

Danny Fenton was a coward.

He’d gone to Clockwork for help after the first heartbreak, unable to bear the thought of living in a world without Tim Drake. He couldn’t undo the pain of losing Tim to the Justice League’s doomed mission, but he could relive the good years.

Clockwork had hesitated.

“This is dangerous, Daniel,” he warned, but Danny didn’t care. He didn’t want to forget Tim. He didn’t want to move on.

So Clockwork granted him his wish.

Again and again, Danny went back. Every time their relationship reached the point of no return—where Tim’s inevitable death loomed on the horizon—Danny would break up with him, retreat to Clockwork, and start over. He couldn’t bear to see Tim die, not again.

But the cycle wasn’t perfect. The cracks showed with each repetition. Danny’s breakups became harder to explain, his excuses more transparent. He could see the hurt in Tim’s eyes, the way his walls went up higher and higher with every iteration.

And still, Danny went back.

Because he couldn’t stop.

Because he couldn’t let go.

———

This time, though, it was different.

This time, as he packed his things, Danny felt the weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like never before. Tim wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even questioning it anymore.

He just looked tired.

And Danny hated himself for being the reason why.

The world moved on, but Gotham felt the loss of Tim and Danny like a phantom limb.

The bats watched Tim retreat further into himself, his work becoming his sole focus, an impenetrable wall between him and everyone else. They wanted answers, but Tim wouldn’t give them. And Danny? Danny disappeared from Gotham entirely, his absence leaving a wound that never seemed to heal. Maybe that’s why Tim would find himself on that mission, before Danny's loop restarted everything again—caught in the endless cycle of fate, unaware of how close he was to losing it all for good.

Clockwork didn’t say anything when Danny returned again, his face pale and his hands shaking. He just stared at Danny with quiet pity, his form shifting through time as if he were trying to decide what version of himself could make Danny stop.

“You can’t keep doing this, Daniel,” Clockwork said softly.

Danny didn’t answer.

Because he knew he’d be back.

Because he couldn’t stop.

Because he’d rather relive the heartbreak a thousand times than face another world where Tim Drake was gone for good.

[gabseyoo]

DON'T WASTE THE NIGHT — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: college/university!au, halloween setting, female reader, virgin!kiyoomi, popular!reader, virginity loss, mutual pining, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, pretty vanilla but cute, mean girls references, kiyoomi might be a little occ, he’s shy :(, atsumu being atsumu. word count: 8,0k.

notes: yes i’m late to halloween but i don’t care :) it’s being so long since i posted a one shot and i had this idea for maybe a year, two (?), and i finally had the inspiration to write everythiiing. i’m happy with the result, i hope you like it too <3

Halloween parties were not Kiyoomi's thing. Rather, no party at all. He didn't like the crowds, the drunks, or the excessive noise. But thanks to his group of friends (which he doesn't even remember how he ended up being a part of), staying away from parties was almost impossible, so it was already a common thing for him to be dragged to one every weekend where he would be counting the minutes to leave and drive all his drunk friends home. 

But, that was not the case tonight. 

Surprisingly, it was the first time Kiyoomi didn't want to leave a party, and that was thanks to a certain someone who had shown up at the Miya's Halloween party. 

"Just go talk to her." 

Kiyoomi almost jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of his personal headache, also known as Atsumu. 

"Who?" He asked, playing dumb because he knew perfectly well who the blond was referring to, and mentally slapped himself for not being more discreet.

Atsumu snorted, "Y/n. You're staring at her like a creep." He said, pointing his head in your direction across the room, where you were talking enthusiastically with your friend, dressed in a pink tracksuit. "I don't blame you. She's pretty."

Sakusa kept silent, trying to suppress his need to agree out loud, because of course you were pretty. More than pretty. 

"You like her, don't you?" 

Kiyoomi sighed heavily, obviously uncomfortable with the question. It was obvious he liked you. Very much. But he didn't trust Atsumu to be able to not make a big deal out of the fact that Sakusa liked someone, so he decided to answer his question with a dry: "No."

"Liar." The blond replied. "It's pretty obvious that you like her."

"I don't like her." He insisted, though he already knew it would be in vain, it wasn't for nothing he called Atsumu his headache.

"So you hate her and you're staring at her 'cause you're planning her murder?"

Jesuschrist.

"I'll be planning your murder if you don't shut up." 

Atsumu pursed his lips and Kiyoomi thanked god in his head. But the fake threat seemed to work only for a limited time, because the twin spoke again seconds later, making him roll his eyes.

"Don't you even think she's pretty?"

He let out a sigh in frustration, but agreed with the question because, c’mon, it will be a very blatant lie to deny the obvious, "She is." He admitted, "But I don't like her." 

"You do like her, there can't be any other reason why you were looking at her like that."

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, is there a way to shut this guy down?

"Like what?" 

"Like you like her." 

"If I say so, will you shut the fuck up?" He blurted, resigned. 

"I knew it!" Atsumu exclaimed victoriously, and Kiyoomi just let out a sigh, cringing when the twin tapped him a little too hard on the shoulder as if he was congratulating him. "Wow. So Omi likes someone, huh, who knew." 

"Don't make a big deal out of it." 

"Omi, liking someone isn't a bad thing." He said in a more earnest manner, perhaps trying to show that he was actually serious and not joking about his friend’s situation. 

Kiyoomi closed his eyes for a moment and sighed before replying, "I know it's not."

"Then why don't you go and talk to her? She's in your class, isn't she? It wouldn't be weird. Maybe she likes you back."

The twin had a point. Sakusa sat behind you for two hours straight five days a week during a very boring class. While you might not call yourselves the best of friends, you could say you got along well— you would usually turn around to ask him if he understood the subject so he could explain it to you, borrow a pen or offer him a gum. Occasionally you would randomly show him your phone with something you thought was funny and there were even times when you would ask his opinion on which item to buy or which selfie to post, you would often have small conversations and even followed each other on Instagram. And, as a bonus, lately you had started walking together to the classroom exit at the end of class where you would say goodbye with a 'see you tomorrow'. 

But you liking him back? He didn't think he was that lucky.

Because, yes, maybe you weren't a stranger to Kiyoomi and he wasn't a stranger to you either, but contrary to what many believed, Sakusa Kiyoomi didn't have much experience with women, not even with having a crush on someone. The idea of talking to you outside the classroom made him nervous. You were too pretty and too charming and too popular and too hot and... out of his league.

There were times when he wondered if it was possible for you to like him? Okay, call him arrogant, but he knew he was nowhere near ugly, that was a point in his favor. But one point that was not in his favor was the fact that, yes, maybe he was good-looking, but the university was full of good-looking guys, who unlike him, were more... outgoing. Guys who smiled more and didn't have a grumpy attitude like he did, who weren't known for being rude, and who probably wouldn't think twice about asking for your number or inviting you on a date. And, honestly, he felt like one more in the very long list of men who have a crush on you. 

"It's just..." He started, but the words were lost in his throat.

"Just what?"

"She doesn't see me that way. Just leave it at that, okay?" He finished his sentence, taking a sip from the bottle of water he'd been carrying since he arrived. 

Atsumu folded his arms, glancing in your direction for a moment before making that smile that never meant anything good, "You know what? I have an idea." 

Kiyoomi panicked. "Miya, what are you gonna do?" 

"You'll thank me later." 

And just like that, Atsumu pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against and before Sakusa could stop him, he started walking in your direction.

No. No. No. No. Kiyoomi's heart was going to escape from his chest. Fuck. He knew it was a bad idea to be honest with Atsumu. A. Fucking. Bad. Idea.

He watched frozen from his spot in the corner of the room the moment the blond approached you, greeting you and your friend casually before saying who knows what that made you look at him with confusion for a moment as you exchanged more words, but after something that left the blond's mouth, your face lit up with a smile. The interaction seemed to be going well, until the twin pointed— really fucking pointed—over his shoulder, and then, you connected your eyes with Kiyoomi’s for a moment. 

His feet began to move automatically. 

Towards the exit. 

He was so embarrassed. What did Atsumu say to you? What did you think? Fuck. He didn't even want to know. He was out of here, he'd move his seat to the other end of the classroom, or better yet, he'd never set foot in that class again, who cares if he had to repeat it next semester, that was better than looking you in the face after this.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" 

Sakusa was halfway to his car when he heard the twin's voice call out to him. 

"Home." 

Atsumu trotted up in front of him. "Come on. Don't be like that, listen-" 

"You fucking embarrassed me." He spat, pulling his keys out of his jacket roughly. 

"I didn't. I just did you a favor." Atsumu replied, crossing his arms proudly, which only raised Kiyoomi's anger levels.

Don't punch him. Don't punch him. Don't punch him.

"Fuck you, don't talk to me ever again."

"C'mon Kiyoomi, trust me. You think I'm capable of making a fool of you?" The twin asked with confidence in his voice. Kiyoomi simply looked at him, his silence explaining his answer, which caused Atsumu's smile to disappear. "Ouch." The twin brought a hand to his chest dramatically and Kiyoomi rolled his eyes before pressing a button on the control, removing the lock and alarm. 

He was barely about to open the car door when Atsumu spoke again. This time in a more serious tone, "Omi, I'm your friend. Just trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you."

Kiyoomi would never admit that those words made him feel a little bad about his attitude. 

Without removing his hand from the door handle, he blurted out the question that was consuming him and that he needed an answer to.

"What did you tell her?" 

For some reason, he expected Atsumu to answer with honesty, but he wasn't surprised when instead, the twin simply replied, "A wingman never reveals his secrets."

"Oh, fuck off." He mused, opening his car door just a few centimeters before the other man's hand closed it.

"Look, just go inside and talk to her. I swear I saw it in her face that she’s interested, of course, until you ran away like a chicken. I hope she's not offended and you've lost the opportunity of a lifetime." 

Only a sentence of Atsumu's words caught his attention.  

"What do you mean with 'she looked interested'?" He asked, his voice betraying him by not sounding as disinterested as he wanted it to.

Atsumu smirked. "It seems like she does see you that way."

You do?

The mere possibility of that being true, of you seeing him that way, was what prompted him to let out a last sigh and set the car alarm again before locking his keys in his hoodie. Although he wouldn't say this out loud and was still unhappy with Atsumu's actions, the twin was right in saying that this could be his chance. Maybe he should stop feeling self-conscious and just go for it. 

"If you're lying, you forget I exist." 

"Deal." Atsumu said, stretching out his hand, waiting for him to take it, but the black-haired simply brushed past him, to which the twin simply huffed in resignation before following his friend.  

Kiyoomi's feet felt heavier with every step he took back to the twins' house, he was going to do it. He was actually going to do it. He was going to talk to you outside the classroom, after whatever Atsumu had told you, which opened the door to many possibilities. One, was that you liked him; the other, was that you didn't and that you only saw him as a friend, he longed too much for the first option but he wouldn't be dissatisfied with the second, it all depended on how things turned out when he walked through the door in front of him.

Kiyoomi inhaled and exhaled, filling himself with courage before placing his hand on the doorknob. 

But that burst of bravery he was able to fill himself with was interrupted by the twin, who stopped him with a grip on the wrist.

"Don't touch m-" He didn't finish his sentence since Atsumu put something cold in the palm of his hand. 

"Here." Atsumu whispered and Kiyoomi looked at the object, frowned in confusion when he realized it was a key. "It's the key to the guest room. Use it wisely."

Use it wisely? What did that mean?

"Why would I want to-" Kiyoomi started, but the twin interrupted him, raising a finger to silence him. 

"Shh. Thank me when you're at the altar and I'm your best man. Let's go inside." 

And just like that, Atsumu grabbed his arm to pull him inside the house.

Bruno Mars' voice was blaring from the speakers in the living room, people were singing at the top of their lungs, drinking and dancing, evidently having a good time. Sometimes Kiyoomi wondered how the twins knew so many people, there were so many guests that they had to push their way through the crowd to get to where you were still standing by the kitchen area, looking spectacular as ever as you talked to your friend.

As if you sensed his presence, you turned your face and your eyes met, causing Kiyoomi's heart to skip a beat. Damn, was this a good idea?

"Here he is." Atsumu announced their arrival excitedly. "The Kiyoomi I was telling you about. Does he look familiar?"

Sakusa almost rolled his eyes, but the chuckle you let out at Atsumu's humor stopped him, "Yes, I think I know him." You replied, your eyes still fixed on the tall black-haired man in front of you. 

"Perfect!" He exclaimed, clasping his hands together enthusiastically. "Then, since there's no need for introductions, I'll leave you two alone." The twin said, patting him on the back before turning and leaving. 

"Yeah, me too." Your friend said, throwing you a mischievous look and copying Atsumu's action, losing herself in the crowd. 

Now that you were alone (if it could be considered "alone" in a room full of people), he wondered where the direct Kiyoomi was when he needed him. Say something, say something, say something, say something. He mentally shouted to himself, but he was so intimidated by your presence and the cute way you were looking at him that no words could formulate in his mouth. 

"Uh—, hi." He said after a few awkward seconds of silence, trying to play it cool by leaning against the kitchen island. 

"Hi." You replied with a smile and looked up at him, as if waiting for him to say something else, but at Kiyoomi's lack of response, you continued, "How are you?"

So fucking nervous, he wanted to say, but instead, a 'fine and you?' left his mouth. 

"Me too." You said, and he noticed how you bit your lip lightly, as if you were thinking of what to say before speaking again: "Um… did you do the homework for Monday?"

"Yes, and you?"

"Yup."

Fuck. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. If he were someone else, someone like Atsumu perhaps, he might have already charmed you with words, made you laugh and you would be having a more enjoyable conversation. 

After a sigh, you spoke again. "Are you drinking?"

"Yes." He said, raising his water bottle and feeling stupid a second later, obviously by that question you meant was he consuming alcohol. "Something like that. And you?"

"Something like that" You repeated his words, raising a glass goblet showing what appeared to be a cocktail. "It’s strawberry juice, goes with my costume, and I'm also driving tonight, so I can't drink too much."

"That's very responsible of you."

That's very responsible of you?!

Couldn't he think of something more stupid to say? Probably not. 

But if you thought his answer was stupid, you didn't give it away, since you giggled before saying, "I think it is."

In an attempt to divert attention from his very stupid comment, he took advantage of the information you gave him about the drink to salvage this interaction. "So— why the drink goes with the costume?" 

"You don't know who I am?" You asked, raising your arms to better show off your costume. It was very 2000s style. A pink tracksuit, a white blouse under it, also a necklace. 

"Uh— Paris Hilton?" He guessed, inwardly hoping he was right. 

You giggled again. "Almost. I'm Regina George's mom." You said, giving him a bump with your shoulder against his arm. And, amazingly, Kiyoomi for the first time did not find an unexpected physical contact upsetting. "What do you think? I didn't know who to dress up as and this was last minute."

"You look…" Divine. "Good."

"Thank you." As soon as your words were out of your mouth, he noticed how you stared at his outfit, squinting your eyes and making a tender gesture with your mouth that he had learned you did when you thought of something. "Come to think of it, you pretty much look like Damien in that hoodie. You should just add some sunglasses." You added after a few seconds, pointing to the blue fabric covering his body. 

Kiyoomi frowned. Damien? Who the fuck was Damien and why he looked like him? 

“Who?” He asked. 

“Damien? The guy who shows up in the middle of the gym scene? With the blue hoodie and glasses? You haven't seen Mean Girls?”

The tone in which you said it made him regret having refused his cousin’s offer to see that damn movie a few months ago. 

"No, I've only heard of it." He admitted with a shrug.

Surprisingly, you smiled at his response, "It's a classic. We should see it sometime."

We should. A half smile appeared on his face at the word we. "Yes, we should."

"Um, do you wanna go watch the beer pong game?"

—

Two hours later, Kiyoomi found himself having what was perhaps the longest conversation with a girl of his life, and the one he had enjoyed the most. 

After awkwardly breaking the ice and watching Atsumu lose (two times in a row) in beer pong, you moved to the living room, where you luckily found space on the couch where you had been sitting since then. 

Kiyoomi leaned back against the couch, his elbow resting on the armrest as he listened intently to you recount an embarrassing childhood memory that had him chuckling softly. The sight was rare, and his friends’ curious stares only made it rarer, he knew they were probably losing their minds right now, but he tried to ignore them, though, focusing instead on the way your eyes lit up when you spoke. You were magnetic in a way he hadn’t expected, and the realization only deepened the smile tugging at his lips. God, how much he regretted not having the self-confidence to talk to you in this way much earlier. 

“Okay, your turn.” You said, nudging his knee lightly with yours.

“My turn?”

“To tell me something embarrassing. Come on, don’t hold out on me now.” You teased, leaning just a fraction closer.

Kiyoomi let out a low groan, feigning reluctance. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

As he started to recount a story about an unfortunate middle school haircut incident, his voice grew more animated, his laughter trying to break through every now and then, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room melted away.

The conversation flowed naturally, but there was an underlying tension, an awareness that neither of you could ignore. When he finished his story, you both fell into a comfortable silence, your knees still brushing against each other.

“Is it me or the twins keep staring at us?” You asked out of the blue, pointing with your head to a spot behind Kiyoomi, who didn't even want to bother turning around—because most likely no, it wasn't you—but still did, finding both twins pretending to look away before going their separate ways, Atsumu bumping into someone in the attempt. 

He sighed deeply, his lips pressing into a line. “Ignore them. They’re just… nosy.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Nosy about what?”

His face turned a faint shade of red, and he leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Kiyoomi didn't want to, but he would tell you the truth. “Probably that I'm talking to a girl.”

You chuckled, maybe finding his bashfulness endearing. “Do you not talk to girls often or something?”

“No.” He said, pretending that the admission didn't make him feel a little embarrassed.

“And is there any special reason why I'm the lucky one?” 

Kiyoomi hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours before dropping to where your knees touched. His mind raced for an answer, but nothing felt sufficient—not for what he was feeling, not for why you had captivated him so completely.

“You're… different.” He finally said, his voice quieter than before.

“Different how?” You asked, your tone teasing but your eyes soft with curiosity.

He let out a breath, his hand brushing against his neck again, “You're easy to talk to. Genuine. And you're…” He stopped himself, shaking his head with a self-conscious laugh.

“I'm what?” You prompted, leaning in slightly, your voice coaxing.

“You're just… you. And I like that.”

Your playful expression softened into something warmer, and the space between you felt even smaller. “That's probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Kiyoomi.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was charged, alive with a tension neither of you could deny anymore. His hand, resting between you on the couch, shifted slightly, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but it was enough to make you glance up at him.

In that moment, something unspoken passed between you—an understanding, a shared want that neither of you could ignore any longer.

Kiyoomi leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate, as if savoring every second leading up to the moment his lips met yours. When they did, the kiss was soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepened as the world around you faded into the background. He wasn't an experienced kisser, he hadn't done it enough times in his life to consider himself one, but he let instinct guide him, following your rhythm. It was slow and even sweet, he could taste the flavor of your gloss. Strawberry. Maybe the same one he always saw you applying in the middle of class and now decided it was his new favorite flavor. 

Kiyoomi doesn't know at what point the kiss became a little more intense. He could feel you pressing into him as you pulled one of your legs up onto his lap. He was so immersed in the kiss that he even forgot where he was, in the middle of a party, on an old couch surrounded by strangers and friends. 

This same realization also seems to have reached you, because at that very moment you broke the kiss. And even though only seconds had passed, he already missed the feeling of your lips against his. 

“Well—” You said, your voice light but still a little shaky. “I think your friends will definitely have something to talk about now.”

Kiyoomi chuckled softly, his thumb grazing over your knuckles. “Let them.”

You looked into his eyes and smiled at him, you looked very pretty with your slightly swollen lips and bright eyes. At that moment, Kiyoomi wondered if this was real or some dream, he was almost certain that his eyes betrayed how madly smitten he was by you. 

“Kiyoomi,” You said, your voice breaking him out of his thoughts.

He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in curiosity. “Yeah?”

Your next words, simple yet charged, left him momentarily stunned.

“Can we go somewhere else?”

—

When Atsumu gave him the key to the guest room, he never thought he would actually use it. But here he was, with a very excited you at his side waiting for him to open the door. He really hoped you wouldn't ask why he had that key, because he knew he didn't want to lie to you as he also knew he didn't want to give you the explanation.  

After he opened the door, he stepped aside to let you in first before passing behind you. And something that caught him off guard was, when he barely closed the door behind him, you were quick to lock it before you put your hands on his cheeks to kiss him again. This time hungrier, more passionate. 

You were a good kisser, too good. And that only made Sakusa more nervous than he already was, he knew what you wanted, he knew where this was headed. And even though he wanted it too, the reality is that he had no idea what the fuck to do. 

His body was tensing up, overthinking the situation. He was not experienced in this area, not at all.

Still, he tried to keep up with you, walking backwards as you kissed him until he fell into a sitting position on the bed. 

In a matter of seconds, Kiyoomi watched as you took off your pink sweater, staying only in your tank top which didn't cover you for long, since you took it off immediately, leaving a very nice white bra in sight. 

It would be a lie to say that Kiyoomi was not hard. Because he was. Perhaps much harder than he had ever been in his life. 

“I really wanted to do this.” You said, and without even giving Kiyoomi time to process what you just confessed, you kissed him again, took both of his hands and brought them to your breasts as you straddled his lap. 

Kiyoomi almost choked when he felt your soft breasts under his palms, but instead of doing something with his hands, he stayed still, afraid to make a move you might not like. 

He was frustrated with himself. He literally had the girl of his dreams all over him, kissing him, letting him touch her after admitting that she wanted to do this and he just did nothing. 

Just relax, he told himself. Let yourself go. 

But his body seemed to betray him again the moment your hands went to his pants with the intention of unbuttoning them, because the first reaction he had was to stop you while from his mouth escaped a “Wait.”

“What happened?” You asked, your brow furrowed, obviously confused by his sudden reaction. 

C'mon, Kiyoomi, just tell her. She's an angel, she will understand. 

“I don't know how to say this.” He mumbled, almost to himself. Still, he took a deep breath, encouraging himself to speak. “I, uh- I don't-” He tried to explain himself, but before he could complete the sentence, you interrupted him.

“You don't want to do this, do you?” You spoke softly, Kiyoomi looked up, meeting your face which had an expression full of disappointment. 

His stomach turned over, no, no, no, no. You had misunderstood. “Y/n, that wasn't what—”

You quickly got up from his lap and bent down to pick up your shirt, “It's okay, I just-” Your voice broke as tears escaped your eyes and Kiyoomi felt like he wanted to kill himself at that moment, “I just want you to know that I'm not usually like this, but, when Atsumu told me that you liked me I thought that— I'm sorry, this is embarrassing.” The words rushed out of your mouth as you put your clothes back on. 

Kiyoomi would ignore (for now) that Atsumu really told you that he liked you literally only minutes after he admitted it, he would kill him later, now his main priority was you and clearing up this mess as soon as possible. 

“Hey, wait.” He said, holding you by the wrist to keep you from turning around and leaving. “I'm sorry. This is a misunderstanding, just, listen to me for a minute.” 

You looked at him silently before turning to face him again. 

He took a deep breath before continuing, “I like you, too much. I've been for a long time. And believe me when I tell you I really want to do it.” He admitted, and before you could say anything, he continued, “It's just that, I’m really fucking nervous. I— I've never done this.” His last words came out in a lower tone due to nerves and perhaps some embarrassment. But there was no turning back now. 

You looked at him for a few seconds, blinking at him before asking, “Done... what?”

“This.”

“Oh. Are you a…” You said, leaving the last word up in the air, but he mentally finished it for you, knowing full well what you were going to say.

A virgin.

“Yes.” He confirmed it. 

You were silent, and although it was somewhat dark, Kiyoomi could tell the shock on your face. He understood. If he were you, he might have been surprised too, since it's a fact that not many people expect. 

Kiyoomi was silent as well, silently mourning for himself. Thinking that maybe he ruined everything and a part of him was afraid that you would make fun of him. But the truth is that he was more worried if you left, how would he look at your face after that? He wouldn't be able to. It looked like he would have to take back the plan to leave that class and move to another country, which was a shame, because everything was going so well. 

His thoughts were interrupted when out of nowhere you let out a chuckle. 

“I'm kind of dramatic, don't you think?”

What? 

“I rushed to think that the reason you were a little tense and decided to stop was because you didn't like me, I never imagined that it was because you were… nervous. I'm really sorry, Kiyoomi.”

“Hey, It's okay, don't apologize. ” He said before taking both of your hands in his, “I should do it for not saying it from the beginning.”

“I didn't even give you the time to do it, I rushed too much, I should have taken it slower. But, I was excited, I mean, I just found out that the guy I like, likes me too.”

Okay, this is the second time you've admitted that you liked Kiyoomi. And wow, it felt fantastic to hear it, it felt so good and surreal at the same time that after all, it seemed that his feelings were indeed reciprocal. 

“I think I ruined the mood.” You said in a chuckle, making Kiyoomi frown. “It's okay if you want to stop.”

He didn't want to stop, in fact, he felt quite the opposite. He wanted to do it, with you and only you. So he didn't think much of it when he asked, “Do you?” 

“Huh?”

“Do you want to stop?”

He watched you bite your lip lightly before responding in the most adorable voice ever, “No.”

“Me neither.”

You looked at each other for a few more seconds before you wrapped your arms around his neck to bring your lips together again. The kiss was slower, and for some reason it felt much more intimate. 

Kiyoomi returned his hands to your waist, now feeling more comfortable enough to caress you with his thumbs before slowly moving down your hips to your thighs, you seemed to understand what he wanted, because you automatically straddled his lap again. 

After the awkward moment you just spent, his erection had softened, but when he felt your center against his crotch, combined with the kiss becoming more passionate, his dick soon got hard again. You felt it, of course you felt it. That must have been why you began to move slowly over him, brushing your sex against his, which caused Kiyoomi to moan against your mouth.  

Kiyoomi by this point felt more comfortable, perhaps more confident, so he dared to run his hands up your sides until he reached the hem of your blouse. 

“Can I take it off?” He asked after breaking the kiss, and you looked so cute when you let out a giggle and nodded before raising your arms as Kiyoomi pulled up the fabric. 

Your bra came back into view, but not for long, as you brought your hands behind your back to unfasten it to let it fall to the side—Kiyoomi thanked mentally for this because he was sure it would have taken him quite a while to remove it by himself—.

The light coming through the window was enough to appreciate you well, which he was grateful for, because he really didn't want to miss any detail of seeing you this way. His thumbs went up to caress your nipples, which were erect and looked too cute. It was a gentle touch first before cradling both breasts in his hands and squeezing them gently. 

“Can I...?” The question was lost in his throat, somewhat shy even to speak during this moment. 

“Kiyoomi,” You said his name, grabbing him by the cheeks to make him look at your face, perhaps so he would be a hundred percent sure you meant what you were about to say, “You can do anything you want to me. If I don't like something, I promise I'll tell you, okay?”

He looked at you for a few seconds before answering, appreciating your face completely, from your eyes to your lips. God, you were so beautiful. “Okay.”

Kiyoomi kissed your neck and left a small peck on your collarbone before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He took it slowly, running his tongue softly over it before sucking gently, and somehow he felt proud of himself when you let out a little moan and brought your hand to his black curls. 

He took his time, enjoying the taste of your skin in his mouth as he switched from one nipple to the other and finding delight in the little sounds you made until he felt eager for more. When he parted his lips from you, it was to remove his hoodie and t-shirt in one motion, letting them fall to the floor. 

“Wow,” The expression came out of you almost automatically at the sight of his body. Your delicate hands went to his biceps, making a path along his skin, past his shoulders to his chest. “How can you be so hot?”

Your words caught him off guard, so he couldn't help the laughter that came out of him. “You think?”

“Of course, just look at you.” Your hands followed their trail, down his abs to his v-line, at that moment he knew what you would do next. You settled on his thighs, leaving more space between his crotch and yours, then lowered your hand to the noticeable bulge in his pants. 

Kiyoomi almost moaned when you stroked him and almost choked on his own saliva when your thumb circled the tip, god, he knew he was leaking and hoped it didn't feel in his pants. 

It was the moment you squeezed him, that something changed inside him, he felt eager for more, and although he didn't want to rush this, he dared to bring your lips together again and, placing a hand on your lower back to keep you from falling, he turned around to lay you down on the bed. 

When he felt your hands on the edge of your pants, he decided to break the kiss and positioned himself in the middle of your legs to help you complete the action, pulling the fabric gently down your legs to drop them on the floor. Fuck. He gave himself the pleasure of admiring for a moment your beautiful form in front of him, in nothing but underwear, and practically giving yourself to him. If he was dreaming, he will kill whoever wakes him up.

His hands went up your thighs until they reached the edge of your underwear to start pulling it down, you raised your hips to help him and that was the moment where Kiyoomi saw for the first time your pussy. He gulped when in top of that, you spread your legs just as he finished removing the garment, exposing you completely to him, letting him see all of you. 

Now, what was he supposed to do? Sakusa was not completely uneducated on the subject, he knew where he was supposed to touch or even kiss. But he also knew that knowing it wasn't the same as doing it. So he preferred to be honest and let you guide him rather than try to do something he wasn't entirely sure you would like. 

“I really want to make you feel good, but, can you just…” For some reason (embarrassment) the words were lost in his throat. 

“Guide you?” You finished the sentence for him. 

“Something like that.” He mumbled. 

You smiled with what Kiyoomi guessed would be tenderness before taking his hand and guiding it to the middle of your legs. 

The first touch almost knocked the wind out of him and made his erection press harder against his pants, fuck, you were so wet and he could hardly believe it was because of him. 

Sakusa leaned forward with one arm by the side of your head, meeting your face a few inches from his as you whispered to him how to please you. He circled your clit at the speed you liked, thrusting his fingers in and out, hitting that sensitive spot inside you that you helped him find, enjoying the moans that came from your beautiful lips and the way one of your hands squeezed his shoulder with pleasure. 

You kissed him the moment you started to cum on his fingers, your legs even trembled and Kiyoomi had never felt so proud of himself. He kissed you with the same desire, not ceasing to give you pleasure until you asked him to stop because of over stimulation. 

“God… you're so beautiful.” The words came out of their own accord as he looked down at you. 

“You think?” You smirked. 

“Every day.” 

“I never thought you'd see me that way, you know?” Those words were kind of funny coming from you. The girl who was the dream of many. Including his own. 

“Why?” 

You shrugged, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned slightly closer. “Because you’re you, Kiyoomi. Cold, composed, and…” You paused, pretending to think. “Kind of scary sometimes.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “Scary?”

“You know what I mean.” You teased. “You’re just… untouchable. Like, you don’t even notice anyone half the time.”

Kiyoomi chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I notice you.”

Your smile faltered for a second, replaced by something softer, something real. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He said. “You’ve always stood out to me. Even when I tried to act like you didn’t.”

You tilted your head, your expression thoughtful. “Why did you try to hide it?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced away for a moment. “Because… I didn't think I'd ever have a chance. I thought you were way out of my league.”

Your laugh was soft, light, and you reached out to gently take his hand. “Kiyoomi, you're ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

“Absolutely.” You said, patting his bicep lightly. “Because if you had just talked to me sooner, you'd know I've been trying to get your attention for ages.”

His eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as he tried to process your words. “You… what?”

You grinned, leaning in just enough that your noses almost touched. “I've always liked you, Kiyoomi. I just didn't think you'd ever notice.”

Kiyoomi stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest, before his lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “Guess we're both ridiculous, then.”

“Guess we are.” You murmured, and this time, it was you who closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a kiss so soft and sweet, the total opposite of the words that came out of your mouth next, “Now, please fuck me before I lose my mind.” 

Of course he would, his mind and his cock couldn't hold back any longer. 

“Just. Let. Me. Take– Take these off.” He said between kisses as you wouldn't let go, insisting on keeping his lips on yours with your palms on his cheeks. 

Kiyoomi did his best to remove his jeans and underwear in one go without breaking the kiss, but in the end, he had to do so (albeit unwillingly), when the last of his clothes were on the floor and the two of you were completely naked, to say something he remembered at the last minute. 

“I don't have a condom.”

This was bad, unfortunately Kiyoomi didn't carry any with him right now. The only one he used to carry in his wallet (just in case), he ended up giving it to Atsumu two weeks ago at a party, since at the time, the twin needed more than he did. Now he regretted it. 

You looked at him for a moment, processing his words before saying, “I don't care if you don't care.” 

“Are you sure?” He asked, astonishment radiating from his face.

“Very sure.”

Kiyoomi gulped before nodding, nervous about what was coming next. 

He took his cock in his palm, giving himself a few gentle strokes before lining himself up with your entrance. Your hand went to the middle of your bodies to replace his hand with yours and he heard you gasp at the feel of his shaft. 

“God, how— Kiyoomi, are you telling me you're a virgin with a dick like this?”

Kiyoomi couldn't help but let out a laugh, this was one of the things he liked most about you, how you spoke your mind bluntly. 

“I guess so.”

“Well, I wanted you to put it in in one go. But I guess we'll have to go slow.” You teased, adjusting your hips as you continued to slowly stroke his dick. 

Kiyoomi moaned as he felt your wet entrance meeting his leaking tip. He already felt in heaven and he wasn't even inside you yet. 

He placed both of his arms beside your head, looking down at you as he slowly thrust his hips forward, moving deeper into you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This felt so good. You felt so wet, so hot, so tight that he had to mentally beg his cock not to cum soon, he couldn't embarrass himself like that. 

He pressed his lips against your forehead, kissing casually as he heard you moan as you took him in. “Does it hurt?” He asked, still with half of his dick out of you. 

“A little.” You admitted and that worried Kiyoomi, who was about to pull out, but you spoke first. “But it feels so good, just keep going, it'll fade away.” 

He nodded and continued to enter you until he was completely inside you. He had to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment at the new feeling he was experiencing. 

“How does it feel?” He heard you ask after a minute, your sweet voice filling the silence where only your breaths could be heard. 

“Too good. Fuck. I don't think I'll last long.” He admitted, somewhat embarrassed, but still eager for more. “Can I— fuck—can I move?”

“Yes, please.”

Slowly at first, he began to move his hips, enjoying the feel of your wet walls squeezing him. Kiyoomi couldn't believe he missed out on this pleasure for so long, but he was glad that the one he was experiencing it with for the first time was you. 

He looked down at you, paying attention to your face and appreciating your expressions with adoration radiating from his eyes. How you bit your lower lip, how you opened your lips slightly, how you closed your eyes, how you smiled when you made eye contact. 

You whispered in his ear to go faster, and without a second thought, he complied with your request. He slipped both of his arms under your armpits to hold on tighter and began to thrust so hard that even the bed began to hit the wall. Thank goodness there was a party going on downstairs and the sound of the bed along with the sound of your moans would not be heard by others. 

“Kiyoomi…” You moaned his name, sounding like an angel as you did. Your hands went behind his back, holding him tightly against you and he even felt your nails digging lightly into his skin. He couldn't resist bringing your lips together again, kissing you sloppily as he moved in and out of you. 

He felt you squeeze him as your moans increased before he brought one of his hands to the middle of your bodies, circling messily over your clit, bringing you to the edge. Your legs trembled and a cute moan left your mouth as you came. Kiyoomi also moaned against your lips, you squeezed him so deliciously that he was surprised he didn't explode at that moment, but he knew he wasn't far from it. 

“I'm going to…” The words were lost in his throat as he felt his own orgasm so close. He was panting like crazy, holding you tighter against him as he settled his head in the crook of your neck and his thrusts became more intense. 

“Don't pull out, please.” 

His common sense told him that was irresponsible, but his desire along with how sexy it was to hear you say those words were stronger, because when he least realized it, he was cumming inside you— and it felt good, too good. Nothing compared to the orgasms his hand had so far provided. God, he might get addicted to you after this. 

The room fell into a silence, where only your accelerated breathing and the music muffled by the door could be heard. You both refused to move for a few moments, enjoying the touch of your skin and the vital sounds of each other. 

The dim light slipping through the windows painted faint shadows on the walls, highlighting the way your bodies pressed together. Your skin against his was warm, electric, like a spark neither of you wanted to break. Time felt like it slowed, stretching out as you both stayed perfectly still, caught in the pull of the moment. He could feel your heartbeat under his touch, steady and grounding, blending into the quiet rhythm of your breaths.

“So, how was it?” You broke the silence, stroking his back with your fingertips. 

Kiyoomi couldn't help but let out a chuckle in the midst of his quickening breath, “Mind blowing.” 

“I agree.”

Kiyoomi propped himself up on his forearms, his eyes meeting your adorable face, and he couldn't help but smile softly. He leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your lips before settling down beside you. With an easy, natural motion, he slid a hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Now, with your head resting on his chest, he held you with the kind of tenderness that made the moment feel too perfect to let go of.

As the quiet rhythm of his breathing filled the room, Kiyoomi looked down at you, nestled against his chest. He absentmindedly traced gentle circles on your back with his fingers, his mind lingering on the softness of the moment. The warmth of your presence and the steady rhythm of your breathing calmed him, but his mind refused to settle.

He couldn't stop replaying the events of the night—the way your presence had lit up the room, the way you spoke with such ease and authenticity, and how natural it felt to be by your side. For someone who usually kept people at a distance, you had somehow bypassed every barrier he'd carefully built.

The thought made his chest tighten, but not with unease. With something new. Something he wanted to hold onto.

He glanced down at you, his heart catching at the way your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked sleepily. He knew moments like this didn't come often—not for him. And he knew it— he wanted more. 

But would you want that, too?

The doubt lingered for only a second before he pushed it aside. Tonight had been proof enough that whatever this was, it was mutual. And if he didn't take a chance, he'd regret it.

Gathering his courage, he took a breath, his voice low and steady as he broke the silence.

“Hey.” He began, the faintest hint of shyness lacing his tone. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

You smiled, your cheek still resting against his chest. “Not yet. Why?”

“I was thinking…” He hesitated for a beat, then pressed on. “Maybe we could go out. Just the two of us.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Are you asking me on a date, Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

“Yeah.” He said. “I want to take you somewhere nice. Anywhere you want.”

You reached up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “I'd love that.”

His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, relief flickering across his expression. “Good. I'll make it worth your while.”

“You already are.”

spoiler: sakusa didn’t know it yet, but atsumu will actually be the best man a few years later.

[rmview]

saying they want to break up during a fight, ATEEZ.

featuring — ateez members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of what happens when the ateez boys impulsively tell you they want to break up during an argument!

contents — angst, fighting, some tears, reconciliation.

hong ☾ joong

the argument had been dragging on for what felt like hours. hongjoong leaned against his desk, rubbing his temples in frustration. “i don’t know what else you want me to say,” he muttered, his voice sharp.

“i want you to stop shutting me out all the time!” you snapped back, your emotions bubbling over.

he clenched his fists, the stress of everything overwhelming him. “maybe we’re better off apart if i’m so bad at this,” he said coldly, the words cutting through the room like a knife.

your face fell, the weight of his statement sinking in. “you… you think we should break up?”

the moment he saw the tears in your eyes, regret hit him like a tidal wave. “wait, no,” he stammered, stepping forward. “that’s not what i meant. i didn’t mean it.”

“then why would you say it?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

hongjoong’s expression softened, guilt washing over him. he reached for your hands, holding them tightly. “because i’m a coward,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “i was scared of failing you, and i said the stupidest thing i could. please, don’t believe it. i need you — i love you. let me fix this. don’t let me lose you over my own stupidity.”

seong ☾ hwa

seonghwa’s jaw tightened as he tried to keep his composure. “i don’t understand why this keeps happening,” he said, his voice lower than usual but no less intense.

“because you always avoid talking about your feelings!” you retorted, your frustration spilling over.

his lips pressed into a thin line, his usual patience worn down. “maybe that’s just who i am, and if you can’t handle it, maybe we shouldn’t be together!”

the words hung in the air, and both of you froze. you stared at him in shock, unable to process what he’d just said.

seonghwa’s eyes widened as the reality of his words sank in. “no, wait,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “i didn’t mean that.”

“you think we should break up?” you asked, your voice breaking.

“no,” he said firmly, his voice trembling now. “i said it because i was frustrated, but it’s not what i feel. i’m sorry — i was wrong to push you away like that.” he reached out, his hands cupping your face gently. “i love you too much to let this end over my own stupid mistake. please… forgive me.”

yun ☾ ho

“why do you always have to make everything such a big deal?” yunho asked, exasperation clear in his tone.

“because it is a big deal to me and you never seem to care!” you shot back, your voice rising.

yunho threw his hands up, the frustration boiling over. “fine! if that’s how you feel, maybe we should just break up!”

the room fell silent, the weight of his words crushing both of you. your lips parted in shock, and his face immediately dropped. “wait,” he said, his voice softer now. “no, i didn’t mean that.”

“you think this is something to just throw away?” you asked, your voice almost shaking.

“no!” he said, panic seeping into his tone as he crossed the distance between you. “i was angry, okay? i wasn’t thinking. i would never want to lose you — not for anything.” he reached for your hands, his grip firm but tender. “i’m sorry. i said it because i didn’t know how else to handle this, but i’ll do better. please don’t give up on me — on us.”

yeo ☾ sang

yeosang’s arms were crossed, his face unreadable as you vented your frustrations. “you never open up to me,” you said, your voice shaking with emotion.

“i don’t know how to, okay?” he replied evenly, his tone laced with frustration. “so i hope you can understand how frustrating it can be for me when you push me to do so repeatedly. maybe you’d be better off with someone who could.”

the words hit you like a punch to the stomach. “what are you saying?”

“maybe we should break up,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor.

your heart sank, and silence filled the room. yeosang glanced up, and the devastation on your face shattered his calm facade. “wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “that’s not… i didn’t mean that.”

“then why say it?” you asked, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“because i don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “but losing you? that’s not something i can handle either.” he stepped closer, his eyes filled with regret. “i’m sorry. i let my insecurities speak for me, but i don’t want this to end. please, let me make this right.”

san ☾

san paced the room, his frustration boiling over. “why do we keep having the same argument?” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.

“because you never listen to me the first time!” you shot back, your voice almost trembling. “if you cared about me the slightest, we wouldn’t have to be running in circles over the same topic!”

“that’s not fair,” san replied, his voice rising and something flashing in his eyes. “if it bothers you so much and i don’t care the way you want me to, then maybe you should just leave!”

the words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. your eyes widened, and his heart immediately sank as he saw the hurt flash across your face.

“wait,” he said, his voice breaking as the realization hit him. “i didn’t mean that.”

you stepped back, tears welling in your eyes. “you can’t just say something like that, san.”

“i know,” he whispered, stepping closer to you, desperation in his gaze. “i wasn’t thinking — i was angry. but i don’t want to lose you. please, i’ll do better. just… don’t leave me.”

when you didn’t respond, he gently took your hand, holding it tightly. “you’re everything to me,” he said, his voice shaking. “please don’t let one stupid moment ruin us.”

min ☾ gi

mingi’s voice echoed in the small room, louder than he’d intended. “i’m tired of this, okay? maybe we should just break up!”

your jaw dropped, the sharpness of his words cutting deep. for a moment, you stood frozen, staring at him in disbelief. but when his words registered, you turned around to walk away quietly.

as the weight of what he’d said sank in, mingi’s anger dissolved into panic. “wait,” he said quickly, reaching for you as you turned away. “no, no, no, i didn’t mean that.”

“then why would you say it?” you demanded, too shook to cry. yet.

“i was being stupid,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “i didn’t know how else to say i’m scared — scared of losing you, scared of messing this up. but breaking up? that’s the last thing i want.”

he dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his forehead against your stomach. “please don’t hate me,” he whispered. “i love you more than anything. i’ll do whatever it takes to fix this.”

woo ☾ young

“fine! if you don’t trust me, then maybe we shouldn’t be together!” wooyoung snapped, his voice laced with frustration.

your breath caught, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. “is that what you really want?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

as soon as the words left his mouth, regret flooded wooyoung’s expression. “no,” he said, his voice softening instantly. “no, that’s not what i want at all.”

you shook your head, stepping back as you almost felt queasy at the way he suggested splitting so easily. “then why?”

wooyoung reached out, his hands trembling as they rested on your shoulders. “because i’m an idiot,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “i let my emotions get the best of me, and i said something i didn’t mean. please, don’t believe it. you’re the only person i want.”

he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you’d disappear. “i’ll spend forever making this up to you,” he whispered against your hair. “just don’t let me lose you.”

jong ☾ ho

jongho’s voice was low but firm as he spoke. “maybe this just isn’t working anymore,” he said, his tone colder than he intended.

your eyes widened, and the room seemed to still. it took you a few moments to register what he was implying. “you’re breaking up with me?” you asked, disbelief evident in your voice.

as the words left his mouth, jongho’s chest tightened. he saw the hurt and confusion in your expression, and his own heart shattered. “no,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “that’s not what i want.”

“but you just said —”

“i know what i said,” he interrupted, his voice almost sharp from the panic he felt. “but i didn’t mean it.” he reached for your hand, holding it firmly. “i got scared, okay? scared that i’m not enough for you, that i’ll keep hurting you like this. but losing you? that’s the only thing i can’t handle.”

your eyes blurred with tears as he pulled you into his arms, his grip tight and unwavering. “i’m sorry,” he murmured. “i’ll never say something so stupid again. just give me one more chance to prove how much you mean to me.”

notes: ooh, this one was sadder to write :') if you guys have angstier ideas, feel free to send them in and don't forget to interact with the fic after reading <3

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

fill with fire, exhale desire, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: He smokes cigarettes. You hate it. You always have a lighter in your pocket. He is pissed off because it isn't for him, you say. So much is said, but the truth is in the silence.

wc: 26.7k; warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smoking cigarettes, negative attitudes about smoking, quitting smoking; mentions of misogyny in South Korea; slow burn; constant bickering, tbh; smut (fem reader, striptease (?), heavy making out, scratching, penetrative sex, he puts his hand over her mouth and she licks it, multiple orgasms, handjob, fingering); non-idol!AU - smoker, pining, bratty!JK x cold, independent, insomniac!reader; reader's POV

--

“Got a light?”

You reached in your pocket and pulled out the lighter that you always kept on you. It had a dragon insignia etched into the black metal. Heavy and substantial. Serious enough to bruise if thrown with enough force. You flicked it open with your thumb and raised it.

Jeon Jungkook leaned in, holding a cigarette between his lips expectantly.

You made your distaste evident in your expression.

He smirked.

You pressed the button and the orange flame shot up. Burning paper and tobacco. The end of the cigarette glowed red. You pulled your hand away, flicking your wrist to extinguish the flame. Slipped it back into your pocket and resumed not looking at him. You heard him inhale with a satisfied sigh before bleeding out smoke to the sky.

“You smoke too?”

“Fuck no,” you snapped. “I’m not disgusting.”

There was a sharp sucking sound of Jungkook’s incredulous annoyance. “Hm. Then the lighter’s just for me, huh?” His voice was throaty with nicotine. You hadn’t moved away yet. He nudged your shoulder with his knuckles. You didn’t react. “You like me that much?”

You could smell the fumes in the air even though he was attempting to be careful about it. That was the thing about smoke. It got everywhere. A gaseous parasite. You didn’t reply. Instead, you stuck your hands in your denim jacket pockets and acted as if he wasn’t there. Predictably, not a single person looked your way, even with your pleated blue plaid miniskirt was grazing the bottom of your ass and your black pleather corset showing off the ample curve of your breasts.

No one wanted to deal with the big tattooed guard dog smoking just behind you.

He was trying to stand close but not too close. You wondered if Jungkook was aware of how much subtilty he lacked. He likely had no clue. He called your name, casually, desperate for some sort of attention.

“Just say it.”

You turned your head maybe an iota of a degree in his direction, glaring at him from under your black baseball cap. Seething.

“The lighter is not for you, Jeon Jungkook.”

His lips twisted into a pout. He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair which definitely worked on other people. Just not you. He held the lit cigarette away from you, and so you spared him a little more of your gaze, pivoting your black boot to view him at an angle.

“You’re lying,” he asserted with false confidence. “You’ve always got it when I ask.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean that it’s for you. Could be for someone else.”

This revelation did not pacify him. The opposite, actually. His brows knitted together. The corner of your lips ticked upward. This pissed him off even more as you seemed to imply scenarios that he very much did not like. You were curious on what how he would approach it.

“Yeah, right. Sure.” He took a quick drag and blew it towards the sky. His dark eyes locked on you. He called your bluff. “You don’t like smoking. There’s no way you would hang out with anyone else who does. You already told me that’s the reason we’re not dating.” Uncertainty etched into his stern expression. “… Right?”

You tilted your head at him.

You watched your silence infuriate Jungkook. He puffed up his chest a little, which was admittedly impressive even in his oversized black t-shirt. He had big pectoral muscles. He had picked up working out to add an addiction in attempt to subtract one. He did smoke less in your presence. But not zero.

“Right?”

He was being very demanding and prissy right now.

You pursed your lips and sucked on the side of your teeth. Then you said, “Yup. That’s the only reason.”

Despair ghosted over his features. He glanced down at the cigarette in his hand. There was slightly more than three-fourths left. His eyes went from you to the concrete sidewalk and then back again. You frowned.

“Don’t even think about littering,” you warned.

He clicked his tongue and flicked ash behind him. “So? Who is it?”

“Who is who?” You taunted back in the same irked tone, minus the underlying insecurity.

“The other person you’re cheating on me with,” Jungkook snapped.

You weren’t bothered by his fury. “I’m not cheating on you if you’re not my boyfriend to begin with.”

He shot you a look that could have scalded most. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

“Tch, then be my girlfriend and take them from me.”

“Not how this works,” you countered, shifting your stance away from him. Slight panic flashed over his features. You ignored it. “My bus is coming soon.”

“Ugh,” he tutted. “I hate that you go to concerts alone.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t spend your money on smokes, you could join me.”

“I asked,” he growled. “I have the money. You said no.”

You sent him a soulless smile. “Because you smoke.”

Jungkook looked ready to put out the cigarette on his own arm. But you were already backing away. He half-followed, still talking.

“You’re going dressed like that? You’re going to get groped.”

You did your best to not call him stupid. You settled for an eye-roll. “Why do you think I stuck around after you asked for a light?” You stopped. So did he, avoiding closeness. He looked confused. “Men stay away from me when they smell smoke on my clothes. Either I smoke or I’ve got a boyfriend who does. Either way, not attractive.”

He flinched at your double-edged comment. Then, with a measured amount of bravery, Jungkook took a step forward and tapped your chest with his hand that held the cigarette. You made a displeased face. A tendril of smoke drifted upwards for the suspended second that he held his fingertips to your skin. You narrowed your eyes at him. He backed up, lifting both hands up in defeat. He licked his lower lip, looking down at you.

“If the lighter’s not for me, then what’s it for?”

There was a metal screech of heavy brakes behind you, closer to the street.

You glared up at him, wishing he picked better addictions.

Only time could tell.

“Arson,” you replied, and turned around to step onto the bus, leaving Jungkook alone once again. He would tire of it soon enough.

-

You scowled.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

The crowd was parting as you were heading to the train station. Just before you were meant to enter, a man approached you with a plastic bag and a bottle of water. He looked almost as aggravated as you felt. His hands were occupied so for once he couldn’t ask for a light.

“Is that any way to greet someone waiting for you?” Jeon Jungkook growled.

You were far from impressed. “Did I ask you to wait for me?” You answered yourself. “No, I didn’t. So, you’re the stalker here.”

His dark eyes shifted over the passerby you had no interest in. He looked back at you with a peeved expression. “Better me than an actual creep.”

“Spoiler alert: you are an actual creep.”

You kept your distance, wary, and made to walk around him. Something flashed in his gaze but he shut his eyes and sucked in the side of his cheek with a sharp sound. His body turned, semi-following you. You noticed he was wearing a black leather jacket, a different cream shirt, and dark olive cargo pants. Same black sneakers from earlier though. His black hair seemed faintly damp. He must have taken a shower. Perhaps he went to work out while you were gone for hours.

“At least take the water and food,” Jungkook scoffed, holding out the items. “You’re probably dehydrated and hungry. Don’t your feet hurt from standing so long?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.”

You stopped and stared him down. He rolled his eyes. He seemed hurt. It didn’t matter if he was avoiding your gaze; you could tell. There was no reason to soften your tone, but at the very least you reached out and took the water bottle from him. The condensation felt nice on your palm already. You unscrewed the cap with a cold expression and heard the plastic crack. He hadn’t tempered with it, at least. A part of you felt bad for assuming the worst, but, then again, this was South Korea. You took a sip and pointed with the cap to the plastic bag.

“What food?”

Jungkook started, diverting his peek at your reaction in hopes you didn’t notice. You had. “Pan-fried tteokbokki,” he mumbled.

One of your favorites. At least he used his ears sometimes. “You really balled out, huh. How much I owe you?”

He took offense. “You think I don’t make enough money to treat you?”

“What do you need to treat me for?”

“Aren’t we friends?” Jungkook shot back.

You were mid-sip when the damage was already done. You saw him freeze up and then quickly look away. People walking past were giving you both weird looks, splitting around the two of you as a river does to a pesky rock stuck in the middle. You lowered the water bottle. He shoved his free hand into his front pant pocket. His knuckles indented the fabric. You looked from them, to back up to his face. His brows were knitted together and he appeared to be biting back an insult.

Or something else.

You reached for the bag.

Hooked your fingers around the handles. He didn’t let go. Nor acknowledge you. You tugged lightly. He remained an immovable statue. You took a step forward and pulled up, turning your face away from his chest in the process.

Jungkook whipped his head back and glared down at you.

His grip tightened. You pressed your lips together as the side of your fingers touched the side of his. He smelled fresh. He had definitely showered. The stale scent of his cigarette from earlier still lingered on your denim jacket. You shifted your eyes and made eye contact. Close. Not touching, though. Just enough for a misunderstanding that wasn’t going to happen because both of you were crystal clear on your stances.

He let go of the bag.

The weight fell onto your fingers.

He was searching for the words but you interrupted his thoughts.

“You gonna make sure I get home safe?” you asked.

He looked away. “Don’t be stupid.” Tightened his jaw. “What kind of man would I be if I just let you wander around at night by yourself?”

You watched his profile. He didn’t turn back. You stepped back. His eyes followed, as unnoticeable as he believed, and you let him have that, choosing instead to start walking.

“Might as well eat while it’s warm. I could sit down for a bit.”

You didn’t look back to see if he was after you. You heard him bite back his reply and swiftly pivot, and then it was both you against the night of blaring headlights and a dissipating crowd, feeling two kinds of alone despite all the people around. You ended up at the underground food court. Probably where he purchased the tteokbokki to begin with. Found a table and unwrapped the container. A paper-sleeved wooden skewer was tucked against the lid.

Jungkook threw himself into the seat across from you and pulled out his phone, beginning his doomscrolling.

It was still warm. Lightly spicy. Probably a bit too heavy for late night but that was why it tasted better than usual. You caught his darting glimpse as you ate. Raised an eyebrow. He pretended not to notice. Or was it that he pretended not to care? You raised the skewer and tilted it towards him. He continued to ignore you even though his body was halfway turning.

“Want one?”

“I’m fine,” he instantly answered. Almost smugly.

You knew what he was doing. Still, you acted as if you didn’t. “I can’t eat it all anyway. Don’t waste.”

Those dark brown orbs shifted back. His eyebrows furrowed. He did his best to sound annoyed. “You don’t eat enough.”

“Even if I didn’t, I should eat something healthier,” you pointed out, keeping your face neutral.

He reached for the skewer and you pierced one of the rice cakes instead. Soaking it in the sauce and holding it out. Jungkook locked eyes with you. You slid the container closer so he could lean over it.

He took the skewer from your fingers and fed himself.

All while staring at you.

The eye contact was broken by his eyes closing. Enjoying the food. Crispy, warm, spicy. Chewy on the inside, in that satisfying way that one could enjoy the seeping heat all over the tongue. He stabbed another and ate that too, without asking. You hadn’t expected him to. You hadn’t expected him to do any of this, actually. You drank another sip of water.

“I’ll take the train home.”

“I don’t think so,” Jungkook grumbled with full cheeks, sliding the container back to you and shoving the wooden skewer in your hand. His brief touch lingered. You searched for his expression but he covered the lower half of his face with his other hand, keeping his eyes shut and chewing as he spoke. “I came on my bike. I’ll drop you off at your place.”

Now that was sounding a little too familiar. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve done it before.”

He cracked open an eye and you could tell he was frowning even though his hair had fallen over his temples. “Just because you’ve done it before doesn’t mean it’s smart or safe.”

He underestimated your resting psycho bitch face. You speared two pieces of tteokbokki and crammed them in your mouth. Chewed with irritation. You swallowed. “No one is out to get me.”

Those three-quarter moons remained unconvinced. “That you know of.”

You raised your eyebrows and moved to continue eating. “You watch too much true crime.”

“You don’t watch enough. You are the one that should be cautious,” Jungkook retorted.

“I am cautious.” You glanced at him above pan-fried rice cake. “But you can’t live always being afraid of possible horrors. If I did that, well, I would sleep even worse than I already do.”

You ate.

Jungkook lowered his eyes and went pensively silent.

There wasn’t anything to say. You cleaned up. Threw away the remains appropriately. Began to walk with him subtly leading the way. The night felt darker. Quieter. The concert crowd was gone and now the streets were full of night owls on their own lonely missions. You pretended passersby parted to let you and him through. The more likely answer was avoidance though. There wasn’t anything that friendly about Jungkook’s rigid presence and your inherently cold one.

In a parking lot now.

His black and chrome motorcycle was parked. A beast in its own right. Lately, you had been thinking of his addictions. Tattoos. Motorcycles. Cigarettes. Chasing after the un-chasable. Was he simply a thrill seeker or was he attempting to break an internal perfection that he had been living by for far too long? Or just doing anything that came to mind to try and feel something? You stopped walking when he did. He did his thing. And then Jungkook held out a lump of black fabric to you.

You raised your eyebrows.

He half-shrugged. “You can’t get on the bike in that skirt.”

He was right. You didn’t want him to be right. You took the lump that turned out to be a pair of his sweatpants. The Nike ones he usually wore to work out. You made a face. He rolled his eyes as he produced the helmet.

“They’re clean,” he huffed. “I ain’t nasty.”

You had quite a few comebacks for that but you kept your mouth shut. You wondered if he noticed how he slipped out of his practiced Seoul dialect for half a sentence. You noticed. You averted your eyes. It was late. The adrenaline was wearing off to soreness. You could only give about a rat’s ass of a fuck right now. Fuck it. You started bending down.

“Woah!”

All of a sudden you felt a strong grip on your forearm, pulling you back up and dragging you forward, sandwiching you in between the large motorcycle and Jungkook’s scowl, quickly letting go once you glared. You narrowed your eyes. He gave you a disapproving frown.

“I’m wearing shorts under this,” you hissed under his chin.

“Booty shorts, maybe,” he snapped back. “Also, shorts or not, they don’t hide your shape. Idiot.”

He was wrong. You were wearing black boyshort-style panties. Semantics. Instead of bending down, you raised one leg to lower the inner zipper of your boots. Immediately, Jungkook caught your shoulder, steadying you. You didn’t thank him. You glowered. He glowered back as you undid the other one. You stomped down and bunched up the legs of the sweatpants, first sticking in one foot and then the other, doing a little dance in and out of your boots, before forcefully yanking them up your legs. He didn’t let you fall, but he also didn’t look either, swiftly turning his head to stare out into the street. There was a brief moment where you had to decide to tuck in your skirt or let it flare out over the top of the pants. You opted for the latter, straightening and smoothing out the pleats over the crotch of his borrowed sweatpants.

He glanced back and frowned.

You noticed. “What?”

His eyes drifted up. Brow knitted together. He let go of your shoulder. “Not fair that you look cute,” he muttered.

“I look dumb as hell.” You bent over and rezipped your boots, adding under your breath, “But it’s better than nothing. I guess.” You stood up again.

There was a shifty, expectant silence.

You wanted to go home and sleep. At the same time, you wanted to be awake. Jungkook hesitated for a moment and then handed you the helmet in his hands before circling around you to grab the other one he had stored, leaving you to figure that shit out on your own. He avoided your gaze as surely as you did his. The whole scene looked less weird that it felt. You heard the engine purr to life. He said something and you ignored him, buttoning up your jacket so your valuables wouldn’t fall out. Not your best look, however, you had not planned any of this in any capacity.

Jungkook was already seated, his long legs extended to the asphalt to steady himself.

“So, you–”

You placed your hand on his bicep and stepped onto the footpeg, nimbly swinging your leg over to balance behind him. Underneath your hand, you felt him stiffen as you settled, sliding your other arm around his back and temporarily landing on his hip before you removed the hand on his upper arm to grip his waist.

“O… Oh.”

He cleared his throat.

“I’m good,” you confirmed even though he hadn’t asked.

He felt warm and solid and you did your best to ignore it.

“R-Right.” A pause before he said, “Hold on, alright?”

You squeezed his waist.

“Mhm.”

Jungkook took you home.

-

“I’ll get the pants back later,” he said as you handed him the helmet back. “Go on up.”

You observed him. Jungkook did his best to be calm and not jittery. He gave you a strange look, realizing that you were analyzing him. He had killed the engine so he didn’t have to shout. He cradled the helmet you had borrowed with one hand, the other on the handle of his motorcycle for a moment before using it to raise the visor to uncover his dark eyes.

You paused.

Then, you unbuttoned your denim jacket, reaching into the inner pocket for your lighter.

You held it out to Jungkook.

He glanced at it, and then at you.

You ticked your head. “You’ll need a light again. Inevitably. Take it.”

His gaze sharpened. He looked away quickly, and you could tell by the contortion of his features that he was shoving his tongue into his cheek, letting out an annoyed huff. Then, he shook his head, as if your audacity was something to behold. Jungkook then transferred the helmet to the crook of his arm and shoved his dominant, tattooed hand into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, ripping out a slightly crumpled cigarette box with one corner torn open.

He slapped it over your dragon lighter.

“Shit.”

You stared at your palm. And then at him. Jungkook glared back, exhaling hard.

“Take ‘em,” he mumbled. His Busan dialect was even more obvious now. His voice was gruff and his manner blunted. “Just fuckin’ take them.”

“I don’t want these,” you retorted.

“Yeah?” His eyes narrowed to daggers. “Neither should I.” His eyes shifted down and then back up. “Inevitably. You’re so fucking full of it.”

You almost flung both objects at his face. Almost. Yet something made you reconsider. Something about Jungkook’s demeanor shifted. He tried to keep his tone sharp but it was dulled by his body language. He cocked his chin in the most falsely cocky way.

“You think I’m gonna want ‘em?”

Your gazes locked.

“Then I’ll have to come to you to get ‘em.”

You pursed your lips. “I’m going to throw them away.”

He dared you. “Do it.”

“You’ll waste your money and time.”

“And I’ll be reminded you’ll never let me live it down,” Jungkook growled. “I’ll think twice before putting myself through that fire.”

Silence.

Eye to eye.

You held his stare.

Then, you lowered your hand, clutching his cigarettes and your lighter, backing away, and quickly spinning on your heel, striding into your apartment building. You punched in the code. Behind you, you heard the swift kick of an engine roar and then a fading zip away as you yanked open the glass door. You didn’t look back. You pocketed Jeon Jungkook’s cigarettes.

-

Nights later, you sat on the floor next to your bed, flicking your lighter on and off to kill the flame and revive it. Over. And over. You stared at the tiny orange burst. Then extinguished it. Then ignited it again. Such a small light. So fragile and yet so capable of burning this entire apartment down. You breathed out. Fixated on the dancing flame. Time passed.

You sat in silence.

You snapped the lid closed, snuffing it out.

The room was semi-dark. Your bedside table lamp was the only light on. The curtains were open, giving you a view of the city skyline etched into the black sky. The area was actually pretty quiet. You got lucky with a neighborhood full of older folks who mostly minded their own damn business. The apartments were older in a homely sort of way. The most telling trait of the apartment complex was the general unease in the air. Probably because some of the older folks had died in their apartments before. People could be superstitious like that. Maybe you were too. You just didn’t see it as a negative.

Which said a lot about you.

You looked up to your nightstand. Next to the dingy chrome base of your lamp was an open pack of cigarettes. The box was missing maybe three or four of them, you guessed. You hadn’t torn it open to confirm.

Behind your head, your phone began to vibrate.

You lifted your hand and placed your lighter on the nightstand. The lines of the dragon engraving caught the low light, casting shadows over it. Your hand pivoted and you felt around the bed. Found the smoothness of the screen and pulled your phone to you, lowering it to your lap before looking at the caller ID. You frowned slightly once you noticed the time. That late, huh? And this person almost never called or texted. Well. At least not to you.

You accepted the call and brought it to your ear out of habit.

“Ya. You,” mumbled the slurred, distorted voice of Jeon Jungkook.

You responded just as politely. “What?”

He let out a huff. There was a fair bit of rustling and maybe the sound of glass on table. “I want you to know something.” You didn’t reply to that. It wasn’t a question. He paused anyway. Maybe expecting you to reprimand him. You stayed silent. “Ah, fuck.” He exhaled hard into the microphone. You held your phone slightly away from your ear even though you couldn’t smell the alcohol on his breath. “Look. I’m not drinking because I need a smoke.” You doubted it. “I just felt like drinking. It’s Friday.” He wasn’t wrong. “I… I get it, okay? I get why you don’t like it. Makes sense and all. I…” He trailed off again, struggling to find the words. “But I’m not like you. I’m not. I don’t have my shit together.”

“I don’t have my shit together,” you interjected. Should be obvious from you answering his call perfectly awake at three in the morning. He didn’t seem to be thinking rationally at the moment though. If he ever did.

“Fuck off.” He lost control of his Seoul dialect. Kept going back and forth between upstanding citizen and gruff Busan satoori. You wondered if he was aware. Probably not. “You have it way more together than me. I’m fuckin’ trying. Ugh.” His tone tightened. “It’s not… It’s not how you think it is. It’s not.”

You weren’t sure you thought it was anything but you let him talk. Nothing else to do, after all.

“I have great parents, you know.” He sighed. Despondently annoyed. “They’re awesome. I wanted to be a good son. That’s… I mean, doesn’t everybody? I listened to them. I listened to be teachers. I listened to my classmates. I wanted to be a good person, so I did everything asked of me from others.” His voice deepened to a soft growl.

“But… People take. I didn’t even realize it.”

You realized that Jungkook sounded sad.

“They take when they know you give. And I gave, because my parents taught me to be a good person and I didn’t want to disappoint them by people calling me heartless or cruel. But…” Mumbled something you didn’t catch. Cleared his throat. “It was becoming too much. I got fed up. I had to start saying no. But not before I had already said yes to a lot of stuff that I shouldn’t have said yes to. I had already developed bad habits by then.”

A few seconds of silence.

You broke it. “You’re too easily influenced,” you accused.

“Yeah, fuck me,” Jungkook grumbled. “Fuck me for not knowing that there are people are out there don’t have my best interests at heart and want to see me fucked up because they feel some type of way. My bad.”

You figured that was common sense. But maybe not. Maybe not, considering the way he talked about his parents. You pushed back your own personal biases despite their intrusive nature.

“Is your family disappointed in you?” you quietly asked.

“Me?” He let out a humorless laugh. “No. No, they’re supportive. Even if they don’t like my tattoos or the piercings or whatever, no one has ever made me feel shit about it. Everyone is positive. Even began to like those things about me when most elders would lose their shit.” He sighed. “But… I still didn’t quit the cigarettes. Just didn’t smoke around them, because I didn’t want to see my mom sad. But still. I didn’t even want to try to quit.”

A moment of reluctance.

“Until… Until I met you,” sighed Jungkook, his deep voice heavy.

Was that supposed to be flattering? You didn’t have time to ponder it.

“Hmph… I’m so envious of you.” A light thud. More rustling. He sounded a little muffled and a lot out of it. “You’re never ruffled. No matter what anyone says or does, you’re always yourself. You don’t relent even when I act like a prick. It’s so… Hah. I can’t do that.” He sounded defeated. “I try to not care too. I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard. The second I think I’ve got it, yes, this is me, I remember it’s not. It’s not. I just copied someone else I saw that I thought… Copying you… You’re right. Lots of people told me to quit. Or keep going, it’s not that bad. They can all fuck right off, until…”

A weak shuffle and then you could barely hear the whisper in between the phone lines. His face was seemingly buried into something. He sounded both far away and so very close at once.

“What am I doing…? It doesn’t… Doesn’t make sense.”

You almost said something. It wasn’t the right time. You shifted your position on the floor, leaning back against the bed. He must have heard that you were still on the other side of the line. He dragged more strength into his voice. As much as he could muster, anyway.

“How…” He shuddered. Whispered your name under his breath in the same way sailors called to stars to navigate the sea on a cold night. “You told me I should quit and… Yeah. I know you’re right. I know. I… The other night…”

The night you attempted to give him your lighter to keep.

Jungkook sniffed. “You can’t… Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter how you do it,” he mumbled. “You do. You just do. And so do I. I gotta just do.”

You finally spoke.

“Yes,” you sighed. “That’s the truth.”

Cradled the phone, leaning it against your temple.

“The world doesn’t care.” He sounded resigned but no longer on the edge. “Everyone just does what they wanna do.”

A long pause. For some reason, you had the impression that both of you were curled up somewhere at home suddenly feeling not at home. Maybe it was the time of the night. Or the alcohol on his end. Or the insomnia on your end. The long seconds marched on. Then, Jungkook asked you a question with a statement.

“I wish I knew what… What I wanna do.”

Silence.

You half-smiled knowing he couldn’t see it. Preferred, actually, that he didn’t. “Gonna be honest,” you chuckled. “I don’t know what I want to do. I follow my instincts and accept wherever I end up.”

He snorted. Haughtily. It was meant to dent to your demeanor and it was about as effective as a puff of popcorn. “Of course. Hah.” Exhaled hard, taking the fight out of himself. “You really… You really don’t know…?”

You debated what you did and didn’t know. “About what?”

An irritated huff. Something about your tone seemingly made him hesitate, though. He caught the gist of what was unsaid. Maybe it was because he was drunk. Sober Jungkook could never.

“If.” Just that. If. “Ah…”

He breathed out your name. It was very late. The darkness was at its peak. But Jeon Jungkook breathed your name with the capacity of a dreamer, half-conscious and losing fast.

“I won’t let it end like this.”

There were a few minutes of quiet.

You hung up before he could start snoring in your ear. A small part of you kind of wanted to hear it. But, instead, you hung up. Placed your phone on your lap. Stared straight ahead, to the windowsill and the peek of the city skyline against a black sky. You thought about his voice on the other end. Calling for you. You sat in silence. Night bled away. You wanted to reach for the lighter again. Your instincts told you not to.

So, you hoisted yourself up and crawled under your covers, giving in to exhaustion’s embrace.

-

The next time you saw Jeon Jungkook was an evening at a convenience store. It was a coincidence. Or perhaps one of fate’s great jokes. You spied him the second you walked into the small establishment. He was talking to a tall man with a sun-kissed tan and longish black hair in soft curls. They obviously knew each other. Jungkook’s laugh was his typical bright guffaw that he tried to stifle to not be a public disturbance.

For a second, you almost forgot that call from a few nights ago.

You looked away, heading to the other side of the store.

Before you did, though, he had glanced in your direction and done a double-take. You moved into an aisle, out of sight, heading to the back, changing your original intent for being here. This particular convenience store was family-owned. It had a small section where the owner’s wife prepared fresh gimbap daily. You wondered how many people knew about this, because it was always stocked. Maybe they preferred to buy from bigger stores, not trusting a small business. You grabbed a tray of heftily-filled tuna gimbap before heading to the fridge section for drinks.

Jungkook was standing there.

You pulled back into the aisle.

His back had been to you, so he didn’t have the chance to notice. Half-in the fridge, picking something out among the electrolyte replenishers and flavored waters. He carried a black backpack that seemed heavy with things. Workout stuff, you assumed. His companion earlier had a towel around his shoulders and had worn a red tank top with exaggerated armholes, revealing a built chest and defined arms. Jungkook’s black hair looked slightly damp, possibly sweaty, pushed back and away from his forehead. He was wearing an open navy hoodie, white tank top, gray sweatpants, and white sneakers. It was safe to assume the backpack had workout shit in it. You wondered where the other guy was. He had been very tall. Easy to spot over the tops of the aisles, but he seemed to no longer be in the store. He must have left, then. No one to distract Jungkook any longer. Hm. You still wanted a drink, but.

Not that badly.

You zipped your black hoodie over your exposed stomach once you noticed the cashier was the elderly woman. You probably would have zipped it no matter who it was. The older generation just tended to be less subtle about their judgements. You approached the register and she smiled, greeting you. You slid the tuna gimbap over to her.

He was behind you.

You glanced at the glass behind the cashier. The cabinet held various brands of cigarettes. It was very well-polished, and you could see Jungkook behind you, sternly staring at the back of your head. You turned around.

He shot you a questioning look, furrowing his eyebrows.

“The total is–”

In his hands was a big bottle. Some kind of sports drink. You took it from him, and put it next to your tuna gimbap. The old woman didn’t quite register the speed of your action, blinking several times.

“Sorry,” you said. “Could you please add this too? Thank you.”

Clearly, she could only focus at one thing at a time. She did not realize you had snatched the drink from the man behind you, which would immediately raise eyebrows. Instead, the older woman was preoccupied with searching for the barcode, turning the bottle this way and that, poking the scanner against it.

Adding it to your receipt.

You felt a hand on your shoulder.

You pulled out your card as the cashier stated your new total. Tapped it as Jungkook hissed your name under his breath, but you ignored him, accepting the purchase as the cashier carefully packed up your meal and someone else’s drink in the same small clear plastic bag. She smiled her customer service smile and then noticed the disheveled punk behind you with a slight widening of her eyes.

You thanked her again and wished her a nice day before gripping his hoodie sleeve and dragging him with you.

Immediately let go when you exited the establishment, finally paying heed to the muttering of curses behind you. You reached into the thin plastic bag and pulled out his drink, pivoting slightly to give it to him. Jungkook snatched it from your hand, scowling.

“I don’t need your fuckin’ charity,” he snapped.

You wondered if he even remembered his drunken laments. “It’s not charity.” You affixed an impassive expression. “Not for you, anyway. Just making it easier for the cashier.” You began to take a few steps in the direction you needed to go.

He scoffed, “What are you doing, anyway?” and cocked his chin at you. “Stalking me now?”

You wondered if he was wishing for that. “I’m retrieving dinner like everybody else at this hour. ‘Cept you, I guess,” you added, unzipping your hoodie again even though the sun was dropping fast.

“What the–”

And Jungkook quickly jogged up beside you, shielding your body with his.

“The hell you doing?”

You glared but didn’t stop walking. “What?” Impolitely.

He pointed to your sports bra with a flick of his wrist. “Uh, you can’t leave the house like that.”

“I already have,” you pointed out. His eyes were glued to your sports bra and the low-waisted black Nike sweatpants clinging to your hips.

“And you think nothing is going to happen to you?” Jungkook indignantly shot back, blocking your way and darting his gaze around as if offenders were already on the horizon.

“Whether it does or not has no bearing on what I’m wearing,” you dryly replied. He was repeating a tale as old as time. Not that that made it any less real. It was all heard before, though. “You act like I haven’t lived for decades knowing the horrors of the world.”

His expression changed. Still frustrated. Slightly put off by your wording. And, sadly, comprehension. “That’s not what I mean.”

“That’s what you’re coming off as.”

“Not my intention,” he grumbled.

“Intentions don’t mean much in the face of what actually happens,” you said, glancing at him.

He shut up.

You almost regretted spilling your honesty.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

He seemed beaten down by your response. Eventually he shook his head and ran his free hand through his windswept black hair, trying to sneak a glimpse at your face. You were already staring at him. That threw him off. He looked away, flustered.

“Can I at least accompany you back?” he offered. Awkwardly.

You ticked your head. You knew that his gym was near that convenience store. “Don’t you live around here?” He had mentioned it, once. “I need to take the bus.” Earlier, you were aware that there was definitely a chance for you would run into him once you chose your destination. But it was the closest spot to buy liquor, and you hadn’t felt like traveling further. Then the original plan changed once you encountered Jungkook. Remembering all that made you pause. You diverted your gaze, adding, “Forget it. Go home.”

Monotone.

Your dismissal clearly annoyed him. He let out an exaggerated exhale and blocked you again when you tried to walk around him. You narrowed your eyes but didn’t raise your head. His tank top was tight, revealing the contours of his muscle. The shoulder of his hoodie had slid down, exposing part of his tattoo sleeve. Dark rings of petals in a hypnotizing mandala. The artist was talented enough to make you pause to admire. Then you swiftly looked away, anywhere else, shifting to his jaw. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and steeled himself.

“Fine.” He came to a conclusion, apparently. “I need a smoke.”

A ripple of aggravation shot through your temple. You turned your stare to fixate on Jungkook. He glared back, twice as stubborn.

“You serious?” you snarled. “Go back to the store then and buy some yourself.”

He rolled his eyes. “The fuck is the point of giving them to you, then?”

You jerked back, disgusted. “I didn’t fucking want them, asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” he pressed, becoming more resolute by the second. “That was the deal.”

You planted a palm on his chest and shoved him out of your way. Unbelievable. “There was no fucking deal,” you retorted, walking fast. He kept up because he was an annoying prick. You glowered, bristling at his presence. “What? You think you can do whatever you want, Jeon Jungkook?” The audacity of this bitch. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ give them to you anyway. So, promptly, fuck off.”

His fingertips touched your shoulder.

You yanked your body back as if scalded.

“Don’t touch me.”

He pulled his hand out of the air but didn’t back down. Those dark brown eyes narrowed. His lips thinned. Anger clouded his features. And. You felt your icy composure become brittle when you observed the distressed sadness poorly hidden underneath said anger.

A tense stillness.

“They’ll kill you,” you steely stated.

His gaze shifted. Contorted. The expression of all too well.

“Yeah.” He exhaled hard. “That’s the truth.”

Then his eyes drifted back to you.

All the fight in the air drained out. Neither of you dared to speak. There were volumes written within this shared quiet. Strangers walked past, sending you both strange looks. You and him were too busy being struck in three-in-the-morning thoughts shared during an impromptu phone call. You looked away. So did he. There was a loud screech of metal and heavy tires on asphalt. You didn’t say anything. You only had time for an instinctive decision.

You tapped Jungkook’s forearm and waved, quickly running to catch up with the bus.

Less than a minute later, him and you stiffly sat next to each other on worn seats, trying your best not to glance at one another or make eye contact with anyone else. It was mostly successful, other than a strong-smelling middle-aged man that was eyeing everybody a little too closely. He settled on you for an unknown but undoubtably nefarious reason. Jungkook shoved you against the side of the bus and firmly put his backpack in his lap, blocking the view of your torso from the stranger’s perspective. Either the random man noticed the silent hostility or lacked object permeance when drunk. He changed course.

Both of you relaxed slightly.

You zipped up your hoodie anyway. Couldn’t hurt. You lifted your head. By mistake, your eyes locked with Jungkook’s. He looked like he wanted to say something but he stayed mute for now. It was a quiet bus ride, leaving both of you in roads of thought neither of you wanted to be in.

-

“You can go home now.”

Jungkook reminded you. “I need a smoke, remember?”

You held your apartment keys and frowned at him. He gave you a casual shrug you didn’t trust. He held onto his backpack and the drink you had bought him, now half-empty. You turned away, licking the side of your teeth. Glanced from all the closed doors around you. You couldn’t shake the tension at your shoulders. Passed by his face. There was something in his expression. You let out an exhale through your nose and shoved your key into the lock, harshly twisting it.

“Fine. Go look for them,” you invited not-so-invitingly.

The door was old and jammed in the frame. You shoved it, hard, and it swung open with almost too much force. You grabbed the knob before it could hit the wall in a practiced motion, crossing the threshold to remove your shoes and scoot them by the wall. He followed, somewhat startled by your daily habits. You ignored him. Instead, you headed for the tiny kitchen with your tuna gimbap, intending to devour it as Jungkook did his search. Chopsticks from the drawer. Taking out the tray of food and placing it on the counter while you balled up the plastic bag to put it in the correct recycling bin. Yanked off the lid and picked up the end piece to eat.

You chewed.

It was fresh. Pretty good.

Without turning around, you removed your hoodie and threw it to the side. It shot to the back of the sofa and clumped. You kept eating. You had already heard Jungkook lock the door, remove his shoes, and dump his backpack on the hardwood floor with a thump. The cigarettes were exactly where you left them. Next to your bedside table lamp with your lighter leaning against them. You ate another piece, staring at the bottom of your gray-stained cabinets, and only now realizing how hungry you were. Huh.

It was eerily quiet.

Weird.

You chewed on your third piece and twisted your body to find Jungkook still standing by the door, staring at your living room with wide eyes. The apartment was quite small. Maybe a little bit crammed. The living room had a black fabric sofa, a dark-stained coffee table that had seen too many late-night dinners, and the TV on a low storage unit.

And mirrors.

Mirrors all over the walls. Most of them were small. Some were vintage with aged metal frames or darkened bamboo frames. Some of them weren’t in the best shape, the reflective glass becoming patchy and spotted. Some were a little more than smoked glass. They were all from thrift stores or resell markets. There was no real rhyme or reason to their placement all over the living room other than chaotically aesthetic. The ones on the bookshelf unit by the window were all lined up. Unique pocket mirrors with various shapes. There were a few anime and cartoon character motifs sprinkled in.

“What the fuck…?”

He finally gave you a look slight frightened concern but mostly confusion.

You shrugged. Casually. “I like to collect mirrors.” You munched.

“No shit?” Jungkook still looked mildly appalled. He furrowed his brows to regain some sort of control over his face. “And you called me a creep.” Still, he shuffled further in, peering over them. “There’s so many of them… The fuck you need all this for?”

“Nothing.”

He shot you a look over his shoulder and quickly diverted his eyes once he noticed your exposed shoulders. “Nothing?” he echoed indignantly.

“There’s no real purpose,” you reaffirmed, grabbing another piece of gimbap with a click of your chopsticks. “Why does anyone have a collection?”

Jungkook snorted. “Collecting music albums or even plushies is less weird then…” He paused. Then angled his body slightly, as if to listen to what you had to say without directly viewing you. “Is there a reason you collect mirrors?”

You, too, stilled. Seeing the back of his head and his broad shoulders suddenly reminded you that this was the first time you had ever invited Jeon Jungkook into your space and rather impulsively at that. You faced the counter again. The gimbap was about three-fourths gone. It was probably a good idea to finish it all now. You chewed on your lower lip, debating on whether or not to tell him the reason.

“When I was young,” you said, directed to the unfinished gimbap. “I didn’t like looking at myself in mirrors. Guess I had some kind of complex about them.” You didn’t elaborate. You positioned your chopsticks over another piece of the roll but didn’t yet pick it up. “When I moved in here, I didn’t really care about decorating it either. Figured it didn’t matter. At some point, I got tired of the blank walls, so I went to a secondhand shop to find something to put on the wall, and I remembered I don’t like mirrors.”

Hated them, really.

“So, I brought one because I thought the design was cool. And kept buying them.”

You half-laughed, mirthlessly.

“I decided it’s stupid to hate something like that, anyway,” you muttered, and chomped down another piece. You should have gotten out the soy sauce. Hah. With self-exasperation, you opened a cabinet to take out the small glass dispenser. Poured a little on the edge of the tray to dip the last few pieces in.

“That’s cool.”

His voice seemed louder, somehow. “You called me a creep,” you hummed.

“I didn’t call you a creep,” Jungkook said behind you.

You turned around, bristling. He was distracted, looking around your relatively neat kitchen. Probably taking note that there were no mirrors here. You restricted your collection to the living room walls to prevent overbuying. His eyes stopped at the gimbap on the counter at waist height. His dark eyes raised. Tentative. Your pulse accelerated a bit. You kept your expression neutral, chewing slowly.

“Thought you needed a smoke?” you asked after swallowing. You waved your chopstick towards the bedroom. “Be my guest.”

The tips of his ears flushed pink. He was sort of looking at you but also not. You tried not to notice that his navy hoodie had fallen off his shoulder, revealing his defined, tattooed right arm all the way to his elbow. His hands were shoved into the side pockets of his sweatpants. He was in the middle of scrutinizing yours.

“Are those mine?” Jungkook asked, completely ignoring your question.

You flicked the side seam by your thigh. “I’ll wash them and give them back. Seemed pointless to wear them for only a short while and wash immediately.” You leaned against the counter. “I haven’t forgotten. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

His eyes shot up to your face at your comment. You shared a glare. Both of you held it more out of stubbornness than intimidation. For what reason, you weren’t sure. There were only parts of him you disliked. Not all of him. Well. Maybe if you and him dialed back the hostility, then.

Both of you broke eye contact at the same time.

“They… They look good on you.” It wasn’t said in a sarcastic way. The sincerity was somehow more alarming. “Keep them.”

“No thanks,” you retorted with more familiarity than you intended. “I don’t need your charity.” You shouldn’t have said that.

It didn’t end up mattering, though.

“Do you remember when I called you a couple nights ago?” Jungkook suddenly blurted, thrusting you both into whiplash of conversation topic change.

You froze.

There was no cue to tell you what was the right thing to say. It was best to glance at his expression to find out, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to. There was something about the distance of a phone call that made deep conversations easier. But you realized from his abruptness that he, too, must have been struggling to bring up the elephant in the room. Could have let it sleep, but this guy wouldn’t let it be.

Still, you understood him.

You pursed your lips and rubbed your collarbone with your free hand. “Only one of us was drunk and it wasn’t me,” you finally sighed. Raised your head.

His ears were very red now. You saw Jungkook battle between being a smartass and his natural self. You saw him wish he was a natural smartass. He cleared his throat, his chest tensing. “Uh… Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry about… Calling so late.” He cleared his throat again despite his discomfort being purely emotional. His eyes shifted. “I didn’t think you’d answer… But you did.” He chanced a glimpse at your reaction.

You shrugged.

Casually.

He nodded quickly even though you hadn’t said anything. “I don’t remember everything I said,” he rambled in a tone that clearly indicated he did. “So, don’t, uh, don’t take it too seriously.” He was taller than you but it didn’t feel like that right now.

You considered his words and quietly replied with, “Okay.”

His eyes drifted to the kitchen counter. Lingered on your waist, but not for long. He ticked his chin towards the leftovers. “Can I have a piece?”

Wordlessly, you held out the chopsticks so he had access to the other, unused end. He hesitated. Then pulled a hand from his pocket. You moved out of the way as he retrieved the chopsticks from your grip and took a step to be closer to the counter.

It was weird.

Standing in your small kitchen next to Jeon Jungkook eating your dinner leftovers.

Mostly it was weird because it didn’t make you highly uncomfortable or positively annoyed. It felt normal, which is what made it otherworldly odd. As if you were getting used to his presence beside you. You winced and tried not to make it obvious. You heard him try to say your name between bites.

“Chew your food,” you muttered, angling your face away but not your body. Couldn’t bring yourself to watch him eat. You heard the rattle of the plastic tray against the counter as he dipped in the soy sauce. Then you felt a nudge by your arm.

Before you could stop your natural reaction, you were face-to-face with Jungkook who was holding out the last piece to you with full cheeks and an expectant expression. You blinked at him. The blunt end of the chopsticks was used, but he was holding out the gimbap with the slender side. The end you had been eating with. The seaweed glistened with soy sauce. His free hand was under the chopsticks, cradling air in the dire last resort that it fell. He roughly swallowed, looking more annoyed with each passing second.

“Open up.”

“No,” you automatically replied.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

You made a face. “This is weird.”

He made a face back. Disturbing. “Shut up and open your mouth.”

“I wo–”

That was precisely the moment Jungkook shoved the chopsticks into your mouth. Instinctively, you lowered your jaw to catch it all, glaring at him. He scowled back, about to remove the chopsticks before you caught them in your teeth with your mouth full of tuna, vegetables, and rice. There was a brief, pointless tug of war before you pulled your head back rather than let him perform the action. Jungkook squinted at you, irritated, and you were just as perturbed, chewing decidedly before swallowing.

Sudden silence.

He lowered the chopsticks to balance them on the empty tray. You ran your tongue over your teeth to catch any rice stragglers. It became hard to maintain eye contact. Now he was facing the cabinets and you were facing the living room of mirrors. Minutes ticked by.

The quiet became violent.

You whipped your head to Jungkook. “So, what–”

He spoke at the same time. “You know I’m not joking, right?” he asked softly.

His profile was statuesque. Instantly recognizable. Imprinted in memory. And then his dark eyes shifted, his black hair framing his temples, and now Jungkook was searching for your eyes that remained on him. You shut your mouth. He realized he had interrupted you.

“What did you want to say?”

You faltered and then shook your head. “Not important.”

His brows furrowed. “Don’t–”

“Joking about what?” you interjected. “Don’t try to distract me.”

He was, rightfully, irate. “You–”

You wrapped an arm around your midsection, suddenly feeling cold. “Is this about you quitting smoking?”

Immediately he noticed. Your demeanor demanding him to answer was a little too intense to be ignored, though. “That’s…” He tutted, his voice deepening slightly. “I’ve already quit.” You raised an eyebrow. “What?” He was trying to unconvincingly convince you. It had barely been a couple weeks, anyway. ‘Ugh, okay, fine. Maybe I bummed a cig a couple of times. But only for a couple puffs. Don’t fucking look at me like that,” Jungkook snapped. “Like you don’t have any bad habits.”

“I have bad habits,” you answered coldly. “But I also deal with how I feel. Something you should get started on.”

He threw up his hands and began to back away from the counter, until.

“Is this how you want to spend your life?” you asked.

His back was to you now. Reluctance took over, rendering his movements as statuesque as he looked moments before. You stared at his back, wondering if you had gone too far. Wondering if these shared moments were all for naught. Not really in the very real chance that he could leave and never look back, but in the very real chance that he did and nothing changed for him. Or for you. In the chance that your interactions would ultimately mean nothing in this life when it was very clear that both of you wanted to mean something. Anything.

“I don’t.”

You looked up and Jungkook was looking back at you over his shoulder. He lowered his gaze when your eyes connected before half-turning to face you, halfway between running to and running from. You asked yourself, if it was anyone else, would you stay this silent? Before it registered, you reached out and tugged his hoodie sleeve.

After all, you did always have a light for him.

He raised his eyes.

“You’re trying. Aren’t you?” You gave him a dry smile before letting go.

His lashes lowered to waning half-moons. Then he ticked his head, asking, “Do you really hate it that much?” His eyes found yours. He already knew the answer and was asking it anyway.

You told him the truth. “Yeah.”

The corner of his lips flicked upwards wryly. “Damn. So honest.”

You almost laughed. “Well… You wouldn’t like me at all if you knew I was a liar.” Then your words caught up to you. “Not that you do,” you added after a beat.

“I do,” corrected Jungkook before looking away.

Maybe he was embarrassed by his admission. You, however, were preoccupied with other thoughts. The mirrors. Your insomnia. His tattoos. His cigarettes. Your coldness. His fire. The way you tended to lock down your deep emotions and the way his tended to spill out when they overflowed. You held the lighter. He longed to burn. You liked him. That thought lingered. You hated the smoking, true, not only because of all the obvious discomforts, but also because you had a feeling that he knew he could quit and only did it to further punish himself for things he didn’t do.

You just had a feeling since you, too, punished yourself for things you didn’t do.

You felt something soft brush against your shoulders.

His hoodie smelled like him, herbal and fresh with depth, with a vague hint of washed-out acid smoke. You glanced over. He looked apologetic, gesturing to your arm over your midsection. His built chest and sculpted shoulders were mildly distracting. His white tank top clung to his body, not leaving much to the imagination. You frowned. Jungkook saw your face and braced himself for a reprimanding.

You asked him a question you had been wondering for a while now.

“Did you plan this?”

That wasn’t what he expected. His features twisted into confusion. “Uh?” He seemed to forget his anxiousness for a moment. “Plan what?” The perfect deer-in-headlights look.

You angled your body to better face him and held the edge of the hoodie, narrowing your eyes. “You know what I mean,” you warned.

He sensed danger and held up his hands in defeat. “I don’t?”

Those big brown eyes begged you to believe him. Either he was stupid or a really good actor. You relaxed slightly. You weren’t banking on the latter and really hoped you were right. You grimaced, backing away. It wasn’t fair to let learned behavior judge him yet constant vigilance was also needed for survival. You sighed, stepping around him.

“Never mind. It’s late. Just sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“The fuck?” Jungkook followed, infuriated, much like the rest of the night. “I can’t do that.”

“The buses aren’t running this late,” you stated matter-of-factly. You waved him away, plopping onto your sofa with a tired exhale. “Or you can call a taxi, I guess. You want money for that?”

He smacked his hand down on the back of the sofa and scowled, bending down to intimidate you.

“I am not some kid!”

You looked up at him.

Jungkook froze, realizing the closeness.

He was naturally a very handsome man. You had always thought so. Never told him. He had probably heard it enough. He faltered, losing the fight but not yet letting go of the sofa. You observed the line of his jaw and thought about how hard he had to work to fulfill the image others had of him. How hard he worked to break that image, only to shoulder a different set of expectations, for only a certain level of coolness could combat the goodness he lost. If not one thing, then another. He must not have felt that he fit those ideals either. He couldn’t win.

You worried that he simply liked you in a vain attempt to feel some level of control.

Crestfallen, his eyes wandered, then realized he couldn’t because then he would be staring down your chest or at your thighs. He pretended that he wasn’t looking and raised his head, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

It wasn’t so much accusatory as it was a revelation.

You lowered your gaze and realized you were staring at his chest or his crotch. That was out of the question. You almost wished he would sit down next to you, but he was right. There was a moment where you considered brushing him off as you did with everyone else. Your eyes connected. As you stared into those dark brown orbs, your instincts taunted you, asking you want you were afraid of.

“There’s nothing good to know,” you admitted. “Better to keep things to myself.”

His expression told you he fucking hated that.

He looked up to the mirrors around the room. You could see he was still a bit creeped out by them and tried very hard not to say it. Your elderly landlord did often joke about how you were inviting spirits into your home with these old mirrors. You usually countered with they also symbolized fate, to which he guffawed and asked how many fates you needed.

Sometimes, it felt like you needed every chance you could get.

“I can’t sleep in your bed,” he finally concluded, steeling himself.

“Your smokes are on my nightstand. So is my lighter.”

The door to the bedroom was partway open but Jungkook even didn’t look in that direction. His ears were slowly turning scarlet. He distracted himself with your statements. “What? Why?” He frowned. “I thought you threw ‘em away.”

You shrugged. “Seemed like a waste of money.”

He muttered under his breath. “Yeah. That’s what they are.” He looked a little ashamed. Shook his head, trying to convince himself. “Even more reason not to go in there and be tempted.” He began to step around your legs, shooing you away with a gruff, “Move.”

You didn’t move.

“You hate my bed that much even though you want to get in it?” you quipped.

Jungkook started. “That’s–”

You stood up abruptly.

It was so fast that he had no time to react. One moment you were sitting and the next you were standing right up to him with only a whisper of breath between your bodies, peering at his face. His hoodie fell off your shoulders and onto the cushions. His eyes widened, lips parting, and you witnessed him holding his breath as if that would somehow stop time.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by.

You wondered how it would feel to be held by him.

“Fine,” you whispered, staring into his eyes. “I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.”

And you walked around, letting him breathe again.

-

Being awake was torturous due to constantly fighting invasive thoughts. Being asleep was worse due to remaining imprisoned in those intrusive thoughts blended with uncontrolled imagination, which was your presumed explanation for your insomniac nights. Yeah. And people wondered why you kept to yourself. Such was being human, so once again you gave into the insanity of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result because it could not be avoided.

Everyone had to sleep, after all.

And you woke up a few hours later, as predicted, wrenching yourself out of a dream you didn’t want to be in, trying your best to remember none of it. You were used to it. Routine of the night, so to speak. That made it more annoying than anxiety-inducing. You laid on your back in relative silence, staring into the darkness of the ceiling and running your fingers over your sheets. A folded portion of the duvet was trapped under your left side and you impatiently yanked it out from under you, forgetting the images of betrayal in the wake of another’s selfishness.

For tonight, anyway.

There was a loud snore on the other side of your bedroom door, offending your ears at this late hour. You sat up. You had been a little surprised at Jungkook accepting your offer. Then again, everything was happening because of split decisions and obvious desires. And some logic. Just not much. You hadn’t talked much after you handed him the extra pillow from your bed and a soft fuzzy blanket. There wasn’t much to talk about, not to mention both of you were trying to pretend as if this wasn’t happening. In movies and television shows, this would have gone in a whole different direction. In reality, it was a lot more awkward and untimely.

You glanced over to the nightstand that held his cigarettes and your lighter, barely making out the outlines of the items. Maybe his initial intention really was to come just to get them. Or maybe it was to put you in a compromising position or something like that. Neither of those things happened because neither of those things were who he was, only ideas of what he thought he could be, but he hadn’t thought any of it through, so now he was snoring up a storm on your sofa without a care in the world.

Unlike you, it seemed like his sleep was solace rather than a battleground.

You tapped a finger against the bed and then sighed, pulling yourself out from under the duvet to grab a large t-shirt to pull over your head. Headed to the bedroom door and opened it quietly, slipping out to the kitchen accompanied by Jungkook’s noisy and uncoordinated nose symphony. He was facing the inside of the sofa but, unfortunately for you and fortunately for him, had powerful lungs. There wasn’t much worry about rousing him. You opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water, hoping the cool liquid could refresh you somehow.

You faced the sink and took a few sips.

Was friendship even the correct word for what you and Jeon Jungkook had? It was more closeness from coincidence rather than a direct seeking out of the other. Closeness that became closer before either of you realized it, slowly losing all the people in between until only you and him were left. Maybe that was why he had a sort of fixation on you since everyone had distanced themselves for various reasons, relationships, careers, adventures. Then again, fixation seemed to be his defining feature.

You almost snorted, and would have if he wasn’t sleeping on your couch.

But maybe not, as he had paradoxical, flighty tendencies too. Always influenced by someone or some media he consumed. You weren’t without your own flaws, you knew. Deep thought and constant existential crisis didn’t exactly make for good company. Sometimes it was better not to think so much, which was why you tried to fight your instinctive nature at times. You looked over to the mirrors on the living room walls, taking another drink. They were small, not very useful as a looking glass or for nitpicking an outfit before leaving. You had not been lying when you told Jungkook that you bought them to get over your hatred of them. There was a time when you hated seeing your reflection because the person in the mirror wasn’t matching up with the person in your head.

Irrational, yes.

Reality was irrational.

You rested your ass against the bottom cabinets of your kitchen and sipped from the water bottle. You knew you weren’t a good person since you had long given up aspiring for something great. Anyone worth anything aspired for something great. Not even failure was frowned upon the in the presence of a dream nowadays. You didn’t understand why Jungkook was snoring in your apartment right now, why he cared if you got home in one piece, why he was trying so hard to quit smoking for someone like you who lived in irreverence. South Korea valued productivity, beauty, and giving away one’s humanity for the cause. Not giving a fuck made you no better than the bottom of the barrel.

You couldn’t answer what he so heavily hinted at because it just didn’t make any sense.

Maybe he was just dumb.

Jungkook snored particularly loud and choked, throwing himself into a coughing fit.

You frowned and made your way over to him as he shrimped up and groaned, highly displeased and groggy from this turn of events. There was no obvious reaction to you approaching him. Either he didn’t hear you or didn’t register where he was.

You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Nrgh…”

“You alright?” You kept your voice low, a level above a whisper. “Want some water?”

He said your name as if underwater. Muffled and out of it. You pulled your hand away as he turned over and sat up, squinting hard. “Uh?” He was still wearing his tank top which was now wrinkled around his waist. The top of his chest glistened with sweat. He probably usually slept shirtless and didn’t do so to be polite.

You held out the plastic bottle in your hand. “Water.”

He wasn’t thinking straight because he grabbed the bottle from you without objection, as if he wholeheartedly accepted you were the cold-water fairy of his dreams. He drank without so much of a thank you and with his lips right against the opening, crushing the latter half of what was left in only a few seconds.

“Uwah…!”

He dropped his hand, breathing out hard. You glanced at your empty hand. Comtemplated on giving him a reality check of what he just did but instead decided to let it go.

“Uh… Why are you awake?” he asked you blearily, becoming more awake by the second.

Some truths were better left unsaid for now. “Getting used to your snoring,” you mused, dropping your hand.

Jungkook seemed embarrassed. Looked from the water bottle to the coffee table behind your legs. The distance was too great for it to be casual. He clung onto it for emotional safety. “S-Sorry about that,” he mumbled, straightening his tank top and rubbing his neck.

“It’s probably a side effect of your smoking,” you commented.

He shot you an angry pout but there was no retort when you were right. “It’s probably my rhinitis,” he huffed. An uncomfortable, short silence.

Once again, both of you were reminded of a late-night call in the dead of night.

You held out your hand for the water bottle. After a moment, Jungkook handed it back. Apparently, it still hadn’t occurred to him why it was half-empty.  He seemed more curious about you being awake. You wondered that too. You gestured to the pillow.

“It’s not comfortable, is it?”

He followed your gesture and half-heartedly shrugged. “I’ll be okay.” He shot you a look. “Worried about me?” His deep, sleepy voice sounded a lot cockier than he looked. He looked like a puppy that had just woken up after napping in a weird position. His black hair was sticking up every which way.

“I’m always worried about you,” you replied with a deadpan face.

His eyes widened.

You followed up with, “You’re an idiot.”

That pissed Jungkook off. He reached up to smack you and you caught his hand in the air. That woke him up. But honestly you were losing sleep and energy fast. It made you catch his fingers at an odd angle, almost a caress, and you were too tired to care, sighing before backing away, slowly letting go of his hand. His fingertips slid over the inside of your wrist. You turned your back to him.

You headed to the kitchen and tossed the bottle in the proper recycling bin.

He called your name.

“What?” you grumpily replied, straightening.

“You’re not wearing pants…” Jungkook reminded you.

You had to bend over to access the sorted trash. “Lucky you.”

His tone became gruff. “Don’t be so reckless in front of a guy.”

You half-turned and raised an eyebrow. He was still firmly seated on your sofa. “You act like I’m not standing in my kitchen next to my knives,” you pointed out, ticking your head in the direction of your knife block. “Also, are you implying that you’re a trashy guy?”

“I’m not a trashy guy,” he snapped angrily.

“Then what do I have to be worried about?” You took the steps towards your bedroom door.

“I just don’t like how you obviously have no interest in me,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, throwing himself down onto the sofa and turning his back to you.

You stopped in the doorway.

He was not provoking you. He sounded more like a kid that didn’t get his way rather than an adult trying to reverse psychology you. His words were not meant to change your mind. Yet, all of a sudden, you began to wonder what the fuck you were dancing in this limbo for. All because you didn’t want to be someone’s reason for anything? Well, congratulations, you failed. You failed your dream of a pointless existence. Woohoo. You rolled your eyes to the sky and turned around.

He was still pill-bug-positioned when you grabbed his shoulder and yanked him from the cease in the sofa, lowering your head to hiss, “Stop being a fucking brat.”

You expected him to tense up. His head jerked around and Jungkook stared at you. Wide-eyed, as if you had just pulled him out of a top hat by his ears. You glared, physically tired and tired of this shit, sliding your hand down his collarbone and cupping his chin, pulling him to better face you, tilting your head to narrow your eyes at him.

He sputtered. “W… What?”

“You heard me,” you answered in a clipped tone. “Get up.”

“Huh?”

You let go of his chin and slapped his upper arm. “Get up.”

In a tangle of long limbs and bewilderment, you yanked him up by his forearm, snatching the pillow from under him. Dragged him and his twisted blanket skirt into your bedroom. You hadn’t given him enough time to unravel himself. You let go of his forearm and slammed the pillow onto the empty right side of the bed, pointing rudely to the rumpled poof.

“Lay down,” you ordered.

Jungkook waved his hands, panic rising in his gravelly voice. “I can’t–”

“I don’t give a fuck,” you interrupted and marched behind him, shoving the small of his back. He got the hint after a short flailing about, shuffling towards the side of the bed before flopping onto the duvet like a caught tuna. He tried not to make eye contact, but you weren’t looking anyway, too busy crossing over to the other side and slinking under the duvet.

He squeaked out an, “Um…”

“Shut up,” was your automatic grumble. “Go to sleep.”

He answered in a small voice. “But… What if I snore…?”

“I know you’ll snore,” you grunted, reaching to him and pinning his shoulder down. He was above the duvet, half-wrapped in the blanket you had given him earlier. You had noticed he was still wearing his gray sweatpants so he wasn’t indecent. Not that it mattered. “I’ll get used to it.”

“I…”

You made a growling noise in warning, squinting at his face.

He gulped. “I just… Wanted to say thanks…”

You let go of him and turned your back, firmly closing your eyes. Jungkook was right there. You had a queen-sized bed. Big enough, but not so big that he could pull himself far away from you. You could feel his presence. It wasn’t a bad thing, though.

“You’re welcome,” you mumbled curtly and didn’t say any more.

-

When he opened the door, he looked disheveled and distractable, noisily chewing gum, jerking his head around your periphery as if he expected you to bring an entourage to shake him down. You stood at his doorstep, perturbed. His dark eyes flickered to you and nearly bulged out of his head.

“The hell are you wearing?” Jeon Jungkook blurted without any formal or informal greeting.

You thought you would be used to it by now. It was becoming kind of funny, in a way. “These are my work clothes,” you calmly explained. It was true that he hadn’t seen you in a nice silk blouse and fitted pencil skirt before. Dark teal and jet black, respectively. “I have a job I go to.”

This was the logical answer but it was not exactly the answer Jungkook wanted. You could tell by the knitting of his brows, his still open mouth, and the way he was just staring at your hips instead of continuing the conversation. His black hair was sticking up in the back. As usual, he was wearing casual clothes. A big, light gray t-shirt and charcoal sweats.

You raised your hand and shut his jaw so you didn’t have to view his half-chewed pink gum. “You’re going to the gym, aren’t you?”

It broke him out of his trance. He looked irritated, chewing again. More than that. He looked jittery. “Yeah.” He seemed to be having a mental debate. You wanted no part of that. “I was about to drink a protein shake while waiting for you.”

“Cool,” you said in an impassive tone that indicated you had no interest in protein shakes. You reached into your mid-size black leather bag and pulled out his black sweatpants, now clean and smelling of dryer sheet. “Here, then.” You lifted your head to hold them out.

Jungkook had abandoned his front door.

A muscle in your cheek twitched. His apartment was more modern, although about the same size as yours. Space was a luxury. The door was slowly closing without the aid of someone holding it. You smacked your palm against the light wood and pushed it open, your black heels clicking on the dark gray hardwood. Or was it vinyl? Hard to tell and you didn’t care to inspect. The walls were bright cool white. His big black backpack was on the floor of the short entrance hall. It was slightly open. Black boxing gloves with yellow accents and white towels were shoved in there. You expected him to be messy but all of his sneakers were lined up against the wall. Could use a shoe rack, though.

Jungkook reappeared, gum-less this time, carrying a shake tumbler with a vanilla-colored substance in it, clanging it about with one hand and trying to be chill. As chill as a nonchalant freak-out would be.

He coughed and asked, casually, “You go dressed like that to work?”

You weren’t sure why he gave a shit about what you were wearing. “Perks of an administrative desk job. Dress code.” You waved the rolled-up sweatpants in his direction. “Take these.”

He gave you a suspicious look as if you were the one to decide societal expectations for female office wear. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“The HR department,” you replied, deadpan. “I’d get fired if I showed up to work dressed like you.”

He nodded, agreeing but not convinced. “What if someone hits on you?”

“I set them on fire.”

Jungkook gawked at you.

You dropped your outstretched arm and clicked your tongue. “I don’t do anything. No one is allowed to date a co-worker and I’m not interested in any of them,” you explained. If only he knew that you sat alone in a cramped office and reviewed budgeting for university laboratories so no one was heedlessly using government funding. It was thrilling stuff. “Why do you care if someone hits on me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Of course, I care. I don’t want some asshole harassing you.” Before you could tell him to look in the mirror, he muttered, “Do you really think you won’t get hurt looking that hot?”

The real answer was that you didn’t care.

You tossed his sweatpants onto his backpack while saying, “Workplace harassment is very serious. I doubt my superiors want a scandal. You’re right. I’m considered attractive, so they want to keep me as a model employee and for gender equality points.”

“What about the train?” Jungkook pressed, stepping closer.

You almost rolled your eyes. “The subway is always shitty. Everybody knows that,” you said. “I’ve been taking the subway since high school. I’m pretty good at spotting psycho now.” You looked up at him with contained venom. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know that,” he snapped, placing his protein shake on the floor before confronting you again. “I just don’t like it.” He glared back.

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like that I can take care of myself?”

“No,” Jungkook stubbornly repeated. Frustration crept into his features. “It makes me mad.”

One look at his face and it was obvious what he was implying. There was no reason to give in, though. “That sucks.” You patted the top of his chest condescendingly. “Maybe you need to see a therapist for that.”

He jerked his head towards the mound on his backpack. “Take the pants back and put them on.”

You wondered if he was being this way because he had paranoia or because he had nothing better to do. “No,” you refused. You crossed your arms. “Don’t be this way only for yourself. Plus, I just washed them.”

Like an ox, he didn’t relent. “Then I’ll get you a different pair.”

You noticed you didn’t smell the scent of smoke on him. Not strong or faint. It was obvious he didn’t smoke in his apartment, but he probably did at the roof of the complex or somewhere similar. You didn’t know him to be a heavy smoker, but it inevitably got onto his belongings. You tilted your head. There hadn’t been any smell that night a couple weeks ago when he slept over at your apartment where you had eventually forced him to snore on the bed.

You had woken up to Jungkook sprawled out, snoring into the pillow and one arm on your tits.

Explained your dream where you felt annoying pressure on your chest. That morning had been rather uneventful other than waking him up and kicking him out of your apartment. You had the decency to be more polite than that, but neither of you were in a state to talk about it. Neither of you seemed to be morning people. You simply told him you had work. He had mumbled he did too, and he had to race out to get ready in time. Only now had you found time to stop by his apartment to return his borrowed sweatpants. Maybe you had been avoiding it a little bit. Texts between you both were sparse. Asking for his address and asking if he’d be home. You peered into his dark eyes. Jungkook paused. He seemed to sense that you weren’t walling him anymore.

“When was the last time you smoked?” You made sure not to sound accusatory.

He started. “Uh…” He looked sheepish. “I’ve been trying to last a month at least…” He gestured behind him to what you assumed was the kitchen. You could see part of his living room from here but not much. His couch was cognac brown leather. “Been chewing gum and going to the gym a bunch to fight the cravings.” Frowned and sighed. “It’s hard,” Jungkook bitterly muttered. He glared. “Bet you’re loving this.”

Unluckily for him, you weren’t intimidated by puppy growls. You nodded, noncommittal, and looked down. His charcoal sweatpants looked soft. Worn in with wear. Your eyes flickered back up. His followed with slight confusion etching into his expression. You held his gaze until you felt his discomfort.

And then you made an impulsive, instinctive decision.

“I’ll agree to borrowing another pair of your pants,” you finally said. He looked relieved. “As long as I get to pick which pair.”

He seemed puzzled but shrugged. “Sure?”

You pressed for confirmation. “Agree or not?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jungkook responded sharply. “What, you that desperate to raid my closet or something? Go ahead, then.” He waved a careless hand into the apartment.

But you stayed where you were. You stepped forward with a click of your heels. He stepped back in his house slippers, bewildered but still defiant, not yet realizing that you were not herding him further inside. He moved as if to let you lead the way, except you turned your body to block him, watching his every move.

His shoulder blades hit the wall.

Those big brown eyes blinked slowly. “Uh…”

You glanced down and then back up at his face.

Jungkook’s eyes tracked your movement. Didn’t get it. You repeated the dip of your chin and lashes, then back up. Dead silence. It slowly dawned onto him. You cocked your head, removing your crossed arms as his eyes became wider.

“W… What…?”

You didn’t let him hide his reaction, tracking every quiver of his lip and awkward chuckle. “They’re clean, aren’t they?” you asked as if it was the most sensible question in the world.

“Uh, well, yeah, b-but…” Jungkook stuttered, trying to decipher how serious you were or if he was even understanding the implications of your stare. “T-That’s…”

You backed up a step. “Then it’s a no?” you offered. “And you will stop trying to white knight my outfit choices?” You made yourself clear. “I won’t be changing them simply because you hate my clothes.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t hate your clothes. I like them. That is the problem,” he barked.

You gave him a blank look.

Jungkook sighed out of his nose before looking away and saying in a clipped tone, “Fine. I’ll change. Whatever.”

You moved before he could, blocking his way again.

He growled under his breath, glaring down. “What?”

You held aggressive eye contact. “We’re behind closed doors,” you reminded him. Gave him the pointed up-and-down. “Go on.”

Slight panic laced into his expression. “Uh… Are you serious?”

You already knew Jungkook wasn’t commenting on your fashion because he thought it was inappropriate. It was for the same innocuous reason that you were asking him for the charcoal sweatpants he was wearing right now. Well. Demanding.

“Deadly,” you answered him with a deadly smile.

He might be bigger and stronger than you, but he lacked the imposing audacity. You waited. He didn’t move. Ten full seconds passed. You had your answer, then. You gave him a curt nod and readjusted your grip on your work bag, about to turn away.

A strong hand wrapped around your wrist and gently pulled you back.

You backtracked to stand in front of him again. His eyes darted about somewhat nervously. “I get it…” he mumbled, still holding onto your wrist. His other hand was drifting down. He seemed uncomfortable but not in a bad way, which struck you as odd. He lifted the hem of his shirt a bit. It caught on the front tie of the sweatpants. The tips of his ears were pink. Jungkook hooked a thumb under the waistband and averted his eyes.

You reached forward and pulled on the end of the looped strings.

He nearly yelped and jerked back, causing the tie to come unraveled. You had leaned over a little to get access. Lifted your gaze to look up at his shocked face. He was speechless. You didn’t straighten up yet. Just stared into his eyes. His lips parted but no words came out.

You smiled.

He uneasily let go of your wrist. You backed out of his personal space. Jungkook gave you a strange look and stripped off his pants with a swift tug downwards, bending a knee to kick them up and into his hand, immediately holding them in front of his body.

“Here.”

He thrust the balled-up sweats into your chest. You looked at it. Then at him. Then tried to crane your head downwards.

“H-Hey!”

He waved wildly. You stumbled. He tried to catch you without dropping anything. Your hand came up to press against his chest, causing him to back against the wall again, clutching his pants in front of his crotch. You paused and searched his expression as you pulled back your hand. He was in between conflicted and stunned. His legs were quite defined. At least he didn’t skip leg day. You decided to do it. Lowered your bag to the floor so you had use of your two hands. You reached behind you for the invisible zipper of your skirt and pulled it down. Jungkook seemed to be in a perpetual state of silence. You had to wiggle slightly to free yourself of the tube of black fabric, stepping out of it primly before standing back up, leaving you in your sheer black stockings and with your blouse barely skimming the tops of your thighs.

Now both of you were holding your bottoms. One of you was simply dumbstruck. The other folded and rolled up the skirt, tucking it into your elbow, and stepped up to him. Immediately, his free hand shot up, planting right above your left breast, dark tattoos stark against his tan skin from the overhead light.

“W-Whoa, wait…!”

You tilted your head and rested your hand on the sweatpants he was now desperately clutching to his lower body. You tugged. He did not let go. You raised an eyebrow and began to lower your head. His fingertips hooked under your chin and yanked you back up to his terrified expression of wild eyes and fish mouth. You remained emotionless, giving him nothing. His cheeks flushed pink.

“I… I just need a second–”

You closed more of the distance, placing a leg in between his slightly open ones. His grip on your chin tightened. It didn’t scare you in the slightest. In contrast, big bad Jungkook looked like he was about to sink into the floor. You stilled. Maybe this was too far.

You leaned back a little but didn’t remove your leg. “A second for what?”

He swallowed hard, averting his gaze again. “U-Uh, j-j-just a s-second to breathe… that’s all,” he muttered.

“What’s the issue?” you calmly inquired.

“N-Nothing,” and that sounded like a whole lot of something.

You shifted your leg and your stocking-covered shin rubbed against his calf. Jungkook made a very strange noise and hastily pulled his hand back. You did not stop the contact. You simply watched the emotions play across his features as he shut his eyes, wordlessly mouthing swears before clenching his jaw and sliding up the wall to delicately back up.

“You sure it’s nothing?” Twice as unassuming and immediately tipping him off that you were aware of his predicament.

His brows furrowed. “Shut up.” He took in several deep breaths.

You hummed. “Is it that big of a deal?”

“Yes, it is,” Jungkook hissed. He cracked open one eye. “Have you no sense of danger?”

You did your best not to smile. Failed, but only just. “Not with you.”

Relief and annoyance washed over him. “Shut up,” he said again and you were beginning to realize he did not really mean for you to shut up. “Ugh.” He thrust the charcoal ball of fabric into your chest. “Here. Put it on.”

“No longer embarrassed?” you asked, catching a glimpse of his partial erection.

Jungkook pointedly looked away from you and stared at his own front door. “I’m not embarrassed. Put the pants on, damnnit. I can’t look at you.”

“Sure, you can,” you quipped as you slipped on his sweatpants. “I’m sure you’ve checked me out at some point.”

He sucked in the side of his cheek sharply. “It’s not the same. And, besides…” He trailed off.

You smoothed out the front and tightened the strings. Jungkook reluctantly brought his gaze back to you, checking you out. You tugged your blouse out of the pants a bit to give the two disharmonious pieces more balance. You filled out the top of his pants a bit more because of your ass. The whole ensemble was a little odd, but only if one looked too closely.

He frowned. “Why do you look good?”

“It’s the heels,” you absentmindedly replied. “Besides, what?”

For a moment, you thought Jungkook wasn’t going to respond. But then his eyes raised, locking to yours determinedly. “If I can make it to a month, then…” He faltered before regaining his composure. “No, I will make it to a month. And all the rest. But when you see how serious I am, then… Then I want you to seriously consider me.”

Now it was your turn to avert your eyes. You didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Guilt settled as you realized that he was more intuitive than you gave him credit for. But you came back to him, eventually. His dark brown orbs lit up as you spoke.

“Sure.”

-

In a surprising turn of events, Jeon Jungkook actually greeted you with a breathless, “Hey,” for once when you answered his call, only to follow that up with, “The fuckin’ gym is closed, fuck.”

You blinked at your phone, put it on speaker, and tucked it into one of your upper kitchen cabinets to prop it up. It was not a video call. However, your hands were currently occupied. “I’m sorry,” you replied dryly, turning down the vent fan.

“Ugh, I really needed it today,” he grumbled, mostly at himself rather than at you. You heard the sounds of traffic and the white noise of wind. “And it’s cold tonight, hmph.”

You mentally calculated the day as you picked up the plate and tongs again. “Why was it closed? It’s not a holiday as far as I know.”

“I dunno. Note on the door said family emergency, so I guess I’ll find out later from the manager,” he said absentmindedly. It was a bit weird that Jungkook was treating this like small talk when he almost never called. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do or say about his predicament, so you began to place the slices of meat onto the hot pan, which immediately began loudly sizzling with popping oil. It must have picked up on the microphone. You heard a startled noise and then, “Whatchu doing?”

“Making dinner. And meal prepping at the same time, since I’m already cooking,” you replied, nudging the slices to fit all the meat in. Hm. Wouldn’t be the first time. Hm.

“What are you making?” He was sounding a bit too eager.

“Braised vegetables and pan-fried samgyeopsal,” you answered, reminding yourself to check under the lid. The bok choy and enoki mushrooms were just barely done. You quickly removed it from the heat before returning it the sizzling pork belly.

“Ugh.” He sounded jealous. “I’m jealous.” Guess he was. You found yourself smiling and quickly stopped, lightly adding a little flaky salt before starting the process of turning them over. You might die from a heart attack but not without a full belly of pork belly. “You’ve made me hungry. Maybe I’ll go get some ice cream.”

You mused. “Gym closed, so ice cream on a cool night is the solution?” The edges of pork belly were becoming that sweet golden caramel. Your kitchen was becoming decadently fragrant.

“This night is shit, anyway,” Jungkook complained. “I’d come over but you’d kick me out.”

You paused at his words. Then you busied yourself with taking the plate to the sink while raising your voice so he could hear you. “I didn’t kick you out last time.”

There was a short muteness that your both mutually agreed on before he sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll go home without the ice cream.”

You tutted. “I’m not the food police. Go get your ice cream if you want to.” You began to portion out the vegetables into the glass tupperware that you had already lined up.

“Nah,” he muttered. He really enjoyed this seesaw, huh. To be honest, you didn’t mind it. Maybe calling it fun too out of line, but. “I shouldn’t go into the convenience store, anyway. I don’t wanna break my streak.”

Only stubbornness could solidify self-restraint, it seemed. You checked the pork belly. It was done, so you turned off the fire and began to plate up your soon-to-be and future meals. Took less time because you had boiled the samgyeopsal first to keep the meat tender, removed it before it was completely cooked through, sliced it, and then pan-fried to completion. You plated the last of the vegetables, added the final helping of pork belly, and drizzled a bit of soybean paste on top. A small part of you wanted to take a photo and send it to Jungkook. Rub it in, perhaps. You picked up your phone and opened the camera app.

“Hey.”

“Uh?”

You filled the photo space with a close-up shot of your simple meal and sent it to him. “Check your messages.”

There was a scuffle and Jungkook grunted before gasping and then bringing his phone back to his ear. “Hey, fuck you.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

“Man… You suck.” He didn’t know the half of it. He was mumbling a tantrum on the street. “Ugh, now I’m so hungry... And mad. I’m mad at you.”

In between tee-hees and bites of your dinner, you placed your phone onto the counter. “If you buy me lunch, I’ll let you have one of mine,” you joked. Mmm, the meat was cooked just right. You mentally patted yourself on the back.

“No… I can’t do that,” he grumbled, taking your joke seriously. He scoffed. “Instead, I’ll bring a steak and make you cook it for me.”

“Steak?” You considered his suggestion. “Sure, I can cook steak.”

“Hah, see, you won’t – wait…” You heard a sputter and what sounded like a tumble. Or maybe the beginnings of one caught in the middle. He did have good reflexes. “O… Oh.” He sounded winded. “I thought you were… Thought you were gonna refuse.”

You nibbled on some delicious enoki mushroom. “Why?” You knew full well why. Just wanted to make him squirm. Also, him thinking you couldn’t cook a steak annoyed you. As if you didn’t know the value of medium rare. Hmph.

“A-Ah… Well.” He coughed and promptly changed the subject as embarrassed people do. “Are you eating right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “It’s very tasty. I did a good job.”

You could him suck in an inhale of childish disappointment. “I’m suffering here.”

“No one is asking you to.”

“Hmmmm, I don’t like this.” And yet he stayed on the line. It sounded like he was jogging the streets. Maybe trying to arrive home faster and keep his body temperature up.

You imagined it. Then you told yourself to stop that. “Do you have something to eat at home?”

“There’s probably something,” Jungkook puffed. “Probably not as good, but I’ve got freezer stuff. I can cook, though,” he insisted.

You hadn’t questioned it. But you did now. “Hm, really?” You half-smiled in between bites of bok choy.

“Yes, really.” Very adamant. “Someday,” he added, in the tone of someday proving it.

You remembered the last time he was in your kitchen. The last time he was in your apartment. You looked down to the cropped black t-shirt and the familiar charcoal sweatpants you were wearing. The scene was set. Still, it didn’t clarify how to feel about it. Answers were usually simple. Believing them was a different story. He called your name. Without thinking, you answered right away.

“Mhm?”

“I’m home,” Jungkook grunted.

Maybe you supposed to pop confetti. You let it go and asked, “Less angry about your lack of gym time?”

“Not really.” But he did sound less stressed somehow. Maybe it was the cardio of the jog. “I guess I gotta find something to eat now. Lemme put you on speaker.”

The number of times he could have hung up increased. And yet he hadn’t done so yet. You were almost finished eating. You could have ended the call right now. Said you were busy and done your chores without further distraction. It just didn’t feel right. That said enough. Well, at the very least, you thought you should accompany him on his food adventure.

He exclaimed loudly. “Ah! I found some corn ice cream at the bottom of my freezer! Nice!”

Your palm made contact with your forehead. “I guess you must be the gods’ lucky one,” you mused, mopping up your last bite. Time to clear the kitchen. Sad.

“You know it,” he cheered.

You heard him ripping open the plastic with gusto. Would have sounded cocky if it wasn’t for his barely audible happy noises. You began to tidy up the kitchen to distract yourself. Putting away spices, collecting the various cooking utensils into the sink, wiping down counters, putting the lids on the now cooled-down meals. You stacked them in the fridge. You didn’t try to hide what you were doing but, then again, Jungkook was seemingly too mesmerized by his ice cream to speak. Amidst your domestic tasks, you saw the parallels of being in the same place in your respective apartments, both together and apart at the same time with only a thread of technology connecting each other, and you glanced at your phone screen, wondering if he had hung up on you. The call was still active.

Such a mundane existence.

And yet.

You stood by your sink, the washing up the last to do, and you abandoned it to stand by your phone. It seemed so… annoying to have simple enjoyments taken away by complicated thoughts. Maybe there was a better word for it. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that you were listening to Jungkook enjoying his small happiness of the day and wondered if he intentionally or unintentionally shared it with you. Wondered if the intention even mattered in the face of what was.

You broke the relative silence. “When do you want me to cook that steak for you?”

The faint sound of licking lips. He must have scooted closer to his phone, because the volume of his words was louder than the sounds from earlier. “Uh…” You waited. “I think my one month of no cigarettes is coming up soon. Maybe then…?” He trailed off awkwardly.

The crumpled pack was still on your nightstand next to your lighter. You hadn’t touched either. They were collectively collecting dust. You opened your mouth, reconsidered, and then said what was on your mind.

“I never hated you just because you smoked.”

Maybe it was better that you couldn’t see each other. “Yeah, but…” He let out a breath. “It was the reason why you didn’t want to be around me.”

You couldn’t deny it.

“I get it, though,” Jungkook muttered softly. “I didn’t really want to be around myself either. Maybe I haven’t had any great failures, but… That means I haven’t had a chance to grow from hardships. Coasting, sort of. I need to push myself to be better, because I’m definitely not where I’m supposed to be.”

Your eyes raised which caused you to realize you had dipped your head. You wondered who put those thoughts in his head, but the answer was all around you. In the subtext of conversation of strangers, friends, family.

“It’s weird,” he continued, maybe forgetting you could hear him slurp in between words or because his ice cream was rapidly melting. “I was talking to a friend about you and he asked me if you ever needed anything from me, ever.” He sucked in a breath. “Tch. I kinda hate that, but also it made me realize… Isn’t that the most natural I’ve ever been with anyone? No expectations… Maybe even negative.” He laughed a little, and you could imagine him shaking his head. “Is this how you want to spend your life? No. I want to be someone that you might need someday.”

You didn’t say anything about him talking about you to other people. It was slightly funny of him to think of you as an enigma when you felt that you were so simple, really. Maybe that made you the root of his complicated thoughts. Maybe not. He was right in that you did your best to not depend on others, even going out of you way to not need others. Not expecting anything from them to not be disappointed. You didn’t see that changing anytime soon, but, an exception?

All rules had them.

“I’m looking forward to making you that steak,” you chuckled. “I need to finish up the dishes, so I’ll let you go. For now.”

“A-Ah…” Jungkook cleared his throat. “Okay. S… See ya.”

You half-smiled. Even though he couldn’t see it, you were sure that he could hear it in your tone. “You will,” and you ended the call.

-

You found a small package addressed to you in your mailbox. No return address, no postage, but it had relatively neat handwriting that seemed familiar somehow. You tucked the soliciting letters under your arm as you re-locked your postage box. The packaging was brown paper. You turned it over in your hand.

For your collection. Jeon Jungkook.

You almost snorted. He could have. But he didn’t. You suddenly felt odd, so you quickly walked back to your apartment, shouldering your mail and your work bag, fitting the small package into your palm. The mail room was on the ground floor. You went up the flights of stairs to the far-left unit. Unlocked your front door and went in, using your shoulder to push it open.

You closed the door behind you before you opened the brown-paper wrapped parcel.

The outside packaging unfurled. Tissue paper and a bit of foam. Something told you he didn’t pack this. This was the work of the elderly who sold it to him. Smooth steel. But you felt something on the side against your palm. You turned the disc around. It was one of those snap-close clay art mirrors. The kind delicately handmade by a practiced artisan’s hands. You ran your finger over it, entranced by the ridges and matte texture. The focal point was the gradient of orange depicting tiger lilies. The background was black, making the small imagery stand out.

Tiger lilies, huh.

You opened the pocket mirror and saw your bewildered expression staring back at you. Your initial compulsion was to look away. Your intrusive thoughts interrupted, asking you if you really hated what you saw. You looked and your reflection looked back. You lifted the mirror slightly, inspecting your makeup. You barely wore any to just barely get away with it at work. It still looked good.

You half-smiled.

“You’re so fucking full of it, Jeon Jungkook,” you chuckled, tucking the mirror into the pocket of your work bag before going about the rest of your night.

-

He was quite excited for steak day until you made him speechless.

“U-uh, hey! Ahem. Hey. I have the steaks. You didn’t say if I should bring vegetables, so I also got cabbage, carrots, shitake mushrooms, I didn’t know, I guessed, sorry, and I can help cook if you need someone to watch the vegetables while, uh, I can chop or clean or anything at all… um, why are you dressed like t-that…?”

If it was his plan to greet cool, calm, and collected, he failed. You opened your apartment door to gum-chewing, wide-eyed, rambling Jeon Jungkook wearing a baggy but heavyweight white button-up and dark blue jeans with white contrast stitching. Black belt with a bright gold buckle. The hem of the jeans draped well over his black laced boots. His black leather jacket was jammed in the crook of his elbow with the groceries. His jacket had silver zippers, which didn’t match his belt. The button-up was done all the way up to his neck, which didn’t suit him.

You let him go on his rant and tried not to smile.

The situation was not exactly funny. It was obvious that he was out-of-sorts by the frantic way he was gnawing on his gum like his life depended on it. You had to wait for him to take a breath. He was too far gone in his speech for you to interrupt him. You almost dared to call it adorable. Didn’t because that wasn’t part of your image even though clearly Jungkook had completely broke the image he wanted to craft for himself over his entire time of knowing you. For his sake, you pretended nothing was amiss. You simply took the groceries from his hands while saying, “Change of plans.”

His jaw was slack. You could see the pink wad of gum stuck to his molars. Lovely. “E-Eh?”

You noticed his black hair looked a little messy and windswept. It was longer now, too, giving him an unintentional rockstar vibe. Thankfully his brain was too preoccupied with being unable to catch up to the moment to notice you noticing him. You backed up into your apartment to place the bags on your kitchen counter, busying yourself with putting everything into your refrigerator.

“I want to take you somewhere,” you said to the shelves of your fridge, clearing out space. Oh, wow. He really did buy high-grade steak. Two of them. And a giant head of cabbage. “I don’t like carrots,” you commented. “But I’ll make them for you and you can take home the rest.”

He sputtered with the elegance of a caught bluefin tuna. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t – T-Take me somewhere?”

In the middle of placing the last thing, the bundle of carrots, into the fridge, you said it.

“Yes. I want to take you on a date.”

To be honest, you weren’t sure if it would come out as confidently as you heard yourself, but there was no going back now. You had debated before this day had come, turning over the tiger lily pocket mirror in your hand at night. Debated if the unwillingness was worth it and decided it wasn’t. You weren’t sure if Jungkook was thinking the same thing you were, but then he showed up. Over-dressed. Vibrating with nervous energy. Talking too fast. One look at him and you knew. You could think you had all the time in the world, but it wasn’t true. You turned around to see Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression at the entrance of your apartment and you knew.

Despite never believing in anything and thinking everything was going to shit, well, you might as well go down with a feeling of a life well-lived.

“A d… date…?”

You closed the door of your refrigerator. “A date. You’ve heard of those, haven’t you?”

He looked like he hadn’t. “I… uh… Yes?” You had meant the light jab to bring Jungkook back to Earth but both of you were currently stuck on cloud nine. “Is that why you…?” His hand raised and made a vague gesture.

Your own hand raised to smooth back your hair from your bare shoulder. “Ah. Yes.” Since your closet was mostly made up of comfy, work, and concert outfits – in that order – that amount of classy date pieces were slightly nonexistent. You had one black dress made of a slinky soft ribbed texture that was what you ended up wearing. It reached the floor, which suited the night climate of this time of year. The rest of it was quite sexy, though. The fabric made the dress cling to and accentuate your curves. The straight neckline and thin straps were maybe too flattering. Jungkook’s eyes were certainly wandering to the general area of your collarbones. You usually wore this dress in a very specific way, which you intended to do so tonight, but it couldn’t hurt to let him admire.

Yeah.

Admire was definitely the word.

Just like how you were letting him admire you walking up to him, sending him into a mild panic, knowing exactly what you were doing but trying not to think about it, instead focusing on what had been bugging you ever since you had seen it. “This… I’m sorry, but this doesn’t suit you,” you muttered, unfastening the first few buttons of the shirt and shaking it out to a more relaxed collar. He smelled good. Oh, wow, he smelled very good. Bergamot and cedarwood, it seemed. “It looked too stuffy.” You noticed the thin gold chain underneath. Oh. Perhaps the unintentional mixing of gold and silver was intentional after all. You righted the chain so it was more visible, his warm skin under your cool fingertips, and maybe you were imagining it or was that a shiver between you and him at the contact?

Your hands awkwardly hovered over his chest.

It was hard to look up but you made yourself do it.

Jungkook seemed startled but at the very least thawed from the initial shock. “O-Oh, but…” Surely he was not staring at your cleavage. Surely. You might have put it right in his line of vision, but, surely. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s c-cold outside. At least…”

It was certainly an exaggeration to call it slow-motion, and yet somehow that was the only way to describe it because now you were the one frozen in extended seconds as he tumbled his leather jacket into his palm, grabbing it by the collar and lifting it up, up and to his left hand, flaring it out with a loud flap before draping worn-in warmth over your shoulders. The sudden weight caused you to tilt forward lightly. Your open palms pressed against his chest to steady yourself. His hands stayed on your shoulders. Both of you were staring at each other for too long.

At least no one was here to record it.

He spoke first. ‘I, uh, I took a lot of my clothes to professional cleaners,” Jungkook said quietly. “Since… It gives me a good reason to not… It cost a lot.” His ears were probably as red as yours.

You inhaled, raising your chest, and noticed how new the leather smelled despite him owning it for a while now. Your faint smile was now inevitable. “I really appreciate it,” and you did. He didn’t have to, and he did.

The light in his eyes must have been your imagination. “R… Really?” Or maybe not. He was breathless and there was no obvious cause for it.

Never in wildest dreams and insomniac nights and daytime silence full of running thoughts could you have created this present time where you felt that you saw him and he saw you. From all the gray haze moments of the past to those bright uncertain days of small happiness in the future, you knew you could do it alone, but, for once, it seemed unbearable to do so.

You leaned up and kissed him.

Your eyes had closed as you tilted your head to close the distance. Maybe you should have considered seeing his surprise. Maybe you were too nervous to. It was only a simple press of lips-to-lips. Still, you found respite. A strange tingle shot through you as you felt Jungkook kiss you back. Somehow, you felt his relief of you taking charge of a moment that he had wanted to happen for a long time.

After a savored moment, both of you broke apart.

Afraid to overstep. Slightly shocked that that just happened. You snuck a peek. It was impossible to not call him adorable and thankfully you were too high off the moment to say anything. He caught your eye. You let him, gracing him a coy curve of your lips.

His cheeks bloomed pink. “Y-You… You wanna wear my jacket?”

You lightly shook your head, reaching up to touch the back of his hand. “You’ll be cold. I was going to wear a sweater over my dress,” you explained. His expression fell a little bit despite your logic. “But I wanted to wait to see what colors you were wearing so that I could choose something that pairs well. It would be nice to match somewhat, right?” Immediately Jungkook perked up again.

It was just a damn hot pot date. Why were you both grinning like idiots? The world never did make any sense, hmph.

-

In spite of best efforts, you dozed off on his shoulder.

Dinner had been a little bit awkward. Not so awkward it was unpleasant, but enough where you had to pull yourself together to bring him back to his usual self. You wore a fluffy, thick, cropped white sweater over your black dress, giving you some much needed warmth for the cool night and giving Jungkook back his sanity. Then you took it away by hooking your arm into his, holding onto him as you both rode the train in thoughtless silence. The hot pot restaurant had newly opened and was packed with curious customers. In a stroke of luck, the host managed to find seating due to your small party size. After a brief explanation, you made a beeline for the lineup of ingredients. It had taken a mountain of vegetables, shrimp, and fishcakes on a plate to break Jungkook out of his trance.

“W-Woah! You eat that much?”

You had tilted your head. “We’re sharing. Duh.”

A flash of annoyance. “How do you know what I like to eat?”

“What don’t you like to eat?” you countered.

Jungkook puffed a cheek. “That’s not the point!”

It wasn’t the most deep of conversations. Still, it did bring you both some peace to know that you hadn’t lost what you already had. There was always that fear and it was good to know that the fear was unfounded.

“I only want one egg.”

He spoke over you, “Too bad, you’re getting two,” using one hand to crack another to poach in your boiling bone broth. You made a face at him as you mixed minced onions and garlic into your chili oil, sesame oil, and soy sauce combination. He waved a third egg at you threateningly. You were adversely terrified. He became distracted by your concoction. “Let me try.”

“No. I’ll make you your own.”

“We’re sharing.”

“There are limits,” and you promptly walked off to do just that. For his credit, he didn’t snatch your hard work. Might have been because his food wasn’t finished cooking yet. Semantics. “It’s my treat, by the way.”

Irrtation was going to permanently furrow his brows if he wasn’t careful. “I don’t need your charity. Besides, you’re hurting my pride as a man.”

You cried for him. “Boo hoo.” Sarcastically.

“You’re not paying.”

“You wanna fight?”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Kinda if you keep this up.”

You pretended to lift your sweater.

Jungkook almost threw himself over the two boiling pots of broth. “Gah! What do you think you’re doing?!” He tried not to yell, hissing low between his teeth. “You’re crazy!”

“Putting you in your place,” you answered dryly.

His expression was between flabbergasted and aghast. “D-Don’t do that!”

Not the deepest of conversations. You smiled. He noticed, and looked away quickly, his ears turning pink as he busied himself ordering plates of meat. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to cook the steaks like you had originally promised. It would have made a great first date, even. And yet. Yet, you didn’t want to, because for some reason following the original plan felt symbolic of something ending instead of a beginning. You were confident in your cooking, and still the possibility of even the slightest failure made it so that you couldn’t relax. Maybe it was selfish to drag out a promise. Nothing about Jungkook’s demeanor indicated he was against it, though.

“What?”

You blinked, realizing you had zoned out in his direction. “Nothing. Just…” He frowned. You almost wanted to ask him if he was disappointed by this turn of events. He was already shoving a plateful of thinly-sliced flat iron steak into his hot pot. “Just realized we’re only here now because of a cigarette and a lighter.”

His eyes cast downward. “I’m sor–” he began.

“Who knew a bad decision could turn into such a good one.”

Jungkook snapped his head back up, surprised. You gave him an impassive expression complete with a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips tugged upwards. He tried to hide it. He wasn’t as good at it as you were.

“Yeah. I guess…”

He sounded a little too happy for that lukewarm response. You reached into your bag, pulling out a pocket mirror to needlessly check your makeup. He noticed the tiger lilies nestled in your palm and positively beamed. You did your best to wipe your stupid smile off your face and clipped it closed to resume the meal. The rest of the dinner was similar. Well, largely focused on how many plates of shabu-shabu meat both of you could consume to make the restaurant regret seating you. At the very least, Jungkook had been impressed with your gall.

Points gained there, heh.

So, now, in spite of best efforts, Jungkook leaned his head against yours and dozed off with you on your sofa, curled up under the same blanket he had used to sleep over some nights ago. Sleep came a little too easily with full bellies. He had asked if he could sit down for a bit before heading back to his place. Because, you know, it wasn’t good if he became drowsy while driving his motorcycle. You had shrugged, casually, turning on your television to whatever late-night show was on to provide some form of mild entertainment. Distraction, really, so neither of you felt pressure to talk.

Turned out, falling asleep told you more than any conversation.

It might have been the food. The comfort of the blanket. Someone familiar being there. Whatever the cause, the stars aligned and you knew what it meant. One instance of sleep arriving quickly did not mean that you would never have a restless night again. It did not mean everything was different. But it did mean that what was already there wasn’t a lie. You thought you had done enough to spite him, but best efforts were useless in a wake of loud, hard-headed, brash Jeon Jungkook. It shouldn’t work. You were reclusive, blunt, guarded. An unfathomable match, and yet you could never seem to shake him. Apparently his fondness for you was so strong that continued meetings were inevitable. The prospect of the next time had become a regular instance. Monotone days were suddenly saturated with unexpected melodies. You kept telling yourself there was nothing else better to do than to put up with his antics.

There had been no real reason for you to believe that he would change.

He just did so he could define his own ideal of worthy.

Unconsciously, Jungkook was sinking into the cease of the sofa, into dreamlessness, taking you down with him into the cushions. You dozed practically on top of him, unknowingly nestling into his waning embrace. If you had your wits about yourself, you might have given him more conspicuous space, but he was so warm that you forgot that you didn’t typically like physical touch. Or maybe you didn’t mind as much because you knew deep down that he liked it. It was a small sacrifice for his happiness. Something like that. Ah. Right. Anyway, eventually you awoke to no-context ruckus on the television screen. Annoyed, you pawed for the remote on the coffee table and blindly turned it off. You wouldn’t have even bothered to open your eyes except for the fact that you were clearly on top on Jungkook, oh, and so you blinked slowly, line of vision shifting, realizing he wasn’t asleep.

He was pretending to be.

You placed a hand on his chest. One of his eyes cracked open. You raised an eyebrow. He almost jumped out of his skin. Probably not expecting you to be staring at him.

“Were you watching?” you asked.

“N-Not really…” Discomfort laced into his expression. “Um… You’re on my left knee a little weird.”

You shifted quickly. “Sorry.”

Relief. “No, uh, I fucked it up a bit while boxing a couple days ago,” Jungkook sighed. You could feel his inhale through your hand on his chest that you still hadn’t removed. “Think I hit it at a weird angle.”

You pointed out the obvious. “You’re not supposed to use your legs in boxing.”

He sent you the gift of a classic eye-roll complete with the bow of a scowl. “I lost my balance and fell.”

You calm expression didn’t change as you added, “Bad knees are the first sign of aging.”

His dark eyes narrowed into slits. “You–”

And proceeded to grab you by the waist. You shot up instinctively, straddling his hips, and your hand on his chest slid up. His eye went wide. He froze. You froze, realizing what you were doing. His hands were loosely around your waist with his fingers flaring out over the top of your ass. You moved your hand, resting it on his shoulder. Not on the offensive but on edge. You did your best to hold his gaze while in the precarious position. He immediately apologized.

“S-Sorry.”

“No, ah…” You shook your head. “I’m sorry.” You shouldn’t have moved to choke him out just because he was horsing around yet it was hard to really know with men these days. Still, thinking of Jungkook in that way after everything he had done for you was unfair. “I’m too used to having to protect myself.”

There was a sea of regret in those dark brown orbs. “I wasn’t going to…” Hurt you, and that part was obvious. He frowned, realizing your reaction and words said what needed to be said without saying it. “I promise. I’m not like that.”

You stared into his eyes. “I know,” and you did.

His expression became determined. “No, really.” He frowned. “I can’t help–”

You cut him off. “Is that why you have a hard-on right now?”

Dead.

Silence.

The cushions of your sofa were old, causing your knees to sink in further due to the prolonged concentrated points of pressure. You looked down. He looked up. Nobody moved. You had thought about it. Maybe. Not in any deep sense so as to not set any unrealistic expectations. He had very clearly thought about it if the rising tent of your dress in between your legs was any indication. You weren’t able to fully sit down on his crotch due to space constraints, but, even with jeans on, the distance down there was dwindling.

In short, Jungkook was obviously packin’.

You raised your eyebrows. He grimaced. He was trying not to stare at your thighs spread over him or how easily your waist fit in his hands. “Listen… Uh.” Brave of him to break the silence. “I… I’m not a disgraceful kinda guy, okay? I wasn’t planning anything. And I’m seriously serious.” His voice deepened as his eyes darted about. “Serious about…” His gaze lifted, navigating to yours.

Your lips parted, understanding him perfectly well.

However, your dress was stretching too uncomfortably. Distracted, you broke eye contact, reaching down to yank the hem from under your knee while extending your other leg to the ground to maintain balance. The fabric bunched up to your hips, draping over his lower body. You felt the friction of his jeans against your bare inner thighs. Then, you felt the friction in his jeans pressing up in between your legs.

Well.

That would be the expected result, huh.

Jungkook was beside himself. “W-W-What are you do–”

You raised your head. He stiffened. Everywhere. He was still holding you by the waist. Time was moving too fast and too slow at the same time, much like whatever this was. You made eye contact, diving into those wide eyes, searching for something to be afraid of. The scariest thing about all this was how readily he matched up with your intent to cross all the lines.

“Do you wanna kiss me?” you asked him.

His voice quivered. More out of poorly contained excitement rather than anxiousness.

“Are you crazy? Of course I wanna fuckin’ kiss you.”

There was no good reason for care-about-nothing you and caring-too-much Jeon Jungkook should match up well, and yet perhaps that was precisely the reason these puzzle pieces fit together. He lifted his torso from the sofa far too easily, meeting you halfway. With one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his chest, your lips brushed against his. Inhale, and his warm citrusy cologne mixed with his natural scent filled your lungs. He tilted his head, closing the distance. There was no pressure of a good first kiss as it was already over with. He pulled you closer.

A kiss was not particularly special, but everything about him was.

Terrifying.

As the saying went, you felt the fear and did it anyway.

Lips to lips, electric. Your fingertips gliding over his skin, spreading the button placket before descending, unraveling him like a flower, your tongue tracing the edge of his lips. His breath hitched. His hands on your waist tighter, turning, and you adjusted accordingly, letting him sit back against the sofa with you on his lap. His fingers slid under your sweater, fanning over your back like unraveling petals as you unbuttoned his shirt, drinking in his gasps. Sinking deeper. He tugged your sweater upwards and you released him for a moment to lift your arms, arching your spine, shedding the white onto the floor. His hands on the small of your back lifted you in return, and you arrived to the view of his own white shirt barely clinging onto his shoulders, revealing tan skin and his hard work at the gym.

Your eyes trailed upwards and Jungkook hesitantly smiled, uncertain of what you were thinking.

You dipped your head and licked up his chest.

“Whoa, wha–aah, f-fuck…”

Perhaps this was a strange thought but you felt this compulsion to taste his skin. You pushed his head back and crossed his neck with kisses. Teeth. Tongue. You felt his fingertips press into your back, his hips rise, a moan bubble up in his chest. He tried to speak between gasps, his hands sliding down to your ass as you licked up to his jaw, intoxicated by the taste of his skin.

“I didn’t r-realize… o-oh…”

You flicked his earrings with the tip of your tongue, dissipating your breath so it was whisper soft against his jaw. “Deep down, you knew there was more under this surface,” you murmured and as you said it you thought of black water but the reality was reflected all over the walls, in small snapshots of mirrors from older and modern times. Yes, a mirror was the more apt imagery. Your tongue coiled around his ear, whispering his name low and slow. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t think you were crazy…” Jungkook gasped. He pressed you down onto his lap, hiking your dress up further. An exhale drifted past your ear. “I didn’t say I didn’t l-like it…”

With a single finger, you turned his head to face you. Half-moon eyes hazy with lust. He ticked his head, putting on the bad boy front you always knew was a front, and you rocked your hips against his to create the rhythm. He sucked in a breath, your name on the tip of his tongue, and you placed your lips against his temple to ensure that he could feel every word as much as he could hear it.

“No matter who came before you, I hope you outmatch them all.”

He viewed you from his periphery.

You smiled in a dangerous way.

There was the briefest moment where he mirrored your smirk and then he lowered his head, catching you off guard with his lips against your pulse. By instinct, your fingers laced into his black hair, tilting your head to give him more access. Your eyes wandered among the walls. In smoked glass. In craved frames. From every angle, snapshots of Jungkook kissing down your neck and you pulling the straps of your dress aside, pressing his head downwards. His lips over your collarbones created an intricate network of pinpointed pleasure, blossoming, overlapping, your nerves singing. You hooked a finger down the center of the neckline, dragging it to a risqué level. His warm breath washed over your skin.

Anticipation on a knife’s edge.

You gazed down through the shadows of your lashes. He was watching you through his own. Wondering without words. So many times Jungkook had asked for a light to ignite his addiction. You saw the writing on the wall before he did.

You tugged the top of your dress downward.

“Fuck…”

You fanned your hands over your ribs pushing your bare breasts upward. Little did he know there was a shelf bra in the dress. Probably didn’t care. He clenched his jaw and frowned slightly, his cock throbbing from below. You could feel it because you were sitting on it.

“It’s annoying that you know how hot you are. Stop knowing how to act hot too.”

You wondered if he ever looked in a mirror. “That’s rich coming from a guy that works out to make his chest big.”

He pressed his lips together before grumbling, “So…?”

You lifted you body and put your tits right in front of his face. He tried to throw you off as his lips made contact, but then was immediately distracted with the taste, running his tongue over your nipple with a moan. Strong hands on your waist again. Your own hand slid down the crown of his head, sliding in between the collar of his shirt and his shoulder muscles, caressing them as you felt sparks from his light sucking. He kissed across your chest to access the other and you breathed out, electric and erotic, your nails turning inward.

His groan was gravelly, rough from pleasure.

“Ugh, fuck, scratch me.”

You dug your nails inward and he whined into your chest, sucking harder, flicking his tongue against your nipple. You moaned to the ceiling, arching your back, and now both of your hands were on his shoulders, creating a crisscross pattern of pink under his shirt collar. There was no rhyme or reason, only instinct. Jungkook growled, taking a swift moment to yank his arms out of his shirt before pawing at your hands to explore more, touch more, repaying you with divine lips and tongue. Either he liked pain or he loved pain. Hm. You had your opinions but you kept them to yourself.

You laced your fingers into his hair, arching your back. He extended his tongue and instead of him licking upwards, you curved your body downwards, only losing contact when it was physically impossible. You lowered your head slowly. Your tongue traced your lips. He was breathing in shallow, perfumed breaths tainted with your taste. Pupils dilated. Under the influence.

You stared into his dark eyes. “You can still stop.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. I was in it before you were.”

He wasn’t wrong. Time moved too fast and too slow at the same time. You slid off his lap, gripping the side of your dress and pushing them down your hips. He rose, entranced, and you backed up, out of the way of the coffee table. In the room of mirrors – the living room – clothes began to slide to the floor one by one. Your tousling of his black hair had made it gone rogue, draping over his eyes as he tugged the back of his shirt out of his pants and let it fall. You took another step back while reaching forward, pulling apart his belt buckle. He glanced down as he was tugged forward. With one eye on you, he pulled the strap from the pin. You held the buckle. Pulled. He guided the black leather to smooth exit. For a few moments, you had him by the leash of his belt, dragging him into the bedroom.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

From the look on his face, he remembered.

You held onto the belt after it made its escape, twirling it around in your hand. Jungkook’s dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t.” You didn’t say anything and that was more alarming. “Do not even think about it,” he warned, his tone becoming lower, gruff. You smiled. You flicked your wrist and he halted.

You coiled the black leather around your thigh.

Tightened it by crossing the ends.

Oh, he was looking now.

“Don’t what?” you taunted, turning as you reached the end of the bed. Instead of lifting your knee to the edge of the mattress, you gripped the crossed straps of his belt and hoisted your leg upwards, adding a little bounce of your ass as you looked over your shoulder.

He didn’t expect the showmanship. His mouth squeaked out an, “Are you serious?”

Muscles, tattoos, and he still didn’t know what to do with all that. Your other hand grazed the curve of your ass to the hem of your seamless panties, hooking a finger over the edge and tugging it towards the center dip.

“Okay, fuck, you’re gonna make me bust in my damn jeans,” Jungkook muttered, looking annoyed at the tent in his pants. His hand was already undoing the button. You smiled, releasing your leg, walking over to the nightstand by the bed. The box of unused cigarettes was still there along with your lighter. You only glanced at them, dropping his belt to the side and opening the drawer, pulling out a string of condoms.

Turned around and Jungkook shot you a disbelieving look with his cock sticking out of his pants. Still in his boxer briefs, so obviously hard that he was past the open zipper. You didn’t back down, approaching him with his death sentence dangling from your fingers.

He tried not to seem flustered. “You’re busy, huh?”

You stopped in front of him, tilting in your head. “Busy waiting for you to make a move.”

He sucked the inside of his cheek. “Tch. Am I supposed to believe that?”

“You tell me.”

You sat down on the bed, placing the condoms within easy reach. Crossed your legs. Stared into his eyes, daring him to believe that you were lying. You saw bite his lip. Looking you up and down, so you did the same, watching him shove his jeans down further. You ticked your head.

“Or maybe just don’t fall for my tricks, hm?”

And you fell back onto the bed, lifting your legs, reaching under. Put your weight on your shoulders while you hooked your fingers onto the sides of your panties, pulling up, up, slipping one leg out. Then the other. Flicked your wrist and sent it flying. Then you spread your legs to reveal his stunned face.

You pulled a condom oof the line and held it out to him.

He looked uneasy, stepping out of his jeans and kicking them away. “Uh… You sure?” He tried to sound calm but his voice was shaking. He was trying to flip it on you.

You smiled. Casually. “I give you permission to find out.”

This did not ease Jungkook’s worries. He was too busy to staring at your pussy to formulate any more sentences, though. He took the condom from your hand, pushing down his black underwear. You looked. He saw you look. Confirmed that he didn’t work out because he was lacking in his pants, that was for sure. Your gaze went back to his face. He didn’t know what to think about your reaction, because you purposefully didn’t have one.

Instead of speaking, you reached down in between your legs and spread your wet lips.

Lowering your lashes. Slow smirk. Jungkook sucked in a breath and ripped open the condom. His underwear was sliding down his legs, but you were too busy being fixated on the way his arms moved, carefully rolling down the condom as he watched your fingertips trace your slit, drawing circles around your clit. The heat turned into wetness. He moved closer. You curled a leg around his hip. He put a hand on your thigh, positioning himself over you. Made eye contact. You looked back curiously, spreading the upper lips of your slick pussy.

He slid the bottom of the slick head against your clit and made you both moan from the contact.

Rubbed, slowly. Your insides throbbed with need. The lubrication made it even better. You pulled your hand back and tipped your hips upwards, and then he slid in. He gasped, his inhale catching in his throat. The hand on your leg tensed. You pressed your calf into his ass, pushing him deeper.

“F-Fuck, what–”

Your expression must have indicated that you were going to shove him in yourself, because Jungkook took one panicked glance at your face and thrust in, loudly swearing. He shut his eyes but you caught a peek of them rolling upwards as you dreamily sighed from the feeling of fullness, squeezing all around to feel more, the pressure becoming pleasure.

“You can move.” Just in case he wasn’t sure.

“Shut up,” Jungkook snapped back, shifting his hand to grab your thigh, yanking you into his crotch. He cut off his own moan by clenching his jaw. You smiled. Sweetly. He glared as viciously as he could, which wasn’t much, and thrust hard enough to make you both gasp. He was resisting from commenting about your tightness. “Stop smirking at me like that.”

You tested fate.

“Make me.”

The light was playing tricks. Or maybe his hair was casting shadows over his darkened gaze. Or perhaps this was possession of passion that made him lean down. Locked gazes. He covered your mouth with his free hand. You let him, waiting to see where this would go. He began to move. Slow, deep, building the heat between your joined bodies. Staring into your eyes, and you stared back, clenching your core to increase the unfurling bliss, so damn good, watching his lashes lower, his lips parting, heated breath drifting out like invisible smoke. You raised your hips to meet him, moaning into his palm. He bit the edge of his lower lip, the tiny mole centered underneath suddenly visible.

Your tongue traced his fingers, dripping saliva.

He spread them, entranced by the way you thrust your wet muscle in time with his hips, coiling towards the small finger tattoos you knew he had. Jungkook swore under his breath, gripping your thigh harder, but he wasn’t reaching the force you both craved. With reluctance, he removed his hand from your open mouth, watching the charming curl of your tongue disappearing in between your lips before gripping your other hip with his wet hand, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You reached back and grabbed fistfuls of your duvet, bracing yourself with an open-mouthed smirk.

He thrust hard and you rose to meet him. Both of you cried out at the radiating smack of force between bodies. Nothing for show. Just pure raw lust, chasing the high, giving into the lust. Heat into tension. Your back arched. He pulled you to him. You squeezed him all around. With each loud slap you felt pleasure ripple through your body, making your breasts bounce to his rhythm, and you let out a soft moan, sensing the ripple turning into a cascade, your insides tightening, closing your eyes once the vicious throb overtook your hips, drowning in orgasm.

“Oh, fuck–”

Jungkook didn’t even get to choke out his surprise before his own orgasm hit him. You felt his fingers dig in, snapping your bodies together. His drawn-out groan became the sonata to the punctuated sensation of inescapable euphoria. Wet. Hot. You gasped at a jolt of ecstasy rattling in your ribs. You felt his cock jerk inside you as his hold on you lessened, switching to kneading your thighs. Your brain was so hazy that his touch seemed to amplify the addictive heat, your legs closing in, keeping him in place.

“Could’ve… fuckin’ warned me…”

He panted hard, squeezing your ass roughly. You didn’t care. It was hard to when his slip to his Busan dialect was so attractive. You reveled in the bliss for a moment longer before lowering your legs, realizing the source of the heat was Jungkook whose body seemed to be ten thousand degrees. He pushed back his hair, revealing his glistening brow and cheekbones. Gasping for breath. He pulled out before stripping off the condom with a hiss.

“What am I supposed to do with–”

You sat up, using your elbows to lift your body. It was harder than you thought because the aftermath of tension had left a residual tremble throughout your nerves, but you ignored it, living on determination alone. Jungkook started, not expecting you to move so quickly. You didn’t give him time to react, reaching down between your bodies.

“A-Ah, don’t…!”

He stuttered, gasped, then moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head. Slippery. Hot. Covered in lube and cum and now your fingers wrapping around his length, finding him half-hard. You gave him almost no pressure but all contact, glossing over the shaft until his cock swelled in your hand, ghosting over the head with your palm. He bit back a yelp, not yet opening his eyes, almost whining. His reaction drove you, sliding forward a bit to the very edge of the mattress. He held his breath. Snuck a peek. You angled your body to expose more of your inner thigh and lifted him.

His eyes widened.

You sandwiched his cock in between your palm and your inner thigh, sliding your body back and forth to stimulate him. He inhaled sharply, shooting you a look of indignation, and yet his hips began moving anyway. You gradually increased the pressure. His head tipped back, groaning to the ceiling, becoming harder and harder with each stroke.

You reached over to the condoms and held them out.

Jungkook lowered his head. “Seriously?”

You lifted your hand from his pulsing, wet cock. “Saying you don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that,” he retorted.

You pulled one off. He handed you the used condom. There was maybe a second and then he gave back the empty foil wrapper in which you tucked the used one into, folding it carefully so there was no spillage. It wouldn’t take long, anyway.

Part of you wanted to say that, but you held your tongue.

Hands on the back of your thighs, lifting your legs. Jungkook pinned your knees to your chest and slid back in, lowly growling, “How the fuck are you so tight,” but you were too enveloped in the sensations, wet and hard and your inner muscles closing in, molding to the shaft. The swollen head hit that depth you could really feel, and you sighed, lifting your hips. His hands slid off your legs and hit the bed, sandwiching you in between the bed and his hard chest.

Your eyes locked with Jungkook’s.

It was intense, rough, carnal. You forgot your surroundings, clutching the duvet and his tattooed forearm, matching each slap of your bodies with a breathless gasp, your calves on his shoulders, his erratic breath melting into shuddering moans. You were moving up the bed little by little from the force. Your name slipped from his lips. Your pussy clenched involuntarily and then the rapid thunderous pulse overtook your senses. He lasted a little longer this time after your orgasm, but not much longer, succumbing to the vicious call, burying his entire length inside you and gritting his teeth to muffle his moan in his chest.

It should have ended there.

You could barely breathe. Suffocating from your own thighs. After an erotic, elated eternity, Jungkook lifted his upper body, gasping apologies. You could barely hear them, orgasm still ringing in your ears, having to relax your muscles one by one. The bed was a mess. Duvet bunched up. Condom wrappers garnishing the ground. Clothes all over the floor. Your legs crossed, sliding down. Jungkook was standing somehow and you could tell that even he thought that was a miracle. He offered a hand. You took it, letting him shakily pull you up to your feet.

His breath washed over your cheek.

You looked up at him. His dark orbs shifted towards you. Waning. You tilted your head. Half-moons. Lips to lips. You drank in his exhale, kissing him deeply. Still electrified. Hands all over, igniting fire over skin. His lower body bumped up against your thigh. Slippery hardness pressing into softness. The scent of sex clung between you and him. You reached down. Touching him. Stroking his cock with your fingertips while kissing him. You felt his hand snake between your legs, sliding two fingers into you. One by one, your fingers closed in. He stroked your clit before thrusting his fingers back in, swallowing your moan into his throat. You began to slide your hand up and down. The combination of lube and cum delivered that delicious friction that he was looking for. At this point, the fervor was so intense that the pace was fierce, fast, a contest of who could get each other off faster while in lip-lock.

You shoved your tongue into his mouth.

Jungkook sucked on it, pushing a third finger into your soaked pussy, all the way up to his knuckles. You welcomed it, working his entire length, jacking him off tight and harsh, and all of a sudden he let go if your tongue, gasping with a pinched moan, his hips jerking forward. Hot spurts of milky white shot down your inner thigh. Not much, but definitely enough to witness and feel. Something inside you snapped and you had to grab his shoulder to avoid falling over, your nails digging in a halo as your pussy spasmed, sucking in his fingers with a wet squelch, your legs snapping closed to extend the feeling. Breathless moan against his ear. You leaned against him with your juices leaking down your legs and sticking to his fingers.

Delicious.

Satisfyingly ragged. Blood pumping. Both of your bodies burning, or at least yours was and his chest was alarmingly sweaty. You slowly untangled your hands from each other but they lingered low, suddenly realizing how much needed to be cleaned up.

“Uh…” Jungkook panted. “I’ll help…”

He better. “Yeah. We should, hah, clean up.” Your tongue traced your lips. “Then sleep.”

“I didn’t bring clothes,” he mumbled distractedly.

You lifted yourself from his shoulder. “I still have your sweatpants,” you reminded him.

His dark eyes slid towards you. He tried to frown. His eyes were too eager and sparkly for that. “Oh. Yeah…”

“You can go home if you want,” you offered while naked and with his cum sticking to your thigh.

He sucked on the inside of his cheek sharply. “You can’t say sleep over and then take it back.”

“Then take it in the first place.”

“I was gonna,” Jungkook snapped, and grabbed your arm, pulling you in for another kiss.

-

“Did you mean it?”

The room was relatively clean now. The trash was appropriately in the trash. The clothes had been lumped into an ambiguous pile on your dresser. Teeth had been brushed. You had set aside a spare toothbrush for his use only. Seemed appropriate. He was not wearing his sweatpants. Turned out that was not his preferred way to sleep. It wasn’t yours either. He was only in his boxer briefs and you were only in your panties. Your bodies were now minus each other’s bodily fluids.

“Mean what?”

You tried to yank the duvet into a more acceptable orientation before climbing in. After a pause, Jungkook lifted the other side and tried his best to settle in.

“That you were waiting for me to make a move.”

Tried his best because he seemed to be distracted by the conversation. You adjusted your pillow and nestled in a section of the duvet that was not that close but not too far away either. It was a king-sized one for a queen bed. Plenty of sharable coverage. You didn’t interfere with his routine and he didn’t with yours. You took the time to think.

“Hm.” It wasn’t wholly true after all. “I didn’t know if you were going to make a move or not.” He snorted under his breath but you ignored it to finish speaking. “After the first time you stayed over… It was more that I figured being prepared was better than not being prepared.”

“That’s…” He sounded uneasy.

“I can’t live hoping for something that might or might not happen,” you said without facing him.

He seemed annoyed. “Why not?”

You pointed out the obvious. “I don’t think you should change your life only to appeal to me. You should do it for yourself.”

“Well, I did,” Jungkook grumbled. He cocooned himself in a good chunk of your duvet. That was the tell of a blanket stealer. You would have to keep an eye on him. “I quit for you. It was always you. It’s happened already, so accept it.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He grunted. “Just like how I shouldn’t have started smoking in the first place. Guess that’s the kind of shitty guy I am.”

Silence.

He wasn’t facing you. You were looking up at the ceiling. Closed your eyes because there weren’t any promises up there. The promises were always next to you. He seemed cold, but you knew better. He didn’t know how to be a cold person. He tried his best and it was a constant failure.

“Aren’t you happy you broke that people-pleasing of yours?” you asked softly.

There was a short, reluctant pause before he muttered, “You’re a butt.”

You burst out laughing. Big, muscly, tattooed man curled up in bed with you retorting with a child’s insult was too funny. Jungkook growled, rolling over to shake your shoulder with contained fury. You kept laughing even when he gave up and took the pillow out from under him, repeatedly bopping your torso and legs with it. There was no strength behind it. Plenty of salt, though. You opened your eyes mid-snicker and looked over to him. His arm was extended over to you. His black hair was all over the place. He shook his head like a Doberman and scrunched up his face. Frowning. On the verge of a pout, really. He could have looked madder. He would never make it as an actor. Your laughter died out.

“You were gonna totally back off if I didn’t have condoms?” you teased.

He looked exasperated. “Seriously? I’m not some untrained dog who hasn’t eaten in days! You… There’s plenty of other choices we have! I’m a good guy!”

You smiled. “I know.”

He immediately stopped protesting. It was as if all the fight drained out of him. There was a whole universe in those big dark brown eyes. And then it occurred to you that, back then, Jungkook could never quite meet your eyes even though he was always looking your way. Every day came with a dark night. He would ask you, got a light, and you would hold up the flame, shining light into those dark eyes when he used to lean in.

It was strange, then, to see the light that was there when now his eyes locked with yours.

No lighter required.

“You really tried to pass off as a bad guy. Almost fooled me, even.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Ugh, fuck you.”

“You did,” you quipped.

Jungkook flung the pillow behind him and scooted alarmingly close. You instinctively tried to move out of the way but there was no more bed to escape to. His strong arms wrapped around your shoulders and dragged you back to him, threatening you with, “Shut up. I’m hugging you.”

You failed to listen. Classic. “I didn’t ask to be hugged.”

There was a foreign tingling feeling that raced all over your skin. Not from the physical closeness, but from the other kind of closeness. You felt your shoulder bump against his firm chest. He even threw his leg over your hip and yanked your legs closer, cocooning you with his frame. You almost thought he was trying to extend the night.

Instead, he simply latched onto you like a barnacle.

“I don’t care. I’m a bad guy. Hmph.”

Quiet.

You placed your hand on his forearm just under your breasts. This was going to become very hot and sweaty in the long run. But you let it be. You didn’t want to let go either, even though you weren’t exactly doing the holding on. You used your other hand to drag the duvet back up under your chin. He didn’t stop you. You felt him squeeze you a little tighter once you were comfortable, as if to confirm. You patted his arm.

“Your hand is too hot,” he complained in a mumble by your ear.

“That sucks,” you said and didn’t move it. He didn’t try to shrug you off either. “I’ll make your steak tomorrow.”

He pretended to gnaw on your shoulder. “We can’t have steak for breakfast.”

“Why not? We’re adults.”

“That isn’t what adults do.”

“Then I give up on being an adult.”

“Me too,” he huffed. He perched his chin by your head. “Alright, I’m down.”

You debated on telling him. Telling him why you purchased the lighter in the first place. Even before him, it constantly stayed in your pocket. It only came out on the darkest nights when the insomnia was the worst. A flame and a human life followed the same trajectory. At night was when the flame danced the brightest. You would watch the flame dance. Contemplated. Extinguished it. You even did your due diligence of refilling it when it was low. When Jeon Jungkook appeared in your life, you ignited the flame for him without much thought. That was, after all, the intended use the lighter. It made sense to use it as such. You found yourself reaching for it less because, well, what if you ran into him? He would always ask and you would always provide. When he had handed you his barely-used pack and said he was done, you too gradually began to leave the lighter behind. The two objects had begun to collect dust night after night. Untouched. Originally your lighter wasn’t for him, and yet.

That small flame had led him to you.

The universe planned well.

“Hey, Jungkook?”

“Uuh?” He sounded very sleepy and not quite conscious.

“My lighter was for you, after all.”

“Mmmm…” He nestled closer and squeezed your arm. “That’s good.”

You smiled as he drifted off to sleep. He still snored, although less intensely. His grip on you relaxed but was no less meaningful. Slowly, the exhaustion caught up to you, and you went willingly, following Jeon Jungkook’s path to dreams. You would have to get used to this new routine of the night.

--

masterpost

[boyfhee]

박성훈 、COUPLE CODE

sunghoon pouts when he's jealous.

featuring ⋆ rich boy! sunghoon x fem reader

contents ⋆ light kissing, jealous sunghoon ( 1061 )

notes ⋆ brought the heat back is making me want to write jealous fics for every single member i can't do this. anyway RICH BOY HOON WLCM BACK!!!!

“you’re pouting,” you say, reaching out to grab his hand but he slides it out of yours ever so swiftly. 

“i’m not pouting,” sunghoon mumbles, not even caring to look at you as he makes long strides to a secluded corner, away from the chatter of the charity event his parents dragged him to along with themselves. 

“you’re not good at lying,” you snort, following him wherever he’s going. he gives you a little run for himself when he’s like this— literally, because you keep increasing your pace, having a hard time keeping up with him. and when you finally do, hands around his wrist to stop him. “c’mon hoon, you don’t have to be jealous,”

“jealous?” he huffs, jerking his hand out of your grip as if you’ve insulted him, the words bruising his ego. “you’re saying i am jealous? what makes you say that?”

“it’s written all over your face,” you reply with a sigh, eyes glazing over his expression and the very obvious pout that he keeps denying is there. you simply stare at him for a few seconds before shaking your head and reaching out to cup his face. “you’re jealous and you’re pouting. it’s the most adorable thing in the world,”

and sunghoon would be lying if he said those words didn’t give him butterflies, especially with the way your hands are on his cheeks, squishing them a little to make his lips jut further in a pout. 

“you don’t know what you’re saying,” he huffs in mock offence, eyes looking away from your face as if he does not like this, albeit having no attempt at pushing you away. 

you know he’s just being dramatic, fists clenched on his sides even though you know his hands are itching to wrap themselves around your waist and pull you closer. it’s cute, even though you don’t particularly enjoy seeing him upset and it’s obvious that he can sense how much fun you’re having, which makes him pout even more.

“is this about jongseong?” 

“jongseong?” his eyes narrow at your face, the said name ringing in his head again and again as he takes your hands and pulls them away from his face, although still holding him ever so gently, contrary to the look in his eyes. “you’re on a first name basis with him?”

“we’re friends,” you giggle at the way his eyes squint further at your words— and he couldn’t be more obvious with that pout on his lips. “i don’t attend these events often so dad wants me to socialise,”

“you’re socialising with the enemy,” sunghoon glares at you, prompting out a chuckle from you at his words. he frowns at your reaction, making you laugh even more.

“you hate him, i don’t,”

“boyfriend’s enemy is your enemy too. that’s the couple code,” he states bitterly, fingers slowly interlacing themselves with yours. his brows are furrowed in irritation, lips still in a never ending pout— you think you love this version of sunghoon more.

sunghoon doesn’t pout.

as he claims, most of the time, even though you know it’s not really true. he pouts when you don’t give him attention, or when he calls you in disappointment to cancel the dates because his dad wants him to assist him with work and election campaigns— you can hear that pout through the phone when he speaks. sometimes, when your phone rings up between your lazy make out sessions, he pouts again, and you have to make sure your eyes are on him as your fingers trace over his lips and cheeks while you’re trying to get over that call as soon as possible. 

even now, when you two are silent and he’s looking down, fiddling with your fingers, you notice how his lips switch between a pout and an irritated scowl, the way he huffs at how absurd it all seems to him. and sunghoon is not a very jealous man— well, not until now. you’re used to him brushing it off when you tell him about some guy trying to get your number. ‘well you turned him down and you’re here in my arms so i don’t care—’ the usual response. 

although, you know about the rivalry between him and jongseong— jay, as sunghoon would like you to address the other guy— nothing could’ve made you assume that your dear boyfriend would be jealous over just a ten minutes conversation with him. you didn’t want to make him jealous, but that doesn’t mean you’re not enjoying this little exchange. 

“no more talking to jay. he’s the worst,” he mumbles, looking up at you with the exhibition of his bruised pride in his eyes. “and no more calling him jongseong too,”

“we’re friends, hoon,”

“he was interested in you,” he insists and words get stuck in your throat. it’s not a secret that jay had tried asking you out several times. there’s no doubt he was— or is still interested in you, if there’s any chance. you wouldn’t want to make sunghoon upset over that either way.

“valid,” you nod, agreeing with him to console his shattered ego, although trying to come to a conclusion in the middle. “okay, no more talking to jay when you’re not around,”

“good,” sunghoon wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer before pressing his lips against your cheeks. “he sucks anyway,”

“true, i don’t like his attitude,” you nod in an attempt to humour him.

and he’s not exactly convinced, since you and jay have been friends ever since you changed majors last year. he doesn’t ponder over that much, pouring all his attention on you and peppering your face with tender pecks. 

“and he’s not cute like me either when he pouts,” he pulls back after capturing your lips in a chaste kiss and puts his forehead against yours. you know you two should be getting back to the event, knowing your absence will not go unnoticed by either of your parents, but sunghoon has been through a lot today— as he will say it later— and so you decide to hold him in your arms a little longer.

“of course not,” you say with a kiss on the top of his head when he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck. his continues to draw soft circles on your waist through your dress, something that makes you hug him tighter. “you’re the cutest,”

taglist

[spatialwave]

aches and pains.

➸ ask: "“Tell me to stop and we stop. I don’t care what’s happening. All I care about is you” with Viktor please 🥹👉👈" - @lillycore ➸ pairing: viktor x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.7k ➸ tags: mdni! nsfw, pwp, smut, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: ty for the ask!!! <3<3<3

Viktor’s lips on your skin took away all that weighed you down. His touch or calm words mediated the worst days—you were so lucky to have his comfort. A man who loved you so much that he would do anything he could to keep a smile on your face.

Or to see your face contorted in pleasure at the gentlest of breaths along your body.

You were easy to please only because your lover was a quick learner. A few ghosting touches to your thighs taught him that you preferred taking things slow. Your legs spread and lips trembling when he would dip fingers between your rounded thighs, fingertips brushing along the fabric of your underwear only to drag back to your skin.

When his fingers returned to your heat, you were a mess, soaked through the fabric between your legs and onto the bedsheet below.

Viktor aimed to learn your body, to understand every ebb and flow of your emotions, and to want nothing more than to support all that was you.

His eyes flickered under the candlelight as he read the pages of a rather lengthy novel. Resting back on the couch with you, legs tangled, reading under the dim light as you drifted in and out of sleep after a long day at the academy left you exhausted.

You left so early and came home so late that you had only seen the sun through the few windows of the lab you were in. All for science—not much for your well-being.

He smirked behind the pages, face hidden from your view, “You’re not sneaky.”

You thought you had been, but your foot between his legs had rubbed a bit too hard against the hardening bulge in his slacks. Of course, he wasn’t at all oblivious to your advances. 

“Oops,” you giggled, sinking further into the couch as you watched him coyly. Smiling when he peeked over his book and directly at you, a brow quirked.

“I thought you were trying to rest,” he chided playfully, closing the book and resting it atop his lap. He shifted beneath your touch, your foot still offering gentle rubs against his growing erection that showed how much he wanted this, too, “If I keep you up, you aren’t going to complain that you’re too tired in the morning, are you? So I have to make breakfast and bring it to you in bed.”

A sickeningly sweet smile spread across your lips, combating the tired look in your eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t prefer cooking breakfast. You said yourself that I’m a horrible cook.”

He swatted at your leg, a guttural hum of disappointment coming from him, “I didn’t say that… I said you weren’t, eh,“ he battled through proper wording for a moment, ”the best cook.”

You rolled your eyes at his sheepish smile. “Same thing,” you giggled, biting down on your bottom lip as you retracted your foot and moved to sit up, extending a hand as you stood.

Viktor allowed himself to be tugged along by you after he blew out the candle, following you slowly to the unmade bed that looked inviting at the late hour. With how exhausted you seemed, he almost wondered if you would fall asleep.

The heavy bags under your eyes were a bit concerning, reminiscent of his own days when work took priority over himself.

“Don’t force yourself if you’re too tired,” he reminded you, his voice was soft as you both lay in bed, much of your clothing already removed from each other’s bodies. His lips were pressed to your bare shoulder as he lay on his side, peppering you with soft kisses while his hand grazed over your lower stomach. It ignited flames inside your abdomen.

“Not tired,” you mumbled. It had been over two weeks since you were last intimate with him, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to do this—you hadn’t gone this long without sex with Viktor ever. 

It had been on your mind since you arrived home, a new insecurity wrapping your psyche. Would he lose interest in you if you didn’t?

Your brain wasn’t kind to you when you were tired.

Viktor trusted your words and continued. His lips left lazy, open-mouth kisses along your skin while his hand pushed below the fabric that clung tight to your hips. Long fingers brushed between your already wet folds, and Viktor smirked.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he whispered lowly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “You’re already so excited. You must have been waiting patiently all day for this.”

Squirming at his touch, you looked into his yellow eyes, which illuminated under the soft lighting offered by a small bedside lamp. Specks of gold swirled through them as he admired you, analyzing your reactions as your lips parted into an ‘o’ shape and eyes fell shut at his careful ministrations.

Viktor enjoyed taking his time with you, fingers rubbing slow circles against your clit—dipping into your tight cunt to curl against your g-spot. His thumb continued the pressure against your bundle of nerves, leaving your back arching and quiet mewls escaping your lips.

“Viktor,” you breathed his name out, his practiced touches already pushing you to the edge. The heat in your lower stomach grew bigger with each pump of his fingers inside you, his hot breath on your neck pushing you so damned close.

You hadn’t thought your release would come so soon and easily, and your mind eased at finding solace in rest soon.

“Not yet, love,” he murmured, relishing in the whine that came from you when his fingers pulled from its spot inside your tight walls. Leaving you empty and unsatisfied, wondering how you would make it through this before passing out into a deep sleep.

You were completely spent by the time his head was between your legs, exhaustion overwhelming you with each passing moment. Yet, you didn’t want this to end—not when you’d craved his touch so desperately. When you felt like you were so far in, you’d only disappoint him if you stopped now.

So, you kept pushing yourself forward. Focusing on the pleasure filling your veins as he settled into the bed below you, and you straddled him.

His cock pushed deep inside you as your hips dropped, your cunt wrapping so deliciously tight around him. You gasped as you rolled your hips, nails dragging along his chest as you looked up at the ceiling and rode him with tired movements. Your stomach was full of heat, pleasure filling all of your senses, but it wasn’t enough to get lost in

Your mind was a storm of negative thoughts. Clouded by overexertion.

Nimble hands held your hips, soft moans coming from Viktor as you bounced yourself up and down. Fucking yourself on him—though not with the fiery passion you often had.

Your thighs had already begun to tremble, aching so soon.

Viktor took notice.

“My love.” Your eyes dropped and widened, watching as your lover shifted up on an elbow and looked over your face. His hand moving to caress your cheek, thumb rubbing at your skin, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied after a few beats of silence, feeling your stomach twist tightly.

Viktor’s brows furrowed together as he moved to sit up, allowing you to rest back on his thighs. Your eyes had begun to water, glistening with unshed tears as your emotions heightened.

“No, no,” he whispered, his eyes softening, “You’re not okay, and that’s okay. Tell me if this is too much, and we’ll stop. I don’t care about this—I care about you.”

You wiped your eyes with two hands, forcing the tears away. “But we’ve just been so busy,” you sniffled, embarrassment crawling up your spine. “We haven’t done this in a long time, and I don’t want to disappoint you. It’s not too much—I’m just so tired.” You pouted, sulking at the reality of the situation and avoiding his gaze.

Viktor’s arms wrapped around you in response, holding you to his chest as he pulled you back. Now laying amongst the pillows, your ear pressed to his chest and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Don’t ever feel like you have to do this for me,” he whispered, fingers combing through your hair, “I’ll love you no matter what. You could take an oath of celibacy, and I would still love you. I would only have to find time to tend to myself now and then.”

You heard the smile grow on his lips, and you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up your throat. Tilting your head back, you peered up to meet his gaze. All the worries in your mind melting away at his sincerity.

If there was anyone who knew you better than yourself, it was Viktor. The man who knew what you needed from a particular look in your eyes, or knew exactly what you’d say next when you spoke so passionately about something you loved. He could tell how overworked you had become lately as you navigated your final years of schooling. Somehow, finding yourself busier than him, who was assistant to the dean.

“You’re too good for me,” you murmured, burying your face into his bare chest, “I feel bad. Now you’re all worked up, and I’m just crying on you like a mess.”

”I’ll survive,” he chucked, fingers trailing along your spine.

Slowly, he moved you both until you were on the bed next to him. Face still hiding against his chest, but now with your arms wrapped tight around his waist and a leg thrown over his hips. Clinging to him tightly.

“Promise me you’ll get some rest tomorrow. Proper rest.” 

You yawned against his chest, “I promise.”

Viktor held you, arms wrapped around your shoulders as his chin rested atop your head. His eyes fixated on the open window, watching the moon in the distance that had risen over the skyline of Piltover.

You snored once you fell asleep, each soft sound easing his heart as he thought about what he’d make you for breakfast.