#make you feel like you're making some kind of a difference

[heedeungism]

𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

•°. *࿐ PAIRING ― riki nishimura x fem!reader •°. *࿐ SYNOPSIS ― in which riki is smitten with you and your sharp tongue. •°. *࿐ GENRE ― one-shot, ????-to-lovers, fake dating, angst, fluff, crack, rich kid au, highschool lacrosse au •°. *࿐ WORD COUNT ― 22k •°. *࿐ CONTENT WARNING(S) ― violence(one fight) and threats of it, lots of tension, mc is a horndog what's new, i meant to make this slow like the first part but im a weak woman, weed, mc is her own worst enemy, mc is stupid before she is smart <3, attempted unwanted touching, riki is the jealous type but in a green flag way, don’t ask where the teachers are, riki has bigger hands than mc, kissing(many a time), once i got the angst out of the way it turned into crack js •°. *࿐ EXTRA NOTES ― thank you all for being so kind and giving me such helpful feedback and love! shoutout to my hg @1ntaks for once again holding my hand and basically beta reading this for me, you're the best queen. •°. *࿐ SOUNDTRACK ― busy woman by sabrina carpenter, don’t smile by sabrina carpenter, big girls don’t cry by fergie, better than me by doja cat, diet pepsi by addison rae, what a girl wants by christina aguilera, positions by ariana grande, he could be the one by hannah montana, bmf by sza

part one.

AT THE BEGINNING OF FEBRUARY you realized how easy it was to get over Eunseok at the same moment that it sinks in that you can’t get over Riki.

Maybe it's the fact that he’s still friendly despite the ‘breakup’, or that he still makes sweet comments that feel too genuine to be taken as flirting anymore. He hasn’t changed much of his behavior at all since the end of January, actually.

The news of the short-lived relationship spread around school. Though it was clear that you both were still friends, most of the rumors were dispelled. However, some were still infuriatingly present.

Now, you’re not the type of person who gives a shit about what other people think of you—especially not a bunch of pubescent teenagers with so little going on in their own lives that they find entertainment in yours. But your patience is wearing thin. If you hear another freshman whisper about you not being over your cheating ex, you are going to go insane. (Despite your reputation, you are above throwing hands with 14 year-olds.)

“So you want something like this, right?” Julie taps on her phone screen from across from you, showing the nail inspiration photo you had sent her just last week. When you only nod, she tilts her head with a curious raise of her brows, “We can do something different, hon’.”

Quickly, you shake your head and straighten your posture in the chair across from her, “No, sorry. I just—I’m just thinking about shit. I still want a set like that.” You force a soft laugh, and she nods with a soft ‘okay’.

“So? Anything new?” She asks with a pretty smile as she plugs in her nail drill and turns on the dust collector.

You lay your hands onto the rest between the two of you, humming and then sighing, “I’m still single.”

Julie begins working at removing her work from three weeks ago with the drill, though the pink mask keeping her from inhaling the dust doesn’t hide her face of baffled confusion, “I thought you were dating that lacrosse guy, though.”

The sound of the drill and fan are like white noise to the both of you as you sigh and drop your head forward, “Didn’t work out.”

Julie gasps softly, clearly upset for you, “What’d he do?”

While you love that her first instinct was to ask what he did and not what you did, the latter is more fitting for the situation. “He was too perfect and I got scared?” You admit softly with a guilty shrug.

Julie pauses in her work and deadpans at you, “Ho.”

“I know!” You whine softly as she resumes, using your free hand to grab the chilled can of Dr Pepper she’d grabbed for you before your appointment started, sipping from the pink straw before you continue to whine, “I fucked up.”

“I never got to see a photo last time, either.” Julie recalls as she progresses to removing the hard-gel off your other hand, “You hadn’t picked anyone for your little plan, yet.”

Julie knowing about your genius plan to ruin Eunseok and Nayeon’s day, everyday, with your tall, hot, and sweet ‘boyfriend’ was inevitable. She had dropped the traitorous bitch as a client the moment you and Belle told her about it, equally as disgusted by Nayeon as the both of you. Not to mention, Belle always yapped her pretty head off during her appointments, so as previously stated, it was inevitable.

“You’re gonna hate me,” You say, grabbing your phone with your now dusty and bare fingers to quickly tap to a photo of Riki that Jake had sent you. He’s got his helmet tucked under his arm and seemed to be captured in a heated argument with another boy on the team. The first thing you noticed was his hands, though.

When she pauses to look at your screen, she looks at you again and sighs like a disappointed mother, shaking her head and turning the drill back on. You whine, “Don’t sigh at me, I’m in mourning.”

“I thought you said you weren’t worried about catching feelings.” She reminds you, and you roll your eyes.

“Bitch, look at him.” You sass, picking up your phone to show the still-lit screen before placing it facedown in your lap again, “and he was just so—sweet. And he liked when I was mean to him.”

“As he should.”

“—and his smile made me want to stick my head in an oven Sylvia Plath style.” You say with a soft pout on your lips, “It was so much so suddenly, and I freaked out.”

Julie turns off the drill and grabs the brush to clean off the dust from your hands as she nods slightly to what you’re saying, “And Eunseok was so recent.”

“—And Eunseok was so recent!” You repeat in vehement agreement, groaning up at the ceiling as you slump slightly, “Why do boys ruin everything?”

You spend the next few hours of your nail appointment ranting about everything. Riki, your ex, your ex best friend, your dad (who had texted you a long message after you left him that you promptly responded to with a ‘that doesn’t look like an apology so im not reading that’).

mommy dearest 🩷: can you pick up some groceries for me? just a few things

The text from your mom as you swipe your card on Julie’s reader is paired with a chime you recognize as your bank app. Your new nails tap on your screen as you open the notification, grinning at the sight of a hefty transfer of funds into your account. 

The small list your mother sends doesn’t come close to costing the amount she sent you to pay for it, so you decide to stop at Sephora while you’re out too.

You choose the highest percentage to tip and sign her phone screen with your knuckle before bidding her a happy farewell and exiting the salon. The drive to the strip center is barely ten minutes long, your BMW filled with Christina Aguilera and the trip slightly delayed by your admiration of your new nails at every red light. 

When you get into the Sephora, which you decided to visit first since your mom’s list included produce, you b-line to the skincare section. 

You’re debating between oil cleansers when you’re tapped on the shoulder. 

The woman before you looks around your mother’s age, a bit shorter than you but with a beautiful smile on her face. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Y/n?”

You blink, caught off guard, but nod.

Her grin widens. “I’m Riki’s mom!”

Your stomach drops. Every instinct screams at you to panic, but instead, you paint a pretty smile on your face, the kind your mother taught you to perfect at charity galas. “Oh my god, hi!”

Before you can react, she pulls you into a hug, warm and tight, smelling faintly of lavender and vanilla. You reciprocate, though your arms are stiff and hesitant.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushes, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. Her eyes, as sharp and bright as Riki’s, scan you with something between approval and curiosity. “You’re just as lovely as he said.”

“Thank you,” you manage, your voice light despite the whirlwind in your chest at the sudden and  information that Riki talks about you at home. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“I can’t believe I ran into you like this!” she says, her excitement bubbling over. “You’re like a doll, honey. The photos he’s shown me don’t do you justice.”

Your brain short-circuits at the word photos. Plural.

“Oh?” you manage, keeping your smile intact even as your heart feels like it’s trying to escape the confines of your chest.

“Of course! He’s always talking about you,” she continues, as if she didn’t just drop a bomb on you in the middle of Sephora. “He showed me the cutest one of you two at the bowling alley—said it was his favorite night in a long time.”

Your breath catches, but you quickly cover it with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s so sweet of him.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She beams like she’s talking about a national treasure instead of her son. “He’s always been so shy when it comes to girls, but with you, it’s different. I can tell you mean a lot to him.”

The words land like a stone in your chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. You can’t tell if she’s trying to hint at something or if she’s just being a proud mom, but either way, you suddenly feel very out of your depth.

“That’s nice to hear,” you say lightly, though your throat feels tight. “He’s a great guy.”

She places a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but firm. “You’re good for him, you know. He’s happier these days, more confident.”

Your mind flashes to Riki’s easy smiles, the way he leans into you during conversations, the soft look in his eyes when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You swallow hard.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nishimura,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel . “That really means a lot.”

Her smile softens, and she gives your arm a little squeeze. “Oh, call me Rin, honey. And if you ever want to come over for dinner, just let me know. I’d love to have you.”

“Dinner sounds lovely,” you say with a polite smile, already running on autopilot. “I’ll have to check with Riki, but I’m sure he’d love that too.”

“Oh, good! I’ll talk to him about it tonight,” Rin says brightly, her excitement only adding to the internal chaos brewing in your chest. “You two are so sweet together—I can’t believe he didn’t tell me you were this gorgeous in person.”

You blink, momentarily stunned, and force out a soft laugh. “That’s really kind of you to say.”

“I mean it.” She gives you an approving once-over before leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, he’s usually so tight-lipped about his personal life. I had to drag it out of him that you two were dating in the first place.”

The air leaves your lungs like you’ve been punched. He hadn’t told her.

“He—uh—didn’t mention that we’re…” you start, the words catching in your throat.

“Together?” she finishes for you with a knowing smile. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t embarrass him too much about it. I just want him to be happy, and it’s so obvious you make him happy.”

You feel your face flush, your carefully constructed composure threatening to crack. But instead of correcting her, you nod, your smile tighter now. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

She reaches out and pats your arm warmly. “It was so nice meeting you, sweetheart. I’ll let you get back to your shopping. Tell Riki I said hi, okay?”

“I will,” you promise, your voice light despite the storm in your head.

As soon as she disappears down another aisle, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Reaching for the oil cleansers again, you try to steady yourself, replaying her words over and over.

He didn’t tell her.

A part of you is…warm with the information. The other part wants to puke your guts out. 

You stare blankly at the oil cleansers in front of you, your grip tightening around the bottle in your hand. The woman’s words replay in your mind like a broken record, each one sharper than the last.

“He’s happier these days, more confident.”

“It’s so obvious you make him happy.”

“He didn’t tell me you were this gorgeous in person.”

Your chest tightens, a mix of guilt and something softer—but no less overwhelming—clawing its way up your throat. The whole point of fake dating was to not make things messy. Yet here you are, feeling like a lead character in a rom-com whose life is falling apart. Right now would be an amazing time for Matthew McConaughey to come out and sweep you off your feet. 

(You realize with borderline humiliating speed that you would much prefer if Riki swept you off your feet. Seriously, there must be something wrong with you.)

The bottle trembles slightly in your hand, and you force yourself to set it back on the shelf with a shaky exhale. You’re not the kind of girl who lets this sort of thing get to her. You’re confident, decisive, in control. Except when it comes to him.

The thought makes you pause, your fingers brushing absently over your nails as the memory of his smile creeps in—the one he reserved just for you, warm and easy and dangerous.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing the Sulwhasoo cleanser you were debating spending so much on and beginning to mindlessly fill the black Sephora tote as you walk through the aisles. Real therapy has nothing on retail therapy considering you know what your problems are and how to fix them. Paying someone to tell you those things seems counterproductive when you can make yourself feel better by treating yourself.

By all accounts, it’s been a good day for you. Getting out of the school parking lot was exceptionally easy despite the traffic you encounter more often than not. You got your nails done and love how they turned out. You’re currently splurging at Sephora. And now you have reason to believe Riki doesn’t secretly hate you for breaking his heart.

riki 🙈: just got out of practice

riki 🙈: are you coming to the game tomorrow?

You look at your phone as you tap your card on the reader and accept the large black and white striped bag from the girl at the counter.  Thanking her with a smile before beginning to make your way out to your car again. When you settle into the driver’s seat, the heat turns on as you place the bag into the passenger seat.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, nails tapping against your case as your phone automatically hooks up to the bluetooth, ‘After Hours’ by The Weeknd beginning to play. “Oh, shut up.” You sigh as you pause the music and finally muster up the right response.

pretty girl 🪩: depends on how nice you are to me tomorrow

riki 🙈: i’ll bring you a gift rn

pretty girl 🪩: im not home

As soon as the text is marked as Read, your screen is replaced by his caller ID, a photo of him at age ten in a Michael Jackson costume lighting up your screen. You can’t help but chuckle before pressing the green button, reaching to turn the volume up as you ask with a playfully suspicious tone, “Can I help you?”

“Mhm, where are you?” His deep voice and hum makes you bite your fist.

You begin pulling out of the parking lot to make it across the street to the grocery store, “Getting groceries, why?”

“I wanna see you.” 

Lord have mercy—

“You sure you don’t just miss Gus?“ You hesitate to mention the revelations made by his very kind mother in Sephora, but decide to hold off.

“Oh, I do miss Gus, but I miss his mom more.”

Oh, you hate the soft laughter that leaves your mouth the moment you hear it, “I won’t be long at the store, it’s just a few things.”

There’s a shuffle on the other side, then he says, “What store?”

“Riki, it’s literally like four things.” You laugh at his shameless eagerness, “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

He chuckles softly before humming again, “Okay, bye pretty.”

“Bye.” A beat passes and ‘What a Girl Wants’ by Christina Aguilera blares through the speakers so loud you jump, “Jesus Christ.”

By the time you pull into the grocery store parking lot, you’ve replayed his voice in your head at least five times. I wanna see you. It wasn’t just what he said, but the way he said it—soft, easy, like he wasn’t asking for anything out of the ordinary. Like it was natural for him to want to be around you, and for you to want the same. You’re...friends. 

You curse the thought away as you grab your keys and step into the cold evening air, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. You don’t need to be thinking about Riki Nishimura and his stupid, perfect face and voice the whole time.

The grocery run is quick—milk, eggs, a few vegetables, and a bag of Gus’s favorite treats because you can’t resist—and you’re back in your car in record time. You text Riki that you're on the way home and find yourself smiling when he loves the message. It drops a second later when you realize what you’re doing and curse again, tossing your phone into the cup holder like it’s on fire and covering your face to self-reflect.

When you pull into the driveway of your home, it isn’t hard to spot Riki’s black Jeep parked at the curb. What is hard is hiding the grin that forms on your lips as you park your car and get out to grab the groceries in your trunk. The lacrosse player is already exiting his own vehicle and jogging over to help you.

“You didn’t have to come,” you say as he reaches for the bag of vegetables in your hands, but there’s no bite to your words.

“You said you’d text me when you were home,” he replies, his voice light and teasing as he takes the other bags with ease. “I figured I’d save you the trouble.”

You shake your head, grabbing your Sephora bag and locking your car. “So damn impatient.”

“Only when it comes to you.” His response is so casual, so effortless, it knocks the air from your lungs. You glance at him, but he’s already halfway up the path, waiting for you at the door like he hadn’t just said something that made your knees weak.

When you catch up, you unlock the door with the code and nudge it open with your foot, paising once you’re inside to shut it behind him. You kick off your shoes and pass Riki to get to the kitchen, placing your Sephora bag on one of the island’s chairs and watching him place the few grocery bags on the counter. 

“Gus~” You call out as you begin to unpack the paper bags, and there’s a soft warbled meow in response in the direction of your room. The plump tuxedo cat appears around the corner, rubbing his body against the wall with another soft cry for attention that has Riki cooing and lowering himself to the ground to oblige him.

Once you’ve got groceries put away, you watch the 6’ something lacrosse player pet your cat with gentle scratches under his chin that he leans into with slow blinks, “Are you happy?”

Your softly giggled question has Riki smiling up at you, “So happy.”

With a soft huff of amusement, you grab your Sephora bag and walk in the direction of your room, choosing not to glance behind you to see if he’s following. Just act natural, bitch.

You leave your door open as you enter your room, thanking the lord that the cleaning lady had visited while you were out and your room isn’t as dirty as you left it this morning. Walking into your bathroom to start putting away your new skincare, you ignore the sound of him entering your room. 

“You have a lot of perfume.” You hear him comment, glancing over your shoulder to see him admiring the organized collection on your open vanity.

“Yeah, I...have a problem” You say with a soft laugh of slight embarrassment at your habit of buying yourself anything pretty or relatively cutesy. “I have more in my closet.”

Riki whistles lowly, seemingly a bit impressed, “Which one’s your favorite?”

With a hum of thought, you step out of your bathroom to walk to your closet. You don’t mind the open door as you enter, reaching the island in the center working double as storage and where you keep your perfumes. Riki follows just to the doorway, leaning against it as his eyes move from you to the expanse of your walk-in closet. The floor-to-ceiling shelves in the back displaying heels and boots of different luxury brands, the pretty runner rug beneath your feet, it all screams you.

You’re plucking your favorite bottle from the display when his eyes land on the corner of something flat and white hidden behind a woven hamper. The easy smile on your face drops the moment you see him pull it out from its hiding spot, a boyish grin on his face. “You sneaky fuck.” 

He laughs at your immediate cursing, holding the white board out of your reach as you hasten towards him to take it from him, “Pros and Cons?”

“Oh my god.” You give up on taking it from him, hands moving to try and cover his eyes, “Riki!”

“It’s about me, pretty girl.” he argues playfully, still laughing while trying to dodge your hands, “C’mon, just a peek!”

“Boys aren’t allowed to peek—Riki!” You fight laughter as his arm hooks around your head, his hand covering your face as he begins to read out the words you wish you had erased when you had the chance.

“‘Nickname kinda dumb’, you think my nicknames dumb?” He asks in an offended tone, laughter seeping into his words.

“That wasn’t me, that was Jongseob—“

“Cut his hair—Why is cutting my hair a con?” He asks incredulously, finally letting you push his hand away from your face to look down at you. Your back is still half-pressed to his chest, and the moment you can look up at him your heart skips like it’s playing hopscotch in your chest.

You catch the glance his eyes take down below your nose and find yourself pulling away quickly, grabbing the whiteboard from him to haphazardly use your sleeve to wipe the marker off, ignoring his laughed ‘hey!’ and sighing in relief when you erase enough for the rest of its contents to look like random pink lines across its surface.

When you spin around with a playfully pointed finger to curse him out, your words catch in your throat at the look in his eyes. 

How a look could be both heavy and so soft, you do not know, but it's the best way you can describe Riki’s gaze.

“Wh—“ You stammer with hesitation, face heating up as his soft smile turns into a smirk of amusement, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you?” He questions in a light tone, almost soft. If you didn’t know better you’d think him genuine in his innocence, but the slight twitch of the corner of his lips and the way his eyes flit to yours gives it away.

“Riki.”

His name leaving your lips draws his gaze away from them, and his smirk turns into one more wry. “I left your gift in my car.” 

Your chest clenches painfully as he turns to exit your closet, your lips parting yet no words leaving them as he walks out. You follow after him, abandoning your perfume on the closest surface, “Riki, wait—“

“It’s okay—” he starts, turning just in time to stop you from crashing into him. His hands find your forearms instinctively, steadying you, but the sudden proximity freezes you both in place.

You blink up at him, startled, your breath hitching at the closeness. His fingers are warm through the fabric of your sweater, his touch gentle, like he’s afraid to hold on too tight.

“I—” You start to say something, anything, but your voice falters when you meet his gaze. There’s something there, something unspoken and unbearably soft that makes your chest ache. 

Your words catch in your throat when he gently steps back, his hands slipping away as though he’s suddenly aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. “It’s fine,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. His voice is soft, but there’s a distance in it that wasn’t there before, and it only makes the knot in your chest tighten. “I’ll go grab it.” 

You take a step forward before you can stop yourself, “Riki, I didn’t mean—”

“Really, don’t worry about it.” His voice is light, too light, as he cuts you off with a small wave of his hand. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You hesitate, watching as he turns toward the hallway, his movements just a little too deliberate. His usual ease is gone, replaced by something quieter, more careful.

Your heart sinks. Is he upset with you? He doesn’t seem angry, but there’s a tension in the way he carries himself that wasn’t there before.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” you blurt out, desperate to bridge the gap forming between you.

He pauses mid-step, his back still to you. For a moment, it seems like he might say something, but instead, he exhales quietly and turns just enough to glance over his shoulder.

“You didn’t,” he says, his tone softer now, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—regret? Frustration? “It’s not you. I just… I need a second. That’s all.”

His mother’s words ring in your head again, “It’s so obvious you make him happy.”

Yet, you feel like the opposite is all you can see. You ask him to be your fake boyfriend to make your ex mad, not even considering his feelings. You tell him you can’t date him despite him treating you with more respect and care than Eunseok ever did. You let him kiss you. You kissed back.

Clearly, you have royally fucked up a few times now.

Confronting him about not telling his mother felt like it would only make things worse between the two of you. Maybe, it’d be better for him to hear it from his mother instead of you.

Your stomach twists, guilt gnawing at you even though his words tell you otherwise. You nod, unsure what else to say, and he offers a faint, almost apologetic smile before disappearing down the hall.

“And then what?” Belle questions with a vehemence that startles you slightly. Eunchae, Hiyyih, and Jongseob are all listening intently from their normal spots in your room, your oldest friend of the four standing with her hands on her hips.

When you had informed the group chat you were staying home the next day, you definitely did not expect the four to show up to your house after piling into an Uber. One look at your tear-streaked face was enough for them to ask the questions that brought you to now.

You stammer slightly, “He—He came back with the gift and made up an excuse to leave.”

“You let him leave?” Belle asks incredulously, and you shrink under her gaze, “Bitch.”

“I don’t know, okay!” You say with your face in your hands, frustrated tears burning your eyes again as you groan, “It’s all so complicated.”

Jongseob raises his hand, waiting for Belle to motion for him to speak before he asks, “Do you like him? Also, is this a bad time to say I have a joint in my bag?”

Eunchae punches his arm, and your hands slide off your face, mind too preoccupied by your current dilemma to even insult the only boy in the friend group for his lack of ability to read the room as usual. Hiyyih leans forward to let the youngest reach over her to get to him, “That was a good question until you ruined it.” 

”Do you like him, though?” Eunchae asks once Jongseob’s arm is surely to bruise and his hands are up in surrender.

You look up from your hands, “I don’t know—“

“You’re pissing me off.” Belle sighs, palm moving to her forehead, and while you know she means well. “You like him.”

“I can’t.” You argue, voice shaking as you fight tears. Eunchae moves from her bean bag to sit next to you. “All that shit with Eunseok was barely a month ago—“

“Who gives a shit about Eunseok anymore?” Belle snaps, throwing her hands up in frustration, “Just because you dated that asshole for two years doesn’t mean it’ll take that long for you to move on.”

“It still feels like I’m using him.” You finally let the tears fall, and her frustration seems to dissipate. She sighs softly, kneeling in front of your sitting form at the edge of your bed.

Her hands move to cover yours, “Do you still have feelings for Eunseok?” The face you make answers her question and she adds, “Do you still think of Riki as a way to get back at him?”

“Of course not.“

“Then you aren’t using him.” She finishes. “He went into this knowing your plan, and you said he even told you it wasn’t you that was the problem.”

You shake your head, tears falling as you blink them away, “He looked upset—“

“Then that’s his problem.” She argues again, “It’s his job to communicate how he feels if he likes you.”

“He does communicate. I’m the issue!” You cry pitifully, “I don’t want him to think I’m not over Eunseok because—I’m still so angry.”

“He cheated on you with your best friend, you don’t have to forgive him to be able to move on to a healthy relationship.” She states.

“But it feels—“ You can’t find words for why it feels wrong to want to date Riki, because the thought of it makes your heart race, “I don’t know! I’ve known him for barely a month and I just—“

“You like him and feel like it’s not real because it happened too fast?” She reads you like a damn book, but you’re almost thankful for it.

“Yes!” You cry, “And he deserves better than that.”

“So, you like Riki?” She repeats her question, her tone matching yours.

You find yourself answering before you can even think, “Yes!”

Your stomach drops as Belle stands like her work here is done. 

It isn’t you realizing you like Riki that has your stomach filling with dread and guilt, it's the fact that you like him more than you have ever liked anyone. 

You liked Eunseok, even told him you loved him, but that seed hadn’t grown in your chest no matter how many times it left your mouth in the form of ‘I love you.’

Yet, you imagine yourself with Riki—loving him—and it all sounds so…easy. The mundanity you dreaded having to live with Eunseok sounded like a dream with Riki. Falling in love with him sounded like something you wouldn’t mind experiencing. 

Which, all things considered, is fucking terrifying to you.

Hiyyih, who had been silently watching the interaction, pats the shoulder of the boy beside her, “I think she’s gonna need that joint now, Seob.”

The shaggy-haired producer straightens up, nodding and quickly reaching for his bag to pull the baggy from the front pocket.

Belle moves toward your closet, “Manchae, Hiyyih, help her wipe her face while I find her an outfit for the game tonight.”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head in a panicked way that makes Belle grab your face in her hands, uncaring of the fact she’s squishing your cheeks, “Do you want Riki to be your boyfriend, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are going to this game, and you are going to look hot.” She walks you through it like she’s talking to a child, “And when he scores the winning home run, you’re going to run onto that field and jump him, got it?”

Jongseob raises his hand again, though doesn't wait to be called on as he interjects, “Home runs are baseball—“

“That isn't the point, dipshit.” Eunchae sasses before turning her attention back to you, “Can I ask what the gift he got you was?”

You nod as Belle releases your face, sniffling softly as you hold up your hand to showcase the charm bracelet on your wrist. Two charms hang from it, your birthstone and a tiny lacrosse stick. “He said he got it before…everything happened.”

“He bought you a charm bracelet after a week of knowing you?” Jongseob asks in a suspicious tone, and when the three girls besides you shoot him a dirty look, he holds his hands up in surrender, “Sorry—it’s just I think I’ve…connected some dots.”

“You haven’t connected shit.” Eunchae says, before promptly adding, “I just wanted to say that, you can continue.”

Jongseob shoots her an annoyed look, before looking at you and beginning, “Well, I was talking to Soul the other day—y’know the one that goes to music club with me— and he said he and Riki were friends in Freshman year.”

His hesitant pause has you looking at him and saying, “What does that mean to me?”

He continues, “He mentioned him having a huge crush on a girl then—“

“Why would I want to know this, Seob?” You question with exasperation.

“Let me finish!” He insists, and you sigh, motioning for him to land the damn plane, “I did some digging—aka asking his teammates about it—and while most of them didn’t know or wouldn’t tell me, Jake kind of insinuated it was you.”

You blink, “How did he insinuate it was me?”

“Well, I asked him what he thought about your breakup and he got all weepy about it. Said he was rooting for you guys to be endgame.” Typical Jake. “Then, I mentioned you guys not knowing each other for long and it sounded like he almost said that Riki’s been into you for years.”

The four of you blink at the boy’s retelling of events, and Belle is the first to snap out of her surprise, “And why didn’t you tell us this when you found out?”

“You guys never let me talk. Plus, that seemed like the last thing she wanted to hear.” He argues, then motions to you, and none of the girls in the room can really argue back. He doesn’t seem all that bothered about the truth of his own statement, though, as he holds up the bagged joint once more. “Now, are we smoking this or not?”

Parking your car has never left you with such a dreadful feeling in your gut, which Jongseob swore a hit of his shitty joint would ease, yet all it did was jumble your thoughts more. 

The temperature sensor reads a biting 30°F, and as you zip up the thick teddy puffer jacket you shiver with pure nerves. “Fuck.” 

Flipping down the sun visor, you check your reflection in its mirror. The warm light reflects off the gloss on your lips, which you fuss over with the pad of your finger even though it’s as perfect as it was when you applied it. 

Stalling. You’re stalling.

With a deep breath, you snap the visor shut and cut the engine, grabbing your purse and phone before stepping into the biting cold. The frigid air slashes through the layers of your outfit, your jacket doing little to stop the chill. You already regret picking the cuter option over something more practical, but you’d made your bed. Now you had to lie in it.

Ain't that the truth.

The field is already alive with movement and muted chatter. Teams are warming up, their voices cutting through the chilly air as balls thud against lacrosse sticks and cleats crunch on frosted grass. You can’t see Riki yet, but the sight of the players in their jerseys stirs the knot in your chest.

Decelis Demons v. YG Pirates

As you near the bleachers, a familiar voice calling your name stops you in your tracks. 

“Over here!” 

You turn, spotting Riki’s mom waving at you with a warm smile, flanked by two young girls bundled in matching puffer jackets. His sisters. The younger one is tugging impatiently at her scarf, while the older stands with her arms crossed, looking vaguely unimpressed by the entire ordeal.

“Mrs. Nishimura, hi!” you manage once you’ve climbed the bleachers to join her side, hoping your smile doesn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says, her voice as kind as you remember. “Riki didn’t mention anything, but I figured you’d be here for him.”

Your face heats at her words, but you force a nod, gripping the strap of your purse tighter and attempting to ignore the cold nipping at your fingers. “Of course, even if it's colder than a Yeti’s ass out here.” 

You almost regret your colorful language before the older girl snorts softly, “Preach.” 

Mrs. Nishimura chuckles, “It is freezing,” she agrees. “I told Riki he should’ve picked an indoor sport, but you know how stubborn he is.” She jests, and then proceeds to add, “Oh, and these are my daughters, Maki and Runa

You smile at the two of them, Maki’s a bit more subdued but Runa’s bright as she waves. At the mention of Riki, your eyes scan the field for a glimpse of his number. The players are still warming up, running drills and shouting plays back and forth.

And then you see him.

Riki stands near the goalpost, casually balancing his stick across his shoulders as he chats with a teammate. Even in the midst of the pregame chaos, he moves with the same effortless confidence that always draws attention, his tall frame impossible to miss.

The sight of him stirs something unfamiliar and electric in your chest. It’s not the usual comfort you’ve come to associate with him—it’s sharper, more restless, like an itch you can’t quite get to.

You tear your gaze away from him when you hear your name called once again, finding Gaeul quickly climbing the steps of the bleachers to get to you, her free gloved hand catching your arm happily, “I was hoping you’d be here!”

You smile, part of you relieved that she isn’t acting differently despite everything, and your eyes fall on the poster board in her other hand, “Is that for Jay?”

She follows your gaze and nods, unrolling it to reveal ‘Go Jay!’ with a big 19 under it, which you assume is his jersey number. The dark red sweatshirt under her puffer reads the same number as well. “Cute, right?”

“Very cute.” You reply with a soft laugh, smoothing a crease from the corner of the poster board as you add, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“He better,” Gaeul huffs in a mock seriousness, “M’freezing my ass off for him.”

Mrs. Nishimura, who seems to have been listening in from her spot beside you, chimes in with a knowing smile, “He still insists you come to every game?”

You momentary confusion is quickly shaken off as you remind yourself that Gaeul and Jay have been dating since sophomore year, of course Riki’s mom knows her, and the girl in question nods fondly, “He says I’m his good luck charm—“ She gasps, and you blink, “—I forgot to kiss him before I left earlier!”

Your brief panic induced by her gasp subsides as you giggle softly, “Oh, no!”

She playfully smacks your arm and grabs it, “You’re coming with me for that.”

Your laughter doesn’t subside, only grows, as she motions to the Nishimura’s that you’ll ‘be right back’ and begins tugging you along down the bleachers, “Where are we going?”

“To kiss my man.” She answers, but pauses in her step to look at you and clarify, “I’m kissing him, you…can kiss Riki.”

“I will not be doing that, but I respect the effort.”

She groans melodramatically as the both of you continue walking down the bleachers, “Aww, c’mon, you guys were so cute together!”

You thank the lord that it’s too loud for Rin and her daughters to hear the girl from this distance, both for your sake and Riki’s, but laugh softly, “I don’t think kissing him a week after breaking his heart is the right move to get him back.”

Gaeul pauses on the last step to look at you with an unhinged jaw as soon as you realize your mistake, opening your mouth to deny before the accusations leave her pink lips, “You want him back?” 

Her words are shrill with excitement and you have the sudden urge to shrink into nothingness as you hover a cold shivering hand over her mouth and avoid the gazes of those around you both, “Bitch, shut up!”

She flattens her lips in an attempt to compose herself but fails to muffle the excited squeal and bounce of her gait as she tugs you down the side steps of the bleachers to get to the field.

The lacrosse field feels bigger up close, the expanse of frosted grass sprawling out under the big lights on either side of it. Gaeul marches ahead with purpose, her poster now tucked under her arm as she scans for Jay. You lag behind slightly, your thoughts still buzzing from the last few minutes.

“Gaeul, slow down,” you mutter, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as the cold nips at your ears.

She ignores you, her focus locked on a cluster of players by the bench. You spot Jay among them, laughing at something one of his teammates says. Gaeul picks up her pace, her excitement palpable, leaving you to follow at a more hesitant shuffle.

You scan the group of players, not recognizing any of them as Riki. When you do find him, you exhale heavily at the sight of him deep in conversation with Jungkook, the coach clearly getting on his ass for something.

“Hey there,” a voice calls out, smooth and laced with a confidence that plants a murky feeling in your gut. You glance up to see a guy in a YG Pirates jersey standing in front of you, his helmet tucked under his arm and a cocky grin on his face. 32 is bold and dark green on his chest.

“Lost, sweetheart?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.

You take a step back instinctively, your eyes narrowing. “Do I know you?”

He raises a brow, his grin widening as if you’ve said something amusing. “Feisty, huh? Just my type.”

Your stomach twists at his boldness, irritation bubbling under your skin. You glance over his shoulder, hoping to spot Gaeul, but she’s already halfway to Jay, oblivious to your predicament. “Ew,” you blanch curtly, trying to sidestep him, but he shifts to block your path again.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he presses, leaning in slightly. “I’m just trying to be friendly. What’s your name?”

Before you can muster a surely bitchy reply—or a curse—a presence appears behind you.

“I don’t think this is your side of the field,” a familiar voice cuts in, light yet edged with authority. You glance up to see Heeseung standing at your side now, his lacrosse stick casually balanced over his shoulder, his expression calm but his gaze sharp. “Can’t you tell by the colors, dude?”

The opposing player stiffens slightly, his grin faltering as he sizes up Heeseung. “Just talkin’, man,” he mutters, his tone defensive now.

Heeseung doesn’t flinch, his smile remaining intact as he tilts his head slightly. “Right. And now you’re done.”

The player hesitates for a moment before shrugging and backing away, muttering something under his breath as he turns and jogs off. Once he’s gone, Heeseung turns to you, his easy smile returning. “You good?”

You refuse to utter ‘that was hot,’ so you settle for a, “Yeah. Thanks for that, though.”

Heeseung shakes his head, “Nah, you had that handled.”

You barely miss a beat with your response, “Yeah, but it was sweet of you.”

He shrugs with his hand up and that same grin, “What can I say?”

You make a face, “Not that.“

He goes to defend himself, but Gaeul appears with smeared lipgloss and a pretty grin to happily say, “Coach is kicking us off the field.”

“Joyful.” You say with a playfully stiff smile that has Heeseung whining. A soft giggle from you has his frown turning into a grin again and he shoots you a salute.

“I’ll tell Riki you wished him good luck, ma’am.”

“Don’t get concussed, say that too.” You call back as Gaeul tugs you back toward the bleachers, poster under her arm creased. She’s beaming, and you giggle at her glowing smile, “I think I know what you and Jay got up to while I was harassed.”

Her smile drops as she gasps with concern, “Harassed? What happened?” 

“It’s not that serious.” You quickly assure her, “Heeseung kinda scared him off, he was a guy on the YG team.”

“Ew.” She makes a face as you both arrive at the bleachers, and you nod.

“That’s what I said.” 

As you both arrive back to your seats, and you gasp and happily accept a hot chocolate Rin had thoughtfully gotten for you with a sweet side hug. God you hope Riki still wants you and you can keep this saint of a woman in your life.

As if on cue, the referee blows a sharp whistle, and the players jog to their respective side of the field. Riki is dismissed by Jungkook and pulls his helmet from under his arm as the other members of the team crowd around the coach, his head turning just enough to scan the bleachers.

Your heart skips as his gaze locks onto yours for a fleeting moment.

He doesn’t smile, not exactly—but his expression softens, his eyes warming like he’s relieved to see you there. The corner of his mouth twitches just enough to feel like a secret, like something meant only for you.

And then he pulls his helmet over his head and focuses on Jungkook’s words, it almost feels like a shock to your system but the lingering warmth in your chest makes it hard to feel the cold anymore.

You watch the team huddle, Jungkook’s game face amusing enough to you that you snicker softly before your attention falls back to Riki. Heeseung, who if your memory serves you right is 01, catches Riki’s shoulder in a brotherly way. 

Your brows furrow as you see Riki’s head tilt slightly at what Heeseung says, glancing in your direction and then the opposing teams, and you assume his eyes search for a jersey that reads 32.

The players move onto the field with another whistle, and you watch with dread as two opposing jerseys approach the center of the field. 10 and 32.

Now, you know very little about lacrosse despite it being your school’s biggest sport and your brother playing it, but you know that Riki is a midfielder. You know this through his excited play-by-plays of practice to you on the phone whenever he was finally out, as well as the basic knowledge of how a lacrosse game starts. Two midfielders wrestling for the ball. 

It couldn’t be called wrestling, however. Riki swipes it barely millisecond after the ref blows his whistle, tossing the ball to 05. 

You gasp softly as his shoulder slams into 32s chest hard enough to send him stumbling back, but his body moves quickly toward the opposing defense and away from the startled enemy. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was only doing so to keep him off Jake’s back. “Geez, what did you feed him?”

You ask Rin softly, eyes trained on her son and your brain attempting to wrap itself around the difference in his body language and…aggression on-field, when he had barely risen above a loud speaking volume in your presence. She chuckles, “Would you believe me if I said his diet largely consisted of taiyaki and ramen growing up?”

“No.” You awe at her words, eyes still on him but flitting to meet hers for a brief second, “That’s just unfair.”

“Tell me about it,” The elder of his sisters huffs, “I ate my vegetables and have glasses an inch thick, but he gets to eat sweets all his life and has perfect vision.”

“That’s your fathers genetics, not mine.” Rin clarifies, offering you an explanation like it’s second nature already, “That man can’t see something coming straight at his face until it’s already hit him.”

“My brother has horrible vision, too.” You snicker softly, your eyes rarely leaving Riki but only doing so to look between the three Nishimuras, “Refused to wear contacts, even for lacrosse.” You motion in the general direction of the field, and the older woman seems intrigued.

“Your brother plays?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh at your brother’s expense, “Not since highschool, and he was benched most games because he couldn’t see the ball,” your words have Rin laughing and Maki snorting, “plus he generally sucked. He really only joined because his friend was on the team.”

Jake scores a goal and the crowd around you goes wild with cheers, mainly higher in pitch. You let out a supportive cheer and immediately act like you didn’t when his helmeted head turns your way. You’re almost positive a shit-eating grin has formed behind his helmet.

The game continues, the scoreboard leaning toward Decelis’ victory as the first two quarters come to a close and half-time ensues. 

“No.” You reject Gaeul’s suggestion almost as soon as it leaves her mouth.

“Aww, c’mon!” She whines, tugging your arm closest to her, “His face would be so funny!”

“He’s wearing a helmet, you can’t see his face. And it’s small enough for you to hold up by yourself.” You point at the poster-board in his hands, which she had happily held up for a good portion of the game until her arms got tired.

“But my arms are gonna fall off.” She groans melodramatically, “Please?”

“Buy me another cocoa and I’ll think about it.”

As half-time comes to a close, your right arm is screaming for relief while you hold your side of the poster up and nurse a cup of steaming cocoa in the other hand. Gaeul shamelessly screams in support of her boyfriend, who you see hunch over slightly like he’s holding back laughter of amusement.

Your hand feels like it’s about to fall off, and you curse yourself for refusing the mittens Eunchae had offered in favor of showing off your new nails. ‘They’re too pretty to cover up,’ you had whined, yet now you wouldn’t be surprised if your fingers started breaking off like a vampire’s from Twilight.

The scoreboard reads heavily in the home team’s favor, and you pray to every deity that the game finally ends for your arm’s sake (and your crippling anxiety). Though, watching Riki slice through YG’s defense and score points like they're nothing doesn’t look like it’ll be getting old for you anytime soon. 

“You’re drooling.” Gaeul teases as you suck in a sharp breath at the sight of Riki once again shoulder 32 off balance, hard enough for him to fall onto his ass this time. Tensions are high as the time counts down, though part of you’s hoping this never ends. 

“I don’t drool.” You retort in a soft grumble, yet you rub the side of your wrist over the corners of your mouth self-consciously. “I’m a fucking lady.”

“Right…” Gaeul agrees with playful doubt in her tone that’s punctuated by giggles as you playfully shove her shoulder.

The final whistle slices through the winter air as Riki launches the ball into the goal, accompanied by an uproar of cheers and groans from the crowd. Decelis has won, 12-7, the scoreboard glowing with the decisive win. The players pour onto the field, some celebrating, others trudging off in defeat. Your eyes dart instinctively toward Riki, helmet under his arm, hair damp with sweat as he exchanges fist bumps and quick words with his teammates. The way his expression softens to a grin when Jake slings an arm around his shoulders makes your stomach twist.

You clutch your empty cocoa cup, suddenly desperate to find a reason to approach him. Before you can muster up a plan, the chaos swallows him—players crowding, parents flooding in from the sidelines, and Gaeul’s excited tug on your sleeve pulling you back to the moment.

“Let’s go find Jay!” she beams, and you immediately look toward Rin, Maki, and Runa.

The woman smiles warmly and pats your shoulder, “We always wait in the parking lot for him. You two can have a moment.”

Gaeul is dragging you down the bleachers the moment you softly thank the woman. Your heart thrums as you scan the chaos for Riki, but he’s nowhere to be found. Gaeul bounces ahead, her attention locked on her boyfriend. 

Her hand slips from your arm as you’re both swept into the excitement, and her curls disappear in the crowd. 

The field feels like a warzone, buzzing with shouts, laughter, and the rhythmic stomp of cleats against frozen grass. You’re jostled in every direction, bodies pressing and colliding as parents swarm to congratulate their kids, and the players themselves disappear into the fray. Your fingers curl around the half-empty cocoa cup as if it might ground you, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Where is he?

You catch glimpses of Riki’s teammates—Jake’s unmistakable blonde head bobbing as he jokes with Heeseung, Sunghoon hoisted onto someone’s shoulders—but Riki remains elusive, swallowed by the tide of bodies.

“Riki!” His name slips out, barely audible over the noise, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. What are you even doing? Someone brushes past you, hard enough to make you stumble. “Watch it,” you mutter, turning to see a player in a YG jersey, helmet off and grin too familiar.

32.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just gives you a once-over that makes your skin crawl. His shoulder brushes yours again as he angles toward you, his smirk sharper now. “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he drawls, voice low enough that it’s almost lost in the noise.

You make a face of disdain, like speaking to him both disgusts you and is beneath you, “Is that supposed to be cute?”

“C’mon,” He says, tone dripping with what you assume is his attempt at charm, “Don’t be like that. You’ve been watchin’ me the whole game.”

“I don’t even know you.” You respond with the same look on your face that reads you’d rather be anywhere else than where you are, listening to him.

He steps closer, undeterred by your tone and clear disgust, “That can be remedied,” His voice is low, and you see his hand move from his side to reach for your waist.

Your anger takes over your motor control, and the half-empty, long chilled cocoa in your hand splatters over the front of his jersey, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

The cocoa splashes onto his jersey in a satisfying arc, the dark liquid seeping into the white fabric. His grin falters for a moment, replaced by a stunned look that quickly twists into irritation. “Are you fucking serious?” he snaps, brushing at the stain, but it’s a futile effort.

“Yeah, I’m fucking serious,” You retort, mirroring his tone, “Who the fuck told you that you could fucking touch me?” 

The players around you have started to notice the commotion, a few stopping to watch as Number 32 bites back, “You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.”

If what boiled within you was anger, then what it morphs into at the player’s statement must be seething fury, “Excuse me?”

“What’s goin’ on here?” A hand clasps over your shoulder but the voice calms any volatile reaction brewing in your gut, Jungkook stepping between you and the YG player.

Jungkook’s presence immediately shifts the energy around you. His broad frame looms between you and Number 32, the way his body blocks out the other player like a wall of stone, calm yet unyielding. The cocky grin fades from the YG player’s face as he holds up his hands in mock surrender, shooting a glare at Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t even glance at the YG player, his focus entirely on you as he steps closer, his gaze softening slightly when he sees the tension in your shoulders and the shift in your jaw. “You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle in the midst of the chaos.

You nod, even though the heat of anger still lingers in your chest. “I’m fine,” you say, but your voice shakes just enough that Jungkook catches it.

His eyes flick briefly to the YG player, who’s clearly not in the mood to test Jungkook’s patience any further. “Walk with me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. You want to protest, to stay and search for Riki, but something about the way Jungkook stands there—tall, unshakable—tells you it’s not worth resisting.

He guides you through the crowd and off the field with his hands on your shoulders. When the two of you arrive at the edge of the field where the bleachers drop off and the parking lot comes into view, he releases you. “Do I need to go talk to that kid’s coach? Or parents?”

“No, I think the shit-colored stain on his jersey says enough.” You retort swiftly, the implications of his words stick with you, though. ‘You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.’

It isn’t as if you woke up yesterday, you know he’s talking about Nayeon. Whether it be some kind of intuition or you’re just that fucking familiar with her thought process from years of what you had thought was friendship, you know it. 

“Hey.” Jungkook’s gruff but somewhat gentle call snaps you out of your stewing, and you blink at him, “Don’t do anything I’m gonna hear about, okay?”

Your immature response is interrupted by the loud cheers and chatter morphing into shouts and hollers of a more alarmed tone that has the both of you looking in the direction of the field. Jungkook doesn't seem eager to let you involve yourself in whatever it is that’s going down on the field, you know this because he’s shooing you off toward your car in a dismissive but authoritative tone. 

If you cared at all about anything except beating Nayeon’s face in at the moment you would be protesting and following after him as he jogs toward the commotion, but you don’t. Instead, you walk to your car, toss your Prada bag into the passenger seat as it begins to warm up, and plot.

Watching your friend group’s grins fall while learning that you did not, in fact, kiss Riki after the game but left without even speaking to him in a fit of blind rage was not how you wanted to start your weekend. You blame their soured moods for the fact that all four of them were avidly against your plan to beat Nayeon’s face in the next time you see her, but begrudgingly decided to not jump to conclusions.

The only proof you have that Nayeon was the one to sic that cretin on you may be his words, which aren’t worth much, but you refuse to believe anything else.

Monday arrives with not a singular text or call from Riki, and while Belle has already talked you off of the metaphorical ledge about it, you feel the urge to disappear off the face of the Earth every time you imagine seeing him again after leaving the game he asked you to attend without so much as a word.

Part of you figures the silence on his end is payback, or him deciding to finally let his alleged crush on you go. The other part of you really hopes he was just busy.

Jake is…silent in your second period. Not that you’d mind the silence on any other day, but it’s definitely not normal. Well, he’s silent until he catches sight of the charm bracelet on your wrist as it clinks softly on the desk. His grin is back in seconds and he takes his phone out.

“Want a picture?” You offer sarcastically. When Jake eagerly nods and holds his phone up for the picture, you shoot it a mock smile and manicured middle finger as your charm bracelet catches the light above.

With giddy giggles, Jake takes the photo and practically bounces in his seat in joy as he taps his thumbs on his screen hastily. You’re rolling your eyes and looking down at your worksheet when he asks, “Wanna know who I’m texting?”

“If I wanted to know I’d ask.” You respond swiftly, tapping the eraser-end of your pencil on the desk absentmindedly.

“It’s Riki.” He states with a smugness that pisses you off.

Looking up from the paper, you raise your brows, “Okay?”

“He needed proof,” He adds on with his arms crossed as he leans back in his seat, “Wanna know why?”

“I feel like you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

He’s still smirking as he proves you right, “He thinks you hate him.”

You blink, annoyed nonchalance pushed aside by genuine confusion, “Why would he think that?”

Jake shrugs, though his face seems anything but clueless and you hate that he knows more than you do, “Maybe ‘cause you left the game without saying anything to him.”

“Jungkook made me get off the field.” 

“You could’ve waited with his family in the parking lot.”

“Well, I didn’t.” You snap, growing frustrated with the conversation despite it being your own damn fault, “Why are you telling me this, Jake?”

“‘Cause he’s my friend and he’s been miserable.”

“Then he should talk to me.” You retort with a sigh, guilt filling your gut despite your defensive words, and he tilts his head with a nod of agreement, “If I hated him he’d know. I don’t exactly keep that shit a secret.”

Jake, who had bore witness to your fight with Jaclyn Delvacchio in junior year, hums, “Well, can you do us all a favor and talk to him, please?”

“We have fifth period, I’m not gonna ignore him for an hour when he sits next to me.” You roll your eyes and focus back down at your worksheet.

By the time the bell rings, you’re halfway between plotting your own demise and debating if you should actually try to talk to Riki. The idea makes your stomach twist. What if Jake was wrong, and Riki doesn’t want to hear from you? What if your silence solidified something in him—pushed him away for good?

But then you remember how he smiled at you that day in the hallway, the soft tug of his lips like he couldn’t stop himself, and how his eyes lit up when you agreed to come to the bowling date. You remember the way his voice faltered ever-so-slightly when he asked you, like he was bracing himself for rejection but couldn’t bear not to try.

The thought makes your stomach hurt and your chest heavy, and you realize something that makes you want to kick yourself: you don’t want to lose that. You don’t want to lose him.

Yet, you so easily brushed him aside in your list of priorities to stew in your anger about someone who shouldn’t even be a thought in your mind at this point. 

You screwed up. Again. 

At this point, you feel like you’re winning the losing game. Not only do you hate losing, but you hate the feeling in your chest and gut that makes you want to go home and rot until Riki forgets you ever existed. Belle’s voice screams in your head to talk to him, to make the effort to speak to him and throw away your pride.

So, instead of staying in your old Latin teacher’s class for fourth period grading papers, you persuade her to let you spend your fourth period ‘at lunch with your friends’. 

Your friends all share the same lunch period; sixth, when you’ve already gone home. So you lied, yes.

But Riki has fourth period lunch.

You slip through the cafeteria doors, the clang of trays and the murmur of conversation fading as you scan the room for him. The place is packed, and your heart beats louder than the chatter around you. It’s ridiculous—Riki isn’t hard to find. But your anxiety builds anyway, sending a slight tremble through your hands.

You spot him by the window, his profile framed by sunlight, his usual quiet demeanor marking him as an island in the chaos of the cafeteria. His friends surround him, but they’re not your focus. Your eyes zero in on him, his long sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his hair messy and covering his forehead like he didn’t feel like styling it this morning, the rings on his hands that glint in the cafeteria light.

But before you can make your way over, the sound of a voice you loathe cuts through the air, sharper than glass.

“A couple hundred bucks and he was practically my dog.” Nayeon muses at the two girls you barely recognize that sit across from her at a table not far from you, “Sucks that he failed, though. Would have spent my money on someone else.”

“So you…had him hit on her?” The girl on the left asks, a bit confused as she exchanges a look with the girl beside her.

Nayeon seems eager to relay the details, “I told him she liked playing hard to get,” She shrugs disinterested, yet you see a sliver of the smirk on her face from your angle, “made him all the more eager to knock her down a peg.”

The two girls seem peeved by what she says, like any sane person would be, but anything either wants to say dies on their tongue as they catch sight of you. “Girl…”

One trails off as you begin your approach, the same lightness in your gut that has your vision clouded with seething fury.

She looks over her shoulder just enough for you to see her smirk drop into wide-eyed fear.

Your hand catches the back of her head, slamming the side of her face into the table with little care for the eyes that immediately find you, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you, bitch. What was that?” There’s ‘ooo’s and ‘oh shit’s from the wuickly forming crowd as you pull her up by her hair, launching the flailing girl onto the ground. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She scrambles off the ground, immediately getting in your face as she hisses, “You don’t deserve him.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” You curse as your hand meets her face, and she shrieks as her head snaps to side. 

Nayeon recoils for a moment, eyes wide with shock, but the anger on her face quickly replaces any hesitation. "You think I'm scared of you?" She spits, moving toward you with a snarl. She may not have expected this, but now that it's happening, she seems desperate to prove herself.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, you shove her into one of the metal chairs, the clattering sound of it screeching across the floor as she stumbles backward. The two girls hasten to get out of the way, faces a mix of fear and ‘oh shit’. 

Nayeon picks herself up with blind fury guiding her actions, hands flying out as she lunges forward to shove you back. Your hands grasp her hair again, and the crowd surrounding the scene roars.

Her nails claw at your wrist as you yank her forward. She’s small, but her anger makes her stronger than she has any right to be. The fight is a mess of hair pulling and shoving, curses from you and shrieks from her.

You shove her hard into the table again, the force sending a tray of half-eaten food crashing to the floor, and the crowd goes wild, hooting and cheering. The heat in your chest ignites with every movement. The adrenaline rush is undeniable.

Nayeon's attempts to push you back only seem to fuel your anger further. Her breath is ragged, and you can practically taste the bitterness she's been carrying since the moment you stepped into her world. Every movement of hers is desperate, like she's trying to claw her way back to a victory she's long since lost.

"Get the fuck off me!" she yells, her voice barely audible over the chaos. But you don't listen. You slam her against the chair again, hard enough that she falls onto her ass, eyes wide with disbelief. Nayeon's face contorts in pure anger as you approach again, her hands flying up in a futile attempt to strike you. Her nails scratch at your arms, but the pain barely registers.

But then, someone grabs your waist, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. The world tilts as you're pulled off of Nayeon, feet leaving the ground. For the split second that you’re struggling against them, thinking it’s one of her friends or a teacher, you curse at them too.

Then the cologne hits your nose and the voice hits your ears, “Alright, that’s enough, pretty girl.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as Riki’s voice cuts through the frenzy, low and soft in your ear, but with a sharp edge of firmness that you’ve never heard from him before. His grip on you doesn’t waver, and despite the anger still coursing through your veins, you freeze for a second, thrown off by the ease he had pulling you off of that traitorous bitch—who’s being held back by Jake and Jungwon.

“Skank!” Nayeon shrieks, clawing at Jake and Jungwon’s arms that keep her from lunging at you again.

Any calm that Riki’s presence brought you is washed away, but he pulls you back by the waist as you move to have a go at Nayeon again. His arms wrapping around you to keep your arms at your sides as you bite back,  “Says you, bitch.”

“Easy, easy,” He eases, your back hitting his chest as your jerky and angry movements force him to pick you up again, “Cool it, baby. You got her good.”

“Get her out of here before the teachers get here,” Heeseung orders in a hushed tone as the other members of the lacrosse team grab at phones and shove the crowd back.

“I’m not—hey!” Your defiant statement is interrupted by the arm around your waist tightening and your feet lifting off the floor once more. “Riki!”

“I know, I know.” Riki’s hold is firm as you struggle weakly against him, his voice deep and low like he’s easing a wild animal, his touch warm. You can’t bring yourself to fight back the way you did with Nayeon as he walks you out of the cafeteria building. His presence, the warmth of his chest against your back, it all has your defense mechanisms easing up and your anger softening to a low simmer.

When he finally sets you back down, the cool chill of the air eased only by the sunlight hitting the two of you, you turn to face him with a charged glare, “I can walk.”

He holds his hands up in good faith, or maybe an attempt to calm you down, “I know, baby.”

“And she deserved that.”

“I know, baby.”

The way he repeats himself so softly, how he’s letting you take out the remnants of your anger on him, it only makes the ache in your chest worsen. You exhale sharply, “Stop that.”

“Okay.” He says, voice soft but no pain or hurt to be detected in his voice, only in his eyes.

Your own sting almost automatically with both frustration and anger at yourself and no one else, “No, not—“ Taking a deep breath, your hands move to your face, “This is all wrong.”

“What is?” You try not to notice how he doesn’t attach ‘pretty girl’ or ‘baby’ to the end of his question. You fail.

“Everything.” You mutter, exhaling another soft, “Fuck.”

“You’re bleeding.” He points out, his hands pulling yours from your face to examine the scratches up your arms. 

“Nails are intact, though.” You mumble softly, trying to make yourself feel better. Riki looks at you in slight disapproval, brows furrowing, and you add, “I’m okay.”

He sighs, shaking his head, “There’s a first-aid kit in the locker room, let me clean you up.”

“Ew, I’m not going into the boys locker room.” You reject his offer with an obstinance that would usually amuse him, yet he shows a sliver of frustration in his body language. “And I told you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, you can either walk or I can carry you.”

“As if.” 

Your challenge is met with him raising his eyebrows and lunging for you a second later. You flinch and swat at his hands, “Okay, fine!” He pulls back again with a ‘that’s what i thought’ look, “I’ll walk.” you add with a defiant ‘hmph’ as you walk past him.

He doesn’t press the issue, following you towards the athletics building and holding the door open for you to enter first, to your utter fury of course. Stupid boys. Stupid emotions.

When you find the boys locker room, you pause as he pushes the door open, “I’m not going in there.”

He sighs with a nod like he expected as such, “I’ll be right back, stay here.”   

You sigh and cross your arms, rolling your eyes and leaning back against the wall across the locker room entrance.

Riki returns with a first aid kit and his hoodie, “Let’s go to the bleachers, no one’s got practice today.” You assume the hoodie is for you, and you’re proved correct when he tosses it into your face and snickers when you curse at him. “C’mon.”

You begrudgingly walk with him out of the athletics building to the school field not a far walk from the entrance. 

You hear the bell ring from where you sit on the bleachers minutes later as your chilled fingers are tended to by the lacrosse player, “You’ll be late, you know.”

“We’ll both be. It’s fifth period now.” He states as he delicately cleans the raw skin streaking up your wrist with an alcohol wipe.

“Ow.” You mumble, and he tsks with a growing smile.

“Don’t be a baby.” He teases, and you mock his words in a higher pitched voice back to him.

“Fuck you.”

He snickers softly, gently rotating your hand in his to clean the visible lines tainting the delicate flesh, “Baby.”

His statement isn’t the beckon or fond coo you wish it’d be, but it causes flutters in your gut all the same. You mock him again and he huffs softly in amusement, refraining from continuing the back and forth to focus on your scratched up wrists and forearms. 

As he moves to your right hand, his touch lingers on the charm bracelet hanging off your wrist as he dabs at the skin. The metal chain catches the sunlight, twinkling faintly against your wrist as Riki pauses. His thumb brushes over one of the charms absentmindedly before he speaks, voice softer than you expected. “You’re wearing it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you reply, trying to sound casual despite the way your pulse stutters. His touch, even as fleeting as it is, sends a warm shiver through you.

“I just…” he trails off, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly, his gaze filled with something tender. “I wasn’t sure if it was your style.”

“Why’s that?” You ask with a slight furrow of your brows, and he snickers softly.

“I’m sure it’s not the luxury you’re accustomed to.” 

“Everything I wear isn’t expensive. I’m not a snob.” You huff in slight offense, though he finds it amusing.

“Never said you were a snob, princess.” He clarifies, discarding the alcohol wipe to grab the ointment from the kit, “Nothing wrong with being spoiled.”

“I’m not—“ you go to argue, but the amusement on his face has the words dying on your tongue as you look away from him, “You’re such an ass.”

“Aww, I’m wounded.” He pouts softly, before it turns into that pretty smile again and he laughs softly, “It looks good on you.”

It takes a half-second for you to remember he’s talking about the bracelet, and your instinctive reply comes in the form of a weak, “Fuck off.”

His head falls forward as he laughs at your weakly aggressive statement. His touch is still gentle as he continues, hands unbelievably warm around yours. How unfair.

“Your hands are freezing.” He states softly, tube of ointment placed aside in favor of engulfing your hands in his. You watch him rub at them, your nails clicking against his rings with every movement until they catch his attention, “These are nice.”

“I know.”

He huffs in amusement, biting his bottom lip before he says, “‘Course you do.”

The tension between the two of you shifts, delicate and tenuous, like a thread stretched too tight. Riki’s touch is warm and steady, and you hate how easy it would be to let yourself relax into it. His thumbs keep brushing over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, and your chest tightens with every pass.

You clear your throat, trying to focus anywhere but his hands, but when you look up, his gaze is already on you. It’s not intense, exactly. Not piercing or overwhelming. Just…soft. Patient, even. The kind of look that has your fight or flight instincts kicking in to protect the 

“What?” you snap, defensive and unsure, your voice sharper than you mean for it to be. You regret it instantly when his brow furrows slightly, though his hands don’t pull away.

“Nothing,” he replies softly, his voice steady. “Just glad you’re okay.”

The simplicity of it almost knocks the wind out of you. You blink, trying to find a reply that won’t give you away, but the words stick in your throat. All you can manage is a mumbled, “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone carrying a gentleness that makes you ache. “But I worry about you anyway.”

You don’t know what to do with that—how to handle the sincerity in his voice or the way his touch lingers like he’s afraid to let go. It feels like too much and not enough all at once.

“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, trying to pull your hands back, but he holds them lightly, just enough to keep you there without forcing you.

“Can’t really help it, pretty girl.” His lips curve into a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Especially when you’re getting into fights.”

Your stomach twists, a cocktail of guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface. You want to tell him it wasn’t just a fight. That it was Nayeon, that she deserved it, that you were defending yourself in more ways than one. But that isn’t the truth, is it? Not really.

“I—” You start, then stop, swallowing down the lump rising in your throat. “I don’t—” Your voice wavers, and you hate it. “Riki, I can’t—I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” his hands grasp yours tighter as he leans forward with his gaze so…so attentive. 

“This.” You motion vaguely between the two of you, trying to not cry in front of him. You’re failing horribly. “Us. You. Me. God, fuck.”

“Talk to me, pretty girl.” He pleas softly, and your chest feels as warm as your hands are in his.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You exhale, head dropping back in an attempt to keep your frustrated tears from falling, “And I keep fucking up everything good in my life, and I just—“

His neck cranes slightly to meet your gaze as you avert it to his hands around yours, waiting for you to continue. Listening.

You take a deep breath, “I like you, I really do,” his thumbs slow to a stop against your knuckles, but you don’t look at him, “and you’re so—perfect and I’m not—“

“Don’t say that—“

“I’m not.” You insist, and one of his hands moves to your cheek as you continue, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear, “I’m…messy and mean-“

“I don’t care about that.” He argues gently, but you’re not done.

“-and I can’t even handle my own shit in a mature way so why should I be able to give you anything better—“

You don’t get to finish as his lips press against yours, cutting off your spiraling words with a kiss so sudden and deliberate it steals every thought from your head. 

His hand on your cheek tilts your head up toward him, his other remains holding yours. It’s not a hesitant kiss. There’s nothing unsure or tentative about it, not like the first one he gave you. He isn’t suffocating you, or doing anything more than moving his lips against yours like it’s all he’s wanted to do for years but knows to take his time savoring it instead of rushing in with teeth and tongue.

All you know is that you’re leaning into him, your anger, frustration, and self-doubt melting away under the weight of his touch. It’s a good kiss—better than good. It’s consuming, overwhelming, and entirely too much, yet you feel like more wouldn’t be all that bad.

When he pulls back it isn’t far, his forehead resting against yours. You’re breathless, your lips tingling in the aftermath and brain foggier than you’d like to admit. His nose brushes against your as he says, “I don’t care about any of that,” his voice is low and hoarse, “I just want you.”

You exhale shakily, feeling his words hit you lips, “Riki—“ 

“I’ll wait.” He promises softly, a hint of desperation in his words that has something in your gut fluttering, “However long it takes for you to be ready, I’ll wait.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shake your head weakly, looking down at your lap. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care about fair, pretty girl.” He responds with a slight smile, hand moving from your cheek to tilt your chin up and make you look at him. His gaze flits between your eyes and lingers below your nose, a pattern that mirrors your own. “I can wait.”

His words are soft, spoken like an oath as his eyes find your lips again and decide to stay there a while.

“Why?” You ask, barely a whisper.

Riki lifts his gaze to look you in the eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he says, “‘Cause I like you more.”

You roll your eyes, “Is it a competition?”

He hums low, as if apprehensive, “Not much of one.” Your jaw drops slightly as if offended and he laughs softly, “I mean, I have you completely outmatched, pretty girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” You challenge with a slight laugh, “How so?”

He shifts closer as he hums again in thought, “Well, you’ve liked me for how long? A few weeks?” The question is more of a statement, and he seems unbothered by the short time-span with the smile on his face, “Yeah, I’ve got you beat.”

“You didn’t know me until recently, so it doesn’t count.” You argue with defiance, and he raises his brows.

“Are you invalidating my feelings for you right now?” He asks in a mock-offended tone, hand moving to his chest.

You scoff with playful annoyance, looking away from him briefly before your gaze finds him all over again, like a moth to a flame, “How long?”

His smile turns shier, and he chuckles awkwardly, “Nah, it’s not a competition. You’re right.”

“Nuh-uh, you started it,” You laugh, shoving his sturdy chest weakly, “C’mon, I already know. I just wanna hear it.”

Your smug words paired with the shrug you give have his eyes narrowing, “You know?”

You nod, “Jake ratted you out.” 

Riki’s eyes widen slightly and he groans, head dropping forward in embarrassment, “I’m gonna kill him.”

Riki lifts his head, still chuckling under his breath as he finally relents, “Alright, fine.” His eyes meet yours again, warm and steady, even as a blush creeps across his cheeks and ears. “Since freshman year. Happy now?”

Despite you being the one to force it out of him, you hold back the urge to giggle and turn away from him. “Very.” You answer with a slightly blissful grin on your face.

“You gonna hold that over my head?” He asks playfully, leaning closer like he wants to kiss you again.

You fight every impulse telling you to close the distance yourself, but let your eyes move between his eyes and smirking lips freely, “I might.”

“Yeah?” He jests softly. 

You hum, deciding to be a little mean. “I could also hold over your head that your mom still thinks we’re dating.”

His eyes shut and the hand creeping towards yours again freezes. His head falls forward and you panic for a moment thinking you went too far before you realize his shoulders are shaking and you can hear soft wheezing. “You’re mean.”

His muffled whine makes you snicker gleefully, and you add, “She said I’m good for you.”

You don’t realize the joy behind those words until he raises his head with a teasing but genuine (and flirty) grin on his face as he asks, “You’re happy about that, huh baby?”

You find yourself teasing him back instead of getting hostile at his flirty tone, probably due to the boost he gave your ego, “Mmm, not as happy as you seem to be with me as your girlfriend. According to your mom, anyway.”

Before he can reply, a familiar voice cuts through the moment.

“Nishimura.”

Both of you whip your heads toward the source of the sound. Standing at the bottom of the bleachers with his arms crossed and an exasperated expression is Jungkook. He’s wearing a hoodie and joggers, looking like he just came from the gym with his curls in a bun, but his sharp eyes land squarely on Riki first, then shift to you.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?” Jungkook asks, though there’s no real heat in his tone.

Riki straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just…taking care of something, Coach.”

Jungkook’s brows rise, and he gestures toward the field. “And why aren’t you in class?”

“I—uh—” Riki stammers before Jungkook waves a hand dismissively.

“Save it. I don’t need the whole story. Just get your ass to class before I have you running suicides until next week.” His gaze softens slightly as it flicks to you. “And you? ”

You shrink a little under his stare, mumbling, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Jungkook lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You—” He shakes his head before gesturing toward the parking lot. “Go home, kid. And no more fights, please—or distracting my team.”

“Alright, alright,” you mumble as you stand. You glance at Riki, who’s already grinning like this whole thing is hilarious, and shoot him a glare. “Stop smiling, you ass.”

Riki just snickers, his grin growing wider as he stands. “I’ll walk you to your car, pretty girl.”

Jungkook shakes his head, muttering something about teenagers and their hormones. “She can walk herself, get to class.” 

Any complaint Riki wants to make is silenced by the pointed finger Jungkook sends him, and he sighs. Your cheeks burn as he leans down to press a kiss to one of them with a soft, “See you later, pretty girl.” 

Riki averts his eyes from Jungkook’s judgmental gaze as his star midfielder jogs down the bleacher steps, offering a respectful bow of his head as he passes.

Jungkook then looks over at you, and you’re already arguing, “I have to get my bag from my locker.” 

He deadpans, clearly unimpressed as he says, “Ask one of your friends to get it for you.” 

Unable to argue with his reasoning, you let out a soft huff and begin patting your pockets for your phone. A relieved sigh escapes your gloss-smudged lips when your fingers brush against the device through a layer of fabric. Silently, you thank whichever of your spirit guides prompted you to button your back pocket before entering the cafeteria.

You suddenly remember another reason to stay a bit longer, “My keys are in my bag!”

Jungkook sighs, “If I see you in the halls in 10 minutes you’re getting banned from my field.”

You grin, bouncing down the steps with a happy, “Thanks, Coach Jeon.”

He makes a face of disgust, hand gently pushing the side of your head as you walk by, “Get out of here.”

It’s almost laughable how quickly the situation disappears, like it never happened. No one snitches—not one person. Even the crowd of students who saw everything miraculously forget when teachers start asking questions. It’s the lacrosse team who spins the story, their collective loyalty so seamless you almost believe they rehearsed it. Nayeon threw the first punch, they all swear. You didn’t fight back. You defended yourself.

The only video evidence of the fight are clips of Nayeon lunging for you and blurry photos, another thing you’re sure the lacrosse team took care of, so the school really have nothing to go off of. By the time the dust settles, it’s like the cafeteria incident is just another school rumor, one of those things everyone knows happened yet every retelling of events sounds skewed in some way.

Your mother hadn’t been informed by the school of the issue, thankfully, but you had endured a scathing voicemail from your father about the ‘stunt’ you pulled with Eunseok’s ‘bright and good’ girlfriend while eating Chinese takeout with Belle Tuesday night. She sat there munching on an eggroll and snatching small pieces of your sweet-fire chicken while your father’s angry ramble drew on and on for a few long minutes before he ended it with a, ‘call me back.’ The laughing fit you and Belle had over that one has become a bit of an inside joke now.

Thursday evening finds you in the kitchen of your home following your Aunt’s slutty brownie recipe with Riki on FaceTime propped up against the egg carton. “Butter, butter, butter…” You mumble to yourself as you reach for the ingredient, making a face as some of the softened dairy gets on your thumb. Riki, who had been silently observing you through the screen, snickers softly. You send a pointed look to the camera, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“M’not, you're just cute.”

“Fuck you.” You lose the fight against the smile forming on your face as you unfold the waxy wrapping of the butter and tip it into the mixing bowl, “I’m always cute.”

He only hums low with that same smirk on his face as he rests his chin on his arm, watching you switch on the mixer and grab a brownie pan from the cabinet beside the stove. A beat passes and he asks, “You don’t have to, you know?”

You glance away from pressing your knuckles into the cookie dough to flatten it along the bottom of the greased pan, “I know, but I don’t want your friends to have anything over me.”

Your joke is received with a soft laugh, “I wouldn’t let them hold it over you.”

“While I would like to see that, this is much easier.” You dismiss as you move to the sink to wash your hands and grab the pack of oreos. “Plus, Jungkook loves slutty brownies so maybe he’ll take the stick out of his ass if he gets one.”

Riki snorts softly on the other end, his bangs messily covering his forehead and eyes, “It’s game day, I don’t think the stick will come out.”

You hum in defeat, shrugging slightly as you begin to place the layer of oreos into the pan, “A sweet treat for good graces then.” 

Once you finish the layer of oreos, pour the brownie batter over it, and stick it in the oven, you sigh loudly. Fanning yourself and pulling your hair off your neck as you move toward your phone to grab it. “Jesus Christ, it’s hot.”

“It’s 30° outside.” 

“I’m not outside, I’m inside.” You sass with a ‘duh’ look on your face as you hold the phone angled up at your face as you walk toward the living room. “And how dare you try to contradict me.”

“Sorry, pretty girl. It won’t happen again.” He responds after a light chuckle.

You feign another roll of your eyes as you fail to fight the smile growing on your lips once again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

The next morning, you arrive at school earlier than you’d like—especially with how fucking cold it is. Still, you look cute and feel it too, with a new lip gloss on your lips and a pair of pearls on your ears to match the ones on your eyes.

Exiting your car, you hasten your trek to the field. The bags rustle at your sides as you chant a soft tune of “I’m so fucking cold” under your breath. Your hands are, once again, not protected by gloves as you so vehemently refuse to cover up Julie’s masterpiece. She was very pleased that her hard work stayed intact during the fight, but recommended you treat your hands with care if you want them to last as long as they usually do. 

Jungkook notices your approach, tipped off by the high-pitched shiver that escapes your lips as you finally arrive on the field—a sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team either. They seem to all slowly get distracted by your figure’s approach, eyes drawn to either the bags at your sides or cute way you’re walking in the cold.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook snaps in annoyance, his tone almost dismissive.

“Jesus Christ, this violates the Geneva Conventions in some way, I'm sure.” You huff softly, holding up the bags as you arrive at his side, “I made slutty brownies.”

Jungkook’s frown softens as the team parrots your words hopefully, and he then barks, “Single file, maggots.”

You’re almost too cold to enjoy the spectacle the team provides racing to get first in line, yet keeping a respectful distance ahead of you. You snicker softly as you set the bags down, bending with a shiver to grab them to pass out before the one in front of the line protests. 

“You’re cold?” Kai asks with worry from the front of the line, and the one behind him, Taehyun, steps out of line with his arms held out.

“I’ll pass them out, you need to warm up.” He fusses with a slight scolding tone, “There are hot-packs over there.” He cocks his head toward the bleachers as he takes your place in front of the bags.

You’re left standing there in confusion as Taehyun takes over your current job, walking towards the bleachers in search of the stated hotpacks before a warm object is pressed to your cheek and you startle. 

Riki snickers softly as you look at him in disgust before realizing it’s him, and your face softens to an eyeroll with a soft ‘fuck off’ muttered under your breath. You move to grab the hotpack from him, but he cheekily holds it out of your reach with a boyish giggle. 

The look you give him has him flattening his lips to hold back a grin as he silently hands the heat pack to you with a muttered apology. 

“Why aren’t you in line?” You question, and he has that same smirk on his face.

He shrugs, “Wanted to talk to my girl first.” You give him a look and he groans, “Can’t you just let me indulge for a second?”

“Patience is a virtue, Riki.” You muse as you cross your arms to tuck your hands away with a hotpack in each hand. “Plus, you said you’d wait.”

“And I will—I am.” He confirms with a shake of his head and a lighthearted grin, “But you could be a little more forgiving, pretty girl.”

“I don’t believe in forgiveness.” You retort with a shrug and a pretty smile.

“Niki!” Jake calls out from the line a few yards away, he’s a few players behind with a grin on his face as he says, “Don’t worry about getting in line, I’ll get you one!”

“Yeah, keep talkin’ to your girlfriend~.” Sunghoon teases, causing most of the team to snicker or whistle.

Riki’s ears go red, but when you point it out with a giggle, his hand immediately shoots to one of the red appendages and he shakes his head, “It’s the cold.”

“Niki, our shy boy!” Heeseung coos from the line, and the rest are all too eager to join in.

“Wow, Niki, you're so cute!”

“Niki, kiss her!”

“It’s giving Romeo!”

Riki groans softly, hands covering his face from your vision as you laugh, a warmth blooming in your chest that eases the chill in your bones. “I’m gonna kill them.”

He’s about to say something else when Taki takes a bite of the brownie in his hand and grunts something sounding like “oh yeah” with his words garbled by the mouthful he’s chewing. 

You watch the scene unfold with amusement, leaning back on your heels as the team collectively loses their minds over a baked good. Taki, still mid-chew, looks like he’s having a near-spiritual experience, while Jungkook shouts something about chewing with his mouth closed.

Riki uses the distraction to lower his hands from his face, a grin breaking through his earlier embarrassment as he watches you watching them. His voice cuts through the chaos, low and teasing: “You seem happy.”

Your gaze moves to him, “Is that an issue?”

“Not at all.” He responds smoothly, “You look good when you’re happy.”

“I always look good.” You retort out of habit. 

He seems to have expected it, nodding along in agreement before he asks, “So, if I asked you to wear my jersey instead of whatever cute shirt you were gonna wear tonight, would you?”

“Look good? Yes.” You answer with a light, teasing tone, “Agree? Mmm, maybe.”

“You’re killing me, baby.”

“Sweet names will get you nowhere.”

“So, you like it when I call you that?” He asks, stepping closer with a cheeky grin.

You remain defiant, arms crossed as you instinctively lean away from him with a laugh, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t deny it either.” He retorts swiftly, his head tilting and his eyes moving over your face with a smugness that pisses you off.

“No, I didn’t.” You agree, and his eyes narrow slightly at the almost flirty smile on your lips as you turn away from him to make your way back to Taehyun. 

You fight the giddy feeling in your chest as you feel his gaze on you, deciding against sparing a glance back as you hear the crunch of his steps following after you.

As always, you’re right. Riki’s spare jersey looks adorable on you.

“He’s gonna die.” Gaeul practically squeals at the sight of you. It’s a bit warmer than the morning had been when you arrive at the opposing school’s stadium, the long sleeved fleece-lined undershirt protecting you from the chilled breeze. “Bitch, your ass looks fantastic.”

A grin brightens your face and laugh leaves your glossy lips as she fawns over your look, “Right?” You turn slightly to give her a better view of your behind purely out of excitement, because yeah, your ass looks good in these jeans. 

“It’s smiling at me,” She gasps, smacking your butt lightly with a laugh before hooking her arm with yours and beginning to tug you along. “I didn’t know if you’d come tonight with everything that happened last game.” 

“Why?” You ask a bit cluelessly, before remembering the event clearer and shaking your head, “Oh, that weird guy? No, I’m fine.”

She hums with a slight frown as the two of you get to the concessions, “I’m so sorry for leaving you in all the chaos, I didn’t realize you weren’t behind me until I got to Jay.”

Sensing the remorse behind her words, you find yourself quickly saying, “Don’t feel bad, I’m okay.”

“Ugh, I need your number! That’s been eating me alive all week!” She huffs softly as the line moves up, “I tried to find you at school but you kept evading me.”

“You couldn’t ask Belle? Don’t you two share a class?” You question with a slight tilt of your head and her jaw slacks.

“Why did I not think of that?” She mutters to herself as you both reach the front of the line and she orders herself a soft pretzel before looking over at you, “My treat, an apology.”

You aren’t one to reject free food when offered, so you look at the concession worker and say, “A Dr Pepper and another soft pretzel, please.” 

Gaeul pays and a worker in the back pulls out two warm pretzels as another grabs the familiar maroon bottle from a cooler. She starts speaking again the moment the food and drinks are in your hands.

“Food isn’t allowed on the field, but I already gave Jay a kiss before he went on the bus.” 

Her smile is suggestive, and you make a face that has her whining, “C’mon, I’ll hold your food while you go—“ She shimmies her shoulders and purses her lips into a kissy face that has you letting out a shrill ‘ew, stop!’

“That’s deplorable.” Your words contradict the laughter seeping into your speech, “I am not going down there.”

“Boring.” She groans, but her face brightens suddenly and she waves ahead. When you follow her gaze and find Mrs Nishimura approaching, you internally freak out until she smiles at you and you remember how lovely of a woman she is. 

A lovely woman who seems to zero in on the jersey you wear the moment she’s within arms reach, “Oh, don’t you look darling!”

She pulls you into a warm hug and you accept it keenly, “Thank you! Are Maki and Runa with you?”

Your question comes as she pulls away, keeping you at arms-length as she shakes her head, “No, they stayed home with their father, neither wanted to make the trip.”

The trip being about an hour long car ride to the other side of town, which is fair. Feels shorter when you’re driving, though. You got through SZA’s new album on the way, too.

The three of you make it to the bleachers, finding a spot to watch the game as the ref whistles and the teams start to huddle. The board reads:

STARSHIP ALIENS v. DECELIS DEMONS

You sporadically tear pieces off of your soft pretzel as your eyes follow Riki the entire game, catching his eye at multiple points and having to act like you don’t see he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face under that face-guard.

The Demon’s win 12-8 long past sunset, a chill nipping your nose and the empty paper your pretzel came in crumbled into a ball in your hand. Rin sends you the same look as the last game before retreating toward the parking lot.

The moment you step foot on the field after releasing Gaeul’s arm, Jake appears in your view with a big grin, “Didja see the weaving I did? I looked cool, right?”

You debate breaking it to the boy that you may have entirely forgotten he was even on the team, too focused on his teammate to even notice him.

“I don’t think she was watching you.” Heeseung appears with his helmet off and his sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead. He moves to throw an arm around your shoulder and you quickly dodge with an ‘eugh’.

“You’re sweaty and you stink.” You grumble with a grimace on your face, and Heeseung seems ready to complain before he grins again at something behind you and a second later arms engulf you from behind. 

“You’re cute from the back too, pretty girl.” Riki muses into your ear, lifting you up held against his chest with his arms wrapped around you. 

“Riki, you sweaty bastard, let me go!” You whine, struggling against him as he lets your feet touch the ground again.

He giggles boyishly as he obeys, and as you turn to give him a piece of your mind you find the curses dying on your tongue at the grin on his face.

His smile is wide and unapologetically smug, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your chest feel like your heart is trying to claw its way out. His helmet dangles loosely in his hand now, his hair a damp mess but somehow still looking good.

“You can’t just pick people up like that,” you say, trying to sound annoyed but betraying yourself when your lips twitch upward. “It’s rude.”

He leans forward slightly, closing the gap between you as if he can’t keep himself away. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”

You roll your eyes, stepping back to put some space between you, but Riki matches your movement with an exaggerated pout, clearly enjoying himself. Before you can fire back with something probably aggressive or mean, another voice cuts in.

“Alright, Romeo, stop flirting and help us pack up,” Jungwon calls, dragging the duffel bags of gear toward the bus. He tosses a water bottle at Riki, who catches it without really looking.

“I’ll see you in a minute,” Riki says softly, his grin softening into something warmer that sends an entirely different kind of shiver through you. He leans down and kisses your cheek before jogging off to join his teammates. 

Holy fuck.

Your heart is racing in your chest like an old woman whose heart is about to give out, and your long sleeve undershirt is suddenly too damn hot. 

You barely manage to pull yourself together before Gaeul pops up next to you, a knowing smirk spread across her face as she loops her arm around yours. “He kissed you~,” she sing-songs, her tone just low enough not to draw attention, but her amusement is blatant.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, pressing a hand to your cheek like it’ll somehow stop the warmth there from spreading like the grin in your face. You hope the shadows cast by the stadium lights are enough to hide your flustered state.

Gaeul doesn’t let up as the two of you wander toward the edge of the field, her giggles like little daggers stabbing at your already tattered dignity. “He picked you up. And got touchy.”

“I’m aware,” You huff, “I experienced it.”

“I mean, I don’t think you get how big a deal this is,” she practically rambles, “Riki’s never been this…confident!”

“Oh?” You question with your brows furrowed slightly.

She nods with an eager hum, “Riki’s shy! At least he was when I first met him.” Everything up to this point hadn’t pointed you in that direction regarding Riki’s personality, too familiar with the smug smiles and nonchalance, “I mean, he’s like a different person now that you’re around.”

“That’s…good, right?” You question hesitantly, “I mean, he wasn’t weird or anything, right?”

Your voice must have failed to convey the jesting tone you intended because Gaeul quickly begins to backtrack as you approach the bus. Jungkook is at the driver's seat of the bus while some of the team boards it with their duffles hanging from their shoulders and others are loading the luggage compartment with gear, free of their shoulder pads and helmets. 

Even without the padding, Riki’s back is broad, jersey hanging off muscle. You can barely see Jake past him, who's on the other side of the compartment helping organize it. 

You forget about any questions on your tongue when the shorter male cheekily points out your approach from behind and he looks over his shoulder for you with the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

Beautiful bastard.

He wastes no time in loading the equipment bag in his hands into the compartment before stepping away from the bus, jogging toward you with that grin. Gaeul begins to pull away with a grin, but leans in to speak quietly enough for him to not hear, “I’ll give you guys a second.”

She shoots a wink at you as she and Riki pass each other, a soft snicker leaving you as she calls out happily for Jay, who’s just stepped off the bus.

Riki slows as he reaches you, his smile turning slightly sheepish now that it’s just the two of you. He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, his other hand gripping the hem of his jersey. “You’re not mad about earlier, right?”

You ignore the fact his movements cause the jersey to ride up, revealing a sliver of his abdomen that makes you feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

“I haven’t decided yet.” You respond with a nonchalant shrug and a thoughtful tilt of your head. 

He chuckles softly, his hand dropping from his nape as he steps closer with the same magnetism as before, like he doesn’t want to be too far, “C’mon, I was happy you’re here.”

“And you just had to pick me up?”

His laugh is warm and full, the sound washing over you and melting away any annoyance you could have pretended to feel. “Yes.” he says with a nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners again as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

This time, you roll your eyes and half-fight the smile naturally growing on your face, “Fine, but that’s your first strike.”

His brows raise in curiosity, his grin turning to a smirk as he asks, “First strike? How many do I get?”

“Three. Duh.” You sass, and he seems to find that just as amusing as your very serious strike system, though you find it kinda hot that he didn’t question the logic behind it. (The answer: if Sheldon Cooper can have a strike system, so can you.)

“And what happens after three?” He asks, leaning closer with intrigue and that stupid smile.

“Let’s hope you never find out.” You retort, having an idea of what to say but not sure if ‘flogging’ is too far. (You know Belle would laugh, though.)

“Nishimura!” Jungkook barks from the open doors of the bus. The last of the team is filing onto the bus, probably eager to get home. “Stop lollygagging and get on the damn bus.”

You snort softly at the word choice, but find that you aren’t safe from the Coach’s annoyance, “You too, go home. Don’t make me tell them about Shadow.” 

The gasp that leaves your lips is one of pure betrayal. The audacity. The nerve. “You—”

He raises his brows in a ‘do it, i dare you’ way and your lips fall shut.

Riki is unable to move past the Shadow thing. “Shadow? Like the Hedgehog?”

“No, like my cat.” You snap sarcastically, “Get on that damn bus.”

Your gaze moves to the vehicle in question, and you find the eyes of the Decelis lacrosse team trained on you and Riki. Through an open window, you hear a voice you think is Kai’s saying, “I thought her cat’s name was Gus.”

“Baby, you have to tell me now.” He laughs breathlessly, like he’s not sure whether to let it out or keep it in for your sake.

“It will never leave my mouth, and I swore him—“ Your words shift from defiant to angry as your finger shoots out to point at the tattooed man impatiently waiting at the bus’ door, “—to secrecy!”

Your words are full of betrayal as you vehemently continue with your manicured finger still pointed, “You took the Unbreakable Vow!

“You were eight.” The Coach retorts. “You used a Crayola marker. It was pink.”

You want to argue, but hold yourself back for everyone’s sake as you look back at a heavily amused Riki and say, “Get on the bus.”

“I’m not letting this go.” He warns with pure joy on his face and a laugh in his voice as he begins to slowly walk back.

You simply shake your head and cross your arms defiantly, “I’m not gonna tell you.”

He only tilts his head with ‘really?’ look, too smug for his own good, the bastard. 

Jay and Gaeul appear, her lipgloss smudged on his lips and messy on her own. Jungkook notices them with a disgusted frown and chilling glare. Jay mutters a ‘sorry Coach’ after kissing Gaeul goodbye, and she happily begins to approach your side.

Riki takes the brief moment of time to circle back and ask you quickly, “Are you free tomorrow? Or tonight?” 

You blink, mindful of Gaeul’s approach but finding his impulsivity endearing, nodding instead of saying something you’ll cringe at later.

His grin stretches wide, lighting up his face like you’ve just made his entire night. “Cool. I’ll text you,” he says casually, though there’s a spark of excitement in his voice that betrays him. Before you can respond, he jogs back toward the bus, shooting you one last look over his shoulder as he climbs the steps.

Gaeul sidles up to you, her arm sliding through yours with practiced ease, the grin on her face telling you she heard the exchange, “Ready to go?”

You’re thankful she doesn’t tease you again, nodding as the both of you begin to walk toward the visitor parking. 

With your back turned, you don’t see one of the slightly ajar windows sliding open more, or the boy that pops his head out of it until he calls out, “Hey!”

You stop mid-step, glancing back over your shoulder to find Riki leaning halfway out the window, his hair messy and damp but looking entirely too perfect for someone who just played an entire game.

You raise a brow in silent question.

“You look good in my jersey!” he calls out, his tone playful but tinged with something softer—something that makes your heart skip.

Your cheeks heat instantly, and you can’t fight the smile breaking across your face. Gaeul snorts next to you, gripping your arm like she’s about to combust.

“I know!” you shout back, doing your best to sound casual, though the warmth in your voice betrays you.

His grin widens, impossibly charming, and he shoots you a two-fingered salute before disappearing back into the bus as the vehicle begins to roll away. Gaeul finally releases her pent-up laughter, practically bouncing on her toes.

“You know?” she echoes, mimicking your response and clutching her stomach. “Girl, you’re gonna kill him one day with that play.”

You start walking toward the parking lot again, tugging her along to keep her from lingering. “I wasn’t playing anything,” you say, though the warmth in your cheeks tells a different story. “I do look good in his jersey. That’s just reality.”

“Sure, sure,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours. “But you could’ve just said thank you. Or blushed. Like a normal person.”

“Showing that he affects me is embarrassing.” You grumble softly, “I’ll die before I boost a man’s ego like that.”

(Though, you did cry in front of him about how much you like him, so maybe that argument isn’t valid anymore.)

She cackles at that, nearly stumbling over her own feet as you reach your car. “But, seriously, I’ve never seen him like that. He’s so…” Her voice trails off as she unlocks her own car a few spaces down, but the twinkle in her eye says enough.

“So what?” you press, opening your car door but pausing before you get in.

Gaeul grins knowingly, pointing at you with her keys. “So gone for you.”

You spend the next minute acting like the thought of him being ‘gone’ for you, as Gaeul put it, doesn’t make you want to squeal into a pillow and kick your feet, and when the two of you part ways that feeling remains.

The hour drive home feels longer with Riki on your mind, but maybe it’s the fact you aren’t sure if seeing him again tonight is the best idea. 

Something you’ve realized about yourself since meeting Riki is that you suck at impulse control. You preach self-control yet the moment he’s around you—or even mentioned—you find yourself wanting to act on every impulse the chemicals in your brain fire.

When you get home, pulling into the garage as your parents were once again out of town, you read a text Riki had sent not ten minutes prior.

A beat passes before he responds and you huff in disbelief.

The response comes in the form of a phone call. His contact photo lights up your screen, and you huff softly in amusement before pressing the answer button and bringing it to your ear as you get out of your car, “Yes?”

“Both?” His voice comes through, playful yet tinged with something warmer. You can hear the muffled chatter of his teammates in the background, he must not be home yet. “You’re really not making this easy for me, you know.”

“You asked,” you counter with a soft laugh, locking your car and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I just gave you the answer.”

“Yeah? Which door should I be knocking on? Front or back?”

“You’re not seriously coming tonight, stupid,” you say, though the idea isn’t unappealing. You reach the door, cursing softly at how loud the garage is as it closes. Your hand wraps around the door handle.

“Why not?”

“Riki,” you start with a laugh, entering your home and flipping on the light.

“What? You said both,” he teases. You can hear the grin in his voice, and you roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Besides, Coach is gonna drop us off at the field to grab our cars anyway. It’s not like I’m going out of my way or anything.”

You hesitate, caught between the thrill of seeing him tonight and the logic of how tired he must be after the game. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to bed?”

“Not really,” he says softly, a bit more serious now, warm. “I’d rather see you.”

Your stomach flips, the sincerity in his voice knocking the wind out of you. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“And you love it,” he shoots back, but there’s a gentleness there that makes you smile despite yourself.

“You better shower before you get here,” You say after a beat, and you swear you hear a whispered ‘yes’ before adding, “Don’t need your stench stinking up my house.”

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles on the other end, a sound that comes through your phone beautifully. “Just don’t fall asleep before I get there.”

“Yeah, yeah, just text me when you’re on the way.” You walk toward the kitchen, dropping your purse on the counter and unzipping it to grab the eyedrops as you say, “Also, do you have a curfew?”

“Why? You tryna keep me for longer, pretty girl?” His teasing words are unfortunately true, but you refuse to admit it.

“Well, it’s already almost 10:00.” You dodge his question as you unscrew the tiny bottle in your hands, “I didn’t know if your mom would want you home sooner rather than later.”

“Nah, she’s fine with it.” He assures you, and then a beat passes and he asks, “What about yours?”

“They’re out of town, so it doesn't really matter.” You shrug, “So to answer your question, the front door is fine.”

You hear shuffling on the other end, a car door opening and closing, “So, you don’t mind if I stay a while?”

You can hear the smile in his words, and with a bite of your nail you say, “I’ll kick you out when I get sick of you.”

He laughs softly on the other end, “I’ll stay till you kick me out, then.”

You exchange a few more words before he hangs up to drive, and you have a window of time to panic(and clean up). 

After a five minute debate with yourself about taking off or keeping on your makeup, you decide the former is the better option with how late it is and your track record of falling asleep without doing so. 

(You also make a promise to yourself that if you fall asleep in front of Riki, death is the only option.)

So, when you get the text that he's arrived and you open the door with a bare face, you half-expect him to comment on it. You had FaceTimed him late enough for the boy to bear witness to your nighttime routine on multiple occasions, but he’d never shown any reaction to it.

The only reaction you get is the same boyish smile as always, the warmth behind his eyes making your heart lurch in your chest.

“Hey,” he greets softly, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he steps inside. He smells like some mélange of citrus and musk, his body wash and cologne you assume, and it makes your head feel funny.

“Hey.” You respond with a light huff of amusement as you step aside for him to enter, closing the door behind him, “I see you showered.”

His damp hair covers his forehead, the same messy style he has everytime he takes off his helmet and sweat saturates each lock, yet a bit frizzy like he towel-dried it before he left.

He chuckles, head shaking lightly in amusement as he lets you lead him toward the kitchen, “I listen.”

His words are playfully defensive, the boyish smile on his face and the way he cranes his neck slightly makes you laugh, “You better.” He hums, dropping himself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, eyes flickering over the space as you move to grab yourself a drink. “You want anything?” 

“Whatever you have.” He shrugs, so you grab two Dr Pepper cans from the fridge and move back to the island.

Riki watches you pull two straws from the drawer in amusement, his elbows on the counter as you pop open the cans with practiced ease and an unhurried leisure. You catch his eyes with a raise of your brow that has him smirking slightly and saying, “Just watchin’.”

“I’d prefer you didn't stare.”

“Can’t help it.”

You roll your eyes at him, but put the straw in and hold the can out toward him anyway. When he takes it with that almost besotted  look in his eyes and his fingers brush yours, you find yourself turning away from him the moment it’s out of your hand, “Are you hungry?” 

Riki shakes his head, tapping his fingers against the can before taking a sip. “Nah, we stopped for food after the game.”

You nod, opening the pantry to browse and distract yourself, but it does nothing to drown out the weight of his gaze. This was a horrible idea. When you glance at him, he’s still watching you, straw between his lips, eyes holding something unreadable.

“Stop it.”

Riki obediently averts his gaze, turning in his stool until he’s no longer facing you—though he playfully overachieves, turning his back to you completely. You can’t help but poorly conceal a laugh at his actions, which prompts him to look back over his shoulder for your smile.

You act like you don’t catch the way his gaze follows you, ignoring the way it forms a knot in your gut. “C’mon, let’s sit in the living room.”

He follows without hesitation, the soft thud of his socks against the floor trailing after you. You settle into the couch, tucking your legs beneath you, and he drops down beside you like he belongs there.

He does it so easily—makes himself at home in your space, in your presence. It should annoy you. Maybe it does, but not for the reasons you wish it did.

Riki sets his drink on the coffee table, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. He doesn’t touch you, but he could. If you shifted even slightly, if he reached just a little further.

You pretend not to notice.

You scroll through the options absentmindedly, hyperaware of Riki’s presence beside you—the way his fingers drum idly against the couch cushion, the way his head tilts slightly in your direction when you stop on a show.

“This good?” You ask, your voice quieter than intended.

“Yeah,” he says softly. You get the feeling he doesn’t really care what’s on.

You settle into the silence, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. For a moment, it’s almost comfortable, normal. But the stillness makes your mind race, and it’s impossible not to notice how close he is. You shift slightly, your side brushing against his as you settle deeper into the cushions, and the air feels thicker somehow, heavier.

You steal a glance at him, his eyes fixed on the screen, but there’s a subtle tension in his posture that wasn’t there before. His shoulders are a little tighter, his jaw a little more set, like he’s holding something back.

Like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day, Gus appears around the corner with a sweet trill and takes the attention of both of you away from the movie(and each other).

Riki perks up immediately, his gaze shifting from the screen to the small ball of fur trotting toward the couch. “Oh, hey, buddy,” he greets softly, leaning forward slightly as Gus hops onto the cushions with practiced ease.

You watch with amusement as he settles in Riki’s lap, loafing contentedly and blinking slowly at you from his spot. Unable to bear it, you shift slightly closer to the boy beside you to reach your cat more comfortably, muttering a soft and fond, “Traitor.”

The midfielder laughs softly, ringed fingers gently scratching the tomcat on his head near your own, “He loves me.”

“He’s a lovey cat.” You retort, and though your words are true, you’ve never seen him lay in anyone’s lap this fast, much less a boy. He was never too fond of Eunseok, and doesn’t really care much for Jongseob, yet seeks out affection from Riki every time he comes over. “He likes warm laps.”

“Maybe he just has good taste.”

“Or maybe he’s a cat.” You retort, shifting again in your seat to make sure you’re not too close. He comments this time.

“Am I making you nervous?” He asks teasingly, voice low. 

“Excuse me?” You ask with a judgemental confusion on your face.

He seems undeterred, only motivated by the tone you give him, “You keep fidgeting, baby.”

“What did I say about calling me that?” You lightly smack his side, and he winces playfully.

“My bad,” he concedes, hands lifting from Gus momentarily in mock-surrender, “it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t lie.”

He chuckles, “It’ll happen again.”

A noise begins to play from the other room, and Gus immediately launches himself from Riki’s lap to run off. You laugh softly at Riki’s slight pout, the boy dramatically reaching after the feline longingly, “That was his automatic feeder.”

“Damn.” He sighs, his hands falling back to his sides on the sofa. The tip of his thumb brushes your knee accidentally, and the tension in the air shifts once more.

Both of you seem to zero in on the simple contact, accidental and barely-there yet electric in a way you’d never experienced such minute touches. The tip of his thumb turns into the pad of it, a gentle tracing of circular patterns on your knee. Then, his knuckles join, as if testing the waters.

When you glance at him he's already looking at you, his eyes dark with something unreadable, something intense that makes your stomach flip and your chest explode with warmth. Like an itch, one you know how to quell but the side of your brain dealing with critical thinking tells you it’s probably a bad idea.

His palm flattening against your knee is enough for you to disregard the advice of your logical brain and act on the only impulse your brain can fire at the moment. 

Riki’s other hand moves to your cheek when you’re close enough, long fingers tangling into the hair behind your ear as his thumb brushes your cheekbone. His head tilts to the side, nose brushing yours as he shakes it lightly. He doesn’t use the hand on your cheek to push you away or tease you further, any playfulness gone and replaced by a warmth and desire that makes your chest fill with butterflies. 

Your breaths mix, the sound of the TV drowned out by the sheer madness of him. He looks like the last thing he wants to do is pull away, like it’s a struggle to not close the short distance between your lips and his—to not cross any lines. Then, his forehead presses to yours gently and he says, “We don’t have to. I can wait.” 

His words are soft, nearly whispered, yet his deep voice makes them heavier on your gut than you’d ever admit. You find yourself speaking in a mirrored tone, “I don’t want you to wait anymore.” 

His eyes widen just slightly, and his lips part, just barely, his gaze dropping to your mouth. His thumb continues its delicate path across your cheekbone, his fingers flexing in your hair as if anchoring himself to this moment. You can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the proximity making your heart race.

“I want you to know,” he begins, his voice a low rumble, “I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said about waiting…I won’t rush you.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, his words a tender weight against your chest. But it doesn’t change what you’re feeling now or how close he is. How easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him, to let all the tension and uncertainty dissolve with the space between your lips.

“I know.” You say with a slight smile.

Before you can second-guess yourself, your lips find his in a soft and brief kiss. 

Riki’s intentions seem to differ from your own as you move to pull away, the hand on your cheek sliding into your hair as his lips chase yours to pull you back in. There’s no hesitation behind it like before, his lips moving against yours with a building urgency that you can’t help but reciprocate.

You gasp softly against his mouth when the hand on your knee glides up your thigh, fingers pressing into skin and pulling you closer almost desperately. He tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss, a low sound from his chest setting your blood aflame as you maneuver into his lap.

His hands move as your knees settle on either side of his hips, warm palms splaying over the curve of your waist and fingers digging into flesh to feel you as close as possible. It’s too much, yet somehow not enough.

Your fingers thread into his slightly damp hair, another deep sound escaping his intoxicating lips that has your stomach flipping. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips brushing yours again and again, each kiss deeper than the last. You can feel the way his heart beats beneath your palm, just as fast as yours, and it makes something tighten in your chest.

Riki tilts his head slightly, his nose brushing against your cheek as he exhales softly, his grip on your waist shifting as his hands trail up your spine. He pulls you impossibly closer, a restrained urgency in the way he holds you. He's patient—always—but there's something in the way his fingers press into your skin, in the way his lips part just enough for his breath to mix with yours, that tells you he's feeling this just as intensely as you are.

Pulling away feels like the worst idea in the world, but your lungs ache and something in the back of your mind tells you this is all too soon, too fast. The sound that the disconnect of your lips with Riki’s makes sends a thrill up your spine that the look in his eyes only exacerbates.

His forehead is warm against your own as your breaths mix and his hands slide back down to your waist. His lips ghost yours as you pant softly against him, his head tilting and his nose brushing over your cheek as his lips find the skin there, then your jaw, and your pulse point. You can feel the chastity of his kisses, the type that’s so gentle you’re not sure if you actually felt his lips on you or you just want them there enough to trick your mind into believing it.

“God, pretty girl.” He sighs, burying his nose into your neck to stop himself from kissing you more.

“Riki,” you murmur, unsure of what you want to say, only knowing that you don’t want him to move away just yet.

He hums against your skin, his breath warm, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then exhale softly. “Nothing.”

He chuckles, low and knowing, before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, but there’s something tender in the way they study you, like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.

His thumb brushes absentmindedly over your waist, his touch light, reverent. “You good?”

You nod, though your heart is hammering in your chest. “Are you?”

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering, then grins—small and lopsided. “Yeah.”

His gaze drops to your lips again, lingering for a beat too long before he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “I should go before I do something stupid.”

The admission has your stomach flipping once more, but you find yourself huffing softly in amusement, “Yeah, you should.”

The moment your hands move to his shoulders and you attempt to dismount his lap, his arms wrap around your waist and his nose returns to its home buried in your neck, “Mmm, in a minute.” 

A laugh escapes you, breathy and light, as your fingers absentmindedly trace the line of his shoulder blades. “You just said you should go.”

“I should,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”

You hum softly, deciding against teasing him and instead settling into the security of his embrace. You feel him smile against your skin, slowly pulling his face from the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Then, his hands move, one sliding up your spine while the other lifts to cup your jaw, and he kisses your cheek. Soft. Chaste.

“Okay,” he murmurs, still so close. “Now I’ll go.”

You don’t stop him this time when he loosens his hold, when he gently shifts you off his lap. You don’t say anything as he stands, raking a hand through his already-messy hair(courtesy of your hands, of course), or when he stretches and his hoodie rides up. When he looks down at you, you almost shrink under his gaze before he smiles that warm way you love and he leans forward to grab your hand in his.

You let his fingers slide between your own, your eyes on him as he tugs you gently and prompts you to get off the couch to step closer to him with a soft huff of amusement, “I thought you were going?”

His hand in yours slips out in favor of joining the other on either side of your jaw, thumbs gently brushing your cheeks fondly as he mirthfully smirks down at you. You have no choice but to tilt your head back to look at him at this proximity, and he doesn’t seem all that eager to widen it.

“I am.” His muttered confirmation is contradicted by the way his lips find yours again, soft yet eager, no longer hesitant to join them as often as he’d like with your prior statement. When he pulls away and you chase his kiss, he hums with amusement in his grin, nose nudging yours. “How am I supposed to leave if you keep making me want to kiss you, huh?”

“I didn’t even do anything.” You defend yourself with a soft laugh.

“Mm, you don’t have to.” He groans softly, eyes shutting as he presses his forehead to yours and sighs, “You’re mine now, right?”

The bluntness of his question has your heart skipping but you hum as if apprehensive, “Maybe. You didn’t ask.”

His eyes open and he looks at you with playful disbelief and a whole lot of amusement, “You want me to ask you out, pretty girl?”

“I never said that,” You retort reflexively, ignoring the way his eyebrows quirk up in challenge and entertainment, “But I might be yours if you ask nicely.”

“Nicely. Right….” He nods in mock understanding, and when he leans in to kiss you again, you meet him halfway. “Will you…” He starts with his voice soft and deep in all the best ways as he pulls away between kisses to continue, “be…my girl?”

He pulls away just enough to see your face as you recover from the dizzying way his lips find yours, and your words are softer than you intended as you breathlessly reply, “I’ll have to think about it.”

His shoulders shake with soft laughter as he shakes his head and mutters, “shut up,” under his breath before he closes the distance once more.

𝒇𝒊𝒏.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[cometconmain]

Personally, when I created the writeup I have on my blog giving a brief rundown of my blog in the description it was less of a "don't interact because I don't know how/refuse to use a block button" in the sense described here and more intended as what I originally thought a DNI was supposed to be:

"I don't tolerate actual bigoted behaviour so don't waste your time coming in here thinking we'll be friends only to spring some bigoted bullcrap on me later thinking that was a normal thing to believe/say/do. Don't waste your time and don't waste mine. Here's where I stand on these real life actual problem things so you can just bail if you're not ready to accept that. If you can't critically consume fictional media and don't have anything substantial to say in your critical consumption, I don't have time for you so save your breath and mine and go back to your purity cult. Also if you're under 18 this blog is not for you. I am an adult and don't wish to have minors running around pretending like we're all chill with having kids on a blog with adult-only content actually when I don't kmow you exist or haven't been told in some way that you shouldn't be here despite how clear I've made it that this is an adult-only space. Leave.

And if I find out you're any of these types of people I WILL be curating my internet experience by blocking you."

You know? There are different ways to use DNIs that aren't "fuck you no you put all the effort in to not expose me to you" and are instead intended more like "Hey look interact if you want but I'm warning you that you're wasting your time long term if you think you can be shitty to real life people right in front of my salad, so to save us both the hassle I'm leaving it up to you specifically because I have no idea you exist and can't block you until I do so feel free to take that first step since you know we won't gel and you know I exist while I have not yet had the displeasure."

That said, people definitely shouldn't put real life issues next to fandom preferences and gripes. It defangs serious real world issues by trying to take the fangs off them and slap them directly onto the fictional things to lend credence to them because the person doing it doesn't know how to express their discomfort well enough to feel heard about it/expect people to dismiss anything they say out of hand so they grab whatever closest thing from real world issues already considered serious which could kind of fit if you do a handstand and squint through a cloud of steam. Which has the opposite effect, because now people are (rightfully) angry at them for trivialising real world issues to make people treat their perspective on fictional media seriously.

If you know how to criticise media and/or make sure you know the difference between actually potentially harmful handling of a theme within fictional media vs something made you uncomfortable and you want to express it and feel heard as part of processing it but don't know how, then you probably won't feel as strong of - if any - need to play up what you have a problem with. Because a) you know how to express your position to get people to listen to you, b) don't need strangers on the internet to validate you to know you're right because you're versed in identifying and talking about how to fix this problem in media causing potential harm to a marginalised group or otherwise teaching potentially harmful perspectives and here's why... and c) you know when something is just bothering you personally and probably have some healthier copes for it, like ranting into the void on your own post without using any main fandom tags and/or ranting to your friends and/or writing fix-it fic and or- you get the gist.

The day we start doing more of that is the day this whole 'anti-shipper' and responding 'pro-shipper' thing will probably calm down a little bit.

i don't respect DNIs not in the sense i go out of my way to break them but in the sense that i don't respect DNIs as a concept and consider them to be something of a red flag in general.

i'm not sure how to explain it but it's the combination of usually putting very serious issues on the same level as fandom stuff, the fact that half the time people don't even know what they're against beyond 'the bad stuff' therefore even further watering these issues down, and the idea that other people are expected to manage your online existence for you.

there's a passiveness to it that i think is actually a problem and it does not surprise me in the slightest that people with DNIs tend to view what media they consume as activism. do you get what i'm saying.

[obeymeluv]

Being Clever with the Fae (Malleus x Reader, Lilia x Reader, Sebek x Reader)

Pre-established relationship implied. You tell the Diasomnia boys that your world planned for ways to outsmart faes. You pull your trick but you're not sure who won.

Warning: Pepaw Bat's gets a little spicy so be careful.

I'm taking liberties with Sebek's part because he's a neutral for me and I don't know that much about him.

You and Malleus had talked about fae folklore more than once. He was delighted to know fae had something of a presence in your world but was wildly horrified at the misinformation. Out of everything you told him, only a handful were correct:

Don't give your name unless you trust that fae because names have power

Iron will hurt some fae but not all. Iron is more harmful to nocturnal fae than day fae.

Being rude to fae may be the end of you altogether

Partaking in fae food means you open yourself up for a wager

Yes, fae like to play tricks. Expect them and be wary.

Stepping into a fairy circle will summon the fairy who made it.

Just about everything else was wrong. That's why he and Lilia were teaching you what not to do if you came upon the various fae in Twisted Wonderland. Thus far you'd only managed to memorize what herbs kept smaller creatures at bay and how to curry the favor of the various faeries that helped out at NRC. Your current assignment from Lilia was filling out a map of different fae territories and classifying them as 'safe' for humans or 'unsafe'. Each territory had a tree they would love to craft from or loathed to be near and you were expected to know that, too.

Strange stuff but apparently it was important.

They liked to break up the bigger chunks of information with smaller, digestible things like etiquette so it felt more manageable. Malleus was currently instructing you on how to part from a fae in a formal setting as to not incur their wrath.

"Again, Child of Man," he's bowed down until eye level with you, one hand holding yours.

"Light shake, eye contact, nod, slide foot back, squeeze the hand, turn." he's parroting your motions until you turn away. He, instead, draws himself to his full height and observes as you pretend to walk away.

"Excellent," he nods. "But ensure you don't slouch while leaving. It will make some feel as if you don't hold them in high regard."

"That's so--" you roll your eyes. He simply lifts his brow as if to question your mild frustration. You puff your cheeks out and he laughs.

"We can be a bit particular." he agrees.

"To a fault." you smirk.

"Oh?" he's intrigued, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah," you smile. "In my world the fae were known for being literal with their word so you always had to keep something clever in reserve."

"Do tell," Malleus' grin goes from practiced and polite to genuine. A hint of fang shows.

"It's kind of specific though. Depends on that old joke about fae wanting to come for the first born."

"That's not really a joke," Malleus crossed his arms. You can't tell if he's offended or not. "We like the younglings. We're always looking to bring more around to the fae ways. In fact, fae make fantastic guardians because--"

He had a lot to say and you felt the beginnings of a lecture creep up. In some way you felt like you were in trouble. To save yourself, you said, "Just pretend. Then I can show you what we do."

Malleus pretended to make a deal with you. It looked a bit intimidating and official with the magic pulsing in the rickety floorboards of Ramshackle. They were groaning. Shadows danced along his face as pieces of his signature thorned briar wove around your joined hands. "In exchange for the repairs around Ramshackle, you will give your firstborn to me."

You pull him in, his green eyes searching curiously for any hint of what's to come. "Sure! How soon do you want to start working on that? Or do you want to wait a little while?"

All at once the floorboards fell quite. The hum of magic died with a rattle that broke the briar into tiny pieces. A few fell at your feet, the others shooting off into various directions.

Oh. Did he not understand? You thought it was clever! Maybe he was too sheltered to--

His laugh is kind of a snort at first but then you hear it honest and lilting. The hand holding yours slides up your arm and snakes around your waist. You're lifted until your hands find purchase on his shoulders and your legs wrap around whatever they reach. Your heart goes from your chest to your throat when his gloved hands slide down to your thighs as he walks you to your sad couch.

"Now is fine," he's careful to hold his weight above you, silky hair spilling around you and tickling your cheeks. His eyes are bright and boyish, a deadly compliment to his kissable lips.

Well, that technically backfired but if this were a real situation you'd make out just fine because he'd chosen to make out with you instead of curse you.

------ ----- ----- ----

Lilia wanted to focus on physical protection as much as written knowledge when it came to handling fae. You still couldn't wrap your head around the idea of him being a general but he had old photos, a weird mask, and a massive magearm to prove it. You'd picked up quite a few self-defense moves and practiced them regularly. He wanted them to be second nature to you. So here you are, in a designated training room within Diasomnia.

"You just want to cuddle me," you teased, in the familiar position of him being behind you with an arm around your neck. One elbow was planted in your shoulder, the other clasping it at the forearm to make a little prison for you. He gave a reprimanding squeeze, ever mindful of the pressure since you were fully human. Lilia gave a huffy laugh, trying to relax his smile into something more stern as he wove his fingers into your hair. You flinched at the tug and slapped his arm lightly.

"Focus," he couldn't deny himself the simple pleasure of whispering into your ear. If you asked him, it was to throw you off balance and distract you. "What could you do now?"

You thought about just leaning back into him, pressing against him, but you knew that wasn't what he meant. Capitalizing on this moment of closeness, the stillness, to huck him over your shoulder and into the floor crossed your mind but then you'd have to give him a back rub later.

Not that you minded that, either.

"We could make a deal," you leaned back to whisper in his ear even though it hurt your neck a little. You could tell by the way his bangs fluttered that he'd jerked in surprise. Was that a little pink on his cheeks? Before you could nip his pointed ear, Lilia leaned you forward and took his elbow off your shoulder, opting to hold you in a bearhug instead.

"Acceptable in this situation," he managed, clearing his throat when his voice cracked a little. "Although this exercise is supposed to be combat related."

"So make the terms. I can't negotiate a deal that doesn't exist." you try to break his hold, shimmying your shoulders and sliding your feet to see if you could slip away. He lifts you off the ground with an ease that doesn't seem possible with his short, lithe body. You hang there against him as he thinks.

"Your life for that of your firstborn."

A bit dark, wasn't it? Kind of rude, really, you thought. But, your train of thought continued to ramble, he did find Silver somewhere so it didn't seem too unusual that he'd want a kid. Either that, or he was messing with you because you told him that whisking away kids was something fae were known for in your world.

"You can't have a firstborn with your clothes on." you joke.

"That's not true because I found Silver with my--" Lilia drops you when he realizes what you've said. You weren't expecting him to drop you and didn't catch yourself, hissing as you land on your knees. Before you can start complaining or poke fun at him for being an old man he's locked the door. You're bowled over as he rushes over to you, pinning you on your back as he peppers kisses along your throat and collarbone.

He's several bites in and you’re halfway undressed when you think you hear a knock at the door. Lilia begrudgingly peels himself off of you, licking blood from the corner of his lips.

"Father? Are we not going to train today?"

"M'fraid not, my boy," Lilia turns his attention back to you, opening your legs to slip between them. "But you'll be getting a new sparring partner in about nine months."

His red eyes are glowing. They're absolutely beguiling.

"Do they come with therapy?” he hears Silver mumble as you look up at him through your lashes.

He pounces on you again. It was a brilliant, filthy tactic. He's not exactly mad about it. You've earned favor with one fae, at least, and he will protect you from the others.

----- ----- --- ---

Sebek is a hard worker. He's a product of his environment; he has Baur's straightforwardness, Lilia's dedicated regimens, and his mother's impressive teeth and jaw strength. Lilia thought the best way for you to learn some of the self-defense tactics was to fight someone your size.

Sort of. Sebek seemed to be the better choice since Silver was too sleepy to be a constant threat. And, in Lilia's mind, you should have an easier time fighting a half-fae versus a full fae.

You never noticed how muscular Sebek was until you were under him. He's got corded arms and you can see the muscles of his shoulders flexing under the Diasomnia shirt he chose for the exercise.

You've never seen him in casual clothes! He actually looks very nice. Not as buff as Jack but sturdy in his own way; his chest is broader than you imagined. A solid man.

More than capable of being Malleus' body guard.

You groan as he knocks the air out of you a little. He's on top of you, pressed into your back. He's got one foot braced against the floor, leaning his weight into you. Your arms are pinned at your side courtesy of the one he's snaked underneath you.

When did he flip you over? Asshole, you scrunch your nose in frustration as your cheeks begin to burn. He's an asshole that means well and won't go easy on you, though. He makes sure you learn. You try to inch out from beneath him but he angles his shoulder down and grabs his own wrist, dragging you back to him.

"You're supposed to do something in this situation!" he grumps, "You know how to break this hold!"

You do, but he's heavy and it probably wouldn't work. And he's had a literal lifetime of training versus your handful of months. You've tangled your legs together and used his half-lean to put him on his back. Your kicking like a tipped-over bug and almost free when you remember that his fae half is crocodilian and you might have triggered his death roll tendency.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Sebek's pupils change, the dark of his eye slitting and boring into you. His throat strains like he's growling but you don't hear anything. It trembles against the back of your neck and you're reminded in that moment of just how much bigger he is than you.

How he folds around you and encompasses you.

He opens his mouth, teeth glinting and sharp. "You've bested me," you admit, swallowing thickly as his teeth hover near your shoulder. "Make your deal."

You somehow turn yourself around in his unrelenting squeeze.

Sebek huffs as if he's insulted and you swear you see his teeth dull. His pupils begin to fill out. He's usually loathe to acknowledge his human side, as he'd much rather be full fae, but it serves him in this instance. "I'm not a true fae. Such a thing wouldn't work on me!"

"You have to pretend! Lilia's teaching me how to deal with the fae! You just won't hurt me as much. Maybe." you dare to flash that teasing grin at him and Sebek nearly tears into his own lip because he doesn't know what to do with that wiggly feeling you give him.

Him? Hurt you? Not on purpose. It would go against the core values his grandfather AND Lilia taught him! Any fae caught abusing their spouse would be drawn and quartered, made a public display of. Any human man who chose to do so was no man at all!

Sebek's face feels almost painfully warm. He can feel the heat spreading from his cheeks to his ears. "In an act of benevolence inspired by the great Prince Malleus, I shall spare your delicate human self in exchange for a child. Is that the cliche rubbish you desire?"

Some of his once slicked-back hair has fallen down on his forehead, between his eyes, as if it's disappointed in you too.

"You think our child would be cliche rubbish? Cliche Rubbish Zigvolt? That does NOT sound good! I'm naming the firstborn, you're just helping make it."

"Wha--but I--that's not!" Sebek doesn't know what to say and he hasn't been trained for this. He's careful not to shove you away but untangles himself like a thrown ragdoll. He rolls over sharply, totally fine with hiding his face in the floor. His green hair is in disarray and his arms are limp, stretched out to either side of him.

You laugh, climbing onto his back and raking your nails down it gently. He makes the noise. You're not sure what it is but you've heard it before. It's deep and somehow soothing. He relaxes underneath you as you continue to scratch his back, throwing in a squeeze to his muscles every now and then.

It's not until you're in what would be the small of his back (if he wasn't build so solid and thick) that he raises his head, folds his arms up, and rests his chin on his hands. "You're safe." he can't bear to turn his head and look at you right now. If he did, you'd see how...how...weak and mushy he looked. Sebek snorts through his nose, arching his back in surprise as your hands slide all the way up until you flop on his back and your arms hang off his shoulders.

"Thank you, o' kind Zigvolt!" you hug his neck. "This delicate human appreciates it!"

"And I...appreciate...you." he mumbled slowly, the words a little foreign to him. More scary than foreign, honestly. That heartwarming shyness evaporated in an instant when he pinned you and began a stern lecture about how you should NOT offer to conceive a child with ANY OTHER FAE and what YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE INSTEAD.

You weren't surprised by this. Sebek lectured Silver all the time and Lilia said he was a very informed pupil. You, too, would be informed as it didn't seem like he was letting you go anytime soon.

[munsonsmixtapes]

The First One's Always Free

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

You go over to Eddie's to buy some weed after not seeing each other since high school. Old feelings arise and after smoking a joint together, you find yourselves tangled up in his sheets.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader and Eddie smoke a joint

You stand on the porch of Eddie’s trailer. You’re a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth on the little piece of wood you’re standing on, looking at your bike every time it comes into view. Why are you even there? It’s not like you’re going to buy. You have the money in your pocket but that doesn’t mean that you’re not scared. You’ve bought weed before, but never from someone you’ve been crushing on. 

You hesitantly bring your hand up to knock and feel your hands shaking as you do so. You’re not so sure why you’re so nervous. Eddie is sweet. And really, the only reason you're here is because you have a little (massive) crush on him. He’s so different from what everyone says he is. He’s always been so kind to you, even going as far as inviting you to sit with him and his friends at lunch when you were in school. 

But you haven’t seen him since high school so you’re not sure if he even sells anymore. You don’t even know why you’re still thinking about him since he probably forgot you even existed. That would make sense since you weren’t popular and only sat at his table a few times. 

The door opens and the man on the other side of the door gasps at the sight of you. You take the time to take in how each of you have changed. Eddie’s wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He’s now sporting a full beard and a nose ring. He’s aged like a fine wine and you can’t stop looking at him. 

“Well, as I live and breathe,” he smiles, opening the door wider to invite you in. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since graduation.” He closes the door to the trailer, still in disbelief that you’re standing in his living room. His dream girl. 

Eddie has been crushing on you since the first day you flashed that bright smile at him. Right then and there, he knew that he was going to fall in love with you. And he did. When you set your copy of the Lord of the Rings on the lunch table he just knew that you were perfect for each other. He wanted to ask you out, but back then, he was Eddie “the freak” Munson and didn’t think he had a shot. He’s hoping that maybe now he does.��

“So, what are you doing here?” His tone is more curious than anything. He just wants to know why the prettiest girl in Hawkins is in his trailer. And you somehow got even prettier since the last time he saw you. 

“Well, I don’t know if you’re still dealing, but I was wanting to buy.”

“Of course I still deal,” he scoffs. “Please. Come on and I’ll show you.” He nods his head towards his room and you hesitantly follow, still feeling shy as you do so.

You watch him go through his belongings in a quick manner. He eventually finds what he needs, a metal lunchbox that he rifles through, on the hunt for the joints he rolled earlier. He was planning on smoking them himself, but you’re a special customer, so he feels like you deserve them. Once he finds them, he sits down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. 

You hesitantly sit on the bed, your thighs now touching because of your close proximity. You go to reach for the cash in your pocket, but he rests his hand on top of yours, shaking his head in response.

“First one’s always free,” he winks as he puts the bag into your hand, his fingertips brushing your palm. The two of you have never been this close before, your seats in the cafeteria preventing you from doing so. But now that you are, you can finally see just how pretty his brown eyes are. They’re even prettier than you remember. 

“Oh, you don’t-”

“Just let me do something nice for you, alright?” He nudges your shoulder. “Think of it as a reunion gift.” Even if you had bought from him before, he’d still give it to you for free because he would feel bad for charging you. 

“But I didn’t get anything.” You’re still as cute as he can remember and he just knows that you feel bad for not actually getting him anything. You’re so sweet that he swears that you’re going to give him a toothache.

“Then smoke this with me and we’ll call it even.” Oh, there’s no way you’re going to deny him. Especially not when he’s looking at you with those damn Bambi eyes. At this point, you’re sure that you’ll do anything he asks.

“Deal,” you nod and watch Eddie pull one of the joints from the bag. He hands it over to you and you part your lips, silently asking him to put it into your mouth for you. He catches on quickly and brings the joint to your lips, pushing the tip into your mouth and as your lips wrap around it, he wonders what they would look like wrapped around his-

“You got a light?” You ask, interrupting his train of thought. 

“Y-yeah,” he responds and rushes over to his desk and grabs one of the many he’s got in his drawer before hurrying back. He lights up the joint and when you inhale then pull it from your lips to blow out the smoke, he swears that he’s in love. You look so hot and he doesn’t know why he can’t just make a move. 

“Open,” you instruct and he does as you say as you put the joint between his lips, passing it off to him, your fingers brushing as he does so. You immediately wonder what his rough fingers would feel like inside you. You don’t know if it’s because of how attracted to him you still are or if it’s because you haven’t slept with anyone in a while and you’re just desperate. 

The tension changes between the two of you, getting even more intense and sexual as the joint gets smaller. You’re now lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as you talk about everything and nothing. But really, all you want right now is for him to have you in any way he wants. You want him to take you right here and just go to town. 

But he won’t. You know he won’t because he’s nothing but a gentleman. At this point, though, you’ll take what you can get even if it is just a kiss. You just need something from him so badly but you’re too afraid to ask. You haven’t seen him in two years. How crazy is it going to seem if you ask him for a kiss?

You have no idea that Eddie wants the same. He wants you so badly that he’s trying so hard to hide his cock from you. He’s embarrassed by how hard he is because all he can think about is all the positions he wants to have you in. 

He doesn’t know what he's doing, but as soon as the joint is finished as he disposes of it, he takes the chances and hovers over you, his pupils blown wide, a mixture of both how high he is and also how much he wants you. 

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs looking down at you with that adorable smirk. His hand reaches up and his thumb slowly glides across your lips, his eyes watching them part as he does so. He dips it inside and your lips wrap around it, giving it a suck, a gasp falling from his own lips as he watches. 

“Fuck,” he whines and you’re so wet now that you can feel it soaking your panties. You need him and you need him now. But you’re going to let this play out as long as you can, your eyes on his as you continue to suck on his thumb. 

He’s losing his mind over it as he replaced his thumb with his pointer and middle fingers, watching you lick them, purposely making just the right noises to make him hard beyond belief. 

Once he can’t take it anymore, he removes them as his mouth covers yours as he places himself on top of you. Your hands wind into his hair, giving it a tug that juxtaposes how gently and chaste the kiss is, your lips moving together slowly. 

It’s awkward as you try to figure it out but you do quickly as his tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you open up, letting him inside. His hands slide underneath your shirt, rubbing up and down your waist slowly as your tongues move together. 

He pushes your shirt up and it’s off and tosses to the side. Eddie leans up so he can get a good look at you. You suddenly feel self conscious since you didn’t wear one of your more sexy bras. But you didn’t know that this would happen. 

Eddie’s eyes rake over your body and with him, you feel nothing but safe. You haven’t seen him in years but it’s like your bond is still there, that you’re still as close as you used to be. If only you had stayed in the state for college and hadn’t lost his information. You’re sure that that is your only regret.

He doesn’t seem to have any hard feelings, though as he looks like he wants to absolutely devour you. You’re taking off his shirt as he’s unzipping your skirt, pulling it down your waist as his shirt is discarded. He’s kissing down your waist as your skirt is thrown to the floor, whispering the sweetest word against your skin. 

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs against the spot right above the waistband of your panties. He loops his thumbs through it then pulls them down, letting them fall to the floor before he spreads your legs wide to see what he’s working with. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re really soaked for me, aren’t you?”

“I need you so bad,” you reply with a whine and his pants are off in a second, his underwear following closely behind, his cock coming into view. You’ve always dreamed about this exact moment, but now that it’s here, you’re almost convinced that you’re dreaming. Maybe that’s because you’re high. 

“Relax, babe,” he laughs. “I’m right here.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips before lining himself up with you, slowly inserting just the tip. It already hurts because of your inactivity but you don’t dare ask him to stop. You think he’s gonna go further when he pauses. 

“Fuck, I didn’t even ask if you’re on birth control or anything.” He’s panicking now and you want to do anything you can to get him to calm down. You appreciate that he’s being so sweet and caring and hate that he’s working himself up like this. 

“It’s alright,” You place your hands on top of his that are resting on your waist. You force him to look you in the eyes, giving him a smile that eventually helps him relax. “I am on birth control. And if you don’t want to use a condom, that’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you let out a laugh. “Now please fuck me before I just do it myself.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nods and adjusts his grip on your waist as he slowly thrusts in and out of you, trying to find a good rhythm. You’re responding just the way he wants you to, moaning when it feels good, bucking your hips against his. 

His nails are digging into your skin as he goes harder, your moans and whines getting even louder as your toes curl in pleasure. Your nails are scratching down his back as he picks up the pace even more, pounding into you over and over again as your pretty sounds fill his ears. This is the best sex he’s ever had and he knows that’s not just because he’s high. 

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he says as his lips find yours again. It’s rough and messy as he’s still thrusting, but he’s just so desperate to have your mouth in his again. You moan into his mouth and he pulls away to let out a moan of his own. “You just feel so good, baby. We just should do this again when the high wears off.”

“I second that,” you breathe. “And again and again.”

“Until the morning and then I'll go to work and when I come back, we’ll do it again.”

“Sounds good to-” your words are cut off by an orgasm, your back arches as you scream out his name, Eddie talking you through the entire thing. 

He keeps going and you’re bucking your hips against his, trying your best to get him there. He’s close, you can see it as he throws his head back. He pulls out quickly, cum leaking out onto your stomach as he’s reaching his own climax. 

Once he’s come down from it, he stands from the bed and grabs hold of your hands, leading you to his bathroom where you two take a much needed shower that’s filled with kisses, washing each other’s bodies, which doesn’t last long before you’re at it again, totally unable to keep your hands off of each other. You then spend the rest of the night and early in the morning getting all tangled up in Eddie’s sheets, deciding that two years really was too long to be apart.

[authorhjk1]

could you do a how does KIOF roleplay?

Julie

At first you found Julie's roleplaying a little off putting. You're fine with a lot of stuff, but you didn't expect her to one day randomly suggest something this taboo. Julie doesn't have a brother or sister, but you're not sure if that makes it better or not. She herself told you that she knows it is weird at the beginning, but you can see how much it turns her on. How wet she gets when you call her your sister while you nail her naked body into the living room window. How her eyes glisten with lust while she strokes your cock, admiring it as if she saw it for the first time.

"Oh my god, little brother. I didn't know you had such a nice cock."

Julie liked a lot of foreplay as well, which makes the sex itself even more real. By now you can't count the times when you were just watching TV in the living room and suddenly Julie came in, only wearing the tightest crop top that showed off her naked nipples through the fabric and her lace panties, and just kneeled in front of the TV, then took something out of the drawer underneath it and walked away again. And everytime she said something, which made it clear what she's expecting you to do next.

"By the way, mom and dad are gonna be home late today."

On the weekends, Julie even roleplays early in the morning. When you're preparing breakfast she walks into the kitchen, only wearing a shirt of yours, which ends halfway down her thighs. Then, she opens the fridge and bends down, the hem of your shirt riding up her ass so you can have a good view of her wet pussy.

"Why do you always eat my stuff? You better make it up to your sister, sweetie."

Natty

Natty always had a thing for giving you head at random times since the beginning of your relationship. Sh just loved how you always looked so surprised when she either just dropped to her knees in front of you when the two of you were alone, or when she took your hand without a word in public, just giving you a wink, before leading you to a more private space.

And since she found the succubus hairband and wings while looking for a Halloween costume last year, Natty constantly roleplays as succubus. She keeps changing her outfit, but always includes the wings and horns.

When you wake up in the morning, you're greeted by her in nothing but sexy lingerie, her lips already tightly sealed around your cock. After a long day at work, you sometimes come home to Natty roleplaying different roles, while still roleplaying as succubus. A succubus school girl, a succubus teacher, a succubus cheerleader, a succubus bride who's husband is lying in the next room, already completely drained of his cum.

But for some reason, today's outfit might be your favorite. The nun outfit is obviously a sexier version of an actual thing a nun would wear, but you still catch the wings on her back and the two balck horns, which peak out from underneath her veil. Natty even put in red contact lenses, making her look even more like a succubus in disguise.

"Do you want to know what sinning feels like?"

Belle

Belle is a princess. I think that's pretty obvious. That's how she likes to be treated during sex all the time anyway. Throughout your time with her, she's tried out very different forms of princesses. Obviously Disney princesses came first. Cinderella, Belle, Jasmine and so on. But once Belle tried out all of these often enough, she moved on.

Last week you came home to her lying on your bed, the only thing she was wearing was princess Leia's custome from Jabba's palace. She offered you her leash and asked you to be the roughest you've ever been with her. Which still doesn't mean that much since getting fucked from behind while getting her face pressed into the sheets is already extreme for her. She's just a soft princess most of the time.

Yesterday you were greeted by a Chinese princess. Belle wore a silk hanfu, which showed all kinds of light colours, making her look like a spring goddess. Flowers in her hair and a big golden hairpin completed her outfit. It was authentic, so she barely showed any skin at all, but that was completely fine with you, since it made the experience even more real.

And today another princess waited for you on your bed after you stepped out of the shower. Belle as a Pharaoh's daughter, wearing a black wig a golden hairband in form of a snake and golden bracelets on her arms and ankles. Her white silk dress was incredible thin, almost counting as see through. It showed off her body's curves perfectly and you could even see a fake bellybutton piercing through the dress.

Haneul

Haneul wasn't a fan of roleplay, until she wore something more formal once. Not a dress, but a suit. She felt somewhat powerful and strong in it and to her own surprise she made you feel that during sex that night.

She still doesn't roleplay often, but occasionally, you now find yourself face to face with your strict boss who threatens to fire you if you don't eat her out, or your school's principal who threatens to call your parents if you don't show her your cock, or once even your superior officer who tells you to fuck her hard if you don't want to get dishonorably discharged.

You usually enjoy fucking and using Haneul however you want with her being a good girl, but once in a while you do like to be the one who has to do what she says.

"And now the other one."

Right now Haneul roleplays as the hot and successful neighbor, who caught you looking at her through the window. She told you she'd call the police if you didn't do what she said. So now you place her naked foot on the floor, before your reach for the other one, still in one of her heels.

[plunderbunny]

Always feels so weird to be saying this because he's the dumb League of Legends spaghetti and meatballs guy, but videogamedunkey had some of the best comments about I've ever heard this in his "Game Critics" video, in which he says the the power of a critic comes from the consistency of their voice, not in you personally agreeing with everything that they say. Understanding the critic's thought process, their likes and dislikes, what they value and what annoys them, whether any of it is even rational or not, is what gives their review utilitarian value in terms of "the critic has X opinion about this thing, does that make me think I would like it dislike it?"

Beyond the most basic "does their opinion make me think I'd like this thing or not" level, the other really important thing about a critic is to challenge the audience's way of thinking about a work and get them to open their mind, broaden their horizons, stretch their brain a bit and think in new ways and from new perspectives. A review should never just be "this is good" or "this is bad", it should include actual ANALYSIS. And whether or not someone likes something isn't analysis, it's one END RESULT OF analysis.

Why is comparing a game to a completely different game a bad thing? Why is engaging with the game in a different way than the developers intended a bad thing? Why is playing and reviewing a game for which you're not the target audience a bad thing? Those all just sound to me like new, novel, challenging perspectives from which to evaluate and think about a game.

And if you don't agree with the reviewer, if they don't like what you do like or vice versa... Why is that a bad thing? You can think they're wrong! Sometimes disagreeing with someone who has a different perspective can be the most enlightening and intellectually stimulating kind of conversation about a media object! My favorite pieces of media analysis of all time, the various works of Elizabeth Sandifer, especially Tardis Eruditorum and Last War in Albion, are FULL of ideas and perspectives and tastes that I disagree with, but they are all FASCINATING to read about and discuss and consider. Just because she is a fan of the Matt Smith era of Doctor Who, which I hate, doesn't mean that her thoughts and opinions on it are pointless or uninteresting.

Like art itself, art criticism shouldn't exist just to validate your preconceptions, or comfort you and give you ask the simplest, most obvious pleasures possible. It should challenge you, make you think, confront you... That's what makes it interesting, and what makes it valuable! Too many people have the notion that art should always be slavishly trying to satisfy a pre-existing audience with known appetites and easily-scratched itches. Too much art ends up complacent on account of catering to those audiences.

More game critics should be like the first picture in this post, actually challenging conventional thought (whether or not they like the game) and thinking critically and from a wide range of perspectives, potentially from ones outside the target audience. The video game community needs another "this game really makes you feel like Spider-Man" reviewer (to steal another great dunkey quote) like it needs a hole in its head, or the equivalent, yet another competitive hero shooter or souls-like or comfy farm sim.

Criticism doesn't exist to validate your personal tastes.

Art doesn't exist to satisfy your personal appetites.

game reviewers are weird

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hi, I want to request a headcanon with SSS, with a human!reader (separately, this is not poly), reader is a friend of the trinity, based on this, reader has feelings for the trinity, but because reader is a human, and they are meanwhile mobians, she thinks that she is not attracted to them, since she is a human, and mobians may have different standards of beauty, plus, she does not want to seem like a pervert in their eyes, and ruin their friendship, but somehow SSS finds out about the reader's feelings, and they begin dating. Thanks in advance if you write 💙❤️🤍

A/n: my head hurts, sorry for posting this so late

triple s x Human!Reader

Sonic:

You had been friends with Sonic for years. From the moment you met him, you knew he was special, not just because of his speed or heroics but because of the way he made everything feel more exciting. He was a whirlwind of energy, always dragging you along on adventures, cracking jokes, and treating you like you were just as capable as any of his other friends.

But deep down, there was something you harbored, something that gnawed at you whenever he flashed that confident aura your way. You had feelings for him.

It wasn't supposed to happen. He was a Mobian, and you were human. Surely, his kind had different standards of beauty. Maybe Mobians found humans ugly? Off putting? The last thing you wanted was for Sonic to see you as some weirdo who had inappropriate thoughts about one of his kind.

You convinced yourself it wasn't possible, that he'd never see you the way you saw him. So, you swallowed your feelings and stayed his loyal friend, even when your heart ached to be more.

But Sonic wasn't oblivious. He knows a thing or two about crushes (being around amy is already more than enough to teach him) he noticed the way your eyes lingered when he was in vicinity, how your laugh was just a bit too strained when he teased you, he saw the way your shoulders tensed when he got too close. Sonic wasn't the type to ignore his instincts, and his gut told him something was up.

One day, after an especially intense adventure, the two of you collapsed onto a grassy hill, panting and laughing. The sunset cast a golden glow over you both, and sonic, never one for subtlety, turned to you with a smirk.

"You know, you've been acting weird around me lately," he said, propping himself up on his elbow. "Something on your mind?"

Your stomach twisted. This was it. The moment you dreaded.

"I... it's nothing," you forced a chuckle, looking anywhere but at him. "Just tired, I guess."

Sonic wasn't buying it. "Come on, you can tell me anything, y'know? We're friends!"

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

The words came out before you could stop them. "That’s exactly why I can't tell you."

Sonic blinked, caught off guard. His ears twitched, processing your words before a slow grin spread across his face. "Wait a sec... do you like me?"

Your heart stopped. Your face burned. You shot up in panic. "No! I mean- yes! I meant- ugh!" You groaned, covering your face. "This is exactly what I didn't want! I didnt want to make things weird, because your movian and im... Human..."

Sonic was silent for a moment, but then he started laughing. Not cruelly, not mockingly, just his usual, carefree laugh. "Wow, and here I thought I was the dense one!"

You peeked between your fingers. "...Huh?"

He leaned back, hands behind his head. "You seriously thought I wouldn't be into you just because you're human?" He turned to you, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Newsflash, I don't care about that. You're you, and that's what matters."

Your heart stopped. "You mean... you?"

Sonic grinned. "Yeah, I like you, dummy."

Your world tilted. The worries, the doubts, the fear of being seen as some creepy human crushing on a Mobian, all of it evaporated in an instant. Before you could even process it, Sonic was already standing, holding out a hand.

"Now that that's outta the way, how 'bout a date? Maybe a race, loser buys chili dogs?"

You laughed, shaking your head as you took his hand. "I’m going to regret this, aren't I?"

Sonic just smirked. "Oh, definitely."

And just like that, your fears faded away.

Shadow:

Loving Shadow was a quiet kind of torture.

Shadow was... different. He was distant yet ever-present. You weren't even sure how you had become friends with him, Shadow didn't really have many friends after all. But somehow, after some time, you had earned a place in his life.

That was bad.

Because along the way, you had fallen for him.

And that was unacceptable.

Shadow wasn't the type to tolerate foolishness, and what was more foolish than a human harboring feelings for a Mobian? It didn't matter that your heart flipped every time he stood close, that your skin tingled when his gloved hand brushed against yours, or that his rare smirks made your knees weak. It didn't matter, because you were human, and he wasn't.

He could never see you that way.

But Shadow wasn't blind. He saw how you hesitated when he got too close, how your heart rate spiked when he addressed you. Shadow didn't believe in coincidences, and he wasn't one to ignore anomalies, especially not when they involved you.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, he cornered you.

"You're avoiding me."

You answered quick, "I'm not avoiding you."

"Lying doesn't suit you," he said, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Shadow. Drop it."

He didn't. Of course he didn't.

"Tell me the truth." His voice was less intense now.

You looked away. "I can't."

Silence stretched between you. Then, so quietly you almost didn't hear it.

"You think I wouldn't want you because you're human."

Your entire body froze. Your eyes snapped to him. "...What?"

His expression was unreadable, but his gaze burned into you. "You think I wouldn't reciprocate." He took another step forward. "You're wrong."

"I... I don't understand."

Shadows eyes softened, just a fraction. "I don't care about species. I care about strength, about loyalty, about who someone is at their core." He paused. "I care about you."

Your world tilted. The fear, the doubt, the self-imposed barriers, they all shattered in an instant.

Shadow reached out, hesitating for only a second before brushing a hand against your cheek. "You're important to me," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "If you feel the same... I won't run from it."

Tears pricked your eyes. "I thought I wasn’t enough."

"You are," he said firmly. "Always."

And just like that, the walls crumbled.

Silver:

You never meant to fall for Silver.

He had been your friend for so long, always bright eyed and hopeful, always treating you like you were the most important person in the world. He was gentle in ways others weren't, encouraging you when you doubted yourself, listening intently to your dreams, and never making you feel like an outsider despite being a human in a world full of Mobians.

Maybe that's why it hurt so much.

Because even though you cared for him, even though your heart raced when he smiled at you, even though you wanted so badly to take his hand in yours, you couldn't.

He was a Mobian. You were human.

Mobians probably had different beauty standards. What if you were ugly to him? What if you confessed and he was disgusted? Worse, what if he pitied you?

Silver was too kind to outright reject you in a cruel way. He'd probably give you an awkward smile, say something about how he "values you as a friend," and then things would never be the same. You couldn't risk it.

So, you buried your feelings.

You let him ramble about the future, let him take your hand when he was excited, let him hug you when he was happy, all the while pretending that it didn't tear you apart inside.

But Silver wasn't stupid. Naive? Yes. Oblivious? Sometimes. But when it came to you, he always paid close attention.

One day, after an exhausting mission, the two of you sat on the edge of a cliff, watching the sky shift from orange to deep purple. The air was cool, and Silver, without thinking,rested his head on you.

Your heart stopped.

"You've been weird lately," he murmured, eyes on the horizon.

You swallowed hard. "I don't know what you mean."

Silver lifted his head, looking up at you with soft curiosity. "You don't talk to me the same way anymore. You don't look me in the eyes as much. Did I do something wrong?"

Guilt twisted in your gut. "No! You didn't do anything wrong, I just..."

"Just what?" He tilted his head, eyes shining with concern.

You couldn't tell him. You couldn't risk losing this.

But then Silver reached out, fingers brushing against yours, hesitant but warm. "You can tell me anything, y'know?"

The sincerity in his voice broke you.

"I like you," you blurted, eyes squeezing shut. "I’ve liked you for so long, but I thought-" You inhaled sharply. "I thought I wasn't right for you. Im human. You're Mobian. What if I'm... what if I'm not attractive to you? What if I ruin everything?"

For a second, there was silence.

Then-

"You idiot."

Your eyes flew open, as you turned towards him. Silver's face was flushed, ears twitching, hands gripping yours tightly.

"You think I care about any of that?" he huffed, voice shaking. "Do you even know how much I like you?"

Your breath caught. "You-"

"Yes!" He groaned, running a hand down his face. "I thought you didn't see me that way! I thought I was being weird for liking a human, but I didn't care because it's you! I don't care about species or looks or any of that stuff! I just wanted to be with you!"

Tears pricked your eyes. "Silver-"

"You're the most amazing person I’ve ever met," he continued, voice cracking slightly. "You're kind, strong, and you always make me feel like I belong. Do you really think I'd let something as stupid as species get in the way of that?"

You let out a shaky laugh, overwhelmed. "I'm the idiot, huh?"

Silver smiled, soft and warm. "The biggest."

And then, hesitantly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His hands squeezed yours, his tail flicking behind him.

"Can I...?" he whispered, breath warm against your lips.

You nodded.

And then, finally, Silver closed the distance

A/n: i dont know how to describe kissing, im sorry

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

Ok we have another one to add to the list!!!!!!

So I've seen a lot of people arguing about the whole "but Marinette made the decision for him!" thing in Werepapas, and honestly I think it's another Lady Macbeth/Baby It's Cold Outside scenario.

So the argument here, if you don't know it, is whether Lady Macbeth pressured Macbeth into killing the King, or whether she saw that it was what he wanted to do, and encouraged him because his conscience was getting in the way of something he clearly wanted to do. I can't be arsed to explain Baby It's Cold Outside but you get the gist.

So, the argument here is - Adrien still doesn't get to make his own decision. But did Marinette make the decision for him, or did she encourage him towards the decision he was always going to make? To me, the part where Adrien said he didn't know what he wanted was VERY in character. It read very much as him not wanting to offend anyone or cause another fight (like the one they literally JUST went through). But, really, was he ever going to make a different decision? He was choosing between Nathalie, who from the flashbacks and *gestures* the Rest Of The Series clearly cares about him, he knows her well, she loves him. Or a couple of strangers he just met that day. Adrien clearly, throughout the episode, expresses that he wants to stay in Paris, with Nathalie, and he is repeatedly ignored. To me, this moment is not Marinette making the decision for him - it's her standing up for him and saying to him that he can speak his mind. Remember, Adrien's spent his whole life under his father's thumb. He never could say what he wanted for fear of retaliation.

There IS a theme of other people making decisions for Adrien, obviously with the grandparents, but also with Nathalie herself. I will defend her until the ends of the Earth, but she did decide on her own that Adrien would be better off with biological family - granted, there's CLEARLY something influencing this feeling, plus the grandparents talking about how she's not family and has no right to look after Adrien, I wouldn't be surprised if there's some kind of backstory there - but once again, even though she thinks it's for the best, and the best thing for Adrien even if it hurts her (which it clearly does), she's still making a decision for Adrien. She's blinded by the fact that she's obviously at some point been told that she's not his family and never will be (the guilt from being Mayura and aiding and abetting his father is probably coming into play too) and so she makes a decision that ultimately, Adrien should have had a say in. And Marinette, like she did in the Special, puts her foot down and says, actually, you are his family, or the closest thing left, so listen to him when he says you are. I also found it very funny when Marinette literally tells Nathalie "you're an adult", and follows it up with basically "so do something about this". But you get my gist - ALL of the characters are making decisions for Adrien, and Marinette SEES this, and encourages Adrien to make the decision HE wants, and not the one that will please his grandparents.

[elliewrites77]

Uncle!Sukuna Part 2

a/n: thank you so much for the support on the last uncle sukuna post! i apologize if this is short.

-------------------------

Uncle!Sukuna who doesn't return to your doorstep until around 11 am. This time when you open the door, you are in actual clothes, awake and aware. He sees the curiosity in your eyes as soon as he meets your gaze.

Uncle!Sukuna who, you notice, is wearing the exact same clothes you had seen him in as he dropped off Yuji. You could see the tiredness in the mans eyes, and couldn't help but feel a bit bad he had to handle a work emergency so late. You couldn't help but wonder what it is that he did.

Uncle!Sukuna who still doesn't introduce himself as he asks where his nephew is. You had learned from Yuji, before he had passed out on you couch, that he called him "Uncle Kuna", but as far as you knew, that could've been a nickname.

Uncle!Sukuna who follows you into your house when you tell him that Yuji is playing with your son in the back yard.

You lead him through your home, with him silently taking in the space. It was so...different to his own. Your home looked like it was a space for a parent and a kid, while his looked bland and almost empty. When he had moved into the house for Yuji, he hadn't taken the time to really decorate. The only kid stuff in the house was in Yuji's room, and most of his own things were in his room or boxed up in the garage. So he couldn't help but compare your house to his own, pinpointing all the differences that really make your place a home.

Uncle!Sukuna who raises his brow when he sees Yuji playing around with a kid only a few years older. They were play-fighting, doing some kind of martial arts moves. He was still surprised by Yuji's never fading energy, seeing how he could barely stay still for longer than a minute. He seemed to amuse the older kid though, and you.

Uncle!Sukuna who clears his throat when he realizes you two were just standing there watching the two boys. He looks at you, his usual blank expression in place.

"Thanks." Is all he says. Something about his voice gives you goosebumps, but you ignore that feeling and give him a friendly smile. He would think someone who was woken up so rudely at 2 am would be a little angry, especially when a kid is pushed onto them. But he was glad you weren't complaining. And he really liked your smile.

"Of course. Yuji is sweet, I'm happy I could help. I have to admit, though, this is certainly an interesting way to be introduced to my new neighbors." You tried to joked. You felt a little awkward when his expression didn't change nor did he respond. So, looking back to the two boys, you tried to think of something to say.

Uncle!Sukuna who stares at you for a moment. Something about you makes his chest feel tight, and his mind a little fuzzy. Sure, you're beautiful, but this wasn't simple physical attraction. He couldn't understand what was happening to him and that made him frustrated, annoyed. So he just breaths a breath out of his nose, looking at his young nephew.

Uncle!Sukuna who watches as Yuji's head snaps to look at him as soon as Sukuna calls his name. A grin of excitement, at a level that still surprised Sukuna, took over the boys face. He quickly leaves his new friend, running to stand at his uncles leg and look up at the giant man.

Uncle!Sukuna who doesn't let his newborn affection for his nephew show on his face, simply telling Yuji to say goodbye to you and your son. He pretends to not care when a slight look of disappointment takes over Yuji's face, due to having to leave his new friends.

You notice the look, and crouch to give Yuji a warm smile.

"We live right across the street, Yuji, so you and your Uncle Kuna can stop by anytime." You say, grinning and standing when his excitement returns.

Uncle!Sukuna who realizes then that he never actually introduced himself, and neither did you. He grunts, looking to you again.

"Sukuna." he introduces finally. Apparently he's not much of a talker.

"Hi, Sukuna. I'm y/n." You continued your attempts to be nice, friendly. Clearly he wasn't a conversationalist, and you couldn't read him at all, but that didn't mean you had to mirror his brooding, reserved demeanor.

Uncle!Sukuna who simply nods, grabbing Yuji by the back of his shirt to tug him away, his silent way of saying they were leaving.

Before they can get away though, you turn to look at your son still standing in the yard, observing as usual.

"Oh, wait. Choso, come say goodbye to Yuji and his uncle."

-------

not proofread

I hope you guys enjoy how i incorporated Choso! For my ideas with this lil story, I think this dynamic will be fun to write and work with :) In my au, Yuji is 6 and Choso is about 8.

[chimerafeathers]

the concept of intentional boredom/tedium in video games is very much a "your mileage may vary" kind of thing and i go back and forth about it in different situations. where does it work? where does it feel earned/worth the mental toll? why am i gonna play a game that is trying to make me miserable?

i can understand this not being the case for everyone (ymmv, after all) but for ISaT i was so fucking fully on board with the repetitive tedium of it all. rubbing my grubby little hands together and going yesssss, yesssssss, make my immersive gameplay experience directly emulate the exact frustrations and anxieties and mind-numbing breakdowns of the player character. remind me, at every turn, the toll this would take on the person living it. make me live their inner monologue before it's ever verbalized on screen.

how strong you feel, compared to the party you're inevitably leaving behind, how weak they seem now. how annoying it is to cut down these same enemies again and again, always pointlessly getting in your way (oh, how convenient that Siffrin feels the same way so intensely that you can get an item that lets him scare them off by sheer force of will before they attack you!). since when was the King's battle--so terrifying, so impossible before--so easy? can't this go faster? you've heard this all before.

let me skip ahead, loop around, treat my character my body Siffrin as disposable, take the fast and easy way to reach the next goal when you're on the verge of an exciting breakthrough, this loop doesn't matter anyway. but ohh, this next loop might be The One, better do this one right and follow the script to perfection. make all the jokes and say all the right things to get the lovely bonding dialogue so you can carry the Best Version of Everyone through to the end. that'll give you the Good Ending, right? can't hurt to try, right? you don't really believe it but this time will fix everything, right?

how generous and wonderful to have so many shortcuts at hand! dissociating zoning out to skip repetitive dialogue, splitting your head open on a rock slipping on a banana peel in the town to loop right to the floor you need, suuuuurely all of this stuff is purely for the Player's Convenience and won't have any psychological impact on our dear protagonist such that it gets slammed back into the player's face as a stomach-dropping reminder that someone's moment-to-moment experience in this time loop still matters, still carries over, still gets riddled with scars even if they can't be seen!

i've played & watched enough games that trivialize/hand-wave game mechanics that it's pretty easy to detach myself from the minutiae of video game decision-making. "this input gets the Good Response" -> "i will continue doing this input." "this option will be more efficient" -> "might as well save some time then." but this game would not let me stop thinking about consequence.

picking Siffrin's favorite food makes them happy! :) it's also the option that makes Bonnie the happiest! yay! -> i keep picking their favorite food -> Siffrin gradually grows sick of something that once brought him joy -> oh. right. that...makes sense, huh.

okay i asked the King what i needed, mann there won't be any tears after the fight is over so i'll have to do the whole ending scene again and that takes a while and i reeeeally wanna talk to Loop, maybe i'll just lose on purpose this time -> OH. RIGHT. THIS IS MAYBE THE MOST PAINFUL WAY FOR SIFFRIN TO DIE BOTH PHYSICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY HUH. -> never gonna do that again actually!!!!! the ending isn't that long!!!!

banana peel time! we've got places to be and mysteries to solve! -> (you're a living comedy sketch.) (you wonder if you'll ever be able to smell bananas again without wanting to vomit.) -> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry

it's always cute to see Isabeau's reactions! pick the options that make him blush :3 -> (disgusting. manipulative. it's no wonder he thinks he likes you, you made him feel that way.) -> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry siffrin NO he liked you before any of this happened please don't think of yourself that way--

maybe it won't hit the same for every player (what game can expect to do that?) but holy fuck it hit for me. the way the mechanics let you fall into familiar gamey rhythms but constantly, constantly remind you that this is Siffrin's life you're playing with. the way you end up perfectly in step in the worst ways. muscle memory and habit built up so well that you both stumble when something changes. devastating and delicious

[scary-grace]

sips drink. I am going to need. [ ring ] for shigraki

Thank you for the prompt! As usual, I went a little berserk with it, and there is. so much smut in this. If you're not a fan/this is not the vibe, let me know and I'll write you a different one, or do a better job with your other prompts! 9k, AU with demons, succubus!reader, tons of smut. If you're a big fan of super dominant Tomura, this is not the fic for that. MDNI + thanks to @dogblessyoutascha for beta-reading on short notice and putting up with tons of yapping and fic about this guy.

wanted (if you want me)

a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You're a down-on-your-luck succubus who just got rejected by the guy who summoned you, and you can't go back to Hell until you find somebody else's soul to steal. Shigaraki Tomura, reeling from a Valentine's Day rejection of his own, is the perfect victim. Or so you think. (cross-posted to Ao3)

“Sorry,” the guy who just summoned you says, sitting back from the pentagram he’s drawn on the floor with a frown. “You’re not my type.”

“I’m – what?” You feel stupid, which isn’t how you’re supposed to feel. You’re a demon, and a mortal’s just summoned you. You should feel powerful and lawless, not embarrassed. Not rejected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not my type,” the guy says again. He gestures awkwardly at you. “I was hoping for somebody – more.”

“Did you want a guy or something?” you ask. You cross your arms over your chest. Your clothes are barely worthy of the title, and you don’t want this guy seeing your nipples if he’s not even into them. “If you wanted a guy, you should have summoned an incubus. It’s not my fault you can’t read.”

“I like girls,” the guy snaps at you, rather than addressing the fact that you just called him a moron. “You were supposed to look like this.”

He picks up the grimoire he was reading the incantation out of and holds it up to you. It must be a new edition of the same old grimoire, because the last version of it you saw didn’t include illustrations. The illustration in question is a demon, identifiable as such by her horns and tail, but she looks about as much like you as you do like an angel straight from Heaven’s hideous art-deco gates. She’s got the kind of proportions that don’t work on Earth or in Hell – tiny waist, enormous breasts, ass that needs its own zip code, and her outfit is so tiny that you can see her nipples and her clit through it. And then there’s the face she’s making, straight out of some seedy erotic magazine, with blown-out pupils and open mouth and a delicate flush across her cheeks, all ready to be ruined.

Your outfit is skimpy, sure, but not that skimpy. You have the parts you need, but they aren’t that exaggerated, and if you tried that stupid expression, you’re pretty sure your face would melt off. If this is what this mortal expected, of course he’s disappointed to have gotten you.

His disappointment isn’t your problem, and now you’re in a mood. “Let me get this straight. You summoned a succubus – a sex demon from the depths of Hell – to fulfill your fantasies, and you’ve decided that now’s the time to get picky.”

“I’m not being picky,” he says. “Girls like you don’t do it for me. Can’t you send somebody else?”

“Sorry. All my sisters are seducing hotter mortals than you.” You feel a surge of pleasure at the way the man flinches. Guys like these – when they summon a succubus, they’re always thinking about the sex part, not the part where you’re a demon. “They took one look at you and decided I was all you deserved, and you know what? I don’t think you deserve me, either.”

“Well, I don’t want you, so –”

“In fact,” you continue, rising to your feet and internally cursing the fact that you decided to materialize in fuck-me heels, “I don’t think you deserve to get laid ever again.”

The mortal blanches. “What?” he demands, taking a step back as you step forward out of the pentagram. “You can’t leave the circle unless I say.”

“You really should look into those reading lessons. You’ll have a lot of time on your hands.” You were just going to lay the curse, but you decide that’s not enough. You nail him in the balls with a sharp kick, and as he doubles over, you speak, your voice crackling with the fires of Hell. “May your erections always wither, no matter how much porn you watch or how many drugs you take. May you disappoint every lover you take to your bed, and may that bed lie as cold and empty as the grave where they’ll bury your impotent corpse.”

It's a pretty good curse, if you say so yourself. “You bitch,” the mortal spits, but you snap your fingers and seal his fate. You know the moment the curse settles over him. You see the despair in his eyes. “Take it back!”

“No,” you say. You grasp his chin in one hand and lean in close, so close that your breath huffs out against his lips. You scraped your tongue for this guy. He deserves all this and more. “I’ll see you in Hell.”

His eyes roll up in his head and he collapses to the floor. You step over his unconscious form and survey the apartment you’ve found yourself in, dingy and filthy and smelling unpleasantly of human body odor. This is the kind of mortal who thought it was wise to reject you, just because you didn’t exactly resemble the absurd sketch in his grimoire. This is the kind of mortal who thought you weren’t good enough for him. Your lower lip begins to tremble, no matter how hard you sink your sharp teeth into it, and sulfuric tears begin to leak from your eyes. You were so excited to be summoned, so hopeful that you could do a good job for once. Now you just want to go home.

But you can’t. When you try to dematerialize and let Hell call you back, you can’t, and you realize why not in the same second as you realize that you didn’t curse that human nearly hard enough. You were summoned to this world to serve a purpose – to fuck some mortal so hard that they’ll sell you their soul – and until you serve that purpose, you’re trapped here. You need to find a mortal to sleep with, immediately. And you can’t go out looking like this.

You ransack the mortal’s apartment. None of his street clothes are anything you’d be caught exorcised wearing, but he has a long coat that he probably thinks makes him look mysterious and cool. You shrug it on, noting that it covers your skimpy outfit while still providing easy access to your body when it’s time to take it off, and keep searching, in case there’s anything else you can use. Money, as it happens – this human has a bank account and credit cards, and even unconscious, it’s all too easy to read his mind for the PIN. You pocket all of it, hide your demon form with a glamour, then leave the apartment door wide open on your way out.

As soon as you hit the street, though, you realize that you have an even bigger problem than you thought. You assumed it was some featureless winter evening, the kind where a bored, lonely mortal has nothing better to do than flip through a grimoire and get himself into trouble, but every storefront you look at is decorated with hearts. Every mortal you pass on the street is on someone else’s arm, or carrying flowers, or making out in the glow of a streetlight. It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re fucked.

Contrary to what humans like the idiot who summoned you think, Valentine’s Day isn’t actually about sex. Sex is a side effect of what Valentine’s Day is really about, which is romance. It’s about love and soulmates and tenderness and affection and forever, which is exactly nothing you know anything about. Succubi and incubi exist on the dark side of all of that, in its nasty, sleazy, prurient shadow. You don’t court, you seduce. You don’t make love, you fuck. You don’t show people the face of God, or whatever that dumb-ass musical says; you show them the gates of Hell and walk them through. Seducing a random mortal is a tall order for you on a given day. Seducing one on Valentine’s Day is going to be damn near impossible.

You feel tears welling up again and blink them back. Crying over rejection from a filthy, useless mortal was bad enough. Demons shouldn’t feel that kind of pain, and if they do, they shouldn’t wallow in it. Demons get the job done. And it’s not totally hopeless, when you force yourself to be honest about it. For all the mortals who are happily coupled, there are plenty who aren’t, and if the mortal who summoned you is anything to judge by, some of them aren’t averse to a little salacious, damnation-worthy fun.

As far as places to find single humans go, you’re spoiled for choice; while all the restaurants have Valentine’s Day specials for mortals out on a date with their special someone, it seems as though every club or bar is advertising an event for singles. You peer into a few bars, but none of them strike you as having the right mood. Most of them carry a pathetic air of hopefulness, as if the humans within believe they really might find someone to love tonight of all nights. You don’t need hopefulness. You need desperation. You need a human so lonely and desperate that they won’t question why a stranger wants to fuck them. If you were attractive in your human guise, you’d have a better shot, but apparently you aren’t. Only a human who’s truly desperate would go for you.

Finally you come across a bar where the mood seems a little more appropriate. Some sort of singles event is winding down as you come in, and you sense the despair beginning to set in. Most of the humans here could easily pair up with one of the others if they were willing to alter their standards, but humans have gotten entitled these days, and they all think they deserve a partner who matches their ideals. They cling to that fiction even as the mood in the bar worsens. They don’t need to settle. They’re holding out for true love.

Pathetic. You square your shoulders and wade into the mix.

The gender of your target doesn’t matter to you. It doesn’t even matter if they’re willing to sell their soul tonight – once you’ve fucked them, you can come back as many times as it takes for them to give it over. But even with your criteria broadened, you’re having trouble. As you search through the humans, tasting the flavor of their emotions every time you brush against one, you don’t find a single one who feels the way you need them to.

You taste sadness. Loneliness. Despair. Resignation or acceptance – sometimes they’re hard to tell apart. A few strange humans have even found refuge in faith, some idiosyncratic hope that they’ll find what they’re meant to find when the time is right, as if God has time to ordain such stupid things. On another night, you’d take pleasure in crushing their hopes, but your own hopes of getting out of here are sinking by the second. You need a human. Any human will do.

But just as you’re resigning yourself to seduce a woman, one whose loneliness carries just the faintest tinge of despair, you’re hit with a wave of exactly what you’ve been looking for. Not just despair, but disappointment. Not just loneliness, but hurt. Not just resignation, but frustration and embarrassment, at feeling hurt and disappointed and finding themselves here at all. You turn away from the woman without ever drawing her attention to you and follow the thread of rejection through the bar to a booth in the corner, where a mortal sits alone.

Along with the relief of finding a target at last, the first feeling that crosses your mind is surprise.  This isn’t the sort of mortal you’d expect to find alone on Valentine’s Day, just based on his looks alone – almost-delicate facial features, long white hair, a frame that’s broad-shouldered yet lithe, observable even when he’s seated. As you get closer, you see a birthmark below the corner of his mouth, scars over his mouth and eye, and long lashes framing his crimson eyes. This mortal is pretty. Some of your sisters don’t care what their targets look like, but you like your mortal men pretty.

The mortal looks up as you come to the edge of his table. He seems as surprised to see you as you are to see him. “You’re late to the party.”

“Apparently not, since you’re here. Do you mind if I sit down? My feet are hurting in these shoes.”

He looks down at your shoes, and just like you were hoping, his eyes trace upwards, over your bare ankle to your calf to your knee before it disappears beneath your stolen coat. “Go ahead,” he says. “There’s room.”

There’s plenty of room, but you sit down next to him anyway, your leg pressed against his. You feel him startle, feel him go tense, and decide it’s worth drawing attention to. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” he says, but you can hear his heart beginning to race. “Just wondering if this is a setup or something. People like you don’t usually want anything to do with people like me.”

“People like me?” you say. You turn towards him, elbow propped on the table, chin propped in your hand. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” your mortal says. “Looks like yours, there’s no way you’re single.”

You can’t imagine this mortal’s self-deprecating angle working on anyone, but the compliment makes you glow ever so slightly. “Strange. I was thinking the same about you.”

Your mortal doesn’t glow. He blushes. “Don’t lie.”

“Would I lie?” Yes, frequently and gleefully – but not right now. “You’re gorgeous.”

He scoffs, averts his eyes, but his heart’s beating faster. It’s cute, and since he’s opened this door, you might as well walk through. Time for a little touching. You start with the scar above his eye. “I like this, and this –” you trace the scar, then tuck a few strands of white hair behind his ear, letting your fingers graze across his cheek and down to his jaw before reaching the scar over his mouth. “And this –”

He speaks while your fingers are still against his lips. “Careful.”

“I’m being really careful,” you promise. You run your fingers over his mouth again, slow and teasing, then turn your attention to the birthmark. “And I like this. It really completes the picture. Whoever rejected you tonight, they were out of their mind.”

“I could say the same about whoever rejected you.” Your mortal’s hand brushes against your knee, then drifts away, and you shiver ever so slightly. You like this mortal. It’s always easier when you like them. “I saw you watching the rest of them. Why did you pick me?”

“Like I said, you’re gorgeous,” you say, and shrug. The shrug presses you a little closer against him, and you don’t pull back. “And you looked like you were having the same kind of night as I am. I thought we could make each other feel better.”

He gives you a skeptical look, but the flush in his cheeks gives him away. Oh, you like this one. Even if he gives you his soul tonight, you’ll come back to visit him at least a few more times. “How do you think we can do that?”

“By giving each other what we want,” you say. “Don’t you get tired of having to play a part, to be what someone else expects you to be, and never have your desires fulfilled? I could give you that.”

He scoffs. “You think you know what my desires are?”

“You’d tell me,” you murmur. “That’s the point.”

Your mortal’s skepticism doesn’t fade, but neither does his blush. “What about what you want? I don’t buy for a second that it’s just to sleep with me.”

The question gives you pause. It’s not one you’ve thought of before. Succubi don’t have sexual desires, really – your goal is always to seduce your target, which means it’s all about what your target wants. You aren’t very good at your job, but you’ve put up with all sorts of things, doing them or having them done to you, if it means the mortal you’re fucking will hand over their soul. What you want, personally, doesn’t factor in even slightly. What do you want from this mortal? You don’t know.

“You don’t know,” your mortal says, as though you’ve spoken aloud. His hand brushes against your leg again, settles there. “I’ll help you find out.”

“Only if you tell me what you want,” you insist, as he brushes your coat aside and finds your leg bare. His fingertips are dry and rough as they trail over your skin, brushing the inside of your thigh. “Oh –”

“Too much?” he asks. There’s an almost wicked glint in his eye.

You feel your own heart pick up the pace. This will be a challenge. You like a challenge. “Answer my question first. Every time you answer, you can move your hand.”

“I want you.”

“Wrong answer.” You close your legs, not that they were that far apart in the first place. You’re not easy. “I asked about your unfulfilled desires, and you just met me today. I can’t be the only thing you want.”

“Mm.” Your mortal makes a dissatisfied noise. Even as he leaves his hand in place, you see an awkwardness settle over him – nerves, or something like it. For such a gorgeous mortal, he’s an interesting contradiction. “I want – to be out of control.”

“Out of control?” You won’t open your legs just yet. “Tell me more.”

“You were right about me. I’m always doing what others want. I always have to be in control. I want to be outside my own control,” your mortal says. He can’t meet your eyes, and the flush in his cheeks looks almost uncomfortable. When you lean in to kiss it, his skin is hot beneath your lips. “I want someone else to –”

“Praise you? Worship you? Pleasure you until you can barely think?” You know you’ve got him by the sharp intake of breath, by the way he startles. “That would be my pleasure, too.”

You part your legs enough to free his hand, and his fingers, shaking slightly, work their way up the inside of your thigh. “What else?” you ask. “Be specific.”

“I want whatever you can give me.” He turns his head, looking away, which is an error on his part; it leaves his neck exposed, and you lean in to kiss it, feeling his pulse jump and race. “If I tell you it’s too much, I want you to give me more.”

“That was a good answer.” You part your legs a little further, and he takes it as the invitation it is. “Anything else?”

“I want to do the same to you,” your mortal says, and your face flushes. “It’s only fair. If you get to ruin me, I get to ruin you.”

Ruining him calls to mind all sorts of things, acts you’ve performed for other mortals by rote, acts you want nothing more than to perform for him, and the thought overwhelms you enough that you miss what he’s doing with his hand between your legs until he’s touching you, tracing your clit through the thin fabric. You realize with some degree of horror that you’re wet, and worse, that even his delicate touch has you spreading your legs wider. While you weren’t paying attention, your mortal made a bid for the upper hand, and he almost got it.

Not quite, though. You renew your efforts on his neck, feeling him shudder. You’ll do as he asks, as he desires – but not until he begs you, out loud, to give him what he needs. He shifts, squirms, in response to your attentions to his neck, much as you’re doing with his hand between your legs. “Mutual ruination,” you muse. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Your hand’s been trapped at your side. You work it free and slip it behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Then you turn him back to face you, drinking in the sight of him for a moment before you lean in to kiss him. The only way your mortal’s never had his desires fulfilled is if he’s never voiced them. You can’t imagine anyone looking at him, seeing him like this, and denying him what he wants.

Most mortals you’ve seduced lose patience with kissing quickly. The kind of mortals who summon a succubus only have one thing on their mind, but your mortal doesn’t know what you are. He kisses you eagerly, if inexpertly, and it’s only right for you to reward his enthusiasm. Besides, there’s something about kissing him that feels right, too right for the unholiness of what you are. If being with a mortal feels this good, you’re probably doing it wrong.

What does it matter? As long as you sleep with him, you’ll be free to return home. You’re a demon. Wrongness and rightness don’t factor in. You kiss your mortal carefully, paying some mind to the sharpness of your teeth and the delicateness of his skin. He’s less careful with his teeth. They nick your lip and blood wells out, and he licks it away without a moment’s hesitation. That flick of his tongue makes you consider other places it might belong, and you catch your breath. Or maybe it’s because he’s tugged your underwear aside to touch you directly, and you can no longer ignore the way he makes you feel.

You lean back, struggling to clear your head. A thought crosses your mind. “What’s your name?”

“Tomura.” Your mortal’s crimson eyes are dilated with want, the desperation you were so drawn to evident across his face. “Please –”

You kiss him again, and as he begins to finger you in earnest, stroking your clit and dipping his fingers shallowly inside you, you untangle your fingers from his hair and trace the inside of his thigh. Tomura startles at your touch, but spreads his legs at once, and your head spins with want. “How long have you wanted this?” you murmur against his lips. “Tell me.”

“Eternity.” Tomura twitches as you brush your hand over his groin before returning to toy with his thigh again. “But it’s not what they want me for. Nobody asked what I wanted until you.”

“Then they were missing out.” You bite back a gasp as Tomura sinks two fingers inside you, curling them just so, but his touch is only half the reason – the other half is the thought that you’re the first to see him this way, the only one to see him this way. “If they could see how pretty you are like this –”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” you decide at once. You brush your hand over his groin again, noting how tightly his pants are stretched over his hardening cock. “I want you all to myself.”

His body jerks, craning upwards into your touch. “Now,” he says, almost demands. “I need it now.”

“People could see,” you warn. “If they walk by, they’ll know we’re up to something. Do you care about that?”

“Yes,” Tomura says, and you run your thumb over the tip of his cock through his pants. His body jerks, and you do it again. Again. “Fuck –”

“We can leave whenever you want,” you say, even as your body tenses around his fingers. You feel wound tight, your legs shaking from the strain, your lungs feeling as though they can’t hold on to even a single whisper of air. Mortals have choked you before while you’re seducing them and it’s never been like this. “Tell me to stop and we’ll go.”

Tomura doesn’t tell you to stop. You undo his belt, unzip his pants, and the instant your hand closes around his cock, he moans, loud enough to attract attention if anyone from the failed singles event is still around. He’s embarrassed by it – you can tell – but he doesn’t tell you to stop, and you keep stroking his cock. “So pretty,” you say, your voice catching as the heel of his hand presses against your clit. “Does that feel good? Let me make you feel even better.”

You grasp his wrist and pull his hand from between your legs, thankful for the reprieve. Tomura tastes his fingers, savoring them in a way that makes you feel almost awkward. “I wasn’t done.”

“No, but you’re about to make a mess.” You give a pointed glance down at his cock, which is oozing enough precum to stain his underwear. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s plenty of space for you under the table, and better yet, you’re out of sight, which means Tomura can’t see your reaction to the way he spreads his legs for you. And you haven’t vanished a moment too soon. You can hear footsteps approaching, and you sit forward and take his cock in your mouth just as the newcomers arrive.

“You sure you need this whole booth when you’re by yourself?” whoever it is asks. You hear Tomura start to answer, but you suck lightly on the tip of his cock, forcing him to bite back a curse. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” Tomura grunts. You put your tongue to use, tracing it over his tip as you wrap your hand around the rest of his length. “Fuck – fuck off. There are other places to sit.”

The newcomer might say something else, but you can’t hear it around your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. Tomura wants you. He wants you so badly that he’s letting you blow him in public, that he won’t tell you to stop even when the two of you might be caught. The instant the other mortal leaves, you’re cradling his balls in your free hand, then sliding your hand a little further to press against his taint. Tomura’s entire body jerks and trembles. “Careful,” he forces out between gasps of air. “I’m going to – come –”

You wish you weren’t under the table, even if being under the table is necessary to contain the mess. You wish you could see Tomura’s face as his composure shatters, as he tries and fails to thrust upwards into your mouth and spills a ridiculous amount of cum down your throat. But he’s not quite out of control, not yet, and if you’re going to steal his soul, you really should give him what he wants first. You keep stroking his cock even as the shaking subsides, your tongue still dragging over his tip. He hasn’t gone soft just yet. You’re kind of impressed.

You’re impressed, too, with how he holds out. You know you’re overstimulating him, but he hasn’t told you to stop yet. And he asked you to keep going even if he told you it was too much. Still, you don’t like the idea of hurting your mortal. You renew your efforts, employing all the tricks you’ve learned to keep mortal men hanging on your every move, and to your shock, Tomura comes again. This time he’s almost sobbing, and you draw back at once, climbing out from under the table to check on your handiwork.

There are scratches in the couch cushions and on the tabletop, and both the napkins that were on the table have been crumpled out of existence. Tomura looks wrecked. He’s been yanking at the collar of his shirt, running his hands through his hair, and his face is flushed and sweaty. His eyes are blurred, and he’s still breathing hard, but when you lean in to kiss him, he obliges instantly. He’s unsteady, and yet there’s a strange hunger in the way he kisses you, a hunger that takes yours and amplifies it in a way you can’t quantify, let alone guard against. You find yourself melting into his touch, needing closeness, needing contact. And he gives it to you.

You’ve only just settled into a languid pace, your hands in his hair and his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, when someone smacks a server’s tray down on the table and startles you out of it. It’s the bartender. “Do you mind?” she demands, her face red. “This isn’t that kind of place! Take it outside.”

That’s fine with you. A little PDA is one thing, but whatever happens next between you and Tomura, you want privacy for it. You start to slide out of the booth, but Tomura won’t let you. He kisses you again, and you realize he’s giving himself cover to button his pants. But as long as you’re here – “What did I just say?” the bartender explodes. “Get out!”

You and Tomura stumble out onto the street, and the instant the door shuts behind you, Tomura pins you against it to kiss you again. “Does that feel good?” he asks, the same question you asked him earlier. You didn’t give him a chance to answer, and he doesn’t give you one, either. “Let’s go somewhere. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to share.”

“Where should we go?” you ask. “I’d rather not go to a love hotel. Your place?”

He hesitates for a moment. “My place. Come on.”

You kiss on the train platform, mostly to keep out the cold, but on the train, you find yourself simply looking at Tomura, talking to him. You find out that he got rejected tonight, too, and came to the bar to mope about it. “They’re nothing. Their opinions don’t matter,” he says. Even his disdain sounds like yours. “That doesn’t change how it feels.”

“I know,” you say. You lean against him, your head on his shoulder, your left hand intertwined with his right. “My – date – said I wasn’t his type, then showed me this ridiculous drawing –”

“May his dick shrivel up and fall off,” Tomura says matter-of-factly, and you find yourself giggling. “If you aren’t enough for him, he doesn’t deserve to have any at all. Still –”

He trails off. “His loss, my gain.”

“You’re just saying that because I blew you.”

Tomura snorts. “Don’t be stupid. You asked what I wanted. Nobody’s ever asked me that. That’s not what I’m for.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He doesn’t strike you as a sex worker – he’s too earnest, too vulnerable, in how he responds to you for it to be his day job. He shrugs, shakes his head. “I think you’re for whatever you want to be for. That’s how you are to me.”

His grip on your hand tightens for a moment, then loosens again, fingers tangling with yours. A strange spark, like an electric shock, ripples across your hand, and you look down to see an odd shadow around your ring finger. That wasn’t there before, but then again, you’ve never spent this long in the mortal world without fulfilling your purpose. “What about you?” Tomura asks. “Why don’t you know what you want?”

“I never thought about it before.” Some of your sisters enjoy their jobs, but it’s always felt like a job to you. Something to get through, so you can go home. “It hasn’t really mattered.”

“It matters now,” Tomura says. “When we get back to my place, I’ll show you.”

Tomura’s place is in a downtown high-rise, the third floor from the top of the building, and he gives you long enough to finally step out of your awful shoes before he peels you out of your jacket. For a single moment you’re convinced you’re about to see the same reaction as the mortal who summoned you, but instead Tomura’s eyes travel slowly over your form, lingering in every place you’d expect and a few places you didn’t. “This picture he showed you,” he says. “The one he thought was better than you. What did it look like?”

“Uh –” Where do you start, really? “The proportions were totally off. Its waist was tiny, and its breasts were huge –”

“Huh.” Tomura’s hands are at your waist, running over the curve from torso to hip and back with a firm, steady touch. One stays there, but the other migrates upwards, cupping your breast through your scant clothing. “What else?”

“It had this stupid outfit on. Like, way smaller than mine. You could see everything,” you say. Tomura’s thumb brushes over your nipple, then comes back to circle it, and heat begins to pool in your lower abdomen. “It barely covered her nipples – or her clit. It just looked kind of – I mean, I can hang in there with the best of them, but –”

Your voice catches. Tomura’s hand slides from your waist down between your legs, stroking your clit with his middle finger. His touch is featherlight, compared to the way he’s playing with your nipple, pinching and tugging it, making you squirm. “What else?” he prompts.

“The stupid face she was making. It was straight out of a porno – like, one of the really cheap ones. What some guy who’s never seen a woman come before would –” You startle as Tomura’s fingers slip further between your legs, then sink easily into you. “Tomura –”

“This drawing sounds like a fucking mess,” Tomura says. He reaches down and grasps your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist and leaving you even more exposed for him. “I want to see the real thing.”

He wants you to come for him. You know how to fake a convincing orgasm – or an unconvincing one, depending on the target – but you don’t want to fake for Tomura. You promised him he can have what he wants, and he wants this, you. Your chest goes tight. “I don’t know if I can, like this.”

“I’ve got lots of ideas.” Tomura kisses you, and that need to melt into him resurfaces, even as your body responds to his onslaught. “Show me.”

You try to keep kissing him, but you can’t. Your legs are shaking again, and it’s hard to breathe, and you have to draw back to gasp for air. Somewhere in the back of your mind is the thought that this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen, that something went wrong in your seduction of this mortal if he’s the one trying to please you, but it’s stifled by other, more pressing matters. The heat flooding through you, the awful and yet indescribable exposure of your legs spread this way, Tomura’s hand anchoring you so you can’t pull back off his fingers until he’s done with you.

Or until you’re done with him. You come hard enough to blur your vision, hard enough that your legs almost give out, and Tomura keeps his fingers inside you until your twitching and squirming subsides. When he draws them back, you can see that his hand is soaked. He brings them to his mouth to taste them again, and you spot a shadow around his fourth finger. It can’t hold your attention for long. “That was good,” he decides. “But I want to see more.”

“More?” Your voice is shaky, and you’re hanging onto Tomura for dear life. “What do you mean?”

“You said I could have what I wanted,” Tomura reminds you. “This way.”

You follow him down the hall on shaky legs, into a bedroom with an enormous bed. Finally. You’re not getting into bed with Tomura still wearing your horrible outfit, so you peel it off, then turn to help him with his clothes. You undress him slowly, kissing every inch of skin you uncover, trying to regain some of your lost composure. But it’s hard to compose yourself when there’s so much of him to explore, to praise. So pretty, so noisy, so needy even when there’s no need for it – because you want him to have what he wants, and you want to be the one who gives it to him. The only one who gives it to him.

And that’s what you find yourself murmuring, as you guide him down to the bed to lie on his stomach, as you brush his long hair aside to kiss his back and his shoulders. I have what you need. Everything you need. You’re mine.

Tomura’s breathing turned quick and shallow a while ago, worse as you kiss the small of his back, the arch of his hip. He stirs beneath you. “I want to see more,” he says. “On your back.”

He’ll fuck you now, and he’ll come, and then you can finally go home. You spread your legs, leaving room for him to settle between them, and he does – much further down than you expected. He anchors your hips to the bed before you can stop him, holding you down with strong hands as he lowers his head between your thighs. The way his hair brushes against them tickles. The marks he leaves on them are oversensitive, making your legs twinge long before his tongue drags over your clit, and you wonder how you’ll explain the marks when you get back to Hell. How you’ll explain the fact that this mortal seduced you almost as skillfully as you seduced him.

Tomura eats you out messily, enthusiastically, until you’re arching your back and thrashing in his grip. The heat of his mouth against you, the pressure of his tongue against your clit or the way it feels when he licks inside of you – it all feels almost sinful. Too good for you to have, too good to want more of, too good not to beg him to keep going. You can barely manage to praise him for it, but when you do, his grip on your hips tightens and he grinds against the mattress. It’s wrong. There’s something wrong, and you want it so badly, and for the first time, you understand a little bit of why humans are so quick to sell their souls.

Tomura makes you come once, then a second time while you’re still trying to recover, and you barely manage to scramble away before he can slide his fingers inside you and try for a third. “What happened to not being in control?” you ask, and he shrugs, half a smirk on his face. “Lie down. It’s my turn.”

You crawl over him as he lies back, tasting yourself on his lips when you lean down for a kiss. Tomura relaxes so easily for you now, so much that he lets you grasp his hands one by one, raising them above his head. For the first time since you cloaked your true form, you engage in a little bit of demon magic. Enough to conjure restraints, and tie Tomura’s hands to the headboard before he can so much as open his eyes.

You’ve shocked him. You can see it, and better yet, you can feel it, in the way his skin heats up and his heart races. “You said you didn’t want control,” you remind him. “And I said I’d pleasure you until you couldn’t think.”

“Are you?” Tomura’s voice goes raspy. He watches you with wide eyes as you shift further down on the bed. “What are you going to do?”

“Everything.”

You learned all sorts of magic in the course of stepping into your role as a succubus, but this is the first time in a while that you’ve used any of it. And it’s for small things – the restraints on Tomura’s hands, the feather you conjure to trace all over his body until he squirms, the lube you coat your fingers with before you start working them inside him. Tomura doesn’t stop you, but he has a request. “Don’t fuck me like that. Not tonight.”

“Just my fingers,” you promise, and he nods, his eyes dark with need. “Whatever you want.”

You haven’t had the chance to watch Tomura come yet, and you get a chance as you finger him to an orgasm. He takes your breath away, your mortal – so pretty, so vulnerable, so loud and expressive and lost in it that you can’t help but stroke his cock with your free hand while you work him up a second time. In an ordinary seduction, with an ordinary target, now is when you’d stop. Now, when all he can do is beg for you, now when he’d give you anything to keep going; right now is when you’d ask for his soul in exchange. You know how to phrase it so that the mortals never guess what they’re truly giving up. It would be easy.

And it’s not what you want. There aren’t words for how much you don’t want that. Not when you’ve earned your mortal’s trust, not when he’s certain enough that you’ll give him what he wants that he doesn’t feel shame in begging for it. You know Tomura’s close when he starts squirming away from your fingers rather than clenching down on them. “Ride me,” he pants. “Ride my cock.”

Demon magic cleans your hands, and you slip down onto his cock with only a little strain. “You’re perfect,” you tell him as he stares helplessly up at you. “We fit so well –”

Tomura’s hips jerk upwards beneath you, making you gasp. “If we fit so well, come on my cock,” he pants. He’s been yanking at the restraints. You made them soft, but his wrists are chafed. “I need you to. I can’t – fuck, I need you –”

You’ve never needed a mortal before. You’ve never needed anyone before, but you need him, enough that doing what he asks doesn’t feel far-fetched at all. You ride him slowly, finding an angle that suits you, realizing how sore you are in the same moment. It’s been a hard night’s work. Usually mortals can’t keep up with you, and usually it feels like work. Tomura’s fingers curl and uncurl uselessly as he fights the restraints, and you reach up to grasp them, to hold them steady. And that’s when you notice it – the same shadow marking around his fourth finger as around yours.

Where did that come from? What is that? The restraints you conjured vanish in the space of a single heartbeat, and Tomura’s hands clamp down on your hips, guiding you as he thrusts upwards. His hair is glued to his forehead with sweat, to his chest and his shoulders and the sides of his neck, and the same heat writhes beneath your own skin as Tomura takes control over your pace. His thrusts are unsteady, but every time, he finds the angle you need him to.

You can’t breathe. You can barely think. Everything narrows down to heat and pressure and friction and pleasure and agony, because your body’s wrung out and still needs more, because Tomura’s falling apart beneath you and pressing his thumb over your clit to take you down with him. Pleasure explodes through you, collapsing you on top of Tomura. His grip on you barely loosens, even as your efforts to hold onto anything fall away. Anything includes your human guise.

Damn it. You untangle yourself from Tomura as quickly as possible, only to tuck yourself in against his side, uncomfortably relieved when he holds you tight. If you keep your tail under control and he doesn’t get a good look at you, he’ll never know what you really were. He’ll know something’s up, though. When he wakes up and finds that you’ve vanished out of this world, leaving evidence only in the chafe-marks around his wrists and the taste of you still on his tongue, he’ll know there was something strange about you. And he’ll have a lot of questions when you come back.

And you will come back. That’s the only thing that makes the knowledge that you’re mere moments from being drawn back to Hell bearable. Most of the time you can’t wait to leave your targets, whether you’ve collected their souls or not. This time, though – “I don’t want to leave yet.”

But you weren’t the only one speaking. Tomura said the same thing, on the off-beats as you spoke. “You’re leaving?” you ask. “This is your house. Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” Tomura retorts. His grip on you tightens further – tight enough to bruise, if you were human or mortal. “What –”

He sits up suddenly, pulling you with him. Hell is pulling you back, but not quickly enough. Tomura looks at you, sees you – sees your horns, sees your tail, which is lashing anxiously in spite of your efforts to calm yourself. But you see him, too. You see the ram’s horns curling from beneath his white hair, the sharpness of his teeth. He’s not trying to control his tail at all. It wraps around your leg tightly. “You’re a demon.”

“So are you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you know?” You try to separate yourself from him. Tomura should be letting go of you, should be shoving you away, but he’s still holding on, tighter every time you try to pull away. “Let go. If they find out –”

The world tears open around the two of you, well before you can pull away, and Hell pulls you back in at warp speed.

You don’t end up back in the spot you dematerialized from, and you doubt Tomura does, either. The two of you crash down on a rocky plateau, just on the outskirts of one of the cities, a desolate place no one comes to unless they’ve been cast out to wander amongst the souls of the dead. Why are you here? Is it because you came back together? Maybe that’s why – it couldn’t return you to your separate summoning locations when you’re so close together, so it split the difference and dropped you off here. Maybe there’s still time for you to hide this.

“Wow,” a familiar voice announces from somewhere behind you, and your heart sinks, “have the two of you fucked up.”

Tomura swears under his breath. “Is that your boss?”

Your boss, or your mother – nobody’s clear on which. Nemuri is picking her way through the jagged stones towards you, a vicious smirk on her face. “I can explain,” you start. “It’s not –”

“I tricked her,” Tomura interrupts. You stare at him in horror. “It was me. Not her.”

“No,” you snap. “I seduced him. I’m the one who –”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Nemuri’s smirk broadens, showing her fangs. “You’re so pathetically incompetent that –”

“Now, now, Nem. Let’s not let my guy off the hook here.” The new voice, loud and rich and full of almost-insane laughter, can only belong to another elder demon. Like Nemuri, he’s wearing a vicious smirk. “Remember, my guy’s the one who got rejected by his summoner and packed it in for the evening. At least yours gave it a second shot.”

“That’s my boss,” Tomura mumbles. “Fuck.”

“In fact,” Tomura’s boss continues, “one could argue that your girl’s off the hook. She did her job. It’s not her fault that my guy’s aura of misery was so strong that it made him actually look human. Or that he was so desperate to be wanted by somebody that he forgot to check whether she was actually a demon trying to steal his soul.”

Tomura’s shoulders hunch, and a surge of anger runs through you. “When you put it that way, Hizashi, it does sound like my nymphet is off the hook,” Nemuri says. “But when your pathetic little imp tried to take the fall for her, she wouldn’t let him. It seems they’re terrible at everything demonic, lying included. They’re telling the truth.”

“They really did seduce each other,” Hizashi muses. “That’s cringe.”

“More importantly, it’s against the rules.” Nemuri’s standing over you. Hizashi joins her, and the two of them leer down at you and Tomura, practically licking their lips. “Whatever shall we do with them?”

There aren’t many punishments that can affect demons – you’re basically gluttons for it. Then again, there aren’t many rules for demons to break. “I’m not sure,” Hizashi says. “Offer them up to Heaven for punishment? Banish them to the mortal world until the trumpets sound? Throw them out to wander with the restless dead forevermore?”

You might not love your job, but you have your sisters. If you’re cast out, you’ll never see them again. The only thing worse would be getting thrown to Heaven as an offering, one of Hell’s not-infrequent tithes to keep the peace. Tomura’s tail wraps around your waist, and you cover his left hand with your right as you wait for your fates to be decided. The thought crosses your mind, pointlessly, that you won’t spend an eternity of exile entirely alone. You’ve dragged someone else down with you, which might be the most demonic thing you’ve ever done in your life.

“Now that I think about it,” Nemuri says, her smirk broadening still further, “I don’t think we need to punish them – not when they’ve punished themselves so effectively.”

“What does that mean?” Tomura snaps. Hizashi is guffawing, his voice echoing off the jagged rocks. “Don’t laugh. What does that mean?”

“What does it mean, you gloomy brat?” Hizashi wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Take a look at your hands, both of you.”

You let go of Tomura’s and lift your own. Your right hand is clear, but your left – you remember noticing the shadow around your fourth finger, feeling the faint spark as it darkened a little further. It’s not a shadow anymore. Instead it’s a thin golden shackle, encircling your finger below your knuckle. No, not a shackle. A ring.

It won’t come off. You yank on it, try to dig your nails beneath it, but it won’t come off. Next to you, Tomura’s doing the same, cursing fluently, and Hizashi and Nemuri are laughing at you both, leaning on each other to stay upright. “It’s the first rule we teach you all when you’re spawned. No fucking your own kind, and this is why!” Hizashi is laughing almost too hard to speak, while you try to chew your ring off and Tomura breaks his own finger trying to remove his. “Thanks to your little tryst, the two of you are bound forever in unholy matrimony!”

“My congratulations to the happy couple,” Nemuri says. “The two of you are never going to live this down. You’ll be the laughingstocks of Hell. You’re going to beg us to banish you!”

“And we won’t,” Hizashi says. “I can’t think of a better object lesson than the two of you. We send you to the mortal realm to collect souls, and not only did you end up fucking each other, you didn’t commit a single demonic act!”

“I cursed somebody,” you protest.

“Me too,” Tomura says. “The mortal who –”

You remember what Tomura said about the mortal who rejected you: May his dick shrivel up and fall off. “You cursed the same mortal,” Nemuri says. She pauses a moment. “I will admit, it’s a fairly creative curse. The imp’s little add-on will make a nice insult to the injury.”

You’re better at cursing mortals than you are at seducing them, but you can’t imagine Tomura’s bad at it. Not with the way he worked you over. You duck your head to hide the heat coming up in your face. “Well, we’ll leave the two of you to enjoy your honeymoon,” Hizashi says. He shrugs off the ornate robe he’s wearing and drops it on the ground in front of you, revealing body chains, nipple piercings, and nothing else. “Wear this on your way back into the city. Maintain a little dignity.”

“Here, imp. Just for you.” Nemuri drops her robe over Tomura’s head, and he shoves it off into the dust. “Everyone’s going to know about your little bout of lovemaking, but I imagine you’d prefer if they didn’t know exactly how you’ve been chewing on each other.”

The two of them stroll back towards the city, arm in arm, still laughing. It’s a long time before their laughter fades, and then you and Tomura are alone on the outskirts. The wind, blowing hot a moment before, changes direction, growing cold and carrying sharp shards of ice. You put on Hizashi’s robe, then turn towards Tomura. He’s already shivering, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, Nemuri’s robe discarded in front of him. You pick it up and settle it back around his shoulders, shifting his hair aside so it won’t get caught beneath the collar – and then you realize what you’re doing. You freeze. “Sorry.”

Tomura shrugs, but the robe stays on. “You’re better at this than your boss says you are,” he says without looking at you. “I believed you.”

“I’m worse than she says I am,” you say. “I wasn’t lying.”

Tomura looks up at that, and you look away, your eyes stinging in the freezing wind. You never lied to Tomura, not from the moment you approached him. This would be so much less embarrassing if you had. If you’d listened to any of the moments where you sensed that it was going a little too well, that it felt a little too good. If you’d kept your distance instead of falling under his spell as quickly and easily as he fell under yours. “Your boss was talking out of his ass. Your whole thing worked really well on me.”

“Yeah. Except it wasn’t a thing.” Tomura’s tail wraps loosely around your wrist. “Mutual ruination. You were right.”

He’s got your right wrist. You study your left hand with its ring, and Tomura lifts his alongside yours. His ring looks the same as yours, although he’s dislocated his fourth finger in addition to having broken it. “Want me to fix that?”

“Demon magic doesn’t fix things.”

“It’s not supposed to marry people, either.” You’re not expecting that argument to work, but Tomura lets you capture his hand anyway. You relocate it manually, then try to work some magic over it. All your magic serves to make a seduction easier, so it shouldn’t be hard to twist it into something you can use for the sake of your – “I think it worked. How do you feel?”

“Like I fucked up,” Tomura says. Fair enough. “And I’m not sorry.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Tomura’s hands slip inside your stolen robe, settling into the same place he was holding on as you rode him. “This isn’t that weird. Mortals do it all the time.”

“Except mortals who get married in Vegas can get divorced,” you point out. Somebody has to play angel’s advocate here, even if you’re already unfolding yourself from seated so you can get into his lap. “We didn’t even make any vows.”

“You did,” Tomura says. “I heard you say it.”

You’re mine. Is that really all it took? It makes a certain kind of sense, when you force yourself to look at it honestly. Mortals almost never doom themselves consciously. It’s always a moment of weakness, a split-second lapse, an instant where desire rules over reason. “Then you can break us up. Since I’m the only one who vowed anything.”

“No way.” Tomura’s lips brush the side of your neck, making your nerves twinge. “I agreed.”

You set your hands on his shoulders and push him backwards, and he goes willingly. The way he’s looking up at you counts as a sin all on its own – crimson eyes half-lidded, pupils already dilating, his cheekbones already dusted with pink. “Did you figure out what you want yet?”

“I have some ideas,” you say. You collect his hands from your waist and pin them on either side of his head, leaning down for a long, slow kiss. “But I’ll start with you.”

[strwbrychffoncke]

"make it last forever ,never let it go,, 1.6k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: xavier could spend eternity in these little nights spent with you contains: fluff! lnds xavier x mc!reader (no prns used) ,night time date ,snack run ,xavier knows a place ,silly conversation ,lots of bantering ,kissing ,cuddling ,u steal from xav ,he lays on you ,mention to his lore if u squint ,i think thats it tldr cute late night date w xavi note: (mostly edited!) finally some calm fluff after the smut fest

-

late night snack runs weren't unusual for you anymore.

after the countless times of being invited out by xavier, the man always knowing when you were awake somehow (or maybe it was just that much of a bad habit at this point?) and you could never pass up the opportunity, no matter how many sites claimed eating late was bad for you.

tonight was a little different, however. in the early evening, xavier invited you to the arcade, wanting to try out a two-player game with you, and you quickly agreed, having nothing else planned for the evening.

after spending more time than you thought you would at the arcade, you were the one who suggested going for a snack run (mostly to extend the time you had with the hunter) and while momentarily taken aback, he quickly nodded, commenting about how he did "happen to be running low on a few of his favorites thanks to a certain someone."

(at the not-so-subtle jab, you only laughed, nudging him with your arm as you claimed it couldn't have been you, and that its thanks to you both having similar tastes).

after raiding the convenience store, you both shared the sentiment of not wishing to simply return home. thats when xavier suggested taking you to a "secret hangout spot" of his that happened to be nearby with a lovely view of watching the stars.

you playfully narrowed your eyes, questioning him about his secret spot of his. he'd only said "wait till we get there," do your curious inquiries, intertwining his free hand with yours as he led you there.

the night was calm, soft breeze flowing past you both moving in sync, the walk shrouded in comfortable silence as your star and the light from the moon guided you both to a clear field, flowers blooming sporadically around the area. he led you to the center before letting you sit first, taking a seat after.

as you sifted through your bags for your snacks, conversation began to flow again.

"i still can't believe you beat me earlier," you pout, pulling out a bag of chips from your bag.

"after you were so confident, i kind of felt bad."

"you're just way too good at video games!"

"but you're good at card games. i almost never win kitty cards against you."

a little grin and giggle.

"what can i say? the kitties just love me~"

"or maybe its because a certain hunter likes to.. mess around with my kitties when im caught off guard," he shoots a pointed, teasing look your way.

you gasp dramatically, hand coming up to cover your heart.

"its called a strategy, my dear xavier. and besides, what else am i supposed to do when you doze off playing cards?"

you quickly boop his nose, retracting your hand to open the chip bag.

"though if you're bored, i could always ask someone else to—"

"no!"

your head snaps up from the bag in your hands to your lover. a sheepish expression quickly takes over his features as he looks down, popping the tab of his soda to open it.

"i mean... ill play with you whenever, even when im tired. so, don't ask anyone else."

even though his gaze is still averted, you smile fondly at him.

"sure, i only have one partner, right?"

he peeks up at you, a small satisfied grin crawling up his lips as he nods at your words.

"right. i'm your one and only partner. you can count on me for anything."

a small silence envelops the space as you pop a few chips into your mouth, feeling the comfortable breeze surrounding you both. there's a rustling from xavier's bag as he pulls out his own snack before speaking up again.

"but what you said before.. its not difficult; to love you, i mean."

his fond gaze is on you as he pops his own piece of his snack into his mouth. you tilt your head at him, smiling.

"i feel the same about you, but it seems the kitties feel differently."

you empty your hands, quickly cleaning your hands with a napkin before suddenly cupping his face in your hands, rubbing his cheeks in circles. caught off guard, his eyes are wide as they stare back into yours.

"but why? isnt this face to die for? and you were a kitty for awhile, too!"

a blush colors his cheeks as he huffs out a breath through his nose. he averts his gaze from yours, his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop your movements, but he lets your touch linger.

your eyes drift to the top of his head.

"i really do miss your kitty ears sometimes," you sigh, hands rubbing through his soft tresses.

a small giggle escapes him as his eyes slowly drift back to your pleased expression as you play with his locks.

"will you take responsibility for messing up my hair?"

"no matter how much i mess with it, it still looks fine. xavier, spill your secrets!"

you squish one cheek between your thumb and index finger while your other hand continues sifting through the soft silver.

"ow.. theres no secret. i just use regular shampoo and conditioner from the local convenience store..."

"then its natural?" you lean closer, both hands holding his face again as you inspect him closely. he nods, gaze locked with yours.

"perfect skin and perfect hair... theres no way someone's this lucky. were you blessed when you were born or something?"

a hearty laugh reverberates through his chest this time, hands coming up to cover yours and nuzzling into your touch.

"even if thats true, if we're talking about 'luck...'"

his eyes peer into yours, swirling with complete and utter fondness.

"the luckiest thing thats happened to me is meeting you," he whispers.

'again,' he wants to add, but stops himself.

even without this one little word, your eyes glimmer with joy, reflecting the stars from the sky back to him, and thats enough for him.

to be with you like this, spending his time with you, being held and being able to hold you in return—

that was enough for him.

"xavier shen, you are the best thing that's happened to me: a shining star that i can call my very own."

his ears tinge a dark red, smile bright as the lights twinkling in the sky and heart full, beat quickening in his chest.

"this star has and always will be yours."

one of his hands cups your cheek as he leans forward, eyes fluttering as he tilts his head to capture your lips in a loving kiss.

you pull back for a moment to look at him once again before peppering his face with the same affections.

he giggles again but lets you do as you please, always satisfied to grant you whatever you desire.

while he's distracted, your eyes drop down to his open snack bag sitting beside him. a mischievous idea crosses your mind and before you can think twice, you decide to go for it.

you lean forward, capturing his lips in a soft kiss again. he quickly melts into it, hands holding your sides. while he's distracted, you sneak a hand into his bag and grab the first thing your hand touches— a lollipop— and pull it back, hiding it in your sleeve before breaking the kiss and pulling back.

you sit back, satisfied at getting away with stealing when xavier pulls you back towards him, causing you to fall over his lap.

"..!?"

he raises an eyebrow, shooting you a knowing look.

"it seems like someone was feeling a little naughty there," he muses, grabbing your wrists again.

you gasp, watching as he slips two fingers into your sleeve, pulling the lollipop from it.

"and whats this?"

"a lollipop?"

he shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips before being replaced by a faux serious one.

"shouldn't a hunter know better than anyone that stealing is wrong?"

"didn't you give an inspection before gathering evidence that i stole? now whos in the wrong?"

"you only need to gather evidence if you need to prove something, but i already knew it was you."

"but how??!"

he points at you using the lollipop.

"i heard the bag rustle beside me."

"you..!"

he giggles, amused at your expression.

"you thought you could get away, but you need to be stealthier."

"teach me, then!"

he hums in thought.

"alright," he nods.

"but not before a punishment is set in place. you did steal, after all."

"what kind of punishment?"

he hums again, feigning an expression of being deep in thought before he adjusts your positions to be half-laying down, slumping his weight against you.

"you get to act as my pillow."

"is this really a punishment?" you muse, hands automatically brushing through his silver tresses once again.

"maybe not, but..."

he nuzzles close to your heart, listening to the steady thump of it against his ear.

"i plan to sleep here tonight."

"what?? no way, i can't carry you back to your apartment like this!"

"hmm, you should have thought about that," he teases.

"so this is what happens when you steal..."

xavier's laugh rings through your ears, up into the open area surrounding just the two of you and up to the stars, watching the resting lovers continue in idle conversation as they gaze towards the sky.

despite everything the star on land had gone through to get here, he would do it all again in a heartbeat, unwilling to have it any other way, for here, with you, was where he belonged.

-

a/n: a late night date staring up at the stars sigh what a dream

-

[nightscythe]

the primarchs as dom/sub

sorry if this has been done before, I just couldn't get it out of my head. based this on my more dark view of the lore/universe and how I write them. there is a secret third (sixth?) option, vanilla.

nsfw, 18+ below the cut. mostly pre-heresy

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the lion: dom. top of the charts. in his everyone is there to serve him, and you are no different. into all that humiliation and degradation, thoroughly enjoys the way you writhe under him and beg him so desperately. he'll hold your face towards him and ask you if you really deserve him in that way. makes you beg until you're crying. he just looks at you lovingly and finally gives you what you want, not before he makes it agonisingly slow for you. will still please you just to prove a point and he's surprisingly good at it, especially with his huge hands and his tongue. loves you deep down, but truly believes its his place to be above you and telling you what to do. gets you to clean him up afterwards and maybe lets you lay with him.

fulgrim: switch. it's too easy to say he's into everything, but I do believe he would try everything at least once, and is happy to indulge anything he likes. sometimes that's putting a collar on you and admiring his view as he tells you step by step what you'll be doing next. sometimes it's being held down to the bed with the softest of ribbons as you pour hot wax over his chest. he wants to explore what there is to offer and if you're open to it, so is he. so that does mean odd things as well, unexpected little kinks and treats along the way. admires the marks left on both your skin and his, as long as its not permanent.

perturabo: soft dom. doesn't like giving up his control to you, but doesn't reach the hard limits of dominating you fully. his touch is soft and his words and commanding, but only because he is usually like that. probably prefers to not treat you like another one of his men behind closed doors... but still doesn't want you telling him what to do. most probably tried it once and hated it (secretly didn't mind it but he struggles with actually acting submissive, as much as he wanted to be babied some more). there's not many kind words, just pulling your hair where he wants you, grunting as a return of satisfaction, pushing your face into the mattress but giving you enough room to breathe. its a personality thing, really.

the khan: soft dom. he would explore with you, try many things to understand what they are and how they feel, but ultimately he wants to take care of you. the natural result of that is someone who's stroking your cheek and hushing away the tears as you choke on his cock for the seventh minute straight. calls you his baby (or like, something equivalent) as he watches you use him to get yourself off, whimpering and moaning his name, something which genuinely warms him. can make any day better for you, loves to whisper to you how much he cares for you, loves to make you forget anything bad happened with those hands and fingers of his. tucks you in afterwards, protects you with his whole being. aww.

leman: vanilla. my most controversial take. my feeling is he craves connection and someone who understands him, and he's a passionate lover. that isn't to say he wouldn't try being dominant or submissive (probably the latter less so) but his preference is vanilla. something pure filled with emotions. he's so caught up in the moment that he doesn't have time to stop and thinking about telling you to what to do and how to do it. he just goes with whatever happens. maybe externally he puts on a gruff and domineering persona but actually, that doesn't matter to him. he just wants to see you happy and whatever that takes he will do - so he'd happily try any of the kink stuff you wanted. just don't expect him to want to be called daddy/master/etc or submit to you.

dorn: switch. thought about him being vanilla but I don't think he would be. its an interesting world to explore. he's perceptive to whatever you need, but understands that one person has to take a submissive role, and one person a dominant role. maybe that goes to extremes sometimes and he's telling you to call him sir, or he's presenting himself to you tied up (because you may have enjoyed that), but mostly its just the soft things. likes it either way and lets you take control most of the time. only thing he's precious about is giving head, he will always do that in the most submissive way, like he's feasting on nectar from the gods, blessed with each move of his tongue. an interesting experience, to say the least.

curze: soft dom. thinks it is his place to be in control but isn't precious about it like some of his brothers. not as gentle or as caring as he could be during sex but he certainly takes the lead and has something to show about it. wraps his fingers around your neck, holds your hands down against the bed so you can't move, leaves bite after bite over your neck and chest until you're covered in a reminder that you are his. in the same vein, quite possessive, and his more dominant tendencies seem to come out of that is threatened. would probably overstimulate you to let out his frustrations and remind you again that you are his. greedy is the word. wants all of you, to himself, forever and ever. kinks is a different story, but is holding your head underwater until you cum a really dominant thing..?

sanguinius: sub. sorry but like, the first ever thing I thought about with him was calling him a good boy. a very soft lover in general, he lets you take control and thrives off being told how well he is doing, that he's the one who makes you feel this good. isn't afraid to whimper for you, lay down all his strength just so you can tie his pretty arms to the frame of a bed and stroke him over and over again until he begs for it. endures it all just so he can see you ride him. lets you push him around test him. oh, he loves it when you tease him. cockwarming. rubbing him through his clothes. whispering to him that he needs to wait, but doing everything in your power to make him cum there and then? would do absolutely anything for you.

ferrus: soft dom. a bit vanilla at first, with actions and feelings not being his strongest selling point. a man of practicalities seeks to understand everything about you and learn your interests. but of course strength and perfection is key to him. everything he does is dominant. it starts with seeking you out, pushing you against the wall, lips ghosting your ear as you feel how much he needs you. the smirk when he feels how wet you are from just... the thought of him. every movement is precise, and equally intense. you feel all of him, and he makes sure you understand that he is in control here. making up with him in this manner may result in more dominant, hot tempered moments, telling you exactly what he's going to do, and you're going to like.

angron: vanilla. maybe a bit controversial as well. was thinking soft dom but then changed my mind, he's just naturally imposing and domineering but not dominant. when he had the capability to understand love and relationships in that way, I feel it was very personal to him. he wanted to feel the truth, not arbitrary words of praise or command. so therefore it does not steer in a particularly dominant or submission direction for either of you, it's a moment of you being truly together. probably the least kinky as well imo. as time progresses it becomes more feral, more of an untamed desire, which is still unmatched to either side. personality wise he is probably more dominant though so take that as you will.

guilliman: soft sub. but like close to vanilla. he doesn't need to be told what to do or pushed around, but just a little guidance. someone to kneel beside him, stroke him slowly, maybe play around with him to test his limits, really learn to understand him. very eager to please you especially when he's between your legs looking up at you with his eyes wet and eyes devious. just tell him he did well, you enjoyed it. makes him come back for more. almost a bit timid, afraid he may hurt you in some way, shy as well. of course by the time he is resurrected he's just baby boy™ but also a regent so the second he has some time away from, you know, being the regent, he just wants forget everything else going on and get lost in you.

mortarion: dom. how could he be anything else? at first its just letting out his frustrations but then it's something more. primal. there's no maybes with him, no suggestions. he tells you what to do and you do it. sometimes he would be a bit softer, but its rare and usually when he's tired or his mind is elsewhere. he's in control of everything, he tells you when you can cum, he tells you when you can move, and god forbid you don't listen to him. if he hasn't given you permission well... its a week of edging and desperation for you. likes seeing you helpless before him. but when it's all finished and his needs are dealt with, he's got his arms around you and he won't let go. a weird way of registering his feelings.

magnus: switch. thought about this one too long. sometimes he'd love to be cared for, have his hair stroked as you praise him. other times, he's got you up against a wall and using all that size to his advantage. kind of like exploring what their is to offer, but his preferences do not lean towards dom or sub individually, maybe just a very small amount towards sub because he feels utterly useless without being told just how well he is doing. doesn't mean he's not smug about it when he finds you alone thinking about it. that's when his more dominant side comes out. if we are talking about demon form though it's definitely dom all the time.

horus: soft dom. it's not that he can't be fully dominant. he can. but why do it when he can be taken care of with soft kisses and making you happy too? hence the soft bit. likes to watch with his hand in your hair as you suck him off. tells you to take a little more of him and softly encourages you, never forces you. it's like a subtle hint, one you will get, or he'll just add a touch more dominance for show. discovers the daddy kink by accident and is fascinated with it. show daddy what a good girl you've been. holds your hands down as he's behind you. praises you gently and rewards you for small things during the day. probably loves going down on you as well as a reward for bigger things. but he'd never take it too far, he just enjoys the simpler things.

lorgar: sub. so eager to please. wants to be rewarded. he'd be on his knees for days if you'd let him, begging, wanting a small taste. even just your scent makes him hard. would wait for your command to do anything - touch himself, touch you, etcetc. whines and whimpers until you finally let him cum each time. at first its seems like he hates it but he does very much like it. any time you don't tell him what to do he looks lost and needs your guidance. based on this he would always let you be on top and especially likes it when he can look at you and worship you. every part of your body is divine to him. any time you're apart he's thinking of you and wondering when he will next get to hear your voice command him around. whipped.

vulkan: soft dom. super protective of you and isn't afraid to show it. has you take about your day as he goes down on you. tells you not to stop and looks to you curiously when you can't get your words out straight. is always so gentle though he could never reach the level of dominance like some of his brothers, its barely even soft dom - it's gentle, passionate, but every single one of his movements means something. tells you how well you are doing as you take his whole length and holds you close. likes hearing every sound you make and still asks permission to do everything, uttering things like may I? as his lips and tongue finds your body. really cautious of hurting you.

corax: dom. nothing soft about him. maybe to everyone else he looks like he would not value anything physical, but really, he's an absolute...menace? has you over his knee letting out his frustrations one spank at a time. likes it when you cry his name. rubs you through your clothes and laughs when you're an overstimulated mess on the floor. master/slave dynamic at some points. and it feels like it goes on and on for hours with him, he plays out fantasies in his head, has you on your knees then in his lap making you watch in the mirror as you cry and beg. but afterwards he would clean you up every time and fall asleep with you between his arms because he's quietly, and a lot less obviously, devoted to you too.

alpharius: soft sub. though he could be anything. i like to think one twin is soft sub and one is soft dom, which would technically make the single entity a switch. is it too late to change? considering I see him as a bit of a yandere it may be a bit of a surprise, but his darker side is outside the bedroom. inside, he is sweet and innocent, he's begging for praise and to be held. has you straddling his lap with your fingers in his mouth making him wait patiently for you to be ready to actually please him. handsy, touches you everywhere, barely contains himself around you. you'd get suspicious when he tells you to stop, throws you onto the mattress and takes you from behind... but hey, they don't know what each other are like. daydreams about you though. has a little notebook with hearts around your name but no one can see it.

˗ˏˋ 𓅰 ˎˊ˗

I know not everyone will agree but I hope I at least made you think!!

[drdemonprince]

this feels like a silly question but I know you have the answer. is hypnotism real? or is hypno kink just another form of roleplaying? Or something in between?

the trance states some people reach under hypnosis are undeniably a real thing! in fact, people enter into trance-like states in everyday life all the time! when you're zoning out on the highway, particularly engrossed in a book or movie, wrapped up in a fantasy, or even in a more receptive state while listening to a particularly compelling speaker or preacher, you are entering into a trance state! hypnosis is just one of the means by which a person can enter into this altered state of consciousness. people also reach trance by meditating, praying, engaging in repetitive tasks, and all kinds of other ways. trance is also highly similar to subspace, or even Domspace really, heightened mental states that people enter into after engaging in a kinky role under the right conditions.

research shows that when a person enters into a trance they are generally more vividly imaginative, receptive, and suggestible, and they may also be less inhibited and more able to access feelings and thoughts they are normally uncomfortable with. this can make it both a really meaningful state to enter into, and a potentially risky one to play with or have exploited by another person.

in practice, some people with hypnosis kinks only roleplay the activity (though because of the nature of how trance works, sometimes pretending to be in a trance can just get you into a trance!). other people are only interested in fictional depictions of hypnotic states in animated GIFs or stories or things like that. but a great many of us in the hypnosis fetish community do engage in actual hypnosis that is informed by what research is available on the matter, and work on developing new techniques for helping people achieve hypnotic states and experience particular phenomena while under hypnosis - for example hypnotic amnesia, hallucinations, hands-free orgasms, and any number of other conditioned responses.

for the average novice getting into the kink, the most you're going to experience at first is a feeling of relaxation and maybe some cute party tricks, or maybe a little extra intensity when taking on a different headspace, such as pup space or bimbofication. you might feel a little bit more at ease, silly, and able to take in suggestions and run with them. with practice and a seasoned hypnotist and hypnotic subject though, you can get into the realm of some pretty dramatic personality change and preference change kind of stuff. I've had entire whole new kinks inserted into me by hypnotists before that have stuck around for years. I didn't used to be until latex for example. I also learned how to deep throat exclusively from listening to hypnotic files and all the reviews indicate I'm damn good at it (The limitations of my small mouth not withstanding). hypnosis got me to learn to suppress my gag reflex really easily, and it's great for training physical relaxation and responses like these.

I've also had like breaks from reality from being in trance states for days or weeks at a time with hypnotic mantras running in the back of my brain telling me that I'm a robot I'm not a person and stuff, and known people who have experienced psychotic breaks from pushing the throttle on certain forms of hypnotic play too heavily when they were already vulnerable to that kind of thing, so you can reach really high highs and low lows with this stuff. That's if you have the right mindset and dedication to it, it's not magic. but it is a lot like being in a cult, or being under another person's influence in some other way. humans are far more susceptible to influence than they realize sometimes.

[amethystarachnid]

I didn’t see a list of characters you wouldn’t write for so I wanted to request a fic with Peter quill or Johnny storm, Ik it’s kinda random lol but it’s just something different since I haven’t seen them much.

ONLY PHYSICAL

⤷ JOHNNY STORM

ᯓ★ Pairing: Johnny Storm x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, spicy, some drama but also some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Summary: you hate Johnny Storm, hate his smirk and his jokes, that's what you keep telling yourself. But one night, as you're both drunk, you end up sleeping together...Which then leads to a particular arrangement between you two...What will happen after that?

ᯓ★ Word count: 9.3k

ᯓ★ TW(s): spicy, lots of spicy scenes but nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ Omg, Johnny my love, one of the first marvel character I loved <3 Also, since the ask didn't specify anything I wrote it using my ideas and it's been too long since I saw the fantastic 4 so some things may be inaccurate or wrong, sorry <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It’s almost laughable how much you can’t stand Johnny Storm.

From the moment you join the team—a reluctant addition after Reed practically begs for your expertise in energy manipulation—Johnny makes it his mission to get under your skin. And he succeeds. Infuriatingly so. He doesn’t even try to hide it, flashing his smirk every time he catches you glaring at him, tossing out sarcastic remarks with the ease of someone who knows just how attractive he is.

“You know,” he drawls one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of the lab where you’re trying to finish a recalibration of Sue’s invisibility suit, “I think I finally figured it out.”

You don’t bother looking up, tightening the screw on the prototype as you mutter, “I don’t have time for this, Storm.”

“No, no, hear me out,” he insists, stepping inside without invitation. His voice drips with mock seriousness, the kind that instantly makes your shoulders tense. “You’re into me.”

You actually laugh at that, short and sharp, finally turning to face him. He’s grinning like he’s just said the most brilliant thing in the world, his white teeth practically gleaming. His blond hair is tousled in a way that you suspect takes effort to look effortless, and he’s wearing that fitted T-shirt that always seems to cling a little too perfectly to his chest.

“In your dreams,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies without missing a beat, his smirk deepening. “But don’t worry, you make frequent appearances. Very flattering ones, I might add.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t pop out of your skull. “How do you even fit through doorways with an ego that big?”

“I manage,” he says with a wink, strolling closer to your workstation. You step in front of it, blocking his access, but he doesn’t stop, leaning in just enough to invade your space. His cologne is annoyingly pleasant, a mix of something warm and spicy that makes your nose betray you by liking it. “Come on, you’re telling me you don’t feel this… tension?”

“The only tension I feel is homicidal,” you deadpan.

“Hot,” he says, as if that’s a compliment, tilting his head to look at you like he’s assessing just how much he can push you before you snap. It’s a game to him, and you hate how good he is at it.

“Do you actually have a reason for being here,” you ask, “or are you just here to annoy me?”

“Who says it can’t be both?” He leans back against the counter, resting his elbows on it as he watches you with infuriatingly amused eyes. “But if you must know, Reed wants to see us in the conference room. Something about a mission briefing.”

“And he sent you to get me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Was no one else available?”

“Oh, he sent Ben first,” Johnny says, grinning. “But I told him I’d handle it. Figured you’d appreciate the company.”

“Right,” you mutter, grabbing your tools and tossing them into your kit. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you brush past him, he falls into step beside you, his presence like an annoying shadow that won’t go away. The elevator ride to the conference room is painfully silent, though you can feel him watching you the entire time. It takes every ounce of willpower not to snap at him, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he irritates you.

When the doors open, you stride out ahead of him, eager to put some distance between you. But Johnny, being Johnny, catches up effortlessly, his long strides matching yours.

“You know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “I think this whole ‘hating me’ thing is just a cover.”

“For what?” you ask, not bothering to hide the exasperation in your tone.

“For how badly you want me,” he replies, his grin practically criminal. “It’s okay. You don’t have to fight it.”

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him with a glare that could cut through steel. He stops too, clearly relishing the reaction, his hands shoved casually into his pockets.

“Johnny,” you say, your voice icy, “if I wanted you, you’d know it. Because I’d be dead. From shame.”

For a split second, there’s a flicker of something in his expression—surprise, maybe—but then it’s gone, replaced by that insufferable grin again. “Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

“I don’t,” you snap, turning on your heel and storming into the conference room.

Of course, Johnny follows, but he doesn’t say anything more. Not until you’re all seated around the table, Reed diving into a detailed explanation of the energy anomalies that have been popping up in the city. You’re trying to focus, taking notes on your tablet, but you can feel Johnny’s gaze on you again. It’s like a physical weight, burning against your skin, and it takes everything in you not to whip around and tell him to knock it off.

When the meeting finally ends, you practically bolt for the door, but Johnny catches up to you again, falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey,” he says, his tone softer now, less teasing. It’s almost disarming, and you glance at him warily.

“What?”

“You okay?” he asks, and for a moment, you think he might actually be serious.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, narrowing your eyes.

He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just checking. You seemed… tense.”

You stop walking, turning to face him with a frown. “Are you messing with me again?”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but there’s something almost genuine in his expression now. “Not this time. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you point out.

“Details,” he says with a shrug, and just like that, the moment is gone, replaced by his usual smirk. “But seriously, if you ever need to blow off some steam…” He lets the sentence hang in the air, his tone laced with innuendo, and you groan.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, walking away before he can say anything else.

But as you make your way back to the lab, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Johnny than the cocky exterior he projects. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. Because if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that Johnny Storm is the last person you’d ever want to… feel anything for. Right?

The mission is straightforward in theory but chaotic in execution—par for the course when Johnny Storm is involved. A rogue tech company has been messing with unstable energy sources, creating erratic power surges across the city. Reed’s plan is for Ben and Johnny to infiltrate the lab while Sue provides cover and you, stationed at HQ with a direct link to the team, guide them through it.

“Johnny, focus,” you snap into the earpiece as he sprints ahead of Ben for the fifth time. “You’re going to trip an alarm.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice annoyingly breezy. “I’ve got this.”

You grit your teeth, fingers flying across the keyboard as you monitor their progress. “I’m not your sweetheart. And if you ‘got this,’ you wouldn’t need me to tell you that there’s a motion sensor three feet ahead of you.”

Johnny pauses just in time, glancing around until he spots the small device in the corner. “See? Teamwork makes the dream work.”

“Just shut up and follow Ben,” you mutter.

“I think she likes me,” Johnny says, undoubtedly grinning. You can hear the smirk in his tone, and it makes your blood boil.

“Johnny,” Sue’s voice cuts in, sharp and no-nonsense. “Stop antagonizing her and get back on task.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny replies, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Despite his antics, the mission goes smoothly. Ben tears through the reinforced doors like they’re made of cardboard, Johnny disables the main console with a burst of fire, and Sue uses her force fields to contain the energy surges until Reed’s stabilization device is activated. By the time they’re back at HQ, everything is under control.

“Well done, team,” Reed says, smiling as he powers down the main systems. “That could’ve been much worse.”

“Yeah, thanks to me,” Johnny says, striding into the room like he’s just saved the world single-handedly. He winks at you as he passes. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you buy me a drink as a thank-you.”

You snort. “In your dreams, Storm.”

“Every night,” he shoots back without missing a beat.

Later, when the adrenaline wears off, someone suggests a celebration. It’s unclear who, but you suspect Johnny has something to do with it because before you know it, the common area is transformed into a makeshift party space. Reed grumbles about the amount of alcohol, but Sue waves him off, promising to keep an eye on things.

You don’t intend to drink much—just enough to relax after the chaos of the day—but Johnny, of course, has other plans.

“You’re way too sober,” he declares, plopping onto the couch beside you with a beer in hand. “Come on, live a little.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, taking a small sip of your drink.

“Nope,” he says, grabbing a shot glass and pouring you something that smells like regret. “One shot. For me. As a thank-you for not letting me die out there.”

“Pretty sure I deserve the thanks,” you retort, but you take the shot anyway, if only to shut him up.

It’s a mistake. The burn of the alcohol hits you hard, and Johnny’s triumphant grin only fuels your annoyance. But then another shot follows, and another, until you lose count. Somewhere along the way, the tension between you and Johnny shifts. The teasing is still there, but it’s less biting, more playful. You’re laughing at his ridiculous jokes, and he’s leaning closer, his knee brushing against yours.

“You know,” he says, his voice lower than usual, “you’re kind of fun when you loosen up.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, though your tone lacks its usual sharpness.

The party starts to wind down, with Ben carrying a passed-out Reed to his room and Sue calling it a night. You and Johnny, however, remain on the couch, the space between you shrinking with each passing minute. The alcohol buzz makes you bold, and before you realize what you’re doing, you’re leaning toward him.

“Did you just...” He blinks at you, his expression somewhere between surprised and amused. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” you say, emboldened by the warmth in your veins. “What are you gonna do about it?”

His grin turns downright wicked. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

And then he’s kissing you. It’s sudden and electric, his lips capturing yours with a heat that leaves you breathless. You respond instinctively, your hands tangling in his hair as he deepens the kiss. It’s messy and uncoordinated at first, both of you too drunk to be graceful, but the intensity makes up for it. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer until you’re practically in his lap.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?” he mutters against your lips, his voice husky.

“Right back at you,” you reply, tugging his shirt up over his head.

Somehow, you end up in his room, the walk there a blur of stolen kisses and clumsy touches. By the time you reach the bed, you’re both breathless, your clothes scattered across the floor. Johnny is surprisingly gentle, his hands exploring your skin like he’s committing every inch of you to memory. But there’s still that cocky edge to him, the teasing smirk that never quite leaves his face.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“Because you’re insufferable,” you manage to say, though the words lack conviction when his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Mm, and yet here we are,” he replies, his grin evident against your skin.

The rest of the night is a blur of heat and intensity, a tangle of limbs and whispered confessions you’ll barely remember in the morning. All you know is that, for once, you don’t hate Johnny Storm. At least not entirely.

You wake slowly, your senses hazy and dulled by what must have been way too much alcohol last night. Your head throbs faintly, and the warm, soft cocoon of blankets threatens to lull you back into unconsciousness. For a brief moment, everything feels peaceful.

And then you realize there’s an arm draped across your stomach.

Your eyes snap open, and the first thing you notice is that you’re not in your own bed. The second thing is that someone’s pressed against you, their face nuzzled into your chest. You blink rapidly, trying to process the situation, but your sluggish brain takes its sweet time piecing things together.

The arm is muscular, the weight of it familiar in a way that makes your cheeks flush. And then there’s the golden blond hair brushing against your collarbone, the faint scent of cologne mixed with... smoke?

Oh. Oh, no.

Johnny Storm is sprawled across you, completely naked, his legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets.

Your breath hitches, and you freeze, trying not to move or make a sound. But the realization hits you like a freight train: You slept with Johnny Storm. You slept with Johnny freaking Storm.

Panic rises in your chest as fragmented memories of the night before come flooding back. The party, the drinks, the teasing banter that had somehow turned into a kiss... and then more. A lot more. Your face burns as you remember the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he’d looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You’re mortified.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Unfortunately, it’s just loud enough to wake him.

Johnny stirs against you, letting out a sleepy groan as he shifts slightly. His arm tightens around you, and he murmurs something unintelligible before finally lifting his head to look at you through half-lidded eyes. His expression is groggy at first, but then a slow, lazy grin spreads across his face as realization dawns.

“Well, good morning,” he says, his voice husky with sleep.

You stare at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I—what—why are you—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your flustered state. “You’re gonna have to use words, sweetheart.”

“Johnny!” you hiss, yanking the blanket up to your chest as if that’ll somehow fix this. “What the hell happened?!”

He chuckles, completely unbothered by the situation—or his nakedness, for that matter. Propping himself up on one elbow, he watches you with an infuriatingly smug expression. “You really don’t remember?”

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “I remember... bits,” you admit reluctantly, avoiding his gaze.

“Well, let me fill in the gaps,” he says, leaning closer. His grin is downright sinful now, and you want to smack it off his face. “You couldn’t keep your hands off me. Not that I blame you, of course. I mean, look at me.”

“Stop talking,” you snap, shoving him away and scooting to the edge of the bed. Your heart is pounding, and you feel like you might actually die of embarrassment.

Johnny doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, lying back against the pillows with his hands behind his head. The sheets pool around his hips, and you make a point of looking anywhere but at him.

“Come on,” he says, his tone teasing. “It’s not the end of the world. We had fun, didn’t we?”

“That’s not the point!” you say, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “This shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake.”

The word wipes the grin off his face, and for a moment, he looks almost... disappointed. But then he shrugs, his usual cocky demeanor slipping back into place. “If you say so.”

You scramble to find your clothes, pulling them on as quickly as possible. Your shirt is wrinkled beyond saving, and you can’t find one of your socks, but you don’t care. You just need to get out of here before anyone sees you leaving Johnny’s room.

“I think we should forget this ever happened,” you say firmly, not looking at him as you tug your shoes on.

“Forget?” he echoes, sitting up. “Really?”

“Yes,” you say, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s better for both of us if we just... pretend it didn’t happen.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, though there’s a flicker of something—disappointment? Annoyance?—in his eyes. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say, though the knot in your stomach suggests otherwise.

Grabbing your things, you head for the door, pausing only to glance back at him one last time. He’s still sitting there, the sheets draped loosely around his waist, watching you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. But you shake it off and leave, determined to put as much distance between you and this mess as possible.

The hallway is blessedly empty, and you make a beeline for your room, praying no one saw you. You don’t know how you’re going to face the team today—or Johnny, for that matter—but one thing is certain: you need a very, very strong cup of coffee.

You make it to the kitchen without running into anyone, thank God. The lingering buzz of alcohol in your system combined with the weight of what just happened makes your head feel like it’s caught in a vise. All you want is coffee—a steaming, bitter cup of something strong enough to drown out the memories of last night.

You pour yourself a mug, gripping it like a lifeline as you lean against the counter. The warmth seeps into your palms, grounding you.

But no matter how much caffeine you consume, you can’t shake the overwhelming wrongness of this morning. You slept with Johnny Storm. Johnny Storm. The most arrogant, insufferable, smug—

“Morning,” Sue’s cheerful voice interrupts your spiraling thoughts.

You nearly choke on your coffee as she walks in, looking fresh and chipper as ever. “Morning,” you manage, clearing your throat and trying not to sound guilty.

She eyes you curiously as she grabs a granola bar from the counter. “You look... tired. Did you stay up late?”

The memory of Johnny’s mouth on yours, his hands roaming your body, flashes through your mind, and you nearly drop your mug. “Uh, yeah,” you say, forcing a tight smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Sue frowns, concerned. “Are you okay? You look kind of... flushed.”

You take a long sip of coffee to buy yourself some time. “I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Just... had a lot on my mind.”

Her concern doesn’t waver, but thankfully, she doesn’t press the issue. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” she says, her tone warm.

You nod, grateful for the out. “Thanks, Sue. I’m good.”

She flashes you a smile and heads off, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again. You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping.

This is going to be hell.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. You manage to avoid Johnny, though the tension gnawing at your gut doesn’t let up. When lunchtime rolls around, you reluctantly join the team in the common area, knowing it’ll look suspicious if you keep hiding.

Johnny’s already there when you walk in, lounging on the couch like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s laughing at something Ben said, his usual cocky grin firmly in place. For a brief, insane moment, you wonder if he’s already forgotten about this morning.

But then his gaze flicks to you, and for the briefest second, something unreadable passes over his face. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual teasing smirk.

“Hey, there’s Sleeping Beauty,” he calls out, leaning back with his arms draped over the couch. “Rough night?”

Your stomach twists, but you force yourself to act normal. “No rougher than yours, I’m sure,” you reply, taking a seat as far from him as possible.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your attempt at a poker face. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I slept pretty well.”

You glare at him, your jaw tightening. You’re this close to throwing something at his stupid, smug face, but Sue and Reed are right there, oblivious to the subtext.

Johnny doesn’t push further, but you catch him stealing glances at you throughout lunch. It’s maddening—he’s acting like nothing happened, like you didn’t wake up with him draped over you this morning. And somehow, that makes it worse.

The next few days follow the same infuriating pattern. Johnny keeps up his usual antics, teasing and flirting like always, but there’s no hint that he’s holding anything over your head. If anything, he seems to be going out of his way to act normal.

You, on the other hand, are a mess. Every time he smirks at you, every time he makes a stupid comment or throws a casual wink in your direction, you’re reminded of how his lips felt on yours, how his skin felt beneath your hands.

It’s impossible to focus.

It’s especially bad when you’re around Sue. Every time she talks to you, the guilt gnaws at your insides like a living thing. She’s so kind, so thoughtful, and here you are, harboring the world’s most awkward secret about her brother.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” she says one afternoon while the two of you are reviewing some mission protocols.

You freeze, your pen hovering over the paper in front of you. “What? No, I’m fine.”

Sue gives you a skeptical look. “Really? Because you’ve been zoning out all week.”

“I’m just tired,” you say quickly, forcing a smile.

She doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go.

Johnny, of course, doesn’t make things any easier. If anything, he seems to enjoy your discomfort. He keeps teasing you in front of the others, his remarks innocuous enough that no one else picks up on them, but laced with just enough subtext to make your cheeks burn.

“Y/N, you’re blushing,” he says one day during a training session, his grin infuriatingly smug. “What, can’t handle the heat?”

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to throw something at him. “I’m fine,” you snap.

“Oh, I know you are,” he replies, his tone dripping with innuendo.

Sue smacks him on the arm. “Johnny, leave her alone.”

“What?” he says innocently, holding up his hands. “I’m just being supportive.”

Your hands curl into fists, but you force yourself to take a deep breath. If he can act like nothing happened, then so can you.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But the truth is, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up. Every time Johnny looks at you, every time he makes a stupid joke or flashes that infuriating grin, you’re reminded of what happened—and of the fact that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to forget.

It’s nearly midnight, and the quiet hum of the compound settles over you like a blanket. Everyone else is in their rooms, the lights dimmed, the hallways silent. You’re in your own room, pacing back and forth, chewing on your bottom lip as your thoughts race.

For days, the tension has been unbearable. Every teasing glance, every cocky smirk, every stolen look from Johnny is like a fire lit under your skin. And it’s not just him—your body betrays you every time you see him. It’s as if something deep and primal has been unleashed, and no matter how much you try to push it down, it refuses to be ignored.

It’s not just physical, either. Not entirely. The frustration you feel isn’t just because of the way Johnny looks at you—it’s because of the way you look at him, the way he gets to you like no one else. You’ve always clashed, your personalities like fire and ice, but somehow, that spark has turned into something neither of you seems able to control.

You’re sick of it. Sick of pretending it didn’t happen, sick of the way your pulse quickens when he’s around, sick of the way he acts like it doesn’t affect him when it so clearly does.

You can’t keep doing this.

The idea strikes you so suddenly it almost makes you stop pacing. It’s reckless, impulsive, probably insane—but it’s the only way you can see out of this mess.

You grab a hoodie, throwing it on over your pajamas, and quietly open your door. The hallways are dark, the compound silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation system. You tiptoe down the corridor, your heart pounding in your chest.

Johnny’s room is at the far end of the hall. You pause outside his door, your hand hovering over the handle.

This is a terrible idea, a voice in your head whispers.

But the tension inside you, the frustration that’s been building for days, drowns it out. You knock lightly, barely loud enough to be heard.

For a moment, there’s no response. Then you hear footsteps, and the door swings open to reveal Johnny, shirtless and disheveled, his blond hair sticking up in every direction. He blinks at you, clearly surprised.

“Y/N?” he says, his voice husky with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one else is around, before stepping into his room and shutting the door behind you.

“Uh, come on in, I guess,” he says, his brow furrowed in confusion.

You turn to face him, your stomach twisting with nerves. “I need to talk to you.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall. “This late? Couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No,” you say, your voice firmer than you expect. “I... I can’t do this anymore.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Do what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between the two of you. “The pretending. The acting like nothing happened. I can’t—I can’t focus, I can’t think straight. Every time I see you, I—” You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath.

Johnny’s watching you intently now, all traces of his usual cocky demeanor gone. “You what?” he prompts, his voice softer.

You swallow hard. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. And I know you can’t either.”

His lips part slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because you look at me like...” You trail off, shaking your head. “Like you want me just as much as I want you.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and charged. Then Johnny takes a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying...” You hesitate, your heart pounding. “We’re clearly bad at ignoring this. So maybe we stop trying.”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Are you... proposing what I think you’re proposing?”

“Yes,” you say quickly, before you lose your nerve. “But just... as a way to get this out of our systems. No strings, no complications. Just... physical.”

Johnny’s mouth quirks into a half-smile, but there’s something serious in his gaze. “You want to be frenemies with benefits?”

You nod, your cheeks burning. “Exactly.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then his lips curve into that familiar cocky grin, the one that’s equal parts infuriating and irresistible. “Well, I’m not one to say no to a good idea.”

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Good. So we’re on the same page.”

“Crystal clear,” he says, stepping closer until there’s barely an inch between you. “And, uh... are we starting this now?”

Your pulse quickens at the heat in his gaze, the way his voice drops just slightly. “Yes,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t waste any time. One second he’s standing there, and the next his lips are on yours, claiming your mouth with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as he presses you against the wall.

There’s no hesitation this time, no awkward fumbling or second-guessing. His hands slide under your hoodie, pulling it off in one smooth motion before his lips trail down your neck. You shiver, your body arching into him as his hands explore your skin with a reverence that makes your breath catch.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice low and rough.

You tug at his sweatpants, your hands roaming over the planes of his chest as he lifts you off the ground and carries you to the bed.

It’s fast and frenzied at first, the pent-up tension between you spilling over in a way that’s almost overwhelming. But then Johnny slows down, his movements deliberate and almost tender as he takes his time with you.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper as his forehead rests against yours.

“Yes,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

It’s been two weeks since that night, two weeks of sneaking around, stolen moments, and whispered promises to “keep this strictly physical.” You tell yourself it’s working, that the arrangement is simple, no-strings-attached. But Johnny Storm is nothing if not difficult—especially when it comes to playing by the rules.

From the moment you agreed to this, Johnny made it his mission to test your self-control. It’s not just that he’s insatiable—though, God help you, he is. It’s the way he looks at you across the room, the way his hand brushes against yours when no one else is looking, the way he finds excuses to get you alone.

It’s maddening.

“Johnny,” you hiss one afternoon as he corners you in the hallway, his hands sliding around your waist. “Someone could see us.”

“Relax,” he says, grinning as he presses a kiss to your neck. “They’re all in the lab. We’ve got at least ten minutes.”

“That’s not the point,” you say, trying—and failing—to push him away. “We’re supposed to be discreet.”

“I am being discreet,” he says, nipping at your earlobe.

You let out an exasperated sigh, but your resolve weakens when his lips find yours, hot and demanding. You kiss him back, your hands fisting in his shirt as he backs you against the wall.

“Johnny—”

“Five minutes,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s all I need.”

He’s impossible. But the worst part is, you don’t really want him to stop.

You manage to pull yourself together just in time, slipping out of the hallway and pretending nothing happened when you join the others in the common area. Sue glances up from her tablet as you walk in, smiling brightly.

“Hey, Y/N. You look... flushed,” she says, tilting her head.

“I just... went for a run,” you lie, avoiding Johnny’s amused smirk from across the room.

Sue nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and goes back to her work. You shoot Johnny a warning glare, but he just winks at you, completely unapologetic.

This is your life now—trying to keep a straight face while Johnny flirts with you like it’s a sport, all while pretending to everyone else that nothing’s going on.

It’s exhausting.

But somehow, you make it work. You keep your secret, sneaking into his room late at night and slipping back to yours before anyone wakes up. You convince yourself that it’s fine, that you’re in control.

Until she shows up.

It happens one afternoon during a team briefing. You’re sitting at the table, half-listening to Reed drone on about mission logistics, when you notice her. A stunning redhead in a sleek leather jacket, leaning casually against the doorway with a confidence that makes your stomach twist.

Johnny notices her, too.

“Amelia,” he says, his grin widening as he gets up to greet her.

“Johnny,” she replies, her voice smooth as silk.

They hug, and you feel something sharp lodge itself in your chest. She’s gorgeous, the kind of woman who looks like she belongs in a movie, and the way Johnny looks at her—like they have history—makes your stomach churn.

You force yourself to look away, focusing on the papers in front of you as Sue introduces Amelia to the team. Apparently, she’s a freelance operative Reed hired to help with the next mission.

Great.

Johnny spends the rest of the briefing sitting next to her, laughing at her jokes and leaning in just a little too close. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care. This is what you signed up for, after all—no strings, no jealousy, no feelings.

But when Amelia laughs at something Johnny says, her hand resting briefly on his arm, you feel a surge of something hot and bitter rise in your chest.

You’re jealous.

The realization hits you like a freight train, and you hate it. You hate that you care, that you’re sitting here stewing over Johnny Storm like some lovesick teenager.

After the briefing, you make a beeline for your room, needing to put some distance between yourself and whatever’s happening downstairs.

Johnny catches up to you later that night, slipping into your room like he always does.

“You okay?” he asks, his brow furrowed as he sits on the edge of your bed. “You seemed... off today.”

“I’m fine,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

He doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because you’ve been weird since Amelia showed up.”

At the mention of her name, your stomach tightens. “I said I’m fine,” you snap, sharper than you intended.

Johnny raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “Whoa. Where’s that coming from?”

“Nowhere,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I’m just tired.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Alright,” he says finally. “If you say so.”

But as he leans in to kiss you, you can’t help but pull away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Nothing,” you lie, forcing a smile. “I’m just... not in the mood tonight.”

Johnny looks surprised, but he doesn’t push. “Okay,” he says, standing up. “I’ll leave you alone, then.”

He hesitates for a moment, like he wants to say something else, but then he nods and slips out of the room.

As soon as he’s gone, you bury your face in your hands, your heart aching in a way you don’t understand.

You signed up for this. You knew what you were getting into.

So why does it hurt so much to see him with someone else?

The days that follow are torture. Johnny spends more and more time with Amelia, laughing and joking with her in a way that feels too familiar. You do your best to act normal, but it’s impossible to ignore the way your chest tightens every time you see them together.

And Johnny notices.

He corners you in the hallway one night, his expression serious. “Alright, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t give me that,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve been acting weird all week. Did I do something?”

You shake your head, avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing, Johnny. Just drop it.”

He doesn’t move, his eyes searching yours. “Is this about Amelia?”

Your stomach twists, but you force yourself to keep a neutral expression. “Why would it be about her?”

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice laced with frustration. “You tell me.”

You don’t answer, your silence stretching between you like a chasm.

Johnny sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, if something’s bothering you, just say it. I’m not a mind reader.”

You bite your lip, the words on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to say them.

Instead, you shake your head. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

Johnny stares at you for a long moment, his jaw tight. Then he nods, stepping back. “Fine. Have it your way.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with your heart in your throat.

You tell yourself it’s better this way, that keeping your feelings to yourself is the right thing to do.

But as the days go on, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep lying to yourself—and to him.

You’re pacing your room, your mind spinning, your chest tight with a cocktail of frustration and jealousy. The events of the day replay in your head like a broken record.

Amelia had been all over Johnny again—laughing at his jokes, leaning into his personal space, finding every excuse to touch his arm or shoulder. And Johnny, the infuriating, cocky idiot, seemed to revel in it.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You remind yourself of the rules, of the arrangement you agreed to. No strings. No feelings. But those reminders crumble under the weight of the knot in your stomach, the jealousy burning through you like wildfire.

By the time night falls, you’re at your breaking point. You can’t think straight, can’t focus on anything except the need to release all this tension, to let go of the frustration clawing at your chest.

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you grab your hoodie and storm out of your room, your feet carrying you down the hall before your brain can catch up. You don’t bother knocking when you reach Johnny’s door—you push it open and step inside, your heart pounding in your chest.

Johnny looks up from his bed, where he’s lounging with his phone in hand. He’s shirtless, of course, because why wouldn’t he be? He always seems to know how to test your self-control.

“Y/N?” he says, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s going on?”

You close the door behind you, leaning back against it as you meet his gaze. “I need to blow off some steam,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

Johnny raises an eyebrow, sitting up slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “And you’re going to help me.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, clearly taken aback. Then a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. “Well, I’m not one to say no to a lady in need.”

You roll your eyes, pushing off the door and crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Less talking, more doing,” you mutter, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Johnny doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hands find your hips, pulling you into his lap as he kisses you back with a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Someone’s feisty tonight,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding under your hoodie.

“Shut up,” you say, pulling it off and tossing it to the side.

His grin widens, but he does as he’s told, his hands roaming over your skin as you straddle him. You kiss him fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you press your body against his.

When he tries to flip you onto your back, you stop him, pushing him back down onto the bed.

“Not this time,” you say, your voice low and firm.

Johnny looks up at you, his eyes darkening with surprise and something else—something hotter, deeper. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, his lips quirking into a small smirk.

You roll your eyes again, but you can’t deny the rush of satisfaction at the way he looks at you, the way he lets you take control.

And for the first time, you do. You take your time, exploring every inch of him with your hands and lips, savoring the way he responds to your touch. Johnny, for all his usual bravado, seems to love it—his hands gripping your thighs, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you take him apart.

“Damn,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Shut up,” you say again, but there’s no heat in your words.

When it’s over, you collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily. Johnny wraps his arms around you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back as you both come down from the high.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Johnny breaks the silence. “I think I like you on top,” he says, his voice teasing.

You groan, burying your face in his neck. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” he says, his lips brushing against your temple.

You don’t respond, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

After a few minutes, Johnny shifts beneath you. “Come on,” he says, sitting up and pulling you with him. “Let’s take a bath.”

“A bath?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up and stretching. “You know, to relax. Blow off the rest of that steam.”

You shake your head, but you follow him into the bathroom, your curiosity piqued.

Johnny starts the water, adding some soap that creates a light layer of bubbles. The bathroom is warm and steamy, the faint scent of lavender filling the air.

“Fancy,” you say, leaning against the counter as you watch him.

“Only the best,” he says with a wink, stepping into the tub and holding out a hand to you.

You hesitate for a moment, but then you take his hand and let him pull you in. The water is hot, the perfect contrast to the cool air of the room, and you sink into it with a sigh.

Johnny pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as you rest your head against his chest.

“This is nice,” you admit, your voice soft.

“Told you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You close your eyes, letting yourself relax in his arms. For a moment, everything else fades away—the jealousy, the frustration, the complicated mess of feelings you’ve been trying to ignore.

When the water starts to cool, you both get out and dry off, slipping back into bed together. Johnny pulls you close, his body warm and solid against yours as he drapes an arm over your waist.

“You staying the night?” he asks, his voice low and drowsy.

“Yeah,” you say, surprising yourself with how easily the word comes out.

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but wonder how long you can keep pretending this is just a casual arrangement. Because when Johnny holds you like this, when he looks at you with something soft and unguarded in his eyes, it feels like so much more.

It’s early morning, the sun barely peeking through the edges of the curtains as you make your way to Johnny’s room. You’d spent the night tossing and turning in your own bed, your thoughts constantly drifting back to him, to the way his hands felt on your skin, to the sound of his voice murmuring your name.

You’re not sure why you’re up this early or why you feel the need to see him now, but the pull toward him is irresistible.

As you turn the corner and approach his door, you freeze.

Amelia is stepping out of Johnny’s room, her hair slightly tousled, her jacket slung over one shoulder. She doesn’t see you right away, but when she does, her eyes widen slightly, and an awkward, almost guilty expression crosses her face.

“Morning,” she says, her voice light but strained.

You don’t respond, your gaze darting past her to the door she just closed.

“I, uh, should get going,” she says, brushing past you quickly and disappearing down the hallway.

You stand there for a moment, your mind racing. Your chest feels tight, your stomach churning with a mix of anger and something far more painful.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you push open Johnny’s door and step inside.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless and still half-asleep, his hair a mess of golden strands. When he sees you, he blinks in surprise.

“Y/N? What are you doing up so early?”

“What was she doing here?” you demand, your voice sharper than you intended.

Johnny frowns, clearly confused. “Who?”

“Amelia,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just saw her leaving your room.”

Realization dawns on his face, and instead of explaining himself, he has the audacity to smirk. “Jealous, are we?”

“Don’t,” you say, your voice trembling. “Don’t make this a joke.”

The smile fades from his lips, and he stands, his expression softening as he steps closer to you. “Y/N, it’s not what you think—”

“Oh, so she just happened to wander into your room at the crack of dawn?” you interrupt, your anger masking the hurt that’s clawing at your chest. “We’re supposed to be just physical, remember? So I guess it doesn’t matter who else you’re screwing.”

“Hey,” Johnny says firmly, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “That’s not what’s happening here. Just... let me explain, okay?”

You glare at him but don’t pull away, your chest heaving as you try to keep your emotions in check.

“She came to my room because she wanted to talk to me before she left,” he says, his voice calm and steady. “The mission ended yesterday, and she’s heading out of town. She wanted to... confess her feelings or something.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “And? What did you say?”

Johnny looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you see something raw and unguarded in his expression. “I told her I wasn’t interested,” he says softly. “I told her there’s someone else.”

Your heart clenches painfully at his words, and you shake your head, stepping back. “Don’t do this,” you whisper, your voice cracking.

“Do what?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

“Don’t lie to me,” you say, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Don’t say there’s someone else just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he says, his voice firm.

You shake your head again, tears stinging your eyes. “Then who is it, Johnny? Who’s so special that you’d turn down Amelia?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up so you’re forced to meet his gaze. “It’s you,” he says simply.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you blink up at him, your heart racing. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “It’s always been you. I just... I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

You stare at him, your mind reeling. “Johnny...”

“I know this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious,” he continues, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “But I can’t help it, Y/N. I’m crazy about you.”

Your resolve crumbles, and a tear slips down your cheek. “You’re such an idiot,” you say, your voice shaky.

He chuckles softly, his hands cupping your face. “I know. But you like me anyway.”

You laugh weakly, the sound half-choked by a sob, and before you can think twice, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

This kiss is different—softer, slower, free of the urgency and heat that usually defines your moments together. It’s tender and meaningful, a silent confession of everything you’ve both been too scared to say.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting together, you can’t help but tease him. “So... does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

Johnny grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Guess it does.”

“Good,” you say, poking his chest. “Because that means no more flirting with other women.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, his tone sincere.

You smile, your heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling you closer. “But I’m yours.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and before you know it, his lips are on yours again, this time with more passion, more intensity. He backs you toward the bed, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that makes your breath hitch.

For the first time, there’s no rush, no frantic need to prove something. Every touch, every kiss feels deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

When he lays you down on the bed, his gaze is so full of love and adoration that it nearly takes your breath away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Johnny,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair.

“I’m yours,” he says again, his voice rough with emotion. “Only yours.”

The words send a surge of warmth through you, and you pull him closer, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

It’s different this time—not just physical, but emotional, intimate in a way that leaves you both vulnerable.

When it’s over, you lie tangled together, your head resting on his chest as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your back.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says softly, his voice laced with exhaustion and contentment.

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Your heart swells, and you tilt your head up to look at him. “I love you too,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Johnny grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Told you you’d fall for me eventually.”

You laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “Shut up, Storm.”

He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he presses another kiss to your lips.

It starts with Susan. Of course, it’s Susan.

You and Johnny had managed to keep your relationship quiet for a few days, sneaking kisses in the hallway, exchanging soft touches when no one was looking, and giving each other the occasional longing glance that lingered a bit too long. But when you’re both together as much as you are with the team, there’s only so much you can hide.

Susan is perceptive to the point of being almost psychic when it comes to her brother. That morning, as you and Johnny are sitting together at the breakfast table, laughing at something stupid he just said, her eyes narrow slightly.

“You two,” she says suddenly, pointing her spoon at both of you, “are acting... different.”

Johnny freezes mid-bite, his eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. You, on the other hand, nearly choke on your coffee.

“Different?” you say, trying to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do realize I’ve known Johnny my entire life, right?” Susan says, crossing her arms. “He’s never looked at anyone the way he’s looking at you right now.”

Johnny smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Can you blame me? Look at her.”

You glare at him, smacking his arm lightly. “You’re not helping.”

Susan’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “Wait. Are you... are you two... together?”

Johnny grins, his hand finding yours under the table. “Yup.”

“Johnny!” you hiss, smacking him again.

“What? She was going to figure it out eventually,” he says with a shrug.

Susan looks stunned for a moment, then her expression softens into something warm and almost maternal. “I knew it,” she says, a smile spreading across her face.

“You knew it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course I did,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Do you have any idea how obvious you two have been? The way you bickered all the time, the way you couldn’t keep your eyes off each other when you thought no one was looking...”

Johnny snickers. “Guess we weren’t as sneaky as we thought.”

“You were terrible at being sneaky,” Susan says, shaking her head. “But... I’m happy for you. Really. You deserve to be happy.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. “Thanks, Susan,” you say softly.

She smiles, then looks at Johnny with a mock-serious expression. “But if you screw this up, Johnny, I swear—”

“Relax, Sis,” Johnny says, holding up his hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Susan nods, satisfied, then turns her attention back to her breakfast.

But, of course, the moment doesn’t end there.

As if on cue, Ben stomps into the kitchen, followed closely by Reed, who’s balancing a mug of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Morning,” Ben grunts, reaching for a plate of pancakes.

“Morning,” you and Johnny say in unison, maybe a little too cheerfully.

Ben pauses, his rocky brow furrowing as he looks at the two of you. “What’s with you two?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Ben says, clearly unconvinced. He looks over at Susan, who’s struggling to hide a smile. “What’s going on?”

Susan shrugs, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eye. “Ask them.”

Ben turns his gaze back to you and Johnny, his eyes narrowing. “Spill it.”

Johnny sighs dramatically, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Fine. Y/N and I are together. Happy?”

Ben stares at you both for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“I knew it!” Ben says, slapping his knee. “I told you, Reed! You owe me twenty bucks!”

Reed looks up from his clipboard, his expression thoughtful. “Technically, the bet was whether they’d get together before the end of the month, and it’s only the twentieth, so yes, I suppose I do owe you.”

“You bet on us?” you ask, your jaw dropping.

“Of course we did,” Ben says, grinning. “You two have been dancing around each other for months. It was only a matter of time.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, burying your face in your hands.

Johnny, on the other hand, looks delighted. “Wait, how much money are we talking here?”

“Don’t even think about it,” you say, elbowing him in the ribs.

Reed clears his throat, clearly trying to shift the conversation back to something less embarrassing. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a good match,” he says, adjusting his glasses.

You blink at him, surprised. “You do?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “You balance each other out. Johnny needs someone who can challenge him, and you need someone who can... bring out your fun side.”

Johnny smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Hear that? I’m good for you.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of breakfast is filled with teasing and laughter, and by the end of it, you feel lighter than you have in days.

Later, as you’re walking back to your room, Johnny catches up with you, slipping his hand into yours.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” he says, grinning.

“You mean the part where they all knew already?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Johnny laughs, pulling you closer. “Guess we’re not as good at hiding things as we thought.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “You’re lucky I love you, Storm.”

“Damn right I am,” he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

As you walk down the hallway together, hand in hand, you can’t help but feel like everything is finally falling into place.

For better or worse, this is your family now. And with Johnny by your side, you know you can handle anything that comes your way.

[vigilante-3073]

Right Where You Left Me

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: There had always been something lingering between them, an unspoken connection that could destroy everything.

TW: Boss/Employee relationship, tension, angst, mentions of death/loss, resignation, right person wrong time.

Y/N L/N had been a member of the BAU for years. Y/N looked through case files, arranging them in priority order based on victim amount and methodology. Y/N presented the cases to the team while JJ contacted local officials and interacted with the media. As a result of her role, Y/N spent quite a bit of time with Hotch.

Y/N reviewed cases with him, allowing Hotch to decide which unsub posed the most risk based on his profiling expertise. Y/N was incredibly good at her job, she saw a great deal of darkness and tried her best to prioritize and compartmentalize.

There would always be those cases that made it feel like there was no point in trying to stop bad things from happening. Humanity would always find different despicable ways to harm one another.

Hotch could always tell when the work was beginning to get to her. He was kind, willing to set aside the work and have a serious talk with her about their jobs. There were people out there who counted on them, victims who wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for the BAU.

Hotch always managed to bring her comfort, reminding her why they do what they do and making her entire day better. He was a good man and Y/N trusted him more than anyone. She would do absolutely anything he asked without question.

Some people may call it loyalty, but that's not what it was.

It was love.

Y/N had been in love with him for years, she knew that she could never tell him how she felt. He was married and he had a family at home. Y/N saw Haley and Jack on multiple occasions, each time left her with an uneasy feeling of guilt that settled in her stomach like a rock.

Y/N tried to remain professional, but loving him was ruining her life. Y/N went home every day to an empty house, sleeping alone before returning to the same tortuous place.

Y/N began to look forward to every moment she was able to spend in his orbit. Hotch was a light in the darkness, he burned like the brightest flame and Y/N could only get so close without getting burned.

Y/N knew that what she was doing wasn't healthy, she had an attachment to him that was inappropriate. She should quit, turn in her resignation and leave to save herself the pain of loving someone she could never have.

A selfish part of her didn't want to give him up, he was the one good thing in her life and she wouldn't be able to handle the loss.

Y/N was stuck.

She had taken a step back from Hotch, closing herself off to him and keeping things as professional as possible. Hotch knew that something had changed but Y/N assured him that everything was fine with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Y/N sat at her desk, silently reading through potential case files at almost three o'clock in the morning. A gentle knock on the door made her jump, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Rossi said.

"It's fine," Y/N assured.

"Do you have a minute to chat?" Rossi asked.

"Of course," She nodded, he stepped into her office and sat down on the chair in front of her desk.

"Have I ever told you about why I left the BAU in 1997?" Rossi asked.

"No, I don't think so," Y/N replied, closing her file.

"I told everyone that it was because I wanted to write and got sick of the FBI bureaucracy, but none of that is true... The real reason is that I had feelings for Gideon's wife," Rossi said.

"You did?" Y/N asked.

He nodded, "I would have these thoughts that Jason wasn't good enough for her, so I stepped away from the BAU... I thought it would be best if they went on as a family," He said.

Y/N gulped, trying to blink away the tears that gathered in her eyes.

"I know you're in love with him and I can see what it's doing to you... I know it's hard, but sometimes you have to let go," Rossi said.

"What if I can't let go?" Y/N asked shakily, a tear escaping and rolling down her cheek.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, kid, it's not going to be easy but you'll be better off for it," Rossi said.

Y/N's chest stuttered as she held back a sob, holding her head in her hands as she cried. Rossi stood up from his chair and made his way around the desk. He set his hand on her shoulder, providing silent comfort to her as she broke down.

Rossi watched Y/N go through exactly what he had all those years ago, wanting someone he could never have and getting his heart broken. Y/N was such a kind person and he could see how much loving Hotch had hurt her.

Years of watching the one you love be happy with someone else was a cruel punishment. It was like a knife to the gut, draining the life out of you until there is nothing left to give.

Rossi couldn't stand by and watch her lose herself for any longer. He hoped that she'd be smarter than he was, that she would realize how her feelings for Hotch were affecting her and leave. But love was a powerful thing and it could blind even the smartest person in the world.

...

Y/N made her way over to Hotch's office with a white envelope settled on top of a case file. Rossi was right and Y/N knew that she needed to make some changes in her life. Y/N slowed to a stop outside his office and knocked on the door gently, taking a breath to steady herself and calm her racing heart.

"Come in," Hotch called from inside.

Y/N opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind herself. She stepped over to his desk, taking off the envelope and holding out the case file to him.

"I think this should be our next case, but I wanted your opinion before briefing the team. The unsub is obviously escalating and is desperate to get the media's attention," Y/N said.

Hotch took the file from her hand, opening it and scanning over the information briefly, "It sounds like they could definitely use our help. Have you given it to Garcia?" He asked.

"Yes, Sir, she can have everyone briefed and on the plane within the hour," Y/N replied.

"Perfect," He nodded, closing the file and standing from his desk.

"Um, Hotch... I also have this for you," Y/N said, holding out the envelope.

He took it from her hand, "What is it?" He asked.

"My resignation," Y/N stated.

A look of confusion passed over his face before he quickly regained his composure, "Is there anything in particular that brought this on?" Hotch questioned.

"No, Sir, I just needed a change... I've already spoken to JJ and she'll be able to take over for me so there isn't any need to search for a replacement," Y/N said, glancing at her watch before moving towards the door.

"Y/N, hold on. I- Can we talk about this?" Hotch questioned, setting the envelope down on his desk.

"Hotch, the briefing," Y/N said, her hand settling on the door handle.

"Have I done something to upset or offend you? I thought that we were close, but recently things have changed and I just want to know if you're leaving because of something I did," Hotch said.

"No, I'm not leaving because of you," Y/N stated.

His shoulders sunk slightly as he looked over her, "You're lying to me," He said.

Y/N opened her mouth before closing it, letting out a soft breath as she moved over to him, "You are the best boss that anyone could ask for, Hotch. You did absolutely nothing wrong, I promise," Y/N assured.

His eyes searched her face for any indication of a lie, reluctantly nodding when he found none.

"How long before you go?" He asked.

"I'll stay until the end of this case," Y/N said.

"And there's nothing I can say to change your mind?" Hotch questioned.

Y/N smiled softly, "No, there isn't," She said.

He took a breath, "I'm going to miss you," Hotch stated.

"I know... I'm gonna miss you too," Y/N replied.

They made their way to the conference room, everyone had already settled in their seats as Garcia passed the remote to Y/N.

"Just before we start, I have a bit of an announcement... I'm resigning from the BAU after this case," Y/N said.

"What?" Emily asked.

"Are you serious?" Morgan questioned.

"Where are you going?" Spencer asked.

"I don't really know yet, but I have some promising offers," Y/N said.

"Seems kinda quick. Is everything okay?" Morgan asked.

"I just need a change," Y/N said simply.

"Change is a good thing, kid," Rossi said, Y/N nodded.

"So, let's get started," Y/N said, clicking to the first set of photos.

...

It had been a few years since Y/N had resigned from the BAU, she managed to get a job with the CIA Office of Public Affairs. Hotch saw her on the news occasionally and he always stopped to watch. He had been incredibly close with Y/N and her abrupt resignation left him feeling confused.

Hotch missed her.

Y/N had become an incredibly close friend to him over the years and he wished that they still worked together. Y/N sent him flowers with a kind message when Haley passed away, but there was no other communication between them.

Things had been challenging since she died, Jack wasn't coping well and Hotch didn't know how to help. Hotch had never been an emotional man and he found himself feeling helpless in the face of such a complex situation.

Jack had always been closer to his mother, he felt her loss deeply and struggled to adjust to life without her. He was slowly returning to the happy little boy that he had been before her death, but Hotch would still catch him watching home movies occasionally just to hear Haley's voice.

It had been almost a year since her passing when Hotch made his way through the bullpen, "Hey, Hotch. Check it out, our girl is well on her way to becoming the face of the CIA," Morgan said.

Hotch looked up at the television, smiling softly when he saw the footage of Y/N holding a press conference for the CIA.

"She looks good," Hotch stated, continuing across the bullpen and up the stairs to his office.

Morgan looked over at Emily and Rossi, "Did I just hear that right?" Morgan asked.

"You did," Emily nodded.

"You think Hotch is ready to put himself back out there? Get a little something something?" Morgan questioned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I don't know... He seems happy, it could definitely be something he's starting to think about," Emily said.

"I'll get to the bottom of it," Rossi said.

"Wing man to the rescue," Morgan smirked.

Rossi made his way up to Hotch's office, gently knocking on the open door. Hotch stood at his desk, eyes downcast as he looked over a case file.

"You got a minute, Aaron?" Rossi questioned.

"Of course," He nodded, closing the file and setting it down.

Rossi stepped into the office, closing the door behind himself, "Are you thinking about putting yourself back out there? Maybe going on a date or two?" Rossi questioned.

"I don't know. It hasn't even been a year since Haley passed," Hotch said.

"Listen, Aaron, Haley wouldn't want you to be alone. If you feel like you're ready to get back out there, you should do it," Rossi said.

"I'll think about it," Hotch stated.

"If you're serious about this, I have a good place for you to start," Rossi said, slipping a hand into the inside pocket of his blazer.

Rossi pulled out a business card, holding it out to Hotch. He glanced at him before taking the card from his hand, looking down at the name on it.

'Y/N L/N '

"Why do you have this?" Hotch asked.

"We get together for coffee a few times a month," He shrugged.

"I don't think she wants to hear from me, Dave," Hotch said, shaking his head and holding the card out to Rossi.

"Trust me, she does... Give her a call, Aaron," Rossi said, making his way out of the office.

Hotch stared down at the business card, brushing his thumb across the paper before opening his drawer and setting it inside. He closed the drawer, picking up his file and making his way down to the conference room for the morning briefing.

It took the team three days to apprehend the unsub, rescuing a few victims and reuniting them with their loved ones. There was a bittersweet feeling when only a few people were saved but a multitude of lives had been lost. These kind of cases made everyone cling to their loved ones a little tighter.

Hotch sat at his desk, diligently completing his report long after everyone had already gone home. He sat back in his chair, fidgeting with his pen before he reached over and opened his desk drawer.

Hotch easily located the business card, pulling it out and staring down at it. Hotch took a breath, picking up his phone and dialing the number.

The line rang, he honestly hoped to end up on an answering machine but the soft click caught him off guard.

"Y/N L/N," She said.

"Hi, it's Aaron Hotchner," He replied.

"Hotch? How did you get this number?" Y/N asked.

"Dave gave it to me... I hope that's not a problem," Hotch said.

"That depends on what you're calling about," Y/N replied.

"Do you want to go out for dinner with me tomorrow night? Or, I guess it's today now," He said, glancing at the clock.

"Like a date?" Y/N questioned.

"Yes, a date," Hotch nodded, fidgeting with her business card.

"I'd love to," Y/N said.

"Really?" Hotch questioned.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, "Were you expecting a different answer?" She asked.

"I was, actually... After you left, I kept thinking about your last few weeks at the BAU. I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what I'd done to make you hate me all of a sudden," Hotch started.

"Aaron, I didn't hate you... I left because I was in love with you," Y/N said.

"You loved me?" Hotch asked.

"I did... But you were my boss and you had a wife at home. I couldn't stay there and keep getting my heart broken," Y/N stated.

"I'm so sorry," Hotch said.

"Don't be. I had to do what was best for me. None of it was your fault, Aaron," Y/N assured.

He let out a shaky exhale, "I really miss having you around," Hotch said.

"I miss the BAU," Y/N replied.

"Enough to have coffee with Dave a few times a month?" Hotch questioned.

"Hey, that was all his idea. If I'm being honest, I think he was just making sure I was still single," Y/N said.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Hotch nodded.

"I missed these conversations," Y/N said.

"I did too," Hotch replied with a small smile.

"For tonight, you can pick the restaurant and text me on this number. I don't really know what my day will look like and I know it's the same way at the BAU," Y/N said.

"Okay, I will make a reservation for us and send you a message... Have a good night, Y/N," Hotch said.

"You too, Aaron," Y/N replied.

He hung up the phone, unable to keep the smile off his face as he packed up his things to head home for a few hours of sleep. Hotch knew that he would have to thank Rossi for his help when he saw him in the morning.